Note: Due to the late hour this post was written, it has not been proofread. Please forgive an mistakes.
There's something about when pants rip . . . no matter where you are, or what you're doing, it always takes some weird and awkward moments to get out of the problem.
Today was one of those days.
I've been keeping to an early morning schedule while running Exodus - Model Matzo Bakery, but the last two days have afforded me opportunity to sleep in a little. Or so I thought. For this morning, as the day before it, I was woken several times by calls, texts and messages from my dear friends on the East coast.
At last I got up, gathered my belongings, and went to Yeshiva. After, I'm sorry to admit, a rather (spiritually and chronically) malnourished Shachris, I went to Starbucks - you see, constant reader, there's nothing that spells Bright New Day like burnt coffee, harvested on the backs of third-world workers, and marketed out of a Seattle yuppie-company, then sold by, to, and for the fruity, flaky, West Hollywoodians. Add a shot of raspberry and serve it on ice. It's super!
[Coincidentally I'm the Mayor of that Starbucks on Foursquare . . . Yah, I know, We'll have to deal with that in future post]
After awhile a homeless (or is the P.C. term Domicile Impaired?) lady came in, sat down next to me on the groovy leather couch (manufactured on the backs of Indonesian child laborers) and asked me for coffee. I handed her a buck. As I sipped my coffee and tried to work out the nagging details of my Pesach seder (get ready for more on that folks!), she continued to stare at me. After a good fifteen minutes had passed, she asked me for cigarettes. When I told her I didn't have . . . she left, my coffee-dollar in hand.
Skip around a little bit, and I'm sitting in yeshivah again . . . lovely. I get up for some reason or another . . . only to hear a sickening rip. My pants had caught onto something and . . . presto a nice rip in a not so nice place. Panicking, I put on my jacket, held it down as surreptitiously as possible over the offending tear, and walked to my house . . . doing my best to take as small a step as possible whilst walking.
At home I remembered I had a pair of old pants ferreted away in a drawer somewhere - at least, I hopped, I'd be able to change into something.
In the Chinese cabinet (The one in picture 5 and 6 of the great Fire post) I found an old gray pair of extremely wrinkled pants.
At least they'd cover what counts, I figured.
After putting them on, however, I discovered - much to my chagrin - the reason why said pants were wrinkled in the Chinese cabinet . . . their zipper was broken.
So, now once more de-pants'ed, I decided to split (not pun intended) the loss and, get a new pair at Target.
Figuring the wrinkled pants could easily have their flaw covered by an untucked shirt, I mozied on over to the Target and got a pants.
Funny thing those targets, they have dozens of 44x30 pants for short fat people . . . none to many 36x32 for normal (ok . . . ever so slightly chunky - but let's not go there) people.
Just one of those days.
Folks some things to come:
-Pesach plans [Heads up, I'm collecting funds for the latest (and last!) pesach abroad. I should have a Paypal or something up soon . . . So please e-mail me if you'd be able to contribute towards the ticket!]
-Social Media: Does it make us Weirdos
-Lot's of good stuff . . .
Technorati Tags: Pants, Starbucks, Foursquare, Life, Los Angeles