So last week, I ripped my last pair of cargo shorts. I had worn them until they were so thread bare that when I caught a pocket on a doorknob stumbling around in my usual ogre-like fashion, it ripped them all the way down the side. I went to the store, picked up some more, but also picked up a pair of the same shorts but only 7″ instead of 9″ leg or whatever it is called. Why am I telling you this? Stay with me.
Today, I traveled to go to some meetings, and during a break I sat outside for a while on a bench watching people walk by and just generally enjoying the day. It was kind of hot and humid, but I was in the shade and had on my new shorts, and they were quite comfortable. Sat there for a good bit, checking my email, reading the news online, etc. After about a half hour, I went to scratch my thigh, and to my horror, discovered a testicle protruding from the left side of my shorts. I should probably be more specific. It wasn’t just a testicle, as if some strange testicle was in my pants, it was MY testicle sticking out. I don’t even know how the logistics for someone else’s testicle sticking out of my shorts would work, but it’s probably the only thing more horrifying than discovering your own sticking out after about 500 people have walked by the bench while you were sitting there. All I’ve done since is retrace from memory (or try to) the facial expressions of people as they walked by to see if I remember anyone giggling or looking traumatized, and I’ve had a mortified shame feeling all day since.
In unrelated news, later on, I had a work related pot luck sort of thing for veterans, and I went with a colleague. We sat down, and some people we did not know joined us. One of them was a young woman about 25-30 or so, and she was just super sweet and super nice (she has a boyfriend so that is not where I am going with this), and she smiled at the right times and was effortlessly graceful and pleasant and just was one of those people whose mere presence make you feel good about everything, my miserable self-loathing self included. And when I say nice, I don’t mean that stilted fake nice that you see a lot at work events, or the really forced jittery nervous nice you see from people who hate to be in crowds and are overcompensating while the whole time keeping an internal count on how long they have been there and how long before they can leave through a side door when no one is looking, or the sacchariney sweet nice you get from religious nutters when you know they are foul-mouthed judgmental “FUCK THE GAYS” hypocrites in private. Just a genuinely nice person. I realized then that I don’t quite know how to deal with people like her. I’m so cynical and jaded that I was mostly silent the entire time because I just didn’t want to fuck up the moment with some dyspeptic or inappropriate remark. But it was really nice to know that those people still exist out in the wild.
I guess that’s it. I paid no attention to politics at all today, but I did step in Thurston shit when I got home, so I feel like I am up to date on the news.