This would never happen in the New Navy.

I’m wearing old-ass Old Navy pants at work today, and just noticed a fun new feature where the zipper is coming down on its own.

Outstanding. That’s outstanding.

At least my underwear is cute?

At least I’m WEARING underwear?

See, this is why I don’t wear pants.

Like an ADULT. No, really.

A friend pointed out that I’m kind of shitty to myself when it comes to my ability to be an adult: “You are constantly talking about being incapable, an unfit adult, generally sucking at everything, along with other negative talk about yourself.”

Hm. That’s because I genuinely do FEEL incompetent probably half of the time, like I can’t even believe I’m allowed to drive and make life choices. But I think the difference is, unlike everyone else, I say it out loud. And probably too often.

A Facebook friend who doesn’t know me very well went so far as to imply it was my “thing,” and a coworker sent me a JPG of an “adulting honorable mention” ribbon that said “I put on pants today.”

I really don’t want ineptitude to be my “thing.” Especially at work.

We’ll add that to the list of goals to work on with the therapist, because I’m really not sure how to go about fixing it. (Other than to just shut the fuck up, which I guess is probably the best option.) But I can’t get butthurt when people treat me like an incompetent asshole if I continue to act like one.

But ssshhhh… I’m totally going to go eat Froot Loops in my blanket fort. And the pants will be gone as soon as I walk in the door.

Dressing for (Begrudging, Sexless) Success

Two friends took me shopping the other day because I am SHIT at dressing myself, and they advised me to (ie, made me) try on this dress.

“I look like I’m wearing an Amish person’s pillowcase!”
“You look amazing, shut up. You’re buying this dress, deal with it.”

I wore it to work today and have been complimented multiple times — all by women. Even if logic says it’s POSSIBLE every straight dude in this building wants to bend me over their desk and plant their dicks under the dress like you’d plant a flag on a newly discovered planet, but can’t say so because it’s a workplace, I maintain that it’s because I look square and sexless.

But it’s basically a giant t-shirt, so whatever. It’s better than wearing pants. And I definitely have…let’s say “a lot more invested in the dress” than the model.

Dressed for success. Or alternately, fuck pants.

Since I bitched so much about fashion yesterday, allow me to extol its virtues today. 

So far today I’ve been complimented twice on my outfit. It’s a really simple stretchy cotton sundress, and the fabric is darted in a way that accentuates my best bits. I wore it because it’s Monday and fuck Monday and it’s 100-and-ball-sweat degrees with 600% humidity, and I need to wear as little clothing as possible. It looks lovely, but it’s just so simple to throw on and there’s no matching and no pants and no buttons or zippers, and it feels like I’m wearing a men’s t-shirt. 

Being a woman RULES. OK, yes, I’ll have epic Chub Rub on the insides of my thighs from now until October, but eh. I’m at work wearing what amounts to a very fancy pillowcase, so I’ll deal.