Why does my office smell like vomit and crotch?*

It stinks like asshole in here. No, not asshole. Vomit and crotch. I think I'd actually prefer the smell of asshole to that of vomit and crotch.

The windows of my office don't open and the fifty-pound glass door to my office suite is almost always closed, allowing for little to no air flow through the room. So any smell that comes in here, stays in here, stewing and stagnating until it is activated by the heat of summer.

But I can't think of any time in which the smells of vomit and/or crotch were piped into this here atmosphere. No one's puked, as far as I know. As for the crotch, I lack the skank factor to produce wanton crotch funk.

I have been known to randomly find pairs of underwear (usually clean and usually mine) in the ridiculously gigantic shoulder-bag I take with me everywhere I go, but first of all, I checked my bag and it came out panty-free; secondly, dear GOD if my underwear EVER smells like my office now does, someone PLEASE hose me down with lye and pump me full of Monostat 7. Not even after biking the Tour de France wearing rubber shorts in 100 degree heat should a crotch smell like my office presently does.

Am I finished talking about my crotch?

Yes, ma'am. I am.

Why the hell do I sometimes carry pairs of underwear in my bag?

God, I wish I knew. When I find them, I can never remember why I put them there in the first place.

Sometimes, I think I carry them with me because I frankly don't know where I'll be sleeping that night, and might need a clean pair in the morning. Not because of any "morning after" reason (dammit), but because I sometimes don't feel like leaving my friends' houses when it gets too late. I'm lazy, and my friends are very accomodating, but probably not accomodating enough to provide me with clean skivvies after I crash on their couch.

Another possibility is that I stuff the undies in my bag when I'm performing in a show, and might need a more appropriate pair (or ANY pair, as the case may be,) with whatever costume I'm wearing, but won't have time to stop at home to change between work and actors' call. Then I forget about them. Poor undies.

Maybe I keep them with me when I'm raggin', if you know what I'm sayin', and might need an emergency fresh pair.

God. But really, I'm done talking about my crotch.

SPEAKING OF CROTCHES, TONIGHT IS ART APPRECIATION THURSDAY!

I have my nudey-drawing class after work, and, as always, I'm excited to see what comes of it.

My favorite part is the warm-up, in which we draw 30-second gesture drawings. My quick-sketches look like cracked out stick figures, like something drawn by Keith Haring on speed (which is probably redundant, since I think Keith liked him some pretty pills). I think they're fun and gorgeous, thanks. It's only when we're asked to spend time on a drawing that I'm reminded of my rusty drawing wrist, and usually end up staring at my sketchpad and giggling.

Our last model was an absolutely lovely young woman; one of those Tess of the D'Urbervillesy highland beauties who excuded youthful health, and seemed to absorb the flourescent studio light.

At one point, one of my classmates seemed to be flirting with her, batting his eyelashes and smiling, and telling her she had "lovely hands." I found that imminently creepy.

Look, dude, just because you've been drawing her naked tits for three hours doesn't give you the right to comment on her HANDS.

I don't know. It seemed like such a breach of conduct, somehow. Ew.

Off I go.

I'll be away from the computer for a few days, (silly Kelly forgot to get her internet service switched over to her new apartment,) so send me treats to entertain me when I get back. OK? You guys are the grooviest.

* Vomit and Crotch! New band name? Arch nemeses to Tom & Jerry? So many possibiliies!

~ Last Five Entries ~

Moths, and Relative Nonsense - 08.18.05

I Finally Have Internet Access in my Bedroom. But, No Ashtray. - 08.09.05

Here I Am - 08.02.05

One-Armed Paper Hanger Earns her Wings - 07.29.05

Sugar & Lemon - 07.28.05

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BUY JEN'S BOOK! BUY IT! DO IT!

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BUY DEAN'S BOOK, TOO! YOU KNOW YOU WANNA! SERIOUSLY.

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