So I'm watching "Smackdown" with Obi-Wan Neuroses last night, and despite every intention of being good, I was drinking beer anyways. Mmmm, Sam Adams Light.
Somehow we get to the topic of clothes, probably in relation to the ridiculous outfits some of the wrestlers have. And I said, "Well, none are as ridiculous as 'The Pants'."
"What pants?" she asked.
"Lo, let me show you," I verily replied.
And I pulled out these bad boys.
"Oh my god," she said. "OK, if you wear those out one night with me, I'll show you my tits."
Good to know, after all these years, that "The Pants" still have their potency. Bell-bottomed, $3 pants from The Garment District. To this day I don't know which side is the front and which side is the back. But the ladies, oh how they love The Pants.
I could have used them a few weeks ago.
I'm at a bar in Central Square with a female friend. We're chatting, hanging out, drinking, good times. At one point my phone rings. I look, see it says "Restricted Number". Figure it's a telemarketer, so I put it back in my pocket.
"Not gonna answer that?" she asks.
"Nah, it'd be rude, just wanted to make sure it wasn't an emergency."
And without blinking, she slurs, "You know...that could be sex. This?" *she points to herself* "THIS is NOT sex."
I can't make these stories up.
(And while we're here, let's just admire my hair, in all its Luke Perry-esque glory. Yikes. 1998. Good times.)
Posted by Ryan McGee at December 12, 2003 09:45 AM