Well a whole hell of a lot has happened in the last month. Adina (my new roommate) and I started the epic search for an apartment in Los Angeles. We then (within 2 weeks) found an apartment. Put down the deposit. Signed the lease. Got the keys. Then started moving our lives in.
We have lived there just over a week, and are still cobbling together the place. We need some tables and another lamp. But, the main point of this post is to discuss how I’ve now gone almost half a year without wearing real pants.
When packing my things to move I stared at my pile of jeans, five pairs of real pants in all. One of them I donated because they fit weird now, and I am not wearing pants for another 6 months.
But the rest I packed and brought with me to the new apartment. And then I unpacked them. And somehow misplaced two pairs of them. The remaining two pairs are in my closet, sitting in a small compartment. Waiting.
Moving without pants I found very easy. It allowed me full range of motion so picking up boxes and jumping over piles of books (because apparently the only things I own are clothing and books) was a lot easier than if I tried to wear my ratty paint jeans.
Now, when midnight hits on 2017, my year without pants will officially end. A lot can happen in 6 months. Hell, a lot happened in the last month so I can only imagine what will happen 6 months from now. I may want to start wearing jeans again, and if that happens I want to know I have a couple of solid pairs.
Which is why I kept the pants I kept. I’m sure the two pairs I misplaced will find their way to the top of my laundry bin, or I’ll find them when I’m packing for a trip. But the ones I actually have fit well, are extremely comfortable, and make my ass look pretty amazing if I do say so myself.