Well, it’s been almost completely 366 days since I last wore real pants. In just one week and a few days I’ll be able to wear jeans again. Just in time for Los Angeles to embrace winter!
This post will encompass two trips I went on, one almost three months ago and the other almost two. I’m so good at doing things in a timely manner that I’m also writing this on election night while pretending that the world isn’t slowly falling into hellfire.*
The title of this post comes from this song by Dean Martin with the same title. I googled songs about Palm Springs and it was the first to show up. It’s quite a number. It’s also perfect because the two places I went after going home were Palm Springs, and then Austin Texas.
The title is a reference to the Relient K “Heartache” song from their new(ish) album, Air For Free.* I listened to it a lot when I went for runs when I went home and took these photos at the cabin my family and I rent every summer. I try not to let my heart ache for this spot, but it’s pretty incredible.
There is some debate as to when we started going to the cabin, and the tradition of trying to figure out when we started going has become just as ingrained in our yearly trips.
So it’s been a hot second since I updated the world on my journey without real pants. Last time I checked in it was because of my longing and desire to once again put on a pair of jeans and have pockets. This time I’m giving you a definition that was briefly touched on in one of my earlier posts.
The definition of Not Real Pants.
For years the only thing I wrote was fiction – fan fiction, plays, comic books, whatever it was it came from my imagination and onto the page. Recently I vacillate between fiction and personal essays.
I realized the best things I write are moments; small scenes that sometimes have a beginning-middle-and-end, but mostly just showcase a snippet of someone’s life and mind at a particular moment.
So I wrote a scene* about a heart broken girl who is searching for a perfect moment. Because at the end of the day, we all just want one perfect moment to hold onto.
Someone send me a cake, bring the balloons, and hire a DJ because I’m throwing myself a no pants party. Not a party in my pants, because there are no pants to party in, but a party with no pants.
Not like that time in college that some of my friends held a “Pants Off Dance Off” party for their joint birthday’s. Not like those awkward pick up lines designed to get drinks thrown in your face if you dare to use them on someone.
I’m talking about a celebration of the fact that I haven’t worn real pants in over 6 months.