July 9th, noon | Matching underwear is for fascists!

I have this thing against matching underwear and bra sets. It's not that I think it's some subtle form of enslavement or anything like that. I'm all for matching underwear for other people. It's just me. I can't do it.

Part of it stems from the fact that I shower at night, so I'd have to decide the night before which bra I wanted and therefore which outfit I would be wearing. This from the girl who usually figures out what to wear by standing on her balcony while brushing her teeth to see what the weather's like. But I'd have to figure all that out before being able to choose underpants when really, all I do now is make a vague grab in the drawer at random and head off for the shower.

Alternately, I could just sleep with no underwear on. But given that I sleep in a t-shirt, that I tend to to toss about, never sleep with my door closed and live with my parents, I don't think that's a particularly good idea at the moment either.

The other side of it is that I don't really see the point.

Lingerie like they sell at Victoria's Secret or whatever isn't something I wear usually anyway. (Unless of course I've got a meeting/other event I want to feel sassy and empowered for.) If I'm wearing it for someone, I'll gladly make the effort and change out of my dreary cotton into that stuff for the occasion (or make a special point of putting it on while getting dressed in the morning).

For most casual, umm, pouncings, though, I've never been in a state where I have just the two on anyway. In my experience. By the time they're seen together, they're on the floor, in a little heap, and by that point, who cares?

So that's my spiel about matching underwear. Was just thinking about it this morning. Ahem.

Right. In other clothing-related news I ironed three shirts (!) yesterday, as well as hand-washing a couple I'd been meaning to for months. It was a good day for getting small chore-like things out of the way. The evening was mostly taken up with finishing up the Ikea stuff purchased on the weekend.

In a fairly funny phonecall, the Boy informed me, all penitant-like, that he'd stumbled upon my blog (I would never call this a blog -- it's too girly; I'm secure enough to call it a diary) and that he'd been randomly typing in numbers, and had (*gasp!*) read a couple entries. He's so cute.

It amuses me that even though I offered to tell him where it was a long time ago, he was all worried about the invasion of my privacy. It's an online diary! How private can it be?? But he's very sweet. Despite him claiming that he probably won't read any more (yesterday's traipsings were curiosity, apparently), it kind of makes me happy that he knows where it is and might one day read more. He got all excited and was commenting about how drawing the Diaryland community was. (He got here through chan's diary.) About how he was pondering starting one of his own. Heh. I pointed out the fact that he barely updates his journal on Roo's board thingy. He agreed. I love that he gets into this stuff. So cute. We also had a discussion about how cool Andrew is. See Andrew? Even non-members think you're the bomb!

I'm going to stop with that now. I need a little imp to sit on my shoulder and flick me in the ear every time my entry looks like it's becoming a transcription of a phone call with the Boy. Because... that would be kinda pathetic. But! I'm starving and despite having yumminess sticky rice packed for lunch, I'm seriously craving McDonald's. And we're going! W00t!

More once I've injected sufficient grease into my system. Mmm... grease...

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