found objects

this'll be quick since i'm in the midst of crazy meetings and everyone here is getting married and having a wedding shower [seriously. the amount of time and money i've spent on people i'm not that fond of for events that have nothing to do with me will depress me to the point of needing anti-depressants should i add it all up]...

but.

yesterday, steps of the q/r/n/w train at 57th street and 7th avenue, there was a pair of panties [looked like bikini and black] bunched up in the dirt.

ladies: why in all of god's green earth would you:
1. lose your panties going either up or down to the subway
2. leave them there


also. could you explain how that happened? because, while not the clutziest person i know, there is no way i could walk either up or down stairs while my under-drawers were falling down. did you penguin-step? how did you step out of them? why am i so concerned?

because i must distract myself. while procrastinating at work i discovered that mr. x is in love. is in a wonderful marvelous relationship with some woman. who is not me. while logically, we would assume that he is also making her miserable the same way he made me miserable, the glorious human mind does not work this way and instead i am remembering all the ways darling mr. x was darling, and thus keeping up the cycle of perpetual macabre self loathing that i've been dealing with for too many months.

how do bruce willis and demi moore and ashton kutcher do it? does wealth and perfect skin really make your life easier?

do let me know. please. kutch: punk me into understanding.