random poetry

I like it when a book looks loved –

a little worse for wear.

But only through continued use,

not from lack of care

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pardon me, your slip is showing

I felt bad the other day when I was working at the coffee shop, because I laughed a little at a middle aged woman who went into the restaurant next door with her five year old daughter in tow. She wasn’t aware of her predicament, and I wasn’t inclined to inform her, as it would have been embarrassing for both of us.

To her credit, she was wearing the proper underwear, considering her attire, but not entirely to its full potential. White shorts – another unfortunate invention – a white sleeveless top, with a beige thong. Skin tone, so as to not be noticeable and a thong to prevent panty lines – I’m following her train of thought, believe me. I’m sure you’re wondering how I know so much about her underwear, too, aren’t you? I know what kind she was wearing for a certainty because she had this poor beige piece of spandex-infused cotton dragged further up her hip than was absolutely necessary, and had managed to tuck her shirt tail into the actual thong.

I couldn’t stop eyeballing that two inch by five inch span of exposed flesh. I couldn’t imagine a time in my life where I was so completely unaware of what I was doing when I pulled up my underwear.

I’m not trying to be overly critical, as I’m not exactly the worlds most pretentious and superficial person. I have a morning schedule that enables me to leave the house in less than 30 minutes for work. That schedule includes rolling out of bed at 7:00, brushing my teeth, showering in ten minutes, and sitting on my bed for five minutes staring at my racks of clothes trying to muster up enough brainpower to put together an outfit that looks somewhat professional. Then, in the remaining 12 minutes, I comb and dry (sort of) my hair, smush some gel through it, lotion my face and legs, get dressed, close the window, turn off the fan, make sure I have my cell and my journal-thingie, pack a few items for lunch, then walk out the door. That’s it.

It’s not that I don’t care about my appearance. I do. I check the mirror every so often to get updates on the status of food in my teeth or bags under my eyes and why, oh why, my butt bubbles quite like it does. But for the most part, I’m pretty comfortable that I look the same as I always do, so what good is staring at myself?

I think the reason this woman caught my eye is because of my recent preoccupation with underwear. It’s odd, but I’ve recently begun a kick of wearing it again. I didn’t, not for the longest time. Going commando shaved an additional 45 seconds from my prep time, so why wear it?

Underwear, though not exactly in the forefront of our minds, has a habit of peeking out to grab your attention.

I remember when getting that traditional Christmas gift from your parents was the most mortifying experience of the day. You KNEW it was under the tree, waiting, lurking malevolently, wrapped in pretty paper, possibly disguised as that really cool pair of boots you reallyreallyreally wanted. When it finally landed in your lap to be opened, you held your breath, closed the box quickly and muttered a thank you to your beaming parents. The “Underwear Box� was a thing to be embarrassed of, to be quickly put away and forgotten about, your My Little Pony panties disposed of – neatly folded in the top drawer.

When I was 17, I was in a pretty bad car accident with a friend of mine. The EMT was cutting my jeans and sweatshirt off to attend to lacerations and possible broken bones when I heard him exclaim “Winnie the Pooh!� I was bloody and crying and hurting, and still this guy noticed my Winnie the Pooh little kid style panties – it shocked me right out of being in pain. Admittedly, he was cute, but I never wore that underwear again.

A few years ago, I was a thong addict. I have no problem admitting this. Places like those teeny bopper stores where cute, itty bitty thongs could be had five for $20 were my weakness and my downfall. I had more pairs of skimpy underthings than you could imagine – at one count, I had enough that I could skip doing laundry for two months and still have a fresh pair for every day.

At this point, all of those pairs have been tossed out, because we all know how long cheap underwear – or cheap anything – lasts. That’s when I went through the no underwear stage – and stayed for a good long time.

I guess I’m getting older now, or my tastes have changed, because I’ve been having odd thoughts lately. Things like boy-shorts and bikinis catch my eye – things I haven’t thought of in years. Things I haven’t worn with that much coverage since I was nine. I’m not quite sure what this means. I hope I’m still hip and sexy. I can’t get old TOO quickly, can I?!

As my friend at the coffee shop said when I pointed out the obvious underwear being dragged into public exposure – “Maigen, one day you’ll be her. Kids to take care of and things to do and errands to run and a life to live and not really all that concerned about the state of your underwear other than the fact that you are, indeed, wearing it.� And I sat there for a moment and thought about that scenario. Then I said “I think you’re right. And I think I’m okay with that.�

Granny Panties and all.

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blah blah blah

The first in the – hopefully long-running – series of Tuesday Ten’s was posted yesterday. In case you missed the memo, the post and the full-size poster flying over Macy’s… No, really, I didn’t expect a huge response just out of the gate. I think the thirteen people who posted or who replied via their own blog were very cool to do so. The question was a little bit difficult, I’ll have to say. I sat there for a few minutes thinking to myself “what DO I want to accomplish?”

While my answers were far from being full length explanations, it helped me to at least clarify a few thoughts I’ve had. Kind of like an online doodle pad. I now have forever rememberance of part of my life’s goals. That’s kinda cool.

I’ve been waffling back and forth today about trying to sell some of my jewelry and wine glasses on ebay. It’d be an easy way to do it, but…do I want to? I have to pay up front with no guarantee that anyone will see my designs, and frankly, I’m not in the position to do so right now. I’ll eventually play around with the tokitikki.com site and see what I can do about inserting shopping cart links. I bet it’d be an even better idea if I painted and designed a bit more. Maybe labelled the ones that have already been sold. Maybe design some sort of thumbnails gallery. something like that. Not to mention, I have a whole bagful of other stuff that uses semi-precious stones, just not in mass quantity. I’m just tired of looking at it. I was selling those pieces at my shows for $10 each. Sad, for the work and thought I put into it, but man – I could use some new inventory to be inspired by.

Speaking of inspiration, I’m trying desperately to come up with post content. I’m sure you’re tired of hearing me talk about mischiff, the move, how crazy in love I am, how cute we are, blah blah blah blah… another point of interest (and I promise I won’t bring it up for at least…three days) – 30 days from today we leave Charlotte. For keeps, as he said. I couldn’t be happier.

I’m going to put forth some effort tomorrow to be interesting. I haven’t really been paying attention to much the last few days, just because…well. just because.

This weekend, I’m going to be rummaging through my boxes of belongings in the garage – which ought to be interesting. Four months after it got packed up, lets see what else we can pare down and be done with, shall we?

My last waking thought last night was that I need to make sure to bring my favorite pillows. I love your bed, honey, but I gotta have my pillows. That’s just how this girl works.

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