The Devil Made Me Do It

There was a great ruckus outside my apartment this afternoon, so much so that I had to get up and perform my little old lady duties years too soon to see what all the fuss was about. At first, I couldn't see anything out my peep hole and when I tried again later I see three fire fighters standing outside my door, chatting. It was weird to say the least. There was no alarm and I have no idea why they were there.

But seeing as I was in my little old lady mode anyway, I threw on some clothes and found an excuse to leave my apartment: I took my glass and plastic bottles downstairs to give to the homeless guy who just happened to be there. Don't get me wrong, I usually do that anyway, except I save it for the black homeless guy who pops by on weekends to sift through the garbage bin. This guy was Latino and I'd never seen him before but I figured I was doing good either way. The recycling place that used to be down the street from me is closed permanently now and even when it wasn't I would only get about 2 dollars for three months worth of plastic. I don't like throwing it away knowing I could be helping my planet but the next closest recycling plant to me is too far so I just give it to the people who probably need it more than me. At least that way I know it's going to be recycled.

So I step out of my apartment and there are not three, but six fire fighters shootin' the shit. Instead of going Whiskey Tango Foxtrot I quickly make my way downstairs and outside to the trash bins, giving the Latino guy my bottles and plastic. But instead of going straight back to my apartment I go around and pretend to check my mail, which is stupid considering it's Sunday (maybe I forgot to check the mail yesterday, did you think of that Mr. Fireman?). So I find there's no mail but there is a giant red firetruck outside my apartment. The hose is even on the ground and now I'm wondering just what the fuck, excuse me, whiskey tango foxtrot, I slept through this morning. It couldn't have been the fire alarm because that thing is a horrible hellhound of a noise and wakes me up every freakin' time.

The firefighters pass by me, I guess done with their job, and are out the door before I can ask if there was a cat in a tree. So I have no idea why they were there.

But that's not even what this post is about, it just happened when I was beginning to write the post. This post is about shopping.

I got a new job last Monday and I realized that the wardrobe I had in my closet was totally lacking. So on Wednesday, which was our day off, I hung out at the Third Street Promenade and managed to buy a few things. Like, three shirts. Which doesn't help.

So Saturday I went to The Grove, which is not known for it's cheap retail. However, there is one store, one store that I had avoided for so long but in this instance I couldn't help it.

I went to Forever 21.

What's wrong with Forever 21 you ask? Nothing if you don't mind having John 3:16 at the bottom of your shopping bag and know that you are contributing your hard earned (or hardly earned in this case) money to religious zealots.

But as I was trying to save money (which I probably shouldn't be spending in the first place) Forever 21 has, and I will admit, a few good items of clothing that are as cheap as something you'd find at JCPenny, without actually shopping at JCPenny (sorry mom).

Since I'd spent money at the other religious zealot hot spot (a little chain called In N' Out Burger) I justified it with that and my impending poorness (job ends come October, let's pray I'm asked back). Plus the fact that I really did need some new, work looking attire.

Being a writer and working with other writers makes shopping for clothes fairly easy. I don't need to look too professional but I couldn't keep wearing my Mortal Kombat t-shirt. So between the two shopping trips I now have two weeks worth of clothes. Yay.

However there is one thing that I bought that I didn't need to: a pair of shorts.

It was a milestone of sorts, I haven't actually worn a pair of jean shorts in five years (I'm not counting the shorts I wear to bed, only the ones I go out in public with). It occurred to me during one of my frequent trips to San Diego that I would have been more comfortable wearing shorts. The only problem was, I didn't own a pair of shorts. So when I was in Forever 21 I found the shorts rack and for the first time I saw shorts that didn't look like ass (figuratively speaking). And they were actually comfortable. So I bought them. It didn't occur to me until I was leaving the store that I don't really have anywhere to wear the shorts.

But I'm sure I'll find somewhere, eventually.