07 March 2001 ~ ...And I know what's happening...?

Sometimes, I truly wish I knew what was going on...

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"You've got some clothes that you've left here," said Norman the other day.

"Yeah? I don't remember leaving anything here."

He returned from his closet with a handful of stuff: a purple shirt, a pair of my underwear (uh...), and a pair of boxers.

"These aren't mine," I said, handing him back the boxers.

"Yeah they are! You've worn boxers around here before."

It's true; I do wear boxers frequently in warm weather -- to bed at least. I own half a dozen pairs I've picked up here and there... An old pair of Mike's, a couple pairs of Peter's, a couple I actually bought for myself... But THIS pair was totally unfamiliar. I imagined myself rummaging through the dark in my apartment, picking up the closest pair of boxers I could find, stuffing them into my bookbag without looking at them, walking to Norman's house, changing into them in the dark, and spending the night without giving another thought to them. So, yeah, they probably did come from me. But the question still remains: how did a foreign pair of boxers find its way to my house?

Now, I've discovered some damn weird things in my house: objects that seemingly have no origin. But UNDERWEAR that never had an owner? I've always speculated that laundry is mobile, and perhaps even conscious (as evidenced by multitudes of socks without mates that I assume everyone has), but HOW did this underwear get into my HOUSE? I'm really fairly consciencious about locking my doors!

So, now I had to really think about it. How many people have stripped in my house other than me? Not many, actually, although anybody could have been naked the night I had the party here, and I might not have noticed. I'm certain it's not a pair of Peter's; they're a little big for him... Certainly not Jeff's or his boyfriends, because Jeff is too small for this particular pair, and his boyfriend was always wearing the SAME pair every time I caught him wandering around in his shorts... My mind tiptoed back to one certain laundromat incident, and a certain amount of distraction caused by a pinball machine with a picture of Elvira painted on it... Hm... Nah.

"Hey Aaron? Did you ever change your underwear at my house?"

"No, dude, I don't wear underwear!"

If you have any information about the rightful owners of this pair of boxers, or about their heirs, please contact me before I go nuts.

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As I was walking home from work this morning, two of my co-workers, who were walking TO work stopped me to say hello. A cop I know waved hello and smiled. Feeling particularly popular and sunny (partly due to my apparent popularity and partly due to the new REM CD in my discman), I skipped along home. Two people in a car I didn't recognize shouted my name out their window and asked if I needed a ride.

The sun was directly in my face, and I have NO idea who these people were. The person speaking to me was female, but I couldn't see her. I politely declined and said I lived on the next block. Now I feel dumb, because it was probably someone I know, probably someone who KNOWS I live on the next block... Dammit, occasionally I feel like I know absolutely NOTHING that's going on...

If you have any information about the people in the car I didn't recognize, who stopped to offer me a ride, please contact me before I make a complete dumbass out of myself when I see them again...

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"I am, I am, I am superman, and I know what's happening!" --REM

~Helena*