This is the last day I wear these pants, I think. These are my very cute, hip-hugging khaki capris that lace up the front. They have no belt loops. I bought them a couple of years ago, when I realized that I'd put on some weight and nothing fit anymore; when I bought them they fit like a glove. Now I can take them off without unlacing them.

No, I'm not throwing them out. I will hopefully be pregnant someday and they'll be perfect then. (Ah, future pregnancy justifying my pack-rat tendancies. Love it.)

Anyway, this is the second pair of pants that this has happened with. It's a bittersweet thing -- these are my newest clothes, so they're the most in fashion, the least faded, the most interesting to me. But, hey, I'm losing weight, so it's all good.

Thankfully much of my wardrobe consists of stretch pants and skirts which, more or less, still fit.

I actually managed not to gain weight over Wiscon, in fact lost almost two pounds, despite eating pretty much whatever I wanted to for four whole days. I think it was all the standing around, walking and, of course, hard dancing.

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ANYway, just so this entry isn't *all* about me, and because this is the kind of wardrobe mishap that doesn't happen much outside of San Francisco, I present you with wookiepocket's the case of the missing penis. Seriously, you don't hear shit like this everyday, so give it a click.

If you have questions, and you might, I will answer them via email or in the comments field :-)