oksana baiul and death by diesel

so remember that whole obsess/vomit/obsess/vomit routine i talked about a few weeks ago? well pretty much every decision i make in life (important or not) follows that basic outline.

for example:

i really don't own a lot of clothes. i'm poor and i hate shopping. rarely do i find anything i actually like. so, for these reasons, i own only one pair of jeans at any given moment. i wear them every day until they disintegrate and fall off my body as tattered rags. then i begin the painful task of finding a replacement.

cut to: me at the diesel store.

part of the reason my jeans disintegrate is that my pockets are always stuffed with 1.) keys, 2.) wallet, 3.) chapstick, 4.) listerine strips, and 5.) cell phone. also, sometimes loose change and other miscellaneous necessities (such as a selection of herbal teas or emergen-C vitamin packets). these items tend to wear through denim faster than a blow torch, and you can only patch the same area so many times. well, i'm told diesel jeans are particularly durable and -- although i feel like all of them fit my body like a.) a cardboard box, or b.) underwear -- i have determined to give them a shot and see if they are in fact longer lasting than other preferred brands.

so basically i try on three different styles -- putting each style on at least 3 or 4 times. and FUCK YOU DIESEL for putting the mirrors in the common area and leaving them out of the dressing rooms themselves so that EVERYONE IN THE GODDAMN STORE knows how obsessive i am. (and yes -- we are all bright enough to know that it forces customers out of the dressing room and into a more salesperson-interactive shopping experience, thereby guilting us into more purchases.)

anyway, i finally settle on a style, then repeat the process of "this one or that one?" to determine which size i like in this particular cut. they are a slimmer fit than i'm used to. and after spending my life savings on a pair of jeans i don't even know that i like, i spend the next several days asking everyone i encounter if they are too tight, if they look like girls' jeans, and if i look like a russian figure skater. (i used to wear russian figure skater jeans -- rather fitted, large boot cut, dark denim and bleached on the thighs and ass...scary stuff. maybe okay at the time, but no longer a look that is right for me...for anyone?)

now. when i say "russian figure skater," i am thinking of someone very specific. but i use the generic term, just because i figure i'm the only person who knows the reference.

well (i know you're really involved in the story now -- stay with me)...i'm at a holiday party where i meet ms. ana matronic of scissor sisters fame. we're saying hello and talking about random music stuff and mutual friends when my tourette's kicks in:

"okay i have to ask you guys something. do you hate these jeans? do they look like girl jeans?"

ana & jared: "no, they look fine" "i like them" etc.

jay: "okay, so i don't look like a russian figure skater or anything?"

ana matronic: "omg no, don't worry, they're totally not oksana baiul jeans"

[...]

omg

omg

oksana baiul

how much do we love ana matronic for reading my mind?

well apparently fucking oksana baiul is still a world-reknowned disasterpiece. appparently i'm NOT the only one who remembers CNN profiles of her clubbing in st. petersburg under smoke and strobe lights in a fleur-de-lis print plastic catsuit. and apparently my new jeans don't resemble her trashy fantasticness (perfect for her and i love her for it...not what i'm going for, however).

speaking of plastic, why do diesel jeans have this weird plastic-y shit on the inside of the jeans up near the pockets? it's this like really sharp coarse shit that scratches and cuts up your leg when you walk. like...invisible razor blades. my fucking diesel jeans have basically carved holes in my legs. the outside of my thighs are full out bleeding! i feel like that slutty lady-in-waiting who put on the queen's poisoned dress by mistake so she could roleplay as queen elizabeth while getting fucked by joseph fiennes. i don't blame her, i'd do it in a second if that's what he wanted.

oh and as long as we're obsessing over legendary female olympians from the former soviet union, does anyone else remember tatiana gutsu (a/k/a "the painted bird of odessa") or svetlana fucking boginskaya, "the belarusian swan"?????


just me? oh. um. forget i said anything.