Look Who's Stalking Now!

I think I’m going to take up stalking. (If a certain auburn-haired Treasure Valley pharmacist’s assistant feels an urge to comment on that, keep in mind that I was acquitted (technicality or not, I was acquitted) and that any public statements you might make about me may be viewed as defamatory. And call me!)

I’m considering this due to a realization that I had yesterday: I’m running out of clothes. This epiphany occurred after I had stopped in for a tasty beverage after work yesterday, and, while perching myself atop my barstool, happened to notice a certain “wardrobe malfunction,” as they say. I didn't think too much of it; being … less than socially adroit, let’s say … I’ve experienced far more embarrasing moments than realizing that my zipper was undone. Far more.

WAY far more.

I stood up (with the bar providing cover for my maneuver), and, as nonchalantly as I possibly could, so as not to draw the attention of the comely server, who already seems to have an abundance of reasons to laugh at me, reached down to rectify the situation.

“Uh oh …” I thought myself, as I realized that the problem was not one merely of undonnage, but of breakage. “And on the one day I decide to go commando! I thought UN approval was needed for a no-fly zone! Ha ha!” Fortunately, I had a jacket with me, and a strategic placement of it afforded me the opportunity to drink my draughts without derision (well, aside from the normal mockery from the comely server).

Ok, back to the stalking: most of the clothes (if we exclude Hawaiian shirts, all of the clothes) that I own have been given to me by various romantic interests. For some reason, women seem to want to have some input on what I wear, especially were we to be going out in public. For years and years, this puzzled me (were they afraid that if I dressed myself I’d be so smokin’ hot that other girls wouldn’t leave me alone?), but yeah, yeah - I get it. I accept it, ok? No, I cannot dress myself in an acceptable manner. There. I said it. Happy now?

So given my complete lack of fashion sense, and my sudden realization that holy mackeral, I’m running out of clothes!, it would seem prudent to find a significant other. And not being one to dream small, I think it’s now time to act on my long-held passion for the enticing seductress rocker Juliana Hatfield*:

Above: See you soon, Juliana (though you won’t see me, at first …)

So if any of you out there have any tips or pointers on how best to go about this, please let me know in comments. Is that Twitter thingy good for this? Do I limit my phone calls in which I say nothing for several seconds before hanging up to certain hours of the day/night? Has that bunny thing become too cliché-ish at this point? Help, people! It’d be nice to lay down a foundation before driving across the country to hide in the bushes outside of her house.

I hope she likes Hawaiian shirts!

* The uncyclopedia entry for her at that link is some funny shit. I highly suggest reading it!