If the clothes make the man

I just walked by a large mirror in my apartment, and made the mistake of looking into it, at what I am wearing:

• my old, large black lounging-around-not-leaving-the apartment glasses
• a spring/summer black robe covered in cat hair (thank you, Lilly)
• Guinness string sleepwear pants (again, with the cat hair)
• no socks
• blue slippers that are falling apart
• and a white t-shirt with a hole in the collar, with picture of a green iguana crawling across a print of a pocket (bought over a decade ago in some Salvation Army Store)

Apparently, I have given up all hope.

My Cube Went to Chicagoist...

and all I got was this AWESOME T-shirt!!!

Hell Yeah.
Finally, all those years of watching porn created a sort of Method Acting/Writing which paid off; I became the man in the story.

And then I did a little dance, again.


(I'll now be telling the ladies I am a professional blogger; I mean, a t-shirt is a form of payment, no?)

(that's right; I am a dork)