Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.
It has been almost two weeks since my last blog post.
(Hey, you can take the girl out of the Catholic church, but you can't take the Catholic church out of the girl. Not completely, anyway.)
Lots has happened, "The Event"-wise, but I haven't had the time to process it all, and I worry that in my present state of mind it will be difficult for me to fully "find the funny," so putting a pin in all things Event-related for now.
In the interim, I am finding the funny where I can.
Ran into an interesting fellow when I was walking back to the office today after a short run to the downtown Barnes & Noble (where I procured three overpriced kitchen makeover magazines, each depicting EXACTLY ONE design idea that I wish to incorporate into the kitchen - totally stuck in my craw to shell out $20 for said magazines, but the three design depictions are, unfortunately, critically important to work going forward, and - since they are new publications - I didn't like my chances of locating the images on the Internet).
I didn't literally run into said fellow, which I realize now was a tremendous stroke of luck, given some questionable accessorizing choices that I will explain in the next sentence. Said fellow was wearing (I'll describe him from head to toe): a straw cowboy hat (questionable, given that it's after Labor Day, but we do live in the tropics); largish hoop earrings; dark aviator sunglasses; a tribal collar-style necklace; a tight navy t-shirt; a belt with a large, Western-style belt buckle; A KHAKI CARGO KILT (I cannot stress KHAKI CARGO KILT enough); and flip-flops. Said fellow was not in any danger of being taunted for his sartorial choices, because he was jacked. He looked, basically, like a wrestler. But not an unkempt wrestler. A Chris Jericho-type wrestler - the kind that cleans up well. It was pretty obvious that Said Fellow (that is now his name) conditions his long blond hair on a regular basis.
I had a camera with me - a good one, that takes good high-res photos. I so desperately wanted to snap one. But, since he was coming right at me, I could not for the life of me, at the spur of the moment, how to finesse that without being totally obvious. Also, while you have to assume that he's used to having his picture taken - that's the price of being freaky deaky - I worried about startling his older companion. Did I mention that he was walking with, I believe, his grandmother? She was all grandmother-y. I think that she was even wearing one of those housecoat-y dresses - but I'm not sure, because I was kind of all about looking at him.
Hmm. They were walking north on Throckmorton. Perhaps he had accompanied her to the Social Security office, which is located in the Federal Building a block south of us. But I digress.
Upon returning to the office, I updated my Facebook status to alert the general populace of the Fort to the existence of Said Fellow - and discovered that he was a known quantity to at least one of my Facebook friends, who had run into Said Fellow (again, not literally) at her local grocery store. Like me, she wanted to capture his image for posterity (and so that she could peruse the details of his ensemble in greater detail after the fact). Also like me, she couldn't muster the nerve to snap a pic. But we agreed that IT HAD TO BE THE SAME GUY, and she advised me of an important detail that I missed: when she saw Said Fellow, HE HAS A LIVE SNAKE WRAPPED AROUND HIS WRIST LIKE A BRACELET.
Here's the funny thing (well, one of perhaps several): when I saw him, my immediate response was, "OOH, he's wearing a Utilikilt." Not "WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?" but "HE'S WEARING A UTILIKILT." Because, on some level, my subconscious had retained the information that khaki cargo kilts are a known quantity. (In my defense, I am Scottish. Well, Scotch-Irish. Scotch-Irish-American, technically. And I married a half Scotch-American, so that makes our kids . . . never mind. Suffice it to say that the Anderson, Duncan, Mackenzie and Scott clans all claim us.)
THIS is a Utilikilt.
Please bask in its awesomeness.
There are various models of Utilikilt. Like the "Workmans":
I like the phrase "pants-loving wimp." Keeping that one in my pocket (which, sadly, is not a Utilikilt pocket). Reserve the right to use it if/when the contractors and I don't see something eye-to-eye. (Wouldn't that be awesome? Tempers are getting heated, and I whip out, "Pants-loving wimps!" Total game changer. Or game stopper. I can hear the needle-scratching-against-the-record sound in my head as I type the words. "Did she just call us PANTS-loving WIMPS? WHAT THE HELL DOES THAT EVEN MEAN?")
There is also a "Tuxedo" model - because, to quote the Web site's ad copy, "There ain't nothing classier than a fine Tuxedo model Utilikilt for that special occasion."
Amen, brother. And, also, did you notice it has "tails"?
This was in the right-hand margin of the Utilikilt Web site:
This scared me. Was it serious? It sounded too . . . arch . . . to be serious. But I worried about clicking on it. So I didn't. If you visit the Utilikilt Web site after reading this post, and if you are brave enough to click on the "Referral Program" box (which, on the bravery scale, I would put just below "photographing kilt-wearing Chris Jericho lookalike as he is walking across the street"), please do provide a full report.
Thank you. Carry on with your day.