underwear shopping is the devil

 I got my hair cut. I have a fohawk now.


in other news...

 justin and i went underwear shopping the other day. 
i was in serious need of some new threads. 


i generally have a rough time trying to find real underwear.

 

i'm not entirely opposed to thongs. they have their purposes. i'm just not a fan.  

victoria secret is like walking into a giant pink hell.

everything sparkles. 

and it smells like cheap baby powder perfume. 

everything in that store that would normally go on the lower half of my body has something plastered across the ass area. 

having "player" written across my ass in rhinestones doesn't really have the appeal to me that it might to snooki.

in an effort to avoid "billboard butt" we ventured into charlotte russe.

the underwear bin was a disastrous mountain of lacy 50% woven cat hair horror show.   

i rummaged through the plexi glass bin until i was too degraded to keep treasure hunting for incredibly itchy underwear with neon tiger stripes and sequins.   

all i want is a reasonable pair of underwear. 

 while i was digging through the cluster fuck of bargain bin cheap-o's i pulled out a neon orange g string. 

it was too much. i gave up and left the store.

creepy.