the reds stand out

today:
i was wearing a pair of jeans i'd bought NEW 6 years ago. they are now tattered and full of ass-holes but i thought "i can pull this off" and jauntily strolled downtown. it wasn't until about an hour later, waiting at a particularly sketchy bus stop, that a man approached me after i'd properly disposed of my cigarette.
"excuse me" he said "but you have some holes in your pants."
"yeah, i know" i said, and then, automatically (why?), "i'm sorry."
"because when you move you can see... your body" he continued.
"only if you look" i said. and i said it fast. fucking impressed myself. he was not a puritan older man. he looked like snoop dogg's shorter twin. but it wasn't until i was on the (random, let's-have-a-field-trip-inanity) bus, sitting down, that i realised how MUCH of my ass was actually hanging out. i mean, wow. and i was wearing a g-string. obviously to everyone i passed, in retrospect. i offset it, i think, with the fucking orange sweater and argyle socks.
felt like a fucking whore. and not in a gleeful way.
went to the thrift store for impromptu replacement pants. i tried on several. jeans are a difficult thing for me to buy. they are always too short and too baggy. i had to find something- my ass was hanging out- so i bought a completely unsexy pair of FUCKING BELLBOTTOMS. levi's calls them 'bootcut' but no- and paired with my fucking hair and the aforementioned orange sweater, i look like a fucking asexual stoner. and if i pull them up where they're supposed to be, they're still too fucking short. but they are very comfortable, cost only $7, and someone else already took the time to splatter paint on them. i handed my virtually assless jeans to the disgusted saleslady at the thrift store, after baring the tag near my navel (on the new pair, that i was wearing) for her scanner. "they're clean" i assured her of the rejected pants. it wasn't until i was walking away that i realized how fucking foul that must have seemed to her.
on the bus ride back i stared out the window at professional women getting off work, walking purposefully down the sidewalk in dresses and heels, hair styled, perhaps en route to meet preppy lovers in buttoned shirts for sushi and drinks- women, undoubtedly, with clean sheets and name-brand shampoo, actual credit cards, vehicles that smell new, a regime of both toothpaste and mouthwash- women who have cable and hairstylists and actually pay money for birth control because their income dictates it.
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this was my environment as i wrote this:

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memorial day weekend at work was insanely busy. it was satisfying. i work with some pretty fucking great people. it helps.
tomorrow i turn in my enrollment forms for massage school. i have had my schedule revisions cleared by my job; barring any fucked-up complications, i start in july. the enrollment wench was palpably giddy over the phone. "awesome!" she squealed. "i am so excited for you!" and i was on the other end, grinning like a fool, saying "yeah, i'm excited too."
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the establishment i am typing at is playing "the jack"- second only to 'ride on' as my favorite ac/dc song.
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'...and who knows what else?'
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in one week i will be in new orleans. i have oversaturated my brain with all things big easy and am currently reading about, in turns, southeast asia and kenya. lamu, kenya sounds fucking amazing.
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caring about another person makes all the edges sharper. i noticed that this afternoon. everything looked incredibly beautiful and bright and poignant, and i wanted so badly for him to be here to see it, at least to tell me i'm overdoing the treacly bullshit...