SILS: Lazy Sunday

I know I talk a lot of shit about Sunday, but again, that’s because it truly sucks. However, this Sunday will be particularly sweet because I have really outdone myself by finding everything necessary to be more of a hermit than even Ted Kaczynski.

Häagen-Dazs Reserve Series: Fleur de Sel Caramel ice cream:

My favorite ice cream used to be Häagen Dazs Dulce de Leche. Sometimes, if I really feel like dying, I’ll go to the Häagen Dazs shop and order a Dulce de Leche milkshake, which probably clocks in at around 2,000 calories or, if you like, “I give up”. However, the Fleur de Sel has a special place in my artery clogged heart because a hint of salt + chocolate + caramel made straight from the Lord’s milk = the only way I will ever squirt during an orgasm. This ice cream truly has it all, and as a bonus, the empty container is a perfect place for the tears that inevitably follow after I realize I’ve polished off an entire pint in one sitting.

Victoria’s Secret Tissue Tee:

Look, I’d love to shop at American Apparel and gaze upon my collection of neon colored V-Necks while patting myself on the back for being such a humanitarian. Really, I would. The fact of the matter is, Dov Charney is a fucking pig and more importantly, every time I try to step foot into one of their establishments, I am bombarded with asymmetrical haircuts, purple jeans, and a lot of talk about how the Arctic Monkeys are like, so 2006. Instead, I prefer to overpay for cotton t-shirts at Victoria’s Secret. I stumbled upon these one day when I was shopping for new lingerie, and since VS lingerie can sometimes be uncomfortably infantilizing, I opted for the t-shirts. This worked out for me because as it turns out, my nipples were just as visible through the shirts, and I didn’t have to deal with a series of buckles, clamps, and detonators.

Gilligan & O’Malley Boy Shorts:

I don’t wear underwear, ever. It started in eighth grade because my Hanes Her Way weren’t doing me any favors, so I thought that if I let my labia air out, I would finally get a boyfriend. This never worked, most likely because the smell of desperation was somehow stronger than the pussy that marinated my jeans. Despite the fact that I’m always free balling, I have amassed a surprisingly large collection of underwear with the intent to wear them with dresses or skirts. No dice. Instead, I reserve them for sex or to wear around the house, and in both cases, they are quickly discarded. However, a recent trip to Target has ensured that my snail trail will no longer be spread on every piece of furniture I own. I was attracted to Gilligan & O’Malley’s boy shorts because they’re soft, seamless, and cheap. Oh, and they don’t ride up my ass unless I want them to. My only complaint is that they’re not crotchless, but then again, I suppose that defeats the purpose.

The Body Shop Satsuma Body Polish:

Sitting around in your underwear and eating ice cream all day can make you feel, well…a little like Roseanne. Since this needs to be avoided at all costs, I shower with Satsuma Body Polish because it means that I will be softer than a bag of marshmallows and smell like an orange grove. Afterall, it’s hard to feel disgusting when you’ve essentially turned yourself into the makings of fondue.

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