In keeping with a theme:
Half of my clothes are missing.
I dropped them off at the laundry yesterday, and when I picked them up last night, half of them were not there.
The people at the laundry don't know where they might have gone. "We have a system," they told me.
With all due respect, fuck their system. I want my clothes back. My shorts and my tshirt with a metallic gold lion on it and my many buttondowns and my shirt that just on Friday a guy in a bar liked so much he wanted to touch. You just don't cavalierly lose shirts that make people want to touch you. I mean, hel-LO.
Michael says there must be a conspiracy to keep me nude. He's probably right, and while that's certainly flattering, come on now. Seriously. I fucking want my fucking clothes back.