Tag: pants

Don’t bother reading this.  tl;dr: I am fat and pants are stupid.  Okay?   Just stop here.

I have, as anyone who has been around here before is already aware, been effectively out of work since October and genuinely out of work since January 4th.  Before anyone bothers to tell me: I am aware that I should probably be getting some exercise, and the fact that I’m struggling with depression right now is not a fucking excuse.(*)  But one way or another I have spent the last several months as a full-time writer, or at least a full-time-sit-in-front-of-the-fucking-computer person.

Also a problem: I have been hungry constantly for most of that time.  Like, all day, every day.  That might be a side effect of my medication; I don’t know.  But it’s a fact:  I’m ravenous.  Constantly.  I could eat six meals a day and not even blink at it.

You may have an idea where this is going already.

For most of the last several years I have been wearing 38 x 29 jeans.  Specifically, I’ve been wearing Wal-Mart’s Faded Glory brand.  In fact, that’s virtually the only reason I’ll set foot in a Wal-Mart.  Why?  I can find 29-inch inseams at Wal-Mart.  They’re fucking rare, I tell you.  Inseams like to be in even numbers, and 38 x 28 jeans don’t fucking exist.

Also: I wear jeans when I’m not working.  Only and solely jeans, carpenter cut, because they have the side pocket for my phone and are roomier.  I loathe khakis and would no more wear them when I wasn’t at work than I would wear a tuxedo.  I also tend to wear jeans for a couple of days in a row unless I spill something on them.  Go ahead, call me a slob; I don’t give a fuck.  They’re more fuckin’ comfortable on day 3 and nobody needs to do that much damn laundry.

ANYWAY.  Somehow, a week or two ago, I took off a pair of 38 x 29 jeans at the end of the day before going to bed, because they were getting musty, and in the morning no other pair of jeans in the house— and I own several pairs of identical jeans— would button.  Cursing and gnashing my teeth, I put the musty jeans back on and went to Wal-Mart.

Wal-Mart didn’t have a fucking thing in a 29 inseam.  In fact, they only had one pair of pants that were 40 x 30.  So, after hitting a second Wal-Mart, I went into full “fuck it” mode and bought one pair at 40 x 30 and one pair at 42 x 30.  Note that other than the measurements they were the same fucking pants, same brand, same cut.

The 40s only barely fit, when I’d been wearing 38s when I bought the 40s.  That wasn’t the worst thing, though.

This, somehow, is what a 30 inch inseam looks like– on BOTH pants– when a 29 inch inseam fits me perfectly:

Those motherfuckers are cuffed by at least three inches.  Walking in these in the damn house without shoes on is fucking ridiculous.  And it’s both pairs, meaning that mislabeling seems highly fucking unlikely.  Again: same brand, same cut.  The 40s fit eventually but the 42s were a little more comfortable, and fuck it, I don’t mind my pants a little baggy.  I am too old to give a fuck about the fact that I’m also probably too old to wear my pants the way I do.

But I cannot deal with cuffing my pants like I’m nine and wearing my older brother’s hand-me-downs.  And I’ll be fucked if I’m taking Wal-Mart jeans to a goddamn tailor, either.

I did something that no one should ever have to do: after searching around on Amazon a bit I ordered some 42 x 29 carpenter jeans.  Now, these were Lees, not the Faded Glory pants, but again: a 38 inch waist fit me last fucking week.  42s should be a damn no-brainer.

They just showed up.  It took me ten minutes of truly asstastic contorting and fuckery to get the goddamned things buttoned– yet now that they are the pants don’t feel tight, which doesn’t make any fucking sense at all.  Also, I’m still using the same belt and the same underwear size I’ve been wearing for forever.  My boxers claim to be a 34 inch waist.  My belt is, I think, a 44-incher.  Yet my pants have expanded by six inches overnight.

Oh oh oh and also these do have the side pocket typical to carpenter jeans, but it’s too small for my fucking phone.  I have hope that it’ll stretch out but right now nothing doing.

Here’s the new inseam:

Fucking perfect, in other words, despite supposedly only being an inch shorter than the other two pairs of jeans.

There is, by the way, no way that I’m aware of to increase my waist size any longer without giving up and going Full Sweatpants, because 44 x 29 does not appear to be a thing that exists anywhere.  I am terrified of what’s going to happen once I have to put on a pair of dress pants for an interview.

Fuck pants, is what I’m saying here.

(*) And before anybody jumps my ass for that:  It isn’t an excuse for me.  And I’m talking about me, not you.