From an outside perspective, my grandma is probably a hoarder. I mean, nothing that's dead in her freezer was ever a pet, but there is scary meat in there, along with pierogis in there from three or four Christmases ago, at least. One time I found a can of coconut pie filling in her pantry that was older than I was. I think I was 23.
I mean, she's clean! It's not the dirty kind of keeping everything. She's hygienic bonkers. And I feel like it's OK for me to say that because she doesn't have Internet, and because she does give some stuff away. Like clothes. To Poland.
For some reason, my grandma is constantly sending clothing "to Poland." Nobody in the family knows where. If they're relatives, or some kind of charity or if Poland has in place some kind of cash for gold situation in which she's getting far under MSRP for the 8,000 or so BONGO sweatshirts she's mysteriously managed to acquire over the years.
Where are they going!? I never see these things being mailed! For all I know she is actually putting them in a box marked "POLAND" with no postage and setting the thing on the porch, where the mailman who is secretly stalker-obsessed with her takes them anyway so as to wear her old clothes with a Julieanne's Grandma wig in his basement while dancing around to "Goodbye Horses."
Anyhow, now, whenever I have clothing I'll never wear that isn't chichi enough for one of those fancy consignment stores (nothing I buy is chichi enough for fancy consignment stores), I think, "Eh, maybe I'll send it to Poland."
Take, for example, these Urban Outfitter black cutoff jorts that I impulse bought and immediately lost the receipt for.
Why? Well, I'm an idiot. But I once saw a series of pictures of Shelly Duvall walking with Robert Altman, wearing a pair of high-waisted jorts. These are the kinds of reasons I buy things, friends. SHELLY DUVALL.
I have never seen anybody wear them really sensationally well who doesn't have a Shelly Duvulcan (ahhahahaha) figure, but I'm sure it's possible.
For some reason, I thought they'd look great on my hourglass, maybe because there are pictures of ladies in the olden times wearing high-waisted bikinis? I don't know. It was dumb. But now I own them and they were sort of expensive, for jorts, and I can't figure out what the hell to do with them.
Today is laundry day so I'm actually wearing them, along with a thrift shop shirt that says "I Went Down on Hilda the Hooker" that I thought was hilarious. I have never had the balls to wear either out of the house.
I feel like dumpy sex Urkel and yet I really want to make them work. I'm slumping in the picture because when I wear them, I literally become physically deflated by life. I also carry weight in my fanny pack area (I have one of those navel bagels), which is fine but in these shorts -- I don't want to say I "look somewhat pregnant" but that they are just not flattering.
Maybe these are just not a look people of my build can pull off. But if any of you has junk in the trunk and, uh, also in the hood and fenders and bumper, and has successfully pulled off this look, please let me know.
If not, they're going straight to Poland.