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I had a couple conversations yesterday with my friend Amanda (aka The Cap’n). Rather than paraphrase it, I will just post the first part of it (since it was an online chat) and then dictate the second portion.

The Cap’n: i was my own comedy routine..it was terrible
The Cap’n: grey was trying to get in the garage all morning..ran out 2. second time i went to get her and i was in the middle of the garage
The Cap’n: this HUGE (i think pregnant) mouse come running out from behind a board and she went chasing after it, growling
The Cap’n: it ran right at my leg. so i naturally did the only thing i could think of
The Cap’n: i started screaming and jumping up and down
me: ha
The Cap’n: grey was chasing the mouse and i was screaming like a girl
The Cap’n: i realized the house door was open so i jumped over and slammed the door shut..afraid to look again
The Cap’n: i guess she chased it back behind something ..i finally coaxed her back in.
me: close call

I got a phone call last night informing me that the invader had been apprehended and that she might have, in her panic, fingered the wrong suspect.

This, ladies and gentlemen, is what huge, pregnant mice look like in Missouri.

I quit my job on Friday. Not in the fun “hey screw you pal I don’t need this job I QUIT” way of quitting that I’ve always wanted to do. Just the boring, non-bridge-burning “just so you know my last day is in two weeks and it has been a pleasure to work for you” method. Not really any fun there, but it gets the job done and keeps me from looking like an effhole.

Have you ever broken up with someone who thought things were going swimmingly and then when you tell them that it’s over, they look like they couldn’t be more surprised if you had turned into a leprechaun just before you told them? Neither have I. But I bet that’s pretty similar to how things went when I told my bosses I was quitting. Although with the job thing, I don’t have to worry about coming home anytime soon and finding all of my clothes out on the front yard.

So today I embark upon a two week pleasure cruise of sitting here doing as little as possible because none of it matters at this point anyway. One could make the argument that I’ve been sitting here doing as little as possible for the past couple years and I wouldn’t argue with them. But now I have a point on the calendar that I can look at and say to myself, “It doesn’t matter how much or how little I do, because I have gainful employment established for myself after this point.” You know how they say that most people work just hard enough to not get fired? That’s where I’ve been for as long as I can remember, and I am looking forward to dialing it down a notch or two for the next fortnight.

As much as I’ve been wanting out of this job, you always run the risk of going to a new place and despising all of your new colleagues and coworkers. Interesting employment note: I have not worked with any women in almost eight years. That’s about how long I’ve been working for construction companies, and there just aren’t many women in the industry. I’m sort of hoping I can step into my new position and be the new office hunk. Sorry, ladies of the office, I’m taken.

My girlfriend asked me awhile back why guys bother wearing underwear if they’re just wearing boxers, and I honestly don’t know. I’ve been a boxer dude since shortly after I left high school. I like the extra room and breathability afforded by boxers instead of briefs. It’s like living in a studio apartment and moving into a townhouse.

But given that boxer shorts really don’t provide any support whatsoever, why do I bother wearing them in the first place? Every now and then it’s nice to go out with an “unfurnished basment,” which feels only slightly different than going out with boxers on. I’ve only been able to come up with a few reasons so far. In no particular order:

• they offer privacy protection in the event that I were to get de-pantsed
• the offer physical protection between one’s genitals and the zipper of one’s pants
• they are often somewhat stylish, which could be an important factor when disrobing in mixed company

As Tony Kornheiser would say, “THAT’S IT! THAT’S THE LIST!”

Let’s not forget about boxer briefs, the semi-ridiculous amalgamation of two radically different styles of underwear. I’m pretty sure the only reason these exist is to keep you from looking like an idiot if you want to wear briefs. They might also help prevent wedgies (but not zwedgies).

So I guess to answer my own question (or my girlfriend’s, as the case would seem to be), I don’t know why I wear them. For some people, such self-realization might spark a change in behavior, and in this instance such an act would not be entirely without benefit. I’d spend less on clothes and would have less laundry to do. However, I tend to subscribe to the “if it ain’t broke don’t fix it” when it comes to a lot of things, so I shall be changing nothing.

Except my undies on a regular basis.