Thank God for Victoria Secret's new line.

This past week I got my 3 inch heel caught in the cuff of my flair pants at the top of my stairs and consequently fell down my stairs, flinging the stupid potluck Diet Pepsi I was forced to bring all asunder. My journey continued down two or three stairs. Everyone's reaction when asking why I'm walking like an old man is to laugh uproariously. Everyone. Thanks assholes. I'd hate to see your response to your baby dying of SIDS. I bet it's a real America's Funniest Home Video moment.

That same day at work, I noticed a draft and looked down to see a gaping hole in the crotch of my pants. This was probably a result of tumbling down the stairs. I wasn't wearing underwear, cause I hadn't done laundry in approximately ever. Oh man, what a sick feeling. I'd just returned from the office waffle breakfast party, and now I was sitting in a circle with my coworkers discussing our Christmas plans. The voices around me became a dull roar in my head as I contemplated just how many people had seen my vagina in the last two hours. My estimate is that it's far more than I'd ever shown it to on purpose or ever will again.

My Christmas plans were quickly altered to "drink self to death." It has not yet been realized. Shooting for New Years now.