Stolen Clothes and Nostalgia

This is the 3rd move that I have experienced in my adult life, and it holds true that there comes a point proceeding each-and-every one of these moves that I am forced to rummage through my dresser and "chuck" clothes that do not fit anymore or that have fallen out of style. As I dug through the mountain of clothing that my ama (maid) had dropped at my feet several moment prior I realized that I have stolen a shit ton of clothing from people. I tugged at each and every piece of clothing, extended my arms, and stared at it from a far as if a gorgeous painting covered every inch of the material. My memories laid bare...in a pile of stolen clothing. I decided to make a list of the clothes and the memories that go alongside.

Garret Field's Boxers

The Marquette "broskies" that may end up subscribing to this blog have probably heard legends of young master fields, but that of course is a completely different tale, a tale that, honestly deserves a separate blog to do it justice. These boxers do more than conjure images of fun times spent along the bro that helped me through a tough freshman year at Marquette; these boxers conjure up images of sexual escapades, byproducts of my raging teenage libido, perhaps the reason that my mind immediately travels to these risque moments is the presence of four massive holes in the boxers. In fact, the "flap" and entire groin have been completely torn off. As are the memories they conjure, these holes are the byproduct of my raging teenage libido and other's over excitement *chuckle*. I suppose that the majority of you are eagerly anticipating further explanation, but the role of this blog is self-expression, not self-pleasure.

Alex Beck's Boxers

These boxers are covered in artistic depictions of tropical beverages and flora, perhaps they had been given to me as a gift, but my memory cannot seem to recall and in the end that distinction is completely irrelevant. These boxers conjure up memories of times spent alongside my bestfriend, my brother, the person that has been most instrumental in pulling me through these first couple-of months in Hong Kong. I am sure that there have been far more interesting memories in these boxers. In fact, I am almost positive that I lost my virginity in these boxers, but I cannot help but remember moments spent on long strolls through Foxpoint chatting about problems that, in retrospective, seem so trivial, yet so significant. I remember one particular stroll late at night, my 2 best friends on either side of me, I imagine the three of looked a strange sight. What reason do 2 teenage boys and a 6'2 man have strolling about the neighborhood at 2 o'clock in the fucking morning?! Turn off the damn flashlight!! I assume the three of us had been chatting about our girlfriends or lack there of, yet all I can remember is an all engulfing happiness as the cold pressed against us. A happiness bred of the belief that nothing could go aery, that life couldn't be more perfect. I suppose its strange that a pair of boxers could create such nostalgia.

Daniel McConeghy's Favorite T-Shirt

I do have memories in this T-Shirt, but not the strength to put them on paper. In the end, I suppose its more intelligent to thank this boy for attempting to pull me, kicking-and-screaming, through these first couple-of months and apologize for not only stealing his favorite t-shirt, but moreover, for scorning his attempts at helping me and demonizing him for his honesty. I am sorry, I truly am.

Cameron Graff's Volcom Athletic Shorts

I stole these shorts approximately 5 months ago as I attempted to scrape together an outfit for my 4th straight day in Cedarburg. I could barely think because of the crippling exhaustion and my stomach ached as I heard Mrs.Graff screaming "Pancakes!" I couldn't take another moment of anticipation. She made the best pancakes. I'd been 2 seconds from dropping the towel and running through the house. Not my house, but the house of one of my dearest friends, butt naked just to get my hands on a couple-of pancakes. Suddenly I snapped back to reality and realized that to be an atrocious idea. I grabbed the shorts out of the closet, tossed on a shirt and careened down the stairs. I don't remember the rest of the day, but it probably progressed along the lines-of most days in Cedarburg. Thats not to say that days in Cedarburg remained the same every moment of every day, but each day seemed to move along in a certain blissful pattern. The 2 of us sat around for a couple-of hours as Cameron begged for me to leave because he had an "insanely busy day" but more often than not, he'd spend the day around me. Then, someone tended to come and pick me up, and thus be forced to entertain me for a couple-of hours, but I'd like to believe that that one special person that picked me up EVERYTIME loved to be around me, as I loved to be around her. The day passed and as the sun fell beneath the tree-line I'd struggle to find a place to stay. Heaven. Home. The one-place I can be me.

There are more stolen articles of clothing and many more memories to tell and perhaps another installment may come along, but at the moment I feel sleep closing in, as I remember those days of happiness, those days I miss so dearly.