Sorry, Mom. I took my pants off in public again.

I am among those many people out there who consider pants the enemy. Maybe not the enemy in a "Hummer" way or a "the knowledge I will never have sex with Scarlett Johansson" way, but more like someone you work with who annoys the holy hell out of you but you know you have to see every day.

That (coupled with the very human desire to see disrobed strangers) is why I jumped like a frog-kangaroo hybrid when I heard about Improv Everywhere's 2009 No Pants Subway Ride.

The goal of the mass prank is simple. From New York to Chicago to Seoul to Atlanta (24 cities in nine countries), people gather and ride the local public transportation train pantsless. You don't act the fool. You don't make a big deal about it. When someone asks what's going on, you calmly explain that you forgot to wear pants that morning.

Awesome. And as a person with a strong track record of appearing nude in public, I was all over this.

I only managed to wrangle one friend into joining me (I know it's cold, that's the whole POINT of doing this in January), but I think it went pretty damn well. I forgot the camera, so there's no pictures, but I think sparing you my knobby knees and muscular thighs (it ain't all bad) is probably a boon in this case.

There were 130 of us who gathered for the Chicago leg of the pantsless ride. Not bad, until you consider the 1,200 to 1,500 who joined NYC's ride. The event started in the Big Apple in 2002.

And yes, it was cold.

Here's how it went down:

After a nice morning of waking up at a friend's apartment, stealing the last of his leftover pizza and picking up some stuff I needed for my new part-time job, I drove up to Evanston to pick up my pantsless accomplice and head to the funeral home parking lot Facebook named as the gathering spot.

We get there and there's a large crowd of happy, giggling people. It's snowing, it's cold and, no, we're not pantless yet. We're waiting, we're talking, we're checking each other out and making mental notes of who we would really like to see sans slacks. The instructions are given, the crowd is broken into groups and we head off to the Red Line Granville station.

The plan is outlined: Each group is assigned a specific car of the train. My friend and I end up in the back car.

Pairs of two are assigned specific stops (ours is Berwyn). Before the stop, the pair assigned to leave calmly removes their pants ("As if you're at home," the organizers said.) and then leaves. We stand on the platform to wait for the next train and then get in the same car (back car in our case) and ride to Monroe, pantsless.

Hilarity ensues.

My friend and I get on the train. We sit, gab and wait for Bryn Mawr, the stop before our pantsless journey begins.

We sit. We wait. The train pulls into Bryn Mawr and then out. Finally, the godawful CTA voice tells us our stop is coming. I look at my friend. She looks at me. Silently, we stand and take off our pants. Then we disembark at Berwyn. Doors open on the left at Berwyn.

How do I describe the feeling of standing on an El platform in January with no pants?

Cold, for starters. Very cold. Not the type of cold where you start shivering and say "Brrrr." The type where you don't really shiver because the cold is so cold it starts to feel hot as the skin cells start to crisp and flake off.

It's the type of cold where a breeze is a welcome commodity because it makes you realize sensation still exists. It's the type of cold where you realize what those groups of old people who jump into lakes on New Years are on about. It's so cold it actually feels pretty good.

We're just one of many pantsless riders standing on that platform (two per car, remember?). I do think some of them were weenies for huddling under the platform' s heat lamp like so many pantsless Quarter Pounders. Me and my friend were hard-core. No heat lamp for us, no sir.

(Personal favorite moment: A man carrying cross-country skis down the sidewalk below stopped to take a photo on his cell.)

But then the train came. My friend and I were giggled with anticipation. We were rock stars. We were pantsless wonders. We would shock and awe the world with our underwear-y glory.

The train pulled up and we strode inside to see ... the group leader and a couple other pantsless riders.

Here's the thing. If person A is on train A and gets off at stop A to catch "the next train" and person B gets off train A at stop B to catch "the next train," it's the same next train

That was the intent, I guess. Some poor fool would be on the train and be forced to witness as more and more pantsless wonders boarded. But it was early afternoon on a snowy Saturday. There weren't that many people on the train in the first place.

Maybe it was because we were in the last car. Maybe the organizers should have chosen Friday night rush hour. There were some people, more and more as we approached the loop. There were reactions and double-takes, but I wanted more.

Mostly, it was people being pantsless around other pantsless people, including that stupid, loud, middle-aged lady who kept talking to everyone and whooping up how awesome it was to be pantsless. Way to blow the joke, Springer-bait.

(That's right, lady. I'm referring to you specifically. You were loud, you were stupid and I hate you.)

There might be an interesting psychological trick at work here, but either way, I discovered something. If you pretend to be bored on the El for long enough, you end up actually bored on the El.

Mi amiga and I engaged on a long conversation of the type of inanity often overheard on trains. "Wanna get lunch later?" "Sure. What are you in the mood for?" "I dunno. I could use some coffee." "I'm not a big coffee drinker." "I've noticed that. Why is that?" "I drink a lot of coffee at work." "Really?"

And our conversation (which included the longest exchange about Cincinnati-style chili I have ever had in my life) continued. We just weren't wearing pants.

Some of the looks we got, some of the questions, some of the double-takes were priceless. Other people just saw a large group of pantsless people, thought, "Oh. Bunch of people riding the train pantsless." and went on with their lives as planned.

Although, walking back to the funeral home parking lot after the adventure was complete, I did realize why it was better that all the pantsless people ended up on the same train -- no one even gave my friend and I a second look. In fact, an angry bum kept trying to get spare change from us. No comment from the hobo on the pantsless.

Many people walking around in their underwear is a mystery. Two people in underwear looks like a racquetball game just ended.

No one's going to look close enough to realize something is askew.

"Wait a minute. Those shorts are boxer, not workout! My preconceived notions are blown!!!"

Did I have fun? Yes. Did I decide that really this just means I could legally remove my pants on the El any time I wanted, even if I don't have 129 cohorts? A big yes.

You keep an eye out for me. I'll be the guy with a smile on his face, a giggle on his lips and muscular, muscular thighs.

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