I Love Winning

Me: My uterus hurts.

Matthew: My face hurts.

Me: Is your face shedding giant chunks of coagulated blood?

Matthew: You win!

Why You Are Jealous of Me

I have new fall clothes. In the past few weeks, I have purchased:

1) One new pair of black boots with ridiculously high heels. Matthew, avowed feminist that he is, is confused by them. (Attracted. Repelled. Attracted. Repelled.)
2) One pair of brown slip-on Chuck Taylors.
3) One pair of the new wide pants. They make me look like a very small hobo. I may get a bindle and stick to go with them.
4) One pair of the old skinny jeans.
5) One pair of the ol' stand-by, brown corderoys.
6) Shirts, various, all black.
7) The entire stock of Kiehls.com. (It's going to be dry soon.)

Meanwhile, if anyone has any leads on a pick-up clothes donation service in Brooklyn, I would be so grateful. I have all these old pants lying around. Funny.

Coworker Dennis Puts It Succinctly

Me: So, how do we feel about the fact that a boy I went on one date with just wrote to me on MySpace to ask me to go to the Netherlands with him over Thanksgiving?

Coworker Dennis: Um.

Me: Yeah. Keep in mind that this one date? Was six months ago.

Coworker Dennis: 'No, I don't want to go to the Netherlands with you. I don't even want to go to another bar with you.'

The Plague

Everyone in my office is coughing.

Could be allergies. Could be a cold. All I know is that I spend half my day applying Hand Sanitizer to every visible surface and every exposed body part and the other half trying out the shivers to see if they catch and morph into a full-fledged cold.

The trouble with being a hypochondriac is that it makes you a giant jerk. Like, someone coughs and I think, "Oh my God. STOP. STOP. You MUST STOP ARRRRGGGHHH..." instead of, I don't know, getting them a tissue or whatever.

I've decided that the best thing to do is take a bunch of Benadryl and sleep until either allergy season ends or the plague moves on to the next village. Even though, as I explained to my pals at lunch today:

"Benadryl often makes me, you know..." I waved my hands in the air, to indicate jitters.

Everyone stared at me.

"Yes," I said. "It gives me jazz hands."

Mystery for the Ages

Why do all hairdressers want to cut your hair short?

I went to get my hairs trimmed on Thursday, and my lady sat me in a chair and fanned my hair out around my shoulders and then looked, sourfaced, into the mirror.

"Are you still trying to grow it?"

"Not exactly," I said. "I just want to keep it about the same length."

She blew her own bangs up. "I liked it short."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Well," I said. "I like it long and so does my fella. So - no offense - I think you lose."

It's a good point, right? Anyway, my hair's still long.

Fashion Week Is Here Again

Once again, I am blogging my little heart out for Fashion Week. I am very tired. Here's how tired: Earlier today, I called Max Azria "Hank Azaria." Fortunately, not to his face. Get serious. I'm in Standing Room.

Anyway, here's the link for your enjoyment and mockery.