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2005-11-23 @ 12:27 a.m.
how my good hair day, caused men to talk about the size of their grinches


Ever have one of those days where your hair is so incredibly awesome looking that you feel like calling a news conference? I had one of those yesterday. The fervor over my evil, yet somewhat seductive kabuki eyebrows has finally waned, so when I blow dried my newly shorn hair straight yesterday, it fell so perfectly that I probably could have gotten into a Kennedy family reunion. I was psyched. I didn’t even look like a hippie anymore. I looked like one of THEM. One of the yuppie Villagers. I mean the only thing missing was...

  • The Bluefish jumper
  • The Sterling Silver Celtic Earrings
  • The highlighted hair
  • The dermabrasioned skin
  • The Enya collection
  • The Passat
  • The nice house with wide plank wood floors
  • The I-Mac computer with 79 gazillion zabillion giga-bytes
  • The Big Screen TV with 300 pilate tapes
  • The personal Masseuse named Lars
  • The sensitive, yet incredibly masculine, yet incredibly humorous, yet incredibly serious, yet incredibly loving, yet incredibly sexually adventurous, yet incredibly filthy rich, yet incredibly humble husband named Fenton Teagarden.

    Yup, all that stuff was missing, but at least my hair looked good. And really, isn’t that all that really matters when you’re a woman?

    Its so rare that I feel even faintly confident, so when I do, it becomes such a huge overblown event, that I’ll suddenly go forth and start flirting with just about anything with a penis. I think its a bipolar thing. We tend to do things in excess. So Monday at work, I walked into our meeting and three men from our department were already sitting there and I pretty much picked them off, one by one.

    Now they weren’t real outrageous flirts. Just little ittybitty ones. Like our one good looking young African American man just casually mentioned how warm it was in the conference room. He said if it got any warmer, he’d have to strip down to his boxers. And before I knew what was flying out of my mouth, I was suggesting that maybe we should turn the heat UP, so that he would in fact HAVE to Strip down to his Boxers. Oh Dear! Bad witty. BAD!! And he’s only about 22.

    And then another guy said he had won a Good Looking Guy Contest and I said that I had not only voted for him, but had also nominated him as well.

    And then poor “J” felt left out I think and wanted me to look at a cat scratch on his hand. A big mean kitty had scratched his hand and he needed consoling. I’ve been informed by “A”, that I shouldn’t be doing anything with “J” since he’s one of those married types, so I was good and just acted as a concerned coworker and left it at that. Because I definitely don’t want a repeat of Married Guy. Fortunately those two couldn’t be further apart on personality.

    I did get drawn into a conversation later about whose “Grinch” was bigger....”J”s or another male co-worker’s. Huh? I told them, I probably didn’t need to get involved in that conversation, although it did seem to have been created in my honor. Two men wanting witty to dream and fantasize about the apparently extravagant length of their Grinch. How festive!! Because why else would two straight guys be talking about their Grinches in an office hallway? And what exactly is a Grinch anyways? Anyone?

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