H&M pants

Last year some time, I purchased a size 32 pair of dressy pants from H&M. I wanted to support H&M's movement into dressy territory. But it was something like 80 bucks! And, when I got the pants home, they didn't fit! I decided to punish myself with the pants, and I started dieting. Today was my first time wearing them, and they fit okay now. I work across the street from an H&M, and I briefly debated going in to the store, asking for the manager, and then telling him the whole saga. But I figured it would be too time-consuming. And the manager might ban me from the store for life, like the manager of the Phoenix bar did.



I used to sleep around with Nick Snider, the current "face of H&M," but it never went too far. He had limited interest in talking to me, and talking is what I like best about the fellows. I mean, I can sex it up with the best of them, but if there's nothing to say afterwards, my mind goes blank. But I follow his tweets now, and he seems to have an interesting interior emotional life. I worry, actually, that he's losing his mind.



And I used to date this fellow Joshua who worked at H&M Corporate. But he lost interest in me after I had a conversation about diseases with him. Someone told me later that they saw him featured in a Time Out New York dating feature. I laughed about it - ha! You couldn't pay me to advertise myself as a "single" looking for love in Time Out New York. But he was a good kisser, and a good kid, and I hope he's happy.

That's pretty much all I have to say about H&M.

Punishment shirt

Are you like me? Do you buy shirts one size too small to punish yourself for being fat, and then unsuccessfully try to diet your way into them? Well, I finally lost enough weight to fit into my "punishment" shirt, a red, striped affair from Rogue's Gallery. Next, I want to try to fit into that blue dress pant from H&M that I bought last year. It's a size 32, so I didn't know I'd be punishing myself with that one. But apparently, H&M pants run very small? Who would have thought?

Anyway, I wore my newly fitting shirt to the movies with Alia H. We saw "Terribly Happy." I thought I was going to love it when the cat said "goodbye," but ultimately I thought it was misogynistic. I asked Alia to take a picture of me, but the pictures kept making me look fat. She told me to spread my arms out, to look thinner, so this picture is of me looking thin and gay. Look at me! I'm about ready to fly out of the movie theater! But I like what the camera did to my eyes.

Love: the debate

I went to a panel discussion on love last night at the Algonquin. Two of my authors were on the panel, Ben Greenman, from the New Yorker, and Simon Van Booy, from outer space. Also on the panel were the unbelievably adorable Rachel Shukert, and queen of darkness Ariel Leve, whom I want to be my new best friend. (I don't think she'd have me, though). I was impressed with Ben's outfit - as he proved at the panel, he is a mildly sarcastic, intelligent, dark comedian - but he didn't feel the need to dress that way. Does that make sense? I mean, he could have come in in leggings or a tunic or in drag or something - he sounded like he was in drag. But because of his confidence in his message, he didn't feel the need to dress oddly - he kept it simple, with a navy blue shirt and black pants. I have a similar fashion policy. There's no need for me to have tattoos and piercings - I feel the piercings are part of my personality, and should be inferred. That's why I dress in muted beige tones, mostly.

I was saddened somewhat during the panel discussion, because it made me realize that, by Ariel's standards (and my own), that the only person I've ever really dated was Joshie Zerkel, twelve years ago in San Francisco. One romantic interest per lifetime - is that the usual formula for happiness? I remember taking him to the restaurant Stars in San Francisco for Valentine's Day. I had scouted it out the week before, assuring myself that the prices weren't too outrageous. Then, we got there on Valentine's Day, and they had, like, a whole new menu. (!) But that's history...

I was happy reading Ben's forthcoming book, though. It's called WHAT HE'S POISED TO DO, and like Ben's fashions, it toys with your perceptions a little. With that title and the cover photo, I was expecting it to be kind of raunchy. But I am finding each story to be a heartbreaking masterpiece - sort of a "Missed Connections" for the Charlie Rose set. In almost all the stories, letters are sent (sometimes postcards) or letters are not sent. I can only read one story at a time - to read them quicker would be to have the book end quicker. It's soooo sad - and it makes me want to write letters and not send them.

Hard decline

I walked briskly to Saks Fifth Avenue while on a smoke break at work. Saks had sent me a little $25 gift certificate for making all those unwise and ill-timed purchases last year, so I wanted to see if there were any bargains to be had. I snapped up this kicky little blouse by Nat Nast for just $38 (after the $25 was deducted!) What a steal! Unwisely, after that, I got a little excited, and decided to go and buy a bottle of Chanel Pour Monsieur to keep in the office. Unfortunately, my Saks card was declined for that purchase. The salesman even said "it's a hard decline. There's nothing I can do." I didn't know what to do with that information. My face began to flush with embarrassment, and I leaned in closer to the salesman and whispered, "Okay. I'm going to say to you what I say to all the salesmen when this happens. 'Give me back my card. I'm going to make a break for it.'" And then I ran away from the shame of it all, looking sharp.

Measuring tape

My crazy friend Babatunde came over last night to measure me for a blouse. (Of course, he measured me for everything, despite my pleas to just measure me for a top, but I think he just wanted to put his hand in my crotch. "Inseam measurement" - ha!) Babatunde told me that my waist was a "couture 36," but I produced several pants that disproved him. I'm a 32 waist, damn it! How could I possibly be a 36 waist? I'm 6 feet tall and weigh 165 pounds! (And I've lost 15 pounds since the New Year). I told him that his tape measure was defective.

Everytime Babatunde comes over, I have to practically call the police to get him to leave. Last night, he:

• indicated that he would be delivering me some "sausage" when he delivers my shirt in a week. I wisely declined;


• tried to haggle me upwards on his shirt-making fee, when I told him going in that my limit was $100. $100 for a blouse seems high enough, Babatunde! He must think my name is Money Mike;


• told me about some book of "tops and bottoms" he'd like to put together - this idea actually interested me, but I am completely ignorant about how to put together a fashion book;


• hugged me four times. :)

I can't wait to see how my first commissioned blouse turns out. And today is the first day of the Barney's Warehouse Sale, too! My fashion luck is changing - I can feel it.

Partners and Spade party

I went last week to a party at Partners & Spade. I forget what I was wearing, but I was in rare form. At one point, I went to chat up two cuties, but as I got closer, I realized that they were 12. I had fun chatting them up in a mentorly way, though. As it turns out, they were "recent" college grads (last May, I assume?) who were unemployed. They wanted to smoke pot with me, and didn't know who Jack Spade was. Two strikes! Well, one, at least.

At one point, my fashion nemesis, Joseph P., walked by and saw me chatting with the two teens - right as I was giving them my business card. (For a mentorly purpose, I swear! Plus, they were more into Kateri). Joseph gave me a knowing smirk and kept walking. I was so mortified! I had to chase after him and try to alter his perception of my conversation with the teens. I tried to make a circular pattern with my hand as I was talking to him, so that he would be hypnotized, and believe what I was saying.

I asked the teens how I could incorporate them into my fashion blog, and the cuter one said that his mother had just purchased him his blouse. So there you have it! That's all it takes!

Dressy party

I was at a party last night where practically everyone was better-dressed than me! It doesn't happen often. It was at the Pink Pony - I was surprised that this place was still open. And one of the guests at the party helps run the website where I bought the shirt I was wearing, even. It was a birthday party for the fashion designer friend of a friend, named Anthony. He was fabulous in a black sheath with some sort of polka dotted, ruffled pull-on - I want to get to know him better, and blog about his outfits. Plus, maybe he will teach me the correct fashion word for "pull-on."

I waited until everyone seemed to have arrived at the party, and then I dramatically left. I was walking towards the Bowery when a very handsome bum accosted me and called me "sexy." I was immediately drawn in to what he was saying, since it's been at least 9 years since anyone's called me sexy. (Although, in my youth, I was considered quite the great beauty - like Sophia Loren if she was a little uglier). Anyway, I noticed that the bum was carrying a huge bottle of liquor, and I realized that I should take his "sexy" comment with a grain of salt. He seemed to want a cigarette, and to touch me. I asked him to settle for just a cigarette. That's when he described an evening that he had in mind for the two of us to share together - complete with cocaine, a "bowl," and some E. Foolish, unbelievably handsome bum! It's the me of two weeks from now who has the cocaine. The me of last night just had Boniva.