Today for work, I dressed up as a witch. You see, we have this costume contest every year, and every year almost no one dresses up, so they either don’t give away the monetary prize, or they give it to the moron who wore a baseball hat and claimed to be a baseball player. “Not this year!” I said to myself. So I put on a black skirt, a black shirt, and green-and-black striped tights. I grabbed my pointy witch hat, and rode off to work.

Halfway to work, I remember that one of the people in my office has a bumper sticker that reads “my other car is a broom.” I don’t really know what this means, and not wanting to open up some weird can of worms, I haven’t asked. But in my car, halfway to work, dressed as a witch, it occurs to me that my co-worker may be a Wiccan, and I may be 10 minutes away from committing a gross act of religious insensitivity.

The girl was not at work today, and I have not yet been fired for religious intolerance, so I think I’m okay. Also, by some weird fluke, SIX people dressed up for the costume contest, all with costumes more elaborate than mine, so I did not win. Do you think peoples’ willingness to throw dignity out the window and put themselves on display in the cafeteria during lunch for a $50 prize reflects the general state of the economy? I think it probably does.

Do you care that I had leftover Thai food for lunch? Hopefully not, but that’s the reason I blog–to tell you things you never knew you cared about. I had leftover Thai food for lunch, and it was one thousand percent better than the South Beach-friendly salad that I usually have for lunch. Yes, I have gained 4 lbs. since my European vacation last month, and yes, the pair of pants I bought this weekend are a teensy bit too tight, but there was leftover Thai food in the fridge, and I was gonna eat it, goddammit.

This weekend, I visited my new best friend, Filene’s Basement, and I spent the 3rd Quarter bonus that I’ll be receiving next month. Pre-emptive spending, I call it.

I also discovered the “petite’s” section, which is an area I have never before ventured, for fear of dressing like my 4-foot 10-inch grandmother, godresthersoul. But as it turns out, black dress pants are black dress pants, even in the petite’s section, but in petites, the black pants aren’t 6 inches too long. And in the petite’s section, you are allowed to have a waist, even if you wear a size 12. Normally, clothing manufacturer’s assume that if you are so GIGANTIC that your pants size is in the ::gasp:: double digits, you must have a beer-belly and love handles. The result is that most of the time my pants resemble those really big pants that clowns wear, out of which they pull trained poodles and such.

Anyway, I love Filene’s Basement, because I can spend $300 and not feel guilty about it, because if you add up all the “manufacturer’s prices,” I actually got $750 worth of merchandise for JUST $300. “That’s it?” I ask myself. “Just $300 for all that designer merchandise?” It’s like stealing. Shoppers remorse sucessfully avoided.