Head Over Heels

This is Grinnell, Iowa, my hometown,
Where my family and all of my friends live.
But I'm not there now.
I'm here.
New York City.

Home to eight million people,
roughly half of whom are men.

Which means half of the city is genetically
predisposed to lie to the other half.

You see, I'm the woman who has the world's
worst judgment in men.

I know what you're thinking.
You might think that you do,
but you don't. I do.

My grade-school boyfriend,
Tommy, left me for...

someone with boobs.
My high-school boyfriend,
Charlie, left me for,

Well, someone who didn 't have any boobs.
Amanda. This isn't what it looks like.
But that's all behind me now.
I have a great job restoring paintings
at the Metropolitan Museum.

I'm in the Renaissance art division,
Where the men are easier to deal with.
There you are, handsome.
So there's this new hottie upstairs
in 20th-century sculpture.

She is so sweet, and I swear I'm gonna be gettin'
all up in there, and I'm gonna be--

Lisa, you are crossing the sharing boundary again.
But seriously, we have to put in for transfers.
Renaissance is a dead end.
We're gonna end up like the menopause triplets there.

What? Hmm?
I don't think I could ever leave Renaissance.
I would miss these paintings way too much.
I mean, they're just so romantic and--
- Shit. Here comes old man Rankin. Look busy.
- Oh! Rat farts!

I am busy.
Help me look busy.