Unapologetically Mundane

You’re Only as Badass as How Far You’re Willing to Get Out of Your Car

plumpdumpling — Thu, 09 Jul 2009 14:06:50 +0000

I was coming out of Grand Central the other afternoon on my way to Kamran’s apartment, crossing to the south side of 42nd Street, when I noticed a businessman on a bike yelling at the cab driver behind him. They were stopped at the red light, and the bike rider was turned around, one foot on a pedal and one foot on the ground, yelling over and over, “Get out of the car!” He had his suit pants rolled up to expose his dress socks pulled to mid-calf and his leather briefcase strapped to his back. The cab driver was leaned back in his seat, hands gripping the wheel, yelling out his open window, but I couldn’t understand him. A driver in a car to their right leaned out his window, looking confused. Everyone on the street watched them, waiting to see what would happen when the light turned green.

I stopped at the corner to wait, and as expected, when the cars around him started moving, the guy on the bike just stood still, foot still planted firmly, looking smug. After maybe five seconds of this, the door of the cab behind the bike rider flung open, and a blonde girl about my age leaned out and yelled, “If you don’t move, I’LL MAKE YOU!” But then, you know, she sat back down and closed the door. Evidently feeling as if he’d proven his point and knowing that plowing over bikers is an everyday occurrence for cabbies, the biker started moving, weaving in and out of cars as he made his way leisurely across town.

And that’s why I ride public transportation.

(also posted to Examiner)

A Fruit by the Foot Commercial for the Ages

plumpdumpling — Wed, 08 Jul 2009 13:33:17 +0000

While watching our favourite Canadian teen drama, Degrassi, from noon until 8 p.m. one day last week while I was visiting Ohio, Tracey and I luckily captured this Fruit by the Foot commercial on her DVR:

It’s sort of the worst recording ever, but the hilarity of the commercial cannot be diminished by screen lines or weird camera noises. Am I right?

The Bus Driver Who Saved My Life (and by that, I mean 75 cents)

plumpdumpling — Tue, 07 Jul 2009 14:02:15 +0000

To welcome me back from a week away from the Internet in the great barren plains of Ohio, you can politely click on the link below to read a story about how one man changed the course of my entire day:

The only nice person in New York City

Poop of Love

plumpdumpling — Tue, 30 Jun 2009 21:17:59 +0000

Kamran and I get a little too excited when we jinx:

And now I’m going to Ohio to see the 4th of July fireworks!, because inexplicably, New York fireworks suck. And these things matter.

Why Reco Will Be “The Fashion Show” Fan Favorite

plumpdumpling — Mon, 29 Jun 2009 14:05:10 +0000

In last week’s episode of “The Fashion Show“, there was a situation where the contestants were asked to use famous designers from the past as inspiration for a new piece of their own. Anna from Brooklyn had won the mini-challenge at the beginning of the episode and was given the opportunity to choose which contestant had to use each of the famous designers, and my favourite (and favourite to hate) designer, Reco, felt slighted by her choice for him. The following resulted:

I only tell you this so you’ll understand when this quote comes out of my mouth in every other sentence:

My pimp friend Mike Lowrey tells me this is old hat, but he did teach me another phrase, “out of pocket”. He says it means “out of control, which leads to a ho getting pimp slapped (a super backhand smack from a pimp usually done with the strength of Thor).”

You’re welcome.

A Fruit by the Foot Commercial for the Ages (8)

Michael Jackson is Dead, and My Blog Has the Best Post About It

plumpdumpling — Fri, 26 Jun 2009 15:13:49 +0000

You think you’re upset about Michael Jackson’s death?

Kamran’s the upset one. But he took a break from his rage long enough to think of the greatest newspaper headline for the situation: Jacko’s Cardiaco. OH! Score!

And now, in remembrance, a song that’s actually only great because of one of the other brothers’ solos:

My Body Resembles a 1950s Hairstyle

plumpdumpling — Tue, 23 Jun 2009 21:00:03 +0000

I don’t know if I can fully express my love for beauty products. I’m, like, the least-girly of anyone I know–I have no idea how to apply foundation, and I couldn’t pluck my eyebrows if I tried–but there’s almost nothing I like more than buying lotion, lip gloss, and body wash. I like it to the point that I can try a product, totally hate it, break out in hives or contract HIV, and still buy it in another scent or flavor just in case.

Naturally, this means that I’m a sucker for anything new I see. Nevermind that being new likely means it’s not been tested on enough humans for everyone to find out that it causes cancer. Lately, I’ve been obsessed with the idea of the new Vaseline Cocoa Butter Vitalizing Gel Body Oil, but the thought of that gel inevitably hardening underneath my fingernails bothers me. But yesterday, while browsing the aisles of CVS, I found this, the CVS Continuous Spray Cocoa Butter Body Oil Dry-Touch:

I tried it for the first time this morning, and it’s amazing. It glides on as if it was hairspray, people. And it smells like cotton candy, according to Dr. Boyfriend. It is not, however, dry touch. Maybe I just used too much, but there’s still a wet ring of it around the base of my neck. Not that I’m complaining, because I keep messing with it and making everything on my desk smell like cotton candy.

Actually, come to think of it, this would be a great way to repel creepy men in the subway: the more I resemble an oil slick, the grosser it is to rub up against me.

A Fruit by the Foot Commercial for the Ages (8)

Kevin Van Aelst

plumpdumpling — Mon, 22 Jun 2009 13:43:00 +0000

Kevin Van Aelst is a New York/Pennsylvania/Connecticut artist who Kamran introduced me to last week. Kevin is a nerd, is not afraid to show it, and makes me very happy. To start your week off right, here are a few of my favourites:

One Heart Beat

Hawaii

Apple Globe

The Brain

And now you can go view the rest on your own and tell me your favourites.

Ping Google Reader

plumpdumpling — Fri, 19 Jun 2009 15:33:38 +0000

If you’re like me, you obsess over the fact that Google Reader doesn’t update itself often enough to include your newest blog entries the moment you write them. I scoured the Innanet to find a solution but couldn’t see anything official. Here’s a great workaround, though:

1) If you’re using FeedBurner FeedFlares for things like displaying a link to comment on your feed (which you should be, OMG), you’ll want to make sure it’s aware of your latest post by pinging FeedBurner.

If you’re not using Feedburner (fool!), skip to step 3.

2) Give it anywhere between 10 seconds and 30 minutes, because pinging Feedburner only works about half of the time.

3) Bring your feed up on Google Reader and click the Refresh button right above your text.

Voila! Your feed will be updated for all to see, and you can go back to being obsessive-compulsive about something else.

It’s Best to Claim Your Bodily Functions

plumpdumpling — Thu, 18 Jun 2009 17:10:53 +0000

Nearly every single restaurant in NYC delivers for free, which means that on Saturdays and Sundays, Dr. Boyfriend and I pretty much refuse to leave his apartment and secretly have disdain for friends who attempt to coax us out. So last weekend, we were heading downstairs to pick up our delivered Thai food in his building’s lobby when the elevator stopped at a lower floor. Just as the doors opened, the young Asian man waiting outside let out a very audible burp.

He didn’t excuse himself or anything, so I said, “We heard that!” Because, you know, it’s not like I could pretend it didn’t happen. He just continued to stare at the door and didn’t acknowledge me in any way.

When he rushed out at the ground floor, Kamran held me back for a moment and asked me incredulously, “How could you embarrass me like that?!” I was shocked. Embarrass him? He wasn’t the one to hardcore burp and then just casually slip into the elevator like the reeking fumes of his body gas weren’t surrounding us all.

I thought that acknowledging the burp would actually lighten the mood. When someone calls you out on something, it gives you a chance to turn the joke back around on yourself, right? And it’s not like we caught him raping a cat or something here. It was a burp!

So who’s right here–Kamran or me?

For Your Enjoyment

plumpdumpling — Wed, 17 Jun 2009 14:38:41 +0000

Here are my two favourite things in the world right now:

1) My latest Examiner article, which begins:

In my experience, there are two kinds of subway riders: everyone else and me. Everyone else does this cute little thing–since they somehow believe it more important for them to get to work than it is for me–where they squeeze into the only available square inch of space in front of me on the subway platform–neverminding the fact that there’s a good chance the train is going to swipe off their ties and/or faces–just to be at the front of the jumble of waiting people. Instead of standing off to the sides of the doors to keep traffic flowing, they wiggle into the space clearly marked on the floor as the area to keep clear for exiting passengers. They insist on being first into the car, even if they’re getting off at the next stop and will therefore have to push past everyone they ran on ahead of in order to exit.

Now go read the rest and earn me my penny.

2) This LiveJournal entry by topsyturvytown, which made me laugh so much that I insisted she unlock it so non-LJ people could enjoy it as heartily. If you don’t find yourself linking several of the pictures to your friends, I don’t understand how we could know each other.

Big Apple Barbecue 2009

plumpdumpling — Tue, 16 Jun 2009 14:35:34 +0000

Hey, whoa, I actually just posted on donuts4dinner.com.

It’s the tale of my trip to the Big Apple Barbecue Block Party this weekend and includes some super-sexy mid-eat photos. Mmmmmm.

More Lost and Lonely Leftovers

plumpdumpling — Mon, 15 Jun 2009 15:08:47 +0000

Yesterday, Dr. Boyfriend and I were walking around 2nd Ave. between 23rd and 34th Streets, delighting ourselves with the culinary wonders of the weekend street fair (warning: jankiest website ever), when we spotted a pickle vendor. Neither of us have sampled many of New York’s pickle offerings other than the full sour and the half-sour, so I suggested we try something new, but as we approached the tent, we were dismayed to see that they were only being sold by the pint.

We passed by pickleless then but found ourselves standing outside a bakery stationed directly behind the vendor later just as one of the sellers lobbed off the bottom half of a pickle and attempted to land the top half in a trashcan. He didn’t watch to make sure it actually landed in the garbage, though, so Kamran and I were the only ones to see it bounce off the rim and roll onto the sidewalk at our feet.

And thus, an addition to my abandoned food page was born.

Renegade Craft Fair 2009

plumpdumpling — Thu, 11 Jun 2009 14:38:57 +0000

Our friend Emily introduced my friend Beth and me to the Renegade Craft Fair last year, but I had absolutely no money at the time and bought only a $2.50 ice cream cone (which is what ice cream should cost) and an $8 plastic strawberry necklace (that broke on me after the second wear, but nevermind that).

This year, though, I brought stacks of cash with me and was ready to do all of my Christmas shopping like Emily does. But instead I bought only things for myself.

A pair of houndstooth button earrings for $5 from Cherry Red Boutique that I happen to be wearing today.

An Abe Lincoln pendant from traveling rhinos for $25 that I thought was pretty much the greatest thing at the fair and told the guy at the booth. He agreed and said he couldn’t believe it wasn’t the first thing sold.

A pair of silver hot dog earrings marked down from $12 to $7 also from traveling rhinos, because I’m always buying hot-dog-related items for Tracey and decided it was my turn.

And this amazing, amazing wallet from 31 Corn Lane that lists for $25 on their site but sold for $10 at the fair. It has a life-changing amount of pockets, and I’m sad I didn’t buy one for everyone I know.

Everything was so cheap, right? But that’s because I didn’t buy a $90 sterling silver deer necklace like Beth did or a $110 hat like Emily did. But the hats were pretty cute, right?

Beth Looking Very 1920s

We were walking around with these giant margaritas, and about halfway through them, Emily and I agreed that they must not be very strong, but by the time we finished them, we were able to talk each other into buying anything. I even bought something for Tracey that was more expensive than anything I bought for myself and everyone agreed didn’t even make sense. And then, of course, there was the mad dash to the restroom area, followed by the mad hunt to find a porta-potty that still had toilet paper:

The craft fair was about 100 times better this year than last, because it was in McCarren Park rather than in McCarren Park Pool. In the pool, all of the booths were lined up perfectly, and the sun was beating down on the concrete, and we were generally miserable. In the park, the booths were sort of willy-nilly, and we got to walk on grass, and everyone was generally delighted.

Don’t Call It a Netbook

plumpdumpling — Tue, 09 Jun 2009 17:54:14 +0000

Ever since the great Mac-out of February ‘09, I’ve been thinking about having a second computer just in case my Mac ever truly dies on me. I didn’t want to spend the money on a new Apple when I barely spend any time on my laptop, and I didn’t want to own some clunky ten-pounder that would be too much of an eyesore to enjoy using.

And then I found this:

The Dell Mini, a 10″ beauty with a faster processor, more RAM, and more hard drive space than I have on my 12″ Mac. And this envelope case, which tells the world how much I love letter-writing despite my 3000+ unread Gmail messages.

It’s so tiny that I can carry it everywhere and so self-important that it won’t notice when the big laptops make fun of it every afternoon at Starbucks. I haven’t actually, you know, turned it on yet or anything since receiving it on Saturday, but I know I love it just from its glittery finish.

I Got Dragged to Drag Me to Hell

plumpdumpling — Mon, 08 Jun 2009 18:52:52 +0000

I was forced to see “Drag Me to Hell” on Saturday night because my friend Beth and my dear boyfriend both wanted to see it, and I couldn’t very well allow them to go without me and risk Beth pretending to be scared and jumping into Kamran’s lap at the first sight of some old lady puking embalming fluid into Alison Lohman’s mouth or something.

I, to say the very least, don’t choose to see horror movies. I was talked into seeing “The Mothman Prophecies” in college and still hear voices coming out of the sink. I was talked into seeing “The Strangers” last year and, um, basically can no longer function as a normal human being. And yet my last two boyfriends have been major horror freaks. Only the last one was kind enough to watch his movies while I was away at work, while the current one seems to delight in forcing me to watch “House of 1000 Corpses” over and over again.

So naturally, I spent most of “Drag Me to Hell” with my chin tucked into my chest to ensure that I wouldn’t accidentally see something horrific with my peripheral vision. After the opening scene in which I actually jumped and then laughed for five minutes straight out of nervousness, I thought it best for the other patrons that I not look during, say, the entire parking garage bit. The great thing for me–but maybe not for people who actually like to be scared–is that the music in the movie totally lets you know when something terrifying’s going to happen. And the one or two times when it doesn’t let you know, you’re left applauding the director for fooling you. And I was glad for those few times in the end, too, because it meant that I had to watch at least a little of the gore. When I did, I realized that the movie was mostly just shocking, gross, and over-the-top rather than pee-your-pants scary. I didn’t think the plot was bad at all, either, and there’s a lot to be said for that.

There’s also a lot to be said for the theatre where we saw the movie, Village East Cinema. It seemed to be fairly modern from the outside, but there were old-fashioned box seats on the sides like you’d see in an opera house, and this was on the ceiling:

Now if only ticket prices could harken back to that era.

BFFs in o-HI-o

plumpdumpling — Fri, 05 Jun 2009 18:12:09 +0000

One of my writing professors (and a member of my senior thesis panel), Michelle Herman, wrote this really excellent book called The Middle of Everything that’s supposed to be about motherhood but is actually about best friends and how terrible life is when you don’t have one. It’s been years since I read it, but I thought about it last weekend while I was home in Ohio visiting my family and my best friend, Tracey.

When I moved away to New York without really so much as asking her what she thought of the idea, she should’ve given me up. If I’d been the one left behind for some stupid city she’d visited only twice where she only knew one person and didn’t have a job waiting for her, I first would’ve cried my eyes out and second would’ve deleted her number from my cellphone. Instead, Tracey sent me postcards and packages and called me and let me call her eight times a day all through that first year when I was so poor I could only visit, like, once.

Now that I’m toooootally rich and visit all the time, we pretty much spend all of our minutes together playing with her cats, watching TV marathons, visiting the one high school friend we still care about (inflammatory!), and eating all of the chain restaurant food you can’t get in NYC. Which is how it should be with best friends.

Highlights from my very short trip this weekend include trying on the tiniest purple fur vest at Forever 21 on our way into the premiere of Up:

and making this video that will only be awesome to us and our friend Eric Leath:

Imagine life without that.

When Adult Diapers Come in Handy

plumpdumpling — Thu, 04 Jun 2009 18:13:23 +0000

Having been raised on a Midwestern farm, wanting to be polite is a natural part of my personality that I have to really fight sometimes in order to keep myself from getting mugged, raped, and murdered. So when I saw a man about to sit on a puddle of water in the bus today, I couldn’t help but stop him. And the woman after him. And another man after him.

I suppose the window had been left open all night, and a spot of water about the diameter of a baseball had gathered in the butt groove of the seat in front of me. The cloudy sky kept light from bouncing off of it, so it took the unnatural obsession with not sitting in gum, body fluids, and spilled coffee of someone like me to look hard enough to see it.

At the next stop, more people filed in, and as the bus was starting to fill up, the empty row in front of me became too enticing, and a middle-aged man in a casual business ensemble practically dove to plop down in it. I winced at having not been able to say anything about the water and waited for him to notice that his rear end was soaking and to jump back up. I felt all of the people I’d warned not to sit there watching him from behind me.

But he just settled in with his newspaper to enjoy the ride. Sadly, I had to get off the bus before he did, so I didn’t even get to enjoy watching him stand up later, pants dripping.

(also posted to Examiner, Facebook, my Gmail chat status message, anywhere you are likely to be driven insane by it)

Unjunked

plumpdumpling — Wed, 03 Jun 2009 21:33:31 +0000

When my company decided about a month ago that my boss–the president until we were acquired by a larger company–wasn’t needed any longer, I offered my immense catalog of services to our marketing department. Mostly so I could attend marketing seminars and steal all of the SEO info for my blog but also because I’m a supremely motivated individual. Who didn’t want to lose her job because no one could figure out what she did anymore without the president around.

In this time, the marketing department has allowed me to use my writing skillz to send out a couple of branded e-mails to our customers, inviting them to events and reminding them that the best place to spend money in this time of economic disaster is on luxury software. And in this time, I’ve also found out that bigtime executives who don’t care about my invites and reminders do this fun little thing called unsubscribing.

Which is something I’ve never even considered in my many years of Interneting. I buy all sorts of things online and inadvertently get signed up for every mailing list in existence, but I’ve always figured that’s what junk e-mail addresses are for. The other day, though, I signed into my junk mail address and unsubscribed from all of the mass mailings I get. All of the offers on my favourite underwear from American Eagle, all of the daily temptations from Amazon.com, all of the NRA propaganda my dad signed me up for and laughed about later.

And it feels amazing. I like unsubscribing so much that I’ve started unsubscribing on my work e-mail, too. I’m starting to become one of those super-indignant people who’s like, “Bitch, did I not send you an unsubscribe request yesterday?! GET ME OFF YOUR LIST!” My former life with a spam-filled inbox just seems so childish. I really feel now as if I have the power.

And now I’m off to tell FreshDirect to take their 10% off e-mails and shove them.

Public Bathing is Better Than Public Urination, I Suppose

plumpdumpling — Tue, 02 Jun 2009 14:31:21 +0000

I’ll admit that it was well after midnight when I spotted this sign in the Union Square train station, but even if my brain had been functioning at normal daytime levels, I’m pretty sure my first thought would’ve been the same.

I imagine there’s some sort of equipment behind the door that can’t get wet, but all I can picture is so many homeless people inexplicably bathing themselves outside of this particular door that the MTA had to put a sign up to discourage it.

(also posted to Examiner)

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