Monthly Archives: July 2008

The Robin Hood of Rudeness

Filed under fun times on the subway, living in new york sucks so hard, my uber-confrontational personality
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I got to Grand Central a little late yesterday morning, and there were a few too many people crowded on the platform. I took my place behind them and pulled a magazine out of my bag to take my mind off the heat and, you know, my loathing of all New Yorkers, when this girl not much older than I am walked right up and crammed herself and her giant duffel bag into a space in front of me that should’ve fit no more than a quarter of her. I let it go for a moment, not wanting to break a sweat, but when the train pulled up, I realized I wasn’t going to get a spot if I didn’t act fast. So I took one step to the side and one step forward and then outright pushed the girl back to make room for myself. She let out a huge scoff, I half-turned my head and smiled in victory, and she moved to a different line of people to try her luck there.

Later at work, I called a deli to order food for a training class that was taking place in the office and asked, “Can you have it here no later than 11:45? I won’t be available to sign for it after that.” The woman assured me it was no problem, and I got a call from the deliveryman that I should come to the lobby and sign for it at 11:44. Pleased that they were true to their word, I imagined myself thanking the guy for his promptness and giving him an outrageously large tip. But when I got downstairs to the lobby, there was no one there. And I realized that the guy had called me a few minutes ahead of time, figuring it’d take me a while to get downstairs, NOT REALIZING THAT I HAD A LUNCH DATE 80-SOME BLOCKS UPTOWN AND NEEDED TO ACTUALLY LEAVE ON TIME. So when he arrived, I didn’t smile politely, I didn’t thank him, and I slashed that tip to a shell of its former self.

Then yesterday evening, I was walking toward the exit of CVS when this very large woman stepped right out in front of me from a side aisle. She was wearing a huge orange tunic that screamed, “I am fat! Pay attention to me!” I sped up a step to pass her, but she cut me off and then walked as slooooooooooooowly as possible down the aisle, listening to her iPod and pretending not to notice that I was patiently waiting for her to git goin’. Finally, she stopped and turned to look at something on one of the shelves, and I took my opportunity to rush past her, being careful to brush against her bag and sort of push it off her shoulder. She said, “Jesus!”, but I kept on walking in my seersucker dress, swinging my white leather clutch and generally feeling superior.

But then I left the store and thought, Maybe these people don’t see me as the Robin Hood of Rudeness that I am. Maybe they don’t understand that I’m robbing from the rude-rich and giving to the rude-poor. (Namely myself.) Maybe they think I’m just being plain obnoxious like I think they are. Maybe they’re trying to teach me a lesson.

But surely not, right?

Controlling What Comes Out of My Bum

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I used to be the lactose tolerant-est. I was raised to think there’s no point in eating a meal if you don’t follow it up with ice cream for dessert, that Dannon’s Fruit on the Bottom yogurt provided great surprises at every turn, and that chips simply don’t exist without nacho cheese. For the first 23 years of my life, I drank a glass of Nestle’s Quik for breakfast every morning, and to this day my dad still does, first stirring it loud enough to wake up everyone within a mile radius and then drinking it spoonful by spoonful.

During my last year of college, though, I cut out most of the ice cream so I could at least pretend to want to be healthy and started drinking soy milk because my family farm makes a pretty penny off soybean sales. And now I’m f-ig lactose intolerant. For a while I didn’t put two and two together, but now I recognise that the moment I put the smalled bite of /eks/ frozen yogurt in my mouth, I’m a burblinggurbling gas machine.


My co-worker who goes on week-long colon cleanses where she poos ten to twelve times per minute tells me that adults aren’t meant to process milk and that I should give it up, but I think that’s a load of horse hockey, and I’m now on a mission to make myself lactose tolerant again. I’ve been reading up on it, and apparently you can re-train your lower intestine to grow the right lactose-processing bacteria if you drink a little bit of milk several times a day. 1/4 cup at a time with food, they say.

I’m pretty pumped about the possibility of getting my life back, of not having to ask myself, Is this cup of dulce de leche Haagen-Dazs worth a day of nonstop flatulence? But while I’m working milk back into my diet little by little, I suggest that, um, you think twice about sniffing near my bum.

From the Poo to the Empire

Filed under creepy boyfriend obsession, jobby jobby job job, living in new york is neat
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My boyfriend, Kamran, recently moved from a regular, old associate office into a partner office at the law firm where he does patent whatnot, and late Saturday afternoon, he took me to work to show me how far he’s come.

From the old days in a dark little office where things like this were par for the course:

to this:

The glory! The majesty! Looking out upon the Empire State Building as you write patents and litigate the hell out of anyone who so much as coughs in your direction–that’s how you know you’ve made it!

But even now that he’s sittin’ pretty on top, Kamran will always be a physics-experiments-in-the-lab-lovin’ kind of nerd:

Congratulations, hotstuff.

The Strange Things You Find in Your Local Bodega

Filed under it's fun to be fat, narcissism
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My best friend Tracey pointed this out to me on her visit a few weeks ago, and boy, am I glad she did.

Everyone knows that nothing makes food taste better than a smattering of JOYOUS MELTED CHILD.

Super-Sexy Dance Party!

Filed under all of my friends are prettier than i am, par-tay
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In honor of my very first New York City friend moving back to NYC for the summer after leaving us for grad school in Santa Barbara last year, I bring you . . .

An Entry I Meant to Post Months Ago but Totally Forgot About Yaaaaaaay!

Meredith was throwing a dance party at her friend Jordan’s apartment and asked us to bring a mix CD, because Jordan had been robbed twice in one week and was re-building her music collection. Boyfriend Kamran and I were on a huge Phil Collins kick at the time (and at all times), so we thought we were being soooooooooo hilarious by bringing a CD full of our Philfavorites. But they ended up using an iPod dock instead of the mix CDs and only people we didn’t know showed up, so after making all the film-related conversation we could with one of her friends, we started to feel a little like this:

For posterity’s sake, I tried to make it look like I was a part of the group and having a great time

but eventually we gave up on pretending and secluded ourselves in one corner with the iPod and plastic cups full of straight Malibu rum, and things took a turn for the better. Especially when we discovered a cabinet full of delights such as


and then decided that if no one else was going get down, we’d have to make up for it:

Worst video ever? But I love when I say “really get into it!” and then continue the same totally lame dancing.

Meredith finally took notice of our awesomeness after that and had to come over for some scintillating conversation

but then we left, because we didn’t want to be around when Jordan’s apartment got broken into for the third time.