Category Archives: good times at everyone else's expense

In Your FACE

Posted by plumpdumpling on February 19, 2010 – 12:00 pm
Filed under good times at everyone else's expense, living in new york sucks so hard, my uber-confrontational personality
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Last night on 42nd Street, a girl in green velvet pants with patch pockets on the butt rushed by me, her tote bag full of Chinese paper umbrellas slamming into my messenger bag as she passed. I had purposely taken the uncrowded side of the street, so it was especially bothersome that she’d somehow apparently needed to be in the exact spot I was walking in. Two seconds later, she reached into her bag, and her yellow Vitamin Water popped out and rolled across the sidewalk. My gut reaction was to yell, “HAHA!”

Mentally ill?

The Heedless Gape

Posted by plumpdumpling on February 9, 2010 – 3:00 pm
Filed under good times at everyone else's expense, living in new york sucks so hard, my uber-confrontational personality, why i'm better than everyone else
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You probably know by now that I hate people who don’t conform to the sorts of etiquette rules that keep society running smoothly, such as waiting for me to leave the train before you enter and giving a friendly wave when I let you turn ahead of me in heavy traffic lest I ram my front end into your brand new BMW.

My big pet peeve as of late are people who walk on the wrong side of the sidewalk. I used to assume, to keep myself sane, that all of the people doing it were from countries where they foolishly drive on the wrong side of the road, but I eventually realized that it’s just a product of living in a city where there way too many people who think they’re too important to follow the crowd and leave space beside them for people to pass.

Kamran thinks I should give couples more leeway when it comes to taking up the entire sidewalk on some of NYC’s teeny streets, but he and I always make a single-file line when we see someone coming so as to not rub it in their face how happy we are holding hands as we walk to the grocery store and how pathetic and meaningless they are as unattached folk. But no. I do not give them more leeway. And I actually hate them more than single people on the wrong side of the sidewalk, because between the two of them, one should have the decency to move aside.

Anyway, I’ve begun implementation of a new method to combat the sidewalk-hogger. I call it The Heedless Gape. When I see someone coming at me on the wrong side of the sidewalk, I simply keep walking at my desired pace and look off into the distance as if I see something so fantastical and all-consuming that other passersby don’t even register with me. Eventually, and usually with an angry huff, the offender will move aside so I can continue on in gawking glee.

I’ve considered what will happen if ever someone refuses to get over, and I’ve decided I’ll just patiently stand my ground until the other person gives up. And you know he’ll give up before I do, because the one advantage to being a very unimportant person in a city full of important people is that I have nowhere to go.

Hey, not to make matters worse, but seriously, keep your hair off my toilet seat in the future.

Posted by plumpdumpling on December 3, 2009 – 1:35 pm
Filed under good times at everyone else's expense, jobby jobby job job, my uber-confrontational personality, politicking, potty mouth
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You may remember that fateful day a year ago in which I went to my favourite bathroom stall at work to find

THE LARGEST PUBIC HAIR IN EXISTENCE.

Well, today, I came out of my stall, and as I was washing my hands, a black woman from the office next door walked in, half-acknowledged the hello I gave her, and went straight for the very same stall. I thought to myself about how funny it is that I always see her using that stall and how we must appreciate the same sort of conditions while doing our bizness.

And then it hit me. The largest pubic hair in existence was probably . . . the hair from her head. And if she saw that sign, she was probably offended, maybe even deeply hurt. It likely called to mind all of the years of latent racism she’s endured, all of the rage she felt when Don Imus called those girls “nappy-headed hoes”. She probably went to the back of the bus that night out of shame.

I don’t have to feel bad about it as a privileged white person, but I sort of do.

Based on the Photo, He’s Likely Also from Ohio

Posted by plumpdumpling on November 4, 2009 – 11:34 am
Filed under good times at everyone else's expense
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I received a notice from OkCupid’s QuickMatch function this morning that one of the following nine men gave me a high rating:

I looked through them, considering which is most likely to want to bang me, and decide that really, any of them would make a suitable replacement for Kamran if ever a Kamran replacement was needed.

The first guy is at a sporting event, which turns me off, but at least I know he’s likely not one of those house-bound fatties who needs to be lifted through his roof with a crane every time he needs to leave.

The seventh guy looks a little unwashed, but he’s wearing a shirt that appears to say “Iron Lung”, which means he either likes Radiohead or iron lungs in general, and either of those is fine with me.

The second guy reminds me of Randy Travis in profile, but he’s in a plane, and I appreciate a world traveler. And I’m assuming this guy is a world traveler and not an NYC-to-Ohio-and-back traveler like me.

The fourth guy isn’t even necessarily a guy, and that mask is exceedingly stupid, but it leads me to believe the person is into art, which is great, even if it’s dumb art.

And so on and so on. With all of the daydreaming I was doing about my potential relationships with the relatively normal-looking gentleman, it took me several minutes to actually process this guy:

I love the picture, because it’s one of those that keeps him from having to write a single word about himself in his profile. He has a mullet and a mustache and is CREEPILY PEERING AT YOU FROM BEHIND A BUSH. Or a tree. Whatever. The point is that you know all you need to know about him and his late night lady-watching habits from that photo alone.

Which means he’s obviously the one who chose me.

The Do-It-Yourself Public Restroom in Times Square

Posted by plumpdumpling on October 12, 2009 – 11:55 am
Filed under good times at everyone else's expense, living in new york is neat, potty mouth
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Last night at 8 p.m., Kamran and I exited a movie theatre in Times Square, accompanied by our friends Jack, Beth, and Nik, Jack’s friend Chris, Jack’s friend Alex from Romania, and Alex’s Romanian girlfriend, Simina. We were walking down 42nd Street, trying to decide which is scarier: the flesh-sucking monsters we’d just seen in Zombieland or NYC tourists. Mid-conversation, out of the corner of my eye, I saw someone bent over with liquid spilling all over her legs and the ground. She was out in the street, facing traffic, with her back to the sidewalk we were on, and I just assumed she was vomiting. She had wavy, shoulder-length black hair and a black suit jacket on. Her bottom half was nude-colored, but I just assumed she was wearing peach leggings. I couldn’t imagine a middle-aged woman wearing leggings without a long shirt covering them, but that seemed much more likely than what was actually happening, which was that

THE WOMAN HAD HER PANTS DOWN AND WAS PEEING
IN THE STREET.

In Times Square. Which, if you’ve never seen it, is basically the center of the world. We’re talking thousands of people milling around a few blocks at all hours of the day and night, with enough lights on every building to make it seem as if the sun never sets. And mostly people who don’t live in NYC, which means a woman with her pants down in the street is about the most exciting thing they’ve ever seen. Traffic was stopped right in front of her, so people in cabs had their noses pressed to the glass not two feet away from her bare bits. The lights glared off the urine clinging to her flabby backside. People stopped and pointed her out to each other, and Kamran yelled for me to get my camera out.

But it was too late. She finished, pulled her pants up, and walked into the subway unashamed.

My Lunch is of Less Value Than My Pride

Posted by plumpdumpling on September 29, 2009 – 12:00 pm
Filed under fun times on the subway, good times at everyone else's expense, living in new york sucks so hard, my uber-confrontational personality
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Yesterday morning, I decided to bring a bag of frozen broccoli with me to work in an attempt to be a sliver more healthy. Needing a carrying vessel, I asked my boyfriend if I could use a stray Saks bag floating around his apartment and was delighted to find that it was the perfect height and depth for broccoli-toting.

As you may have noticed, I often take the bus across 42nd Street to Grand Central, because I get a thrill from having people drive me around since I barely know anyone with a car here. And also because I’m lazy. But this morning, I was feeling anxious about the end of summer and decided to walk it instead. Swinging my brand new lunch bag, I took in the sights of two businessmen stretching the backs of their suits as they embraced and the new look of the Pfizer building now that the giant photomosaics have been removed from every window. It was a great way to start the day.

But then I got to the east stairwell on the outside of Grand Central, which is very narrow for the amount of people who use it. A stream of passengers was attempting to take up the entire staircase, which just seems impossible to me. Having been raised correctly and not by savages, I just don’t have it in me to use the wrong sides of stairs, so I assume that everyone else realizes when they’re in the wrong, too.

But no, with every step, I found myself having to thwart collisions with businesspeople and babies alike.

Read the rest here.

Hatin’ on “More to Love”

Posted by plumpdumpling on August 26, 2009 – 10:31 am
Filed under a taste for tv, good times at everyone else's expense, stuff i hate, stuff i like
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“More to Love” is my favourite/most hated show on television right now. I was torn between it and “NYC Prep” on the first Tuesday night it aired, but after watching 20 fat women cry nonstop for an hour, I knew I made the right choice, and I’ve been making it every week since.

I’m not a person who believes weight has anything to do with love. I’m not thin, and I’ve loved and been loved in return by all sorts of men, thin and not-thin themselves. (But mostly thin, because fat people are gross. (Kidding.)) These big-boned ladies all truly believe, though, that their one shot at love is this 26-year-old spike-haired real estate developer who likes to eat and doesn’t want a woman who watches her weight.

And they all cry about it throughout every episode. Their skinny friends get hit on at bars. They’ve never had serious boyfriends. They’ve never been on a single date. And there’s a reason for that.

If you’re single–if you’re perpetually single–and you don’t want to be, there’s something wrong with you. There, I said it. Don’t blame it on men being superficial. Blame it on you being a crappy date. Unless you live in the middle of smalltown Iowa, in which case I’m a little more sympathetic, but seriously, it’s probably still your fault, especially if you’re one of those assholes who scorns Internet dating. Whenever I hear some fat chick say, “I have no idea why I’m alone!”, I want to go through a laundry list for her, because it’s always so obvious. Even the guys who are willing to look past your weight can’t deal with your jacked-up face, your total lack of humor, your junior high vocabulary, and your skank clothes.

For instance, not a single one of the women in the two episodes of “More to Love” I’ve watched has said something funny. In fact, when Luke asks each of them in turn if they’ll wear the ring that signifies their staying on the show another week, each of them in turn says, “Of course.” I’ve been waiting for even just one of them to say “bitch, please” or fake like they don’t want it only to throw their arms around him and snatch it out of his hands a second later, but they’re all so worried about losing their “one” chance for “true” love that all behave like robots. Whiny, sobbing robots.

My boyfriend called the show depressing, but I really delight in watching these pathetic women mope around. None of them are actually the least bit interested in this guy specifically, as far as I can tell, and are only interested in him being interested in them. And he’s too pleased with the opportunity to grope 20 fatties to care. I mean, MAYBE the producers are hiding the parts where Luke and the ladies have deep, meaningful conversation about politics and religion, but it seems like the most intimate information the group has about Luke is the name of his dog.

I had a long-distance relationship like this once: the guy would want to talk about how interested he was in the sinking of the Titanic every single time he called me–I mean, he really, really loved the Titanic–and I just wanted to talk about how in love we were. But I realized I was using him, whereas these girls are planning their weddings.

And the worst part is that they make absolutely none of this secret to him. They tell him that they’d pursue their music careers if only they had better images. They tell him that they’re virgins. They tell him, “You’re my first second date.” And he uses these confidings as teachable moments where he gets to build their self-confidence by calling them sexy and telling them to believe in themselves. And they cry.

It’s pretty clear that in the end, Luke’s going to pick the thinnest/prettiest girl in the house regardless of her personality, and all the other girls who were using his choosing her as sole proof that there’s hope for fat girls are going to kill themselves.

I finally asked my boyfriend why I’ve been able to find love when these women haven’t, and he said, “Because you’re not psychotic.” Win.

(Also check out Noel’s thoughts on the show.)

Subway Seat Supply and Demand

Posted by plumpdumpling on July 31, 2009 – 10:06 am
Filed under fun times on the subway, good times at everyone else's expense, why i'm better than everyone else
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On the subway, the law of supply and demand is fully in effect: the fewer seats available, the more desirable they are.

I get on the 4/5 after work at Bowling Green, which is the first uptown stop in Manhattan. There are always a few stragglers from lower Brooklyn on it, but most of the seats are empty. Some people still rush into the train, of course, but the majority of us take our time. I usually nonchalantly nab a seat if I’m planning to read, but if I’m going to play my Nintendo DS and don’t want anyone looking over my shoulder to see how terrible I am at Puzzle Quest: Challenge of the Warlords, I stay standing.

Plenty of other people stay standing at that stop, too, but at Wall Street, the train fills up a little more, and you start to see riders get a little anxious about their lack of choices. They want to sit, but they don’t want to try to squeeze in between the oversize lady with her five bags and the guy with his legs unnecessarily spread three feet apart. People try to look casual, but they’re secretly sneaking looks up and down the entire train to see if there’s anything worth making a move on.

At Fulton Street, there’s no time for pretending. Women rush into the train and plunk down with no regard for how huge their assets are and how small the seat space is. Men who would normally open doors for little old ladies practically push them out of the way. Pregnant women are left clutching their stomachs and fanning themselves with their hands as everyone looks at each other, hoping someone else will volunteer to give up his or her seat first.

I feel very smug about getting to choose whether or not I’ll sit, and I’ll admit that I like to mess with the people who have to stand. I’ve found that if I take off my headphones and turn off my iPod right as we enter Grand Central, the woman standing in front of me will breathe a sigh of relief and grab my seat as soon as I stand. I hate that. So when I want to have a little fun, I’ll take my headphones off as we enter the station before Grand Central, which is Union Square. And Union Square is a full 28 blocks away from Grand Central. Which means that after I take my headphones off and the woman in front of me prepares herself mentally for the joy of sitting down on the crowded train, I’ll make her stand waiting for another five minutes until I actually get off. And if there’s a lot of train traffic or a track fire or anything to slow us down, that five minutes can turn into ten or fifteen. You can imagine how this delights me.

(also posted to Examiner)

As If eHarmony Hasn’t Been Made Fun of Enough

Posted by plumpdumpling on July 21, 2009 – 1:17 pm
Filed under a taste for tv, everyone's married but katie, good times at everyone else's expense, my uber-confrontational personality
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I know you’re supposed to be all happy for other couples when you’re in love, but yesterday, I found myself watching this commercial and thinking, “My greatest hope is that their relationship will end in a bitter, drag-out divorce”:

It’s the “I didn’t need the Internet back when I was into scoring random hos/hoes at bars, but my mom told me I need to keep it in my pants now” line that really makes me want to see him unhappy, I think.

Of course, I’ve always wanted to see these two fail miserably, but only because their painting o’ love is so sad. It includes a handprint, for God’s sake:

I swear I’m totally happy myself, though.

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

Posted by plumpdumpling on June 26, 2009 – 11:13 am
Filed under good times at everyone else's expense
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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:

It’s Best to Claim Your Bodily Functions

Posted by plumpdumpling on June 18, 2009 – 1:10 pm
Filed under good times at everyone else's expense, my uber-confrontational personality, why i'm better than everyone else
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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?

When Adult Diapers Come in Handy

Posted by plumpdumpling on June 4, 2009 – 2:13 pm
Filed under funner times on the bus, good times at everyone else's expense
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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)

There’s a Reason That Train Car is Empty

Posted by plumpdumpling on April 15, 2009 – 12:05 pm
Filed under fun times on the subway, good times at everyone else's expense, living in new york sucks so hard
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I love riding the R train because of the complete lack of other people using it. Even though it’s one of the slowest lines with some of the oldest trains, its frequent stops and guaranteed room for sitting make it perfect for playing some New Super Mario Bros. on my Nintendo DS on the way home.

Yesterday afternoon made me question my love, though. When I stepped into a car near the end, I was met with the overpowering stench of excrement. Terrible smells are par for the course in New York, so I tried not to overreact and took a seat. But the odor was SO BAD. I looked around me and noticed people covering their noses with their hands, burying their faces in their coat lapels, so I knew it wasn’t just me.

Then I looked around some more and noticed that everyone was crowded at one end of the train car. Some boys had rushed by me in a hurry to get to the opposite end of the car as I’d taken my seat, but I didn’t think anything about it until I realized that literally everyone but me and a man across the aisle were huddled together against the door leading to the next car. I craned my neck to see what they’d all run from and realized that a person, a man, was lying down on one of the sets of seats at the far end of the car. Evidently his stench was so overwhelming that it’d filled the entire place.

I like to consider myself an understanding and nonjudgemental person, so I decided I would stay planted where I was, showing the world that I accept homeless people and know that they can’t help the lot they were given. If fat people can take up two seats, by God, filthy people can stink up entire cars! But then I started thinking about the canvas bag full of clean clothes I had with me and how all of them were going to be soaked through with the worst smell imaginable by the time I got off at Union Square.

So at the next stop, I hustled out of the car, onto the platform, and into the next car with everyone else. I yelled to a man who was entering the foul car, “DON’T GO IN THERE!”, and he scampered along with the rest of us. From there, it was as if we had all survived a natural disaster and were brought closer together because of it. People were being polite and actually laughing with each other, and the boys who had rushed by me in the smelly car now stood in the aisle of this clean car and watched people at every stop as they entered the realm of the rankness, scrunched up their noses, and ran back out onto the platform.

When I got off at 14th Street, I walked past the cars and saw that all but one of them were being filled like normal by commuters. And there in the seat where I had originally sat was one lonely woman, mired in the stench, looking as if she was about to pass out.

(x-posted to my Examiner)

Don’t Do Something We’ll Both Regret

Posted by plumpdumpling on January 27, 2009 – 11:30 am
Filed under everyone's married but katie, good times at everyone else's expense, no i really do love ohio
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Today at noon, I leave for three days in Ohio and then two days in Kentucky to see my baby sister GET MARRIED. Seeing as how we agreed long ago to never, ever wed, I obviously feel very betrayed by this. She and her fiancé have been together for more than three years and already own a house together, so this marriage is totally unnecessary and clearly just a way of hurting me.

However, I’m going to look awesome in my dark red bridesmaid’s dress that she picked out, so I forgive her.

But just in case this wedding is only a means of making it more socially acceptable when Joanie and Josh start having millions of babies (in Kentucky, no less), I just want to remind her of this picture of her holding our cousin’s son during Thanksgiving dinner:

Take the feeling you felt here and multiply it by ten thousand, Joanie.
And then imagine feeling it every moment of every day.
This is what it’s like to have a baby.

(Thank you and goodnight to all of my baby-owning friends out there.)

Pretty Much the Least Grateful Party Guest Ever

Posted by plumpdumpling on December 8, 2008 – 4:22 pm
Filed under all of my friends are prettier than i am, good times at everyone else's expense, it's fun to be fat
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Saturday night was one of my friends-from-when-we-worked-at-Barnes-and-Noble-together’s birthday party at a bar with the least character possible. Dominique was turning something ridiculous like 38–even though she acts more like eighteen–so it made sense that the party started at SEVEN P.M. And that everyone therefore left at nine.

I didn’t want to make polite/faux smalltalk with old co-workers and her family members who had driven in from Pennsylvania (what?), so instead, I sat and talked to my friend Nastassia all night and showed her my best seated dance moves, which are apparently not so impressive. The highlight of the night, though, was scraping all of the icing off the cupcakes Dominique had made–no doubt from the The Magnolia Bakery Cookbook–

eating it, and wrapping the cake back in some used wrapping paper. I thought the crinkled mess would tip her off that it wasn’t really a gift, but she opened it with all of the gusto of Christmas morning:

And this is why I don’t have more friends.

If I knew for sure it wasn’t illegal to post other people’s phone numbers in my blog, I would do it SO FAST right now.

Posted by plumpdumpling on October 28, 2008 – 4:53 pm
Filed under good times at everyone else's expense, jobby jobby job job, my uber-confrontational personality
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In my incredibly important role as an executive assistant, I have to talk to a lot of really retarded people (none of which is my boss, I’d like to emphasize, in case he ever reads this). But none of these is more retarded than the IT telemarketer. This is the guy who never EVER bothers to look up the name of the IT manager at your location but just calls and casually tells you–obviously on speakerphone, because his legs are kicked up on his desk and he’s busy practicing his old frat’s secret handshake–to connect him to whoever happens to be the head of your IT department. Having a superiority complex and an intense desire to lose my job over something stupid like being snotty to salesmen, I make absolutely no effort to mask the loathing in my voice from these cretins.

HOWEVER, I just received a call from one at an NYC company called Axispoint and was uncharacteristically nice to him, simply because I was coming off a delicious chicken meatball lunch and had really enjoyed IMing Dr. Boyfriend about being excited to “warm up my ‘balls” all morning long. But as soon as I uncharacteristically nicely told this guy that we don’t even keep an IT department at our location–particularly ironic since we’re a software company–he just went and HUNG UP ON ME.

Can you believe it? I am the one who hangs up on people. I am underpaid one who has to talk to retards all day. I have a singsong voice that demands telemarketers to stay on the line longer. But not this guy.

I checked my call log, and of course I have his number from my caller ID. So what should I do with it?

These Crocs’ll Rip Your Toes Off

Posted by plumpdumpling on October 13, 2008 – 1:34 pm
Filed under good times at everyone else's expense
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Maybe you weren’t affected by this, since you’re obviously not some midwestern fashion victim who’d be caught dead in Crocs, but I’m not embarrassed to say that I bought the Athens last year on a whim at one of the retail kiosks in Grand Central, and it turned out to be the most incredible footwear purchase of my life. Yeah, they’re too clunky to wear with skirts, but they look fine with jeans, and my feet feel like they’re on clouds when I’m in them.

HOWEVER, soon after I fell in love with my Crocs, I heard some talk of people building up static and getting shocked while in them, especially at hospitals. But since I make it a point to avoid the sick and the frail, I went right on wearing mine. Later, I heard about people having problems with them getting stuck in escalators but assumed it was a myth until Dr. Boyfriend and I trudged up a stopped escalator at Port Authority and saw that the reason it had halted was


a stuck croc!

A child’s Croc, no less. But as luck would have it, I’m not a complete retard and will continue to wear my Crocs flip-flops with abandon. ‘Cause if they’re good enough for G.W. Bush and an oddly pigeon-toed Nicholson, they’re good enough for me.

I’m Into Leatha

Posted by plumpdumpling on August 11, 2008 – 4:14 pm
Filed under good times at everyone else's expense
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Stella Zotis is totally my favourite designer on this season’s “Project Runway”.

Not because I’m into her aging rocker clothes or anything but because of this:

Of course she’s from Queens, right?

I’m too lazy to download, convert, and trim the clip myself, but I also highly recommend this video at 3 minutes, 13 seconds in:

I’m not sure I’ve liked a single thing she’s sewn so far, but I sure do hope she keeps getting passed through to the next rounds based on her personality alone.

Disabilities are NOT Funny

Posted by plumpdumpling on July 10, 2008 – 11:06 am
Filed under good times at everyone else's expense
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Growing up, my best friend Tracey and I had another friend whose little sister had Down Syndrome, so while the rest of our classmates heartily enjoyed using the word retarded to describe everything and everyone in sight, we were chastised every time it accidentally escaped our lips. And so like every child who’s told over and over again that she’s not allowed to do something she really wants to, we grew up getting a lot of pleasure from secretly saying the word behind our friend’s back.

Now that we’re a little more mature and our vocabularies are a little less limited, we don’t need that word anymore, but Tracey still loves to entertain me by sending me links to things like Down Syndrome Dolls, which soooooooooo creepily look like this:

And Downi Creations, which (even more creepily?) look like this:

When I saw how cheap the first ones are, I was like, “OMG, I could totally afford to fill my entire house with those things and then invite unassuming friends over! It’s totally worse than being a cat lady!” My co-worker Nathan said, “Don’t you think that’s bad karma?” I said, “Listen, I’ve been making fun of disabled people all my life, and I’ve done pretty well so far.”

Please note that my birthday is October 9th and that a girl doesn’t soon forget a present such as this.