Category Archives: living in new york sucks so hard

The World is Your Trash Can

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Posted by plumpdumpling on March 9, 2010 – 6:45 pm
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I had to run an errand mid-morning today and got on an uncrowded 4 train going uptown. At the Wall Street stop, the young mother in the seat opposite me went to one set of doors and threw her Styrofoam cup out onto the station platform. The lid came off, ice and watered-down soda remnants leaked everywhere, and she sat back down casually.

I scrunched up my face into its most disapproving and judgemental form and stared at her hard, but she didn’t look at me. No one else on the train appeared to notice what had happened, though it’s impossible that anyone missed it. I’ve seen so many people set their empty cups or bags on the floor and been disgusted, but this made that look almost polite.

Read the rest here, because I’m too busy to actually write anything of interest to you.

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?

I Said Excuse Me

Posted by plumpdumpling on February 18, 2010 – 10:30 am
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My train this morning was not crowded. There was barely anyone on the 4/5 platform at Grand Central, and the few people who were there effortlessly filled the space inside the door of the train that pulled up. A few people were waiting to get on after me, though, so I wanted to move to the center of the car, which was loaded with free room. Two men were blocking my way, though, so I politely said “excuse me” to them as I always do.

One of them moved. He was young, good-looking, and probably has a beautiful penthouse apartment on the Upper East Side full of multiple women who love him and aren’t jealous of each other. He probably has a great job with a boss who allows him creative freedom and doesn’t mind when he comes in 15 minutes late.

The other man did not. He was in his 50s, probably lives in Westchester, probably has a wife who stopped loving him years ago, and probably never gets the promotions he thinks he deserves but all of his co-workers know he doesn’t. He stood right where he was, giant leather shoulder bag totally blocking my way. But I’m a farm girl, and having muscles means you don’t have to wait for people to be nice, so I just pushed his bag aside and stepped past him into acres of empty space.

As I did, though, the guy muttered a mean name* under his breath.

Read the rest here.

*Exclusive to this blog: that name was ASSHOLE! Unbelievable, right? Girls are not assholes!

Snowlocaust: Part Deux

Posted by plumpdumpling on February 16, 2010 – 3:44 pm
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New York City in the snow! So beautiful! So innocent and pure!

New York City after the snow. A sullen, sullied slut.

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.

How Do You Deal with Jerks on the Train?

Posted by plumpdumpling on January 28, 2010 – 12:00 pm
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When I got on the train this morning, I walked past the jerk standing in the doorway and moved to the center of the car like good girls do. I immediately regretted it, because immediately behind me was a woman about my age with an obnoxiously puffy coat and a cellphone loudly playing music. It’s a favorite pastime of New Yorkers to select their new ringtone while on the very public train, so I figured at first that she was scanning through all of her possibilities, but I quickly realized she was just plain listening to a song. One of those annoying hip-hop ballads, at that. And not on a cellphone with good speakers.

At first, I thought, “Who does that?! Signs all around the subway cars clearly state there’s to be no smoking, no littering, and no radio-playing! If we give this one inconsiderate person a pass, anarchy will erupt!”

Then I thought, “Actually, a little music in the subway in the mornings would be nice.”

Then I thought, “No! 90% of this train probably hates this song, too, and if this woman wants to listen to it, she can put on headphones just like everyone else.”

Just then, another woman sitting near her must have asked/told her to turn it off, because she spat back, “I can do what I want.”

Read the rest here.

The Public Nature of Grieving in the City

Posted by plumpdumpling on January 26, 2010 – 1:00 pm
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The other day, my friend Nik told me the story of a crying woman on the 4/5 train who, it became apparent as she sobbed to a friend, was on her way downtown to identify the body of a loved one who had overdosed. It seemed that she had found out the bad news that morning and looked as if she had been crying nonstop since. Her friend comforted her as far as Union Square and then left the train, reminding her that she should call him and his wife if she needed anything.

The woman continued to sob alone until another woman excused herself from the mass of other passengers the train and asked if she could pray with the crying woman. They bowed heads and quietly murmured healing words to one another until other people from other parts of the train car came to rub her back, lay a hand on her shoulder, and whisper encouragement.

Read the rest here.

I wanted Kim to put a Boston-Irish beatdown on him, but then I remembered she’s Jewish.

Posted by plumpdumpling on January 20, 2010 – 10:00 am
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I hate to post my own crap when I haven’t read anyone else’s blog in, like, a week, but I have to tell you this ridiculous story:

My friend Kim was in town from Boston this weekend and took me to the Fashion District on the west side of Midtown to meet another friend on Saturday afternoon. I was wearing a red and black plaid wool cape that might be a little bright for some people’s tastes, but as we walked down 37th Street, we saw store after store selling the gaudiest, most rhinestoned, way-more-over-the-top-than-my-cape-type dresses you’ve ever seen. They were only fit for something like a Miss America pageant–definitely not opening night of the Met nor singing a bluesy number on top of a piano at a lounge–so we were discussing how not one but a whole block of them could possibly stay in business. Out of nowhere, and certainly not prompted by anything we said or did, a man spoke to us. He was probably 40 and sat in his car along the curb, smoking a cigarette. Not missing his front teeth or anything but trashy enough that I could imagine him alone at a stripclub in Jersey on a weeknight. I didn’t understand what he’d said at first and didn’t have time to properly react, but two steps later, I realized that he’d called from his car, “Plaid is totally out this season! Don’t you read Vogue?“

Only in NYC

Posted by plumpdumpling on January 11, 2010 – 12:30 pm
Filed under living in new york is neat, living in new york sucks so hard
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Only in NYC would I need my friend Beth to pick me up after work last Friday and drive me to my apartment with my new TV that should have been small enough to carry but would’ve taken up an entire subway car with all of its packaging. Only in NYC would I know approximately three people who own a car and would the one who drives an Alfa Romeo convertible agree to haul my new flatscreen around.

And only in NYC, after a second viewing of An Education (OMG, just as good the second time) with said Alfa-Romeo-convertible-driving friend, would I return to my boyfriend’s apartment to find a Christmas tree simply pushed out the front door into the hallway when its duty is done. And a full two weeks after Christmas, no less.

It’s kind of neat, and it’s kind of awful.

Modern Modes of Transportation are Only Cool When They Actually Work, or Why I Should Have Never Left Ohio in the First Place

Posted by plumpdumpling on December 22, 2009 – 12:00 pm
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I bought a plane ticket to Ohio for two weeks’ worth of Christmas presents, Christmas parties, and Christmas-themed desserts at chain restaurants several weeks ago for $291.90. The night before the snowstorm hit, Delta canceled my flight but politely allowed me to reschedule myself for the next day. I was slightly disappointed in the delay but used the night to make a lot of unnecessary noise in Kamran’s apartment while he studied for his final exams.

Three hours before my flight on Sunday, I packed the last of my things, put on really comfortable underwear for the flight, and began saying goodbye to Kamran. Which mostly involved lots of “I don’t want to go!”s and “Let’s get back into bed and not leave for two weeks!”s. I WAS KIDDING. But moments before I left, I happened to check my flight status to see if there was any residual delay from the day before and found that it had been canceled.

Even though the streets and the runway had been cleared for 18 hours.

The Delta website wouldn’t let me reschedule again, so I called customer service, and after listening to twenty minutes of “White Christmas” and other ironic holiday hold tunes, I found that the earliest flight they would fit me on was on DECEMBER 25TH.

I called Orbitz, who I had used to buy the flight, and after twenty more minutes, the slightly-more-helpful customer service rep said I was approved for an automatic refund if I wanted to cancel the flight and start over with another airline. She said her computer wasn’t showing flights available until the 23rd, but the Orbitz website was listing flights on the 21st, so I gave her the exact flight numbers I wanted to book. She acted like this was all fine and dandy but then said, “Now, you know it’s a $25 fee to book over the phone, right?” EXCUSE ME? No.

So I selected my flights and tried signing into the site with my account to pay for them, but it said customer service was already logged in, which meant I had to manually enter my payment information. By the time I did that, my flight was gone. I chose another one and tried the same thing, but it was gone again. And again. Finally, though, I managed to snag a flight at 3:25 p.m. today, three days later than I was supposed to be home, for $452.

The great part is that when my first flight was rescheduled, my best friend, Tracey, said she was going to drive the ten hours from Ohio to pick me up, and we laughed. Turns out it would’ve been way faster. Hahahahahaha . . . ha . . . ha . . . ha.

A Little Xenophobic Cheer for the Holidays

Posted by plumpdumpling on December 9, 2009 – 11:45 am
Filed under fun times on the subway, living in new york sucks so hard
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It’s the time of year when NYC is overrun with tourists who are somehow under the impression that the city in winter is worth spending $350 per night for a hotel on. The Rockefeller Center tree lighting, the display windows at Macy’s, the New Year’s Eve celebration in Times Square–these are all things that would be lovely in, say, Florida or California. But in New York, they’re painful and miserable because of the cold. So I guess those $350-per-night hotels are worth it, because that’s where they end up spending all of their time once they realize walking around Central Park isn’t so fun when the wind is eating your face off.

Anyway, I’m particularly annoyed by tourists for no good reason. I’m not one of those people who’s ever in a hurry, and I don’t have any horrible Christmas memories that make me want everyone else’s holidays to suck, but I require the subway to be quiet when I’m on my way to work. So when these massive groups of tourists all board one train car at 8:30 a.m. on their way to the Statue of Liberty every morning, I get my knickers in a bit of a twist.

On one particular morning, I was standing by one of the poles in the far end of a car, surrounded by French people. The French are especially bad, because they’re so darned happy. At least with the Germans, you get mean-sounding accents with harsh-sounding words that only perpetuate your bad morning mood, but the French are always kissing each other and pleasantly tying each other’s scarves around their delightfully pink necks, and all I want to do is knock them down a few notches.

Read the rest here and earn me some pennies.

Won’t You Be My Neighbor

Posted by plumpdumpling on November 11, 2009 – 11:00 am
Filed under living in new york sucks so hard, no i really do love ohio
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Last week’s New York magazine had the most interesting article about a co-housing community trying to plant roots in Brooklyn. The idea is that they’ll buy an abandoned factory or warehouse, fit it with something like 30 apartments, and include huge common areas where people can gather. They’ll make all decisions as a community, eat dinner together, keep their apartment doors open, and basically be family to each other in a city where people pride themselves on anonymity.

I love the idea. I’m now dying to be a part of it and would be in a second if I had the $500k for one of their apartments. I talk daily about how much I miss the way people say hello to everyone they pass in my hometown in Ohio, the way you have to respect and care for each other when you know each other’s fathers and brothers and were taught by each other’s grandmothers in elementary school. When you pass different people every day and your neighbor literally runs into his apartment to avoid having to exchange pleasantries with you, it’s much easier to feel separate and to be selfish and rude. Imagine how many fewer people I’d have to kick in the balls on the subway if we all knew each other personally and didn’t assume our problems were worse and ourselves more deserving of a comfortable spot on the train. It’d be like living in a college dorm room all over again, except with children and puppies.

Yet everyone else I’ve talked to seems to think this is a terrible idea. You?

The Yankees Apparently Won the World Series

Posted by plumpdumpling on November 6, 2009 – 10:10 am
Filed under living in new york sucks so hard, stuff i hate, why i'm better than everyone else
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The Awesome Part About Working in Downtown NYC on Yankees World Series Parade Day: My office building overlooks the parade, so I can watch it from our balcony without having to actually stand amongst the stinking masses.

The Awful Part About Working in Downtown NYC on Yankees World Series Parade Day: I don’t actually care about the Yankees or even baseball in general, yet I had to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with all of the cheerful fans this morning on the train. Grand Central was flooded with people in jerseys who had apparently taken the day off for the parade, which makes me a little sick to my stomach.

The Idiot Thing I Did in NYC on Yankees World Series Parade Day: I wore baby blue pants with a baby blue shirt and a navy blue track jacket. If one more person says something Yankees-positive to me on the train today despite the fact that I’m wearing headphones and reading a magazine, there will be blood.

Terror on the Elevator

Posted by plumpdumpling on October 13, 2009 – 7:47 pm
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I always get a little freaked out when I get into an elevator and push the button for my floor, and then someone else gets on after me and doesn’t push a button. I wonder, “Does he really need to go to my floor, or is he going to follow me to my apartment, tie me up in the bathtub, and drip acid on my naked body for nine hours?”

It happened yesterday as I was going to Kamran’s apartment after work. I stepped in, pushed the button for my floor, smiled politely at the man who came in after me, and then glared at him menacingly when he didn’t push anything. In my mind. I pictured myself jabbing my keys into his eyes if he came too close, snapping my compact mirror around his balls if he stopped near Kamran’s door.

But just before the elevator doors closed, an extremely hot girl walked in and pushed the button for a floor two below Kamran’s. She was taller than I am, thinner than I am, wearing fewer clothes than I was, and had a less butch haircut than I do. She was chatting obnoxiously on her cellphone, and when the elevator stopped at her floor, she didn’t even notice that the guy followed her off instead.

And I cheated death another day.

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.

Sody Pop

Posted by plumpdumpling on August 18, 2009 – 12:41 pm
Filed under living in new york sucks so hard, no i really do love ohio
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I never want to be one of those people who thinks she’s better than the place she came from. I want to always think Columbus and the village (seriously, village) where I was raised in Ohio are unbeatable.

For the longest time, I fought the word soda. I was raised on pop, and soda sounded funny to me every time I heard it used. No matter how many times people told me I gave myself away as a Midwesterner, I refused to switch. Why should I feel bad about where I’m from?

But after about a year of living here, I found myself saying soda automatically. And when I went home to visit and my best friend said pop to me, I accidentally made fun of her without even realizing what it meant for my heritage.

Seriously, though, this picture from my last trip home still cracks me up:

Not only does it say pop, but it only costs 35¢! How adorable, right?

I’m still not buying into other NYCisms like stand ON line (instead of IN line) or call OUT sick (instead of IN sick), though. I still have some standards.

(Also.)

Yes, Mother(fucker)

Posted by plumpdumpling on August 10, 2009 – 10:00 am
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I write my roommate a note telling him that I need some monies for our bills, that I’d like him to return the lamp he inexplicably removed from our living room, and that the haircuttings on our bathroom floor are a little bit creepy:

He returns my note with the following:

We really have an ideal relationship, don’t you think?

In the Subway Station, Being Nice Gets You Nowhere

Posted by plumpdumpling on August 6, 2009 – 2:03 pm
Filed under fun times on the subway, living in new york sucks so hard, my uber-confrontational personality
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After work the other day, I was heading to my boyfriend’s apartment and exited the train at Grand Central. There was a throng of people gathered at the staircase on the platform, being inconsiderate to each other as usual. A man with a guitar case had been waiting by the stairs for someone to let him up for as long as I’d been waiting patiently toward the back of the mass, so when it was my turn to step onto the first stair, I held back for a second and motioned for him to go ahead. He smiled and thanked me, and I was left feeling like the greatest American hero, as my boyfriend says.

Then, on my way up the staircase from the station to the street, a woman was coming down on the wrong side. I find that sort of thing ridiculous in normal polite society, but in a city where we’re all two centimeters from colliding with one another, it’s totally inexcusable. I was going to give her the what-for, but then I thought, “Hey, it’s raining, and if I’m nice to the guitar guy AND the wrong-side lady, my karma will be off the chart.” Not that I believe in that sort of thing.

But as soon as I was through congratulating myself on being a true humanitarian, the woman thrust her Strawberry shopping bags in front of her, lifted her chin, and said haughtily, “Clear the way! Clear the way!”

She’s lucky she didn’t say it ten seconds earlier, because you can bet I would’ve planted myself right in front of her until the smell of the halal cart outside the station became too tempting around nightfall, but as she was right beside me by that point, I could only say, “You are a bitch!”, but she kept on walking down the stairs, and people kept on moving out of the way for her.

Funny that the only time New Yorkers are nice, it’s for people who don’t deserve it.

(also posted on Examiner) (who pays me when you read my articles, I should mention) (in case you were thinking about not clicking on that link)

A Bus Stop Ditcher Gets His Due

Posted by plumpdumpling on August 4, 2009 – 9:50 am
Filed under funner times on the bus, living in new york sucks so hard, my uber-confrontational personality
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On Saturday evening, Kamran and I reached the M15 stop at 42nd Street to see we’d just missed the bus. As we were the only ones at the stop, we entertained ourselves with rhyming games and musings about what sort of present we could buy at a convenience store to bring to the Williamsburg birthday party we were on our way to.

After a few minutes, a woman with a very stylish short haircut made her way down the street and politely stood a few feet away from us to wait. An older gentlemen in a pink button-down dress shirt and an orange tie came and stood beside her a few minutes later. A couple of grannies rolled up together a second later and pretended to be looking at the map on the bus stop pole, but it was pretty clear they were just trying to ditch us to be first into the bus, so Kamran told me to be wary of getting hit over the head with a purse or walking cane when the bus pulled up.

We all spotted the bus as it popped over the hill at 43rd Street at the same time, and the unease in the air was palpable as we all prepared ourselves for the inevitable chaos of boarding. Usually I appreciate it when the bus driver doesn’t pull all of the way up to the pole that marks the stop, because the people standing there are rarely the ones who have been waiting the longest, but this driver didn’t pull up far enough.

He stopped right in the middle of the crowd, leaving us to separate ourselves into two groups on either side of the door. On the left side was the nicely-haircutted woman, the old man in pink and orange, and this other man who had appeared out of nowhere in rolled-up jeans and a sleeveless t-shirt. On the right was the potentially-lethal pair of ladies, Kamran, and me.

Haircut went into the bus first, which was, you know, incorrect but acceptable, considering that she arrived shortly after we did and perhaps didn’t remember who was there first. I took a step forward to make it clear that I was next, and I know Sleeveless T-Shirt saw me, because he stepped forward after I did and then looked at me for my next move

My next move, of course, was to step onto the bus. Apparently he wasn’t pleased with this checkmate, though, because he took advantage of the extra-wide doorway and clambered onto the bus right beside me. I was totally weirded out. I mean, I may curse about people who hurry past me into the bus during rush hour, but this was 8 p.m. on a weekend. And it was a double-long bus, so there was no chance there wasn’t going to be room for him. Plus, I was there first.

I didn’t even have a chance to think about what to do. What came naturally was to shove all 145 pounds of him back out of the bus, all the while saying, “Oh, excuse me! Oh, pardon me!” in my sweetest voice. The adrenaline rush was insane.

But as fun as that was, the greatest part of the situation was that the guy then turned to Kamran, evidently unaware that we were together. (Or aware and unafraid.) He made a face of incredulity and yammered something unintelligible that was clearly meant to convey how much he wanted me dead. Kamran, of course, didn’t sock him in the jaw as he should have, but he did politely remind him to mind the other people in line first next time.

(also posted on Examiner)

My Sweat is Sweatier Than Your Sweat

Posted by plumpdumpling on July 17, 2009 – 1:46 pm
Filed under it's fun to be fat, living in new york sucks so hard
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I may be biased toward my own misery, but I always think it’s ridiculous when people in other cities complain about the weather. Vermont can get 12 inches of snow, and I’m going to think that the 2 inches in NYC is 100 times worse. Texas can be 115 degrees, and I’m still going to think NYC at 85 is more unbearable.

Yesterday was the first really hot day we’ve had here, with a disgusting humidity to boot. Kamran was working late, so I asked myself what I truly, truly wanted for dinner without him there to judge me. I chose pizza, of course, and stopped at the Two Boots in Grand Central, because they’re the only ones in the entire city making pizza with any flavor, as far as I’m concerned. As I waited in line for my two slices of Sicilian, all four people in front of me asked the cashier for napkins, and he apologized to each one and explained that they unexpectedly ran out. When I got to him to pay, I of course said, “I have two slices of Sicilian. And can I have that with a lot of napkins, please?” He made a gun with his fingers and said, “Good one.”

I stood back and waited for my slices to come out of the oven, and when the other counter person handed them to me, they were on two plates. I didn’t think anything of it at first, but after I’d taken a few steps, I realized that it was going to be kind of awkward carrying them allllll the way back to Kamran’s like that. It would’ve been so easy to turn around and ask for a takeout box, but the place was so busy, and I didn’t want to be a bother, and every step carried me closer to the sidewalk. (Kamran says this makes me very pathetic.)

So I just held my pizza in front of me, out in the open air for all of the dust and cab exhaust to settle on. People kept looking at it jealously as I passed, and a couple of deliverymen even asked if I’d share. “It’s too good to give up!”, I said. I’d unfortunately started out on the far end of Grand Central, so three avenue blocks later, I was finally at Kamran’s apartment on the waterfront, and I was hot.

I thought about how if I talked to Tracey for a third time that day, I’d complain to her about the heat, but then I realized that it’s probably been hot in Ohio for two days now with the way the weather travels so slowly to NYC. But then I realized that she’d say, “But the weather always feel worse in New York because you have to walk around in it instead of driving through it in your air-conditioned car.”

And that’s what best friends are for.