Unapologetically Mundane

No Man Can Resist a Lady Who Looks Good in a Sportsbra

plumpdumpling — Thu, 11 Mar 2010 17:00:52 +0000

If I was ever looking for someone convenient to cheat on Kamran with, it’d be with this neighbor of his I see in the mornings when I come upstairs from the gym in their building’s basement. I don’t think the guy is particularly good-looking–too tall, too gangly, too bowl-haircutted–but he interests me, because every time I see him, he’s shuffling down the hallway at the slowest speed possible. He’s always wearing different colors of plaid flannel pajama pants, a coordinating t-shirt, padded slippers, and wired-rimmed glasses. He carries a book with the cover folded back so he can hold it in one hand and read while he saunters along.

I always see him from behind and then from the side as he turns the corner next to Kamran’s apartment, but earlier this week, I happened to come up from the gym a minute early, and he was just passing by the elevator. He hung back so I could go ahead, and I looked toward him and closed-mouth smiled, but I don’t wear my contacts or glasses to the gym, so I had no idea if he was smiling back or thinking about how happy he is not to be the one who has to touch my sweating, stinking body.

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P.S. If you want to receive my posts via e-mail, you can now sign up here and never have to visit my blog again.

The World is Your Trash Can

plumpdumpling — Tue, 09 Mar 2010 23:45:58 +0000

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.

Quit Prank Calling Me, Jesus

plumpdumpling — Wed, 03 Mar 2010 17:00:35 +0000

Dude, look who called me the other day at work:

I mean, I know the Latino community has way cooler names than we white folk do in general, but that’s just ridiculous.

Weird NYC

plumpdumpling — Tue, 02 Mar 2010 18:30:17 +0000

When I got off the subway last night in Brooklyn, there was a Latino man in a velour Statue of Liberty costume singing along and dancing to the Spanish-language music on his headphones in the middle of the street.

New Jersey = Ohio

plumpdumpling — Mon, 01 Mar 2010 20:15:52 +0000

I learned this weekend that the difference between having a car and not having a car means having Cheesecake Factory or not having Cheesecake Factory. My car-owning friend Beth has been inviting me to ride to Jersey with her to go shopping for months now, but something has always stood in the way of me going. This weekend, though, the stars aligned, and she picked me up at 4 p.m. with the promise that she and her friend Sylvan would wear out my Sauconys.

I sort of expected the same kind of shopping experience I used to have in Ohio, when my best friend, Tracey, and I used to spend the day shopping at DEB, Claire’s, and Maurice’s. It was a major thing when a Hot Topic went in, though we were already past our wallet-chain-and-skater-jeans phase by the time that happened. (Okay, so maybe I was the only one of the two of us who went through that phase.)

But no! This mall had a Gucci store and a Louis Vuitton, and instead of shopping for silver holographic Converse flip-flops like Tracey and I used to do, Beth was shopping for a pair of Yves Saint Laurent stilettos. The food court had a Wendy’s, which there are only, like, two of in Manhattan, and everyone there looked like a cast member from “Jersey Shore”. What fun!

When we got hungry later in the evening, Beth mentioned that another mall nearby had a Cheesecake Factory. I was like, “Excuse me?” Because, um, I would’ve pretty much given up every other activity and risked my neck on the snow all of those times before had I known that was part of the deal. Our meal was delicious, of course, and hugely-portioned and super-cheap and everything else that restaurants in Manhattan aren’t, but it felt so wrong, because

everyone in the place looked like they could’ve been from Ohio. The only time I see people who look like they could be from Ohio here is when my friends and I go bowling at Port Authority and have to pass through Times Square, but I had to sit amongst these people and digest food while looking at them. You can imagine how hard that is.

No, I’m kidding, but it was weird. It’s like I can’t bear for things to feel too familiar.

I’m Paying $10 Per Year for That Domain, Darn It, and I WILL Use It

plumpdumpling — Thu, 25 Feb 2010 20:15:07 +0000

Because there might be one of you out there who isn’t following me on Twitter, Google Buzz, or Gmail chat:

I updated www.lostandlonelyleftovers.com with a real doozy.

You should be subscribed to the RSS feed and sending me photos daily, anyway, but I understand that I haven’t exactly been as diligent about dropping food on the ground solely to take pictures of it to encourage you as I should have been.

I’ve Never Even Had Sideswept Hair

plumpdumpling — Wed, 24 Feb 2010 15:15:45 +0000

Remember when Modest Mouse was so cool? When they were really emo, and no one you would consider “normal” listened to them, and not even your friends knew who they were?

And you had all of their albums and also all of their pins and also all of these homemade pins you bought off eBay, which you dutifully stuck to your messenger bag so everyone would know how emo you were wherever you went?

“Polar Opposites” came on my Pandora station yesterday, and I about died, so I immediately had to go to YouTube and find the best made-by-a-16-year-old music video for the song I could:

The lyrics are “I’m trying, I’m trying to/Drink away the part of the day/That I cannot sleep away,” and I remember being like, “Oh, my god, Modest Mouse, you totally get me.” Even though I had the easiest life and the strongest thing I was drinking back in 1999 in Ohio was Carnation Instant Breakfast.

Does This Look Less Terrible?

plumpdumpling — Tue, 23 Feb 2010 14:30:14 +0000

I’ve sort of been thinking about changing the layout of my site, because I basically had no idea what I was doing when I chose my WordPress theme and only later discovered that mine was built for WordPress version 1.1 or something and was so messed up that it took the smarts of every programmer at my software company to make it look reasonable. And even now, its a complete wreck internally.

So, I’ve chosen a new layout and done a little work on it to make it suit me more, but basically all of my friends think it’s too emo for my subject matter. I like it, though!

Click to enlarge.

What do you think? You know I can’t make decisions on my own.

In Your FACE

plumpdumpling — Fri, 19 Feb 2010 17:00:00 +0000

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

plumpdumpling — Thu, 18 Feb 2010 15:30:50 +0000

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!

Sitting on Your Head

plumpdumpling — Wed, 17 Feb 2010 14:45:52 +0000

Sometimes I look through the folder on my hard drive full of things I intend to post here, and I find screenshots from chats with Kamran like this:

WTF?

I had to Google image search it just to see if I’d ever posted it before, and while I didn’t find it, I did find something else, which I had to post on the new blog Tracey’s graciously sharing with me, because I apparently still don’t have enough of an online presence to suit myself.

Snowlocaust: Part Deux

plumpdumpling — Tue, 16 Feb 2010 20:44:53 +0000

New York City in the snow! So beautiful! So innocent and pure!

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

Read These New Blogs Now

plumpdumpling — Thu, 11 Feb 2010 19:35:50 +0000

I know this sounds cheesy, but aside from actually needing to write in order to keep all of my feelings from bursting out of me at inopportune times, I like the community that a blog creates. I like having a few people who I can rely on to find something to say about everything I post and who can rely on me to do the same. (i.e. Tracey and Bachelor Girl)

A lot of blogs that I like end up failing, and I think it’s because they never develop a community of people who make them feel as if it’s important that they keep writing. (Not that I think I’m curing cancer here.) Mostly it’s because they never make an effort to reach out to other bloggers, maybe because most writers are insecure yet narcissistic.

What I’m leading up to is that there are a few blogs that I recently started reading and that I’d really, really love you to read, too. Because I like nothing more than to see your comments on other blogs and to publicly mock you for them.

• Feast on Scraps, Tracey’s idea/inspiration blog that’s loosely related to our forays into scrapbooking but is mostly just pretty stuff she likes

• Good Hair, Kim Luck, Kim’s blog about how Jesus has given her great hair but absolutely nothing else good in life

• Sandy Olive, Sandy’s blog about . . . you know, stuff . . . and I’m not even sure why it’s good, but it is, and it’s often very heartfelt

Feel free to comment with any blogs you think are worthwhile, too.

The Heedless Gape

plumpdumpling — Tue, 09 Feb 2010 20:00:28 +0000

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.

I Would Chide You for Using Sports to Escape from Your Pathetic Life, but You Know I Do the Same Thing with Reality Television

plumpdumpling — Mon, 08 Feb 2010 15:30:57 +0000

I do not care about the Super Bowl. Aside from backyard basketball games involving the word horse, I think sports are pretty stupid. Especially professional ones.

I went to a Super Bowl party last night, though, and I went all the way to Jersey for it. And by “all the way”, I mean that I took a bus 15 minutes to my friend Jeff’s apartment, but I couldn’t use my MetroCard to pay the bus fare, so it seemed like a big deal. I did watch the game, unexpectedly, and I casually cheered for the Colts simply because Indianapolis is much closer to my hometown in Ohio than New Orleans is.

And also because I thought all of the pregame crap about how much a win would mean to New Orleans after Hurricane Katrina–which happened five years ago, people–was unnecessarily sentimental and trying to make a story arc where one wasn’t needed. It’s a football game, and its outcome has nothing to rebuilding a city and everything to do with giving the kind of people who stand behind on-air newscasters and scream and show off their replica team jerseys an excuse to get drunk and light things on fire.

Anyway. I found the bidet in Jeff’s roommmate’s bathroom about a hundred times more interesting than most of the Super Bowl commercials, but there was one that really pulled at my heartstrings, and no, it wasn’t the Budweiser one with the Clydesdale and the cow. It was, oddly, a promo for the NFL itself, telling its fans how much better they are than are than NHL and MLS fans:

Funny what a little well-placed Arcade Fire song can do.

Jesus, Please Hear My Prayers for an Amazon Kindle, and Please Ignore the Fact that I Call Myself “Very Not” Religious in My Facebook Profile

plumpdumpling — Thu, 04 Feb 2010 15:30:44 +0000

I really need an Amazon Kindle. I’m not messing around anymore.

I took this book, Not That Kind of Girl by Carlene Bauer, out of the library that was supposed to be a really well-written girl-who-wants-to-love-Jesus-but-also-likes-rock-music-moves-to-NYC story, and I was prepared to love it, because I used to be very torn between Jesus and rock music, and I moved to NYC, but I didn’t find the book particularly well-written after having read Nicole Krauss’ The History of Love, and I didn’t find it particularly interesting. Plus, it was a bulky hardcover, and I don’t carry a bag big enough to for it to fit in, so I kept leaving it at home, and it was going so slowly I thought I might finish my own novel before I finished it.

It finally came due, and I was going to renew it just to slog through some more, but someone else had reserved it. So I decided to give up on it rather than deal with the overdue charges, but as I was riding the subway to return it to the library, I got to a really juicy part about this boy who liked her and whom she liked and how close they got without ever touching one another, but then I was at my station, and I felt like I needed to return the book since I had ridden two whole stops, so I did, and now I’ll never know what happened with that boy.

If I had an Amazon Kindle, this would never happen. I’d be able to read whenever I wanted to, because the smaller Kindle can fit in any bag. My books would never have a due date, so I could spend as much time as I wanted daydreaming about the boys I never touched and not worry about how slowly I was reading. And I’d be saving the trees by not reading physical books. Is that a legitimate reason for having an e-book reader? I have no idea. Anyway, I would.

OH! OH! And if I read more books, maybe I’d have more than eight friends on Shelfari. You can understand how embarrassing that is.

I have an English degree, people! I should be reading more than one book per year.

My First Greyhound Trip is Only Going to Make Me 100 Times More Annoyed at the Airport Next Time

plumpdumpling — Tue, 02 Feb 2010 17:00:39 +0000

I considered taking a Greyhound bus trip a few years back, but a friend warned me, “You wouldn’t like it.” I didn’t ask questions–just drove myself fourteen hours by car–but I remained curious about what it might be like to travel by bus. Naturally, I jumped at the chance when Greyhound offered me an exclusive ride last weekend on their new Lucky Streak line that travels from New York’s Port Authority directly to your choice of eight casinos. The trip also included a round-trip bus ticket for my guest, lovely accommodations overlooking the boardwalk and beach at the Hilton Casino Resort, a wine reception at the top of the Tropicana Casino & Resort, complimentary spa treatments at Bally’s, shopping certificates for any of the Tropicana’s upscale shops and restaurants, and free slot play vouchers for the Hilton and the Tropicana.

Greyhound’s biggest competitor is the automobile, but anyone driving a car to Atlantic City has no idea what they’re missing out on. Forget navigating, pumping gas, and parking; the biggest draw of public transportation for me is not having to pay any attention to where I’m going, so I loved being able to board the bus in NYC and spend the next two hours doing whatever I wanted, even if what I wanted was to nap. With service right to the casinos, you don’t even need to worry about grabbing a cab once you arrive in Atlantic City.

I don’t own a car, but I’m a frequent airplane passenger and find myself more annoyed with airlines every time I fly. Even before we left Port Authority, I noticed several reasons why I might choose Greyhound over an airline:

+ I didn’t have to arrive at my departure gate hours early just to sit around. There’s no ridiculous security line where you have to remove your shoes, put your laptop in a separate container, and empty your pockets of the dime you didn’t even know was in there. I walked in, walked right up to my gate, and boarded the bus.

+ Once on the bus, I was free to use electronic devices at my leisure. No one told me to turn off my cellphone for takeoff one minute only to inform me that we were actually going to be waiting on the runway for another hour the next.

+ Because there’s no single runway as with planes, buses can leave when they’re supposed to without regard to the schedules of other buses.

+ My luggage was with me through the entire trip. Carry-ons fit beneath the seat and overhead, while bigger bags are stored underneath the coach, so there’s no chance of my suitcase disappearing behind a check-in counter and ending up in Los Angeles when I’m in Boston.

The new fleet of Greyhound buses features free wi-fi and an electrical outlet at the base of the seat in front of you, so it’s easy for the entire trip to slip away as you tweet about how much you’re enjoying the supple leather seats and the smooth ride. The CEO and COO of Greyhound–David Leach and Bill Blankenship, respectively–rode the bus to Atlantic City with us in order to speak with each blogger personally, and I was impressed with their knowledge and passion, especially when it came to the reduced-emission design of their new buses. Truly, now more than ever, taking Greyhound instead of a plane or a car is a great way to lessen your carbon footprint.

The negative aspects to taking a bus are the ones you’ve no doubt heard a million times: it’s slower than other forms of transportation, and the lack of security inspections–while a real pleasure with a group of like-minded bloggers–could be worrisome otherwise.

Fortunately, now’s the perfect time for you to decide for yourself by taking advantage of Greyhound’s Lucky Streak $1 promotion. For a dollar, you can ride round trip between NYC and Atlantic City, and all Lucky Streak schedules have open returns, which means you can stay until your money runs out. Each of the eight casinos Greyhound services are offering a bonus to all Lucky Streak riders, so you’ll be awarded between $25 and $30 to play at the slots. I’m already planning my return.

In Which Kamran Fakes His Death on a Bus

plumpdumpling — Mon, 01 Feb 2010 20:00:02 +0000

Kamran’s simulated crash face does not in any way reflect how our trip to Atlantic City on Greyhound’s Lucky Streak Bus went:

However, this is a fairly accurate portrayal of his feelings toward wearing a seatbelt on public transportation:

A full report is forthcoming.

My Incredible Blog Celebrity Pays Off with a Chance to Gamble Away My Life Savings

plumpdumpling — Fri, 29 Jan 2010 15:00:32 +0000

I know you thought my blogs were totally useless, but because of one of these Internet gems, Greyhound has invited me (and a guest!) to take a trip to Atlantic City today to try out their new fleet of buses equipped with amenities like wi-fi, electrical outlets, and additional legroom that I’ll fill with many bags full of family-sized shampoo bottles and other things I couldn’t bring if I was on a plane.

They’re putting us up in one of the casinos, slathering us in spa services, and hosting a meet-and-greet with other bloggers that they’re calling “Top of the Trop” and which I will hopefully endure the entirety of by tippling champagne with Kamran in a corner. I’m extremely excited, as this will only be the second time I’ve been to a hotel with him in the three and a half years we’ve been dating, if you don’t count all of those initial months when we were meeting up at the Four Seasons every weekend for illicit activities.

Kidding.

Anyway, Greyhound will be taking a look at my Twitter tomorrow to see what sort of nonsense I tweet about my trip (pretty awesome that I broke down and signed up for that jazz a week ago, right?), just to warn you, it may contain nothing but

1) lyrics to “The Wheels on the Bus”,
2) pictures of stupid vanity license plates, and
3) mentions of Kamran accidentally letting out a little pee every time we go over a pothole.

How Do You Deal with Jerks on the Train?

plumpdumpling — Thu, 28 Jan 2010 17:00:42 +0000

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.

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