Author Archives: plumpdumpling

How Will I Know Who I Am If It’s Not Written on My Underwear?

Posted by plumpdumpling on September 16, 2010 – 12:00 pm
Filed under narcissism
Tagged as

I was reading an article about a lampshade made out of human skin last week, and while describing the man who sold it to him, the author writes:

Tattooed onto the guy’s stomach, visible between the edge of the too-small T-shirt and the empty belt loops of his saggy jeans, it said NOLA.

This seemed redundant, Skip thought. The way he looked, like some demented brigand with a hacked-off Mohawk haircut, and the way he talked, in that incongruous river-rat amalgam of off-angled Brooklynese with the occasional flowery southernism thrown in, where else could the guy be from but New Orleans?

And immediately, I was overcome with the need to have the word Ohio tattooed onto me.

I’ve always toyed with the idea of a tattoo but didn’t want to get one just to have it (I’m looking at YOU, younger sister), and at a certain point, I figured I’d just outgrown them. But this seems so perfect and obvious.

As with the guy in the article, my Ohio tattoo would be redundant. I live in New York City, but I’m in Ohio. It’s what I’m made of, and half of me is still there. But that’s the point.

Kamran hates the idea, so one of my co-workers suggested hiding it somewhere like my hip, but I want to look at it every day, and I want it to be seen every day.

You can picture me with this on the inside of my forearm, right?

Except, like, way, way more ornate, because that’s what Ohio deserves.

1,460 Days of Loving You

Posted by plumpdumpling on September 14, 2010 – 12:00 pm
Filed under creepy boyfriend obsession
Tagged as

Sure, he’s wrecked my reputation by force-feeding me seafood and making me admit that I don’t hate it as much as I’ve always thought

but he makes up for it by otherwise being a pretty nice guy.

Happy 4th anniversary, Kameroon! I could love you for at least another 1,460 days.

I’m GLAD You Were Bitten

Posted by plumpdumpling on September 13, 2010 – 12:00 pm
Filed under living in new york sucks so hard, my uber-confrontational personality, super furry animals
Tagged as , ,

I was on my way up to Kamran’s apartment last night after the first meeting of my bowling team. In the elevator was a guy about my age with one earbud and a Chihuahua on a leash.

(I have to mention the leash part, because people in Kamran’s building love to let their dogs loose in the elevators, which I of course find extremely fun but Kamran finds kind of annoying, as he’s allergic to anything cute.)

Across from me was a slightly older woman who reminded me of an even uglier version of the detestable designer Ivy Higa from this season’s “Project Runway”. They were both looking at the floor. The Chihuahua came to sniff my jeans, and I said, “Hello!”, which usually inspires dog owners to chat with me, but this guy continued to stand quietly.

We were still waiting for our elevator doors to close when the elevator across from us opened up, and an elderly lady and her dog stepped out. It seemed like some sort of Beagle mix to me, small and kind of dopey-looking, and it made a beeline for the little Chihuahua. The lady let out her leash a little so the dog could come over to us, and the two pets sniffed each others’ noses adorably for a second until . . .

The icky woman across from me suddenly said, “Okay, I need to fucking GET OUT OF HERE. I can’t handle this,” and began jabbing at the button that closes the doors. The older lady quickly gave her leash a tug, and the two dogs were pulled apart.

I thought maybe she was in a real hurry or something, but even so, I was pretty grossed out by her display. As our doors began to close, I said, “Woooooooooooow. That was really . . . angry.” The woman just stared at the floor.

The guy with the Chihuahua said, “She was bitten by a dog.”

I said, “Oh, you two are together?” in what I’ll admit was a disgusted voice, and he said, “No, but she just told me that.”

I had no idea how to respond. I mean, I can be the queen of irrational fears when it comes to spiders and weird things at the bottoms of swimming pools, but I couldn’t help thinking this woman was dumb. It’s one thing to be afraid of some rabid 80-pounder baring its teeth at you, but this was a CHIHUAHUA politely sniffing things. GET A GRIP and go get yourself another elevator.

We got to the guy’s floor a second later, though, and I cheerfully said, “Goodnight!” as he exited, and he completely ignored me, so maybe it really is me who has no idea how to act in public.

My Doctor Don’t Know CPR, but He Knows How to Treat Me Right (Eventually)

Posted by plumpdumpling on September 9, 2010 – 12:00 pm
Filed under creepy boyfriend obsession, good times at everyone else's expense, living in new york sucks so hard, narcissism, why i'm better than everyone else
Tagged as , , , , ,

I step onto one of the elevators in Kamran’s building on Friday after work, and a guy in blue scrubs comes in after me. To me, his matching cotton uniform means the guy is too lazy to own real clothes, but I understand that the rest of the world assumes he’s some sort of “medical professional”. This woman slips in just as the doors are closing, so they open back up, and the three of us stand there awkward and silent while we wait for them to close again, because it’s super-rare for someone to talk to you in an elevator in NYC, no matter how cheerfully you smile at them as they enter.

She’s about my age. (Maybe a little older, because people my age can’t afford to live in Kamran’s building unless they have really morally-inexcusable jobs on Wall Street, or at least that’s what I tell myself as I return to my Brooklyn hovel.) She’s wearing a navy blue shift dress that looks expensive, she’s covered in chunky jewelry that looks expensive, and all of the bags on her arm are from expensive stores. I see her slyly eying the guy in the scrubs, and I think about how she probably thinks she’s really hot and deserves to date this spiky-haired dental hygienist posing as a doctor.

So we get to her floor first, and she makes this production of tossing her long blonde hair and holding her bags in her krelbows in that way women always do in movies when they’ve just finished a shopping spree with their friends and are now going to brunch at an outdoor cafe to drink mimosas and laugh at things not even they actually think are funny. She bounces off the elevator, the whatever-he-is looks after her, and for a moment, you know the two of them are totally mind-jerking-off about one another. But just before she’s out of sight, she loses her grip on her very long umbrella, and it gets caught on her I-swear-they-were-patchwork heels. She trips and almost falls down but catches herself, and I almost laugh out loud but catch myself.

And usually, this is where I would accidentally do the same thing six floors later, but I didn’t need to be all bumbling in front of this guy, because I had my own doctor waiting for me at home.

Or, well, he came home from work, like, 4 hours later. But I still felt awfully superior sitting alone in his apartment eating homemade frosting.

IS IT PEE-PEE .COM

Posted by plumpdumpling on September 8, 2010 – 12:00 pm
Filed under administrative, potty mouth
Tagged as ,

I know this will surprise no one, but I have a new blog full of pictures, polls, and the opportunity for you to experience the unexplainable wetness I do every day here in NYC.

IS IT PEE-PEE?

When I pre-released it to my BBFF Bachelor Girl last week, she said, “Dude, you know you’re going to have every perv in the free world following your blog(s), right?”

One can only hope.