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Attack of the Gigantic Smiles

Posted by plumpdumpling on February 23, 2009 – 3:25 pm

On my way down to Christopher Street for dinner at Agave Saturday night for my friend Bridgette’s birthday celebration, I saw:

a) two things I wrote about in this Examiner.com post

b) An old man waiting for his wife and grown daughter outside of a store called The Pleasure Chest. He looked so awkward standing outside the door and so relieved when his family came through it with their purchases. Or at least I assume it was his wife and daughter. I guess it could’ve been his two prostitutes, picking up supplies for their evening at his behest.

Bridgette’s party was pretty amazing, because

a) it included my three favourite co-workers from my software company who no longer work there:

Bridgette, Beth, me, and LaChantee

b) there was a maple duck confit quesadilla with goat cheese and a fig spread on the menu that LaChantee and I wanted to split, but there was a $5 sharing fee that we were not about to pay, so we just didn’t tell our server about it and felt veeeeeeeeery subversive:

c) I took this picture of Chantee looking like she has a red tumor growing inside of her nose:

d) Bridgette’s friend Sarah and I totally became BFFs. And by that, I mean that I dropped a fork on the ground before she got there and actually told her before she used it to eat her dinner.

Clearly an incredible time was shared by all:

The Posts are a Lot More Fun to Write When I Can Actually Remember Everything That Happened

Posted by plumpdumpling on January 26, 2009 – 3:33 pm

Filed under all of my friends are prettier than i am, living in new york is neat, par-tay
Tagged as all of my friends are prettier than i am, living in new york is neat, murray hill, par-tay

Saturday night began innocently enough, with five friends meeting for dinner at Mexico Lindo in the Murray Hill section of Manhattan to celebrate an impending birthday.

The friends, in order, are me (managing to look extra-crazed because I specifically tried to look normal), Sonya (in her authentic American Indian headdress), Jack (who is not as perverted as he appears), Beth (the birthday girl and owner of many granny sweaters), and Emily (who arrived twenty minutes late due to hair-straightening needs, which was generally deemed very worthwhile).

Not pictured: Bridgette, who stopped by for twenty minutes before returning to her GMAT studying and who DID sit beside me, lest you judge me uncool for having an empty seat next to me in the photo above.

Dinner, which was scheduled to last two hours to lead up to a showing of The Reader at the theatre across the street, actually lasted four hours due to extensive talk of how best to hide your tampon on your way to the public restroom at work (up the sleeve was eventually decided upon), whether it’s okay or not to pile trash on your friend when he falls asleep during karaoke (perfectly okay), and why Emily’s sister-in-law would buy her a shirt with a scoopneck that shows off ¾ of her boobs (because those things deserve to be enjoyed by all). The waitress brought out a giant bowl full of flambéed pears with a candle on top for Beth to blow out, but the pears were actually the dessert I ordered, because of course restaurants in New York City don’t give you anything complimentary on your birthday. Beth drank her coffee in silence as I licked every last flaming inch of the bowl myself.

After Sonya took it upon herself to explain what Two Girls One Cup is to me and we debated the feces’ similarity to chocolate softserve, the four of us girls piled into the back seat of a cab

and made Jack sit up front while we unabashedly discussed how you have to consciously remind yourself to look at the penises instead of the faces at Naked Boys Singing because you’re trained to be a good girl, and how totally hilarious it would be to hand over a tampon right out of your vagina when your friend asks to borrow one. “It’s only been in there an hour; it should be good as new!” Sonya said.

Having missed the movie, we got a private room at our favourite karaoke spot instead and spent the hours leading up until 3 a.m. enduring Sonya’s renditions of O-Town and the Spice Girls, Jack pretending like he was badass enough to know the lyrics to KISS’s Love Gun, and sadly realizing that only listening to male-fronted bands all my life means that I don’t actually know any songs in my vocal range as I really let Weezer down with my Say It Ain’t So.

Luckily, Emily and Sonya more than made up for it with some super-sexy Melissa-Etheridge-inspired lesbian dealings that would’ve been much sexier had they been in focus

and Beth–literally the whitest person I know–sang not one not two but THREE rap songs. One of which involved saying the word nigger over and over again, causing crowds of people to peek in the window into our room to see whose ass they should kick.

And all of this while we were completely sober.

I Only Named Your Picture Boob Bows, Tracey, So I’d Get More Hits from People Looking for Porn

Posted by plumpdumpling on January 8, 2009 – 12:39 pm

Filed under all of my friends are prettier than i am
Tagged as all of my friends are prettier than i am

Happy birthday to my beautiful, successful, selfless, best-listener-ever of a best friend, Tracey, who has wrapped her naughty bits up in present form for your gift-giving convenience:

Although it wouldn’t make much sense for you to give her herself for her birthday.
But you get the idea.

I loooooooooove you, Trax, and I regret every minute we’re apart. Except when I know you’re making the squeaky eye noise in the morning.

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
Tagged as all of my friends are prettier than i am, chelsea, good times at everyone else's expense, it's fun to be fat

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: