Category Archives: my uber-confrontational personality

Piggy People

Filed under creepy boyfriend obsession, living in new york is neat, my uber-confrontational personality, why i'm better than everyone else
Tagged as , , ,

Last night, Boyfriend Kamran and I had a leisurely yakitori dinner complete with watermelon sorbet in his neighborhood to celebrate a law school A that he didn’t expect but wholly deserved. As we walked back up the hill to his apartment, I looked expectantly at my feet like I do every time I wear flip-flops in NYC, waiting for a cockroach to crawl over my bare toes. I told Kam that I saw a cockroach in our gym that morning, and he wondered aloud when cockroach season is. I said it seems to be at the start of summer and the start of winter and concluded that cockroaches must be adverse to extreme weather changes, but he sarcastically derided me and said that surely they’ve evolved enough to handle a little temperature fluxuation what with their ability to withstand nuclear attacks and all. We started talking about how ridiculous it is that instead of adapting, humans just do things like move to Florida when the going gets too rough, and I argued that things would be so much better if we were pigs; our pores wouldn’t leak, so we’d just have to recognise when we were overheating and find a way to cool ourselves down. We talked about redesigning the human body to have an internal coolant system with a refrigeration pump and selling our upgraded version of man at a steep price.

While we were having this discussion, we passed one of the hand-carved Italian stone buildings next to his, where four women were leaning against a low wall and chatting. They were all in their 30s and wore their long, highlighted hair down despite the heat. They had on atrocious heels and clingy dresses, and they sipped from martini glasses in between laughs. They were the exact opposite of us. When our conversation finished, I asked Kamran, “Did you see that?”, and he said, “What, those women trying to reenact ‘Sex and the City’?” And we laughed and laughed about how superior we are.

The thing is–I’m pretty sure this sort of business is going on every night in Manhattan. Kamran and I know that we’re weird, but isn’t everyone else weirded out by how normal they are?

Comment Here

Please Stand Clear of the Closing Doors

Filed under fun times on the subway, living in new york is neat, my uber-confrontational personality
Tagged as , ,

I was riding into Manhattan from my apartment in Brooklyn one Saturday night at 10 p.m. not too long ago when a little Latina lady with frizzy red hair, a tiny brown tee, and 80s jeans stepped into my car and planted herself in the doorway, one foot in the train and one foot on the platform. The doors tried to close several times, but she kept pushing them open and yelling something back to some unseen person in the station. Finally, a very tall, very well-dressed, very clean-cut young black man said in a friendly, familiar tone, “Mami, please decide if you’re in or out. I have to get to work.” Without a moment’s hesitation, the woman shouted back, “FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU! YOU HAVE SOMETHING TO SAY?! I’M RIGHT HERE! I’M RIGHT HERE! SAY IT!”

At that moment, her son ran into the car with a scooter, which he must have had problems getting through the turnstile. The man kept his friendly tone and told her that he was just trying to keep things moving for everyone else, but the woman screamed over him, “WHAT’S YOUR POINT?! WHAT’S YOUR POINT?! I’M RIGHT HERE! IT’S A FREE COUNTRY!” The man kept on talking in a level tone, but I couldn’t hear him, because the woman kept shouting, “MY OTHER SON WILL FUCK YOU UP! MY OTHER SON WILL FUCK YOU UP! GET OFF AT 103RD STREET WITH ME! MY SON IS LOUIE, AND HE WILL TEAR YOUR ASS UP!”

The man was talking quietly, but he was evidently getting into the spirit and egging the woman on, because she got even angrier and yelled, “YOU CAN SUCK MY PUSSY!” At this point, I naturally had to uncontrollably laugh out loud and say, “Oh, my god!”, which prompted the entire train to turn and look at me. Except for the woman, of course, who screamed, “GET OFF AT 103RD STREET WITH ME, MY NIGGA! 103RD AND LEX, MY NIGGA!” Her young son finally got embarrassed by the display and patted her stomach, saying, “Mooo-ooom. Stop it.” The woman advanced on the black guy and said, “YOU EXPECT ME TO LEAVE MY 9-YEAR-OLD SON BEHIND?! MY OTHER SON LOUIE IS YOUR AGE! HE’S AS TALL AS YOU! HE WILL FUCK YOU UP!” Her son grabbed her arm to hold her back and half-smiled at how ridiculous she was acting.

A random white guy seated between the two of them suddenly clapped his hands several times very loudly and said, “You must calm down!” The woman yelled, “HE STARTED IT! I WAS JUST DEFENDING MYSELF!” The white guy said, “I know, I know,” trying to appease her, but she couldn’t seem to lower her voice. People throughout the train were laughing at her, and the black man had stopped talking back to her, but she continued shouting, repeating phrases that didn’t make sense in context. We were all looking at each other like, “This woman is insane.”

The train stopped at Grand Central, and as a bunch of us filed out of the car–the air filled with the sort of shared feeling of relief that all survivors must feel–the black man turned to us, smiled, and said, “Sorry about that, everyone.” And then he continued on his way to work.

YES!

Comment Here

Google is Keeping Tabs on My Weight

Filed under it's fun to be fat, my uber-confrontational personality
Tagged as ,

In an attempt to make millions off my website on the suggestion of my very supportive, non-blog-hatin’ friend Elise, I added a couple of Google AdSense ads tonight. I was feeling not-so-sellouty about the Japanese restaurant links that kept popping up on my sidebar, because I am, after all, trying to mold myself into the most-Asian white girl you know. But after editing an old post and reloading the page, I saw that one of the ads had become a photo of an attractive fat girl. I quickly scrolled down to my footer, and the big banner across the bottom had switched over to a spread for a BBW dating site. I’m convinced that Google saw a couple of pictures of me here and is trying to tell me something.

YOU CANNOT DISSUADE ME, GOOGLE. I WILL ONLY POST MORE PHOTOS OF MYSELF EATING TO SPITE YOU.

Comment Here

There are Real People in the Big, Big Trucks

Filed under my uber-confrontational personality
Tagged as

For my best friend Tracey, the only person who will get this:

For everyone else, because you need to be reminded:

There are real people in the big, big trucks
That you flip off when they get in your way
You get so hacked that you pay no mind to the great big sign that says “oversized load”
Do you really think they can go as fast as you in your ’87 Trans Am?
They know you’re in a terrible rush but they’re going just as fast, as fast as they can

– Pedro the Lion, Big Trucks

Comment Here