Category Archives: too much information

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

Posted by plumpdumpling on March 11, 2010 – 12:00 pm
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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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Even in New York City, People are Nice to You When You Vomit

Posted by plumpdumpling on January 7, 2010 – 12:00 pm
Filed under fun times on the subway, too much information
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Two days ago, I was on the green line express to Grand Central on my way home from work, leaning against the doorway as I meticulously typed a blog post about my newfound (and belated) love for Band of Horses on my BlackBerry, when a woman a foot away from me screamed, “Oh, my god!” and pushed everyone around her back toward the opposite end of the car. I looked up from my writing to see that the man sitting on the seat closest to me was vomiting all over the train floor, quietly but forcefully.

Read the rest here IF YOU DARE.

Incidentally, we watched the “Golden Girls” episode about the nudist club last night.

Posted by plumpdumpling on May 1, 2009 – 12:29 pm
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I’m a member of the online dating site OkCupid.com in the hope that when Dr. Boyfriend and I break up some day, you’ll look me up on there and woo me hardcore. Due to the fact that I’m not supposed to appeal to anyone in my current state of relationshipness, I’ve agreed to not change my horrible photos and to fill my profile with totally unattractive drivel such as:

Nobody’s really just looking for friends and activity partners on here, right? But I am! Seriously! And just think of all the activities we can engage in! That don’t in any way involve our genitals! Except, like, if we specifically decide to engage in genital-related non-sexual activities! Like by joining a nudist colony and shaving our genitals! Together! To get to know each other a little better! And to have the best-looking genitals in the entire colony!

AND YET. I receive messages all of the time from men who make me feel sad for people who are actually looking for dates. Such as this one, from a user in his 50s:

I used to live in Brookyn, in the Bushwick area. I thought I would write and get to know you. I notice you say about joining a nude club and shaving each other’s genitals. I would love to do that with you. Or at least to join a nude club together. I would love to smell your vagina too. I am sure it smells sweet!!

I mean, thank you and all, but no. I think the rule should be that if you wouldn’t walk up to me in a bar and say it to my face, you shouldn’t say it online, either.

And now you should tell me about the even awesomer messages you’ve received.

Haute Butt

Posted by plumpdumpling on April 6, 2009 – 11:02 am
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Do you spend all sorts of money on totally useless crap but feel unwilling to pay basically nothing for necessities?

I ask, because I was wearing a pair of really comfortable underwear yesterday, and whilst admiring their fabric and construction on the toilet, I realized that they belong to my best friend, Tracey. My first thought was, “I have to get these back to her!” Because really great underwear are not something I have in abundance, and I assume that’s true for everyone else, too.

But as I thought more about it, I realized that normal people probably don’t think of underwear like I do. My absolute favourite pairs, for instance, are from American Eagle. I don’t normally shop at that store and would have never thought to buy underwear from it, but my non-wicked stepmother took me there to return some of my step-siblings’ jeans after Christmas ’07 and forced me to pick out some for myself. I was generally skeptical despite the super-cute polka-dot and sailboat patterns, but I soon discovered that they’re the best underwear in life–soft, thick, durable, and generally not skanky.

Yet I’ve never owned any past those three pairs, appalled at the idea of spending $7.50 on something no one but Kamran will ever see. (Or, if my dad’s reading this, something NO ONE BUT ME will ever see.) I’m absolutely aware of the fact that these underwear are now two years old and are in perfect condition, yet $7.50 still seems crazy somehow. Even when I’ll drop $7.50 on a Chipotle burrito–something I’ll enjoy for a maximum of an hour, if you don’t count the four days’ worth of black bean burps–without a second thought.

So I went crazy on Friday and used a Visa giftcard from my work to buy 11 pairs of underwear online. I felt like such a badass money-waster. Even though I bought them on clearance, of course.

The Seat-Smearers Strike Again

Posted by plumpdumpling on November 19, 2008 – 11:27 am
Filed under jobby jobby job job, my uber-confrontational personality, too much information
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I think it’s pretty common to have a favourite stall in the bathroom, but I’m nearly obsessive about mine. I monitor who else is using it, which of the two toilet paper rolls is getting utilized more, what time of day it gets visited for the first time, and so on and so on. These things are especially important considering that I work next to an office of women who POOP ON TOILET SEATS.

It’s the perfect stall, too. The first one has the air vent in it, and while I appreciate a little noise while I’m doing my business, I can’t handle that there’s a huge space on the right side where everyone can look in and see you. The second one is too cramped. The third one is too spacious. The fifth one is handicapped, for God’s sake. And so I take the fourth. I used to try and play it cool and not use my special stall if someone was already in the third or fifth out of respect for their peeing privacy, but in my old age, I’ve come to care much more about my own comfort.

Anyway, the other day, I innocently went to my stall and found THE HUGEST PUBIC HAIR EVER CULTIVATED just lying there, sprawling across the whole seat. You can imagine my horror. And so I typed up the following sign in the biggest font possible:

TO SEE THE LARGEST PUBIC HAIR IN EXISTENCE,
PLEASE VISIT STALL #4

I thought about adding something about taking a Weedwhacker to a bush but thought better of it, being intensely concerned about my professionality and all.

When I came back after lunch, I followed a woman down the hall who stooped to pick up the sign, which had been tossed to the floor. I thought it very apropos that these seat-smearing women would take down the sign but not take the extra two seconds to throw it away. The woman–who doesn’t seem to speak a lot of English–looked at the paper as if she was confused by it, so I said, “What an awesome sign,” and she stuck it back on the door without a second thought.

And so my legacy lives on.