Tag Archives: stuff i hate

I Would Do Anything for a Free Dinner (Including That)

Posted by plumpdumpling on May 17, 2011 – 12:00 pm
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I don’t think I’ve been to see a medical doctor since 1994. That was the last time I can remember seeing the inside of a doctor’s office, and even then, I only went because my appendix had ruptured four days earlier and was filling my body full of toxic gangrene.

So when Kamran started insisting recently that I go see a doctor, I was understandably reticent. I don’t know what happens at the doctor’s office. Do I take my clothes off? Where will they touch me? Should I save up my pee?

See, I’ve been going to the eye doctor and the dentist at regular intervals all along, so there are no surprises during the visit. I know the parts I like (the copious encouraged spitting at the dentist), I know the parts I don’t like (when the eye doctor’s assistant weirdly asks me what my hobbies are for my file and I say, “Eating?”), and I know I won’t have to do it again for a predetermined amount of time. Because nothing’s ever wrong with me at those places.

But all SORTS of stuff could happen at the doctor’s office. And I really don’t believe he can tell me anything I want to know or anything that’s helpful. I’d rather just quietly die of whatever unknown diseases are currently taking hold of me than have to worry about actually treating them. I’d rather think I’m totally fine and then keel over suddenly, and the only way to do that is to continue avoiding the doctor for the rest of my life.

Unfortunately, Kamran is nothing if not supremely manipulative. So when I refused to make an appointment for the 400th time, he announced that he wouldn’t be making any fancy dinner reservations for us until I did. So I said, “Oh, well.”

Then he started saying, “I really feel like going to Degustation for a tasting menu. I wish you’d make an appointment so we could go.” So I said, “I mean . . . I wish I could do that for you, but . . .”

Then he started saying, “I’m going to make a reservation at Eleven Madison Park, and I’m going to go by myself.” Now that we’ve been to Per Se, EMP is my new end-all-be-all of restaurants. So obviously I had to suck it up and go.

Thanks to my friend Ash and her husband, I ended up having a totally non-scary experience that didn’t involve any weird touching but plenty of peeing. Of course, my test results don’t come in for a few days, so that’s when the real fun begins.

And by “fun”, I of course mean “chemo”.

Cover Up That Caesarean Scar, Fatty

Posted by plumpdumpling on May 12, 2011 – 12:00 pm
Filed under good times at everyone else's expense, it's fun to be fat, my uber-confrontational personality, stuff i hate, why i'm better than everyone else
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I’ve never worn a bikini. I burst forth from my mother’s womb at 145 pounds, already wearing footie pajamas to hide my shame, so my beach attire has always included one-pieces and t-shirts. Well, my friends and I are soon going back to the Hamptons beach house we rented last year, and I’ve been actively searching again for the perfect swimsuit after last year’s tankini disaster at Laguna Beach.

I think I finally did find a suit that I’ll like, but more importantly, I was reminded that everyone else likes the wrong suit. For reference, here is the only person who should be wearing a bikini:

I don’t mean to be anti-feminist here, but seriously, if you don’t look like that, why are you wearing one?

Do you just looooove the way the water feels on your stomach? Hey, guess what; water actually soaks through swimsuits right to your skin!

Were you hoping for some awesome bikini tan lines? TAN LINES ARE NOT SEXY.

I imagine you’re not doing it to show off your love handles or the fact that no amount of padding will give you sideboobs.

And I kind of doubt you want people noticing that your midsection’s shaped less like an hourglass and more like one of those fat pencils we used to use in kindergarten.

You know what hides love handles, weird foam padding, and your giant potbelly that sort of reminds one of a poisonous growth on a treetrunk?

ONE-PIECES! For me, even models look better in them:

I guess I’d just rather see less and imagine perfection than to be assaulted by how imperfect everything is. And don’t try to tell me that imperfections are beautiful, you bikini-wearing sap.

QUIT TRYING TO MOTIVATE ME

Posted by plumpdumpling on May 6, 2011 – 12:00 pm
Filed under my uber-confrontational personality, stuff i hate
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Lately, I’ve been seeing them everywhere, but especially on Pinterest. These supposedly-inspirational quotes in stylized letters that are so nice to look at that they kind of make you forget how incredibly pointless they are.

I actually liked them for a while and even briefly considered making my own Pinterest pinboard for the ones I liked most until I just became overwhelmed with how many of them they are and maddened by how . . . just . . . fake it all is. No one’s going to be called to action because of these things. No one’s going to “DO IT” or haul up their anchor on the past because of some dumb poster.

I blame the British for starting all of this, naturally, when their totally hott Keep Calm and Carry On poster was discovered ten or so years ago:

But I don’t think that would’ve worked on anyone, either. At this point, I’m refusing to like anything other than kinetic typography like this illustrated dramatic reading of a video game review that Tracey showed me:

Or any of the not-meant-to-be-inspirational, just-meant-to-be-awesome design Lisa of Elembee.com is doing:

Otherwise, it’s all demotivational posters for me.

Ett-ymology

Posted by plumpdumpling on October 8, 2010 – 12:00 pm
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In the many-part definition of the word douchebag, here is one part:

\düsh-bag\, noun: someone who wears a black button-down to work but immediately dons a black Ed Hardy t-shirt over it once he leaves the building

Thuh

Posted by plumpdumpling on July 26, 2010 – 12:00 pm
Filed under good times at everyone else's expense, jobby jobby job job, my uber-confrontational personality, stuff i hate, why i'm better than everyone else
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One of my office pet peeves is when people call me and end the conversation with, “What did you say your name was again?”

It’s always after I’ve been super-unhelpful and/or snarky with the person, because he’s always a telemarketer. I’ll say, “Oh, we don’t have an IT department in this office,” and he’ll say, “Well, where is it?”, and I’ll say, “At your mom’s house.”

And then he’ll say, “What did you say your name was again?”, and of course I haven’t given my name, so I’ll say, “The. Office. Manager.” And I’ll pronounce the like thuh to make him feel stupid.

He actually probably thinks I’m retarded, but I’m okay with that.