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the latest waddle:

good morning, wordpress - 10:36 a.m. , 2009-07-03

elaborate murder attempt - 2:56 p.m. , 2009-07-01

building a tractor in the basement - 10:42 a.m. , 2009-06-19

ask no questions tell just a few lies - 3:17 p.m. , 2009-06-09

my long lasting flavor really lasts long - 1:10 p.m. , 2009-06-04


2003-01-10 ... 11:39 a.m.

THANK-YOU NOTES AND OPEN LETTERS FOR THE POST-HOLIDAY SEASON

Dear Alley Assholes,

Thank you for staying true to your beliefs that the alley is a sort of expressway and that it is totally appropriate to roar up and down it in the early morning hours. I especially appreciate your thoughtfulness in the way that you do not stop or slow down or even look both ways at alley junctures, but instead continue at your same rate of speed while laying on the horn. That way, when me or some other unsuspecting pedestrian is dragged under your giant SUV tires, we will be able to hear the melodious tones of your car horn as we expire, which will undoubtedly be a great comfort to us.

Dear Man Who Shadowed Me All The Way Down The Aforementioned Alley Last Night,

Although I am a fearless urban warrior girl, and a master of the don't-fuck-with-me walk, and am very rarely worried about anyone in my neighborhood, I have to offer my sincere thanks, sir, for walking exactly behind me and in my blind spot for the entire length of the alley. Most men are aware of the somewhat-undeserved reputation their gender has for menace, and, when walking in a darkish alley behind a waifly chick in a beret and mary janes, will either speed up and overtake her or drop way back so she doesn't have a chance to feel threatened. Once I glanced back and realized that, as an Orthodox Jew, you are statistically and demographically rather unlikely to mug or assault me, I felt a little better, but still, please, show some common sense.

Dear Chicago Dental Works,

Thank you for your animatronic LED readout sign, which I saw from the bus, that says "GET A HEALTHY AND HAPPY SMILE FOR 2003" and featured the cutest, most adorable, handsomest, happy tooth I have ever seen in my life. If an electronic rendering of a smiling tooth can be "dashing," he was that too---he just was all jaunty and smiling in a Cary Grant/William Powell sort of way, and I think I am in love.

(ps: another happy tooth, with an umbrella)

(and CHECK THIS OUT! CHECK OUT THESE CHILDREN EMERGING FROM A DISEMBODIED MOUTH! That's it, my life is complete, I can die happy now.)

Dear Woman Who Every Single Day On My Bus Takes Seven Blocks To Fumble In Her Purse And Eventually Find Her Transit Card,

There are these things called pockets. They are very useful.

Dear Undergarments,

What went wrong? I thought we were getting along great. But today I get to work, seriously needing to be in the bathroom after drinking eight cups of tea, and discover that you, Tights, have developed a hole, somewhere near the crotch area. It is not a huge hole, but your spandexy nature means that the hole could easily enlarge, and I would rather not be wearing crotchless tights at work (where it is highly inappropriate) or on the street (where it is currently twenty degrees and dropping). Guess I will be buying tights at lunchtime.

And Brassiere! What did I do to piss you off? Because I am sitting here typing along and feeling a minor discomfort in the boob area, but thinking not much of it, and then I happen to lean way down to plug in the teapot and end up looking down my own shirt (hubba hubba) and I notice the giant wire sticking up out of you. I had to wiggle out of you in my office with the door closed and stuff you in my bag, and now today is officially Unfettered Bosom Friday. Did you coordinate this with Tights? To have all my underwear fall apart at once? You guys are sneaky, I don't know if I can trust you anymore.

Dear Café Typhoon,

I bought one of your maki rolls for a late lunch, and are you hiring the handicapped to roll maki these days? Or are your chefs just depressed and alienated and don't see the point of their existence? Your maki is rolled so loosely and sloppily that even picking it up to dip into the soy sauce sent all the ingredients unspiraling into a vortex of disorder. I ordered Oshinko Maki, not Entropy Maki.

Dear Brain Chemicals,

I would appreciate if whichever one of you is responsible for the inappropriate welling-up of tears would lay off a little. Here is a partial list of the things that have gotten me choked up this past week: seeing footage of a women's college basketball team celebrating, with big smiles and sisterly hugging and total jubilant positive energy everywhere; any television program or even news segment that includes a helper dog, like a bomb-sniffing dog or a rescue dog (there is something so stupidly touching about a dog that just wants to help you); seeing the words "I understand" in print, particularly in an e-mail or instant message from a friend; little kids singing to themselves; and the fact that LT offered to go buy me a humidifier to help with my tubercular hacking at ten o'clock at night.

Dear Spinach, Feta, and Imported Black Olives,

Thank you for inspiring my husband to use you in a totally amazing pasta dish last night. Isn't it wrong of him to cook on his own birthday? I thought so. But you tasted so right.

Dear World Wide Web,

Thank you ever so much. There is some speculation on the web that this photo may have been doctored or faked. I say I just don't care. Damn.

Dear You,

For that above link, much depends on your definition of "work-safe." Use caution.

Love always,

---mimi smartypants

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