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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
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VARIOUS SENSES Smell: It was a day of Bad Smells at work. The whole hallway smelled of natural gas, to the point where I actually wondered if I should alert Security, because it seems like a gas leak in a giant office building would spell big trouble, with a capital KA-BLAM! The elevator had this horrible tomato-flavored vomit smell. I was trapped inside a very inconsiderate person's cloud of Aqua Net hairspray in the bathroom, as she just decided to spray away, in a big circle around her ugly structured hairdo, without being concerned about who might be standing right next to her, washing her hands and desirous of breathing unchemical air. STOP THE SMELLY MADNESS! Hearing: Last night LT was at the gym and I was at home on the couch using my own underdeveloped muscles to lift my book. No music was playing, but the stereo was on, because I never remember to turn it off. I was lying there reading the French decadence and I heard a loud male voice, which sounded like it was inside my house, say "Okay well I will just bring it around here. Heading up Devon now." I froze, and freaked, and wondered if I imagined it, and then thought: Oh, maybe it is someone talking on the intercom. Then a different male voice said "10-4" and why would you say "10-4" on an apartment intercom? Just buzz the guy in, don't play Starsky to his Hutch. The freaking intensified. The voices kept talking amongst themselves. My second thought: Hmm, maybe this is it, and---instead of God speaking to me, or even an evil demon whispering, "Go after the mayor's eyes with a melon ball scooper"---maybe this is the prosaic but utterly irritating way I will go crazy: hearing phantom cabbies trade locations and bid for rides. When LT came home he explained to me how any piece of wire can become an antenna, and that is why nearby cabbies' voices were being relayed through my stereo. I guess my sanity is intact for the time being. Taste: I am all obsessed with the sweet potato. And the butternut squash. I hereby declare it Orange Vegetable Week. I would be making lots and lots of sweet potato and/or butternut squash-based foods, but LT won't let me cook anymore. There has been a little downturn in his programming work and so he insists on making dinner for me every night, which I am not in any way complaining about. However, more orange vegetable experimentation has to happen soon. Not this weekend, because I will be in a Washington, DC, hotel room, and also I do not think you can take orange vegetables on a plane in today's security-conscious airports. DIE IMPERIALIST AMERICAN DOGS! I HAVE A SWEET POTATO!
Thermal Anomalies: It is like a fashion show in my bed all night long, minus the anorexic women and big silver bowls of cocaine, as I get dressed and undressed multiple times a night. I was reading in bed by myself, and fell asleep with my pajamas on. Then I wake up a half hour after LT gets in the bed because his body emits this intense radiating heat that is nearly tropical under the down comforter, and I sleepily strip off the pajamas. Then at around four o'clock in the morning the heat has been completely off in the bedroom for a few hours (what sadistic moron designed this boiler cycle?), and the room is icy cold, and The Cat is only around eighteen inches long and this is not doing me much good, and LT is fast asleep and thus is not available for full-contact snuggling. So I have to snake my arm out of the covers and pick the pajamas up off the floor, and somehow get into them under the covers while not exposing any of my body to the freezy air. It is usually around this time when I really have to pee, but it is fairly close to the time I should be getting up anyway, which sets up that whole catch-22 where getting up to pee would be really cold and awful and would mess up the sleepy thing I have going, but staying in bed would mean getting no quality sleep (because I really have to pee). Plus The Cat is usually anchoring down the covers at my side, and so if I do get up I have to wiggle out the top of the covers, like working a candy cane out of its wrapper, so as not to disturb her, because it just seems rude to shove her off the bed just so I can go pee. Also, the most unsexy striptease in the history of people taking off their clothes is the one I do huddled up next to the radiator before getting naked to shower, because first I take off the gigantoid sweatshirt that I wear while reading and drinking tea in the mornings, with the hood up and the fingerless mitten cuff things over my hands. Then there are pajama pants and wool socks to be shed, and the flannel shirt under the sweatshirt, and the t-shirt under that, and the underwear, and this whole time I have the shower going already to try and steam up the bathroom a bit. And my skin is very dry and scaly in this weather, so I wish I could have a Lotion Shower right next to the regular shower. I read somewhere that to combat dry skin in the winter you are supposed to take lukewarm showers but sorry, thank you for playing, that sounds awful. ALTERED STATES The Egyptian Book of the Dead chapter titles are fun to read all on their own. It is all about passwords and textual spells, all about language and gaining access. It is like a giant 1980s computer game of the afterlife. Or at least that is what I remember thinking back in my incredibly boring Eastern Religious Traditions class. (Isn't that a crime? How could such a thing be boring? Believe me, the professor managed to make it so. Although there was a lovely anecdote from that class, where all ten of us students were studying together and we knew there would be an essay question on the final about Zen. We all agreed to not answer that one but to draw flowers in our bluebooks instead.) This is quickly becoming some sort of despicable "dream journal," but I keep having such high-amusement-quotient sleep moments that I want to record at least these snippets. Last night in my sleep I developed two cookbooks, and here are their titles: 1. RMTS PROCEDURE MANUAL #39 FOR THE PREPARATION OF SODA AND EGGS WHEN THERE IS NEITHER SODA NOR EGGS 2. THE CYLINDER COOKBOOK Soda and eggs? Cylinders? I have no idea. But in my secret dream life apparently I am an acquisitions editor of "cookbooks for other life forms." CRAZY BITCH ENCOUNTERS OF THE DRUGSTORE KIND Yesterday after work I had to stop on the way home for zucchini and birth control. It would be awesome if someone invented a zucchini that suppressed ovulation but as far as I know these things still have to be two separate products. At Osco, in line for my prescription, there was a woman in front of me talking to the pharmacist about vitamins. She had these different bottles of fancy calcium supplements in her hands and she was asking questions about absorption and uptake etc, and I was a tiny bit exhausted and bored but not majorly crabby or impatient, so I was kind of zoning out behind her staring at this display of makeup cases the size of toolboxes, and wondering who the fuck needs that much makeup, unless you are a clown or a drag queen or a member of the Blue Man Group. Or maybe if you are Vitamin Woman, as she was one of those chicks with the perfect French twist thing in her hair and the expensive-looking skin, and somehow she is wearing suede boots in a Chicago January without a speck of slush or road salt on them. She continued with her vitamin spiel and I continued with my staring into space, and then she finished and walked away, so I stepped forward and gave my name to the pharmacist. Then she whirls around, stalks back to me on those boots and those skinny Pilates-class legs, and hisses, "You know, a little patience would be appreciated." Dumbfounded (what? I had not said a word or made any irritated noises or anything) changed to Paranoid (did I? did a sigh of irritation somehow escape my throat without me even being aware of it?), which then changed to Disproportionate-To-The-Situation Anger (what the fuck, lady! I said nothing! You want patience? Come back here while I patiently force-feed you multiple bottles of your overpriced vitamins until liver toxicity ensues!) And that was my rollercoaster ride of emotion at the drugstore, The End. ---mimi smartypants is stalking you on the Internet. back/forward |
