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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


2004-02-13 ... 2:15 p.m.

La la la la la la...what? Huh? I'm sorry, did you say something?

I went out drinking last night and while it was fun and social and a nice change of pace from my normal evening routine of wholesome dinner, playing on the rug, and Elmo's World,* I was very out of practice for a drinking session, and I am paying for it today. I am paying for it with the currency of emotion, since I feel somewhat sad and guilty that LT had extra Nora duty while I was out swilling beer, and I am paying for it with the currency of my entire brain. Instead of handing that bartender two dollars and twenty-five cents (over and over and over again), I should have just busted out the skull saw and given him my brain. My hangover does not involve pain or angst, but it does involve me feeling very, very slow and stupid.

*This fake footnote will only be relevant to those who also watch Sesame Street, either because they have children, are children themselves (children, get out of here! I talk about blowjobs a lot!), or just enjoy lying on the couch and learning about the alphabet. Nora is in love with Elmo, with his high-pitched voice and his third-person dissociative disorder, so I see a lot of his "world." And Mimi has a question, forrrrrrrrrrrrrr you! (A shiny nickel to the other Elmo-watching parents who guffawed at my Elmo in-joke!) Why does Elmo's world thwart him so? That drawer always gives him trouble, as does the TV and the computer. Presumably he invented his own world, possibly with that very same crayon we see in the opening sequence, and it makes no sense to invent a difficult world for yourself! Unless maybe Elmo is trying to impart some Buddhist-style wisdom about illusion and suffering?

So I am stupid today, because of beer. And I have an inability to eat. This morning I was not at all interested in breakfast things, but then at the El stop I veered into Dunkin' Donuts as if on autopilot. I normally do not patronize this sugar-purveyor because I despise folksy vernacular involving apostrophes.* I got coffee, which is weird because I almost never drink coffee, and something called a "coffee roll," which I think I picked because the name sounded kind of grown-up and East Coasty. Plus its spiral shape seemed like it would be good to meditate on. Plus it saved me the trouble of making a decision on doughnut flavors. Because I am stupid today. And I cannot make those decisions.

*This may be the greatest sentence to ever come out of my fingers.

YOU CAN'T MAKE THIS SHIT UP

There was a short line at the doughnut shop, and I was in line behind a midget, who got hot chocolate and a BOX OF MUNCHKINS. (I could say more, but instead I will simply leave that fat juicy carcass of a joke lie there in the middle of our textual road.) Being near a midget did nothing to clear my head or make my hungover morning any less surreal. I have always been freaked out by the Wee, and by the retarded. That freakoutedness may escalate soon since (as Louisa and I discussed last night over the many beers) it is hard to tell just who is retarded these days, what with all the hipsters wearing their superthick nerd glasses and their high-water pants and their ill-fitting polyester shirts. Everyone's retarded! It's like a Gap ad! Everyone in retard clothes!

After my coffee and coffee roll were purchased and my train boarded was when I discovered that I could no longer eat. It wasn't that I felt sick, but that I just could not eat. Like trying to eat on acid. Who can eat while on acid? No one. You are just too aware of your tongue and teeth and the process of chewing and swallowing, and it seems like an impossible task, this eating of food, so creepily biomechanical and pointless, making the food all go away and go inside you, and digestion and enzymes and THIS WAY LIES MADNESS. A friend of mine once was tripping in our college cafeteria, mistakenly thinking he could eat, and he had Jello on his plate and when someone bumped the table he pointed and shrieked, "It moved!" That still makes me laugh when I think about it. Watch it wiggle, see it jiggle, hear it tell you to kill the President.

Have you purchased a hot beverage to go recently? Dart has invented a new lid, the un-snappily named "Lift n' Lock" (again with the goddamn apostrophes!), and while it may keep your coffee hot longer it sure is overdesigned. All these little bits to poke. And lift. And lock. At least it gives you something to do, while you are not eating your coffee roll. I also looked out the window and tried to make my brain work, and noticed that the sky was totally cloudless and really bright fucking blue, and my immediate association was September 11, 2001, since the same sky was in place that day, and oh hello Crushing Depression The Day After Drinking, THERE you are, I've missed you! Brain, feel free to go back to not working if that's the sort of crap you are going to come up with.

Things improved slightly at work because LT dropped off Nora at my office for an hour while he visited a nearby client. (That makes him sound like some sort of outcall escort hunk, doesn't it?) I practically begged him to do this instead of making other childcare arrangements, because Nora! In the middle of the day! Such a luxury! She made the rounds and showed off her tricks (walking, waving bye-bye, making monkeylips, pointing and saying "cat" at everything vaguely animal-shaped, and the newest thing I taught her, which is to clutch her head with both hands and make a little O mouth like Edvard Munch's The Scream. Anyone who tells you the baby is not a toy is wrong, wrong, wrong.)

LT double-parked and hauled her out of the car seat, asleep from the hypnotic motion of the journey, and we made the handover. She woke up as I carried her through the revolving door and gave me the saddest and most bewildered look----Huh? Where am I?---which turned to happy giggles soon enough as she realized hey, it's MOM! It must be so disorienting to be a baby, falling asleep and waking up in new places all the time, toted around like some chloroformed kidnap victim. Trying to be funny, I signed her in as a temp, but the zombie front-desk did not even blink.

Some temp. I gave Nora an open Word document and use of my keyboard to keep her busy while I returned phone calls, and here is what she wrote:

Xvzcvc cokokv ,,;,.74 k4jhn0][ df

You call that word processing, sister?

---mimi smartypants offers a competitive salary and full benefits.

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