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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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Oh my goodness. I have dreamed about a building like this, and I mean that quite literally. Going back through my scribbled, sketchy dream journals one finds this from June 6, 2001: the fog hotel, standing on pilings over the bay...we go inside and are immediately enveloped in fog, disoriented, not unlike the chaos of any large city hotel but worse�where is the check-in desk? I am wearing yellow-tinted swim goggles and they are giving me a vague sinus headache. I bump into a potted plant and reflexively say, "excuse me." Not the most detailed dream I've ever had, but I do remember the hotel made of fog. And then there it is online. Weird. Today is not shaping up very well. From my few days off I seem to have forgotten my morning routine, so I was all scattered and it took me forever to get out the door. Then I realized halfway down the block that I had forgotten my Various Devices (PDA, cell phone), and while I could have managed without them, once I remembered I sort of had to go back. I forgot my lunch. I just missed a bus. My train sat completely immobile in the tunnel for no reason for a while. When I finally got to work a whole bunch of shit had not been handled, despite my clear detailed instructions, and my desk was a quagmire of horror. (A QUAGMIRE OF HORROR, I TELL YOU!) Then I received a snarky passive-aggressive e-mail from someone in a position of authority, implying that I do not do enough for this company and that I am a slacker. That pissed me off, and now I'm trying to recover from the low-level smolder that has afflicted me all day. I take criticism fairly well, if it has a basis in truth. For instance, if you were to say: Mimi, you are secretive and a control freak and a bit of a cold fish sometimes, and moody and prone to melancholy and driven and ambitious and may I say even occasionally ruthless, and we'd all enjoy you more if you would relax, especially if it didn't take a glass of wine to make it happen, I would probably agree with you. I might be hurt, but I would probably see the truth of it. But if you say I am a goddammed SLACKER, then we have a problem. Thus, the crankiness. But today is the birthday of Johnny Cash. The parallels between his life and mine are just eerie. Except that my parents were not poor Baptist sharecroppers, I don't play guitar, I've never been inducted into the Country Music Hall of Fame, and I was never arrested for trying to smuggle amphetamines across the Mexican border in my guitar case. The amphetamines were in my violin case, since, as previously mentioned, I don't play guitar. THREE MORE THINGS 1. Overheard conversation between two tough-looking gangsta guys (Latin Kings? There was lots of black and gold clothing involved): King One: "...and then this motherfucker tells me he's moving to Nova Scotia." King Two: "Damn." King One: "Nova fucking Scotia! I'm telling you!" 2. Yes, it's mean. Get over it. This site makes fun of online personal ads and it's a great source of totally frightening pictures to send to your friends, for a rousing game of "That's Your Boyfriend." 3. Did you hear about the gay penguins? They are gay. They are cute. Wendell and Cass are very happy together. It warms even my cold, black heart. ---mimi smartypants is stranger than fiction. back/forward |
