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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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Today is SNAPPY. I guess I agree. The weather here is sliding into that danger zone where I start to panic, because soon it will be too warm for black tights and turtleneck sweaters and other aspects of my urban hijab, and I know I bitch about this every time the mercury rises but I seriously have no warm-weather clothes, and whenever I attempt to buy some I end up fleeing the retail environment in horror at the boob-slings and handkerchiefs and foot-exposing sandals that the fashion world seems to expect me to wear. My booty may be fine, my booty may be all that and a family-size bag of chips, my booty may bring certain carefully selected grown men to their knees, begging me please, but the entire world does not need to see my booty, no matter how warm the weather, thank you very much the end. I was at work, talking to Sam on the phone and April is just so busy, we haven't been able to get together for beers in ages, and he was griping about that: Sam: I pine for your company. Look at me, I'm PINING over here. Me: Wow. I don't think anyone's ever pined for me before. It's kind of nice to be pined for. Sam: Yeah, sometimes you need a good pining. Me: That sounds like something you'd ask for in a dungeon. Please Master, I deserve a severe pining. Pine me harder! Later in that same conversation I was simultaneously trying to talk to him, review a manuscript, and throw my flowers away. Yes, I have flowers in my office. I bought them for myself from the shop on Wells because sometimes a girl needs tulips. Shut up, it doesn't make me any less tough. Grrrrr. So anyway they are about a week old and starting to give up their flowery ghost, so as we're talking I'm trying to get them in the garbage can: Me: Oh oh I'm dropping petals everywhere. Sam: Is that some kind of metaphor? Did you recently take a job writing soft-focus erotica for the housewife market? Me: No, I really am dropping petals everywhere. Sam: Okay, Ana�s Nin. Whatever you say. FOUR ON THE FLOOR Remember my minor obsession with the Fibonacci series? The newest thing to be baffled/fascinated by: reading all these cadence rhymes. On of context on the page, it's like bad, labored, militaristic, weirdly compelling poetry. Leisure Town is cracking me up again. Worth clicking for so many reasons, not least of which being the truly massive pile o' porn and the phrase "blah blah lesbians in the soap suds." Um, speaking of: Here's a brief discussion that links the creation of laptop (heh, heh, laptop) computer music to masturbation. SCENES FROM LAST NIGHT Will somebody PLEASE make me stop running around arm-wrestling people in bars. All I do is embarrass myself and wake up with achy soreness in my floppy little puppet arm. Last night's opponent was Kat, and she vanquished me without difficulty. There must be someone in this town I can beat at arm-wrestling...maybe just to even the odds I should stay out of bars and start challenging kids on the playground. SCENES FROM MY MORNING
Reference books, I love you so!
DESTRUCTION! This was on the way to work, from the bus window, which is why it's kind of smeary. I wish I drove one of these big machines instead of being a puny little editor. ---mimi smartypants: look upon her works, ye Mighty, and despair. back/forward |
