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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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Last night LT went to a Users' Group (users of a particular software, not users of sweet delicious heroin), and I dallied around after work and bought a book of poetry. So I guess we both stayed safely within our little stereotypes, at least for one day. I have never been a Star Wars fan (quick! throw me in space jail!), but it's pretty amazing sometimes, to people who are Star Wars fans, exactly how much I don't know about Star Wars. The things I don't know about Star Wars could fill a book. The title would be: The Things I Don't Know About Star Wars. For instance: Did you know that Anakin Skywalker is really DARTH VADER? Dude! I did not know that! (LT told me that, the other night. And then he whimpered a bit about how he ended up with someone as clueless as me.) I also don't really understand WHY it was necessary to blow up the Death Star. I know they were evil and all, but that blowing-up part (with the spaceships and all) occupies at least a third of Star Wars and I always tuned out that part because it was boring. And who called that thing the "Death Star"? Was that the Empire's idea or is that just what people called it informally? Because it's really poor marketing if it's the official name. Super Kick Ass Crescent Fresh: My Bloody Valentine live mp3s. I like to eavesdrop on bus conversations. There is a gay bar on Clark just north of Devon, and they have three flags out front, the standard rainbow, a bear pride flag, and a leather pride flag. Some skinny weedy high-school dorks were on the bus, and one of them said as we passed, "Dude. Look at that place with the rainbow flag. I hate that faggoty shit." Another one, even skinnier and dorkier if that is possible, said, "That shit sucks. I'd like to kick all their fag asses." I have a feeling they had no idea that the other flags would seem to indicate that the ass-kicking would not be all that easy, and that their idea sounds like a wonderful way to get their lame little homophobic selves killed, and I had to stop myself from laughing in their faces. STUFF THAT DIDN'T FIT ANYWHERE ELSE British people sleep naked. What's with this plan to work up to being nude for longer and longer periods of time? Is it really so essential that we be nude? Oh, and although this has nothing to do with nudity, you shouldn't worry so much about rat urine. Isn't that a relief? You learn something new every day, if you are not careful: Scriabin died of an infected boil on his lip. Yuck. Someone once said (and I am quoting from memory here): "I lie in bed, and I think about life, and I think about death, and both seem equally horrible." I want to attribute that, but I've already been through most of my extremely mopey books and didn't find it, so if you recognize who said it please let me know. MIMI SMARTYPANTS' REVIEW OF STUFF YOU CAN SMEAR ON YOURSELF 1. I am completely enamored of this product. (Try not to be frightened by the scary-haired rodent girl on that page.) I recommend it to other people who want to fight their mild Mediterranean waviness and have straighter hair. However, I have to warn you: it is the most semen-like substance you will ever put on your hair. I can't help but think about that every morning when I use it, and I apologize for being gross but it really is astounding. If you are ever in need of a semen stunt double, this is the stuff. 2. I bought some blue lip gloss on impulse at the drugstore, because it looked yummy and berry-flavored and because it was blue, and the label promised that of course it turned clear when you put it on, and the label lied lied lied. As I was walking back to the office with my drugstore purchases (contact solution, grapefruit juice, new toothbrush, blue lip gloss), I slicked some on, and was very happy with the texture and the delicious berry-ness, and went happily about my day, until the next time I was washing my hands in the restroom and noticed the distinct cyanotic tinge to my mouth. The stuff stays blue, and would be totally excellent if you are trying to appeal to necrophiliacs but is not so good for the workplace, where I am trying to convince people of my competence and good health rather than of my pale undead stylings. So watch out. Blah. I have the attention span of a ritalin-addled gnat this week. Spent a good hour not working but rather composing a rap about Frank Booth remodeling his bathroom: in my rap he goes to Home Depot and pretty much alienates all the clerks with his nitrous-huffing and psychotic ways. Then he spends a long time deciding on a color of floor tile. My distractability is not helped by the fact that I have had a minor sore throat for a week or more now. A friend suggested this is due to liquor abuse, walking around in the cold weather improperly dressed, and spending time in smoky bars. To which I say: Nonsense! Liquor never hurt anyone! (Ahem.) Sore throat or no, I am going out with Kat this evening for some food and some beer, so stop by if you are in the mood and if you are PREPARED TO GET MY BACK. Because at some point during the evening I will undoubtedly be whipping a pool cue around and yelling "Okay, who wants a piece of me! Come on, you dickless motherfuckers!" So don't be in the bathroom or anything like that when the shit starts going down and I need to tag you in. Thanks. ---mimi smartypants is going to teach you how to tap dance if it takes all night. back/forward |
