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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

2002-06-02 ... 6:03 p.m.


I did not change my name when I got married. A lot of it was pure laziness. I simply couldn't deal with the effort it would take to change over my passport, utility bills, magazine subscriptions, yadda yadda. And I already had a box of like 500 business cards, and my name on an office door. There were also philosophical problems: why does being married mean you have to have the same name? If anyone can make a good argument for the necessity of it I will listen, but I doubt that you can. Anyway, I was discussing this fact with an older woman at work, who has a daughter who will get married next weekend, and she was all perplexed to find that I did not have a married name, and she said, "Didn't they change it for you?" Who are "they"? I said, "" and we left it at that.


At lunch Friday I went to return some library books and buy some sheet music because I am an uber-nerd. There was this graffiti in the subway: APPLY THE BLOOD OF CHRIST AND YE SHALL BE HEALED. I wondered how one would apply the blood of Christ. Do you think the blood of Christ would come in a roll-on applicator? Or in a squeezy gel tube? Aerosolized blood of Christ?

Summer = subway crazies, I guess, because then on the way home we had the same preacher lady from a few weeks ago (no vegetables this time). I hadn't realized before that while she preaches she keeps her transit card pressed to her ear as if it is a small transmitting device on which she is receiving her Jesus messages. Perhaps it is. However, I've tried listening to my transit card and I get nothing.

The rest of Friday evening, in chronological order: (a) LT and I went to the pet store to buy food for the cat, and exclaim over the eXtreme cuteness of the guinea pigs. (b) Walked down the street to Katsu and ate a whole bunch of Japanese food. (c) Ended up drinking some beers and smoking some grass with our neighbors. (d) Later, listened to music and had the big sex (NOT with the neighbors).

Saturday started off poorly but got a lot better.


I went to drop off things at the dry cleaners and check the Weather Word. The Weather Word was STICKY. This would not be a big deal except for the fact that TWO FREAKING DAYS AGO, on 5/30/02, the Weather Word was also STICKY. This is the first time since I've been keeping track (late February) that the Weather Word has repeated itself, and while that doesn't bother me so much, why repeat a really RECENT Weather Word? So I was despondent.


But! A few hour after that I got to have lunch with Mister Pants, who swung through Chicago on his 2002 Stalk Louie Anderson Across The U.S.A. tour. I led him down bustling nusto Devon Avenue, and we had vegetarian Indian food and discussed jury duty and advertising and lots of other good things, and he gave me a smashingly fun mix CD. Even thinking about the Mister Pants lunch is making me a bit googly-eyed. Mister Pants is one seriously charming Mister Pants. He could charm the stripes off a snake. He could charm Sammy Davis Jr. out of his glass eye (if he wasn't dead). He could charm the serenity out of a Serenity Fountain. (Ha ha! "Free Shipping." Ah, the simple joy of unnecessary quotation marks.) I suggest you experience the glory that is the pantsmail. It's more fun than an ether-soaked rag. And if bunches of people sign up, maybe there will be more frequent pantsmails. (Hint.)

After Mister Pants and friend took off for the second leg of his road trip, I took a nap, and read more of my biography of Zelda Fitzgerald (which is very well documented, including F. Scott's WRITTEN PLAN for forcing Zelda to have another breakdown and divorcing her [literally, "1. Anything she enjoys, prevent her from doing it" and so forth], and I can't believe this asshole behavior hasn't enjoyed a wider literary currency, and now I am cranky about everything the man has ever written). Some errands were run, and then I went out for Saturday Night Scrabble And Beer. Mmmm, Scrabble. Mmmmm, beer.


Shot glass chess. Why would people buy such a thing? If it was really important to you to play shot glass chess you could just buy the requisite number of identical shot glasses and save $145.


Grandmagrandmagrandmagrandma Basketball! Basketball! Basketball! Grandmagrandma Basketball!

It goes on like that for a while. Right now I am doing all the parts myself, but it would be a lot cooler to perform Grandma/Basketball with more than one voice, for maximum rhythmic and harmonic potential, so e-mail me if you want to come over and say either "grandma" or "basketball" into a microphone. Or I could just keep doing my own crazy thing by myself and everyone could continue to back away slowly from it, continue to ignore my crazy things and whimper through the bad dreams that they cause. Yeah.

---mimi smartypants needs a fix because she's going down.


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