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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

2006-06-09 ... 2:44 p.m.


smartypantsmimi: Want to meet Nora in Mongolia? She's still talking about it. You could take her on a field trip.
famouslongago: That would be awesome.
famouslongago: Has she been on a horse yet?
smartypantsmimi: Nope. She saw a mounted Chicago cop and asked if the horse was real. City kid.
famouslongago: I just learned the other day that the Mongols used to drink their horses' blood when there was no food to be plundered.
famouslongago: That's pretty badass and also hard to do with a Humvee.
smartypantsmimi: Hey horse, stand still a minute.
famouslongago: Yeah, talk about oppression.
smartypantsmimi: ACTUALLY drinking the blood of the workers.
famouslongago: Cart around some guy all day and then he goes vampire on your ass.
smartypantsmimi: Now I want to write a Marxist short story about vampire factory owners.


My CT scan came back negative. Well, it came back negative for cancer or other abnormalities---I am pretty sure it was positive for organs. The doctors probably would have mentioned it if I had turned out to be completely hollow inside or filled with sausage and cheese like a calzone. Now I am supposed to see the urologist and do more weird tests to try and find out why I pee blood. I am pretty unenthusiastic about this. I suppose that technically I don't want to pee blood, but since it is causing me no difficulty whatsoever can't we all just agree to ignore that particular lab result?

Also, I looked up this urologist online. His picture makes him look like a Lincoln Park frat boy, and I deduced from his graduation dates that he is almost exactly my age. The idea of a Lincoln Park frat boy poking around my pee-pee parts contributes greatly to my non-enthusiasm, but I guess I will keep the appointment for the time being. Maybe we can go out for Jaeger shots afterwards.


Eleven years ago today, LT was in a university chapel receiving his masters' degree and I was sweating to death in the audience and watching a pigeon poop on some old man's head. The chapel ceilings were so high that the pigeon poop descended almost in slow motion, with a terrifying sense of the inevitable. It is just about the only thing I remember clearly from that day.

Eleven years ago tomorrow, LT and I got married. I remember a lot more things from that day, like getting teary at the ceremony, my gigantic florist-had-a-manic-episode bouquet, the amazingly delicious grilled cheese that I ate at the bowling alley during our post-reception after-party. I look at those pictures and marvel at how young and skinny we were. Also that here we are, after all the job changes, apartments (including overseas ones), inside jokes, and big decisions. After parenthood, after our amazing daughter who somehow seems both wholly herself and an output of LT + Mimi despite not being genetically related. We're still married and plan to stay that way. Even though he has a normal attitude toward spending money and I have an unfortunate tendency to hoard every dime, even though he gets into bed only to fuck or to sleep while I consider it a great place for lengthy lights-out conversation, even though he tells me the scrotum is a noble sac while I believe it disproves the existence of god. Even though he wants to take Nora camping. I still dig that guy.

(I certainly hope your anti-nausea pills have kicked in by now. Take cover! Incoming Sap Attack!)


Nora: Can you write down MISO SOUP on this piece of paper?
Me: Sure. Why?
Nora: I'm going to cut the words out, put them in my pocket, and give them to the waitress tonight [at our planned sushi outing].
Me: Well, okay---but I'm sure they will have a menu there with the words MISO SOUP on it. Plus, you know, we can speak. We can just tell the waitress about miso soup.
Nora: What if we tell her and she forgets?
Me: The waitress will write MISO SOUP down on her own piece of paper when we say it to her.
Nora: But here it is on my piece of paper!
Me: Right, but the restaurant has a piece of paper for writing down all the food words we will say.
Nora: Well, MISO SOUP is already done. What else are we going to eat? Write down what else we are going to eat and I will cut those words out with my scissors.

Fuck it, I give up! Watch out, restaurant industry, because a revolution in order-taking is brewing. Henceforth patrons will arrive with pockets full of tiny slips of construction paper with FILET MIGNON or TWO EGGS OVER EASY or SKATE WING WITH BLACK BUTTER, GARLIC, AND ARUGULA crayoned on them in advance.

---mimi smartypants should have been a pair of ragged claws.


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