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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

2005-06-14 ... 8:42 p.m.

smartypantsmimi: I can't stop browsing the Onion personals.
smartypantsmimi: I'm surprised that so many girls use "sprawled on the bed in lingerie" as their main profile photo.
harry: The slutty poses are baffling.
smartypantsmimi: Looking for: serious relationship. In my garter belt.
harry: I love the women who describe themselves as artists who have the bikini photos, too.
smartypantsmimi: Artist---with killer abs!
harry: Yep!
harry: A surprising number of women make their living as Pilates instructors.
smartypantsmimi: I could never date a Pilates instructor. It would make your love life feel so Woody Allen or something. Or so Tama Janowitz.
smartypantsmimi: ME SO JUDGMENTAL!
harry: Please never mention that woman to me ever again. She makes my skin crawl. Both her and her "writing."
smartypantsmimi: But she's so QUIRKY!
smartypantsmimi: Lord save us from the quirky.
harry: They all need a smack.
harry: Corporal punishment for the quirky!
smartypantsmimi: Hope you can still keep your unique, offbeat perspective on life while we KICK YOUR ASS!


I received the proofs of the US version of my dumb book, which felt insanely old when I read the proofs (You know how weird it is to read your old diary entries? Try copyediting your old diary entries). So the book, minus all the lorries and lifts, will be available for consumption in January, hooray (I guess). I mostly feel glad that the manuscript is out of my hands, since I very nearly missed the deadline for getting the proofs back (and I deal with recalcitrant authors often enough in my professional life that I did NOT want to be one). Between the work thing and the small-child thing, it took me a few days to open the envelope, and then it took me a few more days to get started with the No. 2 pencil, and a few more days to get the holy shit, this goes on forever and I hate every word I have ever barfed up onto the Internet, is it too late to call this whole book thing off? out of my system.

Next came a mockup of the cover art and GUESS WHAT?!?!?? Legs and feet! Legs and feet! Legs and feet! Pink high heels this time.

I complained a bit, gently, but I tried not to make a big diva fuss because the cover is just the cover, and how do I know what sells books? But isn't the legs and feet thing over with yet? And isn't it a bit of false advertising? If I saw legs and feet on a book cover, I would expect a certain kind of frothy sexy story to be told inside. People who like the cover, and who are expecting that sort of story, are going to be mightily disappointed when they find lists of intriguing trash I found in the alley and tales of me thwarting subway masturbators.

But seriously, whatever. This web-diary-turned-book thing is ridiculous (in a good way), and it is all gravy on top of french fries since I expended very little effort on it, and thus I am going to try to quit being a snob about book covers featuring pink high heels and just go with the flow. I am not the car I drive! I am not my fucking khakis! I am not the pink high heels on the cover of my so-called book! And other assorted quotations from faux-revolutionary, homoerotic fantasy films where men affirm their masculinity through blind and destructive obedience to an extremely buff and often shirtless leader (sub- sub- subgenre of the future)!

RECOMMENDED UNMENTIONABLES: Old Navy underwear. I was unsure what size to get, since the package tried to correlate the underwear size with women's dress sizes and there was no option for "can wear anything from a four to a ten, depending on exactly how crazy the manufacturer is and how much money I am willing to spend" (has anyone else noticed that the more clothing costs, the tinier you get to be?) I bought the medium and was kind of taken aback at how big each pair seemed when I got them out of the package (I like my junk to be snug and contained), but after a washing the fit is just fine. And the underwear is superlight and thin and good for summer because a sweaty hoo-ha = crankiness.

RECOMMENDED FOOD PORN: These photos make me want to go back to China right now. I suppose Nora is too young for a "heritage trip" to be worth much yet, but if money weren't a factor we would travel in China every year.

RECOMMENDED BOOK: The Zanzibar Chest.


1. My daughter went to the beach one morning and when I asked about it, she told me this exciting tale:

I went in the water and I went under the water. I went underNEATH. I swimmed. And I swimmed and I went underneath and I was swimming. And Daddy pulled me out and I coughed and water went in my nose and I swimmed and I cried a little bit.

That sounds dramatic, doesn't it? Like she fell off a pier and nearly drowned? Except when I talked to LT, he gave me the real scoop: Nora was walking along in waist-deep water, tripped, and got her face a little wet.

2. Why Kids Are (Unintentionally) Manipulative Jerks: I know that Nora is well taken care of by her babysitter during the hours between when LT picks her up from preschool and when I get home from work. I know she likes Ann a lot and looks forward to playing with her. I know they go to the park and have fun and all is well. Still, it's hard not to fall apart when I say, "Did you have fun with Ann today? Did you go to the playground?" and Nora says, "I want go playground with YOU, Mommy." Guess where we went right that second, even though it was time to start getting dinner ready? I'm so whipped. But we have lots of takeout menus.

3. Nora has the "Asian" American Girl baby doll---NOT purchased by me, but by the stepmother-in-law. (I put "Asian" in quotes because there really are no cues that the doll is supposed to be Asian other than the fact that she's not pink and not dark brown.) Anyway, Nora has been rather underwhelmed by this status-conscious plaything until we discovered that the doll's clothes fit Purple Dog perfectly. Purple Dog (or P-Dogg, as we sometimes call him: P to the D to the O double G!) thus spent much of a rainy afternoon wearing a diaper, a flowered long-sleeved shirt, and a lilac jumper with heart-shaped buttons. LT was completely horrified when he found out, and became even more disturbed when I made Purple Dog say in his deep Isaac Hayes voice, "Ain't nothin' wrong with a dog liking soft pretty things." Is Purple Dog on the down low? Or is it just a harmless, occasional kink? Stay tuned.

---mimi smartypants is often thinking Flash Gordon soap.


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