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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

2001-08-24 ... 1:17 p.m.

So that's what I was doing 5-6 years ago, when I smoked all the time: self-medicating!

Remember that one part in the beginning of Catcher in the Rye where Holden describes his roommate as a "secret slob"? I'm afraid that can describe me as well. My shoes are shined and my hair is clean. My desk is organized, things are collected promptly in files or stacked neatly in bins. However, the clasp on my bra is perilously close to breaking (I'm bustin' out!) and I just noticed there's a light smear of cream cheese on my monitor. (How the hell did I get cream cheese on my monitor?) My idea of cleaning the house is to pick up all the clutter and papers, remove the worst of the cat hair from the floors, and then sort of swipe at the bathroom with cleanser and a sponge. The apartment might look lovely, but there is secret filth. Nothing gross---if the cat vomited or the toilet got grungy I would certainly do something about it---but the filth is there. Lurking.

So in many ways LT and I are well-suited to live together. He is content to live among all manner of clutter, but when he cleans, it's bleach time. He's the floor-mopper and the stove-cleaner. He does the hard, germ-killing stuff. However, it's understandably not his favorite thing to do either. Which brings me long-windedly to the upshot of this discussion: I've gone over to the dark side. I've hired a "cleaning lady." I am yuppie scum.

It's not as bad as all that. Her name is Barbara, and right now she's only coming once a month, to get rid of the aforementioned secret filth. She is appallingly thorough. I had to stop her from cleaning the shelves of the refrigerator (which was not easy because there's a bit of a language barrier). She lives in the neighborhood and takes ESL classes at night. In the area of my brain labeled "Self-Justification," I like to think that everyone wins: she gets paid for a relatively easy once-a-month job, I get all those housecleaning things done that I really hate to do. Although, last time I was home when she came, and I must admit it's uncomfortably weird to be working at the computer and know that someone is cleaning your house. Hello, I'm Lady Mrs. Mimi Von Smartypants-Socialite, how do you do?

Why do I learn of cool things after they are already over? Here's a discontinued comic strip that's been making me laugh lately: there's one about irony and one about getting a lapdance from Peter Jennings.

Did you know Peter Jennings is Canadian? He's one of those secret Canadians. That explains the comic strip, for Canada is also known as The Land of Lapdances. The slogan is on their flag, but in really tiny letters so you have to look closely.

---mimi maple leaf smartypants


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