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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


2003-09-01 ... 10:57 a.m.

Sometimes you want to share something with the world (or at least the tiny pie-slice of the world [mmmm, world-pie] that reads your web page), and you try your best to put that something into smooth-flowing, reader-friendly prose. However, the something turns out to have been much more succinctly expressed in (of all things) instant message format. So you save yourself the trouble and cut and paste.

smartypantsmimi: every time I pass a damn White Castle I think of cockrings.
smartypantsmimi: because in the window there is this disgusting ad for something called CHICKEN RINGS
smartypantsmimi: and there is a HORRIFYING PHOTO OF THESE BREADED CHICKEN CIRCLES AND I THINK OF THEM BEING TAKEN FROM THEIR GREASY WRAPPERS AND SLIPPED ONTO SOME NASTY PORNSTAR COCK
smartypantsmimi: I am going to go soak my brain in bleach now.

I have been having sleeping issues. This long weekend, while charming and relaxing, is not helping with the sleep stuff, because: there is fun late-night stuff. This gets my brain all revved up so that I have a very brief, dream-packed doze and then I get up early the next morning, which makes me need a nap in the afternoon, which gets me all nice and rested and ready for more late-night fun, and so on.

1. A dream in which it was discovered that all golf-related items in one's house could transmit your private conversations to the government. This news was being spread on weblogs and liberal phone trees and such, and freedom-loving people everywhere were purging their homes of all golf books and magazines, throwing away all golf tchotkes and pencils and scorecards, putting parental locks on the golf channel. Luckily LT and I do not have any golf stuff in the house, but as I recall even books that mentioned golf had to go because they carried these secret spy transmitters.

2. A dream in which I had a bad cold, and my sister said, "Why don't you sleep with my boyfriend, he'll heal you" and her boyfriend was standing right there with a dumb look on his face. I was saying, "No, it's just a cold, I'll be fine," and she was trying to insist, but I knew it would make future family gatherings awkward so I kept saying, "Really, I will just take some Nyquil or something. Seriously."

3. A dream in which LT and I found half of a desiccated iguana between the storm window and screen in our bedroom. It was so gross I was screaming like a little girl. We used a very long pole to sort of poke it out the window.

4. This was not a dream, but it amused me: After some middle-of-the-night sex (insomnia does have a few advantages) I passed out for a few moments and then groggily got up to pee, which is something I like to do in the dark and without my glasses, because why wake yourself up more than necessary? Just as my sleepy ass made contact with the toilet seat a police siren made a sudden SHRIEK right outside our house, as if the cop car had been idling there and right then took off in response to a call, and it nearly gave me a heart attack. The noise timed so perfectly with the beginning of my peeing that in my post-orgasmic drowsiness I had a flash of "Did I do that?" Pee Siren!

Awesome little ASCII movie of "the" Matrix scene.

The Anonymous Portrait Gallery.

The Wonderful World of College Brochures.

Don't go to grad school.

There has been a lot of wine this weekend. Saturday for dinner I went with S. to Leo's Lunchroom, and there is something so nice about BYOB restaurants, particularly Leo's where the vessel of choice for your wine is coffee cups. This makes you feel like one of those classic stealth alcoholics. Then Sunday my parents came to take us out to dinner, and even though they were out of my first-choice wine (I overreacted a bit, I admit, by saying, "Zounds! This is like a nightmare from which I cannot awaken!"*), Settimana Café came through with a backup wine that was almost as good.

*Here is the rank order of people at that dinner table who thought I was even remotely funny: number-one is me, because I crack myself up on a regular basis; number two is my sister, since it's genetic; next comes LT; then my parents; and, bringing up the rear, dead last, would be our waitress.

IMPRESSIONS ON WALKING HOME FROM WESTERN AVENUE, SINCE WHO WANTS TO WAIT AROUND FOR THE DEVON BUS, SERIOUSLY, ONE COULD GROW OLD AND GRAY DOING THAT

1. Some misspellings are just plain great: NECTAREENS $1/LB.

2. Why do Russian guys always hit on me?

3. Homeless woman asks me if I have a cigarette. I do not. "Okay. Do you have a tampon?" Although this request makes me feel vaguely uncomfortable, I do, indeed, have a tampon, and I pull it out of the Secret Backpack Compartment and hand it over. Also: note the order of her questions. Good to know she has her priorities straight.

Happy Non-Labor Day, all you Americans. It is even raining, so we do not have to feel any guilt about staying inside and reading all day, which is infinitely preferable to exercising or barbecuing or any other darn-fool "holiday activities." Hooray.

---mimi smartypants has got you covered.

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