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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


2002-10-18 ... 1:18 p.m.

Quidquid latine dictum sit, altum viditur. (Whatever is said in Latin sounds profound.) (Whatever is said in half-remembered first-year Latin sounds profound too, but is probably wrong.) (Although after typing that I went and Googled this old joke and if I have it wrong, so do a lot of other people. I guess that's comforting.)

Here are some more Latin jokes.

Um...dude?

COMPLAINT CORNER

I am not dressed warmly enough for the weather today, so I've been shivering like a sad orphan in my stupid skirt and tights, and although you cannot tell that water is falling from the sky just by looking out the window it is indeed raining a little bit. Just enough to wet the top of your head and make you feel even colder and sadder and more orphaned. I have Frowny Mouth and I am all withdrawn like an introspective oboe solo. All I want to do is nap with someone. In fact, I just rewrote Whitney Houston's* "I Want To Dance With Somebody" to be "I Want To Nap With Somebody" (somebody who tolerates me), but then I regretted doing so because now I have that stupid song in my head and it's really not helping with the quasi-suicidal feelings, I tell you what.

*I believe that this marks the first occasion that Whitney Houston has made an appearance on this web page. Let's all give a great big Bobby-Brown-Lovin' Anorexic-Crack-Ho Has-Been welcome to the Whitster!

(So why are you even updating this thing, then, Mimi? Why not just go crawl under the blankets and spare us all your textual whine-and-cheese? Well, because I am a LAME-ASS, that's why. God. I thought we had established that.)

DON'T BE SAD LITTLE JELLYFISH

However, despite today's gray and cloudy shortcomings, one very nice thing has happened so far. Wednesday I called the bank to close out a CD I had and have the money transferred to my checking account. The CD was just a boring holding tank for an old 401(k) I used to have, and in this, the season of unexpected expenses, LT and I decided we could use that money now rather than later. (It's not like I was going to be able to retire on two thousand bucks anyway.) So. I am on the phone with the bank's telephone drone and all is going swimmingly, blah blah blah Social Security number, blah blah the money will be transferred to your account in the next few days. In the next few days I notice that it in fact has not been, so I call back to see what's up, and am informed that oh no, you can't close out an IRA CD over the phone, you have to go to the bank and fill out a W606a or a WD-40 or whatever the fuck. (Q: So what exactly was the girl tap-tap-tappingly doing on the phone with me, then? Playing Minesweeper and faking like she was closing my account?) Arrggggh. So I traipse to the bank on my lunch hour today, getting even colder and damper, stomping along in my tough-girl boots, and...oh. Here's a really nice lady. Here is no line and a sweet bank lady who cracks actually amusing jokes with me. Here is me signing on the dotted line, and I ask, "What is the penalty for taking this money out early?" and she just smiles and says "Shhh," and I look at the form and she's drawn a line through the penalty part and is giving me the full amount. The lesson learned is that even when you are all stompy and frowny sometimes a total stranger will do something nice for no reason at all. Now I feel like I have to go make a deposit at the Shrine Of Human Goodwill or something.

Remember how I love bad reviews? Here’s a doozy, from the New York Times.

Cuboidal epithelium is fun to say, and it looks vaguely like a maki roll.

The "health halo" surrounding mushrooms.

Oh my god there's an axe in my head.

From the bus I noticed that a new kabob house has opened up on Devon Avenue, and whew, thank god, because that's exactly what Devon Avenue needs: another kabob house. (Sarcastic Chicago joke, sorry.) When I was a young impressionable high school girl I had the mistaken notion that Turkish food was a particularly goth cuisine, because a lot of 1980s goth webpages from the UK (which is where most of the scene was, really) (god it is so embarrassing to admit having cared about this kind of stuff at one point in my life) mentioned kabob frequently. It took several trips to London to realize that I had gotten that wrong back then, and it's just that kabob shops are the only restaurants open after the London goth clubs close, and thus they are the equivalent of America's 24-hour diners or all-night taquerias. Ah.

I have been reading a lot about drugs lately. I read an account of hallucinating on cocaine by Paolo Mantegazza that made me laugh out loud in public, because one of his hallucinations was of a giant Parmesan cheese with lightning bolts coming out of it. Seriously. I also read The Temptation of Saint Anthony. The drug connection is not explicit except that (a) Flaubert was high as a kite when he wrote it, (b) St. Anthony is treated to all kinds of mystical visions, and (c) reading it before bed will fuck you up. Here's a part I liked:

I want to have wings, a carapace, a rind, to breathe out smoke, wave my trunk, twist my body, divide myself up, to be inside everything, to drift away like an odor, develop as plants do, flow like water, vibrate like sound, gleam like light, to curl myself up into every shape, to penetrate each atom, to get down to the depth of matter. I want to be matter itself!

I am trying to memorize that passage so I can use it the next time a waiter says, "Can I get you anything else?"

Plenty of people have painted St. Anthony too, including Salvador Dali.

THREE SMALL SNACKS

1. You know, I like it when people draw me. If you want to draw me and send me the drawing, I wouldn't mind. Bonus points if you give me wings or antennae.

2. Although on one level it's annoying, I kind of think it is cute when Internet Explorer "encounters a problem and needs to close." Aww. My little browser has to go lie down.

3. A big SUV made an illegal right turn on red while I was crossing the street and nearly crushed me, and that was a few hours ago when I was feeling Particularly Stompy, and I decided that I totally hated the driver and his illegal-right-turning ways and his big stupid car. I composed an on-the-spot screamy punk song that told the story of how I performed a citizen's arrest on the guy and threw him in prison for breaking the rules and ruining the environment and then he becomes someone's bitch, and my song had the screamy refrain, "Bend over and take it, Mr. Stupid SUV! Drive the excitement in your Jeep Cherokee!"*

*Except it wasn't a Jeep Cherokee but one of those Ford Excessives or whatever they are called. Screamy punk songs need to rhyme, however.

**Someone needs to give Jeep a call and let them know that "treatest" isn't a word.

***I realize that the punishment inflicted for this total stranger's illegal right turn is rather cruel and unusual, and rest assured that if I were really in charge of arresting wrongdoers I would be a lot more forgiving. Unless I were in a Stompy Mood. Like today.

---mimi smartypants listens to the crack of doom on the hydrogen jukebox.

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