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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

2003-01-06 ... 11:38 a.m.

Lost weekend. Not in the usual sense that I got all bedrunken and I don't quite remember anything past our conversation about ballpoint pens. Nor in the X-Files sense that I was abducted by the gray people with the big heads and subjected to anal probing, although really, that might have been preferable compared to the other bodily unpleasantness I suffered this weekend, which included a non-stop cough; painful, swollen throat; gallons of some substance (maybe ectoplasm??? Follow up with that alien theory) suffusing my sinuses and ears; and an ungovernable exhaustion that made it seem like a lot of trouble to move my arms and legs or even my eyeballs. (At one point LT was like, "Are you okay?" because I wasn't responding to anything he said, and I could only sort of flop my hand at him in what I hoped was a reassuring gesture.) Saturday I did literally nothing but sleep and get up every four to six hours to swallow cough syrup. LT, because he is a proponent of the healthy Smartypants and because he is just generally a compassionate guy, went out to our sketchy Osco for me at eight o'clock in the morning, stood in line at the register behind all our neighborhood's alcoholics, with their shaking hands and their six-packs of Natural Light (goes down smooth and easy!) and bottles of Grand Marnier (almost like orange juice!), and returned home with a wide array of cough medicine for me to choose from, plus the latest issue of Cosmopolitan.*


Cosmo. Wow. Now listen, I know that fashion magazines are up to no good. But still, I see them so seldom that when I actually take a look I am flabbergasted all over again. It is all about the high heels and the landing-a-man plan, and the "career advice" seems directed to women who work as entry-level eye candy in fields where being seen in this season's Prada is more important than being seen making decisions and handling yourself like an adult. (Seriously, if you need to be told not to cry at work, and not to sleep with your boss...) Here is the bit that really got to me, though: The Seven Sex Tricks You Must Know (or something like that; are exact quotes really necessary when it comes to Cosmo?) suggested that you "keep him guessing" and "mix it up." How to put this into practice? When he starts to go down on you, stop the action and go down on him instead. Really. It really said that. Besides the ever-present mixed messages (are we supposed to be insatiable sex kittens or submissive man-pleasers?), CAN WE AFFORD TO BE PASSING UP ORAL SEX ACTION? If we pass up oral sex action, in the manner that Cosmo so cavalierly suggests, the terrorists win. Sisters. Do it for America.

Anyway, I spent the weekend, as I said before, completely wacked out on cough syrup, to the point where Cosmo's "Bedside Astrologer" started to make sense to me ("Why yes," I thought. "As a Capricorn, I indeed am 'all business in the bedroom,' and totally adept at turning my partner into 'passion putty'!") (What is it with Cosmo and alliteration?) Being wacked out on cough syrup had some other side effects too, such as dreams? visions? hallucinations? of the following things:

1. Tariq Aziz dancing on the bar at the Gingerman and singing Madonna's "Lucky Star." Come on, admit it, you are right this minute singing "shine your/heavenly body tonight" in a fake Iraqi accent.

2. My sister delivers me a chocolate layer cake and when I inspect the frosting there are all these little doors and flaps in there. It is like an advent calendar layer cake.

3. I think I fell asleep on the couch during all my TiVo'd AFC Wildcard playoffs and dreamed that the Colts made a field goal and that the Jets beat them 41-3 instead of 41-0. I don't mind the Jets winning at all, a jet plane is way cooler than a baby horse, but they do make me angry in one respect: the old quarterback, now sadly sidelined, was VINNY TESTAVERDE,* which is a totally kick-ass name and appropriately working-class for what is essentially a New Jersey team. The new, winning-er, quarterback is named CHAD PENNINGTON, and don't you just want to punch that name in the mouth? That is like a name that John Hughes would make up for the bastard who would not take Molly Ringwald to the prom because she was from the wrong side of the tracks.

*although TESTAVERDE does not mean "green testicles," as I had hoped.

In between sleeping and having visions! omens! hallucinations! miracles! ecstasies! Gone down the American river! I also watched some movies. I thought Traffic was pretty good, although I got a little tired of Soderbergh's color thing: okay, I get it, Mexico is YELLOW, the United States is BLUE. And didn't you think the daughter went downhill pretty fast? It is one thing to freebase cocaine every day in your parent's bathroom, it is another thing to let yourself be fucked by a creepy drug dealer for a fix. Your parents have a whole house full of expensive crap, pawn some of that before you go whoring yourself out. (Which she did, eventually, but the drug-dealer-fucking came first, and that bothered me; it should have been the other way around.) Also, I think either Michael Douglas has had plastic surgery or he is really skillfully made-up and lit, because the last time I saw him he was a creepy lizard guy and in Traffic he kind of looked okay. Hmmm.

I am still kind of sickly, but I did go to work today, because of my Puritan tendencies and general sense of duty. Hey, do you like how I constantly reference my "Puritan tendencies" despite being a dedicated drinker and an occasional drug-user and a devotee of sensual pleasure? But would I be your Mimi Smartypants if I wasn't totally self-contradictory? Love me anyway. Please.

Speaking of self-contradictory, here is a great quiz to help you sort out your views on god. I suggest you take it while wacked out on cough syrup. Worked for me.

---mimi smartypants wants you to take her to Funkytown.


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