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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

2002-01-21 ... 1:30 p.m.


This made me cry, but maybe that's just me, so feel free to nod politely and go on with your lives, but I still think it's worth printing out or bookmarking and reading properly. (Now I'm telling you how to read. Could I be any bossier?)

Today is not a particularly good day. Today is a brittle, yellow day. A smoke-filled room day. A greasy piece of flattened cardboard day. Scratchy underwear day. Dentist drill day. A day like an unsolvable rebus. There's a gap between the fingers and the thing touched and I'm afraid to cross the street.

And what, exactly, do I have to complain about?

Intense crippling guilt over one's own ingratitude day.

(Hmm, looks like I should have taken the urge to list those warning signs a little more seriously.)

The periodic table of rejected elements.

It is freezing in this office. Although I cannot come to work in my robe (did I ever mention how much I love my robe? I'd live in the damn thing if I could), I luckily remembered the next best thing, my black fringed cashmere shawl. The freezing air blowing out of the ceiling ducts was literally making my head shiver (have you ever had a shivering head? It's not pleasant), so for a while this morning I was sitting here with the shawl draped over my head like an abaya or a tallit. I've been considering burning some of these manuscripts and medical reference books for warmth, or else killing some animal and using the warmth of its innards, as per Jack London. The former would most likely be easier in an office setting.

Two things you probably didn't know about Mimi Smartypants, as they are not terribly important or revealing: (1) Every time I pay a bill or fill out a form that includes the sentence, "Do not write below this line," I always write "okay" or "no problem" below that line. This is my ritual. (2) In high school I played competitive tennis and badminton. I was better at badminton than tennis, which is not saying much, although one year I made it to the semifinals for the district in singles. Since I'm a weakling but I am quick, my strategy was mostly just to run all over the court and make really improbable shots. Being underestimated is a good way to win. Of course, being the only strangely-haircutted goth smoker on the team made for some humorous moments, and I despised the little white pleated tennis skirts and the bizarre undergarments they require (WHAT IS WITH THOSE THINGS?), but overall it was worth it; my high school let you waive gym all year if you played a sport. And I've heard all the "shuttlecock" jokes, so don't bother going there, and don't be dissing badminton either. 200 mph, yo.

The tragedy of Adam Ant. Subtle innuendoes follow, indeed.

Would your cat snack on your dead body? That's an open question, but we know your monitor lizards sure would.

---mimi smartypants, oed' und leer das meer.


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