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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

2002-11-08 ... 12:59 p.m.

Intense trouble with making unimportant decisions this week, which may be a sign of stress or may be a sign that I am becoming an old lady. On Wednesday I took a third beer out of the refrigerator, put it back, took it out, got the opener, changed my mind, and finally managed to say yes Mr. Thirdbeer. Today I am waffling all over the place about whether I want to go to the Flying Luttenbachers show, whether I want to coerce a friend into getting drunk with me in a low-key way somewhere, whether I want to stay home and be a hermit (futzing about online and singing songs to myself), or whether I want to take a Disco Nap and then put on my boots and go out in search of adventure. When I went out for breakfast yesterday, the prospect of a big diner menu with lots of choices nearly caused me to weep with indecisiveness. And god forbid you pair me up with one of those do-you-want-to-do-something-tonight-I don't-know-do-you-want-to-do-something people because then nothing will ever ever happen and we will both go to our graves with vague ideas of getting together for a drink later. I think I am going to start carrying a Ouija Board or Magic 8-Ball everywhere, for help with these sorts of things.


I make hand llamas all the time. That statement probably requires more explanation but you're not going to get it. I have even made some llama movies but Diaryland doesn't want to host them. That's okay Diaryland. It's probably for the best, as a grainy low-res digital movie of my extremely minimalist autistic hand puppet is not what anyone should spend their time watching. The one where the llama rides the bus is fairly entertaining, however, especially if you picture me, in a wacky hat and old-lady coat, riding the bus in a Polish neighborhood, surrounded by puzzled immigrants, as I shoot footage of my own puppet-hand and provide the soundtrack in a llama voice. Maybe just imagining that scenario is entertainment enough for you.


Doesn't the Mellotron look cool? It's so...blank.

What is this? Sort of an enclosed motorcycle?

I want this. (Do swing.)

And this. (Do hit.)


I went out to a place on Devon last night to get some passport pictures taken, because (a) my passport will expire soon and (b) I am writing an article for this magazine thingy (nothing you have ever heard of), and they demanded a headshot to go with it. I refused. They insisted. I told them to go cram it, Mimi Smartypants does not allow pictures of herself to be published. They showed up at my house and burned me with cigarettes for six hours. I said okay fine you'll get your stinking picture. I thought about giving them a picture of somebody other than me, but that got ruined after the cigarette-burning marathon, since obviously now they know what my face looks like (albeit in a contorted and sweaty way). So off to the photo place I trudged, and I sat on a small stool and made an attempt to smile, but you know what? No. I will use these photographs for the updated passport, because I don't really care what customs officials think, but for a publication, even one that will only be distributed to certain carefully selected geeks, I would rather have a photograph that doesn't make me look like a subterranean creature from a lousy fantasy novel. (However, I wouldn't mind having one that made me look like a big-breasted cartoon warrior queen, with a sword and shield, riding on a flying unicorn, also from a lousy fantasy novel. What I really should do is just submit a picture of She-Ra, Princess of Power.) The photographer sat me down on a too-low stool so my head is just sort of peeking up into the frame, and since it was the end of the day my hair had decided to say a big FUCK YOU to the effort I had put into making it un-wavy, and my glasses did something weird in the photo so that it looks like I have big dark circles under my eyes. Or maybe I really do have big dark circles under my eyes. And my facial expression in the photos is almost a Johnny-Rotten-esque curled-lip sneer, and that's not good because people will sit down (or stand up, or recline in the bath, or kneel in-between dry heaves, heck, I don't care) to read my article and take one look at the photo and say, "Oh yeah? You think you're better than me, you Smug Little Sneering Freakish Sleep-Deprived Elf? Think again!" and cancel their subscriptions. So the passport photos for the headshot article are a no-go. Maybe I can get LT to take pictures of my head with the digital camera this weekend.


"Road kill animal carcasses are not considered animal waste."

This website has the unique tagline ANIMAL WASTE RULES.

"If you charge money to apply animal manure, then you DO need a commercial animal waste technician license."

This epileptic chicken in sunglasses can be found during a Google image search for "animal waste."

---mimi smartypants never lets her mouth write a check that her ass can't cash.


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