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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

2009-02-13 ... 9:46 a.m.


At the Valentine party at Nora's school, the kids were encouraged to "dress up." The school is kind of big on dressing up, actually. Not on a day-to-day basis, but they talked about dressing up and looking sharp for the Winter Assembly, the Inauguration festivities, and other events. It is not really all that annoying unless you are a parent to Nora, who does not do formalwear of any sort. I got her into a sweater and khakis for the assembly and into a similar combo for the Obama-rama, but by the time V-Day rolled around she was way over it. So I dropped her off amongst a sea of heart-patterned tights and velvet frocks and even ties on some of the boys (!) wearing a long-sleeved Spider-Man shirt and these weird nylon skateboarder pants. At least the Spidey shirt was red, right?

There have been a few odd Nora-related gender inquiries lately, with one kid at a playground flat-out asking her if she was a boy or a girl, because "your hair is like a girl's but you're dressed like a boy." These usually make me goggle in rage and disbelief at how young the little gender-essentialists are indoctrinated, but Nora doesn't seem to care at all. She told the kid, "Yeah, these are boys' clothes. I like boys' clothes." And then they went back to chasing each other and screaming. I didn't necessarily want to prolong the conversation, but later I asked her why she thought people ask if someone is a boy or a girl, and she just shrugged and said, "I guess they can't see the vagina or the penis, so they have to ask." Very true, baby.

Not that it matters, but she does not wear boys' clothes (whatever that means) exclusively, she just has a long list of demands for her clothing---shirts and pants have to be either completely plain or completely bad-ass. So there are a lot of Lands-End style basics for the former and a lot of garish superhero t-shirts for the latter.


Bands without guitars. Sure, everyone has a soft spot for Depeche Mode and such. But don't you have to wonder what a band without guitars is all about? How they got formed? Did they decide on that or did they just not know anybody who could play guitar?

Those huge cacti with the arms. Those things give me the fucking creeps. I can't even look at them on television. If I had to camp out there I would freak out, because there are scorpions EVERYWHERE and those horrible plants could come alive at any moment and punch me in the face with their spiny arms.

Newborn babies. I like babies fine, but I like them sitting up and laughing at the goofy faces I make. I like them making crazy noises as they test out their vocal cords. I do not so much like them all wrinkled and floppy-necked and squinting. They look like they could put a curse on you or something.

Massage. Always sounds nice in theory, but both professionals and amateurs manage to hurt me within the first five minutes. I HAS SENSITIVE MUSKLES.

Short-sleeved turtleneck shirts.What the hell? Oh your neck is cold but your arms aren't. Got it.


While driving to/from Nora's karate class, we listened to an extremely middle-of-the-road '80s/90s radio station.

Song: "Karma Police," Radiohead
Nora's comment: He sounds sleepy.

Song: "I Wanna Be Sedated," Ramones
Nora's comment: What does "sedated" mean?
Me: It means you've taken a drug that makes you calm.
Nora: There are drugs to be calm?

Song: "King of Pain," The Police
Nora: This is the worst music in the world.

Song: "And She Was," Talking Heads
Nora [exasperated] And she was what?


I stumbled upon some old pet-advice column the other day where a reader asked how to get his cat to stop meowing so much. The advice-giver said something like, "The best way to stop a cat from vocalizing is to fulfill its needs." This made me laugh because it is a little like saying, "The best way to get your husband to stop calling you names is to quit pissing him off." My boy cat is a bottomless pit of snuggly neediness who screams at me often, and if I were to configure my life to meet his needs I would be lying on the couch 24 hours a day with a bowl of chicken-flavored cat food in my lap. Or maybe just smeared all over my pants so he could "fulfill his needs" for contact with my thighs + poultry goodness simultaneously. Okay I am grossed out now, time to go.

---mimi smartypants is fashion show! fashion show! fashion show at lunch!


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