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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

2007-03-09 ... 10:50 a.m.


1. Listen up bitches because I am ON the island. No wait, I OWN the island. I AM the island. One time I got so drunk a palm tree grew on me. Something like that. Anyway, I love this.

2. Also this. It resulted in nearly a full hour of on-and-off giggling in my office.

3. The mattress store on Devon is advertising a "Pesach Special." Because the 11th plague was lower back pain! Moses, lead us to our comfy bed!

4. Very scary concept: no-sugar gefilte fish. I had no idea sugar could even be a factor. Do I also have to worry about cinnamon-raisin gefilte fish? Ginger-cranberry gefilte fish? Wasabi-oat-lemongrass gefilte fish? Actually, I don't have to worry about any of those things because I'm all like "One order gefilte fish, but please hold the gefilte, and the fish, and on second thought just bring me some matzo because I HAVE NO TIME FOR LEAVENING."

5. Speaking of having no time---although apparently he is too busy to come back from the dead and give us a definitive answer as to his Messianic status, there seems to be an increase in Schneerson posters around my neighborhood. They all feature the same grumpy picture too. Cheer up, Schneerson.

6. I am going to be in Austin on business in May, so hook a sister up if you live there. You know what I like. Beer, punk rock, carrot cake, Ms. Pac-Man, lesbians, burritos, comic book stores. All the basics. I am going to be at a science conference, but not the one sponsored by this organization, which is unfortunate because I bet they know how to get the party started. I also love their logo. Watch out Thick Tome Of Knowledge! Fireball at twelve o'clock!

7. LT bought this Colgate that claims to release "bubbles of pure oxygen" every time you brush. Man, I am so sick of oxygen. Oxy-Clean, oxygen toothpaste, water with extra oxygen, oxygen makeup and face treatments. Isn't there enough of this stuff in the air?

8. I have talked about my Waxer Lady before, and about how she is a big Lord of the Rings freak who also follows professional wrestling, and about I do not think it is possible for me to have less in common with someone. But I don't go to the Waxer for companionship, I go for lovely eyebrows and maybe a neatened-up Region in swimsuit weather, so it does not matter to me if the Waxer and I are not on the same pop-culture page. Or even on the same racial-awareness page, as it turns out:

Waxer: [tells some story about a rude woman] And of course, she was African American.
Me: Uh. [carefully, mindful of the fact that the Waxer currently has aesthetic power over my eyebrows] Um. That's kind of a weird thing to say.
Waxer [quickly]: Oh, this was out in the suburbs, where I live. I've always found Chicago's blacks to be very nice!

I changed the subject, because my WTF WHERE DO I START light was blinking like crazy, and sometimes you just don't want to start. Or at least you don't want to start with certain people. Like, I would TOTALLY start with my father-in-law, but I am just not all that invested in changing the Waxer's mindset.

Although racist and horrible, her comment makes me snicker a bit, because I like imagining the mayors of different cities on a conference call:

Oak Park: How are your blacks, guys?
Vernon Hills: Okay, I guess. How about everyone else?
Lincolnwood: Ours are a little uppity.
Daley: Ahhhhh, durrrr, Chicago's are VERY NICE!!!!

9. Rap battle pointers.

10. Nora is on the verge of reading on her own, and what an annoying verge it is. She knows lots of sight words, can't yet really sound out unfamiliar words for herself, but is intensely interested in what every single word says and rarely lets printed matter go by without asking me to read it. This means that she is one of the few four-year-olds around who has a handle on ISBN numbers and what they mean, since I sometimes am asked to read the copyright information out loud. The front matter of last night's bedtime book mentioned that the illustrations were done in watercolor.

Nora: Watercolor! I can do watercolor.
Me: Yeah, an artist made the pictures in that book. That was her job. [I am not sure why I said this, really. We talk a lot about "jobs."]
Nora: I could do that job.
Me: Sure you could! Artist could be a good job. Susan is an artist for her job.
Nora: Does Susan sleep?
Me: Uh, yeah.
Nora: But artists don't sleep.
Me: Of course they do. Everyone sleeps.
Nora: But what if someone needs art in the night?
Me: Well. [ignoring the concept of 24-Hour Emergency Art for right now] Everyone sleeps. Some people sleep in the daytime,* some people sleep at night. But everyone sleeps.

(*Like people in London, for instance! Just ask David Byrne!)

11. The other day a group of teenagers from the not-so-nice high school on my bus route boarded the bus and began some typical stupidity---throwing stuff, fake-wrestling, etc. Normally I don't care, but after one of them almost crash-landed in my lap for the second time I pulled out the headphones and tugged on the sleeve of the closest perpetrator, saying, "Hey. Please cut it out."

Maybe I delude myself in thinking that I look like enough of a mom/old lady/respectable citizen that they would be a tiny bit chastised and comply. Because I was honestly surprised when I the kid told me to fuck off. It may sound otherwise in this diary, but I am pretty chill about public space. You can skateboard or yap on your cell phone or sing to yourself and as long as you don't actually SHOVE ME or YANK YOUR ROD it is all good in the hood. But shove me AND give me lip AND you are a punk-ass no-account high school kid in the bargain? Oh, then it's on. I gave him my best stern look and started putting my book away and getting my gloves on, because we were almost at my stop.

One of the Shoving Kid's friends snickered something about his reprimand while I was standing at the back door, ready to disembark, and I heard SK say, "Fuck that. I'm gonna fucking rape that bitch."

Excuse me? Is this a figure of speech? Remember that WTF light? Blinking like crazy right about now. What I Should Have Done: walked right over there and planted my Chuck Taylor hard in his scrotum. I'd get away with it too---see me here all respectable and mom-like with my briefcase and lunch bag? What I Did Do, Inexplicably: yelled "ASSHOLE, YOU COULDN'T RAPE A WAFFLE!" right before I got off the bus. You couldn't rape a waffle. Where did that come from? I am as puzzled as you.

---mimi smartypants felt up some butter, molested some syrup.


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