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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
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I can be pretty immature sometimes. I have been known to get the giggles the minute the nightstand lights are turned out, and I will lie there in the dark next to LT and make strange nonsense noises and laugh and laugh. On long airplane trips I often draw a face on my hand, so I have someone to talk to. I hide the Halloween candy that I really like in my underwear drawer. (Oh shit! I just told you where to look!) And nothing will send me into a downward spiral of teenage poutiness as a phone call from LT and Nora from the zoo. I was at the office, in an agony of meetings and deadlines and stupid e-mails, and they were at the zoo. I want my husband/daughter to have fun, I think it is awesome that they get out of the house and groove on all that Chicago has to offer, and I am grateful beyond measure that LT is such a superfuckingexcellent dad, but damn it I WANT TO GO TO THE ZOO. WHY DON'T WE ALL JUST STAND UP, WALK OUT OF OUR OFFICES, AND GO TO THE ZOO. RIGHT NOW. On second thought, today would not be a very good day to walk around the zoo because suddenly, after a few flirtatiously warm days in a row, Chicago is back to freezy. Twenty-five degrees Fahrenheit on Thursday and I had to go to the dentist, which, because I am too stupid/lazy to get a north-side dentist, means logging more CTA miles than a bus driver as I trekked from work down to Hyde Park and then east to west on the Garfield bus, south to north on the Red Line, and then less-east to more-west on the Devon bus. Shivering the whole time. Cursing the fact that Lake Park Avenue has no garbage cans in which to throw away my bloodstained kleenexes and the gum that I was chomping to try and eradicate the disgusting taste of my bleeding, overscraped, overpoked, overpowered teeth. My cleanings are always a trauma with this hygienist, which is reason #2 why it is time to switch dental offices. Reason #3 is something I have already complained about at length but it bears repeating: My dentist has some kind of hard-on for busting girls' jaws. At every visit he suggests that I have "corrective orthodontia," by which he means not braces (been there, done that) but jaw-breaking surgery. They would do a "jaw extension" (a lovely euphemism for bonecracking---here, let me give you a "femur extension," Mr. Theisman) and wire my mouth shut for six weeks, and then I guess I would be beautiful and people would love me more. I am getting kind of sick of politely declining this procedure, so this time I asked directly what consequences, aside from anything cosmetic,* could ensue from not having my jaw broken by jaw-breaking professionals, and all the dentist could come up with is that I might develop TMJ pain in ten years or so. So I should voluntarily choose jaw pain, as a result of jaw breaking, right now, in order to circumvent possible jaw pain in the future? No. Can this be put in my chart somewhere, like a do-not-resuscitate order? Do Not Break Jaw. *Which is so not even a consideration. If I were to make a list of "Things I Dislike About My Body� (which sounds like a real un-fun way to spend an evening), it would start out like this: 1. Cannot Fly 2. Skin Not Plaid Enough 3. Nose Not Retractable 4. Severe Myopia 5. Feeble, Insectlike Arms 6. So Short That I Spend Most Of The Evening Looking At Your Shirt Pocket ... etc... and then way down near the end would be "Overbite." Recently Lex had a layover in Chicago on a trip from right to left (DC to Seattle), and decided to spend part of it having drinks with me at Delilah's. Lex is a very tolerant and forgiving man to even suggest this, since the last time we met was on one of my business trips to DC, when I not only forgot to pony up for my share of the bar tab but also accidentally whacked him in the balls with a pool cue. We had beer and conversation and although I was sad that my favorite bartender was not on duty, it probably worked out for the best. Seeing as how my favorite bartender has a compulsion to offer me free tequila shots, and how I have a compulsion to accept them, and how Tuesday nights have a compulsion to turn into Wednesday mornings. Now the week has gotten away from me and I have not updated, and I have all these crazy thoughts. But whenever I have gone too long without posting I feel weirdly nervous, and when I get nervous I stick to the to the straight whowhatwherewhenwhy recap, narrative being the rubber raft we cling to when we are shipwrecked on the textual ocean, and the brutal Blinking Cursor is beating down on us like the sun, and also on the raft is that one guy who drank seawater and now he is ranting and loony and the rest of us are all looking at each other and silently agreeing to eat him. So that is it for now. LT and Nora are at some Gymboree-style thing with a "dads group." The prospect of sitting on the floor and singing Itsy-Bitsy Spider with a dozen other men seemed to make LT a little nervous, but he gamely suited up and went anyway, carrying sippy cup and animal crackers and a ramped-up Sense Of His Masculinity, Itsy-Bitsy Spider Or No, and I am grateful for the quiet. ---mimi smartypants went up the water spout. Again. back/forward |
