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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

2004-04-10 ... 10:14 p.m.


1. The Parthenon is mighty old

2. Green grasshopper got a red asshole

3. Eskimo pussy is nice and cold

4. The streets in heaven are paved with gold

5. You never slow down, you never grow old

6. About a man named Leopold

7. We take echinacea so we won't catch cold

8. That shower curtain is covered with mold

9. Double-blind and placebo-controlled

10. Nicholson Baker wrote Double Fold

I don't think all of those are official Army cadences. It is true that I am more prone to getting things stuck in my head than most people (because of this I would probably make an excellent Manchurian Candidate---must! kill! President!), but this is a special case. Rhymes relating to not knowing, but having been told,* have been nibbling at my brain for weeks now.

(*If you have been told, why does that not constitute knowing? Is the teller unreliable? Is the Army taking a completely Kantian stance, and making a larger point about the unknowability of noumena? I guess this cadence is saying that we all must necessarily presuppose the existence of the Parthenon, Eskimo pussy, and so forth, so that we can share in the structure of experience (and jog in rhythm), but to declare that we "know" these things is foolish at best.)

(This is awesome.)

We are declaring PANTSQUEST to be a success, even though I only bought one pair of pants. My sister and I are borrowing a tactic from the government, which is that when your results fall short of the stated goals, you just redefine the goals slightly and say that those new goals were the real goals all along! It's fun! And so was OPERATION BUY SOME RANDOM SUMMERY CLOTHES! I ended up buying a skirt that I just love. Me and this skirt are going to run away to Vegas, holy jesus crap I love this skirt. Are you ready? It has a PETTICOAT. Not a giant frothy Cyndi Lauper petticoat, just this little layer of netting that makes the skirt stand out from my body and OH MY GOD THE HOTNESS. I feel hotter than a hot hot thing in this skirt. I had trouble concentrating at work when I wore it, even, because I kept making trips to the bathroom. Walking there I would enjoy the swish swishness of the petticoat against my tights, and once in the bathroom I would twirl in front of the mirror like a girly girl child. I know I am losing brain points by talking this much about a goddamn skirt but HAVE YOU EVER OWNED A PETTICOAT SKIRT? You might be singing a different tune if you had.

After all that shopping excitement my sister and I went out for drinks, and learned firsthand the perils of the daylight savings time thing. At eight-thirty and two beers, you think "well shit, it's practically still light out" and then suddenly: midnight. And six beers. I had resigned myself to missing Nora's bedtime (something I don't like to do very often), but once home the beer made me all maudlin and I had to stop myself from going in there and kissing her goodnight. I would have no doubt knocked something over or stepped on one of her noisy toys, or at the very least the scent of Schlitz would have disturbed her sleep cycle.

(Speaking of disturbed sleep cycles, the next day I woke up with many strange things scribbled in my dream notebook, including the phrase "Wordsworth fart joke." Trailing clouds of glory do we come? Is that the hidden fart joke in the ode?)

Time out to plug Neoconservative Bingo. Needs more domestic-policy squares (school vouchers! faith-based initiatives!), but otherwise near-perfect. Personally I prefer the Immanuel Kant drinking game, because it is Kantlicious and drunktastic.

Our part-time babysitter is on vacation for two weeks, so we are relying on adoring-grandparent zealotry and the teenage neighbor's spring break to fill in the Nora-wrangling gaps while LT codes. Thursday none of those options were available, he had to be downtown all day, and I have buckets of vacation time owed to me. Instant sick day! Nora and I played, and played, and played, and shoplifted. Mother-daughter shoplifting! It's Take Our Daughters To Jail Day!

I had wheeled her to Osco, partly to pick up actual items and partly to fill that deadly hour between after-breakfast playing and naptime. My Osco never has any shopping baskets, but Nora's stroller has a huge undercarriage storage area, which (coincidentally? I think not) is perfectly sized to hold a twelve-pack of beer. So I am tossing toiletries into the stroller as we shop the aisles, and I thought I had hauled it all out at the register, until we got home and found tights, shampoo, and a sippy cup that had not made it onto my receipt. A cute baby must be a great distraction device. Tune in next week when Nora and I play peekaboo with an armored-car driver and make off with bags of cash!

We went back, post-nap, and paid for the extras. I know it is kind of early for all that "values" crap, but the last thing I need is a WANTED poster of me and Nora in every Devon Avenue establishment.

This picture is kind of huge for uploading, but it makes me laugh every time I see it. She's all lunging for the camera and I'm all backpedaling like a trapped wildlife photographer. I recommend you say "braaaaaaiiiinnsss" in your best Toddler Zombie voice while viewing it.


I hope that bunny rises from the dead for you and brings you chocolate and salvation and stuff.

---mimi smartypants has a weird jollity in the teeth of everything.


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