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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

2005-04-19 ... 9:31 a.m.

Once a month or so, my friend S. and I get together, get drunk, and get caked. By which I mean we bake a cake, or cookies, or some other kind of baked good, and if you have never seen two liquored-up women with shaky math skills try to figure out how many tablespoons are in a third of a cup, while giggling and making dirty jokes and stumbling around with their wineglasses, you should count yourself lucky. We won't speak of the time that I attacked a lemon with the wrong side of the zester, resulting in huge horrible gouges of peel instead of gorgeous curling strips of zest, so that one occasionally encountered a Chewy Lemon Surprise in the eventual cake; or the time when S. nearly forgot to add eggs to the lemon square topping (mmm, gritty lemon sugar). Maybe we just have bad luck with lemons.

Anyway, someone who knows of our Drunken Bake-Offs sent me a recipe as a joke, with the innocuous suggestion, "Maybe you should make this next time you guys bake," and I clicked on the link and OH GOD MY EYES. What are people thinking? No really, what? And just when you think it can't get any worse, there's the phrase "raisins (optional)." RAISINS. BAKED BEANS AND RAISINS. JUST KILL ME NOW.


Nora now sings the alphabet song, which is just too adorable and I need to record it. She consistently forgets T-U-V, and L-M-N-O-P is kind of garbled, but it is an excellent effort overall. My favorite part is at the end, when she has a tendency to sing, "Now I know my A-B-C-D-E-F-G..." and I have to be right there prompting with the "Next time..." or else we get stuck in an endless loop. She also bursts into loud self-applause afterwards, often adding "YAY NORA!" That totally cracks me up, particularly when I hear it over the baby monitor while she's supposed to be napping. The next time I suffer from insomnia, I'm going to take a cue from Nora and self-esteem myself to sleep.

Yesterday, I was talking on the phone to Semi-Friend. He got the name by being relatively funny and intelligent, writing good emails, and calling me for lunch occasionally, plus we've known each other for a long time. However, every once in a while he says something just-this-side-of-rude, or cancels a lunch date without warning or explanation, or gets into ME ME ME mode to the point where my eyes glaze over and I just sit there forking salad into my mouth and thinking: Remind me again why we know each other? Semi-Friend asked what was up with Nora, and I related the alphabet story with much delight.

"She's two?" asked Semi-Friend, who knows perfectly well how old Nora is.
"Yup," I said. "I give Sesame Street much of the credit, but it's still pretty cool to hear her say the alphabet at two years old."
Semi-Friend makes a dismissive noise and says, "The alphabet's just memorization at this point. It's not like she knows what she's saying."

Well. I beg your forgiveness, Semi-Friend. Obviously the only way we could give any props to Nora (who YOU ASKED ABOUT) would be if she sang the alphabet and then added, "Mommy, I just told you the ordered set of all the written symbols used in the English language." I think Semi-Friend just got demoted even further in my mind, because it really doesn't take much effort to make some polite murmuring pleased sounds in reaction to a cute kid-story (which again, HE REQUESTED). I now have a serious urge to track down Semi-Friend and shove alphabet blocks into his every orifice. A-B-C-D-E-F-MOTHERFUCKER.


I know it's sheet music, and the title of some hymn or other, but there is something really great about Infant Jesus (6-pack).

"And then, I guess, a robot camel."

May 24 for new Sleater-Kinney album. LT was reading the latest issue of Readymade, which ran a favorable review, and said, "Did you know about the new Sleater-Kinney?" and I was all like NO WAY. I know I'm out of touch with new music, but for me not to know about a Sleater-Kinney album is possibly a sign of the Apocalypse. But it is not out yet, as my frantic Googling shortly revealed, and now I am annoyed with Readymade for not including the release date in their review, which they knew would go to press and be in subscriber and newsstand hands a month or more before the album was actually available. Don't scare me like that, Readymade. And while you're at it: more projects, fewer articles. Thanks.

I like the Slow Wave comic today, with evil John Cusack.


Finger puppets are very popular at our house right now. However, in Nora's hands, puppet shows are always exactly the same:

Skunk puppet: Hello, I am a skunk.
Monkey puppet: Hello, I am a monkey.
Cow puppet: Hello, I am a cow.

You get the idea.

Last night I sat on the couch watching Nora run the full production of her Absurdist puppet show: hello I am a bear, hello I am a penguin, hello I am a skunk/monkey/cow/whatever. Then she thought for a minute, stuck a finger up her nostril, and said, "Hello, I am a nose." However much I ever thought I could love a sticky-faced, stained-shirted, messy-haired toddler with her finger up her nose: it doubled right then.

---hello I am mimi smartypants.


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