Back to Diaryland

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

2008-04-22 ... 10:13 a.m.


The two things I like to do in bed are (a) fuck and (b) sleep. I also like to read and chat, but those are warm-up activities to one of the two main events.

I do not like to snuggle. I feel kind of bad about it, because LT is a world-class snuggler, but whenever he's doing the snuggle thing I can't help wishing that we would either skip straight to the Sexy Times or else go to sleep. I cannot fall asleep while being hugged or snuggled, it just doesn't work. Hug hug hug that's very nice, now quit touching me so I can sleep. Isn't it terrible? I am a meanie potato of a wife.

Don't even get me started on the snuggling AFTER I have already fallen asleep. The other night I woke up very suddenly to LT kissing me on the face, and I was extremely freaked out (possibly because there was a GIANT FACE LOOMING over me) and whisper-shrieked "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" It is possible that LT was not fully awake either because he mumbled something and rolled away from me, and then I saw fit to reply with "AHHHHH!" and rolled away from him. It is funny now but jeez, what a night. Good morning darling, did we sleep well? Well no, because you menaced me with your big snuggle-face and then I screamed at you like a deranged person. We will have to try again tonight.


This is a story that pretty much goes nowhere, just so you know. I have been pretty much freebasing green tea for the past couple of hours. Antioxidants are good for you. But caffeine is not. Oh well.

On Saturday I took Nora to a "trial" karate class. Which of course she LOVED, oh my god, there is nothing better than kicking and punching and yelling and doing push-ups and hanging on the every word of a beautifully muscled woman with a military haircut. Not according to Nora, anyway. So we signed her up, received the smallest possible gi, I successfully kept her from disrobing right then and there to try it on, and we headed home. Or tried to, because Lakeview was completely snarled up with Cubs traffic and assholes. An old lady gave me the finger! An old lady with wash-and-set hair! The original plan was to stop at Trader Joe's and buy wine, but after a few blocks of the traffic and a horrid premonition of what that parking lot would look like on a Saturday afternoon I decided to just go home and DRINK wine instead.

All this time Nora is alternately chattering about karate and busying herself with her piece of paper. The day before she had taken a piece of construction paper and folded it in quarters, and then unfolded it once and oriented the whole thing like a greeting card turned on its side. Then lots of arcane markings were made on it with crayon, including a large black square she called a "touchpad." There is a drinking straw cut in half that she has affixed to the side of the thing with tape and dental floss, and this is a "stylus." The piece-of-paper laptop fits neatly in the pocket of her hoodie and has been brought pretty much everywhere since its creation. This development briefly made me feel a little guilty, and I wondered if maybe I shouldn't buy her a Leapster or Nintendo doohickey like every other kid her age, but then she mentioned that her homemade device has 500 videogames! And she can use it to talk to her friends! And it plays music! And it can turn into a gun and shoot stormtroopers! I am sorry but I don't think any handheld on the market can match those specs.

So I am fighting traffic and listening to Nora play "videogames." And then she suddenly says, "I'll have to take off my pants though. Definitely. Will I have to take off my underwear?"

Ten minutes ago we were talking about going home to try on the gi. And although the ten minutes between then and now have all been filled with talk of other things, I know that she is out-of-the-blue referencing the earlier subject. So without missing a beat I say, "Yeah, you leave your underwear on. You just wear it under the karate pants." It was one of my most parental moments ever, all about how an external recording device would have found the conversation spazzy and nonsensical, but how if you just hang in there you can hop right along with a child's goofy little brain. And how it is kind of touching that she completely assumes her thoughts will make sense to me. See! Despite my caffeine seizure, there was a larger point in there somewhere! Whew.

I just booked a work-related flight to Vancouver and it was about a million fucking dollars. Not that I really care, because the company will pay, but wow. Prices slightly higher in Canada, indeed.

---mimi smartypants has placed her butt on the throne of justice!


join my Notify List and get email when I update my site:
Powered by