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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

2002-05-04 ... 11:04 a.m.


There are palm trees here. And mountains. And fish tacos, and no one is afraid of the very idea of a "fish taco," because we are very near the ocean so the fish is not like several months old as it would be in Chicago. I am sorry to be so wide-eyed and goofy about geography, but these things are unusual to a flatland midwesterner like me.


Yesterday before I left for work/the airport LT made me a spinach and feta omlette, with triangle toast and fresh juice and everything, in a last-gasp burst of spousal niceness before my days and days of the single business traveler life. Which was good, because it turned out to be the last good food I had all day. I tried to get something to eat at the airport at around 3 pm, especially after I realized that I wouldn't be getting to my hotel until at least 8. That something turned out to be some weird-tasting broccoli-cheddar soup and a salad that did not even begin to deserve the title of "Caesar." On the plane they threw a box of food at me and I took it, hoping for some fresh fruit (a girl can dream), because my insides were starting to feel all strange from the previous night's cheap beer and artificial-butter-flavor popcorn, combined with the icky soup and salad, but instead inside the airplane box was a turkey sandwich and a cup of disturbingly garish macaroni salad. I stuck with ginger ale.


I am at a Kinko's right now. It is stupidly difficult to get any internet access at the Hyatt (why would they assume you would only want to check your e-mail on weekdays?). However, my room is pretty nice, and I have a tiny balcony with patio furniture and a view of the marina. There's a bar downstairs with Sierra Nevada on tap and free tortilla chips and more atmosphere than you would expect from a hotel bar. And I have a coffeemaker in my room. The label on it says "Mr Coffee Concepts." I like thinking about Mr Coffee pondering really big coffee concepts: What is coffee? Where does coffee come from? What existed before coffee? Do I have free will or is all coffee-making determinstic? And who drinks decaf?


Between my lonely barfly beers (reading and scribbling) and my epic journey across flyover country, I managed to get myself quite tuckered out last night so I slept okay. I had some odd sex-dreams, one where I was having sex with two men (which sounds like the height of awkwardness in real life but worked okay in the dream). One was a major-goth young kid with eyeliner etc and the other was more of regular eggheady geek sort of guy. In the dream, when I took off my shirt, the regular guy said, "you have a nice rack for being such a little lady." Dream indeed, because there is NO WAY IN HELL I would ever sleep with somebody who used the terms "nice rack" or "little lady," much less both in one sentence. My goodness, no.

---mimi smartypants paid three dollars and eighty cents just to type this for you.


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