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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

2002-06-09 ... 9:45 a.m.


1. lick the jockstrap (You go right ahead.)

2. human cocks (oh, HUMAN cocks. Okay then.)

3. have a whale of a fuck (isn't this a sweet, encouraging thing to say? When your buddy is heading upstairs with that margarita-saturated miniskirted freak ho, you can call out, "Have a whale of a fuck, my friend!")

4. give me all the sex (but then we wouldn't have any left for ourselves!)

5. how to masturbate (not this again.)

6. san diego streetwalker (you really should ask someone who lives there.)


Maybe this is what it's like to be well-rested. My parents came yesterday and took me and LT out to dinner for our anniversary, and champagne and pasta and Chianti and the most wonderful fat-laden cookies in the whole damn world all conspired to give me a raging headache after they left. It was only 9:30 at night but I didn't want to do ANYTHING, and I could feel my mouth settling into a pouty little upside-down U like Buttercup's, so before the moping could get any worse I put on my pajamas and got into bed with a stack of New Yorkers. (I really should put a link there so you realize that I got into bed with a stack of New Yorker magazines, not with a stack of people who live in New York. The latter tend not to stack well.) Then of course I fell asleep and stayed that way, more or less, for the next nine hours. In the early morning hours I had a dream that I was being seriously sexually harassed at yoga class by a creepy blonde bearded dude in multicolored bike shorts, and this was some sort of weird ghetto yoga class where we used pieces of newspaper instead of sticky mats, and at one point when he was really bothering me I turned around and punched him in the face, causing him to grab his nose and yell, "My karma! My karma!" I woke up laughing. There was also some other dream where I went out to breakfast with Kathleen Hanna (me: spinach and cheddar omelet, hash browns, rye toast. Her: Belgian waffles with strawberries and whipped cream) but I don't remember any other details.


It needs to hurry up and be football season again. I am not a huge sports fan but Sunday afternoons just aren't the same without huge men running into each other and receiving concussions or fracturing their femurs.


Hey, you know this file-sharing thing? Yeah. Don't ask me why I am such a dork. After the crash and burn of Napster I didn't really realize that there were other sites that functioned more or less in the same way (with a few important differences), and basically I just figured this out now. This morning has been all about the download.


Put down that guitar and pick up your baton. Of course it doesn't discuss female conductors, hmmm I wonder why oh yes! Because there are barely any out there (something like 85 women out of 900 symphonies in the American Symphony Orchestra League). Grrrr. I think that will change, though, as more girls who are in college music programs start to focus on composition rather than performance (because the former is the more traditional route to becoming a conductor).


1. There is some sort of Swedish Fest going on in my sister's neighborhood, so I have to remember not to go anywhere near there today, lest I be run over by a horde of drunken Swedes. On the other hand, Andersonville is awfully lesbotronic, and it is a nice warm day, and thus I theoretically could wander down there just for the unfettered bosom/pointy nipple/tank top action.

2. Now that's just charming.

3. Oh my god who names these things?

4.On the same note, I really didn't need to EVER read the sentence, "Your butthole knows what is best for you."

I feel all weird now, especially now that I read this over and realized it's like my filthiest entry EVER, and I fully expect that many of you are removing me from your bookmarks right now as you shake your head and cluck your tongue in schoolmarmish dismay. I am pretty sure there is a small but loyal core group of completely corrupted and depraved readers, though. Right now, to recover from the overdose of filth in today's entry, I think it's time for a shower and some nice wholesome household tasks. Here is my song: la la la cough cough ahem what a domestic goddess I am.

---mimi smartypants wonders what M. C. Hammer is doing right now.


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