Back to Diaryland

the latest waddle:

the eczema sky, the asthmatic trees - 4:05 p.m. , 2007-01-30

it's not exactly quantum theory - 2:29 p.m. , 2007-01-17

whooping of the car alarm - 10:44 a.m. , 2007-01-11

last checkup after the rabies shots - 11:46 a.m. , 2007-01-04

let all the workers march toward progress - 1:02 p.m. , 2006-12-27

2004-06-11 ... 12:36 p.m.

I like those moments where you say or hear an unusual sentence and think: Wow, I bet no one else in the entire world said that today.

Coworker [staring sadly at her clip-on retractable ID thingy]: I want this to be more like a yo-yo than it can realistically be.

A friend [discussing her queasy feeling after consuming a large tropical-fruit smoothie]: I blame the mango. (Note: this is a very musical phrase. Don't fear the reaperblame the mango, etc.)

From a medical article I read at work: The patient had a history of ingesting inadequately cooked frogs. (More information here. Be sure to cook those frogs!)

Sam [on the phone with me]: It's really not that depressing, for a Holocaust documentary.

Me [to Nora]: Next time, please poop all at once. (Self-explanatory, I think.)

Me [again to Nora]: Don't feed your racist toothpaste to the cat. (See below.)

We own a tube of Darkie toothpaste, purchased at a drugstore in China for its jaw-dropping novelty value. Nora was carrying it around the other day and trying to forcibly stick it in the cat's mouth. When the cat would walk away like the good-tempered dignified old lady she is, Nora would just catch up with her and try again, this time nodding vigorously, like It's good! Eat this racist toothpaste! There seems to be a lot of cat-experimentation going on right now---I recently caught Miss Nora carefully placing a row of Lego blocks on top of the cat's flank---and I have to give my fat and elderly feline props, tuna juice, and all the catnip her little brain can stand for putting up with so much crap.

Don't feed your racist toothpaste to the cat. I feel like busting out the iron-on kit and making a new t-shirt.

Gross, unclean, unkosher, and Carrie-esque.


1. I have been casting about for a new skincare regimen. (Hooray! I have internalized the beauty-magazine-speak! I am assimilated into the Gender Code! I have proven myself to be a Girl! Can I have my membership card now?) The Soap was not it. Then I tried a sample from Philosophy, mostly because of the packaging, and I liked that very much. Then I went to get JUST A GODDAMN SALAD AT THE FOOD COURT but walked into Sephora instead. Then my body was taken over like a voodoo victim by the ghost of Helen Gurley Brown, except that I don't think she's dead, and I ended up surrendering my credit card and my brain and my credentials as a don't-give-a-shit-about-makeup slacker to one of those Sephora face-masons who look like refugees from that one Robert Palmer video, and I purchased a lot more Philosophy products, some tinted moisturizer from Stila, and a pinky-brownish lipstick. Even though, as a recovering goth, I never thought lipstick came in any shade other than "dried blood," I have to admit that pinky-brownish looks all nice on me. This, more than anything else thus far, seems to signal that I am getting all grown up and mommed out.

2. So then of course, to simultaneously counteract and add to that feeling, I had to go to the zine store and buy a semi-smutty magazine that objectifies hipster boys. Hi, my name is Mimi and I'll be your MILF this evening.

3. I also recently got a new wallet. I like it very much for its cuteness and compactness, but be warned that it does not hold very much money. Which is fine, since if you shop like I have been shopping lately, you will not have very much money.

4. I now own a second petticoat skirt, this one is a very smooth and heavy black cotton and is a full circle for extra girly swishiness. However, WHY THE FUCK AM I SUDDENLY SO KEEN TO DRESS LIKE SOME BACK-TO-THE-FUTURE BOBBYSOXER? Next thing you know I will be hanging out at the soda fountain and mooning over Frank Sinatra.

5. I wore the second petticoat skirt out to celebrate the wedding anniversary at Green Zebra. This place is very hip and popular right now, so it was packed on a Thursday night. The room is very loud, the décor very minimalist, the tables very close together, and the entire experience very baby-unfriendly, which was exactly what I wanted. Fantastic food and a very enjoyable evening. In fact, the only bad things I have to say about Green Zebra are that the bathrooms seem too small for makeout, LT was chagrined that they did not have any decent bourbons, and the woman who called to confirm our reservation said her name was KIWI. "Hi, this is Kiwi from Green Zebra" and about here I quit listening and just goggled at the phone. Who names a kid Kiwi?

Here is Nora (a nice, non-fruit name) DJ-ing her little heart out on a Casio Rapman. (My brain keeps wanting to add an "e" to Rapman and make it into a Steve Albini side project.) In the photo she is just about to push my hand off the "scratch" paddle because DJ SippyCup has to do everything ALL BY HERSELF. Dang, playah, you should know that by now.

---mimi smartypants lives in a pineapple under the sea.


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