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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

2003-06-19 ... 11:47 a.m.


I will no longer just come out and say what I am thinking at work. It's nothing bad---no one put truth serum in my coffee, like in a silly sitcom setup, so that I walk around all day blurting out that upper management are morons or hey sugar-tits meet me in the supply closet for the ride of your life! Sometimes I forget that, at work, people are not used to me and the things I say, and then I say them, and what might get me a smirk, a fond smile, or at least an indulgent pat on the head from one of my friends just gets me baffled looks and probably permanent-record marks from coworkers. Yesterday I was in a meeting. There was some question about a long-ago thing, and I happened to remember the thing. So I came forward with the information, and it was precise and well-expressed if I do say so myself. This impressed one of the Quesos Grande, and she said, "Wow, Mimi! You've got a mind like a steel trap!" But instead of just smiling modestly and basking in the glow like a normal person, of course I have to say, "Yeah, and I'm gnawing off my own leg to escape." It is not super-funny, but it's kind of funny, right? Not in my office, all severely humor-impaired. Sigh.


Okay, this is weird. I am supposed to have lunch with this guy. He e-mails me, I e-mail him, we work mere blocks apart but it takes a while to set these things up. Suddenly he stops responding to my e-mails, and instead starts sending me e-mails that say things like, "I will take your silence as a sign you don't want to have lunch after all." My e-mails say things like, "What are you talking about, silence? Let's do Thai next Wednesday. I am short and nerdy-looking and I usually wear black." It became gradually clear that there is a bizarre technical glitch, we are living in some sort of horrific communicative black hole, like maybe the Edward Albee Virus has infected this computer or some server further up the pipe, because nothing I write gets through to this guy. My last, futile, message was all existentialist and despairing and ended with, "I have no other way to contact you" (since he has no guestbook or anything) but then I thought aha! Wait! It is a maximum use of resources for a very individualized return, but I have this web page! So Poe, if you have not given up reading this page altogether because you think I am an evil bitch who ignores e-mail, that is the story. I get your messages, you do not get mine. I have no idea what is going on. I suggest you feel bitter about this, and take it as a sign that the universe is a terribly unfriendly place, because I sure do.


1. I don't know what all you naysayers are babbling about. The new Radiohead album is good.

2. I snuck out from work on Tuesday afternoon, because I desperately needed fresh air and there were errands to be run: currency exchange for my new transit card, the drugstore for more semen-esque hair goop, and the florist for more desk flowers. (Contemplating the sexual organs of plants during the workday keeps me from killing everyone.) On my way into CVS, I hear this crabby, commanding voice say, "Hold the door, please," but the tone of the "please" clearly conveyed the sense of "you miserable worm." I held the door and turned around, and the Gestapo door-needing person was this tiny little NUN! Help! I am scared of nuns just on principle and oh god NUN ATTACK! I wanted to spy on her and see what sort of toiletries the wife of Jesus would purchase, but I was too chicken.

3. Note to the guy with the vanity license plate "D00B," and who, just in case people didn't get it, had also decorated his car with dozens of pot-leaf and rainbow-dancing-bear stickers: cops love that stuff. Good call.

4. Yay. When I was a child I had a brief phase of having nightmares about the Quaker Oats box. The Quaker on the box is holding a Quaker Oats box, which has his picture on it, in which he is holding a Quaker Oats box, and so forth. Ever since then I have had an unreasonable fascination about things with representations of things on them. Like a flag with a picture of a flag on it, or a photocake with an image of a photocake.

5. Tuesday was not the greatest of workdays by a long shot, but it got a hell of a lot better after six o'clock. First I had a brilliant espresso milkshake (the best dinner ever! dairy! caffeine!) at Jinx, and then S. and I settled down to drinking beer in various watering holes around Division and Damen. The problem with this summer thing is that the daylight lasts so long you can easily be lulled into thinking the hour is early and your time is long, but last call arrives quickly and next thing you know the bartender is acting like a mean foster mommy, taking the bottle out of your hands and shoving you toward the door that leads to the outside world. One of the bars we went to had this awesome back garden, with picnic tables and a small pond, complete with tiny waterfall. AND, I can't stress this enough, next to the pond was this piece of garden sculpture that was a LIGHT-UP ANIMATRONIC SNAIL, a sort of wire snailform with white Xmas lights that slowly moved its snailhead back and forth, and watching it made me just about froth with delight. I could feel big bubbles of delight rising through my bloodstream, and then they would gently pop in my brain with a feeling like that first-ever hit on a crack pipe, in the bathroom of your friendís apartment one Halloween night when you were just a college student, and then you realize that not only is smoking sweet delicious crack a dumb, possibly-deadly thing to be doing, it is also not really a good idea given certain addictive tendencies and such, so that was the first and last time simultaneously, but you always savor the memory because damn it was good. The light-up animatronic snail is like that for me. The light-up animatronic snail is like crack, except that it is legal, and harmless. I must go back and sit in that garden ASAP. Old Style and light-up animatronic snails = summer.


1. In today's first-person shooters, when you take damage you literally take damage, usually a big bloody shoulder wound or something like that. I am a fan of the old-skool type of damage indicator, like a little scroll bar with life force ebbing away, or your avatar becoming flickering and insubstantial, or best of all, becoming small (eg, SuperMario). It is more in keeping in how I personally feel, in real life, when I sustain (psychic) damage.

2. Pinky, Inky, Blinky, and Clyde.

---mimi smartypants, spastically romantic and she looks for something weirder.


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