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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

2002-07-15 ... 9:50 a.m.


1. nasal sex hippo (I suppose a hippo's nostril would be plenty large enough. Ick, though.)

2. smartypants phlebotomists (have hypodermic, rubber tubing, and high IQ, will travel.)

3. wax groin men (sounds like a command. Wax groin, men! Or maybe Wax, Groin Men!)

4. garter belt as sex barrier (you could just take it off, you know...)


1. Interesting art magazines.

2. Sex stores on the north side.

3. Cool breezes and ceiling fans.

4. The Web-A-Sketch.


Sunday evenings. What is the point of Sunday evenings? They are just a vast crater in the desert. They are designed for maximum inefficiency and boredom and depression and they taste like an old sock rinsed in well water. (Which is not normally a favorite dish of mine.) Speaking of food, I had houseguests this weekend, and we fed them splendidly if I do say so myself…highlights included roasted asparagus with balsamic brown butter sauce (I felt like real hot shit when I managed to do something chef-tastic like that sauce, let me tell you) and lemon-ginger muffins in the morning. The social good feelings have kind of evaporated, though, and I spent last night mired in the Sticky Pool of Dread about all the dumb work-related things waiting at the office for me, all the little tasks and annoyances sharpening their little sharp teeth and giggling. (I probably shouldn't personify my job duties. That is edging a bit toward CrazyLand.)


One interesting work thing, though: I currently have an author who calls me a lot, and he's British but working in California, and he has the most downmarket English accent I have ever heard. It's a bit disconcerting because he's a doctor, and while (as an American) I have no right to any sort of accent-related class snobbery when it comes to English accents, wouldn't you naturally expect a more BBC-type accent from someone who had been to medical school? I mean, I wish you could have heard this guy, it was almost comical. He's very chatty, we started talking about systems of health insurance, and I swear he referred to the UK's insurance scheme as "The National Elf."


Shopping has its own bizarre pace, and when people go into a store or a mall they automatically seem to slow down and start to amble/shuffle in a vaguely medicated way, like mental patients on massive doses of antipsychotics. I think this is because of overstimulation: the brightness of the retail store, the music, the endless choices on offer, the deliriousness of consumerism. It can't be all that dissimilar to how schizophrenics feel---that everything is just too much. It is disturbing but kind of strangely beautiful too; locked in the dream of shopping, the crowds drifting through The Gap or Borders or Best Buy, gently touching the items for sale. Even the layout of retail stores seems to facilitate that zombiefied walk, the way you can very rarely (especially in clothing stores) walk in a straight line.

Online shopping is definitely an improvement, but what I'm waiting for is the machine that manufactures clothes and costumes precisely to your whimsical specifications, the refrigerator that knows you are out of cranberry juice and quietly replaces the bottle without being asked, and the medicine cabinet that phones up the pharmacy to have the birth control and Claritin prescription filled. That would be nice.

Look at this happy dancing bottle of liquor. Awww.

---mimi smartypants wants to stay in bed all day.


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