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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

2004-07-27 ... 7:59 p.m.

Look, fake heads.

And fake heads with clear plastic faces.

Creepy head vases.

Fake heads are better than real heads when it comes to duck taxidermy.


There is a sign in the window of BED, BATH, AND BEYOND! (second comma and exciting end punctuation added) that really bothers me. I know many crankier grammarians than I have railed against the use of gratuitous quotation marks, but this one is pretty special; it is a testimonial from someone named "Janet M." in Tucson, Arizona, and it says that a particular massaging showerhead is the greatest invention since the "wheel." I like thinking about Janet M. in her adobe ranch house, surrounded by turquoise geegaws and woven wall hangings, thinking, "This massaging showerhead is truly magnificent. I think it is the greatest invention since that thing you quaint little humans call a 'wheel.' I shall write the manufacturer and let them know." Then Janet M. chuckles metallically and grabs another handful of Fritos with one of her pseudopods, because anyone who feels the need to qualify "wheel" with quotation marks must be a space alien. That would explain all the hideous turquoise dream-catcher shit too, because aliens often overcompensate when impersonating humans.

I had a pretty good weekend. Friday I went to a yoga class at SIX O'CLOCK IN THE MORNING, which gave me a brief, self-righteous glow about having done something so healthy and virtuous (because I seem to have inherited that sick Calvinist Midwestern gene that makes me equate early rising with virtue, or maybe it is just that I have gotten used to my crazy working-mom schedule and now I think of 10 am as "the middle of the day"). The self-righteous glow dissipated quickly, and the rest of the day seemed long and difficult. LT called me in the late afternoon from his cell phone and said, "Well, our car has either been stolen or towed," and I was not sure what to say about that except for many iterations of "Dude." Then he said, "Oh wait a minute, I think I actually parked one block over, let me call you back," and when he did he said, "Never mind. Want a ride home?" I was more than happy to drop the charade of Friday-afternoon work a little early. LT is so cute when he jumps to conclusions.

Saturday I had a delectable brunch at M. Henry in Andersonville, and then played with Nora until we both needed our naps. That night I went to a party where I had a strangely good time. I guess I was just in the mood to enjoy myself. There was much cheap beer in cans,* and there were antics, and there were scads of partygoers much, much younger than myself. At one point I was talking to one such youngster and said something about "my husband."** She gawped and said, "You're married? Is he here?" And then I had to say, "No, he's at home with the baby." "You have a baby?" Et cetera.***

*Having lots of cheap beer in cans at your party is one way to guarantee that I WILL NOT LEAVE UNTIL DAWN. It's altogether too easy to have "just one more," since 12 ounces of Old Style is not really much of a commitment.

**I feel like a dork when I meet people and mention "my husband," mostly because I used to work with a person who was super-annoying with that phrase. Everything she said was my husband this and my husband that and the rest of us were all like OKAY WE GET IT YOU ARE NOT A LESBIAN. But I guess it is equally weird to be making small talk at a party and just start throwing "LT" around as if everyone knows who I mean. Labels: the cause of and solution to all of life's social problems.

***I find that people who seem overly impressed with the completely prosaic non-achievement of marrying and mothering are often victims of what I call the Videogame Approach To Life. Here I am on Level I! Got to land that prestigious job! Okay now quick, run over the cute cardiganed indie-rock boyfriend! You've lived together for a while, maybe it's time to get married! Spend some credits and buy a condo, you're doing great! You're onto the baby level! I can safely say that nothing cheeses me off more than this horrifyingly missing-the-point attitude toward "self-fulfillment," and that I consider it a major fucking problem in society, on a level with racism, sexism, and the description of foodstuffs as "flavor-blasted." And I am not talking about your garden-variety consumerism but something more insidious---a notion that your "self" is constructed by climbing up some fake ladder, a linear progression that ends in DEATH, people, lest we forget.

Okay that was unnecessary. Please tune in next entry when I am not so Tecate-soaked and when I am feeling more cheerful. There really should be a breathalyzer built into the keyboard.

---mimi smartypants loves her goldfish, her crayon too.


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