Back to Diaryland

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

2005-08-25 ... 9:46 a.m.


Often I complain about how no one seems capable of clear, concise communication anymore, and about how I am plagued by confusing stream-of-consciousness emails and badly-worded instructions and people who would rather hint around at the topic rather than just state their piece. Inevitably I will get done with one of these rants and then turn around and post some convoluted drunken bullshit on the Internet or stammer incoherently on someone's voice mail.

I have been having a telephone-heavy week, both work-related and not---RSVPs to various things, phone tag about scheduling appointments, responses to author queries. Thus, there is now audio evidence all over the country of me being an idiot. I leave a perfectly sensible voice mail message, then I realize it's getting a little long, maybe I should leave my phone number again, which leads me to state once more what I want, and so on and so forth until it is just an endless loop of blather and I get super-self-conscious and essentially interrupt myself to say OKAY BYE.

If I can hardly stand to listen to myself, it makes sense that Nora currently does not feel like listening to me either. Here comes the disclaimer: I know I have it easy (at least for the moment) in terms of behavioral issues. Nora almost never has tantrums, she's not a whiner, she's not violent, and her tears don't come easy. What she does instead is just steamroll over any objections to her behavior, because her way is the greatest way ever! At least she is cheerful about it, but holy crap:

Me: Nora, please stop [doing whatever crazy thing you are doing].
Nora: No, I will [crazy thing]! I will do it! It is a good thing to do! Okay? Okay.

Which of course forces me to get all Mom on her ass with the more-forceful NO, DO NOT DO THE CRAZY THING, and she looks at me like "Dude, you are totally missing out, I can't understand why you are so uptight all the time."


Besides being her main man, the homie Nora needs in her crib every night, the number-one playa she kicks it with after dark, Purple Dog also has magical healing powers. Post boo-boo, Nora often says that she needs to fetch Purple, and it is not just a comfort thing: she actually applies his body to her wound. I had to set limits when, after a semi-traumatic poop, Nora claimed that her butt hurt and suggested that she "put Purple on it," to which I said good lord no way (and in my head imagined P. Dogg going, "Say what? Bitch, are you crazy?") My ever-resourceful tyke then suggested that maybe she could put her pants on before harnessing the healing power of Purple Dog, and I couldn't think of a logical objection to that, so she walked around for a while with a stuffed dog pressed to her ass. Okay.

Similarly, Nora decided to suddenly become freaked out by a thunderstorm after being put down for a nap. I went in there to pat and soothe and explain that hello, this is the very same rain we looked calmly at through the window moments ago, and soon she quieted down to just snurfles and said, "I have an idea. I will put Purple on my eyes." So she lay down with the dog across her face like an eye pillow, like some tiny Joan Crawford getting a spa treatment, and was still like that when I peeked in some time later.


1. There are so many good literary/psychoanalytic/mythological jokes to be made about lesbian swans, I hardly know where to begin.

2. The theory of quantum information, complete with many Wheel of Fortune allusions.

3. Sometimes football announcers shouldn't bother mentioning the injury that takes a guy out of the game. Especially when that injury is a "gluteal contusion." Poor baby, with the bruised ass! You basically have two choices now: either get Nora to lend you Purple Dog, or pull on some ripped fishnets and pose on the Internet.

3a. Speaking of, Nora recently asked for and was granted some Incredible Hulk temporary tattoos that we saw at the dollar store. She has this bizarre post-bath routine where she likes to spread out the bath towel on the floor and roll around naked on it, all the while gleefully shouting about how she's getting dirty (the bath towel is supposed to represent a mud puddle). (Don't ask. We sure don't.) She calls this her "dirty picnic" (again, don't ask), and as I watched her doing it the other night, all happily nude and wiggling with garish tattoos all over her arms and legs, I thought, "Time to go block that Suicidegirls site right now."

5. I dreamed that I belonged to a gang called "The Casseroles," and we all adopted nicknames like Tuna Noodle and Green Bean and Sweet Potato/Marshmallow.

6. I don't know exactly what to make of this sexy coal mining advertisement, but it reminded me of an IM conversation I had with Maciej:

idlewords: This job I just quit, with the Andrew W. Mellon foundation: I found out they own and operate an actual coal mine! I was blogging on the back of the working man.
smartypantsmimi: You should try to get transferred! To the mine!
idlewords: I knew I should have talked to you before giving notice.
idlewords: "I'd like a more hands-on position."
idlewords: "I want to be able to make a visible difference in the environment."
smartypantsmimi: You'd be so cute with a photogenic smear of coal dust across the nose. And black lung disease.
idlewords: Poles have a whole fancy traditional coal mining getup from the 18th century.
idlewords: You get a sword!
smartypantsmimi: That's a great hat! Nice extraneous buttons, too.
smartypantsmimi: I can't find any coal mining blogs.
idlewords: Lazy miners.
smartypantsmimi: Current mood: sooty.
idlewords: Mined 16 tons today. Feel older, worried about finances.
smartypantsmimi: God, they're such pussies. It's not like you mined 16 tons by YOURSELF.
smartypantsmimi: And then there's a cave-in and they're all like "Help, we're trapped! We're running out of air!" Yeah yeah.
idlewords: "Drop everything and dig us out."
idlewords: If digging is MY job, then why are YOU the one 700 feet underground?

---mimi smartypants la la la la la la la Eraserhead!


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