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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

2007-09-04 ... 10:45 a.m.


So I met this man and he may have forced me to smoke something all rolled up in paper. I feared for my life so I did as he asked. Or maybe I dreamed that part and it never really happened. Anyway, if it did occur I have a feeling that it would have made my brain very skittery and full of words, and that I would of course take copious notes. I am all about the copious notes. Copious notes are what get me up in the morning. For a steaming hot bowl of copious notes, with brown sugar and raisins.


1. I pass the White Hen sign with some of the letters burned out so that it says E HEN and I think Oh how funny White Hen cares not a WHIT. Then I decide it is not really very funny at all but instead desperate and lame like a bad New Yorker cartoon.

2. I watch Blades of Glory, which is a faithful note-for-note parody of Lifetime Channel TV movies, Wide World of Sports specials, and prime-time newsmagazines, and it was funnier than I expected. However, what I really can't stop thinking about is the interior decorating in the house of the von Waldenburg twins.* Some set decorator needs an Oscar because it is so perfectly Apartment Life/Metropolitan Home in that white-on-white, fur rugs, plastic-Eames-chair way.

*And by the way, I love you Will Arnett. Call me.

3. Then I get in a cab to go home and it was The Reggae Cab. It is really not fair to be all allegedly stoned and then be stuck with a taxi that reeks of incense and is blasting reggae. I despise reggae but even so, speeding up Clark with the reggae doing its thing, I slowly realize that I have a big stupid smile on my face and then I get angry. ARRRGGGH I HATE BEING THIS MELLOW. I try to think aggressive thoughts to counteract the mellow and as another car passes I hear a snippet of Blondie's "Call Me," and ahhh, a white junkie bitch screaming at me, now that's more like it.

3a. After that gets sorted out, I notice that the cabbie is taking an odd route and being me of course I am thinking abduction/stabbing/body parts in various Hefty bags in the forest preserve. But then I remember the reggae. You couldn't really kill someone to a reggae beat, could you? That would not be mellow at all. It would be just my luck, really, since I hate reggae so much, to be repeatedly stabbed to a reggae beat.

4. Home, unstabbed, I do some sex stuff with LT and then try to fall asleep, but although my body is very loose and sleepy my mind is like a whirring blender (let's have margaritas!) and at one point I realize that I am breathing very deeply and kind of noisily, like an ostentatious parody of a relaxed person. LT is passed out, there is no else around, but I still feel kind of self-conscious about it, oh no I'm turning into some infinitely recursive David Foster Wallace character. Pardon me for breathing! Then I spend some time pretending I am one of those Ed Emberley thumbprint drawings. Then I become aware that LT's arm draped across my side feels kind of like a warm piece of plastic, and for a while I think about everything being plastic, plastic fantastic, me in a checkerboard minidress doing The Freddy with Andy Warhol.


There was an IKEA trip, in which we purchased a new dining room table and chairs. Dinner party time! With both leaves in we can now seat twelve people, which is just frightening. There was also an emergency room trip, to extract a small random piece of plastic from Nora's ear that she had apparently inserted DAYS AGO and didn't want to mention to anyone. Four-year-olds' timelines are very garbled indeed, but she talked about being alone in her room during what should have been naptime (NOT stick-things-in-your-ear time), that she was just having a grand old time putting debris in her ear, that one time the bit of debris did not emerge and she decided not to say anything to the nanny, and from those clues alone we know that Foreign Body Day was Friday or even earlier. She was a little weepy with relief when the whole story came out, and worried out loud that she would have to have an "operation," but five minutes with the skinny tweezers at the walk-in clinic was all it took.

Now I have to go back to work. Today I am about as smart and as good a writer as a glob of dryer lint because I was woken up approximately eight hundred times last night.

1. I go to bed early. Smart, right?
2. LT comes to bed.
3. Nora comes to "tell me something." I do not want to be told something. Away she goes.
4. Car alarm. There should be a rule that any car alarm going longer than three minutes = citizens get free rein with baseball bats and golf clubs.
5. Nora arrives to request "company" during a bathroom trip. Jesus god, when does solo nighttime urination begin? I do not understand why my presence is always required, I really don't.
6. Cats decide to have a cat party. There is hyperactive meowing and cavorting and something heavy is knocked over.
7. I GET MONEY MONEY IS GOT I GET MONEY MONEY GOT I GET MONEY SOMETHING SOMETHING MONEY. Hooray, my favorite song! How considerate of that young man to drive down the alley with his car radio nice and loud so I can hear it clearly.
8. NPR wakes me up blah blah Iraq Pakistan body count misery. Good morning!

---mimi smartypants collects her food with tentacles and transports it to her mouth in a ciliate groove.


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