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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

2002-09-20 ... 4:33 p.m.


LT possibly has fixed the driver's license mess for me! My LT, my own personal in-house Erin Brockovich (although he's a lot more butch than Julia Roberts), refused to believe my lawyer's contention that "fighting for justice will never work, so just pay the Thieving Ho's parking tickets" (some lawyer, huh?) and thus LT has taken my plight all the way to the state legislature. We are still waiting to hear, but the state representative's office seems to feel that the right phone calls have been made and the right whispers put into the right ears, and that in two weeks or so I should get a letter saying never mind and the whole thing is cleared up. Yay, LT! What a man! He deserves my heartfelt gratitude and a homebaked pie. Or maybe just some fellatio. Unless he decides to forgo both of those for what's behind Door Number Three! (Audience: here's where you shout out the prize you would choose!)


Where is my mad crazy bling-bling? Sure, I'm comfortable enough, and careful with my cash, but stupid shit has been popping up lately. Car tune-ups, condo payments, etc. One of LT's clients is being squinky about paying him, insisting that it couldn't possibly have taken him eight hours a week for one month to build a complicated application from scratch. (Eight hours a week, mind you. Not a day. That could be less time than some of you spend masturbating.) And I just received the lovely news that my company probably won't be giving out raises this year. WHICH COMPLETELY SUCKS, and not just for me. How am I supposed to motivate people if I can't give them raises? Lollipops? Pats on the head and unconditional love? Smiley face stickers? Maybe I should get my employees hooked on the hillbilly heroin, and thus loyalty would be ensured as long as the goods kept coming. No upward mobility required.


1. I was the Littlest Billy Goat Gruff in a kindergarten production of "The Three Billy Goats Gruff" by Edward Albee.*

(*Okay, I made that Edward Albee part up. But oh man, I would shell out the big bucks to see a kindergarten production of The Goat, or Who Is Sylvia? or Who's Afraid Of Virginia Woolf?)

2. I did some radio voiceovers as a very young child.

3. I was Susan B. Anthony for History Day in fourth grade. I had old-timey clothes, carried a sign that said "Votes For Women!" and made a speech in front of the whole school.

4. I was some sort of "bad girl" proto-slut in a junior-high student-written one-act play. I remember nothing about it except that I got to carry a cigarette and pretend to smoke.

5. I was the younger daughter in Our Town. A totally negligible character except for that one speech about the over-detailed mailing address.

6. I handled props for a production of Medea. There aren't very many props in Medea.

7. I was on speech team for one year in high school, focusing mostly on (surprise) comic monologues.

8. In college, due to a combination of (a) frustration with the lonely and overanalyzed process of writing poetry, (b) typical adolescent need for attention, and (c) a genuine desire to express my twisted take on the world, I was briefly very fond of writing and producing strange performance art/spoken word pieces in our school's black-box theater. People actually came. Particularly stoned people. It was fun.


1. Control-top pantyhose.

2. Any sandals that force you to put something between your toes. Gross.

3. A padded bra.

4. Gold jewelry of any sort.

5. Gingham, ruffles, large floral prints, fringe.


Last night, after yoga, I am walking down my alley. I have a seriously third-world alley. Here are some things that are often found strewn about the alley: furniture, heaps of wet rotting carpet, piles of smoldering frankincense (really), orange peels, ominous-looking nuggets of some organic matter (don't want to look too closely), crushed and mangled CDs and cassette tapes, a broken toilet. It's a wonderland of junk, a cavalcade of stench, and occasionally it will all disappear only to fill back up again with detritus. Why do I walk down it, you ask? Because it is more interesting than the sidewalk, and quicker to get to from the bus stop, and sometimes you see...LIVESTOCK! YES! So back to the narrative: Last night, after yoga, I am walking down my alley. I see a huddled birdlike shape under a bunch of weeds and I think it must be some kind of wounded pigeon because it's all alone and just sitting there on the ground. As I get closer I see it is A CHICKEN. "Chicken!" I said, delightedly, and took a step closer, at which point the chicken (a brownish variety) got up in a fussy "leave me alone" way and moved further off, behind a garage. Could it be an escapee from the live poultry place just east of my house? Could it have snuck away from the chicken swinging, (shoutout to H: here's the disembodied torso you wanted) and is now on the lam? Is this a FERAL CHICKEN, LIVING IN MY ALLEY? KICK ASS!

Okay, I'm getting too excited. Time to drink some beer and breathe slowly.

---mimi smartypants has been shot through the heart and believes you're to blame.


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