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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

2005-10-06 ... 10:09 a.m.


Oh. Well.


Hey, you're not authorized to palpate that udder!

What's that smell?

You never let us have any fun.


A guy at my office went to Japan for a long vacation and brought back a box of snacks to share with everyone. They were little gorgeously wrapped packages with full-color illustrations of chickens on the front and a bunch of Japanese words. If only I could read Japanese! Because then I would not have been surprised/underwhelmed by the square of Sara Lee-esque pound cake that was inside, when I had been expecting wasabi-flavored squid-crisp Pocky with a free pornographic trading card. Some might say it is the thought that counts, but I beg to differ. Note to the next person who goes to Japan: don't bother bringing me any regular food. We have that here.


Nora recently went to her first real birthday party, for a friend of hers from last year's preschool class. I love this kid and wish we got to see her more; she is tall and skinny and scraggly-blonde, is always wearing some ridiculous get-up of her own devising, and is one of those children who looks like she has a red Kool-Aid ring around her mouth even when she doesn't. Her birthday invitation specified that you should wear a costume, both for the fun of it and as a trial run for Halloween. Nora has lots of dress-up clothes---Viking helmet, fairy wings, various ears and tails and masks---but she was not into the costume scene that day so I just stuck a cowboy hat on her with a horse-patterned shirt and motorcycle boots and left it at that.

The other parents were not similarly casual, and there were elaborate costumes everywhere you looked. Astronauts, dragons, and many, many princesses and Snow Whites. I happen to hate all of the following: Disney, the glorification of female passivity, and the concept of monarchy, but whatever; if my kid was seriously into tiaras and tulle I would try not to squawk too much. However, my tolerant mood evaporated when I saw the little girl dressed as a BRIDE. It would be a cold day in hell before I bought Nora a bride costume. It does not even make much sense as a costume, as bride-dom is a temporary state of being and I can't think of many other costumes that go that route. It would be like dressing as a freshman, or as someone who has a cold.


1. I was getting into an elevator, and a person surprised me by coming out, and he said, "Oh excuuuuuuse me!" in this bizarre fake-obsequious Ned Flanders voice. I was in a mood and so as he walked briskly away I said, "shut UP," and then I giggled a bit about the excuse me/shut up non-exchange.

2. The iPod was on shuffle and the Charles Ives string quartet No. 2 came on, the movement that is subtitled "Arguments." Ives is not good for the concentration, so after about a minute I said, out loud, "What the fuck are you going on about?" and skipped to the next song.


1. "If the White Sox win the World Series, I, I, I...I don't know what I will do. I will wander the city. I swear to god, I will wander the city. I will just be so drunk and happy and I will wander the city all dazed and shit."

2. "The government, I mean the economy...of Africa, it's like twelve percent. Offshore. There are all these illegal banks. Seriously, it's like twelve percent."

The last time Sophie and I were at Long Room for the one-dollar Schlitz-in-cans (so tiny! if there is any question about ordering another vs. going home, just look at the can! cute! small! barely a sip!), we were vaguely hit on by some yuppie who promised that he was going to "empower" us. This had something to do with buying cheap real estate and selling it at a profit. This time, sadly, there were no offers of empowerment, but I did meet Mario.

Mario put his big ham-hand on my shoulder and started slurring,
"Excuse me. Excuse me." I turned around and asked what he wanted, complete with steely glare. While normally I am polite to gross men in bars, because telling them to go fuck themselves can be entertaining in a verbal-jousting sort of way, Mario was already on my shit list for touching me. Mario wanted to know my name, and he was so drunk and so awful that I didn't even answer him, I just glared more and turned back around. He kept up with the "excuse me" and "can I just ask you one question?" until I finally said, "Okay, what's the one question?"

"Are you a lesbian?" he asked.

"Sure," I said, because really, isn't everyone? On the inside? Okay, I don't know what I mean by that. But it seemed like the path of least resistance, because he will either go home and beat off about it before passing out, or give up and go seek heterosexual companionship further down the bar. For some reason, however, the pretend revelation of my Sapphic nature saddened Mario. "Oh why?" he moaned. "Why are you a lesbian? You are pretty! Why are you a lesbian?"

Much as I love hearing the word "lesbian" in a Puerto Rican accent, this was really getting on my nerves, so I said, "Well, I'd love to stay and chat, but unfortunately I'm a total bitch" and left Mario to deal. Hopefully by now he has gotten through the seven stages of grief experienced when a total stranger tells you she's a lesbian.

We left not long after this incident, and I got a ride home with the Incredible Farting Cabdriver. For a surreal moment I thought he must be playing a tape of fart noises, so loud and continuous it was.

This weekend is my sister's wedding---I don't have to do much except shepherd Nora through her flower-girl performance, be in some pictures, and read a poem solely in order to drag out the non-religious ceremony. I printed out the poem to get a feel for how it would read out loud, and I noticed some awkward parts that just did not scan, and some adverbs (ugh: adverbs should be a last resort in poetry), and some places where I really felt there should be punctuation. So guess what! I edited it! I know, it's wrong on a whole bunch of copyright and other levels, but the poem is by no means well known and if I can produce a smoother read and a smoother ceremony by changing a few words, so be it. My only concern is that the poet will somehow hear of this and I will be sued or beaten up. WELL, BRING IT ON, YOU ADVERB-LOVING BASTARD!

And then right after that we are off to Florida for a week, so you will hear no more from me. And the next time you do hear from me I will be full of grouper and mojitos and tales from the beach. Nora is convinced that we will see a crab and "talk to it"---that seems to be her sole goal for this vacation.

---mimi smartypants has learned your language.


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