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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

2002-10-21 ... 5:26 a.m.


To be all proud of yourself on Friday night for leaving a bar at an appropriate time and before closing. S. and I were all proud of ourselves in the cab, oh my! Aren't we grown up and sensible young ladies! Look at us, going home when it's only 1 am! High-five, sister!

To forget to turn off the alarm clock, so that when the alarm goes off at early o'thirty the next morning you turn it off and lie there thinking oh shit oh shit oh shit, feeling the proto- quasi- mini- hangover gather itself together in your nervous system, and then you have the forehead-slappingly beautiful eureka moment of BUT WAIT IT'S SATURDAY! And then you smile a total whole-body smile as you roll over and snuggle down and you inadvertently say something out loud like "oh yeah."

To be all pleased with yourself that you faked out your cat, like it's a huge accomplishment to be more clever than a domestic animal. The cat walks on your head from 5 am onward, breathing her catfood breath in your face no matter which way you turn, and since you're awake anyway you get up to pee and she is all like (yayIamgettingsomefood) (my cat's inner monologues always lack punctuation and they are always parenthetical), and then as she trots down the hallway to the kitchen you quick-fast scoot back to the bedroom and close the door. She does angrily thump on the door with her paw for a few more hours, but that's easier to sleep through than the head-walking.


The gangbanger type (doo rag, meaningfully-colored 2-11 suit, etc) who was consulting the I Ching. He was even writing down his commentaries in a special I Ching notebook.

The fact that the bus driver hollered "let's go people let's go people get a move on everybody get on the bus let's go let's go" whenever he stopped to pick up passengers. Including little old ladies.

The blind man, with the giant Afro, eating french fries and humming to himself.

Dear Mayor Quimby Daley,

Why did you buy those new CTA buses they are way too big. Forsooth, there are many seats in which the legs of someone like myself cannot reach the bus floor and instead dangle uncomfortably in space. I know I am short but hello I am not a midget. Think about that next time you are shopping at the municipal bus store.

Sincerely, Mimi Smartypants


11:50 a.m. - A fight was reported on the 200 block of West 11th Street. An elderly female in a wheelchair was reported hitting a younger man. He told the caller the woman is his mother.

3:15 p.m. - A skating problem was reported on the 600 block of Buttonwillow Lane.

3:04 a.m. - Suspicious circumstances were reported on the 400 block of Orange Street. The caller advised a security officer found a suitcase partially open. It looked like there was a human head in it. Security officer afraid to look again. Head was attached to a sleeping transient.

No California for me this weekend. I did leave the state, however, because LT and I drove to Madison, Wisconsin, for a party Saturday night. Normally we don't leave the state---well, heck, normally we don't even leave the city limits---just to drink too much wine and eat fancy cheese, but friends of ours just bought a house in Madison and were throwing a party, and HEY WHY NOT. LT got to rediscover the car's cruise-control feature, I got to see a cow (from a distance, at high speed) and marvel like a simpleton about how VERY VERY DARK it is out in the country. Another fun aspect to this party was that we didn't know anyone there except for the hosts, and we were the only people from Chicago, so we scored some exoticizing points just for that. I kind of like getting into interesting and involved conversations with people whom I will never see again. It freed me from the anxiety of trying to remember their names.

Listened to the dismal Bears/Lions game on the way back to Chicago. I think I like football on the radio. You have to pay closer attention than you do when it's on television, but at least the commentators actually know what they are talking about, and someone is crunching some serious statistics up in the booth.


From passion to rugburn.

I was thinking about ersatz Victorian pornography (you know, the sort you can by at Barnes and Noble that is authored by "Anonymous"), and about how much I would love to have this job. Seriously, I could handle sitting at home all day pounding out ersatz Victorian pornography on the computer about The Adventures Of Henrietta Strokecock or what have you. Knowing my penchant for obsessive research, however, I think I might get weird about it, and insist on complete historical accuracy.

Here's the cheater's way to get ideas.

And here.

---mimi smartypants can hardly keep her eyes open.


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