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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

2002-11-04 ... 5:45 a.m.


1. Barring eXtreme special occasions, he wears a uniform all the time. Black jeans and black t-shirts (in the summer) or black jeans and black sweaters (in the winter). He literally buys these things in bulk at Old Navy. He tends to refer to his pants as "pants-units" and to the shirts as "shirt-units."

2. He listens to one CD over and over and over again until I think I am going to have to run into the office and spray his computer with machine-gun fire. Then he will switch to another one and play that for a solid month. Lately he has been on a French cha-cha-cha kick. This is not the musical taste of a human being.

3. He mows down civilians who get in his way, shoots the government's helicopters out of the air with his laser-beam eyes, and can grow a new head if his gets damaged. I think.


SUNDAY: I am 24 hours of possibilities! I am sunny and delightful and aren't the autumn trees pretty? You'd be a fool not to take advantage of me! I am tailor-made for that thrift-store shopping spree you keep saying you want to go on. There are many cultural opportunities available during me! If nothing else, use me to get off your ass, wash your goddamned hair, put some clothes on that are not pajamas, and do something with your life! I am half over and you haven't even thrown away last night's beer bottles! God! You are such a fucking loser!

ME: Leave me alone.


The Halloween that wouldn't die. Halloween was days ago but the costume parties just keep happening. Friday night was my last one, and in many ways it was kind of a strange evening, as I kept meeting people who were total strangers to me but then I would find out that some weird connection existed between the two of us, like we had lived in the same apartment building at different times, or that we had a mutual acquaintance, or that we had been featured in the same gang-bang porn film. ("Wait, you were number 47?") I ate worms, drank a lot of beer, had a REALLY DELICIOUS cookie, and danced to "Pussy Control." I also punched a guy in the face. Accidentally. I didn't really punch him, I just sort of flailed my fist into his nose a bit while I was gesticulating to make a point, and I tend to have dramatic expansive gesticulations, and it was an accident, I swear. However, it couldn't have happened to a nicer guy. He was really annoying and really drunk, and since I had just met him I couldn't tell if he was a full-time annoying person or just temporarily really annoying because he was really drunk, but after I punched him in the face (NOT ON PURPOSE), the following misfortunes befell the guy: (a) he teased the host's dog until the dog snapped at him a little bit; (b) he made a sudden lunge toward my ass during the dancing and slipped and fell on his face; and (c) he ended up passing out on the dining room floor. He was part of my entertainment for the evening. Thanks!

(Note that I am not coming from any sort of superior position here, since often/usually I am the Annoying Drunk at the party. So no hard feelings.)

I have been fairly incompetent lately. I just mention this because maybe you are one of the many people to whom I owe mail or a phone call or the article I promised I'd write, or maybe we were supposed to meet someplace but I never showed up, because I was all sitting at home in just my underwear eating Skittles and watching old movies (Double Indemnity courtesy of TiVo).* And maybe you keep calling me, "Mimi, remember you were supposed to donate a kidney to my baby yesterday?" and I'm like yeah, yeah, I'm getting to it.

*It's a great Freudian noir thing but what is up with Barbara Stanwyck's hair? Man it creeps me out. She's got that 1940s sausage-roll bangs thing going on, and the waves in the back are eerily regular, like they were modeled on a computer.

It was a big TV day yesterday, actually, which is somewhat unusual for me. I also watched the Sopranos, and to all you people who are complaining about this season being "boring," I say to you: Projectile vomiting, heroin usage, and vibrator-assisted buttsex, and the season is not even half over yet. What other TV show, besides the occasional rerun of Saved By The Bell, will give you all of these things? Cease thy bitching.

Possum fur nipple warmers are the solution to all your holiday gift-giving needs.

I have gotten into the habit of setting up the little plastic digital camera on my desk and remotely pressing the button occasionally. (It's hooked up to the computer w/USB and you can control it with the mouse from inside the camera application.) There is no reason for this whatsoever, except that I have always wanted to stalk myself. Here is a picture of the creepy left-handed backwards way I write. Can you see the surgical scar on my wrist? Maybe not, the lighting is weird.

Here is a picture of what I wrote:

---mimi smartypants divided by zero.


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