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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

2002-11-18 ... 5:53 p.m.

I have a problem where I just don't feel 100%, and it's nothing easily identifiable like a sore throat or a stomachache, and let's just get this out of the way right now: I know it's probably nothing. I mean, I can joke about how I am positive I have The Cancer, but I don't want you to think that I really am one of those freaky people who is this [] close to starting a regimen of daily shark-blood injections, or taking out a second mortgage in order to be able to afford one of those full-body scans, or whatever. I do not feel entirely right, and maybe what I should do is readjust my conception of what it means to feel good to this new, lower standard, and then I would be able to say "I feel great!" and be truthful about it. I have also given up worrying about whether this not-feeling-so-fantastic is a body thing or a mind thing, because I am sure the answer is "both." And that way lies madness. And this way sits madness. And over this way loiters madness, leaning against the wall, smoking a cigarette. Lazy madness, get a fucking job.


1. Sometimes I feel like my skeleton is trying to get out of my body and dance around in a grotesque macabre fashion while the rest of me slumps to the floor like a wet bag of cat food.

2. Nothing tastes particularly good to me.

3. I have a near-constant stuffed-up nose, which should not be happening now that all the leaves are gone.

4. I am a big whiner, and am going to stop this now.


In Steinhardt and Turok's model, the visible universe exists within a three-dimensional membrane, or "brane," that can be simplistically imagined as a stretchy rubber sheet. Neat.


Somebody seriously tell me, because I need to know: How do you all do it? Really, how? People have jobs and families and hobbies, and I bet you their houses are not swirling maelstroms of beer bottles and cat hair. My head is barely above water here, especially in the work realm. With my checklist lockstep Capricorn Mind (doesn't that sound like the title of some 1970s soul album? Somebody call Barry White), I have identified four possible problems: (a) my job really is too large in scope for one person, and I need to throw a tantrum about shifting some responsibilities and such, or at the very least learn how to say no; (b) I am totally incompetent; (c) I am a crazy person and a big whiner (see above), and if I would just straighten up and fly right everything would be fine; (d) I am way too hard on myself and have unreasonable expectations of organization and not-fucking-up-ness. WITNESS: Today I am doing several things at once and I get a "Where are you?" phone call, because I am supposed to be in a meeting that I totally spaced on. So I go. To the meeting. And it's some overarching committee thing and the more I listen to this the more it sounds like one of the smaller committees, one that might actually have to do stuff, is in my area of "expertise." So I am taking notes, figuring I might as well fake being professional after nearly missing the meeting entirely and I write this note to myself:

Check---am I in charge of any of this?

Then I get back to my desk and locate the original e-mail and yes! It appears that I have been shanghaied into yet another project like a drunk Chinese sailor. (The "shanghaied" part being how I, myself, am like a drunk Chinese sailor. Not the project being a drunk Chinese sailor. I would vastly prefer a project involving a drunk Chinese sailor, like he was so drunk that we coated him in glue and covered him in glitter and threw him into the mosh pit at an N'Sync concert, except that I don't think they have mosh pits at N'Sync concerts.) Anyway. New project. I nearly threw a tantrum. More financial compensation, or at least more showering me with confetti and bringing me candy, may be needed.

How nice.

Weekend feels like it didn't happen. Friday was Standard Businesslike Drinking At The Usual Place, hup two three four, and Saturday was a wedding that took up most of the afternoon, all of the evening, a few of those other post-midnight hours. It was at the Sears Tower and was very nice. At the last minute LT talked me into wearing one of my vintage hats, one that is very crazy-old-lady and has feathers, and normally LT is not known for his fashion sense but I have to say it really worked. And I would normally never say (or even think) something like "I looked fabulous," but chickens, I looked fabulous. I hope there are many many photographs. Did you know that LT is a Hat Person too? A black porkpie with a blue feather, in his case. We are all set to be old people. Who knows if we'll make it that long, but we're going to try, because the fashion opportunities are fabulous for old people. LT can hike his pants up to his just under his armpits and I can wear ever-crazier hats and have ever-more-crooked lipstick in ever-more-inappropriate colors. And maybe even a babushka or plastic rain bonnet from time to time.

Yeah, that's the way to solve your problems, with the mailing of severed animal heads. That will show her.

I HATE WINE CHARMS. What the hell is with this hideous trend? Can you think of a more useless piece of crap that just screams "I AM A POTTERY BARN WHORE"? Frankly, not knowing which wine glass is mine has never once been a problem for me, perhaps because I tend not to put my wine glass down all that often. And if you happen to be a crazy person and this wine glass identification is an area of concern to you, there are definitely alternatives to buying an overpriced geegaw: just put a big old lipstick print on it (men, you can do this too, don't be shy), or hawk some mucus into it, or even just take whatever wine glass is the most full. Most adults don't backwash that much, and hell, if you're having all that wine you know you're going to be swapping spit with somebody later anyway, you ho-bag. Might as well get it over with.

Blah. I am too cranky for my shirt, too cranky for this website. Over and out, for now.

---mimi smartypants resists fading.


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