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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

2003-12-09 ... 10:28 a.m.


1. Last year I went through a phase of daily at-work bagel consumption, which meant I went down to my office cafeteria every day at nine in the morning to toast that mother and smear on some cream cheese. It was a bit of theater as well as a bit of nutrition: making something toasted in our cafeteria means you get to use the fun industrial roto-toaster, which sends your bagel on a little conveyer-belt ride under the broiler----bye-bye bagel! See you on the other side! This regular habit put me in contact with others who had similarly regular breakfast habits, including a pregnant woman who every single day could be seen buying two sausage links, a diet root beer, and a chocolate cake doughnut. Even typing out that food combination makes me feel ill, but maybe the fetus really enjoyed its nitrate/NutraSweet/shortening combination, who am I to say.

2. A friend of mine tells a story about a drunken, bad-idea-from-the-moment-it-began, one-night stand, where in the middle of the action the girl said, "I'd suck your dick but my nose is all stuffed up." The horror of this sentence is the truly the horrible horror of the Lovecraftian variety: first, the discussion of sexual acts during sex itself, particularly with a near-stranger (a touch of the dirty talk is okay, but I had better feel very comfortable with you or else it just comes off as creepy); second, the dirty talk took place in the context of what is NOT going to happen, what kind of strange postmodern shagging is this; and third, NEW RULE: NEVER MENTION MUCUS DURING SEX, EVER.*

(*However, I did once have a horrible, unbelievable cold that no over-the-counter remedy or amount of vaporizer steam could touch, and the only time I could breathe through my nose at all was for twenty minutes or so post-orgasm. I spent a lot of time "napping," surrounded by kleenex and spare batteries, that weekend.)

3. Two Trixies on the El:

#1: There is no way I would accept a diamond that small.
#2: He promised to get her a bigger one on their first anniversary.
#1: He better have.

It's a dilemma---continue my eavesdropping habit and risk overhearing things like this, which make me happy I do not have a hollow tooth filled with arsenic (as surely on some bad day, when I have a head full of sulfurous Despair, such a conversation would make me impulsively BITE THE FUCK DOWN AND GET IT OVER WITH)? Or start iPodding throughout every commute, which means that I might miss some delightful lunatic ranting or homeless-guy rap?

4. We are in the happy position of having more bathroom storage space than we really need. The medicine cabinet is big, and there are nice deep drawers under the sink, the top one for grooming supplies and the bottom one for extra hand towels that never get used, that in fact do not even match our good hand towels. These would probably be thrown out were it not for the anxiety-riddled void it would leave in my bathroom taxonomy: A DRAWER CANNOT BE EMPTY! So old, mismatched, raggedy, clean-but-useless hand towels live in there. Once, after some middle-of-the-night sex, I sleepily got up to use the bathroom and, post-toilet-paper, I pulled out one of these towels and finished the job. No, I don't know why. Perhaps I was sleepwalking. Perhaps my foggy brain decided that terrycloth would feel delightful on my princess. Regardless, I did it, left the towel on the floor, and stumbled back to bed, only to be completely horrified when I found it there the next day, thinking OH MY GOD I HAVE A CUM TOWEL! I AM A TEENAGE BOY!


1. Nora is fascinated by the telephone. She stares at me when I talk on the phone and although she has her own toy phone, no way, uh-uh, she wants the real one. Yesterday when I called home from the office LT put Nora on for a minute, mostly so she would quit grabbing at it while he talked to me, and when he put the phone to her mouth she literally said "blah blah blah blah blah" and then crawled away. Is she making fun of us?

2. Driving by the big cemetery on Peterson with LT, I saw a big flock of birds and cried, "Ahhh! Geese! Feasting on the dead! Oh wait, they are just eating seeds and stuff." Silence for a minute and then LT said, "You just don't get to say 'feasting on the dead' often enough." I replied that was precisely what I had been thinking at that moment, and we made a pact to try and say it more often. ("Look Nora! Elmo is feasting on the dead!") This is reason number fifty-nine why I like him.

3. This bank is opening some locations in Chicago and they have ads on the El with an earnest, regular-looking girl saying, "They make me feel like it is, truly, my bank." The offset "truly" bugs me to no end, and as for the sentiment itself? Just try rearranging the furniture or taking your pants off in there and then see if you still feel like it is "your" bank.

4. For all my fellow Classics nerds, and for anyone who likes big butts.

5. I have been waiting and waiting for someone to parody Jack Chick in this fashion.

6. Songs inspired by spam. E-mail, not canned meat.

7. Are you having trouble getting into the holiday spirit? Me too. I sometimes wish there were a "Do Not Call" list for Christmas, or at least that Christmas were more focused on the cocktails and hors d'oeuvres and less on the decorations and obligations. And a shout-out to my relatives: although I know that eventually it will be unavoidable, can we please refrain from making a big fat hairy Santa-related fuss around my kid? Just for this year? She is only ten months old, and does not yet need to be concerned about omnipotent mythical father figures making value judgments about her behavior.

But whenever I start to feel all Scrooge McDuck, I just remember what is really important about the holidays: athletes-turned-murderers offering you ham.

---mimi smartypants decked the halls, by golly.


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