mimi smartypants
Seriously, though: what's with the penguins?

187 on an undercover cop

I’D LIKE TO TEACH THE WORLD TO SING (IN THE CAR)

We have an agreement. We will listen to generic pop radio on the way to the ice rink, but I get to plug in my phone for music on the way home. The result is twofold: I end up unable to get certain unbearably overproduced but also unbearably catch Katy Perry songs out of my head; and Nora, in her fatigued, sweaty, post-hockey-practice state, often ends up thoughtfully listening to “my” music and offering critique. It’s critique that would never grace the pages of a real music publication, but it has its pre-teen insights nonetheless.

“BURNING DOWN THE HOUSE,” live version

[I am enthusiastically singing along]

Nora: I’ve heard this before. Who is this?

Me: Talking Heads.

Nora: More like SHOUTING Heads.

 

“LITTLE BY LITTLE,” Radiohead

Nora: This is pretty good, except for that shaky thing. Someone should calm down with that thing.

Me: What?

Nora: You know, that chikka-chikka-chikka-chikka shaky thing. It’s so loud through the whole song.

Me: Aw, that chikka-chikka shaky thing is my favorite part.

Nora [drily, channeling some kind of BBC butler]: I’m not surprised.

 

“DEEP COVER,” Dre and Snoop

Me: Whoops. [skipping the song]

Nora: I’ve heard bad rap words before, you know.

Me: I know, I’m just not comfortable playing that kind of thing when you’re in the car.

Nora: Well that’s not very gangster of you.

Me: True dat.

TRYING TO KILL ME

As I recently straight-up bragged (nothing humblebrag about it, dogg) on Twitter, I have been promoted at my job. It took no fewer than five nervewracking interviews with various bigwigs, a whole lot of waiting, and some back-and-forth salary negotiations. To be honest, those negotiations were somewhat fake on my part since I was perfectly content with the first offer, but I wanted to do the dance at least a little bit since I had never done it before, and there’s probably no better time to try it out than at the job where they’ve (finally) decided that they want you pretty badly. So yay. Fun fact: one of the salary-negotiation calls came while I was at my doctor’s lab getting my blood drawn, and nothing makes you feel more like a bad-ass than asking for more dead Presidents with a needle hanging out of your arm. Yo yo yo yo I’m an executive boss lady with severely low levels of vitamin B12! Whazzup?

 

—mimi smartypants needs an injection.