Talked to my sister earlier, and she told me two things: 1) that our friend Opie and his darling little girlfriend are engaged, which is like the awesomest thing EVER, and 2) that a mutual, very heterosexual male acquaintance of ours (who's NOT this idiot) has been WEARING MASCARA, or at least has in the last 12 months. In public. What makes this uproariously funny is that if you were going to think about some dude wearing mascara, this guy would so. NOT. be. it. God, I hope I don't run into the poor bastard, because I'm not sure I'll be able to walk away without seriously making fun of him.

A year ago this coming Sunday, I talked about seeing my ex-boyfriend from college and how I was kind of all freaked out about it, right? Hadn't seen him in 12 years, figured he'd be at the event with his bitchy wife, etc.

Yeah, saw him today at a different event for his not-for-profit. He looks exactly the same, if a little heavier and quite a bit more bald. (Then again, the last time he saw ME, I was 45 pounds lighter with vibrant red hair. In fact, he hasn't seen me as a brunette since before college, since I started dating him the summer before I started, and even then, I was more blonde than brunette. Yikes.) But we talked for, like, 45 minutes before I had to split to make deadline, catching up on shit and whatnot. Turns out that on top of his stepson, he has two kids of his own, which is really funny since kids were never part of his plan. But his little girl is gorgeous, blonde hair and blue eyes with a little Dutchboy cut -- just darling. And his little brother who I loved so much is now 24 (!) and working in PR for a Chicago real estate firm. I was like, "So that means I can conceivably run into him at a bar!?? Man, that ain't right." And he offered me condolences about Dad, naturally, but what was really wild is when I filled him in about the bio-fam, he remembered the guy who pretended to be my biological father back in college. (Haven't told y'all about that one, have I? Remind me to later.) And then, in probably the best moment of the conversation, we were talking about how his little brother who I love so much was never much of a partyer in high school, but that his own weakness was girls and oh, what he didn't do for girls -- not for them, but for himself. Having been the casualty of this weakness, I smiled and nodded, "Yeah, yeah." There was totally no rancor to it or anything; it was just a really sweet moment, one that I never imagined would've happened since our final breakup took about a year. Anyway, we talked about keeping in touch, maybe getting together for lunch when we have the time.

There was something oddly comforting about talking to him. Not in like a "get back together" kind of way, but like talking to someone you haven't talked to in years and picking up like it was yesterday. And what was really cool was seeing him so Dad-like about his kids. I'm still smiling about it, actually.

For those of you who aren't quite clear on the concept of how blogging works, let me explain something to you: I pay money each month to maintain this site. I also pay money to have it designed, and I pay for the domain name. Therefore, since I'm putting all this money into it, I get to talk about whatever I want. This is the way it is, and it's not changing.

-- The one guy on his sick, sick love for Marg Helgenberger

The holidays were all in all pretty nice up in Chez Broad this year -- much better than last year, anyway, except when I got the news Christmas Day that TOG had to put down his self-proclaimed life's companion.

Mikiko was her show name, but TOG renamed her because he couldn't stand calling her that; she was so not a showdog. Instead, she was a crabby little ol' lady, not unlike her owner being a curmudgeonly ol' soul himself. She farted with abandon, snored louder than most guys and drooled. Man, did she drool. Drooled so much, she ruined a couple of TOG's mattresses ... well, actually, it was more like she licked them to death every time he would wash the sheets. None of that -- while hysterically funny, mind you -- encapsulated her overall demeanor, however, which TOG captured perfectly in his dry-as-dirt way:

She had her lighthearted moments, too, of course, like the morning after the giant multinetwork concert after 9/11. I'd spent the night at TOG's, and he took off for work and let me sleep. Tradition had it that every time I slept over, it was my job to take Mikiko for her morning constitutional, so I got up and dressed and there she was, staring at me like, "'k, can we go now, Sunshine? Thanks." So, I got the leash on her, and we walked to the beach they live near. Well, at the time, I was all fixated on nuclear and biological warfare and so on and so forth, and I remember thinking to myself as we walked to the water's edge that ohmigod, Lake Michigan could be wiped out with mere milliliters of some sort of toxin or deadly strain of something or other and holy shit, we're gonna die. And I look down, and there's Mikiko on her back, rolling around in the wet sand like "Yeah. Woooooo! It's a party going on down here! Wooo!" So I said to her, "You know, your dad's going to KILL me for letting you bring all this sand into the crib," but did she care? Not one bit. Then there was the time I was taking her for a walk, and we ran into this old guy with his equally old bloodhound, Max. Mikiko took one look at him and thought, "Ooooo, a MAN!" and started chasing Max around his owner until the poor bastard was tangled in both their leashes. I said to her, "Honey, boys don't like it when you chase them," to which she looked at me like, "Whatever," though Max' owner clearly wasn't happy about getting tangled up by the wily bulldog. Girlfriend could MOVE, too, when she wanted.

There was also the time I was over and was sleeping with my knees up for whatever reason, and she was with us on the bed like she always was. And all of a sudden I felt her sort of jumping on my knee, except then it occurred to me that she maybe hadn't been spayed and ... oh. My. Hmmmm. So I ask TOG the next day whether she had been spayed, and when he said, "No," I was like, "Oh. Well, because it seems that [Mikiko] was having a little party of her own on my knee last night," to which he said to her, "[Mikiko], what did the weird girl do to you?" because it was MY fault, naturally.

I'm not sure what makes me more sad, the fact that the world lost her or that TOG is hurting so badly; above all else, he loved that dog, and there's nothing I can do to make him feel better. And over fucking Christmas, too. God.

about the whole exchange with TOG? I'M the one who's feeling bad about it, as if I did something horribly wrong to upset the balance of the universe, and so I totally want to apologize and make sure everything's all right. I SHOULDN'T, however, because then I risk making things worse.

(she says, dropping to her knees like in those cell phone commercials, then beating her head on the floor.)

Tell me something: Why is it that I can't have just ONE DAY where I have no responsibilities other than what I want to do -- which, in this case, was just sitting around the house doing nothing but drinking Pepsi and watching TV after a morning story and a nice lunch with Poppy!?? I was in for the night when I finally decided to answer Mother's seventh call of the day; she called to tell me that she needed pills picked up. (Before anyone jumps on my shit gets the wrong idea, it's a medication that she didn't absolutely, 100 percent need until Sunday, and believe me, I know aaaaaall about her meds and what she needs immediately and what she doesn't.) Oops, I forgot, along with the appointment I made at Marathon to have them look at my tire, which got really low on Thanksgiving, but Ok, I'll get them, I said, to which she promptly starts going on about how she's soooo worried about my tire and how I need to get that looked at before winter sets in, wonkwonkwonkwonk, then asks if I would then pick her up a pack of Orbit gum along with her meds because she doesn't want my aunt to complain about her breath tomorrow when they go out for lunch. (I almost said "Obit." How's THAT for a Freudian slip!?). Well, I got caught up in AMW -- again, she doesn't need these pills until tomorrow -- so as I'm picking them up, I get my eighth call of the day. I call her back:

I get there, and she tells me to grab the last piece of pumpkin pie. As I'm putting whipped cream on it, she hands me her checkbook to write out her rent check -- you know, the one THAT ISN'T DUE FOR ANOTHER WEEK, because it must be done RIGHT NOW. Sigh. Where's a pen? I ask, and then she's all like, "I don't know what I did to you." I tell her, "Nothing," but she gets all whipped-puppy like. Ok, yeah, I DID say that she should call in the pills today; I just didn't sweat it because she said she had one to take in the morning and wouldn't need it until Sunday.

Just one lousy day to myself, is all I ask. Is that so wrong?

And THEN there's TOG, who gets all pissy with me because, as we were having a little saucy talk over e-mail, I kid that he's talking to some hot chick online. (CONTEXT: Without getting into details -- shutUP, you -- I was asking what he was doing home when he COULD be with me, unless he was talking to some hot chick online.) The correct (and funny) response to that would be "The only hot chick I'm talking to is you," regardless of whether I was or wasn't, or to just not say anything at all. But no, he gets all, "See? You gotta kill the mood," and I'm all, "Um ... wasn't trying to ..." and then he tells me he's going to bed because he's falling asleep. Oooooo-kay, then. Fine time to tell me that's a sore spot; that'll REALLY encourage me to indulge in saucy talk the next time, but whatever.

Stupid boys and their periods ...

Hope it's a good one, yo.

It occurred to me that, in light of my finally getting my rocks offsome sweet, sweet lurve, you might be wondering what TOG said in defense of his retarded behavior the last time I saw him.

The answer likely will confound those who aren't fluent in TOGese. He said -- without provocation by me, mind you, as I was more concerned about him not driving buzzed up during a torrential downpour:
[*Sorta a la him, TOG tends to refer to himself in the third person sometimes. Not in a fancy-boy way, mind you; you just kinda have to be there.]

I can see y'all are like, "Wait ... what!?? That says nothing," and on the surface, you're right. Truth is, I could've called him on it and probably should've. At the same time, it's kinda like, you know, picking your battles.

Besides, I got mine, right?

In other news, here I was freaking out about moving my vanity site to Wiredhub from my old host when it turns out that they'll be able to do it with the greatest of ease! Love it when THAT happens. Now, I just hope I can keep a hold on the domain.

What is it about good sex that makes the world seem a little less brutal?

(sighs contentedly)

I am, however, a little bit sleepy. Still. So I bid you adieu and hot wet dreams until tomorrow.

I mean, Christ on a cracker, yo. What's a broad gotta do to get some action up in here!??! It's like, you can't still be pissed at me, right!?!? It was just a party, and now it's done. Can we PLEASE move on and get back to the hot monkey sex?!?! PLEASE!??! I'll beg if I gotta.

Oh, and then? My replacement cell phone lost a hinge, so now, I can't answer it like a normal person. So that makes TWO cell phones I have to replace. Sigh.

TOG is NOT the sociopath to which I referred. I mean, we might be upset with each other, but he isn't capable -- nor would he or could he ever be -- of the type of crazy I was talking about.

You know, in case y'all were wondering.

That is all.

If there's one thing I can appreciate about TOG, it's his candor. Doesn't make it hurt any less when I'm on the ass end of it, but ... I guess I admire the ability to self-preserve with such authority at the first sign of something uncomfortable (snickers weakly and shakes head). But I'm cool -- honestly, I'd much rather know than be ignored -- so we're just going to let it lie. It'll work itself out however it's supposed to.*

Let's talk instead about the really big news: Cousin Crackhead is supposedly going to the station tonight because she's "really anxious to clear her name," according to the detective. I'm sure she is (rolls eyes). Oh, and guess who I talked to yesterday during the parade I covered? That would be Boy Wonder, who was there with BFKAS and SC. (shudders) B-dubs looks well and seemed to have his head about him; we talked mainly about Crazy Aunt and her troubles, which have become so out of control, I'm not even. He also talked about a little bit about a fight he had with his dad wherein his dad basically said he would never accept his lifestyle, and that made me sad for him. But we parted on good terms and he said he would stop by one day and we would have coffee or something.

First, the new skin: Huh!?!? Didn't I tell you it kicks ass!?!? My thanks to Christina at Bonafide Style for coming up with something fun as well as a little disturbing. It's like she could read my mind before I even knew what I wanted. Tres cool, yo.

Now, back to our regularly scheduled drama.

I have this coin that I got from the wife-beater talk: It's an advertisement for Waymon and his biz, but the coin reads -- and I carry it in my pocket like a talisman -- "I am ultimately responsible for the amount of chaos I allow into my life." I really WANT to follow this mantra, and lately, I'd been doing a pretty good job, what with the family thinking I'm the antiChrist and all. Things were peaceful. And then came early Monday morning and the one guy, and now, it's shot to hell.

But I mean, you know, when the one you're crazy about tells you they've been having headaches for the last couple weeks, you'd be a little concerned, right?

Yeah, Sunday morning, the one guy on his way over to the crib tells me about how he is so NOT a pill popper and how he'd never be able to be a pillhead ever. I ask why's that, and he tells me that he's been having really bad headaches the past couple weeks, which is a little unnerving in and of itself since the one guy is one of those who'll only go to the doctor when two or more appendages are falling off. I, in the meantime, am one of those "pretend doctors" who never would've made it into, let alone through, med school but who reads up on medical diseases for fun sometimes. Anyway, the following conversation ensued: