I've discovered the reason why my face looks so ginormous in pictures: As I was brushing my teeth this morning before getting Snidgey off to O'Hare, I noticed this crease when I stretched my mouth to get the back molars. It's not a dimple -- I already have those -- but maybe a smile line or worse, a weak spot in the fat of my face that collapses each time I smile. Whatever it is, it better not be permanent once I decide to actively lose weight, because then, any effort I make will be for naught because my face would still look massive.

The rest of the weekend was just as cool as Friday night, except for the dance contest, which Snidgey obviously has yet to forgive me for. We stopped at a little boutique in Schererville prior to that nightmare, and she bought a lovely plum cami while I purchased a completely uncharacteristic (but totally cute, I love it) sweater and a t-shirt with a sequined lollipop and the word "blow" embroidered on it. Then we met up with KleptoCat (her nom de blog has changed yet again) for Thai food and made an appearance at the Overdue show, where Snidgey got to meet my pals from November's Doom and basically drive all the men kray-zee.

Speaking of which, whey does this not surprise me in the least?

Watched Comedy Central's roast of Jeff Foxworthy last night, and to whom should I be introduced but this hunk of man meat. So just to make sure I wasn't seeing things, I've been watching "The Blue Collar Comedy Tour Rides Again" off and on all day, and yep, it's official: Ron White is my new pretend celebrity boyfriend. He can make me go fetch him a Makers n' Coke anytime, I'll tell yew what. DAYum.

[UPDATE: Actually, my man drinks scotch, so perhaps I could fetch him a nice Glen Fiddich or Johnny Walker Blue Label and water. Dreeeeeaaaamy.]

Looked at my stats today, and I see that someone has looked up he of the overfed mop-top eight times in the last how many days since Jan. 1. Once again, it begs the question:


Why!??


What could you possibly want to know about him!?? Because then whoever's doing it comes here and never asks any questions. It's still creeping me out, man.

Got to cover our esteemed guvner's visit to NWI tonight at the Horseshoe Casino and got a fantastic story out of it that my fabulous chum Chris will no doubt post at his crib (ahem) and then pimp it out at the Indiana Blog Review as the answer to the $64 million question: Will Hammond, Cabela's get STIF* from Mitch!??

Unless something tragically fabulous or fabulously tragic happens, I'm checking out for Christmas/first day of Hanukah etc. etc. Wishing all y'all the happiest holidays ever.

Take care.

P.S. Stop by Headcase's and give her a little love; she could use some.

Before I launch into today's invective, how 'bout that Nip/Tuck season finale!?? Did I call it, or did I call it!?? I think I called it. Didn't see the whole Quentin/Kit thing coming until her explanation to Christian and Sean at the end, but still, quite the finale, a la Silence of the Lambs, n'est-ce pas? Also, nice touch of Kit being the Carver at the sorority house. Didn't catch that? Of COURSE she was; the "Carver card" wasn't as precise, and if the Carver was wearing a strap-on when s/he was raping them, it wouldn't HAVE to be Quentin doing the raping since we found out he doesn't have a weiner of his own.

Anyway.

It would figure that of all times to get the cold of death that seems to be making its way through brochial systems everywhere in NWI lately, I'd get it before the holidays. Top that with being being menstrual, and you've got one bitchy Broad -- so bitchy, in fact, that not only did I keep dramatically moving around to different seats during Purdue Cal's commencement tonight, I stared down a couple who decided to PLAY THE VIDEO THEY JUST SHOT OF THE COMMENCEMENT DURING THE COMMENCEMENT ITSELF(!). The dead fish eye. I swear, when did graduations in NWI become places for people to act like total degenerates!?? Seriously. I don't ever remember my high school OR college graduations being total free-for-alls like that. It was absolutely horrifying. One mother was completely embarassed by her sons' outburst when they called her name, because the audience laughed at them for acting the fools; the one kid looked like he was having a seizure, for God's sake. Oh, and THEN there was the shitstain who replied "Probably 'Death to Americans!'" when his wife asked rhetorically what the Arabic people in the audience shouted as their relatives walked across. C'mon, people. Where's the freakin' decorum!?? Or the better question might be, why the hell didn't I just go early and talk to the graduates BEFORE the ceremony, so I wouldn't have to deal the common folk!?? Note to self for next time ... except it was just so. cold. outside.

That's another thing: How is it that 5, 10 degrees doesn't feel all that bonechilling to me, but get to 22 degrees and I'm complaining like a little bitch!?? Ask Kaffy -- I was doing the same thing last week when she, EWK and I got together for our Christmas exchange. It was, like, 21 or 22, and I was freezing, yet yesterday, I was walking around with my leather jacket wide open and no scarf. It's ridiculous.

So then, I get done covering the commencement, and I figured I stop at the local Weenie Hut to grab a chili weenie and a bowl of soup, for which I'd been dying all day but wouldn't go out to get because, well, see above, and wouldn't you know, the Weenie Hut was closed. At 8:30 p.m. When it's supposed to be open until 9.

Clearly, it was not my day to catch a break.

I guess it's not all bad, though. I mean, it looks like we got Rube's diarrhea problem under control. Oh, and Snidgey's back safely from Germany.

So I get an e-mail forward from one of my pals, and as I'm looking through the gigantor e-mail list from which the e-mail originated (as I'm sure everyone does), and I find an adress with the name of the former attorney I was crazy about. I thought to myself, "No WAY! Seriously!??" And after a little research, well, whaddya know!? It IS the former attorney I was crazy about!

Here's the dilemma: I'd really like to e-mail him and say "Hey, what's up!?" -- not in a sexual way or anything, just hey! because he was someone I really did like. It's like I said, though: We broke up on pretty bad terms (aka he was a jerk, so I went all crazy pussy on him), so I'm wondering if he'd think I was a total stalker weirdo if I just e-mailed him out of the blue. I mean, all of this was, like, seven years ago, so could he still be freaked out about it? What do y'all think? Should I do it?

Working on a big magazine piece for one of our sister pubs, so I may be out of pocket until tomorrow -- 1,200 words on NWI for the south Chicago business community. Yeah, I know -- good luck on encapsulating THAT one, right? Sheesh. I may check in later, though, just to give my brain a rest.

Lemme ask y'all something: Say if you were, like, flossing your teeth and you came across something that looked like a blister of some sort on your upper gum, but it didn't hurt even after you popped it; it only bled and pussed a little. Now, say that this blister thingy was kind of large, like maybe as big as the tip of your finger, but not the whole tip (which, let's face it, on a surface area the size of your gums can look rather intimidating). Would you immediately run to the Innernet, look up oral cancer and then totally freak out and, after calling the dentist and leaving a somewhat alarming message on his voicemail, call one of your best friends at 11:22 p.m. crying a little at the suspicion that you may have oral cancer!?? Or, say if YOU didn't, would you think the person that DID is a total wacko hyphochondriac!??

You would?

Oh. Because that was totally me last night.

No, no, don't feel bad about calling me a nutcase; I've been known get a little histrionic about my perceived maladies, after all, like the time I decided, after reading a Woman's Day article, that I had vulvar cancer; that was seven years ago. And there was the time after I got my wisdom teeth out that the sockets felt really weird and I described it as what necrotizing fasciitis might feel like. (TOG still brings that up every so often, as if I said I HAD necrotizing fasciitis, which I never did. I don't think.) Or before I got my wisdom teeth out, how I quizzed the oral surgeon about the possiblities of dying while under twilight sedation. (SERIOUSLY rare, and annoying to ask the surgeon. Feel free to use it if you like.) Of course, mock me if you must, but had I not decided I had vulvar cancer? I would have never gotten to the gynie to find out I was in the carcinoma in situ stage of cervical cancer. And had I not gone to the dentist today, I wouldn't have found out a tooth on which I had a pulp treatment when I was 10 has gotten infected and I now need a root canal, so see!?? ...

Oh. Wait. I could've probably done without that last bit of info, because do you know how exPENSIVE it's going to be!?? Shit. So much for getting caught up with my bills ...

In other news, I would like us all to bow our heads in a moment of silence for my lost virginity, which got lost 20 years ago today at around 1-ish, 2-ish in the afternoon. Do you beLIEVE that shit!??

Today was one of those days that went from 0-60 in, like, 10 minutes, which sounds like it would be oh-so-slow but really wasn't, because in my biz, that usually signifies that the shit has hit the fan and plans have changed. But then when they did -- in this case, I got a third story -- it all stopped and dragged ass. So basically, I spent the whole day discombobulated, and tomorrow's not going to be much better.

So after all this discombobulation, Mother calls to tell me about the wake she went to yesterday for this former neighbor of hers who used to take care of my grandpa when he got ill. Not surprisingly, she was on warp speed -- what can I say, funerals excite her -- but this time, it wasn't necessarily because of the funeral itself; seems that Mother got a taste of her own medicine at the hands of one of my aunts. Lemme break it all down: The aunt, the wife of Mother's oldest brother, was talking to this priest who used to reside at the church to which this woman belonged. Mother walked up to join them, and I guess said aunt decided to introduce Mother as "the sister-in-law who doesn't go to church." Now, if you've garnered anything from my rants about Mother, you know that that was the absolute LOWEST insult that could've been thrown at her outside of claiming she wasn't a virgin on her wedding night. (She was. BeLIEVE me, she was.) "I belonged to St. Tom's for 32 years and I want to register at St. Mary's but it's not like I can just get there just like thatya-da-ta-ya-da-ta-ya-da-ta ... " she rattled on the phone. But did she say that to her sister-in-law? Of course not. She hung her head in shame, and the priest put his hand on her shoulder to console her in her minute of crippling embarassment. Sure it was incredibly rude; this particular aunt caught the ass-end of my ire right before Dad's funeral, in fact, for saying something about how Mother needed to get his class ring and any other valuables Dad might've had on him so the funeral people won't steal them -- you know, because a) the funeral people would have use for Dad's college ring and b) Mother and I are complete idiots who wouldn't have thought to do that*. Doesn't mean I can't enjoy it when Mother gets to try on MY shoes when it happens. Anyway, to her credit, apparently she snapped out of it and gave a eulogy of sorts for the woman.

Meanwhile, I'm back to feeling all philosophical and weirded out by the TOG exchange, especially after watching Nip/Tuck last night. I mean, for as much shit as I allow him to get away with, I can't EVER fathom being turned on by such degradation. Guess I got THAT going for me.**

Nip/Tuck, y'all. Flabby Abby the masochist!?? If I had smiley icons, there would be one of stunned adorning this entry. Ho.lee. SHIT. Plus, there was a lot of fuckin' goin on, and that of course is never wrong.

I have more thoughts on Flabby Abby appropos to my state of mind the past couple of days, but I'm tired right now, and I got three stories tomorrow. I'll catch up when I'm done.

I came back from my assignment tonight and saw that my TV, which I left on A&E, appeared to be dead -- on, but just a black screen. (Yes, yes, I leave my TV on all day and night. You know, in case the boys need to watch it while I'm gone or asleep and shit.) Now, I know my TV, a 19' Admiral my folks bought me from Montgomery Ward eight years ago, has a bad tube (read: everything is red), but I was like, "God, not now, when I just got out from under my soul-crushing debt -- and certainly not when I'm into Nip/Tuck so hot and heavy." I flipped channels, but all my VHF channels are fine. And I know my bill's paid and current, so I called cable to see if something's up.

Long story short? I'm getting channels I'm not supposed to be getting with just plain ol' basic. Many, MANY more. The CSR didn't know how it was happening, that I just must be lucky. Ain't THAT some shit!? Of course now, one of two things is going to happen: The channels are either going to all go away and I'm going to be pissed without my Nip/Tuck, or they're going to start charging me for my good fortune, which I'll be pissed about because it's THEIR fuck-up, not mine. But hey! it's good while it lasts, right? Anything to stick it to Corporate America. And they're back on now, too.

Got to see the Northwest Indiana Symphony Chorus perform Handel's Messiah at St. Michael's Church in Schererville today, and here's something I don't get: How is it that one of the most beautiful oratorios ever written sung in a church didn't move me, but Griffith High School's band playing the opening sequence to "The Incredibles" had me in tears (and no, they didn't suck)!? I mean, hell, last week, the Lake Central Choralettes singing "The National Anthem" hit me in the chest, but Messiah? Nothing.

Power pop is where its at musically these days, and he highly recommends Morningwood, which you can buy off iTunes or catch here at their myspace gig. The lead singer kind of reminds me of the lead singer for Lush on the one tune and a little bit of Romeo Void on the other (when she talks -- you know, like on "Never Say Never.") I'm digging it -- very NYC hipster. I expect we'll hear them on The O.C. soon.

Waldorf red cake and South Park.

Gobble gobble to all, yo.

Took Mother to the circus today -- not as an outing, but because I was covering it, although with as much as she enjoyed it, youda thunk it was her idea. Still, as much as I hate the idea of animals in captivity, etc., etc., I totally dug it. I mean, people, I was standing five feet away from TWO REAL LIVE ELEPHANTS. Do you have any idea how beautiful elephants are? Oh my God, they're amazing. And I know there've been bad things said about George Cardin and the way he treats his animals and all that, but all the ones I saw looked perfectly healthy and well taken care of. As he put it, "You can't buy an elephant for less than $180,000 these days, so if I'm going to make that kind of investment, do you really think I'm going to mistreat it even if I hated it, which I don't? No. That's like putting a Rolls Royce Corniche in the mud and leaving it there."

Ok, not the most sensitive way to look at it, but I can hang. Besides, THEY WERE ELEPHANTS! AND I WAS STANDING FIVE FEET AWAY FROM THEM! The photog from the competition was all like, "You need to get out more," but I was like, "Yeah, I know you think you're funny, but ..." Then there were these Russian chicks calling themselves "The Golden Divas doing human pyramid stuff. I told the photog that even though you wouldn't know it to look at me, I looked like those chicks in my bathing suit. My t1ts are as big, anyway.

So, does anyone know how to create a page in MT 3.16 that tells commenters they're being moderated? The other day, I decided to add to my Blacklist a common comment left by spammer dicks, effectively cutting off 191 of them but also all my commenters while I was at it. I then went back and changed the setting on that phrase to "moderate," and now everyone can comment again upon my approval. It's just that when you DO comment, you get this error about choosing a moderate template. I'd be greatly apperciative.

Sorry, no photographic evidence of my looking like a girl last night, particularly because of the following:

1. My hair, which is in this awful 'tweener stage of I-don't-know-what-I'm-doing-with-it-so-
I'm-kind-of-growing-it-out-except-now-it's-reminding-me-of-why-I-don't do-that-ever, looked like shit by time I remembered the camera. I mean, one side of it was holding kind of while the other completely fell. (Yeah, I know everyone thinks my hair looks the same at all times, but trust me, there's little that can be done right now. My mousse is too weak to give it any body, but my other goo is too heavy to hold it up, and then it ends up all gummy and gluey and not shiny unless I add some of this to it, but doing that wipes out any hold I might've has with the other stuff, and it's just pandemonium.) and,
2. My suit, though nice, is too long in the arms and pants, so since I didn't have time to have it altered, I looked like I was swimming in a sea of black. Also, the jacket, besides being too long in the arms, seems really overwhelming even though it fits nice in the shoulders. Not sure if it needs darts in the sides or something, but there's something just not right.

The good news is, I found two gorgeous antique pins at the antique show I covered in Crown Point today. Now if only someone can tell me where the hell to pin them, because they look dumb on the lapel.

Of course the ball didn't disappoint in the matters of fashion atrocities; it IS NWI, after all. Lessee ... it took merely walking up to the reg desk to see the poor sap who bought into the "Yeah-you-can-wear-it-again" bridesmaid ensemble (and in burgundy, too. I don't think it gets more cliche than that). There was also "bought-in-the-prom-dress-section-on-clearance," a vibrant melon strapless confection with a silver glitter-covered sweetheart bodice and a long shawl to match -- she even had the updo to match! -- and one we don't see often, the "interesting-Asian-dress-that-ol'-girl-built-like-a-brick-shithouse -really-shouldn't-think-about-pulling-off." One woman showed up in cream wool pants and a smart pink sweater set, while her husband was wearing tux. And don't EVEN get me started on the scads of women who still think it's Ok to wear hose with open-toe shoes. Fer chrissake, ladies, do you REALLY think wearing fabric not more than 1/10th of a millimeter thick IS GOING TO KEEP YOU WARM IN NWI!?? Seriously.