Anyone who's read mikey knows that he has a normal, healthy affinity for porn -- no more or less than the average dude, as far as I can tell -- as well as quite a few pornstar friends. In fact, I probably got the 411 on the whole thing from him or someone I traveled to from him, but anyway ... so I read about the whole thing, thought it sucked, whatever. Then I saw the whole thing about Jenna Jameson and her husband putting together the telethon or however they want to raise the funds for their colleagues in porn and ... thought nothing of it, really. I mean, you know, cool, good for them, whatever.

So then tonight, I cruised on over to another linky friend of mine, Kim, and saw what she had to say about it. And now? I'm ... kind of on the fence.

I do agree with Kim ... to a point. Why these people haven't used condoms (especially the female kind, which can be inserted prior to doin' it and, I imagine, hidden by good camera-ing if you don't want to kill the illusion) is pure stupidity. Yeah, I know they subject themselves to testing every month; yeah, I know they say they're careful; but no, there's no excuse that's going to satisfy me on that. Condoms don't even protect you from everything, anyway -- and I know of what I speak -- but it is 100 times better than catching HIV. So in that respect, if you're not going to take responsibility for your actions, weeeeeeeeeeellll ... you own that and what comes with it.

That being said, no one deserves to die, either, which will likely happen if anyone gets sick and doesn't have a health plan to help cover the thousands and thousands and thousands of dollars it's going to take each month to buy the medicine that keeps the viral load down -- IF it does at all, because seriously? Most people cannot tolerate most HIV protocols, so they'll be spending money that they don't have and aren't going to be able to make. Therefore, if Jenna and Co. are wanting to help in that respect, I think that's cool; really, how much different is it than people walking for MS or breast cancer? Or bowling for diabetes? (Of course, I'm not sure they're even thinking that far ahead based on what I've read, so to that I say, if they need to get a job at Wal-Mart in the interim, we all do what we gotta.)

Many of my friends are outraged at the whole porn/lad mag/stripper industry, and I'm not. I don't think it's a good choice of careers, and certainly wouldn't want my daughter hanging off the pole, but I can't stop other people from doing it, just as you can't stop a person from working in a building full of asbestos. I guess that's the risk you take.

[Full disclosure: No, I'm not HIV positive, but I had the great fortune of seeing Jim Thode of the NWI Aliveness Project give a talk about HIV/AIDS a couple years ago, and I've never forgotten much of what he said.]
Oh, whatEVER.

I was heading home from the meeting I covered tonight (last night, whatever), and I thought I'd call Mother back one last time to check and see if she was feeling better, plus there was tornado warnings throughout the Chicagoland area. There was no answer. Ok ... so I wait a couple minutes in case she was in the can, and I call back. Still no answer. Hmmm. Didn't like that, so I call my aunt to see if she'd either picked Mother up or if Mother called her to let her know what was going on with her stomach; they share kind of shit all the time, no pun intended. My aunt says no, she hadn't talked to Mother, but she guessed she was probably downstairs in the basement because of the storms. Well, after remembering something I read about women's heart attacks mimicking stomach aches, I wasn't buying it, so I went over to Mother's crib.

I get there and the light's on, and since I couldn't find the key to let me into her building, I started laying on the buzzer. No answer. Started laying on the buzzer again. Still no answer, so I buzzed her downstairs neighbor, who let me in. I get upstairs and bang like hell on the door, and still. no. answer. The neighbor was nice enough to first try and call the landlord for me to see if he could get over and let me in to her apartment, but then she thought to go see if Mother's back door was opened. Sure enough, it was, so I walked in, expecting to either find her in a pile in front of the can all fish-eyed and dead, or stiff as a board in her bed. She was neither.

Now, for those of you who are thinking I found her in flagrante delicto with some dude, you're sick, and it would never happen, because Mother is a perpetual virgin. (Those who know her understand.) No, she was downstairs at the Nutjob Neighbor's, laughing and drinking a Coke, is what she was doing.

I don't know why I'm worried about how she's going to invest her money, because I'm going to be dead long before, and it'll be her fault.
Oh, whatEVER.

Ok, now I realize that might sound really insensitive, and reading back on it, it does. What you need to understand, however, that a) Mother is a HUUUUGE drama queen, and b) I am of the suck-it-up variety. It's not that I want to see my mom in pain one bit. It's just extremely frustrating to deal with the drama.

Whoever suggested that she and I live together after Dad died would've been responsible for a homicide, no lie.
Oh, whatEVER.

So today was maintenance clean-up day at Chez Broad; the boys' boxes and the refrigerator got cleaned out. So in the fridge now? A half-drunk case of Pepsi; a partial bottle of Tequila Rose from my 30th birthday party; a half-drunk gallon of distilled water; a Brita pitcher half-full of water; wine that comes in a jug (can't think of the name off the top of my head) that I killed the cork on and therefore have never drunk; plenty of condiments, and ... that's about it. We gots to hit the grocery store tomorrow. Or sometime this week. Maybe.

A pedicure happened today, too, since it's FINALLY becoming trusty-Birkenstock weather. Last year, I got kinda lax on the whole keeping-up-with-the-pedicure thing -- not letting it get to crackwhore proportions, just not doing it at all -- and that kinda made me look much more granola than I actually am. So I thought this year, I might try to keep it light pink at all times, since In-Style says that's the gold standard. But the gold standard it likes for pedis, "Mademoiselle" by Essie? Way freakin' light. In fact, you really can't tell it's on until you get outside. I suppose it beats sallow flesh colored nails, though.
Oh, whatEVER.