But right now, I’m waiting for Girlie and Co. to pick me up for a night of drinking and merriment with Roger Clyne and the Peacemakers, so y’all will just have to wait (or figure it out if you’re in the NWI).

Y’all remember the Megan Meier nightmare, yes? Today, GMA had on the young woman who dealt the proverbial final blow to Megan: Lookit. Didn’t watch it live of course, but I caught the discussion over on Jezebel, like I do. And one of my fellow Jezzes (that’s what we call ourselves) brought up the point that Ashley, now that she can scarcely leave her own house because of death threats and has actually attempted suicide herself as a result of the backlash, is at 19 but a child herself and that perhaps life should go on for Ms. Grills.

(Let me point out that for the sake of brevity, I’m completely oversimplifying what she said; my fellow Jez did NOT condone what Ashley did. Rather, as someone who was deeply ill herself at that age, she was empathizing with being in such a dark place and that much of the time, 19 year-olds don’t know what the hell they’re doing.)

My armchair assessment after watching the interview was that yeah, Ashley’s life probably WAS shitty prior to Megan; if I had to wager a guess, she comes from poor-to-modest means and was bullied for it and all manner of crap. Then when uber-cunt Lori Drew hired her, she got access to something, be it a lifestyle (the Drews DID have money at one point) or a mother figure, that she wanted and thus would do anything to keep being a part of it. I’m sure there was all kinds of self-hatred going on there, too; you can see that just looking at her. The difference, however, at least to me, is that my fellow Jez turned her pain and self-hatred inward, hurting herself primarily and her family secondarily. Ashley didn’t.

I said it over there, and I’ll say it here: Maybe she doesn’t deserve to be harangued by the rest of the world for the rest of her life, because having to live with what she did is punishment enough. But it’s certainly a punishment well-deserved.

Someone can stick THAT up their ass real quick. Good Christ.

(A summary of the Bower-Mollin wedding)

So, the wedding to end all weddings, right? I don’t even know where to start other than to say it truly was a fantastic night, full of joy and love, great friends, designer couture and all the free booze you could handle (as long as the bartenders were at their posts—whut up with dat, Ben-ha-meen? Like, every time the band went on break, so did the barkeeps.) Ben wore the hell out of his ascot, suit and silverish pimp shoes, of course, but Ann?

How ‘bout I just show you:


Ok, she doesn’t have a head in this shot,
but you had to see the back of the gown first
to get just how gorgeous it was. (Standing
next to her is her son, Lathan, who cut quite
a dashing figure in his mini-tux.)

Not good enough? Then how ‘bout this:


This was taken after mucho drinkage,
and she STILL looks unbelievable.
I, on the other hand, had started wilting
at that point.

Lessee, what else? Oooo! Here’s a cool shot of the Hava Nagila that killed my feet and knees:


Ben’s momma and pop sang it.


My seester and I as she took a break from
all that shooting (and man, did she get some
awesome shots.) (And if you’re thinking we
don’t look that much alike, you’re correct. I
got all the Eastern European features, while she
got the pretty skin that tans.)


Thas righ, Reality TV sneetchez! That most certainly
IS Steven Rosengard of Project Runway Cycle 4.
That’s who designed Ann’s incredible dress and day-before
wedding ensemble, which was equally sharp. (The hot chick
is Girlie, who accompanied me.)


Joe Winters and me. Don’t he clean up nice?


After Girlie and I split the reception, our presence
was requested at a local benefit at the Hobar
American Legion, where we ran into this cat,
the infamous Randy Anderson ("Buck Daddy”
to his musical fans). Evidently Randy doesn’t
remember ever seeing me without my specs,
because he kept marveling at my eyes the whole time.

And so as not to give you the impression that the wedding was all about me even though I acted like it with all that prep and planning my outfit, here’s one of my favorite moments of the night:


Right after the three of them walked out to
the chorus of “Come Sail Away” by Styx, Ben
yanked Lathan up and swung him around.

My other favorite moment was in the video of the wedding: The moment the judge told Ben to kiss his bride, the sheer elation on their faces was proof enough that they’re going to be a couple for the ages. You don’t see love like that often, and it’s always so breathtaking to see.

And then I started doing a little jig at the bar.

and as such Ima hit the couch for a nap on a dreary Sunday afternoon regardless of the fact that I probably picked up tetanus walking through the American Legion barefoot this morning. Full wedding day story TK, but here’s a teaser since I gave it such a build-up:

It’s snowing AND thunderstorming out here right now.

Figure THAT one out.

Apropos of nothing, have any of y’all seen that new Burger King commercial about the cheesy tots? The one about “Morning Tongue?” Pretty darn funny.

Been having kind of purging spree the past few days, both physically and emotionally, and gotta tell you, who knew cleaning could be therapeutic in that regard? (I did. No, seriously—I even wrote a short story about getting rid of a toxic boyfriend compared with cleaning the shower when I was 19. Got published in the college lit mag and everything! Of course, life didn’t imitate art for another three or so years, but you know ...) Got the bathroom and kitchen scrubbed down spic n’ span and am now working on the mess that is the living room. Now if the laundry will just stay in the hallway and not revolt, I might get Chez Broad up and running again.

or was watching the wrong things if he has, because he clearly does not know from stripper shoes. Therefore, a visual:


These are stripper shoes.


These are my shoes.


Striiiiiipper ...


Nooooooot stripper

No, I have NOT been asked to cover his glorious, uber-hotness. At least, not yet. But I’m not above begging ...

This wild and wonderful pattern right here is my new dress, which came in over the weekend, and I have to say, it’s even BETTER than what I imagined, and not just because I have to have it taken in. (No no, giving up Pepsi for the last week has NOT made me lose a shit-ton of weight, though it has helped some. I ended up buying a size too big.) It’s SO cute that the first thing I thought when I tried it on is, “You know what would be REALLY be fun? If I wear a big ol’ petticoat underneath and rock a whole ‘50s vibe.” I mean, I bought the shrug, and Mother’s got this 3-strand choker of ginormous pearls—it’d be totally cool and so not out-of-place since it’s an eclectic bunch anyway. Now, I just have scour bridal shops to find a petticoat short enough to go underneath. And make sure that when I do find one, I don’t end up looking like a big-assed dork with stumpy legs, as is the wont in my gene pool.

But you can’t do ‘50s garb without rockin’ ‘50s style hair, so I said to Ben as he was chopping about 2 inches off my hot mess yesterday (they got me in early, hooray!), “So, if I wanna ‘50s up this bitch, what do I need to do?” He stopped and said, “Did you just say, ‘ ‘50s up this bitch?’ Because that’s the fuckin’ funniest thing ever.” And then he and Ann agreed that I’ll need to rat the hell out of the back of it if I decide to “ ‘50s up this bitch.’ “ In the meantime, the result of their efforts is below the fold:

If you try to live your life by the “Accept things as they are, not how you want them to be” paradigm but also “The law of attraction” paradigm (wherein you put out into the universe exactly what you want and how you want it, etc.), how exactly do you reconcile the two?

This is the shit I think about when I’m lying on the couch stuffed-up, miserable and weepy, but then I get bored and don’t process it all the way through. Also, I had a dream this morning that I SWORE I was going to write about, but then I fell back asleep and forgot it.

I was going to tell y’all about having to cover a live rendition of The Last Supper tonight and how their communion crackers were the size of Chiclets, but after talking to the performers and seeing how earnest they are, can’t bring myself to be snide about it. Hell, I even refrained from imbibing the shot glass of “wine” after passing on the Chiclet, and I was tempted!

I’ve talked about my sister’s mad picture-taking skillz before, but I have to say I’m in awe of this one:



It’s Lulu Buttons, and it was taken as the tea party (with a genuine butler and everything, might I add) she attended this past Sunday was winding down. It’s killing me how grown up and gorgeous she is already, and could you just DIE over the dress!??

Why yes, my sister DOES take pictures professionally. If you local people want the hook-up, lemeno.

Man, look at li’l ol’ prolific me these days. I’m kinda scaring myself with all this posting, but this bit of news is exciting because, well, it just is --


I just got off the phone with Mer. Yes, that Mer, she of the nightmare hookups, super-scary vaykays and mad brilliant repartee that never fails to crack my shit up. First time in, oh, four months, maybe? Something like that. It was fall, I know.


Anyway, she’s gotten her shit together (as much as it can be with Rebecca still hanging off her jock) and in August is moving to Tel Aviv for two years to teach. So THAT means SHE’LL BE COMING HERE FOR ONE LAST VISIT! Huzzah! Yes, I know last time was a disaster of epic proportions—one that I never care to experience ever again—but without all the collective baggage there was during that visit, I‘m going to tell myself that don’t think I need to worry about a repeat, and we can spend all our time laughing and having fun. (And trashing the crib, because we ALWAYS do a really good job of that.) AND since Israel’s one of those places I’ve always wanted to see, I now have something cool to save toward.

You know, it’s funny, because I honestly was just thinking about how much I missed her yesterday, but she beat me to the punch. I love when peace is made. Best feeling in the world.

What is NOT the best feeling, however, is whatever’s going on in my throat and head right now. I’m going to be PISSED if I’m getting the death flu, though it might explain why I’ve been so squirrelly and weird lately.

[PS I forgot to mention that she’s talking about coming in April over her spring break. It won’t be summertime where we can REALLY get into trouble, but start saving your pennies for bail regardless.]