From the lovely Col:

for my girl Snidge? Today's a rotten day, so she could use some of it.

Just when I thought I wasn't going to have talk about Crackhead anymore, I get this: Her one dealer friend? Wants to shut me up.

Like that?

The story goes that Crackhead said the guy "heard" from his "cop friend on the force in which I live" that I was asking about him, and that if she didn't shut me up, he'd have to "take care of it." Well, she was like, "I don't even talk to her," but she saw to it that I got word. Translation: When I reported the burglary, I told the detective that the reason she was even out here in my area is because she was hanging out with some dude in town. So, the cops probably came to his house looking for her, and he got pissed and bitched at her about it. I mean, seriously, the town force here isn't that big that it would likely even have officers in cahoots with dealers. What the fuck is she talking about?

Yawn.

Nevertheless, this guy allegedly called my uncle/her dad looking for me, so I'm going to talk to my uncle tomorrow and see if he brings it up. If he does, I'm then going to have him call the cops and verify it so I can file a complaint. That way, if I end up dead or beaten within an inch of my life, it'll be less work for them.

Just kidding. Sort of.

Although, I'm probably a little more twisted than la Snidge:

Did I tell y'all that Cousin Nancy and her boyfriend had been crashing at Chez Broad since Tuesday night? Yeah, some huge drama involving her boyfriend's brother going to jail for stealing Nancy's wallet and a whole bunch of other stuff, and the boyfriend's mother got all pissed off at Nancy for having him put in jail, so she kicked them out, so on and so forth. Anyway, so they were here, and I have to say, they were perfectly lovely guests. And the new boyfriend is totally in love with Nancy and treats her like a queen, but I must admit that I'm a little concerned that Nancy, who has inherited her mother's temper to the letter, may end up stomping him into submission. More importanttly, though, I just want the two of them to get their heads out of their asses and a) finish school (Nancy) and b) get the hell out of dodge, because neither has a real stable homelife, and they need to get somewhere away from all the crap.

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.

Harry Potter Personality Quiz by Pirate Monkeys Inc.

[Also from the lovely Snidge]

You Are 50% Weird

Normal enough to know that you're weird... But too damn weird to do anything about it!

[Horked from the lovely Snidget]

You know what I think? I think there are entirely too many people in this world who underestimate me.

I need a new bathroom.

No no, the condition is fine; I've just had the same shower curtain and accessories ever since I moved in, and even though they're cool, I want something different. I added a bunch to my wish list, so if you see anything you like, buy it for me. Heh.

So back to the whole introspection business, Poppy and I waxed philosophical by the pool yesterday, wondering how it was that her former beau (whose Sims name, incidentally, is Seth Cotis, who we've come to learn is a YOOGE icon out there on the Interbunny) got to where he did. We always knew he was a brittle diabetic, and we also knew that he didn't take care of himself like he should've, especially when it came to the drink. Always the life of the party, that one, but often at the expense of himself, clearly. Anyway, we got to talking about what would've happened if they'd have stayed together or even if he'd have ended up with someone else without his partying proclivities -- would he have slowed down? Would he have accepted his illness and taken better care of himself? You know, like the Gwenyth Paltrow movie with the glass doors: How would one different move, one different phrase, one different thought change the landscape? Is the universe predetermined or free will? Personally, I'm of the opinion that we all have the free will to do whatever and then the universe takes care of the rest exactly how it's supposed to be. Don't know if there's a fancy name for the philosophy, but there you go.

Anyone else have a thought about this?

So.

Guess who's decided she's not coming back from Kansas City? No, seriously. You get three, and the first two don't count.

When I told her about it, she said I sounded surprised, and I s'pose on one hand, I am, if for nothing else than because she's leaving behind a four year-old daughter. Otherwise, she's worthless, and the family's better off without her.

Meanwhile, the ol' Butterball must have some heavy dream-inducing qualities -- or else I'm just hornier than hell -- because check out THIS dream from this morning: The part that I remember picks up during a party where I'm apparently back together with DtR, and we're both wearing lime green shirts and black pants (in respective gender type, of course, but still, ew, matching). So then, fast forward to the, um, group scene (ahem) with me, DtR and ANOTHER former ex and his ex-wife involving a strap-0n (!?), and then me and him lying in my bed in my old room at my parents house (NO, nothing weird was going on), when ANOTHER ex walks into the room with a magazine and points out a classified ad that hinted around at my involvement in the group scene. At the bottom of the ad was the e-mail and IP for yet ANOTHER ex. And? I was worried that Mother was going to find out about it.

Then buy me a buttload of Butterball Bath Bombs.

Oh.

My.

GOD.

I spent the day over at Poppy's folks' pool, and I decided to use it to get the chlorine smell off. It is truly the best thing since sliced bread; with my dry skin, I'm now all good-smelling, soft and sikky smoooooooove.

Now, if only a certain someone would get over shit so we could enjoy this ...

Last night and today have been a bit introspective for me since talking to Poppy last night, who called to tell me her ex-boyfriend of, like, 10 years ago died from diabetes-related complications; he was 35.

Before I get into it, though, lemme just tell you how AWEsome Bus demolition is: FREAKing. And the buses weren't even the best part; the best part is the TRAILER demolition, where the drivers hitch various items, such as campers, boats, motorcycles or effigies, to their cars and race around the track until they start smashing into each other. It's fucking great. And is if THAT weren't awesome enough, try viewing it with JB and his bunch of drunk, rowdy, Chicago-Irish knuckleheads (who, btw, were freaking HOT ... SNIDGE). In fact, for the race in September, a bunch of JB's Bellwood Firemen friends are getting a bus together, and he and I are going to try to talk our publisher into letting the Post sponsor it and then put slogans like "Pastrick for Prez in 2008" and "Stiglich Knew" on it. For that race, we're DEFINITELY going back to JB & Fam's cottage for the afterparty. ("We got 75 cases of BEER, man!") Oh, WE'LL help you drink it, all right ...

And now, back to our regular whining ...

Is there nothing more gratifying than seeing your ex-boyfriend from college -- the boyfriend who cheated on you constantly yet freaked the hell out whenever you got a li'l sum'in on the side; the one who gave you crabs and never told you but accused you of giving him a recurring STD -- all squinty and bloated and driving a navy blue minivan? I don't think there is. I rather enjoyed it, in fact.

Ok, since I haven't made it much of a secret anymore (plus the fact that Crackhead's mom/my aunt already knows and is all for it), here's the deal: The detective called me Wednesday to let me know that he had talked to my uncle, who proceeded to tell him that just that morning, six squads surrounded and searched his crib looking for Crackhead. Why? Because she has a warrant out on her for skipping court -- quite possibly Fed, because she was supposed to be a federal witness against a doctor-cum-candy man who was dishing out the Xanies, Vikes and Somas like Charlie. But whatever, my uncle told the detective that it has been nothing but sheer hell for him and his family since Crackhead started on this shit and that he's had enough. So Saturday night when he goes to pick her up from the airport? It's do not pass go, do not collect $200 for ol' Crackhead; he's taking her straight to the pokey and turning her in. And I have no doubt that he'll do it, too. He still contends that he saw her around the time that I called them that night and is going to make a statement to that effect, but the detective thinks that he's more than likely just confused about the time.

At any rate, the detective is going to pay her a little visit when she's settled in the pokey and approach her with the "Ok, look, you're already in here, why don't you just get it out in the open and make life easier for yourself?" tack. I mean, at this point, I just want to hear her say she did it, fuck everything else. The likelihood of that is slim to none, but you know, her ass is going to be in JAIL, so it could happen.

In the meantime, guess where I'm going tonight? No idea? I be doin' the bus demolition at the Sppedway tonight. Pictures at 11 (or whenever I get back.)

That's where Crackhead is this week. With her boyfriend. Flew out there on Monday -- you know, the day she was supposed to go talk to the detective.

I told my girl over at Bitchbook that if she has any wild drug busts at her place of employ to tell Crackhead I said "Hi!" Whore*.

[UPDATE: Talked to the detective tonight, and he talked to my uncle. I was going to tell y'all the news, but since it hasn't happened yet, let's just say something is fixin' to, and it could possibly be good for my case. I fill y'all in when it happens.]