Now, this conversation was actually a lot cuter than it sounds; the one guy knows my knack for getting put in charge of medical decisions whether I want to be or not. But can you imagine having to make that call? "Um, yeah, hi. This is (Broad), and we haven't talked in awhile, but ... God, I don't know how to tell you this, but ... Ok, I'll just come out and say it: I was fucking your son, and he had an aneurysm. Where should I send his body?" Yeah, no. That's not a conversation I'd ever want to have.
Oh, whatEVER.

Well, without getting too personal, my plumbing's in pretty bad shape -- so much so that cervical cancer was found during a procedure about six years ago. No, nothing metasticized -- one surgery and it was gone, and it's remained gone. But I'm extremely grateful that it's remained gone, because "cancer survivor?" Not a battle I want to undertake.

So, yay me.
Oh, whatEVER.

[*Those who know the history will understand exactly what I'm getting at. Those who don't? Let's just say that Anne Bird's and my universe are running awful parallel.]
Oh, whatEVER.

Name: Region Broad
Bust, Waist, Hip: Ginormous, hourglass, massive.
Height, Weight: 5-2 1/2 and much closer to 200 than I care to admit publically, thankyou.
Birthdate, Birthplace: 02/03/70 in G.I., baby (that'd be Gary, for those not in the know)
Ambitions: Since I can't write the great American Novel by the time I'm 30, I think I'll write the Great Scottish novel by the time I'm 36.
Turn-ons: Blue-collar men with brains, confidence and large male genitalia (as in big dicks, not large men's genitalia, unless of course they happen to have really LARGE genitalia ...)
Turn-offs: Stupidity, narrow-mindedness and people who try too hard. Ass kissers, too.
You can win me over with: Mass quantities of beer, usually.
My idea of fun: Getting a group of my bestest pals together for wine and song.
Favorite movie: Either Running On Empty, Almost Famous or Say Anything.
Some random personalized question: "Are those real?"
Oh, whatEVER.

He already filled y'all in on the fact that we dated for about two weeks, like, what, 14 -- holy shit! 14, dude! -- years ago; our first date set the tone for our relationship. We took a trip to Chicago -- 900 N. Michigan Ave. was the mall we hit -- and we saw these punk-looking Chinese women, one of whom was wearing a "That Slut Girl" t-shirt that I'd coveted forever. So we ask the woman where she got it, and she said what I SWORE at the time was "Flash and Trash" on something and something, couldn't understand her to save my life. But the two of us got into a cab and told the driver to go to whatever and whatever she told us.

At least $30 or $40 in cab fare later, we were in Addison, Ill., and when I finally decided to check a phone book at a Jewel Osco in the middle of nowhere for "Flash and Trash," I of course didn't find it. I DID find "Flashy Trash" on HALSTED, which sounded nothing like anything the Chinese woman had said. Luckily for us, we had enough money to catch a bus back into the city, where we proceeded to get back to the train on time, sans shirt.

Don't remember exactly when or why we decided we weren't going to be a couple anymore, but I remember he did start dating this loathesome little goon named [redacted, but Wad will no doubt remember the snarky way I always said her name], who had all kinds of weird family crap involving, like, incest with her brother or some other wretched weirdness. We spent a month or two being shitty to each other (or rather, I was shitty to him, not because I wanted him necessarily, but most likely because I was pissed that he didn't want me), and then one night, he called me for some reason, and we ended up on the phone for, like, 3 hours laughing our fool heads off and talking about the origins of HIV.

And thus, a kinship was born. I started referring to him as "my little brother," and we spent lots of time together, the end.

Of course, it's not always smoove up in this hizzie. See, while Wad and I love each other to death, we also know how to really piss up each other's rope, and when that happens, we end up not speaking for long periods of time. Like, years of not speaking. It's just the way it is. Now, if I were to venture a guess, for him they aren't so much disagreements as they are trying to get away from me being an overbearing nutjob, which there are several times that, looking back, I don't blame him one little bit. Mere mortals can only handle so much of the crazy, after all. But he's back now, albeit in the capacity he chooses, and I'm glad. He makes me laugh like few people can.

Of course, I'm still going to bug him to take me out driving to Michigan City at night, so we can look at the prison. And then stop at the adult bookstore on 20 afterward, just so I can be the only broad in there, because that's always good for snicks and giggles.

And I can TOO kiss.
Oh, whatEVER.