Somewhere between Bell's Palsy and death
Wednesday, April 21, 2004
A “Kill Bill v. 2” review beyond compare
That JB's awfully clever ...
In re: Kill Bill, when I go to see kung fu, I want like a ton of kung fu, and Vol. 2 did not have nearly as much as Vol. 1. Having said that, it was nonetheless extremely compelling, a touching tale about a world-class assassin slaying her foes and putting to rest her past before creating for herself a new, peaceful future.

But the question remains, can a woman born and trained to kill turn over a new leaf and become all domestic and shit?

He so cracks me up.
Posted by Broad5:10 PM • (0) Trackbacks
If the diarrhea doesn’t kill her, I will.
No, no, no, I'm not going on about that again. But I swear, one of these days, I'm going to strangle the woman.
Posted by Broad3:41 AM • (0) Trackbacks
Tuesday, April 20, 2004
Mother seems to be Ok now.
She called. She ended up taking a bit of a nap after having "two more spells," (diarrhea, in case you couldn't read between the lines -- hey, if I had to hear it, you're going to, too. At least you're not hearing about YOUR mom's diarrhea) and while her stomach is still "grinding a little," she's Ok.

I take after my dad in that respect -- we both HATED explicit discussion of the scat bits, although as he was getting sicker, he started kind of sharing, too, much to my dismay. If I live to that age and beyond, I pray that I will NEVER need to discuss my bathroom habits ad nauseum.

And yet, telling my girlies the intimate details of my sex life? Not an issue for me. I wonder what that means.
Posted by Broad9:06 PM • (0) Trackbacks
Churns MY stomach, I tells ya.
So, I go take Mother to run some errands, and then we go out to lunch, right?Well, afterwards I bring her back to Chez Broad to show her the pics from Saturday night, and then I head off to the office to get some work done. All of a sudden, she goes to the bathroom, and then comes back out and starts moaning like she has a metastatic tumor eating her insides. I ask her if she needs to get to the doctor, and she says no, she's just been constipated, but "oh! the CRAMPING. Ooooooooooooh! And I'm soaking wet! Can I just go home!?!!?"

The thing you never want to hear coming from your aging mother?
I think I just pooped my pants.

Posted by Broad5:47 PM • (0) Trackbacks
My tummy’s bubbly. So are my toes, kinda.
Does anyone know if Skinny Cow can go bad? Because that has to be the reason why I feel like I have a mild case of food poisoning. Oooof.
Posted by Broad1:58 AM • (0) Trackbacks
Monday, April 19, 2004
Some accolades are so much better than others.
To celebrate my 100th entry in the blogosphere, I give you a love note I received today. From overseas.
Posted by Broad2:36 PM • (0) Trackbacks
The goods on my night of debauchery
As promised, Bubba the Elph and I took plenty of photos from the Roger Clyne show, and they can be fonded here. (Clicky) For our first time together, we didn't make too bad a team.

Unfortunately, Bubba's battery crapped out before RCPM took the stage, but I got plenty of pictures from their soundcheck -- a mini-concert in and of itself -- where the only ones actually present for it were Team Wookie, me and the employees. I did weed out the redundant photos, however, and picked out the ones I thought were coolest.

Oh, and did I mention I have the coolest friends ever? Both Randy and Lenny got me into the gig free-of-charge, only Lenny forgot to tell me he put me on his list. Still, love!
Posted by Broad12:43 AM • (0) Trackbacks
Sunday, April 18, 2004
Roger Clyne is sexiest man I’ve ever seen.
Ok, I have an assignment to do, and then when that's done, I'm going to be playing around with my photo editor and Yahoo! and stuff.

Posted by Broad4:14 PM • (0) Trackbacks
Saturday, April 17, 2004
Same shit, different car
The title is in honor of my little friend Kate, who just royally stuck it up her parents' asses by buying herself a hot 2000 Dodge Intrepid without needing a co-signer. Take THAT, bitches. (Her parents, that is, because they're positively shitty to her and therefore suck. Case in point? The fact that she bought herself a car without having to beg them to help her is somehow grounds for the comment, "Well, I'm glad they have money to throw away on someone like you," when she said her fiancee's parents would've co-signed for her if she needed them to. Whatever. Oh, and I call her my "little" friend because she's 20 to my 34. But don't let the age fool you, because she's got her shit together better than anyone I know.)

So, I spent a good portion of last night figuring out Bubba the Elph; I'm downloading the first shots to Yahoo! now. I'm quite sure that the thing would load my dishwasher and clean the cat boxes, if I could just figure out the settings. (Note to Carl: It's an SD-110, and I recommend it wholeheartedly.)
Posted by Broad2:36 PM • (0) Trackbacks
Day of atonement … or something
Turns out I don't have to tell you the story about how my one ex-best friend and I aren't anymore, and you owe it all to Miguelino and his magic burrito. (Well, Ok, his burrito really didn't have anything to do with it, but thanks goes out to Pauly D just the same -- he's incorporated that into our shtick ever since I told him about it.)
Posted by Broad3:01 AM • (0) Trackbacks
Friday, April 16, 2004
How elfin my Elph is

I shall call it Bubba.
Posted by Broad5:33 PM • (0) Trackbacks
The. World’s. BIGGEST. PANTS.
You know, why is it that short girls with long waists, short legs and big asses and hips can't go to freakin' Wal-Mart, pull a pair of cargo capris off the rack and be able to wear them without looking like a sausage!?!? What the HELL, man!?!? All I want is a pair of olive green, cropped cargo pants to wear tomorrow night to the Roger Clyne gig. Is that too much to ask!?!? Sigh. But, it justifies for me a trip to Old Navy, and I'm always all about that.

Assuming I find a pair that I like, though, I'm not sure what top I'm going to wear. In my excitement toward my tax windfall, I bought this awesome silver necklace with two rhinestone circles, so that's my jewelry of choice. But I have a peach-colored, 3/4-length shirt with a collar that looks like it almost goes off the shoulders -- tres chic -- and I also have that white sweater with the low, round collar that would look just as cool. (Footwear has already been designated as a pair of black and white adidas kicks.) I know I could always see if my black linen cropped pants still fit over my giant ass, but I really do need a pair of olive green cargos, plus I don't really want to know if the $75 pair of Eileen Fisher linen pants don't fit just yet.

Of course, I can't do ANYTHING until FedEx gets here with my digital camera. Come, FedEx. Come to Butthead.
Posted by Broad3:23 PM • (0) Trackbacks
Thursday, April 15, 2004
BFKAS? Is that YOU?
Jamiel Terry recently penned an essay in OUT magazine about growing up gay in the house of Randall Terry, the notorious anti-abortion zealot who got himself kicked out of that racket as part of a court settlement and who's now taken up gay-bashing as his hobby. This is the response he posted about his son's essay.

Lemme get this straight: Here's a guy who took this boy into his own home, and now that said son -- the one HE TOOK IN AS HIS OWN -- has made a really painful revelation, he's more worried about what people think of HIM!?!!?!?

You know what, people? If you can't think beyond yourself and how you look to the world, do the rest of us a favor and do NOT procreate; do NOT adopt kids; and do NOT look up the kids you gave up for adoption. I know you like to think of yourselves as the Great White Hope, but you're NOT doing us any favors. No, seriously. Our lives are fine without your self-centered bullshit. Keep your delusions to yourself, please. Thanks.

Fer fuck's sake.

[Link courtesy of Wonkette]
Posted by Broad6:22 PM • (1) Trackbacks
It’s Kaffy’s fault. Blame her.
I was halfway through this entry about why one of my former best friends and I aren't anymore when Kaffy sends me this thing that was supposed to make me "pee (my) pants" when I listened to it. Well, Outlook chewed up the attachment, so I e-mailed her back and asked her what she's talking about, because I got nothing. She e-mails back, "Damn linkies." and sends me the link instead. But when I went to open up another window so I could see what she was talking about, I hit "refresh" instead, erasing my whole entry. Rats. But it's all right, because after I'd thought about it intermittently throughout the day, my thoughts became oversimplified, and that made for less compelling reading.

Instead, I shall leave you with the reason my post got erased (Clicky heeyah.) And be sure to yell at her for scaring my cats.
Posted by Broad2:56 AM • (0) Trackbacks
Wednesday, April 14, 2004
Beaten pile of noodly wank, I am
Ok, trying to finish a story at 7:30 a.m. after three hours of sleep, and then trying to catch up on the sleep in one night? Talk about being useless. And yet? I CAN'T be useless today because I have to go out and actually interview people. Meh. But I love my one editor -- I told her my tale of woe, and she was basically like, "Oh, Ok. Well, suck it up." She didn't say it, but I could tell she was thinking it, and that's cool with me, because I'm very much a non-whiner like that. I mean, if I was the dumbass who woke up and decided doing a story at 2:30 was a good idea, well, no one told me to do it that way.

So I'm staggin' it to Roger Clyne Saturday, but not for lack of trying; one of the girlfriends I asked to go is going to my ex-best friend's housewarming party. And I must admit, that kind of stuck up my ass. Not that the one friend chose her over me or anything like that -- she thinks the whole situation is idiotic, period. But I'm going to have to explain later, since I gots shit to do.
Posted by Broad1:54 PM • (0) Trackbacks
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It is the job of a good person to be honest. To be self-aware. To deliberately explore the fault lines of your character and try desperately to not inflict suffering in this strange, ghost-ridden world of worked and fabricated objects. Sometimes the jobs of writer and good person coincide. But more often they don’t. There are way more writers in the world than there are good people.

100 things
Info meme #1
Typelogic says I'm an INFP.
Check my weekly astrological groove here.

Give it to me, baby.

Pssst ... My birthday's Feb. 3, and I want this, and this, and this ...

The Make-Believe Oral Cancer Foundation (M-BOCF) is now accepting donations on my behalf. Won't you please help those of us who jump to hideous conclusions regarding our oral health and help me get a root canal or two!??:

Save the Net Now

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Broad said: Like I said, my feelings are complicated on the matter, so ... I’m interested, however, in Her Highness’ thoughts on… ...[go].

Caterina said: ARGH!!! Not to deny you your goddess-given right of reflections and wishing what might-have-beens, but this guy was straight up… ...[go].

Wholovesya? said: By the by, guess who was most nasty about the charitable giving?  The frigging church.  My church and my mom’s… ...[go].

Wholovesya? said: By the by, I’m not the only one I know.  I have friends who work at soup kitchens because they’re… ...[go].

Wholovesya? said: As you know, I was a voyeur to the beginning of this, and I was loving your comment!  I have… ...[go].

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This explains that large bit of type at the top.

Tagline by Ben F'in Mollin, talking about those times you wake up still drunk from the night before.


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