Somewhere between Bell's Palsy and death
Sunday, June 05, 2005
Some things are better left unsaid
Dad had an interesting way of handling the whole virginity issue with me: by not handling it at all, yet not ignoring me at the same time. I was a freshman -- it was June 1985, so I was still one at the time -- and I was all freaked out because my best friend at the time had just lost hers to the degenerate she was dating, and her parents found out about it. (How, I don't remember, but I know they did.) And so we (meaning the family) and I were at one of my cousin's high school graduations, and as Dad and I were standing in the driveway admiring my other cousin's new Trans-Am (Hey! I said it was the '80s), I started talking to him about my friend's dilemma in typical high school drama mode. He listened to me, and then I hit him with it:

"Dad, how old were you when you lost your virginity?"

Yeah, the thought of me asking Dad about anything sexual completely squicks me out now -- I didn't even see the man naked until he was on his deathbed, for Chrissake, not once in my then 31 years of life -- but for some reason, it was important that he tell me. And before I go on, I need to point out here that Mother was a virgin when she got married at 27, and believe me, there's no question that she was.

Anyway, so I ask him, and he looked at me and told me it was none of my business. He wasn't shitty about it or anything, but that was that. It kind of makes me wonder now if he wasn't a virgin when they got married, and he told Mother he was, or if he was just that kind of squirrelly about talking sex with me.

-- Written June 4, 2004
Posted by Broad1:13 AM • (0) Trackbacks
Saturday, June 04, 2005
The Fugue-ees (or, how I miss real ringtones)
Just got back from meeting with the detective about Cousin Crackhead and my missing purse -- had to talk into a microphone thingy and everything. Luckily, I was armed with more information: Crazy Aunt talked to Crackhead's sister (we'll call her "Sister of Crackhead," or SoC), and according to SoC, their parents are saying Crackhead was at home asleep. HowEVER, SoC got a phone call FROM MY CELL PHONE around the ungodly hour in which all this went down*, and when CA told SoC that my Palm was missing, SoC gasped. So now, all I have to do is get a copy of my phone records, and we gots proof that it was in her possession, because I sure as hell wasn't making calls with it. (Not sure how often Cingular updates its Web page, but my account goes up to only June 1 online, and I didn't declare it stolen until June 2 early morning.) Hopefully, SoC will talk to the detective and confirm all this, too -- especially since Crackhead is the reason SoC has a suspended driver's license -- but then there's that ol' saw about the family ties that bind and gag, etc., and she may have been told that she's not allowed to say anything. Still, I'm guessing SoC will want to drop the dime since she's been forced to keep quiet for so long.

In other news, I got a new phone -- bought it at this little dive place on Calumet. I like the style and heft of its flip better, and it's cover is red, which I'm kinda digging. But its ringtones are all beep-beep-boop-boop, and that's a big buzzkill when you've gotten used to "BRAAAAAAAAAAASS Monkey! That funky monkey!" waking your ass up. So I programmed it to play a Fugue, because that had the best comedic value to me.
Posted by Broad10:04 PM • (0) Trackbacks
As a high school teacher, Dad was always much more lenient than Mother ever was, although I'm sure most Gestapo were more lenient than she was when I was a teen. Because of that, there was never a unified front in our house, and mostly, it was Dad acquiescing to Mother's insane demands -- not the best of situations for a kid to grow up in, but no worse than 100 million other peoples', I'm sure. At any rate, that didn't stop Dad from conspiring to keep me under the radar, if only just to spite her. Like, when I was in lurve with my 21 year-old boyfriend, he covered for me, even though it was clearly not the wisest choice.

Especially cool was that Dad was the type of person you could tell anything to after the fact, and as long as you weren't hurt or hurt anyone else, he wouldn't get all apeshit on you -- like when I was 19 and dating my college boyfriend, who Mother HATED because she found out I was nailing him.
Posted by Broad2:00 AM • (0) Trackbacks
Friday, June 03, 2005
Ending the day on a good note
Being a composition teacher, Dad liked to pick quotes off signs and post them up on the board for his students to ponder. They could be anywhere, of course, but a lot of times, they came off church signs. Not that he was particularly religious; in fact, one time, I was downstairs in his bathroom looking in his underneath the sink for things to read (that's where he stashed his stuff), and there was a book by L. Ron Hubbard. That shocked the hell out of me, thinking Dad could possibly buy into Scientology, especially since he was so fascinated by the Hyles Baptist people and what a fucked-up deal THAT is.

He never censored anything I read, really. I was reading Steven King novels by the time I was in sixth grade -- hell, I asked him for his copy of The Exorcist, and he gave it to me without complaint. And the John Powers trilogy -- The Last Catholic in America, Do Black Patent Leather Shoes Really Reflect Up? and The Unoriginal Sinner and the Ice Cream God? Required reading. In later years, though, he got all up into those Jean Auel books, a passion which I didn't get.

There were SOME limits to what he wanted me reading; after all, he DID throw away the porn novel I stashed under the love seat in the living room (as well as my next-door neighbor's porn novel she let me borrow). Never said a word about it, but once the carpet was cleaned? Gone.

-- Written June 2, 2004
Posted by Broad12:59 AM • (0) Trackbacks
Thursday, June 02, 2005
True dis
Oooo, hot.
Your boyfriend is Spike.

Who is your Buffy boyfriend?
brought to you by Quizilla

[Horked from the lovely Kaffy]
Posted by Broad7:04 PM • (0) Trackbacks
And THEN, as if my day couldn’t get worse …
I get this e-mail from DtR wanting me to cover an event. I'll give him an "A" for the suck-up factor, but the only reason I'm not going to add any of my own pithy comments is because my ass is dragging from the crackhead incident. But feel free to add your own.
Posted by Broad3:38 PM • (0) Trackbacks
Mac, you done with my new bag, yet?
It's 4:49 a.m., and I just got off the phone with Mother, of all people, because I was pissed and needed to vent. Why? Because my crackhead cousin broke into my crib and stole my purse. While I was in the crib.

I'll let y'all ponder that for a moment.
Posted by Broad7:03 AM • (0) Trackbacks
Wednesday, June 01, 2005
Bringing on the heartbreak
First, the new skin: Huh!?!? Didn't I tell you it kicks ass!?!? My thanks to Christina at Bonafide Style for coming up with something fun as well as a little disturbing. It's like she could read my mind before I even knew what I wanted. Tres cool, yo.

Now, back to our regularly scheduled drama.

I have this coin that I got from the wife-beater talk: It's an advertisement for Waymon and his biz, but the coin reads -- and I carry it in my pocket like a talisman -- "I am ultimately responsible for the amount of chaos I allow into my life." I really WANT to follow this mantra, and lately, I'd been doing a pretty good job, what with the family thinking I'm the antiChrist and all. Things were peaceful. And then came early Monday morning and the one guy, and now, it's shot to hell.
Posted by Broad7:37 PM
Dad, revisited
So it's June and therefore Dad month, so I've decided I'm going to replay the stuff that I wrote about him last year, and then on the days that I didn't write, I'll write something new.
Posted by Broad6:35 PM
All you wanted to know about blogging in NWI
After last week's writing onslaught, I took a bit of a break over the weekend, for those of y'all who're wondering. (I'm looking at you). Wasn't intentional necessarily, but it was much needed; in fact, I didn't start getting my bearings back until sometime Saturday. Yeah, I know I'm not doing hard labor, but two giant stories on top of two dailies is a lot of freakin' copy. But the powers that be were happy about the big blog story (featuring our dear friend Ogger, who was gracious enough to be interviewed. I would've asked you, too, but it was already getting unwieldy.) After the jump, you can read it. Keep in mind that 16 inches -- or the equivalent of one decent sized story -- were cut from it.
Posted by Broad1:41 AM
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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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