Somewhere between Bell's Palsy and death

And then, there's Mother

Monday, August 20, 2007
No asses were popped with caps

So Mother was supposed to hunker down at Chez Broad after the storm last week, right? It was against every sane bone in my body, but she’s my mother, so one makes sacrifices. Anyway, she arrives, and I tell her that she can crash in my room since I have a queen and I’m used to crashing on the couch. Well, she can’t crash in there because my boys will want to sleep in there with her, she said, even though you can SHUT my door to keep them out and really? They might pester her, but they sleep with their momma (aka me). Okaaaaaaaay, so I hand her a sheet and make up the couch for her, and she sits down while I go over to my D-List celebrity BFF’s so his lovely woman can teach me to prune my own head when it gets too unwieldy.

I get back to the crib, and Mother tells me that I need to take her to my uncle’s because she’s going to spend the night there. Annoyed, I ask why, and she tells me that my eldest was harassing her. “I told you he hangs out on the back of the couch and he’ll leave you alone if you leave him alone,” I reminded her once again. But then no sooner did I walk out of the can when I looked, and there was Rube crouched on the cushion with his paws on her pillow, looking at her like, “Yeah? What’re you going to do, old crazy lady?” I guess he did that to her several times while I was gone, and she freaked out.

Hey, worked for me.


Posted by Broad11:29 PM
Friday, September 08, 2006
So much for not wanting to throw Momma off the train

If you never listen to me about anything else, hear me on this: Never, EVER allow your mother to cosign a loan with you. EVER.

You will thank me for those words.


Posted by Broad8:04 AM
Sunday, April 09, 2006
Strike a pose, bitches
Ain't nothing like using the anticipated hope of looking good as revenge while pedaling one's bike; I did the trail part Poppy and I did before she left on vay-kay today, and I didn't stop once to take a breather or rest my legs. I won't be able to walk tomorrow, but I'll have done my body good at least. (I've been reading Pop's copy of that book by the Oprah doctor, and it says you need to put in an hour of exercise a week to keep healthy; anything above and beyond is really superfluous and possibly harmful, to which I'm like, "See!?? Bet y'all with your six pack abs feel like a buncha suckers now.")

Did I mention that I'm going to the Madonna concert June 15? No? B-Dubs got tickets ... for BFKAS, himself and me, plus two other people. (SC can't go because she'll be on vay-kay with her fam.) Yep, I'm going to see Madonna with the bio-fam -- ain't THAT some shit? No, I'm not the hugest Madonna fan in the world. In fact, even when I did like her 20 years ago, I absolutely hated some of her songs ("La Isla Bonita" and "Cherish," anyone? Ew.) Love her or hate her, though, she IS a legend, and I guess for that alone it'll be fun to see.

The problem is, I told Mother about it, and she's already gotten it into her head that because I'm going with them to ONE THING, I've become one of them and have forgotten who raised me, etc. etc. etc., never mind that I got to hear yet aGAIN the story about how she went to meet BFKAS shortly after I first met her, but Dad didn't want to go. (In the interest of proving how either I must have nerves of steel or my drugs are devil good, I should really start a chart mapping out how many times I hear these things over the course of a month just to show I'm not kidding.) You know, it's like what I suspect about how SC feels about me and my relationship with them: Just because I may have some sort of thing with these people, whatever it is will NEVER be the same as what I have with my family or what SC has with the bio-fam, so what's the problem? I mean, anyone who's in my inner circle knows that I'm about as inclusive as they come -- my friends are your friends, we're all one big, happy family and all that rot. In fact, I used to imagine my wedding at Marquette Park's Bath House (when I thought I actually wanted a wedding) as one where real fam and bio-fam alike were there celebrating the day with me, but yet I've got Mother who thinks I'm going to get stolen away by those people and SC who (I think) thinks I have designs on stealing her family away. I don't get it. And it's not like I can reassure anyone of my intentions, because they're going to think what they're going to think, and I've long ago given up the notion that I have any sort of sway when Mother gets a bat in her belfry. It's like a dog with a bone, man.

In other news, the Monte Carlo showed up the other day, running perfectly as far as I could tell. The apartment building the offender lives in, however, now has a crib up for rent, so I wonder if this means Homie had to put all his money into getting his car out of hock. That'll learn ya to leave your shit unattended on the street, though, won't it, motherfucker!??
Posted by Broad6:16 PM
Wednesday, March 29, 2006
It’s Wednesday
and due to a fuck-up with Medicare Part D, Mother can't take her Prozac until Sunday.

Pray she doesn't end up underneath my car, please.
Posted by Broad2:05 PM
Tuesday, November 15, 2005
Doncha wish you were me right now?
Mother just called for the 5th time today. This call, she wanted to know if I'd made reservations for Thanksgiving yet. Because she's only reminded every conversation we've had since this weekend.

Seriously, wanna trade?
Posted by Broad2:11 PM
Sunday, November 13, 2005
Can I have a mimosa NOW, please!??
Today, I have to take Mother to the 50th wedding anniversary for her cousin, who she had a huge fight with last year with the cousin telling her she hated her and hopes she dies, etc. Mother was invited to this shindig because she stood up to their wedding 50 years ago. (In cousin's defense, she was in the process of quitting smoking after 60 some years, so she may not have been in her right mind. Nevertheless, the fight was unprovoked by Mother, and I can appreciate that Mother is a little apprehensive about going.)

Anyway, here's a sample of what I have waiting for me when I pick her up:

Her: Do I have to take my raincoat?
Me: Well, yeah. It's windy, and the temp's going to drop.
Her: But I don't know how I'm going to carry the present and my blazer; I don't want to get my blouse wrinkled.
Me: Um ... just put the raincoat over the bla ... why would you worry about getting your blouse wrinkled if you're going to be wearing a blazer over it? [NOTE: Mother's raincoat is a very stylish London Fog that, because of its shape, looks sort of like one of those structures that houses snow salt. Which means the blazer would fit fine underneath the coat.]
Her: I don't care if it gets wrinkled once I have the blazer on ...


Pray for me, everyone.
Posted by Broad7:00 AM
Monday, October 24, 2005
I took my mother to Nordstrom’s and all I got …
was the notion to toss her out of the car by the end of the day yesterday.

See, I HAD the chance to go with Poppy to see the Bears play, but Mother had been DYING to go to Chicago to look for a new purse. Originally, we were supposed to go to Heinous Mark-up for this endeavor, but I talked her out of that by telling her she wouldn't get out of there without spending at least $250, and we all know how freaked out about money she is. So what does she do? She goes and buys a Francesco Biasia for $278. It's her money, so whatever, and it IS a really nice bag. And most of the day was all right, because she was excited to go and in a fairly decent mood, plus I got to pop into Lush and grab me another Buffy and Butterball. But still, after awhile, it was like, "All right, I've seen you HOW MANY DAYS THIS WEEK? You're on my nerves -- especially since it never fails that you manage to somehow bring up Dad's death or Uncle Joe's death in some way, shape or form." Yes, everyone, she's grieving. She's been grieving for FOUR FREAKING YEARS NOW. She will NEVER STOP GRIEVING, of that I can be sure. YOU try it and see how much of it you can stand. Besides, I've never been to a Bears game, and that would've been interesting, especially if we'd have run into TOG.

Speaking of, I haven't talked about him lately, because there hasn't been anything to tell. I haven't seen him since he popped in a couple months ago. Not sure why; he doesn't usually stay a stranger this long. I would hate to think that the last thing he ever said to me was, "Have fun with your bike," though.

Meanwhile, true to NWI form, the weather has fallen straight into the shitter, raining all day and windy, windy, windy. The forecast for tomorrow? About the same. Welcome to fall.
Posted by Broad8:46 PM
Sunday, April 03, 2005
Sigh. Grumble. Whimper.
How horrible is it of me to NOT want to pick up Mother, even though she's buying dinner? I mean, I've spent the last, oh, I don't know, THREE DAYS with her in some fashion, and I REALLY kind of hate spending that much time with anyone unless I'm either fucking them or really, REALLY want to. I'm going to do it, of course, because I'm feeling rather martyr-ish and need to eat, but still, I'd just really kind of like to get my bike out and go for a ride.

Speaking of fucking, I left a message for the one guy today, something I very rarely do. It was even pleasant-sounding, which apparently also rarely happens. (I've been told by many that I sound bitchy even when I'm not intending to, which is a buzzkill, I guess.) Been dreaming about him quite a bit lately, which may be signifying a disturbance in the force of some sort. Chances are I won't hear from him right away -- unless, of course, he's seeing someone else. He's generally been good about letting me know that, if for nothing else than to allow me to keep my dignity. Heh.
Posted by Broad11:04 AM
Sunday, March 13, 2005
Before I get to my kick-ass weekend …
leave it to Mother to piss up my rope.
Posted by Broad3:13 PM • (0) Trackbacks
Wednesday, November 10, 2004
Just another tricky day (or, yet another reason as to why I should never be a parent)
What a damn day, yo. And keep in mind that the following? Happened unmedicated.

It all started off with a few phone calls before a 10 a.m. meeting -- no big. But when I got home, I get a call from Mother, who's hysterical. See, she lives in a four-plex, and her downstairs neighbors? Batshit. crazy. Like, for example, when Mother moved in, BatshitCrazywoman told her that she's getting a huge worker's comp settlement from the railroad for an injury, but then in another conversation tells her that her BatshitCrazyhusband gave her the injury, PLEASE don't tell anyone. Oh, while she was borrowing $20 here and there to keep her household afloat. (Insurance PIs doing recon for railroad companies in the Chicagoland area? Give me a call.) Oh -- OH! -- nd let's not forget the time when BatshitCrazywoman, after Mother said she couldn't keep floating her $20 here and there, came up to Mother's crib with a paper bag and took back all the knick-knacky things she gave her upon moving in. And the few weeks last spring where someone was knocking on her door in the middle of the night, scaring the piss out of her. Anyway, yeah. Batshit. crazy.
Posted by Broad6:20 PM • (0) Trackbacks
Wednesday, November 03, 2004
The aftermath
Reporting election returns in NWI is rough business. Got there at 6, because I was told that most of the absentee ballots would be ready. The good news was, Lake County had an outstanding turnout, possibly the largest in years. The bad news? At 6, there was maybe 30 percent of that vote counted, so for 3 hours, I sat around dishing with a competition reporter (I may despise the competition, but I like quite a few of the people) as well as one of my local TV station friends, who's, like, the coolest person ever (plus she thinks I'm funny, something I always get a charge of).

And then the results started coming in, and no sooner would I spend 20 minutes on the phone with the lovely EA who did a fantastic job of plugging in the stats when I'd get the NEXT SET OF NUMBERS handed to me. That happened three different times before we finally stopped at 98 percent returned. (And before you say, "Why didn't you just fax the damn results?" -- no. Having been an EA in the Sports department -- yeah, I know, that's a thought, idn't it? -- it is a thousand times easier to have things read to you than it is reading them, even if I wanted to cry by the fourth set of stats.) But what I want to know? How is it that some precincts didn't turn in the cartridges on which the votes were cast!?!?! When we finally called it a night at 11:30 p.m. (the paper, not the election counters, who were there until the wee hours), there were still eight machines locked up in buildings, the cartridges not turned in to be counted. How does that fucking happen? Seriously. After spending 12 hours devoting your time to manning an election, how do you NOT TURN THE THINGS IN!?!? GAH!

As for the Shrub winning, I'm as stunned and saddened by it as anyone, but plenty of other people have articulated my thoughts for me to, too. I'm just glad that Pete Visclosky was reelected to the House.
Posted by Broad1:00 PM • (0) Trackbacks
Thursday, September 16, 2004
Crispity Christ
3:45, or 15 minutes before I'm supposed to pick Mother up to run her errands, I get this phone call:
Her: Are you there? Or did you leave yet? Pick up if you're there, because I was wondering ...
Me (sighing resignedly): Yes, Mother, I got my mail.
Her: Oh. Did you get the picture of the baby?
Me: Yeee-es, and I don't know why everyone's freaking out about how small he is, because he looks like a normal baby to me.
Her:Don't yell, because that's what (another aunt who agrees with me) did. Anyway, wonk wonk wonk wonk wonk ... Are you ready to pick me up? (Keep in mind, we've just spent five minutes talking about something we could've just as easily talked about when I pick her up.)
Me: Well, I was going to jump in the shower ...
Her: We won't have time to go, and I just want to go through the drive thru for a grilled cheese sandwich ...
Me (Looking at the phone like she's high on crack): What drive-thru has a grilled cheese sandwich, Mother?
Her: No, I meant Schoop's (a local burger place).
Me: I just told you I had Wendy's for lunch -- a HAMBURGER.
Her: Well, what else can you get there? (Have you forgotten that this is 15 minutes before I'm supposed to pick her up?)
Me: Well, let me jump in the shower, and I'll call you when I'm down there.
Her: But that'll take an hour (!) and ...
Me (Growling at this point): Fine. I won't take a shower, then.

Instead, I will blog about how you can be INSUFFERABLE PAIN IN MY ASS! GAH!
Posted by Broad12:09 PM • (0) Trackbacks
Thursday, July 08, 2004
Baby did a bad, bad thing
You know how people joke about people with attention deficit are easily distracted by shiny things? Yeah, Mother and I, after having lunch at a Rodney's, had to walk past Highland Jewelers to get to The Pimp, and, well, $650 later between the two of us ... hey! it was a 50 percent off sale! Back off, man! Mother's always wanted a diamond anniversary ring, but she and Dad didn't always have the financial wherewithall to do it! And they would've been married 41 YEARS this year! She's entitled! (I, on the other hand, probably didn't need the two lovely little diamond-cut, 14kt white and yellow gold chains I bought, and they really aren't that sexy with a 1998 Guinness Fleadh t-shirt. But with either my little white Old Navy or little black Pearl River t-shirts? They're going to be cute.)

So, does anyone know where I could find and electric copy of the short story "Whup-eyed Rhea and the Kankakee Meteor Shower"? It's by an indie author named Karl Koweski, who publishes primarily on the Innernet, but this particular story comes from a book he published entitled Playthings, a collection of short stories. Anyway, that particular story is based on a real-life incident of which he and I were a part (12 years ago, he went to school where I did for a year), and not only does he apparently name me in it, but I guess he portrays me in a really unpleasant light, to which I say, "Excellent," because from what I've read of this guy's writing so far? He's fucking brilliant -- think Bukowski -- and if I provided some sort of place for him to be as good as he is, I'm all about it. Besides, I barely knew the guy, so I'm confident that whatever he had to say was written without him having an axe to grind with me.

So, if y'all know where it is, point me there (or e-mail me the salacious bits about me so I can get all litigious and have a cow and be all indignant over someone else's success so I can focus on just me! me! me! Because everything's all about me, anyway, doncha know?)
Posted by Broad7:46 PM • (0) Trackbacks
Saturday, June 12, 2004
Her damn powers of persuasion
In all my blather about the wonders of popular music this morning, I forgot to mention that I did some Kelley Blue Book research on the state of the Snowball last night, and ... if the insurance doesn't total it, it'll be a freakin' miracle. Value for my '95 Corolla with 150,10-something miles on it? $,1935. Cost to repair it? $1,750. Yeeeeeeeah, I'm guessing NOT. So, what'd I do today? Headed on over to CarMax, like I said I wasn't going to be persuaded by Mother to do.

And I think we may have found the new ride: A '99 Camry. Cruise control (not important to me, but whatever); 49-ishK miles; power windows and locks; no CD player (again, not super-important); and big, sexy room in it. Drawbacks? It's white with tan interior, and I really didn't want to get another white car. Also, tan? Eh. Not crazy about it. However, it rides like BUTTAH for a 4-banger, and I've always LOVED the Camry, so I wouldn't be disappointed with that ride.

I do, however, have three other choices -- a maroon 2001 Saturn L200 that I liked but didn't test drive, a white 2001 Mazda 626 that looks like a Mercedes, and a silver 2003 Mitusbishi Galant that has only 11K, but is about a grand more than I could drop-dead afford. They're all pretty sweet.
Posted by Broad12:59 PM • (0) Trackbacks
Wednesday, June 02, 2004
Because it’s important what the receptionist thinks
Me: You know, it really pisses me off when you make comments about me reaching for the candy in front of people we don't know.
Mother: What? Who was there?
Me: Um, well ... the receptionist, for one.
Mother: Oh, she don't care.

[Bangs head on steering wheel]
Posted by Broad12:11 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
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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!??:



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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].

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