That was the gift over which I've been all worked up. Not quite what I thought it was going to be, but ... it's the thought, and I'm cool. And I think I've decided -- no thanks to any of y'all offering your thoughts (aHEM, and while I'm bitching, what's a broad gotta do to get more of you on my map besides show my t*$ts (shutUP, you)!??) -- that I'm not going to password my stuff. My whole purpose for Broad was not to censor myself, so why start? I mean, it's not like I'm making shit up. And if they go crazy, it's not like I have to deal with them. And that's what I got to say about that.

Otherwise, I've spent most of my week trying to get back in the working groove and trying to clean my couch. I've got it to where it's at least not yellow from sweat and hair goop, but it's not pretty off-white like it used to be, either. And I don't hate it enough to either chuck it or cover it with slip covers (which I've looked at, and unless you're getting them from the place Oprah gets hers, they look like slip covers, and Homie don't play that). But it at least smells clean, and that'll be good for the end of February, when we have a mo'fo blowout up in this bitch.

That's right: Mer's coming to town over her Winter break. And she's got a boyfriend now -- like, a real, normal one and not the caveman she usually dates -- so I'm sure there'll be plenty of drunken, depraved phone calls to him in Queens while she takes advantage of our cheap liquor and atmosphere. Then add Snidgey and Headcase to the mix (for the February birthdays and all), and this could be lethal. And I can't WAIT.