Somewhere between Bell's Palsy and death

F'ed-up family

Saturday, January 02, 2010
Cutting on the inside

Talking to a friend and former colleague the other day, and she asks me if I’m still keeping up with ye old blog. I told her, “Well, I’m not NOT keeping up with it, but yeah, my last entry was in September,” and she was all, “You should at least let people know you’re not dead.” It’s always kinda been my thought that bringing attention to the fact that you’re not blogging is kind of trying to BRING ATTENTION to the fact that you’re not blogging, as in “Look at ME, everyone! Don’t you MISS ME when I’m not around!?” as if all y’all do is sit around to hang off my every word. But since she made the point:

No, everyone, I’m not dead.

So 2009 ended on an Ok note considering that Pimp’s alternator croaked in the lefthand turn lane of a major intersection during rush hour; interestingly enough, it was this final straw that snapped me out of what’s had to have been the most terrible, horrible, emotional no-good week I’ve been in months, kinda like “Yeah, this is the blood-clot cherry on a shit sundae, so I might as well just lighten up because the crying hasn’t helped!” There were mitigating factors to this terrible, horrible, emotional no-good week—like the reason I was home for NYE instead of out seeing the boys, for example—but there’s no need to hash, and some of it I can’t talk about here, anyway, because I promised. Anyway, I’m feeling better now, although the week made for some creative suicide ideation techniques!*

Hopefully this year will get me going and writing here again, but in the meantime I hope y’all are well, the holidays were full of love and laughter and that your aspirations for this year are fulfilled. N’ shit.


Posted by Broad5:34 AM
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Mercury’s back in retrograde, and God, I feel like a dick, Pt. 2

Things that have struck me dumb since, oh, let’s say Saturday:

-- On tonight’s second Intervention episode, the dude took to drinking foamy hand sanitizer when he couldn’t get out of the hospital quick enough to hit the fifth of vodka he had stashed at home.

-- The customer at the restaurant who, when he discovered his order was wrong, said—and I quote—“If I wanted to be treated this bad, I’d have stayed in Afghanistan.” Seriously? You’re really going to equate not getting your burritos grande to getting shot at in the desert? That’s a tad dramatic, n’est-ce pas!??

-- Then pal and co-waitress Double D (as in “Designated Driver,” you pervs) told the douchebag that her brother’s been in the Middle East twice already, yet she still doesn’t get why we’re there. I mean, I love that she said it, but during work where other customers might hear probably isn’t the best time or place.

-- In the first episode of Intervention—and this is one I’ve seen before, so how I missed this, I’ve no clue—the love-interest enabler chick basically just told the world the drunk with whom she’s in love either can’t get or keep it up. Wow. Hope he didn’t see THAT when he got out of rehab.

-- On our way home from the boys Sunday morning, G/BF tells me her latest nightmare (who we now refer to as “Dumbass No. 3,” or DA3 for short) told her if he moves back up here, he would STAY WITH ME so she could feel safe in knowing what he’s doing. O RLY!?? Because I would WANT his dumbass germs contaminating the resort.

-- The blatant homoeroticism of the latest Quizno’s ads: “Put it in me.”

-- Cheeks wearing a blowup doll with an arm-sized appendage on his head. (Ok, that didn’t strike me dumb, but it needed to be mentioned. We have the pictures to prove it.)

Despite all the toy play, I didn’t enjoy the weekend—still felt rotten and had family nonsense, after which I should’ve just taken my ass home instead of forcing myself to be social, because that rarely works and then I end up all fired up about stuff that’s, like, whoa, what the hell are you talking about. But tomorrow, I have a Cubs game with my old boss, so a slight change of scenery should do me good, and she and I always have a good time. Actually, it’s going to be an expensive month: Cubs tomorrow, RCPM Friday, another Cubs game over Memorial Day and possibly Great America at the end of the month to see my niece in her dance recital. Maybe I should start enterprising stories more.


Posted by Broad3:25 AM
Saturday, February 07, 2009
Another Friday night

Here’s an exciting moment in my rockstar life: I’m sitting here on the couch, and I WAS thrilled to have my oldest lying on the pillows next to me, but now he’s gotta be all up in my grill, which entails sitting on the laptop. Oh, and now he needs to take a bath, leg up. You want to be me now, don’t you?

Yesterday, the sibs and I wandered the city while my sister took shots of homeless people for her Web site (that’s back under construction but will be fabulous and show all her spectacular work when it’s done), and we had a blast—B-Dubs took us on a wild goose chase to find all the homeless he used to encounter when he worked downtown and passed out candy bars to those we did find. The day would’ve been absolutely perfect were it not for the wind trying to eat my face off. But let me ask you something, and I know I’ve talked before about this, but why don’t people understand that there’s no such thing as privacy on the Innerbunny!?? I don’t know, maybe I’m not the best person to ask since I’m published, but when you put something on the Web, I don’t care if you have your Myspace or Facebook set to private. YOU PUT IT ON THE INTERNET. IT’S NOT PRIVATE. If you want something to BE private, DON’T PUT IT ON THE INTERNET. PERIOD. (Now, to me, e-mail is a different critter because you’re sending something specifically to someone, but I know some would disagree with me on that.) Anyway, I wish my youngest sister would get that instead of railing against the world with her perceived injustices. Lord, that gets tedious.

My birthday was excellent, filled with happy wishes, good cheer and great swag from my peeps. Was kinda crabby for the Super Bowl, but three Absolut 7 and Roses Limes, three shots of Rumple and two 16-oz Buds in penis bottles will do that.


Posted by Broad3:49 AM
Tuesday, February 03, 2009
It’s my damn birthday

Could my cousin PLEASE stop blowing up my phone about the story I’m doing!?? I GOT IT! Jeez.

More on my birthday tomfoolery later—just had to get that out.


Posted by Broad5:39 PM
Friday, December 12, 2008
Peppermint martinis make me hungry, ill-mannered

Let’s hear it for my evil overlords, who’ve once again screwed up my paycheck and left me in the red during the holidays!

blank stare
Boo-urns

Rather than bitching about the inevitable, however, I’m instead going to tell you about my awesome weekend and how I should never, EVER be allowed to drink hard liquor again.

It all started Friday, when my seester came in for a quick visit. Now, as a SAHM with a hub who travels for work 50 percent of the time, she doesn’t get out much, which is fine with her most of the time. So after we got the kidlets situated, it was going be dinner, shopping and meeting one of her girlfriends out for A drink, since she had to get back home and I had to be up at the ass crack to cover the FUTURE OF NWI(tm).

Three a.m. and three glasses of Riesling later, the only thing that got Ms. WOOOOOOOOO! to leave the second bar of the night was the snow, because she had kind of a haul to get back to her dad’s. It was nice to see her relaxed and having grown-up fun, though, so I didn’t mind my head being pudding during my assignment in, oh, five hours, plus I’d had only two fluffy martinis (read: $8 sweet drinks in a fancy glass), so I was fine. Cutest moment: Earlier in the evening, my niece Lulu was doing a kind of jump-wiggle around the living room with this little satisfied grin on her face, like, “Yo, wut up.” Eight hours later, my seester was doing the same thing at the bar, same look and everything. God, I love those two. I even ended up talking to this idiot, but that was HER fault since she decided to give him a ride to the other bar.

Then Saturday, after a series of schedule changes that would’ve normally pissed me off (and kind of did until I discovered things actually worked out better), was the Bang Bang Christmas Extravaganza. The apertifs du soir: Peppermint martinis made with Ciroc, peppermint schnapps of some sort and a hit of gin, maybe? I don’t know, and SHINER BOCK! of which Ben bought by the metric shit-ton for his lady. As I was feeling rather festive (and wired since I hadn’t slept much), it was going to be martinis for me, no skimping on the sticky candy-cane rim coating, barkeep.

Sometime after the second one, I think, it was time for me to find something to eat since I hadn’t eaten since lunch, and there on the buffet was a gorgeous cheese plate—with neither tongs with which to pick it up nor plates on which to put it, as I would discover AFTER I tried to take one or two pieces of round, thinly sliced cheese but ended up having to take FIVE because cheese sticks together, and it’s not like I can just leave it there after my hands have been all over it. So I improvised and grabbed a styrofoam cup for my cheese.

Around my fourth peppermint martini, Girlie said I was quite the sight trying to carry on a conversation with Sensei Massey with my cup o’ cheese, martini (hands sticky from the rim) and candied pretzel sticking out of my pinkie; to hear her tell it, there might’ve been cheese crumbs expelled in some fashion. It was then that I switched to PBR.

The fun didn’t end there, however. It was time to head to our next destination—a place in Hammond where NASCAR lovers go to die—to catch the Leprechaun Virtuoso filling in for one of the 17 bands he plays in, but not before we hit McDonald’s for double cheeseburgers. They were mighty tasty, those cheeseburgers, but not quite as tasty as the chicken, mostaccioli and mashed potatoes Danny was eating when we got to the bar. So tasty were they, I not only ate off Danny’s plate but got up and helped myself to more, not giving any thought to the fact that he got the food from a wedding reception being held there.

It might not have gone exactly like this—the person who put up the video needs the page views so s/he disabled embedding—but close.

The NASCAR bar was too much for us, so I inhaled my ill-gotten fourth-meal and we set about our way when 1) I got the heel of my boot caught in the hem of my cashmere dress coat trying to get in the party van (I yanked it out), and 2) Girlie got pulled over, and I had to be told several times to STFU because I was rather loudly telling my sister of the night’s events. By the time we got back to the shop, the party had wound down—probably for the better.

And THAT, my friends, is why I don’t drink hard liquor as a rule. Thankfully, no one outside my crew saw how badly I was behaving.


Posted by Broad6:35 AM
Thursday, December 04, 2008
No one had to die on Thanksgiving … this year

I know y’all have been waiting for a recap of the anticipated Holiday o’ Horror, and believe me, it’s not that I’ve decided not share. Frankly, there just isn’t anything to tell—it went really well. Mother didn’t stop talking from the time I picked her up until probably the next day, which is either endearing or annoying, depending on who you are; and Baby Brudder did exactly what I figured he’d do and blew out early (HE said it was because work had a server crash, but *I* know it was because he didn’t want to deal, although waiting until AFTER chow would’ve been slightly more polite. On the other hand, though, if you’re going to be twitchy, it’s better to get the hell out of dodge before you turn into a spectacle), but it was eerily normal. I even peeled potatoes, ferchrissake.

It’s the AFTER that’s been a drag.

Friday, after I woke up at ass o’clock to cover the yahoos shopping Black Friday—and I don’t care who you are or how much money you think you’re saying: If you’re up at ass o’clock to shop, you’re a yahoo—helped Girlie texturize the walls of the restaurant and tried like hell to ignore the headache and clogged sinuses that were threatening my well-being, Mother and I went to dinner. That’s when it started:

Yollie said that she really IS your mother, too, because she gave birth to you ... What was she saying when she called you her daughter? Because I kinda took it to heart ... Do you think you’ll call her ‘Mom’ when I’m gone?


Before y’all ask, no, there really is no way discuss this with or placate her. I’ve tried, but she doesn’t get that the two of them are very different people to me, and it’s not a matter of who’s more important. They’re just different. So here I try and do a good thing, and once again it bites me in the ass. Fabulous. I did, however, get a great picture of the three of us ... that I’m expressly forbidden to post. But trust me, it’s something I’ll keep close always.

On to happier business, this weekend is shaping up to be filled with all kinds of tomfoolery, starting with my sister’s arrival Friday; she and I are either going to hole ourselves up away from the rest of the world and drink ourselves stupid or go out and wreak havoc on the unsuspecting, then Saturday is the next Bang-Bang “Drink for ...” extravaganza, for which I plan on getting all hot and gorgeous (AND find a skirt that doesn’t make me look like I’m 3 feet tall). You’re invited if you’re in the area. Ann and Ben said so.


Posted by Broad4:29 AM
Thursday, November 27, 2008
Get out yer longjohns, folks, because Hell HAS frozen over

Tomorrow—or today, whichever you want to call it at this point—as y’all gorge yourselves on everything that’s wonderful about the holidays, I’ll be doing the same, only unlike you, I might well be balled up in the corner with the first bottle of whatever I can find. See, while y’all enjoy your family, *I’ll* be spending Thanksgiving with BOTH MY MOTHERS.

AT THE SAME TIME.

gulp

I know, I know: What a blessing to be amongst those who love me, etc. etc. I get it. But people, complete bizarreness of my situation aside, think about it—TWO MOTHERS. Not a mother and a stepmother, or a mother and a mother-in-law; those are your run-of-the-mill dynamics. I will have TWO MOTHERS who love to—what else?—MOTHER in the same house, mothers who will either fawn all over me or point out every flaw I have as if I don’t know what they are. And if Mother’s in one of her moods, I’ll be inflicting her on completely unsuspecting people. I mean, she seemed in decent spirits when I talked to her earlier, but that was hours ago—who knows WHAT will happen between then and when we’re supposed to get there that’ll set her off!??

I’m a little freaked out here, people. Please send alcohol.


Posted by Broad5:57 AM
Thursday, March 20, 2008
Tea party

I’ve talked about my sister’s mad picture-taking skillz before, but I have to say I’m in awe of this one:

image

It’s Lulu Buttons, and it was taken as the tea party (with a genuine butler and everything, might I add) she attended this past Sunday was winding down. It’s killing me how grown up and gorgeous she is already, and could you just DIE over the dress!??

Why yes, my sister DOES take pictures professionally. If you local people want the hook-up, lemeno.


Posted by Broad1:22 AM
Sunday, February 10, 2008
“That’s a big bag o’ meat (oh YEAH)!”

Had dinner with the fam celebrating my and B-Dub’s birthdays tonight (his 32nd is tomorrow—Happy B-Day, baby!), and the best thing ever happened: We were cleaning up, and B-Dubs wanted to take the leftover hamburger from the burgers we grilled because, you know, it’s 21 degrees out and we’re hardcore up here in the NWI. So he’s putting the hamburger in a Ziplock, and I looked at it and said “A bag of meat—wow, a big bag of meat, even,” not really thinking anything other than my brother had a big blob of hamburger in a Ziplock.

Not two seconds later, my nephew starts chanting in an almost rap-like fashion, “That’s a big bag o’ meat! Oh YEAH!” and then of course my niece starts chanting along.

Well, B-Dubs and I looked at each other and fell out at these two little kids rap-chanting about a bag of meat, so I of course encourage the nonsense by telling B-Dubs to throw a beat behind it, and he starts beat-boxing while the two of them are marching around the coffee table yelling at the top of their lungs, “That’s a big bag o’ meat! Oh YEAH!” and I’m at the table just dying. (There also may or may not have been some further encouragement by me in the form of bustin’ out some chair-dance moves.) My sister, meanwhile, is looking at us like we’re high on crack and is all, “Yeah, I don’t want to hear this all the way home.”

I swear I didn’t say a word to them. I can’t help that my influence, it is stealthy in its mightiness.


Posted by Broad4:40 AM
Friday, December 28, 2007
30 seconds to complete overload

The Peapod before opening her scads of presents Christmas day:

[DELETED PER POPPY’S REQUEST]

(Cat: Couldn’t you just DIE over the shoes?)

and then after:

[ALSO DELETED PER POPPY’S REQUEST]

About a minute later, Peapod started howling in utter despair, and her cousin had to be woken up so she could finish her nap. Note the noodle-like spine that allows her to throw herself forward. I haven’t been able to do that since at least high school. Can’t quite figure out how the hell I was sitting in that picture, though. Whatever I was doing, it looks painful.

So my holiday didn’t suck nearly as bad as I was expecting. Mother wasn’t quite as obnoxious as she could’ve been (she saved that for today), and I got pretty much everything I wanted: A pair of bigger gold hoops, a heavier winter coat, a crock pot, decorative pillows for the couch (I didn’t even think about those) and a Webkinz kitten and slippers from the niece and nefew. Oh, and eye makeup, of which I now have more than I’ll ever use in my lifetime. My brother still owes me something; I hope it wasn’t crushed in the big train derailment over the weekend. (As an aside, check out that story lede—God, JB is a stud. Also a total stud is Scott Bort, our new photog. The shots he took of the wreckage were unbelievable. Wish they would’ve posted them online.)

And with that, I’ve run out of steam.


Posted by Broad3:50 AM
Thursday, December 20, 2007
EE wasn’t really messing with me

but it won’t let me re-upload the following after I played around with it in Photoshop. It’s one of the shots my sister the budding photographer was thinking about using for her Christmas cards this year—and she may have, but she hasn’t sent them out yet, proving once again that apples don’t fall far from trees. Behold:


Posted by Broad4:14 PM
Monday, December 17, 2007
Anyone need an extra guest for the holidays?

I promise not to drink up all the Hennessy you got on your shelf.

Whoever put it in my head that I really wanted to have lots and lots of family needs to go screw themselves, because with all the planning and this person can’t be around that person so we have to have separate celebrations and FUUUUUUUUUCK THAAAAAAAAT. Jesus. And I don’t even have kids, so I can’t even imagine how much of a suckfest THAT is. Seriously, I’m about ready to scrape whatever pennies I have and just get the hell out of dodge.

In other business, yes, we were pounded hard with snow, and some asshole gave me some sort of upper respiratory crap, so I’m drowning in my own sputum. How you like me now?


Posted by Broad4:12 AM
Thursday, December 28, 2006
Ok, ok! I’m here, already!

I know y’all saw the whole “suspended account” business, but that’s what happens when your evil overlordsout-of-state accounting department sends your paycheck late, and it doesn’t clear until the day after you were told it was going to clear. Add ot the fact that December is always a lean month, anyway, and you’ve once again got a broke broad.

The holidays however, have been completely lovely. Got some cool things by way of the man in red, including a brand new one of these bitches from my small brother; spent a good portion of the night/morning before Christmas Eve getting it all set up and cleaning out my contacts database. It’s amazing the obsolete shit you find in there after five years of not really paying attention. Anyway, my sister got me some cool stuff, too, including dish towels and new placemats (yeah, domestic stuff that I asked for. And!??) The only thing I have left to get is a new winter jacket from Mother, but finding one that fits over my giant ass and that I actually like has been a real drag.

Of course, the holidays would be nothing without family drama, and there was a goodly sum of it this year. None of it, remarkably, has anything to do with me. I KNOW, get out, right!?? That’s, like, a total first in a long time, but yeah, everything was very peaceful and happy. There was some missing of people I shouldn’t be missing, too, of course, but nothing that made me a soggy mess. All in all, a wonderful week.

The coolest thing of all, though: You know the 8-rugrat family I wrote about? People listened, and they literally went from less-than-nothing to overabundance like whoa. A church put them in a fully furnished house rent-free for a year, and the kids got a whole bunch of toys and clothing. And Ogger and his nefew are planning to get their vehicle up and running as early as this weekend. Good stuff, something I’ll always be kinda proud of.

Piet the staffer did a great job on the folo—it’s after the jump:


Posted by Broad6:45 AM
Tuesday, October 03, 2006
Two Aquarian peas in the pod, and you get this

While I’m off chasing the latest storm to hit NWI, I leave you with the comments my small brother just left, because I love his voice and think he should be blogging his own damn self, but why would he listen to his older, wiser (snerk) sister?

oh my gosh.  your brother is a complete fool. or a complete hero.  as *fate* would have it, last night on the way home a homeless black man (he would be white, well maybe in the next life) came up to me and asked me for food because his family got displaced by a fire.  he had this story that seemed sincere, asking for assistance because he had 2 kids, and that the fire had broke out and that he had tried all of the different shelters and they refused him because he had a house to live in.  I wasn’t too sure about his story except it made sense to me that if he had tried the different places out, they would possibly turn him away.  He asked for “cerial” only.  He said he would get cerial and milk because it would last longer if he did.

Me, being the freshly laid up guy with the rotten day thought *well, my finances aren’t THAT bad, and this guy DOES have 2 kids, and I know what it’s like to be displaced from MY home and what it feels like to rely on someone for HELP and how people in chicago will turn you away because they think you might be crooked and trying to cheat. and he WAS asking for CEREAL.

I took him to walgreens. he shook my hand, was one of the nicest guys in the world.  I bought him Cerial, milk (*thinking IM A SUCKER*) , and then microwavable items.

Then I started noticing something .. he was buying some of the most EXPENSIVE stuff in the store.  Huge .. like 6 or 7 dollars an item.  The price kept going up and going up and I had a train to catch.  Once he got about 3 days worth of items (TOILET PAPER, some fried chicken. Don’t black guys like Fried Chicken?  Well, I guess any family that is BROKE and has no FOOD could like fried chicken and little WHITE CASTLE MEALS TOO!).  Toilet paper, some crackers, and stuff like that.

no LIQUOR, no CIGARETTES, nothing that dosn’t seem out of the originary.  (Damn, I feel bad even questioning the resolve of this, but geez, $66.90 dollars later and I’m wondering if I got HAD).

So I took the guy up to the thing, payed 66$ for him.  Sure, you might think what a stupid idiot he is for doing that for that man.  What if he REALLY WAS DISPLACED.  We all need to WIPE our ASS, right (did I fail to mention he bought two huge rolls of toiletpaper)?

He’s about to leave with 4 bags of stuff from Walgreens (all I could think about was what a nice thing I was doing for this man!) and the guard there that monitors walgreens goes “who be buyin that for whom?”

i said, “im buying it for this guy.” he looks at the poor homeless man and says ‘i fiddin you ain’t gonna be sellin, eh?’ he goes “man, why you gots to be that way?” the guard goes “yea, man, i see it all the time.” and the guy, who didn’t offer any explaination of his situation with his family simply said “man, you ain’t THERE. you ain’t even THERE!” my anger swelled. so i turn to for an explaination and it dawned on me. you been either tricked, and you too STOOOPID to figure it out, or it just melts your heart so much to think that this is possible that you don’t want to admit it.

so I PROPOSE A USELESS, FAKE, IMAGINARY TOAST TO THIS MANS BUSINESS.

this poor poor man is an entrepenuer!  he is taking my items from my pocket, that i have worked just as hard working for in my construction business, and he’s opening his own business. he could be selling the items on the street, he could be providing for his family, but dang nammit he is using this for a GOOD PURPOSE. just think.  he is getting business SKILLS.  he is learning ECONOMICS.  he is even avoiding TAXES (like rich people) and he is pretty much making a SHITLOAD of cash.

*at whos expense*.

I offered out of the kindness of my heart.  and besides, he COULD indeed have a family to care for.  We never REALLY established that he did or didn’t, because I had a train to catch in 5 minutes.  On the way into Walgreens, he mentioned a name of his daughter, 6 years old (of course, her name was like 12 letters long, and he kept repeating it as if he was proud of being about to spell it).

it rained. it poored. i went away mad, and then felt agravated that i just spent $60 on a lesson i could have learned in high school.

my dad would kill me if he knew that i was stupid enough to participate in this learning experience.  the fact is, i can’t tell if it was real or not.  the guy could go sell my stuff for crack.  i once had a crack addiction, and i stole for it too.  anything for PLEASURE in the brain.

but then again, providing for your family by asking for help from someone elses’ kindness is not really about pleasure, but about SURVIVAL.  Yet, when we look at this man and examine his reasoning for his actions, we think that we should IMPAIR his ability to do what he does because it helps you sleep at night or because it someone reinforces our own emotional or moral wellbeing.

even if he was a crackhead, i am helping keep the economy running for a human being who is trying to survive.  call me mother theresa for crackheads, but another person who found out about being “HAD” at walgreens by the guard, might have KILLED him, riped out his organs and sauteed them in a pan.  (a delightful stirfry of homeless people sounds like it needs a DASH of salt or pepper to taste).

How quickly my generosity turns to ANGER. Turns to FRUSTRATION. Turns in on myself. and the punchline is.. it might be real. and I feel this way, simply because I offered to help.


Posted by Broad3:07 PM
Sunday, July 16, 2006
My BiL is a steaming asshole*
So the Gay Games Opening ceremony last night:

4 freaking hours


I mean, I know this is an historic event and I'm all about it, but come. ON. What did y'all do, just pick every LGBT thing you can think of and throw it against the wall to see if it would stick!?? Because there were about four dance routines too many up in there, and they all highlighted that one guy that you usually end up wanting to pick off with a blow dart. You know who I'm talking about: The one who skulks around doing a low-rent Michael Flatley impersonation without the tap? Yeah, that guy. I hate that guy, especially since it looked like he was wearing gray leopard muscle pants. And what was up with all the maudlin songs and readings!?? I thought it was supposed to be all about getting people happy and fired up and ready to compete, not jump off a cliff. Jeez. But aside from the overall length of the program, it really was exceptionally cool seeing all the athletes from around the world storm Soldier Field. Favorite moments: The lone athlete from Uganda (woo!), seeing Indiana better represented than The Baby and I expected, and then seeing the state of Illinois send maybe 20 people total and actually believing that was all there was until the very end, when Team Chicago exploded onto the field with at least a thousand people. Mad cool.

Meanwhile, I was on Garden Walk duty this weekend, where I found the two houses I want for my very own. One was a darling little cottage house in Gary's Miller section no more than 500 feet away from the lake, and the other this behemoth in Schererville that looks like something straight out of Tuscany with a garden that surrounds the property and extends halfway onto the cul-de-sac. At 6,500 square feet, the latter house would be a little too big for my tastes, though, so the Miller house would be just enough for me.
Posted by Broad2:11 PM
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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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