You should have sex at the library You are somewhat voyeuristic, and are the intellectual type. The library offers some seclusion (at least in the periodical section) and you never know what hottie is there with the same idea as you. Take this quiz at QuizUniverse.com

[Ganked from L'il Sheri]

So.

Yep yep, that's right, me mackin' with a dude in public. But before y'all get titillated and shit, there's a story behind it -- a sickeningly sweet, darling story, but a story nonetheless.

It was Mer's last night before returning to NYC, and after we'd semi-recovered from Tuesday night's terrible, horrible nightmare (which I'll share the whole visit shortly, once I get it sorted out in my head), we decided we were going to Johnny's Tap, the only real, true tavern in the town where we spent our formative years; it's like, we've been alive 36 years and we'd never gone to the place. So we go, and it's pretty much like we imagined it -- a bunch of guys (and one skanky broad) sitting around the bar after a long day of work -- except it was really, really tidy, even the bathrooms. We sit down and order a couple beers, and this guy comes up to us to ask if we had any particular preference for what he was going to play in the jukebox. I looked at him, and I said "[name redacted since we didn't talk about the blog]." He looked at me, and it took him a couple seconds before he said, "[Broad]," and I was like, "How the hell are you!??" We hugged, and I reintroduced him to Mer, who he didn't remember because she'd left the summer before high school. So we sat there and rapped about the people we all knew, and he said another couple guys we had in common hang out there, too (one I only knew by sight, and the other I was in love with in 8th grade). Then the one I didn't know walked in and joined us, and can I just say he's pretty hot. Reminds me of Nic Cage in a way. But before he got there, the first guy brought up what our connection was: I was the first girl he ever kissed, standing by our bikes behind the town library.

After a couple hours of rapping and (dare I say) the boys flirting with us, Nic Cage said he needed to get going, and Mer was starving, so we all bid farewell, but not before I said, "We have to get a picture of [redacted] and I to commemorate the occasion, because this is too funny." Behold:

There maybe some wacky things going on while I make some changes to the backend (heh backend).  Thank you for your patience.

Mel

Mer hasn't even touched down yet, and already Mother is making this a giant headache for me. Sigh.

Since I couldn't possibly make it up on a good day, y'all want to hear the latest about DtR!?? Of COURSE you do.

My assignment yesterday was to cover this one fire department that was giving a little boy a whole bunch of gifts to lift his spirits after he'd been bitten by a dog, so I'm sitting there with the chief and his crew getting backround on the sitch when I asked the little boy's name. The chief said "so and so." I thought, "Huh. That's DtR's last name, and we're in the area where DtR lived," so I asked what street they live on. The chief said, "such and such," so I asked if the boy's mother's name is Whosit and, well, whaddya know!?? I was like, holy shit, I haven't seen these people since DtR and I broke up 15 years ago, how weird is THIS going to be, right?

Not one bit, oddly enough. The little boy, who's a little doll, went out to talk to the firemen, and I walked up to Whosit and said "Fucking Whosit," and she squealed and was like, "OhmiGOD! How ARE you!?? Blahblahblahblahblah!" And so after the firemen left, she, her husband and I shot the breeze for awhile. Hope y'all are sitting down, because here's the big news: DtR's married again. Got himself a youngin' this time -- she's 23 to his going-to-be-39 -- and, according to Whosit, may have been divorced about an hour before he got remarried again. Also, while she loves her brother, he's a lying sack.

No. Get out. Imagine my sur-prise. (yawn)

So I told her before I left that mark my words, he's going to read my story, and I'm going to have an e-mail sitting in my box by time I get out of bed.

Um, did y'all hear about this!?? Lookit SC told me about it a little while ago.

So where the hell was I that I didn't even know another tsunami wiped out a bunch more people!??

Because it looks like our pal Mer will be coming in much sooner than we thought. As in, this Thursday iff'n she can get a reasonably priced ticket.

My heart is a-twitter with anticipation. Oh, the hijinks we will have. And the alcohol we will drink.

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.

Well, the opening ceremonies, anyway -- B-Dubs just talked me into going with him and The Baby. The after-party is all them, however, as 1) I'm not gay, and 2) I'm not young and in possession of the stamina needed to stay out until 6 a.m. dancing to techno anymore. And in order to avoid a repeat of last time, we have a plan so that I'll get to take my leave.

So to the wonderful people who're going to Ogmeet this evening, I extend my regrets but promise that I'll be around for the October hookup no matter what. Promise.

Probably not since I just discovered I even have a sick, sick love of him after the dream I had last night. In the dream, he was on some sort of special mission -- it wasn't 24 or anything -- and he was with a wife, but he had a really hot bed scene with a younger chick (played by 24 daughter Elisha Cuthbert, strangely, though I think she's freakin' hot, dark eyebrows be damned). It ended up where the two of them had to say "goodbye" because of the wife, but Elisha didn't want to let go, yadayadayada. And there was a cruise ship (of sorts), grocery store and all these people I know crammed in a room on the ship involved. I was bummed when the alarm went off.

PS And now I have the chorus to a song I've never heard in my head. Too bad I'm not a musician anymore.

Got 'em up about a month and a half ago in an antiques store when I went down to Lowell and my assignment got rained out:

Best part? They're vintage Ray-Bans. Even better? Got 'em for $8 freakin' bucks, man! Tara's Sean laughed at me when I wore them to my boss' 4th party, but I think they're cool. And the pic is me (natch) with The Baby being retarded at Pride. So far, it's the only one where I think we look even remotely alike. As usual, no making fun of my ginormous head and 25 chins.

So tonight's assignment had me at court awaiting the ruling of this guy who amassed 278 charges of animal neglect -- they weren't ALL animal neglect; many of them were code violations, but still -- and I ended up aiding and abetting two bonafide tweakers that amazingly enough aren't related to me. You might be wondering how the hell I ended up doing that. Well, allow me to start by saying that although I realize a courtroom is not the best place to see society's finest, this particular courtroom was, like, whoa with the dregs. And because the courtroom is so small, about 50 of them were standing outside waiting to be called in. I was talking to another completely cracked-out broad who of course has this juicy story to tell me about how the law won't give her back her kids (I'm guessing it's ultimately because she's a crackhead, but I got only bits and pieces of the story since she's now slightly agoraphobic after her car accident and needed some Xanax real bad) when these two other women kept coming in and out of the courtroom looking for a phone. I lent them mine. The story went that they needed to go back to the one's dad's house to cash a check at a bar for the fine the one was going to have to pay for whatever her charge was, which I kinda wondered about since the judge usually gives people between 30 and 60 days to come up with the scratch, but whatever. So the one asked me if I would take her to the old man's house so the other one wouldn't get nailed for failure to appear, and since I had at least an hour to kill before I'd get to talk to who I needed, I said all right.

So the whole car ride, the woman, who was way skinny, yapyapyapYAPPED nonstop about this, that and the other between thanking me profusely and saying my name over and over so she wouldn't forget it. Among the things she told me: She's bipolar, and that's why she can't pass the test to get her license; her friend back at the courtroom just got diagnosed with breast cancer after being hospitalized with an infection for having the wrong false teeth given to her (wha? Yeah, that's what I thought.); and that her friend's dad is a former city mucky-muck who had a stroke and that she and the daughter are taking care of him. Anyway, we get to the old man's crib, a shithole flophouse above the ol' family store complete with all kinds of detritus, and the woman has him write a check for $100, but then chides him for writing it out of an account that has his and his other daughter's name on it. Half-naked and a whole lot disoriented, the poor bastard writes then another check while telling me of how he used to be a city mucky-muck. I then take her to a bar to cash the check, and then back to the courthouse, where she met back up the daughter. When I told them I couldn't give them a ride, they walked off across the street and suckered some other guy. This was after she told me mucky-muck's daughter was too weak to walk from the wrong false teeth infection or the cancer or whatever.

And so I thought to myself, are all drug addicts the same? Do they all clamor desperately for attention, good or bad? Because these two were no different than Crackhead.

-- Poppy, continuing her rant about an acquaintance's child-rearing skills.

Or even if it does just sorta, we wear it because it's cool. Below, the newest edition to my concert shirt collection (and no laughing at my gigantic head):

What Your Soul Really Looks Like

You are a warm hearted and open minded person. It's easy for you to forgive and forget. You are a grounded person, but you also leave room for imagination and dreams. Your feet may be on the ground, but you're head is in the clouds. You believe that people see you for how you are, not how you look. But deep down, you know that's not exactly true. Your near future is likely to be filled with great successes and accomplishments. You just need to figure out how to get there. For you, love is all about caring and comfort. You couldn't fall in love with someone you didn't trust.

[Ganked from L'il Sheri]