Somewhere between Bell's Palsy and death
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
Her first hejab
The typical Islamic garments can be used for many purposes:

1. A last minute Halloween costume
2. Spying on anyone, anywhere
3. Getting an NYC Yellow Cab to take you anywhere in the 5 boroughs at any time of night or day
4. Attracting people who are stunned at the sight of an “Islamic” woman downing shots of tequila at Bay Ridge bars
5. Looking like either a total Islamic fundamentalist or a stupid American tourist terrified of being arrested in Tehran.

Nonetheless, the salesgirls treated me like “Full-size Barbie” and had a hilarious time helping me! What do people do that don’t have a 5th Avenue?

-- Mer, in a Myspace bulletin t-minus 48 hours before she leaves for Spring Break in Iran
Posted by Broad10:18 PM
Is it a good or bad thing when,

after unexpectedly seeing someone you still sort ofused to have feelings for, you have explosive diarrhea? I mean, is it coincidence or subconscience? Seriously.

Posted by Broad12:04 AM
Monday, March 26, 2007
Oh yeah, they’ve drunked the kool-aid

I got one guy telling me I’m a slave to the incumbent party because I don’t think getting out of Cal Twp. this election cycle is a good move. How cute.

But the good news? I don’t have to report for Fed jury duty tomorrow morning at the asscrack! That’s a beautiful thing.

Oh, and I went to my first fake wiener party yesterday with one of my editors and a whole bunch of my co-workers. I’m not sure whether they were impressed or horrified when I threw out such terms as “shnirty flanzhez” and “squelching."*

Posted by Broad1:23 AM
Thursday, March 08, 2007
And then the Drug Fairy came and made it all better!

(An epic about the sad little people who take precious oxygen from the rest of us)

Of course, that was before my experience with a guy who shall heretofore be known as “The Ghoul” and how said experience is testing my resolve at engaging (not engaging?) with crazy people. Because Lawd hep me, this guy is asking for a purple nurple of the nth degree. (Yes, my doctor did ply me full of samples to stave off what would’ve been my 19th nervous breakdown, thanks for asking.)

How I got hooked up with this jackass is irrelevant for our purposes, but the jist is I did a story on him and his fledgling company. If only I’d listened to my instincts about him, I may have been able to avert the following nonsense: You know how a person generally discovers all they need to know about someone else within the first 15 minutes of meeting them? The Ghoul, who’d placed dead last in a business competition—no doubt because of his sparkling personality, as you’ll see—was “pulling an Oscar” or whatever the term is for people who have to pretend they’ve lost gracefully. The fact that he looks like this except with mottled olive skin, mousy brown hair, no beard and both of his jug ears didn’t help his cause; think crypt keeper in a moderately priced suit, and you get the idea. Anyway, I spent about an hour with The Ghoul at a local chain bookstore listening to his shtick; he bought me a coffee and we went on our way, but not before he asked me if he can see the story before it’s published. Now, any self-respecting reporter knows that any legitimate publication doesn’t allow a subject’s prior approval on a story, but because the guy was sooooo freakin’ uptight, I told him I would send him the story after I filed it and then I would make changes only if there were factual errors.

Well, a few weeks pass between the interview and the story running, and in that time, The Ghoul must’ve called me at least once a week to find out when the story was running, which, you know, fine, but don’t expect me to pick up every time you call only to tell you that no, I don’t know when the fucking pub date is going to be, all right? But I file the story and then send it to him as promised. Of course he was all sunshine and puppies—his exact words were, “It’s real good”—but he of course had some changes, which he put in red for me in a return copy. One of those changes was to take out the name of the company that makes the product he’s trying to license. I didn’t understand why that would be an issue because the company does indeed make the product, so I left it in.

After the jump, you’ll see how it all goes terribly, terribly wrong.

Posted by Broad10:16 PM
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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