THAT’S Paul Stanley, y’all:



I’ll take Gene—plastic surgery or not—because that poor bastard looks like Jackie Mason in a cheap Cher wig.

Not sure which I’m more disturbed by—that someone is using his junk to procreate, or that his hair looks frighteningly like mine in this picture. And TELL me he’s not wearing at LEAST mascara, if not false eyelashes (of which mine are still languishing at the bottom of my purse from last weekend. Suppose I should get them out of there.) As always, there’s just no accounting for taste sometimes.

So my one oldest and dearest e-mails me excitedly yesterday all about our, get this, 20-year high school reunion. At first I was kinda like, “Ew, I’m in touch with all the people I want to be in touch with from high school, thankyew,” but now that I’ve been looking at the Web site the committee’s set up, I’m thinking there are some comedic possibilities that’ll be too good to pass up. And anyways, my pal promised he would stay at Chez Broad and dry-hump me until my leg’s raw, and really, how could I possibly turn THAT down?

From our ol’ pal and self-proclaimed BBW Kaffy:

Ok, so as Girlie, Curlie and Li’l Holly and I were standing at the ghe-TTO flea market waiting for our rib tibs, a seagull shit on my head.

I’ve heard somewhere that it’s supposed to be good luck when that happens, but so far, the only thing lucky about it was that Girlie had baby wipes on her.

No, no no, I did NOT disappear in a fit of pique or anything quite as dramatic—just a quiet week with nothing to bitch aboutshare with the neenerbunny. (Well, there’s ONE thing, but my sister would disown me if I did, and anyway it’s not really my story to share. It’s a good’un, though, holy shit.) This weekend has some potential for ridiculousness, however: The ladies and I have a couple engagements this evening that could either shake out as muy fun or absolute disasters, which in turn will make for excellent sharing, so stay tuned. As for my leetle outburst Monday, I get really angry when my integrity or how I “do business” or whatever is questioned by people who I count among my core crew. I mean, if you gotta question it after this long, that says more about you than it does me.

The edict on politics still stands, though.

yeah, I would admit that I’m wrong. But if you think so little of me that you have to ask? I’ll be damned if I’m going to do it now.

On another note, hear ye, hear ye: Until I decide otherwise, there will be no political talk here in Chez Broad by anyone; the past few times I’ve veered into social comment, there have been unwanted turns that have really pissed me off, and despite what anyone thinks about me or my demeanor, I don’t enjoy being pissed off. I also don’t give a shit about who you want as president, about the a-hole conservatives or the limp-dicked liberals, about what party wrote the laws and who’s administering them, NONE OF IT. And I sure as hell don’t want to hear how I SHOULD care, so unless you want me to rip off an arm and shit in the socket, NO POLITICS.

I don’t usually read Feministing, but one of the jezzes pointed to this post in a discussion: Lookit.

Scared to look? Then hows about a highlight:

I just found out my 20-something’s gone. He moved away for a job and to be closer to family, so of course I’m happy for him because that’s what he wanted, but it’s just ... wow, he’s gone. Booooooooooo.

In other news, my cholesterol’s down 30 points and my birthmark won’t ever turn malignant.

the SNL sketch with Amy Poehler, Kristen Wiig (I think), guest star Shia LeBeouf (who also happens to be my new pretend celebrity boyfriend) and the rest of male cast where Amy and Kristen are in a nice restaurant, and at every table there’s men, only the men have these dopey expressions? And then, when the women—completely enamored with all of them—wonder what they’re thinking, you hear them thinking “Doy da doy doy doy doy doy doy doy doy doy doy doooooooyyyyy!” Ohmigod, the LOOKS on their faces! I about PEED myself laughing. See, that’s the kind of thing my one oldest and dearest does to me all the time: We’ll be chillin’ and then I’ll go to the can or get us something to drink, and I when I come back he’s there with one of those exact expressions on his face, and I can’t breathe because I’m laughing so hard. Last time he was in the NWI, I was trapped in my bathroom for, like, 15, 20 minutes because he was sitting on my couch with that look. We weren’t even stoned, and I was just dying. I hope someone puts that sketch up on youtube so I can post it or send it out or something.

In other news, I hemmed my first pair of pants tonight, and not just with hem tape. Ima make me a good wife someday and shit.

[UPDATE: I FOUND IT! Lookit. I’m telling you, pure, unadulterated GENIUS!]

How have this woman’s innards just NOT fallen out her body, is what I want to know.

[Courtesy (or not) of Jez]

Why is it that when I get a 10-cent coupon off 10 gallons of gas, that equals $1 off, but when gas goes up 10 cents and I put in 15 gallons, I pay $5 more than the last fucking time I had to fill up!?? Yeah, that was without the coupon, but still, the hell!?? Or am I just that retarded?

Um, Hoosiers from the South? Yeah, hi. Would you mind keeping your stupid, uninformed pieholes shut about Lake County, a place you’ve no doubt never spent any time in because you still think Al Capone rules the roost from the grave!?? Appreciate it much!

Kisses!

Broad

Or maybe it was the too-much-beer-and-tuna-Subway combo, because I felt like shit on toast all day, exacerbated by the fact that I had to be in court at 9 a.m. for a story. It’s not like I was even out that late, but I NEVER sleep well after I’ve had more than I should, so it wouldn’t have mattered. Not even a mid-afternoon nap snapped me out of it. Gross.

So, Wad’s and my visit was engrossing as always: We drank, we shared, we discussed at length my compulsion to always be right, I may have cried a little—you know, the usual. All right, well, not the USUAL usual, but it’s a discussion we’ve had before and one that’s sort of pertinent for me right now. As someone who’s been on the ass-end of that compulsion so many times we’ve lost count, Wad has a valid take. Where we disagree is on the point of compromise and how it should factor into the equation—he maintains that even if you know you’re so right, a 90-degree angle ain’t got nothing on you, suck it up for the good of the friendship/relationship and apologize from the bottom of your heart, because being right isn’t worth the loss, just let the shit go already, etc. I, on the other hand, think that if two people are wrong, they both need to acknowledge their individual wrongness and if it can be worked on, work on it from there.

I don’t think he’s wrong at all, and I admit that I do probably need to pick my dealbreakers more thoughtfully than I do sometimes. But see, when you start taking it for the team no matter what in a relationship or friendship, one of two things is bound to happen, if not both—1) the person will eventually lose all respect for you, and 2) you’re going to start resenting the ever-loving hell out of them. I know this because I’ve done it time and time again, and it never turns out any different. Not once. As such, my knowing when to hold and fold IS skewed because of it. Still, if I’m ever going to rid of my “I’m Responsible for Global Warming"(TM) complex, I have to relearn to stand my ground; it’s not something I do easily anymore, and I miss that about myself.

It’s now time for me to die, so no poignant ending. But I’m glad he and I talked.

If someone can find me at least one Healing Garden Green Teatheraphy Meditation Tea Candle, you would be so awesomely rewarded, you don’t even know. I fired up the last of mine up tonight, and I’m dying because I LOOOOVED the smell, and now it seems that Healing Garden/Coty doesn’t make it anymore. Please! There’s gotta be some left SOMEwhere!

Nothing especially new over here: Cleaned off my desk for the first time since forever, even throwing some Old English on it, and I had a great political story yesterday that didn’t make me want to shoot myself. Eight Belles, however, made me want to cry; that poor, poor baby. Thankfully, I didn’t hear anything about it before I left the OTB (I was doing a story on Derby Day in NWI), or I’d have been horrified on top of weirded out over being there, as the OTB is NOT my turf. Oh, and I can now pull both the front and sides of my hair into a pony-knot on top of my head, which I haven’t been able to do since college, but I won’t be showing that until I get my roots did.

I’ll be having drinks with Herr Wadensteiner tomorrow provided I don’t have to work, though, so I’m sure there’ll be something interesting out of THAT mess. We have mucho catching up to do.

I just might be inspired to fire up the ol’ iPod and get out and take a walk, like, RIGHT NOW.

Life is good, yo.