Yeah yeah, I know I've gotten out of the blogging groove. It's not intentional, exactly -- part of it is boredom, sort of, and another small part has to do with what The Universe sent me today:

Talked to my sister earlier, and she told me two things: 1) that our friend Opie and his darling little girlfriend are engaged, which is like the awesomest thing EVER, and 2) that a mutual, very heterosexual male acquaintance of ours (who's NOT this idiot) has been WEARING MASCARA, or at least has in the last 12 months. In public. What makes this uproariously funny is that if you were going to think about some dude wearing mascara, this guy would so. NOT. be. it. God, I hope I don't run into the poor bastard, because I'm not sure I'll be able to walk away without seriously making fun of him.

A year ago this coming Sunday, I talked about seeing my ex-boyfriend from college and how I was kind of all freaked out about it, right? Hadn't seen him in 12 years, figured he'd be at the event with his bitchy wife, etc.

Yeah, saw him today at a different event for his not-for-profit. He looks exactly the same, if a little heavier and quite a bit more bald. (Then again, the last time he saw ME, I was 45 pounds lighter with vibrant red hair. In fact, he hasn't seen me as a brunette since before college, since I started dating him the summer before I started, and even then, I was more blonde than brunette. Yikes.) But we talked for, like, 45 minutes before I had to split to make deadline, catching up on shit and whatnot. Turns out that on top of his stepson, he has two kids of his own, which is really funny since kids were never part of his plan. But his little girl is gorgeous, blonde hair and blue eyes with a little Dutchboy cut -- just darling. And his little brother who I loved so much is now 24 (!) and working in PR for a Chicago real estate firm. I was like, "So that means I can conceivably run into him at a bar!?? Man, that ain't right." And he offered me condolences about Dad, naturally, but what was really wild is when I filled him in about the bio-fam, he remembered the guy who pretended to be my biological father back in college. (Haven't told y'all about that one, have I? Remind me to later.) And then, in probably the best moment of the conversation, we were talking about how his little brother who I love so much was never much of a partyer in high school, but that his own weakness was girls and oh, what he didn't do for girls -- not for them, but for himself. Having been the casualty of this weakness, I smiled and nodded, "Yeah, yeah." There was totally no rancor to it or anything; it was just a really sweet moment, one that I never imagined would've happened since our final breakup took about a year. Anyway, we talked about keeping in touch, maybe getting together for lunch when we have the time.

There was something oddly comforting about talking to him. Not in like a "get back together" kind of way, but like talking to someone you haven't talked to in years and picking up like it was yesterday. And what was really cool was seeing him so Dad-like about his kids. I'm still smiling about it, actually.

If you haven't been reading Forksplit, you should, if for nothing else than her post on relationships: Lookit.

Now, I'm not going to say that my life in any way mirrors hers, because it doesn't; my childhood isn't nearly as nightmarish, not even close. But I know people whose are, and just the way she touches on the isolation I think we feel at various times or even all the time is the kind of stuff I wish I was emotionally capable of conveying. Just brilliant.

For those of you who aren't quite clear on the concept of how blogging works, let me explain something to you: I pay money each month to maintain this site. I also pay money to have it designed, and I pay for the domain name. Therefore, since I'm putting all this money into it, I get to talk about whatever I want. This is the way it is, and it's not changing.

Watched Comedy Central's roast of Jeff Foxworthy last night, and to whom should I be introduced but this hunk of man meat. So just to make sure I wasn't seeing things, I've been watching "The Blue Collar Comedy Tour Rides Again" off and on all day, and yep, it's official: Ron White is my new pretend celebrity boyfriend. He can make me go fetch him a Makers n' Coke anytime, I'll tell yew what. DAYum.

[UPDATE: Actually, my man drinks scotch, so perhaps I could fetch him a nice Glen Fiddich or Johnny Walker Blue Label and water. Dreeeeeaaaamy.]

The holidays were all in all pretty nice up in Chez Broad this year -- much better than last year, anyway, except when I got the news Christmas Day that TOG had to put down his self-proclaimed life's companion.

Mikiko was her show name, but TOG renamed her because he couldn't stand calling her that; she was so not a showdog. Instead, she was a crabby little ol' lady, not unlike her owner being a curmudgeonly ol' soul himself. She farted with abandon, snored louder than most guys and drooled. Man, did she drool. Drooled so much, she ruined a couple of TOG's mattresses ... well, actually, it was more like she licked them to death every time he would wash the sheets. None of that -- while hysterically funny, mind you -- encapsulated her overall demeanor, however, which TOG captured perfectly in his dry-as-dirt way:

Today was one of those days that went from 0-60 in, like, 10 minutes, which sounds like it would be oh-so-slow but really wasn't, because in my biz, that usually signifies that the shit has hit the fan and plans have changed. But then when they did -- in this case, I got a third story -- it all stopped and dragged ass. So basically, I spent the whole day discombobulated, and tomorrow's not going to be much better.

So after all this discombobulation, Mother calls to tell me about the wake she went to yesterday for this former neighbor of hers who used to take care of my grandpa when he got ill. Not surprisingly, she was on warp speed -- what can I say, funerals excite her -- but this time, it wasn't necessarily because of the funeral itself; seems that Mother got a taste of her own medicine at the hands of one of my aunts. Lemme break it all down: The aunt, the wife of Mother's oldest brother, was talking to this priest who used to reside at the church to which this woman belonged. Mother walked up to join them, and I guess said aunt decided to introduce Mother as "the sister-in-law who doesn't go to church." Now, if you've garnered anything from my rants about Mother, you know that that was the absolute LOWEST insult that could've been thrown at her outside of claiming she wasn't a virgin on her wedding night. (She was. BeLIEVE me, she was.) "I belonged to St. Tom's for 32 years and I want to register at St. Mary's but it's not like I can just get there just like thatya-da-ta-ya-da-ta-ya-da-ta ... " she rattled on the phone. But did she say that to her sister-in-law? Of course not. She hung her head in shame, and the priest put his hand on her shoulder to console her in her minute of crippling embarassment. Sure it was incredibly rude; this particular aunt caught the ass-end of my ire right before Dad's funeral, in fact, for saying something about how Mother needed to get his class ring and any other valuables Dad might've had on him so the funeral people won't steal them -- you know, because a) the funeral people would have use for Dad's college ring and b) Mother and I are complete idiots who wouldn't have thought to do that*. Doesn't mean I can't enjoy it when Mother gets to try on MY shoes when it happens. Anyway, to her credit, apparently she snapped out of it and gave a eulogy of sorts for the woman.

Meanwhile, I'm back to feeling all philosophical and weirded out by the TOG exchange, especially after watching Nip/Tuck last night. I mean, for as much shit as I allow him to get away with, I can't EVER fathom being turned on by such degradation. Guess I got THAT going for me.**

I came back from my assignment tonight and saw that my TV, which I left on A&E, appeared to be dead -- on, but just a black screen. (Yes, yes, I leave my TV on all day and night. You know, in case the boys need to watch it while I'm gone or asleep and shit.) Now, I know my TV, a 19' Admiral my folks bought me from Montgomery Ward eight years ago, has a bad tube (read: everything is red), but I was like, "God, not now, when I just got out from under my soul-crushing debt -- and certainly not when I'm into Nip/Tuck so hot and heavy." I flipped channels, but all my VHF channels are fine. And I know my bill's paid and current, so I called cable to see if something's up.

Long story short? I'm getting channels I'm not supposed to be getting with just plain ol' basic. Many, MANY more. The CSR didn't know how it was happening, that I just must be lucky. Ain't THAT some shit!? Of course now, one of two things is going to happen: The channels are either going to all go away and I'm going to be pissed without my Nip/Tuck, or they're going to start charging me for my good fortune, which I'll be pissed about because it's THEIR fuck-up, not mine. But hey! it's good while it lasts, right? Anything to stick it to Corporate America. And they're back on now, too.

Got to see the Northwest Indiana Symphony Chorus perform Handel's Messiah at St. Michael's Church in Schererville today, and here's something I don't get: How is it that one of the most beautiful oratorios ever written sung in a church didn't move me, but Griffith High School's band playing the opening sequence to "The Incredibles" had me in tears (and no, they didn't suck)!? I mean, hell, last week, the Lake Central Choralettes singing "The National Anthem" hit me in the chest, but Messiah? Nothing.

about the whole exchange with TOG? I'M the one who's feeling bad about it, as if I did something horribly wrong to upset the balance of the universe, and so I totally want to apologize and make sure everything's all right. I SHOULDN'T, however, because then I risk making things worse.

(she says, dropping to her knees like in those cell phone commercials, then beating her head on the floor.)

Tell me something: Why is it that I can't have just ONE DAY where I have no responsibilities other than what I want to do -- which, in this case, was just sitting around the house doing nothing but drinking Pepsi and watching TV after a morning story and a nice lunch with Poppy!?? I was in for the night when I finally decided to answer Mother's seventh call of the day; she called to tell me that she needed pills picked up. (Before anyone jumps on my shit gets the wrong idea, it's a medication that she didn't absolutely, 100 percent need until Sunday, and believe me, I know aaaaaall about her meds and what she needs immediately and what she doesn't.) Oops, I forgot, along with the appointment I made at Marathon to have them look at my tire, which got really low on Thanksgiving, but Ok, I'll get them, I said, to which she promptly starts going on about how she's soooo worried about my tire and how I need to get that looked at before winter sets in, wonkwonkwonkwonk, then asks if I would then pick her up a pack of Orbit gum along with her meds because she doesn't want my aunt to complain about her breath tomorrow when they go out for lunch. (I almost said "Obit." How's THAT for a Freudian slip!?). Well, I got caught up in AMW -- again, she doesn't need these pills until tomorrow -- so as I'm picking them up, I get my eighth call of the day. I call her back:

The fabric softener that smells like vanilla and lavender? Ohmigod, I'm in LOVE. Don't know how soft it makes my clothes, but it smells really good.

In the meantime, I should've realized the low-grade headache I had in my face the other day was a sign of things to come; my throat's sore and I'm sneezing like crazy. Crap. Because I needed to get some sort of creeping crud.

And for the curious, TOG is in fact alive and well, as is his libido, of which I REALLY hope to be taking advantage soonest ...

Hope it's a good one, yo.

It occurred to me that, in light of my finally getting my rocks offsome sweet, sweet lurve, you might be wondering what TOG said in defense of his retarded behavior the last time I saw him.

The answer likely will confound those who aren't fluent in TOGese. He said -- without provocation by me, mind you, as I was more concerned about him not driving buzzed up during a torrential downpour:

What is it about good sex that makes the world seem a little less brutal?

(sighs contentedly)

I am, however, a little bit sleepy. Still. So I bid you adieu and hot wet dreams until tomorrow.

I mean, Christ on a cracker, yo. What's a broad gotta do to get some action up in here!??! It's like, you can't still be pissed at me, right!?!? It was just a party, and now it's done. Can we PLEASE move on and get back to the hot monkey sex?!?! PLEASE!??! I'll beg if I gotta.

Oh, and then? My replacement cell phone lost a hinge, so now, I can't answer it like a normal person. So that makes TWO cell phones I have to replace. Sigh.

TOG is NOT the sociopath to which I referred. I mean, we might be upset with each other, but he isn't capable -- nor would he or could he ever be -- of the type of crazy I was talking about.

You know, in case y'all were wondering.

That is all.

[NOTE TO OGGER: Ze tire, it is done.]

Spent time at casa del Wad this eve, where we scarfed down Lincoln's carryout (a local chain that has the best sandwich-y type grub, and for cheap cheap cheap), drank beer and then trekked to the video game place for games that could possibly eliminate SoW's Godzilla obsession and Target for plants (for HIM, not me), then came back to scarf down Oreos and watch "Eddie Izzard: Dressed to Kill," of which I NEVER get tired. My God, the facial expressions! I was laughing hysterically, and Wad was like, "What is your problem?" Then he passed out asleep and I came home. The end.

As we were traipsing through Target looking at plants (and wireless phone connectors for me -- $60, man! The hell?), I filled him in on the rest of the great TOG debacle.

he called yesterday around 5:15-ish -- he and the boys were getting ready to open for the Nuge (that's Ted Nugent, for those not in the know), and he just wanted to see what was up and oh, he hadn't seen the article I did on the band and Roger Clyne (which I posted below for y'all), so could I send it to him via e-mail? Why, of COURSE I could, and did. So then he totally invited me and the hotties to the show when they come back 'round these parts in September. Oh, and to keep in touch.

We're going to be GROUPIES, yo! I'm SO Penny Lane for this bitch. Squeeeeeeeee! And I already know which boob shirt you're wearing to the show, Snidgey.

Ahem. Anyway.

I've managed to hold my resolve and not shoot my mouth off back at TOG because honestly, all that will do is piss him off even more. But it's been real. hard. at times.

If there's one thing I can appreciate about TOG, it's his candor. Doesn't make it hurt any less when I'm on the ass end of it, but ... I guess I admire the ability to self-preserve with such authority at the first sign of something uncomfortable (snickers weakly and shakes head). But I'm cool -- honestly, I'd much rather know than be ignored -- so we're just going to let it lie. It'll work itself out however it's supposed to.*

Let's talk instead about the really big news: Cousin Crackhead is supposedly going to the station tonight because she's "really anxious to clear her name," according to the detective. I'm sure she is (rolls eyes). Oh, and guess who I talked to yesterday during the parade I covered? That would be Boy Wonder, who was there with BFKAS and Snarling Cur. (shudders) B-dubs looks well and seemed to have his head about him; we talked mainly about Crazy Aunt and her troubles, which have become so out of control, I'm not even. He also talked about a little bit about a fight he had with his dad wherein his dad basically said he would never accept his lifestyle, and that made me sad for him. But we parted on good terms and he said he would stop by one day and we would have coffee or something.

First, the new skin: Huh!?!? Didn't I tell you it kicks ass!?!? My thanks to Christina at Bonafide Style for coming up with something fun as well as a little disturbing. It's like she could read my mind before I even knew what I wanted. Tres cool, yo.

Now, back to our regularly scheduled drama.

I have this coin that I got from the wife-beater talk: It's an advertisement for Waymon and his biz, but the coin reads -- and I carry it in my pocket like a talisman -- "I am ultimately responsible for the amount of chaos I allow into my life." I really WANT to follow this mantra, and lately, I'd been doing a pretty good job, what with the family thinking I'm the antiChrist and all. Things were peaceful. And then came early Monday morning and the one guy, and now, it's shot to hell.

Guess who didn't take the offer, even though she's got so much debt, she couldn't pay for a freakin' bankruptcy? Even better? Guess who had to call the buyer and not only refund his entire amount (which of course I would because, I mean, duh) but offer to refund him any expenses he may incur with the truck he had to rent? Thankfully, the buyer was tres understanding and said he shouldn't have to pay for it, but still ... Oh, and why didn't she take the offer? Well, because $1,181. 56 wouldn't even begin to put a dent in the money they're behind. Wouldn't be of aaaaaaany help at all, no sireee. No one can pay anything off with $1,100. Nuh-uhhh, they can't.

(beats head on desk)

Remember when the one guy and I had that big tsunami discussion? In theory, I guess he's right.

How horrible is it of me to NOT want to pick up Mother, even though she's buying dinner? I mean, I've spent the last, oh, I don't know, THREE DAYS with her in some fashion, and I REALLY kind of hate spending that much time with anyone unless I'm either fucking them or really, REALLY want to. I'm going to do it, of course, because I'm feeling rather martyr-ish and need to eat, but still, I'd just really kind of like to get my bike out and go for a ride.

Speaking of fucking, I left a message for the one guy today, something I very rarely do. It was even pleasant-sounding, which apparently also rarely happens. (I've been told by many that I sound bitchy even when I'm not intending to, which is a buzzkill, I guess.) Been dreaming about him quite a bit lately, which may be signifying a disturbance in the force of some sort. Chances are I won't hear from him right away -- unless, of course, he's seeing someone else. He's generally been good about letting me know that, if for nothing else than to allow me to keep my dignity. Heh.