-- Poppy, continuing her rant about an acquaintance's child-rearing
<
-- Poppy, about one of her friends who hasn't quite mastered the whole potty training thing for neither man nor beast
<
-- Mer, on scuba diving
<
Me: With a boo-kay of flowers and a heart-shaped box of candy.
TOG: And the cops. For stalking.
-- The one guy on his sick, sick love for Marg Helgenberger
Wait ... what!??
<
-- Snidgey as we left the IHSDTA Dance competition I covered this afternoon
<
My new favorite word today: Assbag.
But I shall regale you with my tale tomorrow, for I am tired and full of fantastic Mexican food from El Taco Real. My GOD, thas some good eatin'.
<
-- Mer
Talked to her a bit ago, and yes, she seems to have calmed down a bit (after calling off sick -- if asked, she's telling her boss she had explosive diarrhea, and ain't no WAY you can teach with that shit, no pun intended). Wouldn't go so far as to say she's completely together yet, but after talking to her some more (when she's not completely outraged which, though funny, is hard), I understand better where she's coming from. When she says that this relationship is the best one she's ever had, she's literally not kidding. (I mean, when Zook is considered a catch? Please.) To put a finer point on it, for example, this is a woman who's used to her former mouthbreathers calling her constantly, and not in the good way. So talk about not knowing what to do when something you wouldn't know if it bit you in the ass just took a huge chunk.
He did call tonight, though she didn't talk to him; she's decided to be a bit, ahem, "unavailable" this weekend, which I don't necessarily think is the best way to handle it, but whatever. He called, and that's the main thing.
<
I submit to you a dilemma posed by Mer, who needs relationship advice and has asked me to ask my normal, functioning friends their take, but first, did y'all see American Idol tonight? Did you see the freakshow at the very end, the one with the blonde Pippi Longstocking wig and Dorothy dress? That's the one I interviewed. And how about the one who looked like Tina Turner!?? Saw her live -- or was that a dude!?? Because s/he sure looked like one on stage. And I vaguely remember seeing the Statue of Liberty guy, too, but at that point, I was probably just too bitter at being up at 4:30 a.m. in the rain and cold.
And now, on to our dilemma.
Suppose you've been dating this guy for five weeks, and everything's been going swimmingly, better than any relationship in which you've ever been involved, bar none. You're going to spend the weekend with him like you've been doing for the previous four weeks, but you've promised one of your friends that you'd go out with her at some point over the weekend. Guy says, "Have fun," and you go out with your friend. As you and your friend are wrapping up the evening, you call guy and tell him you're on your way back to his crib to which he replies, "Cool, see you when you get here." But when you get there, you ring his buzzer, and he doesn't answer ... for at least a half hour, and you're standing in the snow and cold. Seething and not a little drunk, you catch a cab back to your own crib.
<
-- Mer on eating Greek food with her new boyfriend.
<
--Poppy, laughing at my unfortunate evening
<
A joke for me this morning:
The monkey replies, "Smokin' a joint, come up and have some."
So the lizard climbs up the tree, sits next to the monkey, and they smoke a few joints.
After a while the lizard says his mouth is 'dry' and he's going to the river to get a drink. The lizard climbs down the tree and staggers over to the river to get a drink of water, but he is so stoned, he leans over too far and falls into the river. A crocodile sees this, swims over to the lizard and helps him to the side. Then he asks the lizard, "What's the matter with you?" The lizard explains to the crocodile that he was sitting up in a tree with a monkey smoking pot, got too stoned and then fell into the river while taking a drink.
The crocodile says he has to check this out, and wanders off into the jungle. He finds the tree where the monkey is sitting finishing up a joint. The crocodile yells up to the monkey and says "Hey!"
The monkey looks down and says:
<
This sucks, I'm going to take some Xanax and drool.
-- Mer on online dating
<
was the notion to toss her out of the car by the end of the day yesterday.
See, I HAD the chance to go with Poppy to see the Bears play, but Mother had been DYING to go to Chicago to look for a new purse. Originally, we were supposed to go to Heinous Mark-up for this endeavor, but I talked her out of that by telling her she wouldn't get out of there without spending at least $250, and we all know how freaked out about money she is. So what does she do? She goes and buys a Francesco Biasia for $278. It's her money, so whatever, and it IS a really nice bag. And most of the day was all right, because she was excited to go and in a fairly decent mood, plus I got to pop into Lush and grab me another Buffy and Butterball. But still, after awhile, it was like, "All right, I've seen you HOW MANY DAYS THIS WEEK? You're on my nerves -- especially since it never fails that you manage to somehow bring up Dad's death or Uncle Joe's death in some way, shape or form." Yes, everyone, she's grieving. She's been grieving for FOUR FREAKING YEARS NOW. She will NEVER STOP GRIEVING, of that I can be sure. YOU try it and see how much of it you can stand. Besides, I've never been to a Bears game, and that would've been interesting, especially if we'd have run into TOG.
Speaking of, I haven't talked about him lately, because there hasn't been anything to tell. I haven't seen him since he popped in a couple months ago. Not sure why; he doesn't usually stay a stranger this long. I would hate to think that the last thing he ever said to me was, "Have fun with your bike," though.
Meanwhile, true to NWI form, the weather has fallen straight into the shitter, raining all day and windy, windy, windy. The forecast for tomorrow? About the same. Welcome to fall.
<
[Tremendous brunettes at the Park West]
For those of you who believe that animals can tell who's cool and who isn't, it seems my boys have picked out my new boyfriend: Snidge's baby bro, who came up with her for the Mike Doughty show this weekend. As it happens usually, Rube is standoffish and glares like an insolent teen at everyone, while the Ween just hides, not to be seen unless running back under the bed after eating or using the can. But with Rlee? Rube was rubbing up against him like they were best pals, while Ween let him touch him. (Ween also nudged Snidge to pet her during the night, but he knows her well enough now.)
It was another stellar visit this weekend. The Snidge family got in about 10-ish Friday night, so what we do? Head to the land of the Hobartians so that Rlee could experience firsthand what Snidge has been telling him about for months. And it didn't fail to disappoint, either, as it never does: The people turning to stare at you as you walk in the bar because you're not indigenous to them thar parts; the near 6-hillbilly brawl out front of Rosie O'Grady's during heavy metal night; the teenagers walking around well after curfew; Benny coming up and calling me his "Irish Rose," also kissing me one too many times. Yep, all there. And he LOVED it. Also, he loved the Vodka and Red Bulls he was tossing back.
After a vile, greasy breakfast at the Flying J in Lake Station, we got back to the crib, where after a mere four hours of rest I was out the door to an early muni meeting. (The message I left on my editor's voicemail: "My mellow has been harshed," followed by something completely unintelligible about that assignment and the second one I was headed to that wouldn't have to be written up for daily unless the retirees started setting the union hall on fire in protest. Luckily, it didn't happen, because I'm getting too old for that shit.) Meanwhile, Snidge and Rlee headed off to Chicago for some tooling around and shopping, so that gave me the perfect opportunity to come home for a four-hour nap. (Don't judge me.) Both showed great restraint with their purchases, except Snidge bought this stuff from Lush that looks like olive drab gelatin, and I was quite disturbed. (Had I known there was going to a trip to Lush, I'd have told her to get me another bar of Buffy the Buttskin Slayer and another Butterball, but that's all right.) I got up, they got back, we all changed clothes and headed back downtown for the show, starting with a lovely dinner at my favorite tapas joint.
If y'all have never been to the Park West for a show, I'd highly recommend it, because it's a great setting, and one that suited my pretend rockstar boyfriend well, because he ROCKED. OUR. SOCKS. (Yes, pheNOMenal, my friend. Thank you for turning Snidgey on to him.) Opened with "Tremendous Brunettes" and stayed tight the whole show. He did this montage of "It's Raining Men" and "Firetruck" that included the riff from "Circles," but he flatly refused to perform it outright, which was cool. It's just too bad that the crowd didn't seem to be into it as much as they should've, because Doughty's got a great stage presence. Stupid trixies. Anyway, one of his encores? Kenny Rogers' "The Gambler."
After we got out of the show, Snidge had a hankering for sushi, so we popped into the sushi joint next door for some tempura and California rolls, which were all right according to them, but not as good as some of the M-Town places. Since I'm not a huge sushi connoisseur, I had no reference point as to what's good or not, but the joint DID play techno music, which was kind of funny. Then it was onward home, but not before searching through the ghetto for a place that Snidge could use the toilet for the 15th time. (We ended up at a McDonald's on the state line where the toilets were in a trailer outside. At that point, she didn't care.)
And with that, notable quotables after the jump: Wait ... what!??
<
-- Mer on her first attempt at online
<
Her: Yeah, she looks like the good teacher type when she's stumbling around drunk, telling her husband to 'wipe it off so she can suck it.'
<
-- Him discussing my panties during dinner at a Mexican restaurant.
<
Me: No. There's no earthly reason why assholes have to gape.
-- Me and him discussing the relative merits of this one Web site that I'm SURE he'll mention because he wants me to have that kind of crap coming here.
<
"Of course, no one will know until the body starts to smell, and there I'll be, watching all of Rebecca's favorite sitcoms. Then, when they're dragging her off in a straightjacket, she'll say 'Meridith's not going to like this! She'd tell you this is just like Communism!'"
<
--Mer on why she can't go the teachers' end-of-the-year party anymore.
Incidentally, she was telling me that their IS in fact a way to make a different number come up on caller ID using a cell phone, because her creepy, girl-beating ex did it to her several times after she got the restraining order on him.
<
-- Mer on her upcoming trip to the Balkans, where she will be taking a class in intermediate Serbian at the University of Belgrade Wait ... what!??
<
It seems that the wisdom of The Mighty Wad is good and true: A friend of mine (who has asked not to be named for our purposes here) to whom I described some of his techniques has apparently used them on her loaver to excellent success.
Perhaps we can persude the Wad to impart with more of his sekrets ...
<
Because THAT won't attract the spammer dicks or anything.
So yeah, pretty provocative title, right!?! Well, tonight was cheap beer night at the Amarillo Roadkill, a Monday-evening tradition the Wad and I are trying to establish with some sort of regularity, and while I've been sworn to secrecy as to the nature of our conversations amid the sanctuary of the Roadkill and authorized to use the above in title only, it's NOT -- I repeat, NOT -- what it looks like. (I mean, for the love of God, people. It's the Wad, fer chrissake.) Rather, think of it as an inside joke that wouldn't be funny to anyone unless you were there at the time. It's a shame, however, that I've been sworn to secrecy, because tonight, the Wad reminded me of why it is I wish he were my real baby brother. Again, I know I'm not being specific, but trust me when I say that he amazed me with his insight, especially when it comes to the SoW. (For those of you not familiar with the Wad lexicon, that would be "Spawn of Wad.")
Anyway, so the latest in Chez Broad other than my fer-real crackhead cousin showing up on my doorstep last week? Notta lotta, but I suppose that's a good one to share, right? Yeah, I get home from a drive, and I'm walking out of the can half-nekkid when my buzzer goes off. I ask who it is, and she announces herself, and I'm like, "Who!?!" because it's like, why the hell would she be at MY crib. So I peek out the front window and sure enough, there she was, looking healthier than the last time I saw her, but still, my crackhead cousin was on my doorstep -- how does one handle that!?! If you're me, you let her up for a couple hours, allow her to fix a couple Jim Beams and Pepsi and hope that the time she spent in jail actually sunk into her head like she swears it has (not to mention check the ring thingy in your can that holds all your precious jewelry to make sure she hasn't horked anything). Of course, if your other cousin is correct, all the stuff the crackhead says about jail fundamentally changing her is a load of crap and she was probably sucking the glass dick in the can during the three or four times she went in there, but you know, you keep hoping she would at least have the sense to not bring that crap into your crib. Besides, it's not like I can prove that she was or wasn't because allegedly, crack doesn't smell.
But what really scares me even moreso than the fact that she may have brought wack crack into the crib is her mad lying skillz; like the Boy Wonder, she's one of those that concocts the exact blend of truth and bullshit to get away with just about anything, except she's MUCH better at it than he is. That's what scares me the most. Good thing I used my head and, save for the family stuff that I thought her dad, my cool uncle, should know, I kept my yap shut about the personal stuff.
<
A close friend of mine (who shall remain nameless for our purposes here) was dating this dude, and dude turned out to be BatShitCrazy -- like, as in, she had a law enforcement pal look up the deets on this guy to find that dude had stalking and battery charges all over the Midwest, right!?!? Yeah, so after blowing him off all weekend, he calls her earlier this week to give her the guilt about not wanting anything to do with his sorry ass, and what does he do? The ol' suicide bit, which she didn't buy into, obviously, because this is a conversation she had with another one of her friends about it:
Her pal: You should have said, “man you better get some sleep, too then!”
To which we laaaaaaaaughed and laaaaaaaughed ...
Now, I've had people in my day try to pull that with me -- one a particularly odious little troll who had pretty bad renal disease, the others a close friend from high school and Mother (!) -- and I used to get all freaked out about it; I mean, they say you can't tell when someone's really serious about doing it, so you shouldn't take any chances.
Yeah, well, in my experience*, you CAN tell when someone's not serious about it. Know how? When THEY'RE TRYING TO GUILT YOU INTO TALKING THEM OUT OF IT, that's how. There's a reason people who're grieving suicide victims say they never saw it coming -- because the victim never let on that they were going to do it. If you've got someone flaunting it your face, they got problems, all right, but the will to live ain't one of them. Wait ... what!??
<
pb (opie)
I'm just not buying "witty," though. Smartass? You betcha. But "witty" to me implies someone erudite and suave, and last time I checked, I ain't neither of them no how.
<
No, seriously. It's for a friend who recently had a good chunk of his leg removed because of diabetes. Although personally, I rather enjoy "Florence."
The hospital staff has been pretty funny. A lot of the time in front of patients and visitors, they refer to "residual limbs." However in the heat of reading treatment plans to each other in hallways, they use "stump" as in "He'll be getting his stump shrinker next week."
WS says he can't lie there groaning on the mat in physical therapy muttering, "Come on, Stumpy" or "Come on, [bleep].]" I guess. I suggested Elvis, but this didn't resonate. He said that a proper name would be fine, though, and yes, he'd want a male's. "Florence would be a move in the wrong direction," he said.
He has brought this up several times, so I hope you'll all pitch in. Third prize is his description of the stump shrinker.
So anyway, you'd think this would be an easy thing for me since I tend to give nicknames to everyone and everything, but alas, since I've established no personal intimacy with said stump, I'm not feeling it. Therefore, I leave it to you to cut my dilemna down to size.
<
So, when Wad and I were solving the world's problems last night, we got on to the subject of needing lots of space in order to remain sane. Now, I've made it no secret that despite my charming and bubbly personality, I'm a rather solitary creature at heart; and Wad concurred that a lot of space does a body good. The thing is, we're both only children (yes, I know, but I was raised as one, and as far as I'm concerned, that's the way it's going to stay, boyo), so it got me to thinking: Does being raised as an only child make someone more apt to want to remain solitary? I mean, the one guy is an only child, too, and he's about as big a loner as we come. Then again, Dad was a solitary creature, and he had two sisters.
Any thoughts, y'all?
<
Some of y'all might remember that I was having some Southern-fried company this weekend, right? You know, to come up and catch my favorite local band do its thing? Well, I can safely report that a good time was had by all.
Actually no, scratch that: We had a pheNOMenal time. Holy shit, man.
Outside of their stories, I really don't have that much to add. I mean, Wad and I caught up on life in the four or so years we weren't talking, and I got to drink a ton, which I haven't done in a long while. Oh, and can I tell you Bite the Lime was ON FIRE? Too bad we didn't get to STAY for their whole set since a certain Wad got bored. (cough) And the one guy was even there, looking mighty fine -- the girls said so, even!
My only complaint? It seems that everyone took pictures of each others boobs and posted them, but no one took a picture of mine, and mine are the biggest. I feel strangely left out by that. (Of course, there was an abundance of shots of my big ol' ass and gargantuan head, but that's another story. My hair was fantastic, though.)
I too am going to set up a yahoo! album for everyone to see, but I'll close for now with how much fun I had and how much I'm glad everyone came out. Some real bonds were made that night. (Sniff, sniff!)
P.S. For Og's edification: Beer + 3 shots takillya + two weak margaritas + chicken burrito suiza + pancakes and meat = Glad I woke up alone Sunday morning. Whoa.
<
I'm sure you are going around telling everyone that you "ended it with me" that I was some "psycho bitch" - sort of like how you say that about Ellen DeGeneres.
Let me be clear on something, twat. I have ended all communication with you. ALL. I'm the one that walked away.
I know how that is important to you - but sorry. I win.
I should have never let you stop me from meeting Amy and Broad. You possessive fuck.
And by the way. You are fat. And I don't mean PH-at.
<
Ah yes... your guest blogger Snidget is back - because I could not let the night go by without another rant... especially since I'm about to go out of town.
(sorry in advance to anyone that this might offend.. except you know.. the obvious person... I don't give a shit if he's offended)
Let's see... how shall we start this one out...
How about...
Wait ... what!??<
OH yeah... Broad gave me a special all access guest pass to her site and I'm taking advantage of it.
You see... I gots some things to say that I can't really say on Snidget... so you get to hear it here.
Right on... let's go, shall we?
Wait ... what!??<
<
Funny that Snidge would mention the asymmetrical boob thing, because my girl Laura and I were just talking about that today as I was once again bitching about my bra situation.
Wait ... what!??<
Why didn't I remember that Kim Cattrall was in the last Star Trek flick? And Christian Slater with that walk-on? Comedy gold. Now, when William Shatner says "Lock n' load" on Boston Legal, it'll be that much more priceless.
Stopped by Customs to visit Jill today, and of course there's at least 15 more things I want in there (the new Aromatique oils -- Pomegranate and Pear, and Cinnamon Cider -- are a good start). But she made an interesting observation: When we had our little pow-wow a couple weeks ago, she said that I give off "smother-me-Mother" waves, as in, I could use a good mothering myself. And I was like, huh, that's not the first time I've ever heard that. The first time? Was in 7th grade with my cooking teacher, who everyone adored. She said that when I interacted with her, it was like I was wanted her to be my mom. She wasn't being mean to me or anything, but I remember it made me cry.
So see, Mother and BFKAS, the trouble thou hath wrought on poor, fragile me!?!?! That'll learn ya, I'm sure.
<
E-mail between JB and me this morning re: his story about the Lake County cops finding a dude growing his own pot stash (my comment's first, natch):
the Porter Street home should have been a tip-off," but I guess Diane
thought that inapropriate. Imagine.
>> ----------
>> From: (Broad)
>> Sent: Wednesday, October 6, 2004 9:39 AM
>> To: JB
>> Subject: You HAD to bring up the snacks, didn't you!?!?!
>>
>> "Members of the Lake County Drug Task Force stepped around scattered
>> packages of snack cakes and bags of Cheetos on the floor of the bedroom
>> ..."
>>
>> Fucking PRICELESS!
It's what we do, man.
<
In my mail today:
Nice blog site and resume! I'm writing because of the toothpaste commercial you referenced. I'm trying to track down the truth regarding that toothpaste commercial you mentioned. I'm like 95% positive she says "pink in the stink." I've even closed my eyes and looked away in order to listen closely, and I'm convinced that the producers there are slipping something through for our comedic edification. Am interested if you've heard any more about it or have seen the commercial again.
Take Care,
(Name withheld by request)
<
Before I go any further, remember how I said I was glad that the unholiest of unholy unions didn't happen at my house? Um, yeah. Guess what? Adrian Zakula was naked. IN. MY. HOUSE. I get this phone call yesterday call from Mer that, while I was covering the fair, he stopped by after work, and they did it in the only room in the crib that I'VE NEVER DONE IT IN. Damn it. The cat is STILL traumatized.
Now, on with the show.
<
In this episode, our heroine Mer talks about the Slovenian Gypsy village she spent time in. Now, she absolutely loved the time she spent in the Balkans and would go back in a heartbeat, but like anyone who's lived in the civilized world for even a month, the poverty in the village became entirely too oppressive. (Oh, and I realize this would be a lot funnier to y'all if y'all could see the expressions and gestures that go along with all this, but the dialogue itself is still pretty funny, imho.)
Wait ... what!??<
Words of wisdom from our friend Mer in the last three seconds, after watching the Nick Berg video:
<
When I e-mailed the Brazilian Whores about ripping our stuff off, I cc'd Joelle on it. The following is what happens when you trust an online translator:
Wait ... what!??<
Mer, rolling her eyes: Yes, Rebecca, that's what you need -- the gas chamber. Now will you quit staring at me, for fuck's sake!?!?!
I suppose the good news out of that exchange is, Mer will be out here for a week starting Aug. 1 while Rebecca moves out. Anyone know where I can find a cheap, CHEAP flight from NYC to Chicago?
<
As me and the boys were basking in our nap Sunday, we were awoken by my second oldest and very dearest friend calling from Scottsdale. So we chatted about some old business, and I asked him if he's been reading me here on the lovely Innernet. And he says that he checked me out once and thinks it's excellent, but since he's been mired in a new job, he's kinda had tunnel vision. However, he wants to join the fray. Yay! I said, but not before asking him permission to use his name if I decide to talk about him (SOP for everyone important enough to warrant more than a passing reference over here at Chez Broad). He said he didn't care. So then I asked if he would like a clever pseudonym instead, and he said, "All right, if you say so," so I said, "Pick one." But his spazzy, creative juices were spent at the gym, so he said for me to make one up and tell him what it is.
They never learn. Heh.
So, I'm deeming it YOUR job to come up with a clever pseudonym for my second oldest and very dearest friend. What you need to know? He's 33 and vaguely resembles Kevin Bacon, except with brown eyes. (His older bro looks EXACTLY like Kevin Bacon, only with less of a Frankenstein-y forehead. Woo!) Oh, and he's gay, so gay references are cool as long as they're not derogatory (meaning, if you're anti-gay and wanting an opportunity to be a smacked ass, we don't want your kind here, so go to hell and fuck you.)
Winner's booty TBD. Name away, y'all.
[UPDATE: Well, the contest is now null and void, because my friend has decided he wants to be "White Mamba," which is an inside joke that, unless you've hung around us for any length of time, you won't get, and it also probably wouldn't be as funny. (Kaffy miiiiight remember vaguely, but if not, that's cool. She'd just roll her eyes at us, anyway, because we're like that.) As for the parting gifts, I'll ponder that tonight.]
<
My evening? Was spent driving around in the paper's P-T Cruiser with one of the staffers in the Town of Highland parade. And you know, we had an awesome time doing it. Of course, the company only left us with a 1/4 tank of gas and wouldn't give us any candy to toss to the kiddies, but that just made it more fun, because the staffer and I are smartasses, so whenever the little shits would demand, "We want candy!" I would yell back, "No! Gimme some of yours!" To which they'd be like, "No!" and we'd all laugh and wave. We want to do it again next year, only we'll bring more people and good music to blare. It'll be fun, I tell you. It WAS fun, especially if you don't count the moments when I felt like Franz Ferdinand before those wily Serbs got him.
The part that was gross, though? Seeing DtR sitting on the sidelines with his wife and kid.
<
(said as a chant, like in "Requiem for a Dream" during the ass-to-ass scene where all those dudes were yelling, "Cum!")
Ok, so I think my pal Kaffy needs to get herself a blog. She and I were talking about this last night. I mean, for Chrissakes, she's freakin' MENSA-geek smart, she's lost 66 pounds (and counting!) off WW over the past year, she's a cancer survivor (thyroid, if you must know -- she's got this wicked scar on her neck that we spent many an hour thinking up creative comebacks for the smacked asses who ask her "What happened to your neck?"), AND she gives her cat wood. That's blogging GOLD right there. But she's not listening to me. So, it's up to y'all to start putting the heat on Ms. Kaffy to get thee to a blog template and start SHARING.
Speaking of sharing, the big article will be posted before I leave for an assignment later. I couldn't write it exactly the way I wanted to, but it's STILL big. I'm pretty psyched about it.
With that, I leave you with reason #15 on why Kaffy needs to blog: Her poetry!
<
-- My little friend Kate on one of her fiance's idiot friends, June 17, 2004
<
That JB's awfully clever ...
But the question remains, can a woman born and trained to kill turn over a new leaf and become all domestic and shit?
He so cracks me up.
<
After stuffing myself senseless at champagne brunch with Mother today, I just got back from doing touch-up painting in Greta's living room (I know, I know, but she waited for me to get home and waited for me to get my ass in gear after I took a nap, for chrissakes. What would YOU do?), where I proceeded to stuff my face with 1/2 a sausage pizza that I definitely did NOT need. Happy Easter, yo.
So, the one guy called last night. He didn't end up coming over, because he got all squirrelly and decided I was too tired. That never usually stops him, but it did last night for some reason. Anyway, after I was completely awake at 2:30 a.m., I called him back, and we had the type of conversation that reinforces for me why I love him insanely.
<
"Would I get a manicure? Sure. But I'll also take a bat to your head." -- The one guy, very early Sunday morning, March 14
<
100 things
Info meme #1
Typelogic says I'm an INFP.
Check my weekly astrological groove here.
Give it to me, baby.
Where my peeps at!?? Go here and get your name on the map.
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!??:
What Wouldn't Jesus Do
RSS 1.0
RSS 2.0
Atom XML
RSD XML
Wanna make a bunch of money doing what you're doing right now?
Hey Webmasters! - Make $$$
The AllPosters.com Affiliates Program is a great way to make money with your website. All you have to do is place links on your site to AllPosters.com. When your site visitors click on your links and make purchases at AllPosters.com, you earn 25%-30% of the sale. Sign up today!
og: The world has been busy telling Israel that it should stand down for having it's own soliders kid... [read]
PB Curtis: Sheesh. Kinda hard to please, aren'tcha?... [read]
Broad: PB! Glad to see you're still out there in the ether! And to think we're just getting star... [read]
jack king: what a greasy turd. was his wife with him or his girfriend/bofriend. This guy is garbage... [read]
I think I may have done this once ...
Evidence that I can still get made out with in a bar
Day 1: NWI Pop quiz, by Mer
Already a headache, and she's not even in yet
The shit writes itself sometimes
Completely flew under the radar
Better start cleaning up around this bitch
My BiL is a steaming asshole*
I'm going to the Gay Games, tra la la
Dad (37)
Dreeeeeeeeam, dream dream dream (18)
F'ed-up family (70)
Gooeylicious (41)
Normal bitching (97)
Out of the mouths of babes (49)
Pee-pee Dance of Joy (128)
Region-y goodness (155)
Site pimps (133)
Social comment n' shit (100)
Souped-up bitching (50)
Things I shouldn't do as an objective reporter (44)
Things I shouldn't say, period (47)
Unnatural cat lovin' (19)
Wait ... what!?!? (31)
Whining (62)
movabletype 3.2
script assistance by
scriptygoddess
hosted by
wiredhub
"Rules" quote by the fucking brilliant Eugene Mirman.
< ? Blogmoxie # >
| << ? --Indiana Blogs-- & >> |
<< # Naked Bloggers ? >>
<< chicago blogs >>
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons License.
at first i went "dude. stell'a not STRONG!" and then i remembered you're american and are probably conditioned to american beer aka horse piss (as in - "this stuff has as much alcoholic content as horsepiss!". ;) you and snidge come drink in canada and i'll show you what real (good) beer tastes like. ;)