The party was lovely: Tons of food, former co-workers I haven't seen in a few months with their lovely children, plenty of beer, the whole deal. And I got to spend a whole 15 minutes with everyone before I had to go back to my boss' crib to file my two stories. By the time I got done, everyone was gone. There was cake still left out when I came back, though, and beer, of which I pounded two cans before I left.

(...)

Does it end there? Of course it doesn't: I look at my story on the cop shooting this morning, and the reporter who took my dictation (because I never really did figure out how to work my boss' computer; they had so much spyware and anti-virus stuff on it) made it all wordy and weird, which annoys me to no end, especially since he's a good writer otherwise.

And today's story? A woman who saved two starving kittens abandoned on the side of a highway and how police in three different munis laughed at her for wanting them to help her figure out what to do. I think I'll just go slit my wrists now.

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to fill up my fucking gas tank. That ain't right.

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and due to a fuck-up with Medicare Part D, Mother can't take her Prozac until Sunday.

Pray she doesn't end up underneath my car, please.

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Don't like it when I turn on the function that allows me to approve comments before they're posted!?? Because I notice you've STOPPED SPAMMING MY COMMENTS. Fucker.

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Don't you hate it when you purchase something online, only to have the seller tell you the item you want is out of stock but that she'll make you a new one and send it out, except she doesn't send it and doesn't answer your e-mails as to whether she's going to send it? I do, too, so that's why I'm going to tell y'all to avoid craft Web site Dadahaus like the freakin' plague.

See, I got the idea to buy something from them from Miss Doxie after she did her splendid recap of all things crafty for Christmas, and so I went there and found a ring with "Wtf?" engraved on it, which I thought would be perfect for our Snidge, right? Well, that was January 19, and the only time I've ever heard from the site's owner, Kelly, was on the 25th when she told me the ring wasn't in stock and that she would make me one and have it to me by the 3rd. It's now the 15th, and no word despite my trying to get in touch with her twice. So then I went to the Dadahaus Web site, and it has some message up about how they've shut the store down to get ready for some crafting expo or something. That's fine, but either ship the damn ring or tell me you can't do it. It's real simple. Anyway, I've already filed a dispute with PayPal to get a refund.

Meanwhile, in an example of better customer service, my hair has been fixed and is now presentable again. Did I tell y'all about how last month I strayed from EWK and had a girl at Mother's shop cut my hair? Well ... the good news is, she made it look different, which is what I wanted. The not-so-good? She cut my sides straight instead of at an angle, giving me what looked like earmuffs. Not at all pretty, despite Poppy's attempts to tell me otherwise, bless her heart. Well, he redid my highlights a week after the cut and said that he would fix it if I wanted, but that I should let it grow and do its thing so he can fix it next cut. Tonight was that cut, and all's right with the world. Now, I just have to keep myself from going after my bangs, which are longer than they've been in YEARS ...

[UPDATE 2/17: Kelly wrote back and refunded my money -- said there's been a family circumstance. That's cool, but Snidge sure did like the idea of that ring ...]

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I need it to go with my new shower curtain, which I bought earlier:




Total departure from what I was originally attracted to, but it works. But I can't find a plain black and white striped towel to save my damn life, though. What is UP with this!?? Sheesh.

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I'm guessing you want to know about my meeting with John the gardener.

Yeah, don't be too jealous, because it wasn't nearly as good as it could've been.

When I got to Blue Chip, I parked like a jerk in hotel parking, and security whisked me through to the crowd of at least 1,000, who were all crammed in the pavillion waiting to get in. I crawled (sometimes literally, as there were all these rope blockades all over the place) among the crabby masses to get to the press area to see the end of Bill Boyd's speech (and get my first glimpse of Jesse, who is HOTT but NOT TALL; if he 5'9, I'd be surprised). Then the PR person whisked us back to a craps table, where Jesse threw out the first dice. So we all stood there and took pictures of his hotness, then the P.R person herded all the press people back to the media room, where we had continental breakfast and waited to get a tour of the boat. Jesse, in the meantime, was NOT brought back to the media room, and we have no idea where he went. So, no Jesse and his hotness for me, which positively blows since I looked pretty damn hot yesterday, even going so far as to put on my damn suit and Tod's loafers.

Below, the shots I got of Jesse. To think I was only a craps table-length away from his beauty ...

Wait ... what!??

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(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:

I get there, and she tells me to grab the last piece of pumpkin pie. As I'm putting whipped cream on it, she hands me her checkbook to write out her rent check -- you know, the one THAT ISN'T DUE FOR ANOTHER WEEK, because it must be done RIGHT NOW. Sigh. Where's a pen? I ask, and then she's all like, "I don't know what I did to you." I tell her, "Nothing," but she gets all whipped-puppy like. Ok, yeah, I DID say that she should call in the pills today; I just didn't sweat it because she said she had one to take in the morning and wouldn't need it until Sunday.

Just one lousy day to myself, is all I ask. Is that so wrong?

And THEN there's TOG, who gets all pissy with me because, as we were having a little saucy talk over e-mail, I kid that he's talking to some hot chick online. (CONTEXT: Without getting into details -- shutUP, you -- I was asking what he was doing home when he COULD be with me, unless he was talking to some hot chick online.) The correct (and funny) response to that would be "The only hot chick I'm talking to is you," regardless of whether I was or wasn't, or to just not say anything at all. But no, he gets all, "See? You gotta kill the mood," and I'm all, "Um ... wasn't trying to ..." and then he tells me he's going to bed because he's falling asleep. Oooooo-kay, then. Fine time to tell me that's a sore spot; that'll REALLY encourage me to indulge in saucy talk the next time, but whatever.

Stupid boys and their periods ...

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Dang, what is UP with all the spam I'm getting!?? Do you know that one of them used MY OWN WEB ADDRESS, so when I went to de-spam, it was added to the MT spammer jerk clearinghouse!?? Bastards. I guess after the holidays, I'm going to have to ditch the bitch and make the switch to EE after all.

In the story I wrote yesterday, the speaker (Rudy Lopez, a pal o'mine) made the comment, "They think that just because the candidate's name ends in -ez, every rice and bean eater is going to come out and vote for them." I asked Rudy if I could quote him on that, and he said "Yeah." So I wonder why the copy desk cut out that part?*

Tonight is the Merrillville Town Ball, and once again I get to cover it for an hour before I have to split to make deadline. This year's ensemble? A black suit I bought last night when Tara and I had a total girls' night of shopping and eating out. I'll post pics.

Speaking of shopping, how wrong is it that I don't completely hate Britney's "Fantasy" perfume? It smells just like cotton candy.

Wait ... what!??

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You know those people -- and I know it can't be just me that's surrounded by them at every damn turn, so please tell me you feel me, here -- with whom you try to establish boundaries, but they don't abide by them, because whatever THEY got going on is so much more important to ending world hunger and creating world peace? Yeah, when they tell you they're sorry for stepping over the boundaries, they're really not. What would be really refreshing, though, is if they would just say, "You know what? I don't care enough about what YOU need to get through the day to put my bullshit aside." Seriously.

[Amended to say: See, because if they did that, there wouldn't be any question as to whether you would tell them to stick it up their asses.]

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So youda thunk there'd have been more goons during the first round of AI auditions, but in a sea of 10,000+, there was only one that I physically saw: a dude who showed up in a Dorothy costume with a blonde Pippi Longstocking wig, a 5:00 shadow and combat boots. He compared his look and tactic to that of William Hung, and I was like, "All right there, pal. You go," when I was really thinking, "Yeah, but see, the difference between you and William Hung is that he was at least sincere. You, on the other hand, are a fucking fruitbat." Nevertheless, if you see a dude in a Dorothy costume with a blonde Pippi Longstocking wig, a 5:00 shadow and combat boots during the initial AI shows, you'll know I met him and that he's an insincere, fucking fruitbat. Otherwise, there was a chick who channeled her inner Tina Turner -- right down to the crazy hair and a white fringed mini dress -- that everyone seemed be amused by. Here I thought the whole point of AI was to be original, at least while you could before they suck your soul out of your assholemake you into a STAR, but what do I know, right!?? Anyway, although I'm sure there was a dearth of colossally bad singers, I didn't hear 'em. Wish there was more to tell, Mac. I keep trying to publish the story, but I seem to be having trouble with my extended entry.

Wonder how that happened? Because I wasn't having trouble with it Friday. Curious.

Today was the cool stuff, however; I covered IndiaFest, which I was totally hoping I would because everyone there is super nice and would give me the world if I were allowed to take it (reporter's rules and shit). So they had me volunteer for the sari-wrapping deomnstration, right? Yeah, they ended up GIVING me the sari to keep. It's freaking GOR-jus, a light brown with gold trim and black fringe with a black petticoat. I'm SO going to find an excuse to wear it. Pictures tomorrow (if I can figure out what the hell's wrong with my MT.)

Oh, and yeah, I would be remiss in not mentioning that I hooked up and had a lovely time with him, his lovely wife and another friend at OktoberFest downtown Friday evening after I finished with the AI stuff. I also came to the realization that 1) I'm getting too old for that thing they call distance walking, and 2) I've become a total slob since I left Chicago. Going to have to work on that a bit.

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Not sure if there's going to be posting at all today; got a buttload of assignments to finish, plus I'm still sick and really, REALLY angry about some stuff that I hope will be worked out. (And no, it's not for public consumption, so don't ask. I'll probably chew off your head and shit down your neck if you do, anyway.)

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Just got off the phone with the detective, and he talked with my aunt. According to him, she acted like she didn't know what he was talking about at first, but then she copped to it when he told her that I said I left a message for them. So she tells them they're going on a family vacation (which they are) and that when they get back, Crackhead will certainly talk to them. He made a note to call them on the 13th.

Mmmhmmmm.

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well, I don't know, but I do know they suck pretty hard, and not in a good way. I mean, shit.

First, I call Cingular this morning to find out whether any calls had been made from my cell after June 1, which was when the online bill thingy said. Alas, there were NONE, so unless someone has a real creative way to make nonworking numbers magically appear on caller ID (and can that be done?), SoC was told to cover for Crackhead. And yeah, I suspected from the get-go that that was going to happen, but I guess it sunk in today that man, that's some BULLshit.

So then I tell Mother about it, and she tells me that my cousin called her last night asking all about the break-in. That particular cousin is Timmy's mother and the sister of Cousin the Rich One, and she hasn't spoken to me since Cousin the Rich One and I started our battle -- except, of course, when I called her at the hospital to make sure she and the little guy were Ok -- because I was clearly in the wrong about the whole thing. Even if I was, it didn't have anything to do with her, but you know, whatever, right? So she said to Mother how I was lucky that Crackhead didn't attack me and so on and so forth, and I was like, "Wait a minute. After I worried that she was going to lose her son, she can't call ME to find out how I am!? FUCK. HER," and I told Mother that from here on out, I don't want her talking about me to any one of them, good bad or indifferent.

So to recap, two sides of my family suck hairless worm dick (as opposed to hairy worm dick. I know). Now, allow me to regale you with the continuing saga of DtR

Wait ... what!??

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It's 4:49 a.m., and I just got off the phone with Mother, of all people, because I was pissed and needed to vent. Why? Because my crackhead cousin broke into my crib and stole my purse. While I was in the crib.

I'll let y'all ponder that for a moment.

Wait ... what!??

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If you want details, Ogger may feel so inclined to share them, since he and the lovely Mrs. got to hear it all. But I have to get up a 5:30 ayem and may not be around to tell fill y'all in, and I sure as hell don't feel like going over it now.

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Yeah, you know, the giant Risdon safety pin I've used as my key chain forever? See, when I was, like, 8 or 9, my dad got it from one of his students, and he then gave it to me. So it's been mine for more than 20 years, and it has a lot of senitmental value. I don't expect YOU to understand that since it was so easy for you to GANK IT OFF MY KEYS, but that's the story.

I sincerely hope your children are born with herpes and that the damn pin gets stuck in your eye when you get hit by a bus. Jackass.

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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.

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You know, I KNEW this was going to happen, and yet I get involved anyway and it ends up being my fault.

Oh yes, the china cabinet sold and it sold for $1,181.56, right? A good, healthy price considering I started the auction at $200 and similar pieces with "Buy It Now" prices of $1,200, $1,500 weren't getting nary a look. I mean, I thought so. I was thrilled that it did so well, in fact.

Crazy Aunt, however, does NOT, and is now upset because she was told the cabinet was worth at least $2,000, EVEN THOUGH this appraisal was never put in writing and she TOLD ME SPECIFICALLY that she wasn't sure the $2,000 appraisal included a table and chair set or not.

You know, it seems to me that when you have absolutely no money and don't seem to be trying very hard to get it, you shouldn't be biting the hand that feeds you. But what do I know?

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Ok, so now, after a really bad battle this morning with a whole bunch of spammer dicks who left unsavory crap in my pings, I got a whole bunch of new things blacklisted. Those things also, however, apparently include my friends Headcase and Og, because they weren't able to comment.

Fuck a duck, man.

I THINK I found and fixed the problem, but if I haven't, shoot me some mail and I'll continue to look.

I fuckin' HATE spammers. Haaaaaaaaate.

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So, who wants to take up a collection for me? Because I just checked my checking account, and I have a current balance of $480 something and some change but an available balance of $182 and some change. I sure hope that $300 equals out to my phone bill (past due a bit, I know) and the car insurance payment I jut made, because if not? I'm totally fucked. AGAIN. I mean, my car payment is due next week, so I can take a bit of a hit on that if I need to fill up my tank, which I will tomorrow (at $2+ a gallon -- oh, wait: Speedway has it for $2 at Speedway, according to garygasprices.com, and I'm headed that way), but if not? I don't know what I'm going to do. And then as I'm headed toward an assignment this morning, facken Mother starts handing out orders: "I need to drop off my pants to get them hemmed. Did you make reservations for Easter yet?" Now, the pants thing is cool, because she doesn't drive. But the reservations? She may not drive, but she CAN pick up the Goddamned phone; after all, she calls ME three to five times a day on average some days. I mean, people get paid $40K a year as a personal assistant, while I pay hell getting the $60 $50 (it started as $60) she gives me toward my car payment (you know, the one I didn't want in the first place?) each month because she's POOR, you know, even though she makes more than ME most months, and I'M the one working.

Gah.

Yeah, I know, I really have nothing to complain about when you consider that the government is on the precipice of setting a filthy, rotten precedent for human rights, but as the one guy says, "You might be an amputee, but that doesn't make my broken leg hurt any less." Or some such thing.

With that, I'll lighten the mood a bit with photos of my two boyfriends.

[UPDATE: Better news, everyone: Just checked my Bill Pay, and the $182? Is that phone bill plus my car payment. So now, when the insurance hits? I'll still have money left to get me through to next check. Still, thank God I stocked up on the Ramen and tomato sauce while I still had the chance. Sheesh.]

Wait ... what!??

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leave it to Mother to piss up my rope.

Wait ... what!??

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Kaffy here. Broad has been ever so nice in letting me swoop in on her blog and do a little...ranting? Venting? Sobbing? Can't post this on my blog cuz my wee sister reads it on occassion and don't want her reading my rants on, well, her. Forewarning: this is a long rant.

Wait ... what!??

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Just called the ol' PAP, and it seems my meds were sent out Jan. 17. So I? Should be back and medicated proper by tomorrow! Praise Jeebus. However, would somebody please tell me why, when I go on about something that pisses me off, some jackass thinks it's Ok to ask, "Are you out of your meds again!?!?" What the hell? I take them to keep me out from under the kitchen table with a joystick and a tin foil hat, not because of fucking anger management. They do not wipe out my ability to have an opinion, nor do they prevent me from going off about said opinion from time to time, even if I normally choose to not be a raving loon (100 percent of the time). Fer Chrissake.

Crazy Aunt set me off this time by defending the freakin' BFKAS. See, apparently and without rehashing the whole conversation she and I had, the past can't be changed, and if everyone's to make a new start, we (meaning I) can't keep rehashing it, lest I become bitter and no one will want to be around me anymore. And since BFKAS's idea of letting the past go means not acknowledging it ever happened in the first place ... well, that's the way it is.

Ok, sure, I can appreciate that my little snide comments might be tiresome, especially if her highness isn't throwing them back, which CA swears she's not. And yeah, I know what Dr. Phil says about forgiveness; I've got the books. It just irritates me to hear this when I know that when BFKAS pisses CA off again -- and she will, because she always has -- it'll be perfectly Ok to slag on her again.

But in happier news, besides my meds coming, my inaugural free subscrition of Allure, courtesy of Tara, came in today, and I loves me some beauty mags. Woo.

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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.

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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!??