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March 2003 Archives

March 3, 2003

Larva & Louisiana

Ew ew ew. Why would someone send that to me? I just received the most oog-intensive email in a long time. The story is such: Some dude has irritation in his eye; eye drops and a doctor's visit ensue. Bot-fly larva is found in his eye. His Friggin EYE people! I am assuming it is bot-fly larva. In any case, it is a maggot of some sense. Note to the dude: Quit with the letting flies and such lay eggs IN YOUR EYE!

*shudder*

Think happy thoughts.

Ah, yes. I am going to New Orleans in a few weeks. It is a business trip, but Mister gets to come along. Yippee! Mister has never been to New Orleans. I love the Big Easy. It is sinful, decadent and very faithful, all rolled into one. The food, Oh Mamma, the food. Where most people eat to live, people in New Orleans live to eat. No kidding. When I spoke to a colleague a little while ago, he made a joke about scheduling his flight home around the hours of a certain restaurant. I can believe it. I would stand in the sweltering, sticky New Orleans heat in the middle of July for an hour just to have a dozen oysters on the half shell from Acme.

Speaking of sticky heat.... Every time I think of New Orleans I get a flash back in my mind of Paul Mercurio licking warmed butter and cinnamon from Dana Delany's breast in Exit to Eden. That was hot. The movie was a comedy, but the book, (whee-doggie!) was originally penned by no other than the queen of soft-core porn herself, Anne Rice... writing as Anne Rampling of course.

Little tangent. I started this diary as sort of an outlet for my head. A place to write about dreams, thoughts of Mister, bitches about my job, and as a personal responsibility page when I decided that I wanted to loose weight. Kind of my own personal bitch and brag page. I haven't decided if I want to advertise it, have a notify page or any of the standard web stuff. Presently my email doesn't even work from here. But the above paragraph made me realize that even if I don't advertise, somebody may find me when they search "breast+soft-core porn+sticky" on google. Eeeep!

March 5, 2003

I Want Candy!

It's Wednesday, ick.

I normally do not have derogatory things to say about hump day, but today it is foggy, kind of cold and all around more of a day to be all curled up in the biscuit with Mister and a good View Askew DVD.

Speaking of... Kevin Smith is a genius... just my personal opinion.

This morning was one weird dream after another. Let's see if I can recall them.

I had this odd dream that Mister and I opened a retail shop called "What The Duck?". It was an odds and ends store. Had mostly useless things that nobody needed but that everybody wanted. Sort of like Sharper Image, with a complimentary rubber duck with every purchase. Personally, I think it is a smashing idea. If you steal it, please just give me credit when you make it big, or at least a little cash. Thank you.

Another dream was one of those dreams within a dream thing, and when I woke up from the dream (inside the dream) Mister asked me what my nightmare was about. I went to tell him, but before I could he shoved a waiver in front of me to sign. It was to make sure I didn't use what he said against him.

Off the dream sequence for a bit.

When I got to work this morning I had already made a deal with myself that I wouldn"t answer to a whistle or a "hey" when the Hand-Boss (See yesterday's entry... I haven't figured out linking yet.) requested my attention. One that I had not thought of was "Yoo-Hoo". Yep, you got it. He actually said "yoo-hoo." No, I am not kidding. I guess the look on my face was enough to stop that behavior in its tracks. Since then he has called me Miss Suzanna twice. Whatever.

Shout out to the ladies here. Girls? Is it just me? Or does everyone want beer and chocolate during that time of the month?

March 7, 2003

Voice Lessons

Y'all I am so excited. Next week I get the office all to myself. Yes, I still have to drive a frillion miles to work every morning, but I will be here alone all week. YAY!

Hand-Boss has steadily been calling me Miss Suzanna since the "yoo-hoo" incident other day. Call it a small battle won. Hey, I'm not picky.

I get to listen to my music at a level other than barely audible next week. Listening to music (that I can actually hear) in the office is a treat for me. Normally, when I set up my trusty little music program to run through the play list randomly, I can hear maybe 15% of the tunes. I have everything on the play list from Al Greene to Afroman, from Bonnie Raitt to Bach, from Chaka Kahn to Charo. Ok, I'll quit. The play list has songs that are normally quiet like Eric Clapton playing classical guitar and songs that are hoppin and louder like "Woman Trouble" from Artful Dodger and Craig David. So I set the volume to a whisper for the louder songs and then I can't even hear the softer ones. I have bat-girl like hearing, but my southern breeding wins out and I situate my surroundings as not to offend others.

Let's talk about that for a moment shall we? We shall.

There is a quote in Clerks by Dante (Brian O'Halloran) that says something to this effect: "My mother told me when I was little that my training toilet lid was down so I shit my pants. ... The point is that I would rather shit myself than make anyone else uncomfortable."

For many of you this is unfathomable. The fact than anyone would go out of their way that much to make anyone else comfortable is asinine to you. To the southern woman, it is a way of life. Not saying that I would crap my pants (visual of SNL skit Ooops I Crapped My Pants enters my mind), but being bred to; in all honesty; be a hostess sometimes has its disadvantages.

Southern women are taught from an early age that we are to make sure the needs are met for anyone who enters our homes. Oh come ON… get your minds out of the gutter here. I'm talking about sleeping arrangements, snacks, beverages, meals, temperature... blah blah blah. You get the idea. This Mary Poppins behavior is encouraged by southern mothers at such things as Sip & See* parties, at bridal showers, baby showers, casual get togethers, and formal gatherings.

*A Sip & See party is to welcome a baby home from the hospital. The new grandmother usually holds a tea for all of her friends to come look at her grandchild. Oohs and Aaahs typically ensue.

I notice that my behavior is sometimes a thing of curiosity to Mister. We were watching a TV show last night as we munched happily on the flavorful pork chops Mister cooked on the grill. The show had a woman who wished to say something to someone, but when her idea was shot down before she even verbalized it, she muttered something like, "Oh, yeah, me too." Mister turned to me and said, "What was that about?" I couldn't tell him what I was thinking at that point, I was embarrassed by my thought process. This is strange to realize that I would (like the goofy chick on the show) rather let my thoughts go unheard, as to make anyone else uncomfortable.

Normally I am something of a jabber wocky, not of the George Lucas variety, but just a talker. I, in the past, usually let the more flammable topics go by the wayside because I do not want to make people uncomfortable, even if they do ask for my opinion. I have found something wonderful tho, Mister gives my real feelings a voice. I can tell him that I like something or find something strange and he doesn't discount my feelings when they are verbalized.

Another weirdness with my family, not to sure if it's a southern thing or not, is the hush-hush of anything unpleasant. I have a checkered past. It's not plaid or anything, and I was never in jail, nor a topless dancer or a truck stop waitress. I was, however, previously married. (Back of the hand to the forehead in a dramatic "Goodness me! Not that!?") Yes friends, I was married for almost 6 years to a night shift cop in East Texas. Whee. Anyway, I was talking with my parents one afternoon and mentioned something about how Mister and I were talking about our pasts. My parents gasped and said, "No man wants to hear about your past! Trust us." Mister assured me that this is not the case, that he enjoys hearing about my past. That it gives him insight on what I went through and what made me what I am today.

See? He gives me a voice.

I hear a fire truck going by the office outside. What is it that makes me want to sing along with the siren?

March 11, 2003

Skelator always rings twice.

Sunday evening a friend called me. She said that she had been on the website I used to frequent. She said that an old boyfriend of mine keeps showing up. Not that I care if he goes there, I really couldn't give less of a rat's ass what he does. My only concern is that she thinks that it is her duty to inform me of his goings-on. (Or would that be going-ons?) And I think it bothers me because I have told her that what he does is his business, that I am really not interested, and I give her encouraging words like "oh" and "okay" when she passes on the oh so breath taking information on this lug.

The two of them used to hate one another... and now they have an understanding that may become a friendship. Oh gag.

The only reason I bring this up is because I received a 10:30 pm phone call last night. No message was left, and I (like the brilliant woman that I am) do not have caller id.

Mister was lying beside me (he smells SO good) when the phone rang. "Do you want to answer that?" he asked me. I said "No." Then laid there wondering who in the world would be calling me this late. At first I thought it was my girlfriend (mentioned above... sheesh.. she needs a name, let's call her Clarice)... I thought it was Clarice. But she usually calls around 9:30.

The last 10:30pm phone call we received was from the lug himself. When I asked him why he was calling me when we were completely thru, he did the amused laughter and said "thank you" and hung up. Hmmm... the lug needs a name too. Let's call him Gomer. I truly hope that Gomer has not gotten it into his head to call me again. Clarice said that he is happy & doing well in his new life... whatever that means. So let's all put a Don't Call Suzanna Danna anymore hex on Gomer.

There. That's better.

When I got home last night Mister and Max (my beautiful kitty) were hanging out on the couch listening to the radio. Lookit Maxxie... Isn't he precious? No slammin the couch y'all. I love that ugly couch.

Max%2010-15-06%20cropped.JPG

(Picture has been updated because I can not find the old picture of the cat with the old ass couch - S (2/29/08))
Ah, found it... here.
maxamillianmcgillakittyiii.jpg

Mister had his laptop out and looked like the cat that had eaten the canary. No disrespect to Max and his canary eating abilities of course. I asked him what was up and he sat me down on the couch and gave me a cd. The cover was a picture of the two of us with "Mister's Songs for Suzanna Danna Vol. I". I almost cried. He is the sweetest man! Check out this (abbreviated version of the) song list:

1) I Knew I Loved You ... Savage Garden

2) Waiting for a Girl Like You ... Foreigner

3) The Keeper of the Stars ... Tracy Byrd

4) You Can't Hide Beautiful ... Aaron Lines

And Much MUCH more!

I brought it to work with me and right now I'm listening to "Somebody Like You" by Keith Urban. Do I have an amazing man or what? Y'all, I thank the Lord daily for him. My mother said that they had been praying for a man like Mister to come into my life. Prayer works people.

Ah, the kids next door have arrived to make their loud music, garbled lyrics, pizza preparations for the 11am lunch crowd.

I have to admit. I am truly enjoying having the office all to myself for the week. I don't like the mean mailman though. He reminds me of that scary Skelator (Yay cheesy 80's cartoons!) looking preacher dude from Poltergeist III. I had the door locked to the office yesterday morning after the cleaning crew left. He shook the door, but did not knock. I went outside and said "Sir?" he turned around and said, "That'll teach you to lock your doors!"

Um... No, it won't. You big meanie!

That made baby Jesus cry.

March 12, 2003

I'll take a cup of black stallion please?

I am feeling a bit of a loss today. The one thing that has been a daily constant in my life for over the past decade is not with me. The Cup is a horrid creature, but one that travels this daily path I trod as my constant companion. It is an old 34 oz. (NOT 32 mind you) Chevron give-away cup from the South Side Chevron in Nacogdoches, TX. I got that cup the freshman year of my college experience, and it has been with me daily ever since.

Today, however, I was too busy looking at Mister's mouth and thinking how much I would rather stay at home curled up in his lap to realize that I was walking off and leaving The Cup behind.

The Cup used to be filled constantly with exotic treats such as Dr. Pepper and Lorena's Pink Lemonade, but more often than not, it was just filled with ice water. It makes me thirsty to just think about it.

Texas is a hot place, and one must stay hydrated, otherwise have the misfortune of a mouth that tastes like you've been eating crackers and sand.

The Cup is insulated and can keep anything cold all day long*. There is, I am sorry to say, a crack down the outside of the cup. I put it on the roof of my sexy-chic-mobile one day and pulled out of my parking space without retrieving it before it could hit the pavement with a sickening Crack! I was mortified.

*All day long unless you are in the East Texas sun... in the middle of July... on an old John Deere tractor bush hogging the pasture. Don't ask.

The crackers and sand reference above makes me want to crunch up saltines in my mouth and then whistle. Readers Note: Do this outside unless you have a flock of parrots or non-rabid squirrels living in your home. They will clean it up for you.

Today is slightly muggy and a little warm. Here it comes y'all... Spring. I can feel it. I do like to drive when not going to work, but the stretch of road that I travel to get to the office gets so green in the spring and summer that it hurts my eyes. Either that or the beauty gets to me & I blame the weepiness on pollen or some such shit.

I travel thru horse country on a daily basis and I have developed this fantasy life where I am the lady of a manor on one of the horse farms that I drive past. There is this monster black stallion (part draft horse I think because of the fetlocks and size, he's no Percheron tho) that is kept in a large grassy pasture on the north side of the road. In my fantasy he comes to me with just a whistle and I can ride him bareback with no bridle, just the gentle coaxing my voice and the pressure of my thighs make him respond.

My my, aren't we a bit bodice ripper with our descriptions today?

Well, hell, if I'm gonna go there, might as well go all the way.

At midnight along the crest of the hill, in the blue light of the full moon, I would ride this stallion with my eyes closed and my face turned towards the wind. Arms outspread (a la' Kevin Costner Dances With Wolves style... (Shut up.)) welcoming the night and the cool relief from the day.

Hmmm.

Anyway, Mister and I were coming out this way to go to a concert for his birthday back in February and I pointed out the stallion to him. He was sweet enough to stop on our way home so I could get out, call the stallion over (he came to me! Woo hoo!), blow in his nostrils* and take a picture.

*No, I'm not some big dork, going around blowing in strange horses' nostrils for no reason. That is how they get to know you.

That was very cool.

March 13, 2003

Earth, Wind and Fiber

Yes, two entries in one day.

The greenness of Texas amazes me sometimes. I was raised (until 12) in north Georgia. Pine trees and red clay abound! Gorgeous really. When I moved to Texas I fully expected to find a scene out of some cheesy western and a horse tied up in my front yard. To the hitchin' post, if you will. That reason (and very retarded assumption) was the main thing that kept me appeased enough to make the journey west.

When we got here. Oh MAN was I ever disappointed. Dallas is a BIG city, buildings and shit everywhere. Not one tumbleweed to be found. We settled in a northern suburb of Dallas called Plano, and that was my home until 1990.

Our house, to me at the time, looked just like everyone else's. I even got "lost" coming home from school one day. I came home the first day of school and couldn't tell our house from the others on the block. We lived close enough to walk to school for the first three years.

It was a great place to grow up. Competent teachers very involved parents and neighbors and a pool in the back yard. I was missing the trees and the hills of Georgia in a bad, bad way. Not to mention my grandparents. Moms and Pops from my father's side and Butter (I'll explain later) from my mother's side. My aunt and all of the people I grew up with. I sorta just sucked it up and dealt with it by joining every extra curricular activity I could find. Including choir, everything at church and at least 6 hours of dance every week.

Every weekday morning when I walked out the front door to walk to school, I always looked for the horse that I assumed would be waiting for me. That damn hitchin post was missing too.

One Saturday when my father was in town he asked me to get up early with him and put on my boots and jeans. I did so and we headed off for a surprise. About 20 minutes later we pulled up to this rickety fence with a bunch of wormy dogs milling around. This man that looked like he had the worse case of jock itch and a cactus up his ass came out to meet my father and I at the van. I stopped staring at this unwashed fellow and looked past him. Horses! Horses of every shape (in shape and out HA!), color and breed were being saddled over by a true-to-life hitchin post.

I got out of the van and looked at my dad. He was beaming. He had called this stable to see if we could rent horses for the afternoon. I was so excited I almost cried. But being what (in my opinion) was the closest thing to a son my father was going to get (another story entirely) I sucked up the happy cry and sauntered over. Yes, I sauntered. It called for a good sauntering. Shut up.

We saddled up a few mangy, (very close to) flyblown equines and rode off into the "vast wilderness". It was a wonderful day.

We even stopped for Dr. Peppers and peanuts and had a belching contest on the way home.

I make a wonderful first impression... don't I?

Several times a year, for most of my teenage life my father and I would sneak away on a Saturday and go saddle up some broncs for a little rough riding. Okay, so they were just very poorly maintained animals on a capitalistic farm in a small pocket of trees in the Big D. But to me, it was like riding the wind.

I miss those days, not because of my ill spent youth, or lack of time with my father. We are closer now than we have ever been. I miss them because that pocket of trees that used to be my personal wild west is now the home of the largest Nortel campus in the Northern hemisphere. (I may be exaggerating, but it is huge.) And instead of riding wild (or mostly wild) beasts on Saturday morning and afternoon, Mister and I shop at the local grocery store. Making sure, of course, to fix meals with the right amount of protein and fiber.

Balllllllllllllllllll One!

I am such a fitness freak (I thought I asked you not to laugh at the afflicted).

My sister and her husband and a few of their friends asked Mister and I if we would like to join them for the Dash Down Greenville. It is a run to benefit the Texas Neurofibromatosis Foundation this Saturday afternoon. I have no idea what that particular disease is, but if they are having a fund raiser for it that is in junction with a parade for St. Patrick's Day and a lot of beer. Then, heck... I'm all for it!

Yeah, yeah... I know... I'm going to hell.

I had a very strange moment of lucidity last night. Everything seemed so perfectly clear. (And now I am going to join the Association for the Redundantly Redundant Association. Sheesh.) I was getting ready to clean my bathroom and hang up some clothes and to get myself psyched up I said, (yes, out loud and with a fair about of conviction I might add) "Go Forth and Toaster!"

Go forth and toaster?

I guess it's sort of like "Go forth and prosper" without all the pressure.

So. It is official. I am a complete loser when it comes to hanging up my clothes. I have no problems with laundry. Heck, I sometimes even enjoy doing laundry, but if the clothes are not spewed forth from the dryer on hangers already, then it is a complete loss.

I can fold, I can iron (poorly I might add), but hanging up those suckers is a serious point of contention for me.

I bet most of the people on this diary thingy are getting snotty and pe-sha'-ing my little worries. I am healthy, I am fairly stable, I am happy, I have no drug addictions, and my life is not being torn apart at the seams by aliens, my parents or a boyfriend whom I blame for my short-comings. I am employed, I have never filed for bankruptcy, I have a fully functional and happy family, and I was never beaten up by midgets with a grudge as a child (or as an adult for that matter). My boyfriend is as happy and stable as I am, and everyone gets along famously at family get togethers. Nope, no drunken brawls or someone screaming, "Quick! Get Billy Leroy away from Papa's guns!"

I have a problem with hanging up clothes. That's about it.

Oooh... here's something juicy.

I have a client (customer, vendor... whatever) who comes into town from New York fairly regularly. Last March when he was in town he asked me to join him for dinner. No harm, no fowl (ha!), so I agreed. I picked him up in Fort Worth and we went to Joe T. Garcia's (yum!).

We were having a normal meal, he told me about his business, his family, his children and when things were just to the point of me finally relaxing about eating dinner with a strange man he asks me if he can tell me about his personal life. I (like a complete maroon) said, "Sure." He lapses into a whole sordid story about how he and his wife "play". Apparently they are into a scene with a fair amount of BDsM. For those vanilla readers out there (like me) that stands for Bondage, Dominance, submission and Masochism, or something like that.

While I sat there with my mouth open drawing flies and all in all being very charming and ladylike, he told me that he had on, at that very moment, a ball spreader. Now that, ladies and gentlemen, is important information to have. I am not knocking his choices or his openness. I am, however, wondering why he decided I was trustworthy enough for this information. And more to the point, why did he find it necessary to tell me?

I am certain that I did not put any "Hey big boy, tell me about your ball spreader" vibes out there. I told him that I am not into that sort of thing and asked him why he decided to tell me. His answer was that,"You seem like an open minded sort of woman, and I wanted to be honest with you." Ok, that is all good. I was shocked, a bit taken aback, but no harm was done. He apologized for surprising me and I took him back to his hotel.

I was driving back to Dallas and my cell phone rings. IT WAS HIS WIFE PEOPLE! He gave her my cell phone. Odd. She wanted to thank me for going out to dinner with her husband and tell me that if I ever wanted to, that it would be ok to share him. I almost wrecked. I said, "Um... Thank you for that offer, but I will not now, nor ever be in need of his services, and I really don't know what to tell you. I just missed my exit and I am about to wreck, thankyouforcallingbyebyenow." *click*

In all honesty, I have no problems with alternative lifestyles and off the beaten path sexual stuff. If it is someone else, have at it y'all. More freaky power to you and your bad self! But as for me, I am all for single partner, opposite sex, "get that clothes pin away from me", type of intimacy.

The reason I bring this up is because the same vendor dude called me this afternoon. Said that he was in town and asked if I wanted to have dinner. I politely declined. He told me that we could just do dinner and that I could bring my vanilla boyfriend with me. How sweet. I reminded him that I am "vanilla", told him to have a nice stay in Dallas, but before I could hang up he apologized for mentioning it.

Let's look at the facts:

I told him that I am not into that. I told him that I'm not even slightly interested. Isn't that enough of a deterrent?

Is it the shock value that these people get off on?

Oh well. Go forth and TOASTER!

March 17, 2003

Monday Mindless

Sam Raimi films are pure movie goodness.

Mister and I watched Evil Dead II and Evil Dead III "Army of Darkness" this weekend. Funny, funny stuff y'all.

I was quite taken aback at the retard running the cash register at our local video/dvd store. I don't know if I should mention their name here, but it rhymes with FlockMuster. I went to ask said retard where in the store I may find the two gems of movie goodness I was searching. They were actually listed in the Action section. No horror section at that FlockMuster store! No sirree Bob!

So I find the movie gems and take the to the cash register with Mister. Retard looks at our selection and gets a questioning look on his face. I mumble that they are Evil Dead II and III, in case he couldn't read. He looked at the Army of Darkness video like, "No way lady, it has a different name than the other one." So I explain, .... Slowly... "Sir, Army of Darkness is Evil Dead III." I got a blank stare and an, "oh." BRILLIANT!

How can anyone work at a FlockMuster (or any hugely overpriced but way too convenient video/dvd store) and Not Know That!? I am in no way a film geek like so many other people. Heck, I don't even have a favorite genre.

Flawless segue #1.

No really, check this out. I laughed(2/29/08, sorry y'all... no clue what this used to be.) so hard I almost pee'd.

Speaking of pee. What is the deal with fluorescent pee? Mister has been slipping me vitamins for a few months (or were they ruffies?), and for the past few days I have had seriously fluorescent tinkle.

Flawless segue #2.

I had a dream this morning that I was roomies with Jack and Will, characters from Will and Grace. The house (or whatever) was flooding and Jack was trying to make false insurance claims to receive money and I was sitting on Will's lap trying to tell him why I was not attracted to him because I was a straight woman. I was also trying to destroy these little varmints that were like cartoon/action figures that were alive but trying to harm me. One of them looked sort of like that spokes-shrimp from the Long John Silver commercials.

Speaking of spokes-shrimp... Ok, it has nothing to do with spokes-shrimp. My sister was looking out the window of my car when we were stuck at a red light one afternoon. She was watching all these little birds rustlin' up some food. Really quietly she started singing, "Lookin for grubs in all the wrong places... looking for grubs...". Heh. She slays me.

This entry is chock-full of blabbering and mindless drivel.

Ok... here's something:

25 Things you May or May Not Know About Me

1. I have auburn/brown hair that Mister says looks "orange" on the ends. Mmmm sexy.

2. I was born in the north but was only there for 6 weeks. Therefore, I am southern by the grace of God. (Nothing against Northerners... I just love the South.)

3. I was in college before I graduated high school.

4. I have an irrational fear of tofu.

5. I have no grandparents left.

6. I am quite the Amazon, 5'9"on tall days. On short days I am just over 5'7.5".

7. I like my feet.

8. I have a substance abuse problem: shoes, jewelry and make-up.

9. I know how to replace the cellanoid on a 1982 dump truck.

10. I refuse to ever again utter the words, "I am hungry, go kill something."

11. I get emotionally attached to the characters in a novel. When it is over, I go through a period of mourning. It's not severe or anything.

12. I love popcorn SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO much... but it hates me. With a vengeance.

13. I have green eyes. Not hazel. Green.

14. When I am very, very, very angry, my eyes turn blue.

15. When I was younger I was so stressed my eyelashes used to fall out. Not just one at a time either. When I ran away at 13, my eyelids were almost bald.

16. When I was 12 I cut off all my eyebrows. Apparently I was too lazy to pluck them, but very OCD about finishing a task I had started.

17. I love to dance. I started when I was 3 in ballet. All in all I have 15 years of ballet, 7 years of jazz, 4 years of tap and 2 years of lyrical.

18. I was a member of my college repertory dance team.

19. I have always gotten along better with men, than with women. Until lately. I have found that I really do like to have girls as friends.

20. I have a girl's weekend every year in August. Anywhere from 15 to 20 women converge on my parents' lake house and drink WAY too much beer, sing way too loudly and get sunburned. It's a beautiful thing.

21. My kitty's name is Maximillian McGillikitty III... he doesn't know it though. He thinks his name is Maxie, Gato or Boo. Mister calls him Boo... like Boo Boo Kitty. Too sweet.

22. I used to think that Steve Miller's Big Ol Jet Airliner used to say "Bingo Jed had a light on."

23. I am 30 years old and Mister is my first and only love.

24. I love infomercials!

25. Sally Struthers used to make me cry every Sunday afternoon.

*Curtsie* G'night.

(p.s. My toes are painted Rudolph Red, even though it's nowhere near Christmas! I am SUCH the rebel.)

March 20, 2003

Tinkle Bell

Oh good Lord it is all downhill from 30 years old, I swear.

I just had this monster sneeze fit a few minutes ago and lo and behold (I have to start talking like an old blue hair sometime, right?) I actually felt a drop of tinkle squink past the security guard of my girl downstairs.

My cuda now has a full time security guard? My, my, my, Miss High and Mighty with her own posse... and everything. Next thing you know, she'll be on E! Hollywood Story waxing poetic about the good times when she was just a wee (ha!) lass, frolicking in the wheat fields of the high country.

Oh, I'm sorry. What was I saying?

Ah, yes... I tinkled a little during a prolonged sneeze fit. Is it normal to be incontinent at 30? I have laughed so hard I almost tinkled before. And if Mister gets on one of his rants (or tangents), goodness me, that man is funny. Not to mention if he tickles me and chases me around. I squeal and laugh,... and try not to pee.

I have been exercising my Kegels forEVER. I can control my tinkle flow and all that. Are my sneezes that powerful?

Eh. Enough of that.

Guess where I am heading in less than 8 hours? Yep, it's time for the New Orleans jaunt. YAY! Me & Mister in the Big Easy! Woo hoo! He's never been, and I am so excited to take him all over. I am glad that we are not going during Mardi Gras. I have heard some major horror stories about the state of the streets with trash and ankle-high sludge. Ick. Hence, I have never been during Mardi Gras.

We are meeting up with some of my colleagues tonight at Pat O'Brien's. I know it is a tourist trap, but those hurricanes are worth it. I spoke to my mother yesterday and she warned me about their potency. Apparently after two of them my father (Scotch/Irish) was hanging off of a lamppost out front. I don't think I'll be hanging off of a lamppost in the middle of the French Quarter... but I may sling a jauntily colored feather boa around my neck and sing on top of a piano. Ooh, ooh... or play one of those metal washboard thingies that zydeco music people play.

I am so not the Cajun Queen.

But I'll tell you what, when I was 21 years old I went down to Houston to visit my best girlfriend (LuLu). She had our whole Saturday day and night planned out. We started out by going to the Cajun Festival in south Houston and drinking mucho beer. I was watching the bands on this grandstand thing. LuLu had a man friend with her and they were conversing as opposed to drinking or dancing, so I stood on the edge of the dance floor to watch. This large black man with 3 teeth in his head came over, bowed and said, "Hello, pretty lady. Would you care to dance?" Y'all I danced with that man, his friends, his family members and anyone else they passed me to on the dance floor that day. I have never had so much fun. They taught me the Cajun two-step and generally wore my ass out. I was one sweaty white girl with filthy feet.

We were supposed to meet one of her dance partners in a few hours, and about an hour south of where we were. So, we stopped into a Chevron station that was on the way to change clothes and freshen up. LuLu had to tinkle and so did I but she beat me to the potty, and wouldn't get up. Y'all, I tinkled in the sink at a Chevron in south Houston. (Not to mention the time I bathed in the sink at a Burger King just outside of Galveston... but that is a whole other story.)

The dance hall in Alvin, TX (*shudder*) called Hall 10 VFW, or something like that, was mighty scary. Mostly an older flea market crowd with their children runnin around and babies in carriers... under the tables! Babies in bars are not a phenomenon that I am fond of.

Ah, such is youth.

Favorite quote read in the past week: by Dusty Scott (crush crush)

Arguing on the Internet is like competing in the Special Olympics.

Even if you win, you're still retarded.

Love that!

I didn't sleep very well last night. Mister was up and down. He couldn't sleep either. He kept getting up to go watch the news to get the latest story on the bombings in Iraq.

To be honest with you people, I really don't know how to feel about this. This is the third time we have been to war in my lifetime. Vietnam was ending when I was born, Desert Storm, and now this. I want to pray for our troops and their families. I want to do something positive for this effort, but to be truthful... it doesn't seem real. Am I that much a product of a TV generation, where we are so desensitized to everything?

Take care of each other y'all.

March 26, 2003

Home again, home again....

Great food, great company, great music, great hotels, great time!

I had the most wonderful time the past six days. Mister and I flew out on time Thursday evening. Thanks in part to a sweet, sweet girlfriend (Stacey) who took us to the airport. We had a whole little mini-row of seats to ourselves because the plane was not completely full. I felt awful because we weren't able to get the exit row to accommodate Mister's daddy-long-legs. The man is 6'5" y'all. (yum!) I was off rooting around the airports "Everything is 10$" store (I am fascinated by cheap crap, what can I say?) and the mob started lining up for the ninja boarding* before I got back. Even though Mister and I were the first people there, we were at the back of the line. It bit. I felt bad.

*Ninja boarding = Cheap ass airlines don't have assigned seating. It is seriously first come, first serve basis. You have three groups boarding: A, B & C. They call group A and the whole place goes bat shit. No organization. Ugh.

Mini-row and all aside (I am not the most graceful air-traveler) the flight down to New Orleans was very nice. Not too much turbulence and I did not require sedation.

We walked out to the terminal when we landed and there it was, a sign ["Hyatt VIP"] held up by a uniformed man. Ah... the perks of this job rock. We got into this nice town car to go down town. Our driver, Fred, was a wealth of knowledge. Fred had already checked us in. Keys in hand and everything... Very cool. Fred knew tid bits of history and pointed out various interesting items on our way to the Superdome. He even waited for us to change shoes and took us down to Pat O'Brien's. That SO rocked! Door to drunken door service! Woo hoo!

We met up with our crew down at Pat O's and had a hurricane and a few beers. Mister was being pretty quiet. There is a lot to take in, so I totally understood. After we got the pleasantries out of the way we all left Pat O's and walked down Bourbon Street. It was a Thursday night and the street was still pretty much filled with drunken people stumbling from bar to bar. Mardi Gras was over, so was St. Patrick's day, and yet people were everywhere.

We stopped into this hole in the wall place that had Dwayne Dopsie (pronounced Doopsie) and the Zydeco Hellraisers. Those guys were LOUD! He happens to be the son of Rockin Dopsie, the King of Zydeco. Pretty impressive... but still pretty damn loud.

New Orleans has the best music. And the best food.

Friday was all business until 6:30 or so. We all went down to the Cajun Cabin on Bourbon and had oysters, gator, crawfish and mucho beer. I love oysters and beer. Mitchell Cormier and the Cain't Hardly Play Boys came onstage around 8pm and that place rocked solid. We left while they were still on stage.

Saturday was business until 4pm. Mister and I caught the trolley down into the French Quarter, watched the street performers and window-shopped. We stopped into the Funky Pirate and had a few beers then met up with our cohorts at Acme Oyster House at 7pm. Check it out. You guys could have seen me on their oyster cam! Yay oysters! I ate 2 dozen oysters all by my little (ha!) self. They were divine, Ambrosia of the gods I say!

When I went to their website to copy the link, I realized that they also have a location in San Destin. That is SO great! My family goes to Destin, FL every other year for some family time, some surf, some turf and many bloody marys.

Sunday we drove over to Biloxi and checked into the Beau Rivage. I felt like I was in Vegas... with a southern accent and flip-flops. That was weird y'all, but still very cool. Mister and I got to stay in this amazing room with a double view. (The view Sunday night was breath taking, the moon over the Gulf...*sigh*.) That afternoon I worked my bootie off and we had dinner. Monday was more work and a show. I cannot remember the name of that show for the life of me, but I can tell you what, I am one spoiled little cookie. People were flinging themselves around on bungee cords for my amusement and I was like, "Hmmphf, I've seen better." Ugh, I should be whipped.

But in my defense, I have been to Vegas like a frillon times and there is NO substitute for "O".

Last night we flew back into Dallas and Stacey picked us up. Bless her heart. We were driving down the tollway when her oil light came on, she commented on it and a second later, we were in a dead car on the inside lane of the Dallas North Tollway. Traffic at 6:30 in Dallas is awful. Heck, weekend traffic basically starts on Thursday evening, it is that bad.

She freaked. "What do I do!?" Mister calmly told her to put it in neutral and try to restart it. "With it still rolling!?" Mister nodded his head. She restarted it and we got through a toll plaza and to an exit ramp area. It died before we could exit.

Stacey called her husband and Mister went to walk to the nearest gas station to buy some oil. He is such a gentleman. Needless to say, we got the car started again, but before we could get her home safely, she ran over an opossum the size of a small Volkswagen. That poor woman had one hell of a Tuesday.


volkswagenpossum.jpg

I just talked to Mister; he decided to work from home today. He said his parvo and scurvy are acting up.

Ha!

More on the flight home, club 544, Gary Brown and Big AL Carlson later.

March 28, 2003

Don't Stop Sexi-Mexi!

I am alone and a young Asian man walks into the office carrying a large duffle bag with boxes of things you would sell for a fundraiser.

Him: Good morning, long time no see, how are you doing today?
[It comes out more like “Goodmorning,longtimenosee,howareyoudoingtoday?”]
Me: Pardon?
Him: Good morning, long time no see, how are you doing today?
Me: I’m sorry sir; I don’t believe we’ve met before.
Him: Well, it’s good to see you again.
Me: Pardon?
[I notice the bag and politely offer that we do not allow solicitors.]
Him: It’s a beautiful day; I just wanted to offer you…
Me: We don’t allow solicitation sir.
Him: … a look at our test market products.
[He pulls out a screwdriver with a light on it.]
Me: We don’t allow solicitation sir.
Him: But this is a test market.
Me: We… don’t… allow… solicitation… sir.
Him: [he begins to get whiny] But this is a tessssssssst market.
Me: You are proposing to sell me something or solicit sales correct?
Him: [blank stare]
Me: That would be solicitation, but thank you for stopping in. Good-bye.

Poor kid. Probably his first job out of school. I hated to shut him down, but come ON.

Ah, this is nice. This morning I was working away at a mailing and hand-boss came out of his cave and offered this piece of shit compliment.

“I don’t want you to get a big head or anything but Jackie and Nancy (board members) were both very pleased with you during the site visit. They said you had all the answers to their questions and everything. Well, at least that is what they told Brian (President) and he told me. Well, Nancy did tell me in person.”

I swear, that man could fuck up toast.

I have mentioned before that I have to drive a frillon miles to work every morning. There are a few things that I look forward to on that drive. I have already mentioned the big, black stallion that I pass. Another thing that makes me happy is the construction that they are doing on Main Street in Lewisville. They have torn up a large portion of the road but they are completing sections on almost a bi-weekly basis. I cannot wait to be able to drive on the virgin concrete. Yeah, a little odd, I know. But I have to find joy in something. It’s better to look forward to it’s completion like waiting for beer bread to bake, than bitching about how hellaciously long it takes to get to the next light when Sexy Mexi (any number of migrant workers who stand in the street with the Slow/Stop sign) forgets that he’s holding up the “Stop” sign.

Tonight is beer night with friends. I am so excited I can hardly stand it. Mister and I had a buddy (Tim) over a few weeks ago when he was having trouble with his ladyfriend. Since then, I have wanted to invite others. Tonight will be Tim, Steve, Stacey, Mister and me. Yay! We may even go down into “The Basement” to play You Don’t Know Jack.

There’s nothing I like better than being told how retarded I am by a smart mouthed computer trivia game.

The Basement is actually Mister’s garage. His manly SUV is too large to fit in the garage so he uses it for storage. One night during a particularly cold snap, Mister and I took 2 magnums of champagne (left over from New Year’s Eve), a cigar for him, smokes for me, a space heater, a radio and his laptop down into his garage. The Basement was Born! We had the best time!

I need to replace my pillows.

I sleep with a plethora of pillows in my bed. Just for me, 2 king size pillows and a full-length body pillow. I am one of those people that don’t like for their knees to touch. Ok, ok ok… enough with the slutty comments. I meant when I am sleeping you maroon. And since I gained weight a few years ago and miraculously grew boobs, I don’t like for them to touch either. *shudder* Yuk.

It has been years since I had nice fluffy new pillows on my bed. Mister was sweet enough to buy me a body pillow for his house. It is the softest thing. The cover is made out of moleskin or something. We got it at The Great Indoors. Word to the wise… If you are a candle fanatic, do NOT go into this store. You could be lost for days and come out in debt or at least with a traumatized sense of smell.

What I wouldn’t give to be anywhere but here.

Have a great weekend everyone!

About March 2003

This page contains all entries posted to Suzanna Danna in March 2003. They are listed from oldest to newest.

February 2003 is the previous archive.

April 2003 is the next archive.

Many more can be found on the main index page or by looking through the archives.

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