« March 2003 | Main | May 2003 »

April 2003 Archives

April 2, 2003

Lucid Dream and Living Dream

A pirate walks into a bar with a steering wheel hanging out of the front of his pants (breeches… whatever).
The bartender says:
“Excuse me sir, but you seem to have a steering wheel hanging out of the front of your pants.”
The pirate replies:
“Arrrrrrrrrrrrrrgghhhhhhhh, so I do… and it’s drivin’ me nuts!”

Ok, I had a very surreal dream this morning. I was at work and Doc from The Love Boat (Bernie Kopell) called me and was laughing maniacally on the phone when I could not find the website he wanted his business linked to. He kept saying Rumble.com* but spelling it with all sorts of Russian consonants. He was certain that his pawnshop would be the bestest pawnshop in all of Minnesota.

*Rumble.com is some sort of welding equipment thing. I looked it up this morning.

Flash Forward (same dream): To complete a task for work Mister and I had to go to a stadium and find the lady that handles concession. I was also there to spy on Jagger and Julie (radio personalities from a morning show) while they did an on location remote. They were late to their commercial spot and I saw them sneaking around the corner of this enorma-huge (shut up, it’s a word.) stadium. I was sad because I knew I would have to tattletale on them. Mister and I then proceeded into the enorma-huge stadium to find the concession person. On the way through the back stage area Mister found some straw seat covers stacked up like a Whack-A-Mole game. He went and sat on each stack of identical straw seat covers and proclaimed, “Oooohhh!!!!! I like this one!”

Then… I woke up.

Whee. Yay, brain enema.

I need to give a shout out to Mister. Thank you, thank you, thank you. You are an amazing man. You are sweet, kind, gentle, strong, masculine, handsome (as a MoFO!), tender, loving, intelligent, funny, witty, a great listener, an amazing lover and my best friend.

People, I have a confession to make. I suck with my own money. I have run businesses where I was in charge of over 3 million in inventory and handled it beautifully. But give me a few hundred (Who Wants to Marry a Hundredaire?) bucks and I will screw my budget up royally. I think it comes from never having a penny to spare and budgeting down to the last buffalo nickel when I was previously married. (Oh Suzanna Danna, you and your wacky penny/nickel metaphors.) I was so stressed just to keep the family fed that I wore myself out worrying about money. When I left that life behind I had nothing* and built my life back for myself.

*Seriously, see the lyrics to Movin On by the Rascal Flatts. That was me, all the way down to selling something to pay for gas to leave town.

After getting my feet back under me I realized that I had more bills, but more money. How did this happen you ask? Well, I wasn’t supporting any habits (good or bad) and I took immense pride in paying off my left over debt quickly. Since then I have had practically no worries. And my budget (or lack thereof) has suffered for it. I have been carefree for several years and haven’t balanced my checkbook in ages.

Why, pray tell, am I telling you guys this? Well, rent is due and I went to check on my bank account online yesterday and Lo and Behold! I was about $80.00 away from what I needed to pay rent. Two things cleared that were reoccurring charges that I forgot about and I was about to be spanked for being such a moron.

Mister to the rescue! (Dammit, I need to find him a cape.)

It’s not that I’m so in awe that he’s loaning me a few bucks to pay my rent. It is the fact that he was hell bent on me not feeling like a complete idiot about it.

THAT, people… is amazing.

I am also a bit weirded out about something. I have been a strong, self-sufficient woman for years. Why do I have this sudden urge to hand Mister my paycheck and ask for a small allowance? I have two answers to the above query that may be possible.

1) I am impossibly lazy.

2) Or… I am totally trusting and willing to be taken care of by this man.

That (#2) is so eye opening. I have always been sort of stiff and rigid, unwilling to show a soft side (except to animals) or be feminine because I saw it as a sign of weakness. Not so anymore. Now, I have no problems admitting when I can’t do something or asking for help. That he wants to help and does not look down on me for admitting defeat makes my heart happy.

Sound goofy?

Well, then, give me floppy ears and big, blue, ugly pants… because I am Goofy!

April 3, 2003

Makes Sense...

I am highly sensitive today and have been for the past few days. Not in an emotional way, I just feel like my senses are being bombarded by different stimuli.

This is the most invasive sense for me. I have a very acute sense of smell and can usually separate aromas/odors out. Yesterday afternoon was hell on my nose. I was driving home from work and the day was beautiful. Warm, windy, sparse clouds in the sky and I drove with my windows down to enjoy the day. My hair is long and I was beaten about the head and shoulders by the curly mess until I could restrain it with furry love-cuffs and a ball gag. It resisted slightly then bowed to my wishes reverently whispering, “As you wish, Mistress”. Whoops, ok, I’ll try to stay on the same subject. As I pulled up to a red light just east of the sprawling countryside I drive through, I was assaulted by this… Odor. It wasn’t all bad, but it wasn’t all good. It smelled like an unbalanced mix between Six Flags (over Texas) in 102-degree heat. You know… afro-sheen, doobage, hot asphalt, gas fumes, funnel cake and that cloyingly sick/sweet smell of melting Orange Push Ups (Scroll down). Go ahead, try and conjure that one up. Blech. I drove 2 miles and got caught by a train passing. This vantage point allowed me to be in the direct wafting of air from Clements Nut Company, a nut company that roasts yummy smelling things all day. Funny enough, the nut roasting smells more like chicken nuggets.

Would someone PLEASE tell me what the deal is with that hydrocephalic Calvin sticker peeing on everything!? I mean really. Has our society really become that abrasive as to proudly display on the back windows of our automobiles a picture of a smart-ass six-year-old peeing on everything from Darwin to any and every make of truck? That little creepy cartoon kid needs a spanking and to be shown where the bathroom is. Searching for that link I ran across a diary of some redneck touting the prowess of his jeep in the category of Mudding. He said that he had one of those stickers with the subject being pee’d on was Chevy. He got stuck. Wouldn’t you know it? The only person to come along and offer help was a person driving a, yep, a Chevy. Of course the Chevy owner offered to help him if he removed the sticker. Such small justice. I just don’t understand the nature of these people. Do they think it is humorous? Or is it just a silent and soggy statement against whatever riles their angst?

I listen to several radio stations on the way to and from work each day, I have over an hour to listen, each way. My choice ranges from alternative music to a country station. Over the past few weeks this 3 man band called The Fags has been playing on the alternative station. They have visited the station and have had their egos stroked by the afternoon drive-time disc jockey. I don’t get it. They have this song that they are selling as a hit. The song is called “Ms. Take”. Ha ha ha, your witty use of the English language humors me. *eyeroll* Good Lord. Have you guys heard this song? I swear, it sounds like a high school garage band with blown amps. The lead singer must have been a cat giving birth to a watermelon in another life. Not to rain on their parade, but Shit! Let it go! You guys suck! Coasting on your name's shock value is all you will ever do. Ya’ll watch these guys will be all over the radio, nation wide in like 3 months. Then I will have to deafen myself with sharpened pencils.

For the past few days I have been a raging bag (mmm sexy) of hormones. [Bless Mister’s heart.] My insides feel overly hot and achy which makes my outsides feel clammy and uncomfortable. I can’t sleep very well (no doubt with dreams like these), my fingertips feel rough, my cuticles are dry, my eyes feel gritty and clothing overloads my sense of touch. I found something sticky on my desk and the texture made me cringe. I can’t stand the “soft grip” part of my favorite pen and have removed the ink from the barrel so I don’t have to touch it. All in all my fingerprints feel huge and I don’t like stuff touching me (other than Mister of course).

Why is it that when your senses are on overload, nothing tastes good? I would figure that it would just be the opposite. Senses overload, everything tastes good! No such luck. Bummer. I just went to the donut shop around the corner and got some donut holes. Normally there is nothing I love more than deep fried, sugarcoated carbs. But today, ick. They tasted like sawdust. Last night, Mister and I had some yummy rare roast beast (beef) sandwiches. Normally I love roast beast. Last night, it was dry and rubbery. I haven’t even enjoyed my morning commute smoke. I smoked it out of habit this morning, but I was just annoyed by the tongue tingle and the flurries (little ashes) that got on my sleeve.

Diagnosis: I need a few mental health days.

Wonderful News!
One of my bestest girlfriends in the world (Stacey the Possum Slayer!) called me this morning at 8:15. She had taken a pregnancy test and had 2 lines; one of them was a fainter color. She was squealing and hyper and happy, but didn’t want to bank on it until she got the test done professionally. She just called me from the doctor… Screaming! She’s Pregnant! YAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Due date of December 11th. I can’t think of two nicer people to bring a child into the world. I called Mister, he was very happy for the Slayer of Possums and her Nutria! Killing hubby. He also said something that made everything right with the world. Senses overload or not. He said, “I can’t wait until it’s our turn to be pregnant.”

*sigh of happiness*

Oh yeah…

What Star Wars character was really a pirate?
AAAAAAAAAARrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr-2 D2.

April 8, 2003

Survey #1

Mother of all Cheesy Surveys sent to me by a random goober. Repeated here for your amusement, or lack thereof.

01) First grade teacher's name: Hmm Mrs. Nay. She was slightly cool. Mrs. Conn was 2nd grade, can’t remember 3rd grade for the life of me. Fourth grade was the grade from hell, Mrs. Lowenthal… *shudder* May she burn… ahem, I mean. We did not get along.

02) Last word you said: Pardon????

03) Last song you sang: "Cat Scratch Fever" (shout out to Mister! Ha!)

04) Last person you hugged: Mister.

05) Last thing you laughed at: A picture that was emailed to me this morning, two chocolate bunnies (a la Easter) one has a bite out of his butt and is saying, “My butt hurts.” The other has it’s ears bitten off and is saying, “What!?” eh heh.

06) Last time you said, "I Love you": Audibly? This morning, to Mister.

07) Last time you cried: Thursday 4/3/03, migraine from hell… I was a wimp.

08) What's in your CD player: a composite CD that I made called “Vigilante Ta-tas”… wouldn’t that be a great name for a band?

09) What color socks are you wearing: None, currently in sandals. I Love Texas.

10) What's under your bed: A box of Christmas ornaments, a sock or two, my cat when I vacuum, an extension cord and a vibrator. Kidding about the vibrator.

11) What time did you wake up today: 5:30 am. I truly despise mornings, well, it’s not the mornings I despise, it is the getting up part that bites.

12) Current taste: Mama’s Pizza, Dove chocolate, etemame, sushi and Coors Lite… and I wonder why I have nightmares.

13) Current hair: The undone do. It goes like this. I get out of the shower and waffle about whether or not to dry my hair. I comb it out, half-ass dry the bangs, get a bit discouraged about the time and let it go. It curls up into a fro & I don’t brush it until the cycle continues again the next morning.

14) Current clothes: Denim short-sleeved tunic with beige around the hem, kaki capris and brown sandals.

15) Current annoyance: A piece of popcorn hull spot-welded to a part of my tongue that is not reachable by any human means (unless vomiting is an end to a means, which you desire).

16) Current longing: To find a job closer to home with more money, less hours and more creativity. Cha-right.

17) Current desktop picture: Pretty tulips available on the Windows XP program.

18) Current worry: Money and paying my bills on time.

19) Current hate: I’m not a big hater, but my boss really gives me the red ass sometimes.

20) Story behind your screen name: It is a nickname my father has called me since I was old enough to remember.

21) Current favorite article of clothing: Ugly ass light blue paisley lounging pants I wear over at Mister’s. Mmmm, sexy!

22) Favorite physical feature of the opposite sex: Mouth. Hands. Eyes.

23) Last CD that you bought: Bonnie Raitt’s “Collection” cd… for the 3rd time.

24) Favorite place to be: With the people I love.

25) Least favorite place: In this office.

26) Time you wake up in the morning: Uh... Well, my alarm is set for 5:30 am, and I wake up to shut it off, but I rarely get out of bed at that point.

27) If you could play an instrument, what would it be: Last time I checked, I can play any instrument, but I'd really like to be able to play any instrument so it doesn’t sound like a elementary school band room exploded.

28) Favorite color: To wear, black. In general, blue.

29) Do you believe in an afterlife: Yes, absolutely.

30) How tall are you: Technically, 5’8” and some change, but I do have tall and short days.

31) Current favorite word/saying: “We’re gonna need a bigger boat.” I just saw Jaws for the frillonth time last night with Mister.

32) Favorite book: Sleeping Beauty Trilogy by Anne Rice

33) Favorite season: Fall.

34) One person from your past you wish you could go back and talk to: I never knew my uncle, my dad’s brother. He died in the Vietnam War. I am so very close to my aunt, it would just be nice to have an uncle too.

35) Favorite day: Saturday

36) Where do you want to go: Somewhere tropical so Mister and I can do some diving.

37) What is your career going to be like: Different? I don’t know how to answer this question

38) How many kids do you want to have: Two. A son first and then a daughter.

39) What kind of car will you have: Probably a gas guzzling SUV. Who knows.

40) Type a line you remember from any book: “When he touched her, she burned like winter fire…” Blah blah blah. Some random mindless blither from Elizabeth Lowell. It’s entertaining. I’ll give it that much.

41) A random lyric: From Kristy McCool’s “In These Shoes”

I once met a man with a sense of adventure
He was dressed to thrill wherever he went
He said "lets make love on a mountaintop
under the stars on a big hard rock"
I said "in these shoes? I don’t think so."
I said "Honey, lets do it here."

42) Identify some things surrounding your computer: A cute bear-bunny thing Mister got for me on the way to church one morning it says “Be my lady”… HA! I love it! A candle, my mug o’ pens and a little figurine thingy of two otters kissing. Shut up, it’s cute.

[my name is]: Suzanna Danna of course

[all I need is]: love.

[love is]: like oxygen.... I should watch Moulin Rouge...

[I'm afraid of]: Thunder and drowning. I am startled often by loud noises as well.

[I dream about]: I have such random mental enema dreams that it would take all of this post and several more to explain them. You guys don’t want to hear about those do you?

-W I T H .T H E. O P P O S I T E. S E X-

[what do you notice first?]: mouth or hands

[last person you slow danced with]: Mister

[worst question to ask]: Married yet? Most often asked by my co-worker who has a life-partner of 13 years.

-D O. Y O U .E V E R-

[sit on the internet all day waiting for someone special to IM you?] Actually, no. I don’t chat anymore.

[save aol/aim conversations]: see above.

[wish you were a member of the opposite sex]: Not really.

-W H O .W A S .T H E .L A S T. P E R S O N-

[you talked to on the phone]: Personal? Other than Mister? My buddy Tim.

[hugged]: Mister or Maxxie my kitty

[you instant messaged]: see above, I don’t do the IM thing anymore.

[you laughed with]: Mister

-D O .Y O U-

[color your hair]: I have before to try and get it all one color. I have auburn hair, mostly brown with red highlights. The ends are lighter than the top and I don’t dig the Rainbow Brite effect.

[ever get off the computer]: I'm mostly not on the computer. So, yes.

[habla espanol?]: Tex-Mex… but classic Spanish… oh, hell no, I don’t even speak correct English. (For all you Grammatically Anal Retentive people. I apologize profusely.)

-D O .Y O U / / A R E .Y O U-

[obsessive]: I can be, but usually in a goofy way. Like my current (long running) obsession with “business” in the bed, not business business, but like fuzz and stuff.

[could you live without the computer?]: Yes. I honestly think I could personally, but for business, heck no.

[how many peeps are on your buddy list?]: Mmmm..... marshmallow peeps.... There are no "peeps" on my buddy list and I cringe at the use of the word "peeps". I have no buddy list.

[what's your favorite food?] Soups… I’m a big soup fan.

[what's your favorite fruit?]: watermelon

[like watching sunrises or sunset] Sunset (I have this urge to sing stuff from Yentle).

[what hurts the most? physical pain or emotional pain?]: Emotional. I have a pretty high tolerance for physical pain, but I am the biggest wimp when it comes to emotional.

[trust others way too easily?]: Absolutely. This has always been an issue with me. More an issue of boundaries though.

Ok… enough.

What’s a pirate’s favorite school subject? Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrithmitic.

April 9, 2003

I deserve a Dorky Parade!

After posting that survey yesterday I had a brain fart while driving home. I recalled the name of my 5th grade teacher, Mrs. Reale. I also recalled an instance that is so retarded in its entirety that I deserve a parade in my Dorky Honor.

Mrs. Reale was one of those cool teachers; she really made you want to learn. She praised you for your efforts and made you want to try harder. If you had a problem, she did not single you out in front of the class to make you feel like a moron (like some fat-assed, mean 4th grade teachers did), she spoke to you in quiet and soothing tones and gave you examples to help your brain come to the correct conclusion.

Mrs. Reale was pregnant when we came back from Christmas break in 1982 (good Lord I am old). She did not get to finish up the rest of the year with us and we all missed her so very much. I used to fantasize that Mrs. Reale had a baby girl and because I was so cool (shut up, stop laughing) that she named her baby after me and told everyone when he or she asked where the baby’s name came from, “A precious and gifted child that I have a wonderful teacher/student relationship with at Sope Creek Elementary.”

Oh geeze, I just went the Sope Creek Elementary School website and it actually said “25 Years of Excellence!” Oh man. I feel so old. I looked through all of the teachers and only one looked familiar. The PE teacher. She was hot ya’ll. She looked like she had Cherokee blood. Very dark skin, long black hair, and the biggest brown eyes you have ever seen and she was Brutal. Quite the dominatrix of elementary aged children with her latex bustier and her cat-o-nine tails on Relay Day*. Yelling at us in a sultry German accent and threatening a spanking. Ok. This imagery has gone too far.

*What was that day called? Where everyone was made to run around like Labrador retrievers competing in a Field Trial?

I’ll take Confrontation for $300 Alex.

Today has been quite the mind bend for me. I walked in to the office this morning and hand-boss was smiling. Co-worker “C” was happy as well. This is an odd occurrence. Due to the fact that the pizza place next door has a leak and it has spread under the wall (and is creeping slowly towards my desk). Not to mention that they are basically miserable people.

In the first hour of work Co-worker “C” told me that she wanted to tease me about something, but wouldn’t because I’d cry. First of all, what the fuck? I’d cry? I’d cry!?!!? Um, I don’t make it a big point to cry at the office. Yeah, I confess, I cried the first time Mister sent me flowers. But come ON! That was a gimme. After that I called Co-worker “C” “nosey” because she keeps interrupting my phone calls with “Who is it?” and “What do they want?” Well, Nosey, if they wanted to talk to you, I’d put them through now wouldn’t I? She flipped her shit and flipped me off for calling her Nosey, then got eight ways of confrontational about it.

Ding-Dong, Co-worker “C”, Menopause calling. Sheesh.

Then hand-boss gave me a raise. But did it so I resented the hell out of him for it. Basically said, “Just wanted to let you know that your paycheck this week would be a little heavy… because you got a raise. But I wanted to make sure you know that when I ask for something, I would prefer a hard copy.” Or something like that. He asked me for something last Thursday, I told him where he could find it on the server. Apparently he wanted it printed out. Hey, no problem drill sergeant. I just had a problem with how he delivered the message. But $70 bucks extra a week… cool.

Stop laughing. I never said it was a big raise.

April 15, 2003

Amusements (Let's talk about sex!)


My mother, father and I driving to Destin, FL. My father is driving, my mother is sitting up front and I am in the back. I am smooshed up between the two front seats like I am 12 (was 29 at the time) so I don’t miss any witty banter between my folks. We are not even 1/16th of the way and the traffic slows to a crawl. Signs are posted like every 3 feet saying that the right lane was going to end, merge left. My mother stops chatting, looks around her and in her precious, high-pitched, southern voice asks my father, “Well, why do you think all these people are slowing down?” My father, one to never waste words points energetically at one of the huge, orange and black “Lane Ending – Merge Left (FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!)” signs on my mother’s side of the highway. Like, “Lookit that. Not like we’ve passed 18 Frillon of them in the past 5 minutes.” Eh heh. No really, it was funny. Ok, only to me.

Mister impersonating John Anderson of “Swingin” fame. For those of you who do not know who this man is (John Anderson, not Mister), he does those pitiful, mourn-like country songs heard in dimly lit pool halls in places like… oh, I don’t know… Cut `N Shoot, Texas. Yes, that is really a town in Texas. No, I am not going to link to it. (Ok, so I did link to it. What can I say? I am a whore for this HTML stuff.) I wanna tell you about Mister’s impersonation. I first heard this talent one afternoon while we were getting ready to go to a movie. The radio in his kitchen was playing and “Straight Tequila Night” by John Anderson came on. This is an unabashedly corny song people. John Anderson’s voice, if anything, is unique. Mister took this new information and fashioned everything from Bon Jovi to Perry Como in a John Anderson singsong. I laughed so hard I almost pee’d. He has now added Metallica to his repartee and is darn good at it!

Harvey Birdman Attorney at Law. Pure Adult Cartoon Goodness. I shit you not. If you are anywhere near a TV on Sunday nights at 10:15pm (CST), please; for Pete’s sake; check this out. It’s fifteen minutes of sarcasm and poorly veiled innuendo. Sexual innuendo from a cartoon. And a previous member of the (c.1967) Birdman and the Galaxy Trio no less. There is this little green dude, I can’t recall his name but he is so paranoid. He keeps yelling, “Are you looking at me? Can’t you see I can feel your eyes!” Ok, again… this may be just me, but I find this hilarious.

Timeline, 1997, place… a hospice in Atlanta, GA. My maternal grandmother “Butter” turns to my mother and asks, “What is it that lesbians do?”

This last one was sort of bitter sweet. Butter died of cancer and was such a trooper. She was very strong in faith and was ready to go “to the big house” long before her body shut down.

Retarded thought that won’t leave my head. “I paid off my Target card, so now I can use it again.” Note to Mister: take it away from me. But not until after Easter, I want a new purse and some sunglasses. Hee!

I am 30 years old but still receive an Easter basket from my Mommy! Can I tell ya’ll how much this rocks? I know I said I never wanted to grow up. Having to take care of bills and make sure the oil is changed is not a big deal to me. I meant I just want to continue to receive Easter baskets. [scuffs her toe on the carpet like a bashful three year old, complete with pouty lip and eyelash batting] See? Aren’t I cute enough to receive an Easter basket? Let’s discuss Santa closer to Christmas, deal?

Speaking of mythological creatures (Note to reader: if you still believe in Santa, stop reading here and ask your parents to turn “child lock” on their web access. We talk about sex and stuff here! Sheesh! Well, I really don’t talk much about sex. But I should. Eh heh.) I am curious to see “Darkness Falls” because I like creepy stuff. I heard it was about a rabid tooth fairy or some such tomfoolery. Sounds like a good premise. Great babysitting material. Ha! Kidding.

Have I told you guys that I am afraid of clowns?

Wait a second.

Let's talk about sex, baby
Let's talk about you and me
Let's talk about all the good things
And the bad things that may be
Let's talk about sex

Ok, so we talked about sex for a minute.

I didn’t wanna talk about creepy clowns anyway.

Word to your mother.

April 16, 2003

It's a Practical Joke Beeyotch!

Sprint PCS is gonna love me for this. Their marketing department will throw up their hands in shock and awe (sorry.) over my brilliance. They will hold a parade, not in my dorky honor but as testament to my Creative Genius. They will call friends and neighbors to witness my giant brain’s ability to spew forth greatness. Check it.

Currently Sprint PCS has a commercial airing that contains the following premise. A rancher orders 200 Oxen for his ranch to pull wagons and other such beast of burden-ly tasks. The cell phone he was calling from had static and he was mistakenly sent 200 Dachshund. Stumped cowboys with quizzical expressions and hilarity ensues. The warning of “Stampeeeeeeeeede!” is heard, wiener dogs run rampant, Sprint spokes dude does his spiel and the logo runs.

Here’s my take:

Horticultural Nursery is the setting, many people working on plants, trees and flowers. Landscapers complete with hats, gloves, pruning shears and gardening clogs are in the shot. Bees are everywhere. Sprint PCS dude is in a beekeeper’s outfit. Landscaper ordered 200 Trees, but because of static on his unworthy cell phone, he received 200 Bees. Landscapers in the background are swatting at bees and basically looking very unhappy. The warning of “Swaaaaaaaaaaaaaarm!” is heard and a landscaper runs through the frame screaming “Bee-yotches!!!!!!!!!!” Spokes dude does his spiel and the logo runs.

Bee-yotch. Heh.

Well, hell. What do you expect from someone who channeled Salt N’ Pepa last entry?

Love this Cartoon. Props to Dan Piraro. Hope this doesn’t get me in trouble. Ya’ll check out his WebSite. It rocks!

My brother in law and my mother have an amazing and quite funny relationship. My mother is what most would consider the perfect Southern woman. She cooks, she bakes (yes, there is a difference), she sews clothes for her family, she gardens and she has a sweet sense of humor and is very affectionate. My brother in law is hysterical. He was raised by a fantastic family in Fort Worth, TX, is a hard worker, treats my sister like a queen and has a great sense of humor.

When my brother in law joined us for his first Christmas as a part of the family (1995) my mother gave him a gift after all the other gifts were given out and opened. He looked at the exquisitely wrapped present and thanked her from his heart. He is a gracious soul but no amount of good manners and impeccable breeding could prepare him for what was to happen next. He carefully unwrapped the present and found a beautiful cherry wood picture frame with the backside facing him. He turned it over to find an 8”x10” picture of my mother smiling wide and showing off her new hat and gloves. The BIL did not know what to say at first and so my mother offered, (helpfully of course) “I hope you like it. I thought you could put it on your desk at your new office at work.” BIL stammers and turned to thank my mother with sincerity. [Side note, we’re gonna call my mother June; as in Cleaver; for the rest of this diary.] “Thank you June,” stammered BIL, “it is a lovely picture.” At which point my Mother busted out, laughing her ass off. She may have even snorted. She knew that no new (or old even) son in law would want a picture of his mother in law at his office, and definitely not an 8”x10” enorm-a-huge picture. BIL blinked twice and looked to my sister for help. She was too busy rolling around on the floor laughing at the uncharacteristically funny practical joke my mother had pulled on her new husband.

Flash forward to the next Christmas.

Note: My mother had; in the interim; learned all about the Internet. She even took to calling herself the Net Wizard.

BIL was playing Santa and handing out gifts. When they were all given out, opened and ooh’d and aaahhh’d over, he handed my mother a very special package. She squealed with delight at getting the last gift and ripped through the paper. The box was nondescript and gave away nothing about the present within. June opened the box and found her face staring back at her in the shape of a mouse pad. BIL had taken the picture from the previous Christmas and had it made into a mouse pad for the Net Wizard.

It was on then.

My mother gave the picture back to BIL in the form of a calendar the year after. Or something sort of like that, so he could enjoy her face daily and throughout the changing of the seasons.

But BIL won the cake when on a family trip to Destin, FL. (Not the one I was talking about yesterday.) He showed up with a wrapped present for each family member. Everyone opened their present expectantly because he is such a thoughtful guy, and to our amazement, we found 4 XL white beefy T-shirts with… yep, my mother’s picture Large and In Charge on the front. It was huge! BIL slammed. He was the king of turning the practical joke around. My father, after many rumrunners, ran down the beach during that trip screaming, “I Love YOU JUUUUUUUNE!” while wearing the picture of his wife blazoned across his chest.

The picture of June hasn’t surfaced in many years in the form of a practical joke. It did, however, turn up shortly after I started dating Mister. We were searching through pictures that evoked memories (YOU: no… you’re kidding!?… ME: oh hush.). I was telling Mister stories about my family so he wouldn’t run screaming when he met them, and so he would understand some of my quirkiness. A picture was found of the family in Destin and I began telling him how fun it was to vacation there with them. He looked dubious, so to convince him, I broke out the “Net Wizard Picture” story and then found the t-shirt for him to see.

I don’t think he’s convinced. But I may try to talk him into wearing it this weekend when we go to my parents’ house for Easter with the family.

April 17, 2003

Buggy Apology & a Dream

Ick[Paranoia creeps up that something is crawling in my hair.]

Ya’ll, there are flying termites swarming this tiny office. Ew ew ew. I think it is in retaliation to my bee-yotch entry yesterday. They are vindictive little suckers, those of the insect world.

“Ok, ok, ok. I take it back. My commercial genius was in no way directed towards the Isoptera order. I mean no disrespect. Now, get yer filthy lil wings off’a my mouse pad! ……… Yer momma was a cockroach!”

For those of you dorky enough to be interested, termites did evolve from a primitive form of cockroach about 20 million years ago.

You: Enough with the Animal Planet BS, entertain me!
Me: Alright already, pushy bastid ain’t ya?

So, last night was a mental orgasm of Discovery Channel and DVD goodness. They (the TV gods at Discovery Channel) were playing the bestest documentary called “Mega-Excavators: Machines that Reshape The World”. Oh momma, that was so cool. Then Mister and I watched Jurassic Park III. Needless to say my dream world was affected.

I dreamt that I was using Big Muskie to dig a strip mine through Isla Sorna. I was very worried about leaving the over burden in an inconspicuous place as not to piss of the Spinosaurus. Or whatever that big ugly guy’s name was. Sam Neil, as Sam Neil… not that character in the movie introduced me to his wife, who showed me a book that proved that he was going to divorce her… Because he wrote the book, called White Oleander*, and sure enough it said in the book, “I, Sam Neil, am going to divorce my wife.” The book turned out to be special. (*The dream White Oleander had nothing to do with that girl movie that came out this year.) The book had incantations that turned all his wives (he had more than one) into a guitar case of a sort. When he said this incantation and his wife was sitting on his bed, she sorta turned into a squishy mummy like thing that looked like Sally from Nightmare Before Christmas. Her head would loll back and her hair would grow very long. Sam Neil would pull her hair to the side and pull out his prized guitar with a thick ribbon covering it.

No more Tony’s pizza for me. Even if it is normal dinnertime.

I’m off work tomorrow. Yay!

Happy Easter everyone!

April 22, 2003

Gitchy Gitchy Ya Ya Easter!

Fun with dyslexia. I was driving home from work the other day when I spotted this sign; “We Specialize In Stress Free Catfish!” When in all actuality it said Catering instead of Catfish. I like the stress-free catfish better.

On the radio this morning I heard, “Spring is here (dramatic pause) and that means one thing… Dallas Burn Soccer.” Personally, I thought that spring meant many things. Renewal of life, a young man’s heart turns to fancy, sandal weather, planning of the annual Ya-Ya weekend. Many things… not just Dallas Burn Soccer. That seemed a bit arrogant. Just me? Ok.

Speaking of the Ya-Ya weekend. Have I told you guys about this? Long story short it is a group of approximately 20 women getting sunburned, drunk and communing with nature at my parents’ lake house one weekend every year.

Long story long, it is a gathering that I started planning three years ago, it takes place over a weekend in August. I had just come to terms with many things at that time and I wanted, nay, needed some serious support from my girl friends. So my parents were moving to a new house on a lake and it was empty, I asked if I could invite some girlfriends over for a weekend to “camp” in their empty house and enjoy the lake. Seventeen women showed up and Ya Ya Weekend was born.

I have girl friends coming from everywhere to join us for Ya Ya, even as far as Chicago. The weekend sort of re-charges us for the year. We drink, swim, smoke, laugh (a lot!), sing, eat and give emotional and mental support to one another. This is not a weekend for male bashing or anything of the sort. It is just a safe place for women from all walks of life to enjoy themselves for a weekend without their kids, dogs, cats, husbands, fiancés, boyfriends, mother in laws, jobs, or anything else demanding their attention.

Usually there will be a breakthrough of some sort. The first year, I was the one who had a breakthrough. I reconnected with one of my best friend’s (D’Wayne) wife. We had some issues from our past (the wife and I) and they were keeping me from my friendship with her husband. The issues were my fault, but the wife is such a great friend as well. She gently but directly called me on my bullshit and brought me through a very poignant realization about myself. This woman is amazing, gifted, talented, kind, loving, generous and very large of heart. Her name is Gloria (aka Countess Wants It All). She is one of the first women I became friends with who wasn’t petty or selfish. She is true and dear, and most of the women at the Ya Ya weekend are like that as well.

We have created a network of good women for anyone to call on or lean on when they need support. We do have a few women who are slightly high maintenance, and they are lovingly tolerated but never catered to.

I never realized until a few years ago how important it is to have a network of girl friends. Not for shopping or gossiping, but for health issues, dietary questions, medical backgrounds and just great advice. We have run the gamut career wise in our group. The group ranges from a doctor to a stay at home mother.

Funny enough, I became friends with most of these women through other men. I mainly hung out with guys for most of my life. They were accepting, relaxed, handy, friendly and not prone to cliques. For instance, Jay Knott, who is presently running for the school board in Nacogdoches, is the husband of a Ya Ya. Her name is Brenna (aka Viscountess Shines Like the Sun). I’ve known Jay forever it seems. He was a friend and fellow National Guardsman with D’Wayne (see above). It was Jay who called me to let me know that D’Wayne had been struck by lightening during a training exercise at Fort Hood but that he was fine. It was Jay who was on the surgery team that performed my operation when I had a tubal pregnancy in 1997, and went around telling everyone he knew me inside and out. Har de har har. And it is Jay that I think about whenever I hear “End Of The World” by R.E.M. because he is the only one with a fast enough mouth to pull it off in karaoke. But it would be his wife that I would think about calling if I needed someone to lean on, because we have shared so much at the Ya Ya weekends. Just like I love D’Wayne truly and as one of my dearest friends, but if I needed a friend to lean on, I would call his wife Gloria.

I am so looking forward to Mister meeting all of my friends. He has heard so many stories about Ya Ya and college days. He has met most of them in Dallas, but I have friends all over. I would love to bring him to the lake to help us get settled for the first hour or so of Ya Ya, just so I could show him off to my girlfriends. But that would be breaking a rule. No men allowed.

If you are wondering where I came up with those goofy names you can visit this site for the Ya Ya Name Generator.

Easter weekend was divine. Mister and I left early on Friday to beat the traffic. We got to my parents’ lake house early enough to go out on the boat. It was a bit humid, but better than the rainstorms we were expecting. My sister and her little family (precious precious) got there and we fixed a snack dinner. I love a snack dinner; everyone stands around the kitchen and grazes on everything from fresh veggies to boiled shrimp. We all stayed up pretty late and I got to sleep in what my BIL (brother in law) calls the “fish bowl”. It is a sun room right off my parents’ room. They have no window treatments in either room and basically, there is no privacy.

Saturday was a fun filled starting at the ass crack of dawn because my blow up mattress had just about had it with my big butt. It leaked a little bit of air all night so I woke up with stiff hips. I went out to the living room to crash out on the snuggly (big, fat, sexy) couch. My nephew was already awake and my sister was groggy but awake as well. People, it was like 6 am. That was wrong in so many ways. Reb (sister) and I decided to go to Star-bizucks (sorry, couldn’t help myself) and get everyone a treat. We headed into town and had a nice talk on the way. I love my sister.

The rest of Saturday was spent going back into town to find a battery for Reb & BIL’s video recorder, going across the bridge to get Mister a fishing license and fishing. Oh, yeah… and a bunch of sweating. It was over 100% humidity and quite warm. Blech.

Sunday was a wonderful service at my parent’s church with the whole family, then to their country club for brunch. Mister and I left at like 4pm and enjoyed the hell out of our drive home. Sunday was gorgeous. Absolutely beautiful. Momma gave the boys (Mister & BIL) kites for their Easter basket. Mister got a Mickey Mouse one. We can’t wait to try it out.

That’s all for now. I just want to ask for ya’ll’s help on designing a logo for the Ya Ya weekend. Think about it & let me know. Kay? Thanks.

Much love.

April 24, 2003

I need a nap.

This one time, at science dork camp…

There I was, joining all the other excited boys and girls for orientation. I was the only one older than 14 that I could see. I was surprised to be handed off to a blind professor that promised to show me the ropes. His name was David and he, of the ‘refusing to use a white, blind guy stick/cane thingy’, was a slight of stature with a big smile. He led me across a large recreation area with a pool, gondola and refreshment stand. As he did so, several other science dorks decided to play tough love with David. One screamed like they were drowning. David blew his handy whistle and went to save the “drowning” victim. As he ran across the slick concrete, Helen Hunt (a la’ Quarterback Princess era) popped out of the pool and yelled “Marco!”. David laughed heartily and continued ushering me across the pool area.

Before we could get all the way across, Jeremy Piven stood boldly in David’s way. Jeremy told me, “Even if the professor is retiring and he is being honored today, today is our special day.” Sure enough, there printed on his brown plaid shirt was a sticker proclaiming, “This is MY SPECIAL DAY.” He gestured towards a group of his friends sitting on orange, plastic, public school issue chairs and yep, they too all had matching “Special Day” stickers on their ugly smocks.

I wanted to take a picture of these retards, so I brought out my trusty Elph camera that I love so dearly.

As David led me into the workshop/school area one of the science camp regulars made a huge discovery. I already had my camera out, so I positioned it to take a picture. I looked at the back of the camera and the battery had spontaneously combusted and basically ripped my camera a new one. I asked one of the guys around me if they could fix my camera. They said, “Sure! We fix stuff like that all the time. All we need is… a camera exactly like that one.”

A tornado siren went off and………………… scene.

That whole gooberiness was, in fact, a dream I had this morning in like 7 minutes, between one alarm cycle and the next. A Snoozer, if you will.

The sound I woke up to was Mister’s Super Duper Deluxe Supreme Coffee Maker 2000 Plus with Wings. It slices, it dices, and it can even retile your bathroom. The only drawback is that it sounds like a cross between a 747 taking off in the kitchen and a tornado siren.

I need a nap.

April 29, 2003

Day 2 of 90

It has begun.

I wanted to put an entry here to keep me honest and to add some personal responsibility to my actions. I’m warnin ya’ll… this could get ugly.

Mister and I started our diet this weekend.

We did the Fast Start to the Beach Body 90 program. The Fast Start consists of drinking juice and…. Oh wait, that was all. Juice. Juice for two days straight. It is supposed to flush out the toxins in your body. Seriously, this was the plan. Three 8 oz glasses of freshly squeezed juice for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Then two “snacks” (yes, that deserves quotation marks) of warm or room temperature water with lemon.

I, being the hypoglycemic tard that I am, started getting cranky around 4:30 pm on Saturday because I was getting a headache. I appeased my body by giving it a tablespoon of peanut butter and a half an ounce of cheese.

I am so surprised that my body didn’t just throw out my brain, a physical mutiny for the inflicted discomfort.

Sunday I decided that too much freshly squeezed apple juice was way too sweet for me. I was crashing after every “meal”. BWAHAHAHA! Meal… hee! That is rich. The sugar in the apple juice would make my blood sugar spike then I would crash. I changed over to tomato juice and was very happy. My poor body direly needed the added sodium and preservatives in the yummy Campbell’s tomato juice. I added another tablespoon (actually two on Sunday) of peanut butter and 4 cubes of cheese to my repartee and finished the weekend up with a bang. I got to have ice water! Woo hoo!

Mister and I put on our bathing suits and took the Before photos.



Let me insert one very important thing.

I weighed myself on Saturday morning. After I tinkled, without clothes on. There is No excuse for the horror that I witnessed. Ya’ll, I know there is a female rule out there that women are never supposed be forthcoming with their age, shoe size and weight. Something about keeping femininity and mystery partners, yeah… total bullshit. But a southern woman raised me, so… there ya go. I am going to be honest with you people, but I’ll have to feel guilty about it in honor of my mother. Deal? Deal.

If I added a few more numbers to the number I saw on that evil scale I would have had a zip code in a small North Dakota territory. Two hundred and thirty seven and a half pounds, 237.5. Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’m a big girl. 5’9” and my ass sticks out like an A/C window unit. But I’m cute dammit! Or I’ve just totally convinced myself that I am so I will be blind to the ENORMOUS ASS following me!

I would post the before pictures, but I don’t want to be sued for causing those sexy white streaks in peoples' hair that are the result of intense shock, fright or stress. I may, however, be persuaded to put a clothed pic of Mister and I up for a comparison shot for when we unleash our hotness on the world in 90 days. Sizzlin’ hot.

Shut up. We discussed this laughing at the afflicted thing before.

Back to the painful entry.

Mister lost 4 pounds after two days of juicing and I lost a total of 2 and a half. Yay.

We started the work out part last night. It felt good to work my muscles again after so many sedentary years. People my ass lives in a 3rd floor apartment. Well, not just my ass, the rest of me too. But you get the picture. I have been hoofin it up and down those stairs for the better part of three years, not one sleek thigh to be seen for miles. This work out thing is gonna kick my bootie and I welcome it with open (thunderous) arms.

Yay. It’s 2:33, time for my 1/8 cup of sunflower kernels.

I’m really doing this ya’ll. I ain’t playin.

About April 2003

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

March 2003 is the previous archive.

May 2003 is the next archive.

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

Powered by
Movable Type 3.35