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April 2004 Archives

April 1, 2004

A pimple the size of Satan's hoary ass.

Weekend Update� I know, it痴 been several days since I got back. I just have too much crap in my brain that wants to get out. The weekend listed in bulleted points is not one such piece of crap that is struggling for freedom from my brain.

I am thinking more of hormone driven drivel, as I started my period from hell on Tuesday. This month痴 womanly functions will now be known as the period from hell for the remainder of this entry. The explanation is forthcoming, hold yer damn horses.

I have, since last Wednesday, had two Imitrex shot-inducing migraines, that vomity feeling several times, bleary eyed afternoons with no energy, gotten blood (ew... yeah, I know) all over a new white shirt, a pimple the size of Satan痴 hoary ass, not to mention it痴 twin� right next to it in the triangle of death under my nose as well as a case of extreme exhaustion and the feeling that my uterus is physically trying to claw it痴 way out of my body.

Oh, and my favorite is the sex-ay sporting of Quad-Boob today cause by a poorly fitted brassiere. You know, not you... the ladies� anyway, you know when you have two normal boobs, but because of water retention and whatnot you have overage in the boobage department? Yeah, that... and you get those two little Pop-N-Fresh� boobs in the front? Yep, I have that. Mmmmm boy howdy.

I have burst into tears for no less than three retarded reasons, and� yeah, this is my favorite� I pooted in Half Price Books last night because I had a bottom burp that just wouldn稚 be denied. It wasn稚 more than a small 吐wip� but I Wanted. To. Die.

You all want me. I can see it in your eyes.


More on my boobs later.


The weekend was fantastic. My husband seriously rocks. We left on time and without problems on Thursday evening. The flights were overbooked. Yeah, I tell ya, there痴 nothing I love better than trying to eat my little dry roasted peanuts in the form of Tyrannosaurus Rex. My little short arms nestled up under my neck because I had no shoulder room to stretch them out. Bleating out a feeble 途awr� then eating one of the seven peanuts in the generous package.

We landed and were whisked away in a silvery chariot to our penthouse� or not. Actually we stayed the night at a pretty nice Hilton Garden Inn and woke up early the next morning.

Friday was such a riot. Mister let me pick the Disney Park we went to and I picked The Magic Kingdom. Ta-ta-ta-taaaahhhh! Raowr! We ate breakfast at Cracker Barrel (mmm greasy soul food) and headed off to see Disney. I haven稚 been there since I was like 7 years old and the moment I stepped foot through the gates, I was seven years old again.

I was looking around, not watching where I was going, mouth hanging open to alleviate the need to look even slightly evolved. Thank goodness for Mister, he just patiently steered me to where we needed to be and out of the way of oncoming traffic.

We rode Space Mountain twice! We also saw the new Phil-Harmonic show with Donald. That was in 3D. So cool. And Buzz Lightyear, and the Carousel of Progress, and Pirates of the Caribbean and� and� and the Jungle Cruise! During the light parade thingy I took some forced shutter photos so hopefully they turn out all funky and surreal. We had the best time and acted like a high school couple, making out with smooches and too-long hugs in the lines for the rides, especially Space Mountain with it痴 3 miles of darkness.

That night we went over to the house of Mister痴 best friend and new partner in job, Jeff. We stayed at their house that night and the next day Mrs. Jeff and I went to the spa.

Hea-Ven-Leee! Some pretentious fart named Seth was my masseuse and I just wanted to ask him to hush with the, 的 have been able to save my muscles lo� over these 12 long years due to muscle placement, habitual� blah blah blah Ginger.� But over all it was a wonderful massage with much bootie squishing and foot mushing. Lovely.

Then a woman named � uh� regardless a girl gave me a great manicure and an even more fabulous pedicure. Pretty!

That evening the five of us, Jeff痴 family and the two of us, went to Disney Village to wander the shops and look at souvenirs. La Nouba was the order of business that evening with dinner scheduled for after the show at House Of Blues.

La Nouba.

La Nouba. I have no words to describe this orgasm for the eyes. Go see it. Don稚 walk, run to the nearest plane for Orlando and go � GO see this show!

Three words� trampolines, aerobatics and tight pants. Uh, that痴 four. Just GO!

Dinner at the House Of Blues was nice. The young son of Jeff was sleepy and generally cranky, poking Mister and I under the table with his lighted saber thingy.

Hey Mister� I値l take 鉄words for $500� Alex. Uhm, that痴 S-Words for $500 Sean.

SABER!

Heh.

Um. Kay.

Yeah, so Sunday was a surprise visit to Universal Studios. That place rocked hard. I was so excited when I walked in to find the huge rides like 泥ueling Dragons� and 典he Hulk�. HULK SMASH! We did some kid stuff for young Jeff and then we went on the Jurassic Park ride. That was the BOMB! Big dinos, large noises and a 4 story drop. I was all but popping up and down like a dork waiting through some other stuff so we could go do the big stuff.

Outside Dueling Dragons they have the seats so you can try them out.

I lifted the seat restraint and sat down. On TOP OF THE ARM REST THINGIES. My ass alas, did not fit.

Outside of The Hulk they have the seats so you can try them out.

I lifted the seat restraint and sat down. Yeah, you know where this is going�On TOP OF THE ARM REST THINGIES. My ass alas, did not fit there either.

Denied by my ass.

The suckage was great.

But (butt HA!) we still had a great time. Walked about eleventy-four miles in three days, laughed a lot, talked a lot� we still had to come home.

I love Mister so much. He is the best friend anyone could ever pray for.

Thank you Mister. Thank you for being mine.


Ok, so the boobs. Do ya値l remember when I went for my well woman physical about 6 weeks ago? No? Well you can read about it here. Dr. Goatee asked me to come back to see him because of the little jelly bean lump my right boobage. Yesterday was that day. Whee. He said he needed to re-squash my boobs. That痴 the medical term of course. He wanted me to come back so he could see the results from 2 previous mammograms and give me another breast exam.

Boobs were squashed, discomfort was had and then he delivers this blow.

展ell, I壇 like for you to have another mammogram and if the sonogram shows the need� I壇 like to have the doctor at the women痴 center aspirate the cysts� if that is what these [poke poke prod prod] bumps are.�

Aspirate. As is a frickin needle in my boobie.

I知 having a hard time with this.

Any experience with this out there?

Please give me a shout on the Extra Extra link below.

Oh and ya値l� the notify list thingy is fixed. Sign up! Thanks.

April 8, 2004

I've seen dyslexic spelling bees that were more organized.

You wanna know where I致e been for the past, like eleventy four days? This is where.

Witt and Wisdom.

Select quotes include:

- I致e seen dyslexic spelling bees that were more organized.
- I guarantee that man is getting more ass than a donkey rodeo.
- Even God is up in heaven saying, 笛esus Christ, bury the kielbasa, for the love of me!�
- In order to get to the white sand beaches and steaming sunshine of the gulf coast of Florida, I had to drive through Alabama. Sans banjo.

I have wandered, nay, I have strayed. To a place where the sarcasm is deep and the wit is plenty. After reading this man痴 journal � In. Its. Entirety. � I must concede that I am a talent less hack and hand over the reigns.

Also. I may have a bit of a crush.

Therefore, I leave you with this. Retarded (but mindlessly funny and/or cute) Easter Crap.

All of them, except the first one. That one is just plain wrong.


AAAAAAAAAAagh No seriously. Why. Why God? WHY!!!!!!????


This made me laugh. Maniacally, only the way those singing bunnies on the Toys 然 Us commercials or the 典hank You Easter Bunny! Bawk Bawk!� commercial.


Happy Easter�. Yo.

Awwwwwwww.

Wanna squeeze em?

Yeah, this was a waste. I値l try again tomorrow.

April 12, 2004

It will keep you from shitting the bed at 4:27 am

Hi, how was your weekend? Was it wonderful? Good, yeah, me too. What did you guys end up doing? Chocolate bunnies? You ate all of them? No kidding? Did you go out to dinner or see a movie or two? Yeah, we did the same. Yeah, it was a great weekend.

What did we do?

Well, let’s see….

Mister and I met for lunch on Friday at Chili’s and I had queso and hot sauce, I knew then that the weekend was gonna be a good’un. Love me some hot sauce.

After work we went to Sam’s to get the new lenses for my glasses. The lady, we’ll call her hillbilly bitch from hell, told me that she couldn’t replace my lenses because they were a little bit big. The lenses that she traced. The lenses that she assured me would be just fine. She also asked me to refresh her memory of why we were replacing my lenses.

New prescription.

It’s on the paperwork in front of you.

She was going to have to send my glasses to the lab to have them grind down the lenses a bit so they would fit. Would I mind leaving my glasses with her for the night? Um, Yes, I would mind. Very much, thank you.

Ya see… Mister [points] and I are going to a movie tonight and I NEED my glasses so I can see the screen. I must be able to get the full effect of the zombie goodness. So, no, you cannot have my glasses.

Come back tomorrow, but call you before we do? Yeah, sure lady. Whatever you say.

We left Sam’s and went to the mall. Mister is trying to find some sunglasses that he can get with his prescription. We went to the place that made his lenses. They didn’t have the best selection and since Mister is somewhat of a giant, we needed to find frames that didn’t scream, “PERSCRIPTION LENSES!” We needed to find lenses that fit his face and uttered, “Yeah, I look like a biker beeeotch, you wanna make something of it or do you wanna fight? Ok, yeah rubbah-nuts, you go outside and practice falling down and bleeding and I’ll be with you inna minute.”

So, it was a bit of a stretch finding the frames that fit his face and his demeanor. Sunglasses are an accessory, they can make you look like a reject from the 1970’s or they can fit your face and make people think, “Hmmm, those are great sunglasses. I wonder if I would look half as cool if I put them on.”

We went down to the Oakley store and found these. Monster Dogs. That shit even sounds tough. Click on the link and look at them. He looks so hot with those things on.

After we had success with the sunglasses, we went upstairs to the movie theater to see Taking Lives. I had expressed an interest [read: rabid curiosity] about Dawn of the Dead but we couldn’t find it on the marquee. We got our tickets, my requisite medium popcorn (with luscious amounts of salt and butter), our sodas and we headed down the hall to find a seat in the theater, number 13, that was playing Taking Lives at 8:30 pm.

I looked up at theater number 14. On the lighted sign above the door were the words “Dawn of the De…8:35”. I looked at Mister with a face that said, “Can we? Huh? Huh? Puh-leeeeeeze? Canwehuh?” He said, “You wanna?” And we scrambled inside.

The theater that was showing the flick was tiny. The sign on the door said that AMC proudly carded anyone under the age of 25 for an R-rated movie. Regardless, like any horror genre film, the place was packed with teenagers that had that anxious look on their faces.

I’ve had that look before. It means, ‘I wanna see this movie so I can be a bad ass. I am slightly curious (if not a bit queasy) about the blood and gore that is bound to be part of this film. I want that roller coaster ride that is associated with the highs and lows… the adrenaline of a good scary movie.’

I was all for that rush myself.

The movie started and I kept thinking about sweet Sundry and her experience with seeing the movie alone.

Keeerist those things move fast! That little 8-year-old girl at the beginning freaked me the fuck out. The zombies are supposed to move slowly. They are supposed to be stupid. They are supposed to shamble along mumbling “braaaaiiiiiiinnnnsss”. No?

I was warned when I read Sundry’s entry.

Yet… Sadly,I was not prepared.

Mister (and several people of African-American decent in the theater) talked to the movie the whole time.

“Bust his ass Ving!”

“Oh shit, shit, shit! NO! Run!”

“That BASTARD!”

“Holy CRAAAAAAAP! I would have… Uh, KILLLLLL HIM! SHOOT HIM!”

The above comments were brought to you by Mister and the letter “Kick His ASS!”

I have to admit. It was greatness. I loved the movie. And when Mister and I walked out of there at 10:30 pm, he turned to me on the way to the restroom and [with a twinkle in his eye, I might add] said, “You wanna do a double-header?” And he pointed to the Taking Lives lighted sign above theater number 13 that started at 10:55.

We waltzed right in there with our half watery sodas and sat down with the other 12 people in the theater.

Taking Lives was a true mystery and suspense movie with a fan-fucking-tastic twist at the end. Loved it.

I won’t spoil it for you, really I won’t. Just go see Angelina. She loves you yanno. She thinks you’re really pretty. She told me so. She’ll even show you her boobies. So, yeah, go see that movie.

If you can swing seeing both of them at the same time, with Dawn of the Dead first, do it. It will keep you from shitting the bed at 4:27 am when you hear the cat knock a stack of your books off the table in the living room.

Saturday we woke up bright and early because my man had scheduled a massage for me at 10:00 am. Yep, that’s right. A Massage. Scheduled for me by my man. An hour of smooshing the feets, the back rubbin, the neck-knot-working-outing.

I know you hate me. But I looooove you.

After the massage, Mister picked me up and we grabbed some lunch then headed back to Sam’s to deal with the hillbilly bitch from hell. Did we call her before we showed up? No, we did not. Did we even make a move towards our cell phones to call her? Nope, not that either. Mister was ready to get the lenses, take them to the lab, have them fixed and if they did not meet our satisfaction… a refund was the order of the day.

We picked up the lenses, took them to the lab, asked the tech, Gary, a few questions and he summarily popped the new lenses into my frames with the bare minimum of fuss and muss. No grinding down of the frames needed. Complete and utter lack of skill from the hillbilly bitch from hell caused much running around and time wasting.

We were very happy with Gary… not so much with the hillbilly bitch from hell.

After the glasses were fixed, we went back to the house for a bit of a nap and some afternoon delight. Yeah, we can do that.

Yanno how people send out pictures of their kids for Christmas cards?

This Christmas Mister and I are gonna send you guys a picture of us taking a nap in the afternoon. We’re also gonna be pointing to a wad of left over cash that wasn’t spent on diapers, braces, dance/karate lessons, college tuition or car insurance for a teenage driver.

Yes, this will come back and kick me in the ass in a few years when we decide to try and have kids. Please do not remind me.

Anyway, after the fantastic frillion hour nap, we drug ourselves out of bed and went to the sushi restaurant that had karaoke on Friday and Saturday nights.

Delicious!

If any of you live in the North Dallas area. Email me. Seriously. I want to take you to this place. I want everyone to eat sushi at this place, with me.

Mister and I go to this little place on a pretty regular basis. We never get tired of the fresh food and the fantastic service. We always seem to have the most insightful conversations ensconced in a booth at this little sushi place. We seem to think we are the only people on earth getting great wine (for him) and Stoli (for me) and a little high on how in love we are with each other. It really is a great little restaurant.

After a night like that we always end up laughing ourselves to sleep.

Warm dreams and sighs that roll over us and over our marriage bed as we lay tangled in the sheets… with one last “NO.” to the cat to stop his mmmmrrrrowww?-ing outside the door.

Sunday we woke up pretty early fully intent on going to this breakfast buffet before we went to church. No such luck. We ended up grabbing some McDonald’s before we slunk in, late to the service.

It was a nice service with some of the congregation acting out part of the Passion play. The thing that really hit my heart was this husband and wife team (very young, very cute) doing these monologues as Christ’s tears and His blood. Very touching.

Yesterday afternoon, yep, another nap. Mmmmmm nap-i-tude.

Yesterday evening I witnessed greatness in the making.

This.

Oh Lordy.

I am so in love with this show. Cheesiness and boobage abounds. It is like taking the Donnie and Marie Show and giving them license to make out and shake their bootays.

I was thinking about how to write my thoughts down about this show while I was in the shower this morning. It sounded pretty good in my head, but I suspect my sonic-care toothbrush shook the coherent thoughts from my brain after I got out of the shower. So you guys will just have to deal with this rambling crap.

Jessica’s rendition of “You Take My Breath Away” was a train wreck. Her voice is wonderful but good Lord, it is like she is trying to spew forth every syllable from her mouth. ‘Over animated’ does not even begin to describe.

She did a duet with Jewel for “Who Will Save Your Soul” and you could just see Jewel thinking, “Oh shit. I lived in a fucking van for this?”

Poor Nick, he had to sing with a car and the Muppets.

Love the Muppets. No hatin. Seriously, Love. Them. And the car was Kitt from Night Rider… But come on. Jessica got to sing with Jewel and Kenny Rogers.

She did this dance number that was to “She Works Hard for the Money” and it was supposed to tie in these lame ass jokes. But she was wearing next to nothing. She had on this little sparkly turquoise top and tap pants or something and she was dancing all gyration action. Mister actually uttered, “Whoa. That little hip thing she just did was hypnotic.”

Mister kept asking, “Is That her hair? What about that? Is that real? Jesus. Is that her real hair?”

My answers: “No. No. Nope, uhn-uh. Yeah, I think. Uhm… no. Definitely not.”

Heh.

Love the show. Love it.

Hey Hot Barney. Sign the guest book darnit.

April 16, 2004

I will NOT have you hanging off of my breast like a piercing.

Caution: Image Heavy Entry

Happy Friday everyone, I hope this weekend brings you all rest and relaxation.

So, yeah, the boob thing. If you have no clue about the back-story, please follow the link offered to you in the previous sentence. Click on the red or otherwise underlined [word] boob. Hee. That sounded a bit randy.

Annnnyway, I went to the Richardson Regional Women’s Center on Tuesday for them to do a mammogram on each breast, a sonogram on each breast and if necessary… aspiration of cysts in my right breast. To catch you up to speed, aspiration means a Friggin Needle In. MY. BOOB.

And because of my state of “freaked the fuck out” my lovely husband had called my gynecologist, Dr. Goatee. Dr. Goatee placed a prescription for Valium and my husband gave me the lovely pills when he picked me up to drive to the hospital.

So, yeah, I wasn’t all up with that nonsense. Needles.. in my boob. Shudder.

I wasn’t looking forward to that bit of heaven at all. I mean, it is awkward enough to have some random person [in the case of the Women’s Center… ironically enough, they are all women] ask you to put on a poorly fitting paper gown and gracefully place your… Wait a second. To be honest there is no way to do this gracefully.

Let me just lay it out for you. ………………… No pun intended…. Well, maybe a little one.

You are freezing your chi-chi’s off in an office complex. Standing there in a paper “gown” when some woman asks you to, “Kindly follow me.” You follow her like a lamb to slaughter. Unlike said lamb [stupid lamb] you are unblissfully [it is too a word] aware of what this person is going to do to you.

You follow her into a room, which is dominated by a machine that looks like this…

Scary piece of shit huh? Yep-o buddy boy. That sucker right there will make you wish you had worn depends when you catch your first glimpse of it.

Heh, just kidding. The machine really looks like this…

Which isn’t much better if you ask me.

And no, that lady doesn’t come standard with the machine. The lady who was going to be smooshing my breasts (official terminology) was a tiny thing, no more than five feet tall. Cute little woman with a beautiful mane of hair and hands that made me think of Austin Powers.

No clue what I’m talking about huh?

“I have a fear of carnival people. What? They have small hands and smell like cabbage…”

So, yeah. When she went to perform this maneuver on me….

I almost offered a helpful suggestion of, “Get a friggin step stool ya munchkin, I will NOT have you hanging off of my breast like a piercing.” But I refrained.

By the way… that picture? Not my boob. If it were, I am sure that this whole procedure would have been less painful. I could have just unrolled my breast from my poorly fitting bra. Adjust it so it was hanging somewhere near my navel, give a rousing rendition of an old timey Vaudeville act and whomp! that bad girl into place on the [FREEZING cold!] glass smoosh platform.

Alas, my breasts do not garner the description of wet socks with sand in them, so… it was a bit of an ordeal.

These women are professionals in what they do, I understand. Really, I do. But when strange women comes at you and opens your flimsy covering and immediately fondles you, it doesn’t give you quite the chill many of my male readers were hoping for.

Seriously.

The tiny-tech™ did the regular mammogram on both breasts then went for the diagonal view. This shit hurts.

If you would like to have an approximation of the pain, go into your garage, take a cinder block and a four by six piece of lumber. Lay on the ground with your breast (or he-hooter) and the area between your breast (or he-hooter) and your armpit under the cinderblock. Place the piece of lumber on top of the cinderblock to act as a ramp and have your friend/spouse/significant other/lover/grandma or mailman drive their car/truck/Rascal scooter or delivery van up onto the cinderblock using the lumber “ramp”.

There.

Nice huh?

Yeah. I didn’t appreciate it too much either. But I must say, tiny-tech™ was thorough with a capital “Cut THAT shit out already!”

After the mammogram of delight, I was asked to wait in what I like to refer to as the holding pen. Sorta like the same kind of holding pen lobsters are kept in before they are boiled alive and served to a patron. Minus the swirling water.

After what seemed like about eleventy-four hours another tech opened the door to the inner sanctum and asked me to follow her. Same lamb, same results. I followed her to another room.

This room was warm with a nice comfy bed and the lights were low. She asked me to remove my flimsy gown and lay on the table. I did, and she covered my chi-chi’s with a dishtowel. Now, I’m sure that it was a medical dishtowel, but it was a dishtowel nonetheless.

The doctor came in shortly after and I was immediately put at ease. I alerted her to the fact that I was on Valium. She said, “Me too!” snorted and threw her head back and laughed.

I love her.

She is a breast cancer survivor and has a great sense of humor. She was as thorough as tiny-tech™ and very pleasant.

It turns out that my boobies are healthy and I do not have cysts. No need for the boob/needle combination.

YAY!

On another note. My husband rocks. Not just because he called my gyno for Valium. [I was really freaking out.] But he knew that I was in LOVE with the Donald J. Pliner Jasa shoe/boot from the Fall 2003 line.

I fell in love with them at Nordstrom.

Like two seasons too late. They didn’t have the size I needed or the color I liked.

I found them at the Donald J. Pliner outlet in New York.

Mister ordered them for me and they were delivered Monday evening.

He is the bestest in the whole world.

Lookit these! They rock!

Oh… and just because I am spoiled rotten.

No seriously. I am. I’m not kidding.

Mister spoils me like my parents spoil their only grandchild.

I received a relatively safe facsimile of the below picture for no apparent reason.

The only differences are that mine is pretty without all the scroll-y stuff and it has channel set diamonds, two above, two to either side and seven below. I love it.

Mister rocks. :)

THIS JUST IN!

Yeah, I’m long winded. Deal.

My bestest girlfriend in the whole wide world LuLu is pregnant! So excited! Gonna rub her belly!

I talked to her yesterday and she said that she feels great (fantastic news) and she is very excited. She said that she has been keeping up with me via the journal because we suck when it comes to talking on the phone. She also told me that she was going to give her husband the site address so he can read too.

So, if you are reading Mr. LuLu… welcome. Pull up a seat, enjoy your stay and don’t forget to sign the guest book!

April 22, 2004

My crack dealer...Er I mean the lady in finance gave me a sample of it to try.

Hello gorgeous Texas Thursday afternoon.

Salutations to you and your 81-degree weather. Your beautiful blue skies with a smattering of clouds, tumid with a soft substance and opaque with sunlight.

Good afternoon to your tepid gusts of wind that cause the comely trees to shimmer with brilliance as the sun bounces off each shiny and new spring leaf.

Hail to your smells of newness that come with the rebirth of flowers and green grass.

And a big ol’ Howdy! To that glorious man beast at the corner of Montfort and Beltline, sitting astride a flame blue Orange County Chopper and making it his bitch. Yes ladies, it was a sight to behold. A man with a generous mouth, broad shoulders and narrow hips, the aesthetic beauty of Dave Navarro, including hotty hotness facial hair [seriously, click on it.] and the manly prowess and large frame of The Rock [yeah, click on this one too.]. All tight faded jeans and sparkly clean white t-shirt.

Oh Jeebus. Such a purty, purty man.

Things like that make me happy yanno? Beauty and brawn. Rawr.

I’m not saying I’d ever go through with the urge to jump out of my car, run willy-nilly into the intersection and flash my boobies at him with wild abandon if I ever saw him again. Nope, not saying that.

Just saying I appreciate all things pretty. Like, like… like you.

Yanno, you really should wear that color more often. It brings out your eyes. Oh, Yeah. Mmm baby. Show me what you’re working with!


So, yeah… I’ve been gone for a few days. I was in Austin on business.

Conference season hath begun. Slackerdom shall be banished to the far corners of the universe. I will be dog-tired every month now through December.

Speaking of dog-tired. Guess what genius decided to make Conference season the time to give up her beloved Dr. Peppers? Yep, me. You guessed it.

Now, why on earth would a sane person do that? No clue? Me either.

Caffeine to pick me up in the afternoon waning period, from 2 to 3:30? Nope.

That Satan of Soda has caused me a grave amount of stress over the past few years. But I love it so.

I love the prune-syrupy goodness. I love the carbonation. I love the way its bubbles tickle my nose at 8am. I love the way I haven’t had a solid poop in nigh on 3 months. Oh wait.

I don’t like that part.

Or how I could feel the chemicals burning my esophagus because I have had acid reflux so badly for 2 weeks that my throat has been constantly raw.

Nope, don’t like that part either.

So, fair the well my beloved Dr. Pepper. Let my throat, esophagus and my small intestines heal and we’ll talk… capisca?


Conversation with Mister on the way out to dinner last night:

Mister: [looking at me while stopped at a red light] What color lipstick do you have on?

me: [quickly looking into the fold down mirror] Oh, this? It’s called brownie. It is actually a gloss.

Mister: Brownie?

me: Yep, it’s by Mary Kay, my crack dealer…. Er I mean the lady in finance gave me a sample of it to try. Do you like it?

Mister: Yes, it really is a good color on you.

me: Thank you baby.

Mister: Does Clarin’s have that color?

me: I’m sure they do, but this is only $12.50 …

Mister: Let’s get you that color from Clarin’s. Okay?

me: [grinning like a loon] Hee! Okay!

It is a total mystery to me ladies. This man with his beautiful face, manicured hands and love for the nicer things looked at my mish mashed pile of make up in my purse and decided to go on a one man mission to make me product loyal.

I have been completely poor in the past and had no qualms with using products like $.99 cent eyeliner from Wet N’ Wild that you had to soften with a lighter to get it to go on your eyelids without ripping them off your face. I have used lipstick from Opal. I have used everything from Cover Girl to MAC to Estee Lauder to Merle Norman.

Mister wanted me to go into my thirties and beyond with a fantastic skin care line and color to boot.

I am loving this. Clarin’s is the best. Their product line is so wonderful and I could tell the difference in my skin in mere weeks. Crows feet on this 31 year old? Nope. Soft, pliable skin that you want to lick? Yepper buddy.

But I still use The Soap occasionally. (I bought the samples.)

What are ya’lls favorite products?

April 29, 2004

Just One of the Guys (Part 1)

When I was a little girl I played with bugs and snakes. I caught a toad every summer day. Their names were all Simon. And every breezy Georgia night when my father came home from work we would eat together as a family. After supper, my father would take me out to the bottom step of our porch, him carrying me and me carrying my bug-catcher. The warm Georgia air cooling down from a humid day, smelling of freshly cut grass and earth. Daddy would explain to me in soft words, his strong arms around my tiny back, that I needed to let Simon go so he could go find his family and have dinner with them and sleep in his own bed that night. Every night, I would cry.

My sister had the Barbie Dream House and the baby dolls to play house and play mommy with. I preferred Lincoln Logs and my stuffed animals. I would build shelters for the stuffed animals with the Lincoln Logs and then cause them to mate and complete the circle of life.

My sister would set up shop and rope her sweet friends into playing school. She always had to be the teacher [and is one today]. I preferred to careen around the bonus room on a rope swing my father hung from the rafters, bouncing off of the rough wooden planks lining the A-frame that was above our garage.

When I was old enough to make friends of my own I preferred the boys. Although my mother would say that I would play with whoever rang our doorbell. I guess I wasn't that picky, but I liked Paul. Paul was my best friend. His family moved in across the street from us when I was about five years old. Paul was a year younger than I was but he had no qualms about playing with a girl who could ride a big wheel like a bat out of hell. Mark, Paul and Ricky were my favorite play time pals from kindergarten up through 2nd grade.

When Paul got into the 2nd grade one of his buddies alerted him to the fact that it wasn't cool to be friends with a girl. He decided not to be my best friend anymore... and... I cried. Then I kicked his ass in every race the swim team held until we were 11 and 12 years of age.

As a sweet and gregarious child, I made friends easily with the people that I was exposed to on a regular basis. The nice men at the back of the church who were ushers? Yep, Loved them. I decided that one of them would be my boyfriend. His name was Charlie. Charlie was 67 years old and I was six. It was quite the January / December relationship, but Miss Charlie (Charlie's sweet and cuddly wife) did not seem to mind my adoration of her husband.

When Charlie died, I was 8 years old. I was not allowed to go to his funeral and yes, I cried.

I have always preferred the company of men to women. Boys to girls. Pointers to setters... whatever. Anyway, I have always reveled in my bond with the men in my life. I thought that girls were snotty, petty and could really hurt your feelings. I was mostly correct seeing as how I lived with an older sister and her gaggle of girlfriends. They would poke and prod at me. Teasing and hurting me only to spurn the only thing I ever asked from them. "Can I play too?"

Girls are vicious. I'm not kidding. Go into a middle school and approach a group of thirteen-year old girls. Try and break into their clique, make pleasant conversation, offer a cookie… a gift certificate to Claire's... a blood sacrifice, whatever. It won't work. They will tear you and your measly self esteem to shreds like a pack of rabid hyenas.

I didn’t have trouble with girls.

I just wasn't as comfortable around them as I was with the guys.

I didn't have any sort of affliction, I didn't stutter, I was slim, I was pretty, I wore passable clothes and the girls asked me to hang out… but whenever I trusted one, it was only a matter of time until I knew my feelings would get hurt.

With guys I never worried. I liked the same goofy shit they did. I enjoyed practical jokes, action movies, belching contests, cartoons and the WWF. Ric Flair? One of my best guy friends from high school named his first son after him.

Of course I formed lasting friendships with several girls who have grown into amazing women. But one of those girls, she broke my heart.

When we moved to Texas it was at the beginning of my 6th grade year. I was... the New Girl. Being either gutsy (or stupid) enough to go up and talk to random people was never a problem. I made friends with the guys in my neighborhood. And then she moved in.

Karen.

Karen was a year older than I was, but in the same grade. She hailed from California and seemed so worldly. What I mistook for worldliness, my mother pegged for "tramp!"

I had several circles of friends that spanned school, dance and church. Within short order, Karen had dated most of my guy friends. But in private she mooned over some guy named Diego or some such shit. He was her first*, he was her only love, he one true passion.

*Yes sir ladies and gentlemen, she was 13 and already sexually active.

She knew things I could only imagine. She introduced me to Motley Crue's Shout At The Devil and bootlegged Eddie Murphy tapes.

As I grew older I tried bringing Karen into my church youth group. I invited her on ski trips and to lock ins. I wanted to show her that she didn't have to be sad and depressed.

It just gave her another pool to pull boyfriends from like shooting fish in a barrel.

She wasn't terribly attractive, but she wore black eyeliner and her hair feathered perfectly. It was commonly known that she would go all the way.

I was almost embarrassed. Not by what she did, none of us are perfect, but by her blatant advertising of the things she did.

I remember her stealing the most popular guy from the most popular girl in 8th grade with the promise of "doing it" out by the pipe. The pipe was behind the school. It spanned across a small creek and cut the walk to school for some (of the kids) in half.

I couldn't understand why Karen would do that. I didn't see what was so special about that Hunter guy, and I definitely couldn't see what was so romantic about the patch of bald dirt out behind the school at one end of the pipe.

I remember hearing about it as I came out of Spanish Class. My Spanish teacher, Mrs. Murano had almost caught on fire by walking quickly across the room. The Lycra on her thighs was bound to combust sooner or later. Even when wearing a dress, she had that distinct sound of corduroy coming from her legs as they rubbed together. Zootzootzootzoot.

One of the popular girls ran up to me and all but screeched, "Your best friend, that slut has promised to do it with Hunter after school at the pipe!!!!" And she ran off to tell everyone else.

I just stood there. Not wanting to hear anymore. It was unfathomable to me that Karen would do this. Was it a rumor? Was it a stunt? I saw Karen on the walkway up by our lockers; she had a crowd gathered around her. Boys mostly with a few girls on the outside. The boys were looking at her with what seems like wonder and horror mixed with revulsion and jealousy. The girls looked on in disgust at the attention Karen was receiving.

I found my boyfriend, Terry, and asked him about what I had heard. He confirmed that it was true and that Chad and Scott would try to meet up with me on my way home to let me know what happened. I walked to and from school every day and Chad and Scott both lived in the neighborhood as well.

Terry hugged me when he saw the confusion in my eyes. I asked him, "Why would she do that?" He shrugged and said, "I guess she just wanted to."

That phrase was how Karen lived her life. She did what she wanted to.

That's why a year and a half later, as a freshman, I should not have been surprised at the view I saw at the Collin Creek Mall that day after school.

Terry and I dated for over two years. In high school that is almost an eternity. We started dating shortly before Karen's foray into Nasty. [I didn't see Karen too much after her experience with Hunter, I didn't seem to have anything in common with her.]

Terry was a sweet boyfriend. Kind hearted, sensitive, tall, thin, looked a bit like a young Tommy Lee from Mötley Crüe. He was my first. We waited over a year after we made that decision to actually go through with it. We wanted it to be perfect.

We wanted a lot of things to be perfect.

The day we all went to the mall I had to stay after school to complete a project. I had called my mother to okay it with her that I wouldn't be home right away. Bryan said that he could wait for me and give me a lift. I agreed and told Terry I would meet him at the mall. It was a hot day and the asphalt was burning through the bottom of my high-top Reeboks as I waited for Bryan to come back from the 7-11. He picked me up and we drove over to Collin Creek Mall. Terry said that he would meet up with us outside of the toy store. When Bryan and I walked into the mall and found Terry... I was taken aback to see that Karen had showed up... and she was holding Terry's hand.

She turned to me with a triumphant grin.

He turned to me with the most pitiful expression that seemed to (all at once) say, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you, I'm not sure what I'm doing, and Please don't cry!"

And in fine form I turned to Terry and asked, "What in the fresh hell is this?"

Karen spoke up, "We were going to tell you..."

I am proud to say, I didn't cry. I looked at the two of them and realized that I didn't have anything left to give them. That they deserved each other. Good riddance to bad rubbish... and all that.

I called my mother to come pick me up from the mall, and I didn't speak a word about it.

I figured if someone like Karen could take something so special from me, and pull it off so ... so fucking nonchalantly. Well, say hello to brick number one of this wall around my heart. I wouldn't feel that way about anyone ever again. I wouldn't give my heart and myself away.

I would be just one of the guys.

About April 2004

This page contains all entries posted to Suzanna Danna in April 2004. They are listed from oldest to newest.

March 2004 is the previous archive.

May 2004 is the next archive.

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