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July 2004 Archives

July 2, 2004

But on a plus side, my hair looks like complete and total crap.

Quote I heard this morning on the way to work… twas on the radio:

“I am coming up on thirty years of age and I have never been good at this dating stuff. All the pressure and the anxiety… Yeah, like now they expect simultaneous orgasms. Duuuuude, I can’t even get the AquaFresh colors to all come out of the tube at the same time.”


So… karmic boomerang. Yep, last post I mentioned the blow out with the expensive bra right? Well, guess what happened on my way home from work that day? Blow out with the hooptie’s back, right tire.

Sweet huh? I stopped at this liquor store (to stock up… riiiight) and bought some of that fix-a-flat crap. I put it in the tire and filled it up with air. It is holding but Mister wasn’t too happy with the fix-a-flat decision I made. Apparently that crap can make a huge mess that people at discount tire or AAA don’t want to fool with. Also, it can take whatever is in the tire (that made it go flat in the first place) and cause it to become a projectile missile like piece of shrapnel.

Yeah, who knew? Oh. You did, huh? Well thanks for telling me. Meanie.

So, I did the tire thing and went to the house, Mister took the hooptie and went up to discount tire. They looked over my tires, looked me up in the computer and came to this conclusion. My tires were all new in 2001… December of 2001. The back right one that I “patched” needs to be replaced. The front right one… nail in it… too worn down to be patched. And the other two? Yeah, the tread is showing.

Hello extra expense. I knew you were coming over, I just didn’t know when. Really… you should have called. I haven’t even made up the bed in the guest bedroom.

Apparently my old job… yeah the one I drove over 80 miles a day for?… yeah, that one… that one gave my 40,000 mile tires a serious run for their money… and won.

I hated that job.

Well, I really didn’t hate the job. The “job” part was cool. I just couldn’t stomach working for hand boss on a daily basis.

Are ya new to this journal? Don’t know about hand boss? Well, he’s still in the cast page. (I’ll update it someday… leeeme alone.) But you can find a gem (JEM!) of an entry on him here.

But I digress.

You: No. *dramatic unbelieving pause* You? Going off on a tangent?
Me: Hush it.

Soooo. This weekend. The Fourth of July and all that. Yeah, I’m patriotic. I have a picture of Uncle Sam tattooed on my ass with a caption of, “I Want YOU… to kiss my ass.” Kidding.

I kid.

But, (butt… heee!) I am going back to Nacogdoches for the first time since… um, since… well, I did drive through in 2003 I think… on the way back from New Orleans. Yeah, I did. But that was just to drive through.

This time, I am going back for a bar-b-q/baby shower for my girlfriend Sil. She lives in Chicago and is in town to visit with her family before the arrival of the little one. One girlfriend who still lives in Nacogdoches and a one from Houston decided that this would be a perfect time to throw her a shower.

Thank you Jennifer and Brenna!

It was such a surprise (a great one) to receive the e-vite in my Inbox a few weeks ago. I clicked over and saw that everyone will be there. I am looking forward to seeing all of them, and introducing Mister to the men of the group. He met the women at the Ya-Ya weekend last year.

Mister is excited to meet the rest of my long time buddies and a little wary of the unknown. He doesn’t know what to expect since we are venturing into the turf of the ex-husband.

To be honest, I don’t know what to expect either.

But on a plus side, my hair looks like complete and total crap. I haven’t had it cut since… um, February? March? Whatever, it was WAY too long ago. My bangs are hanging down to my nose/mouth/chin area (yes, it is very uneven) and the rest looks limp and damaged. Jealous?

But to give it a bit of credit, I haven’t really “fixed” it since May. I wash it, comb it out and leave it. Snazzy. I look like a pretty, pretty ho from the west side of a busted up trailer park… with a bad perm… and a big butt.

You want me … don’t you?

Yeah boyeee! I see all the men runnin…Away. From. Me… HEY!

Oh, on a happier (um?) note. I watched one of those True Life documentary things on MTV last night. It was called, “I’m Obese”.



Apparently, I am clinically obese. But I don’t look a thing like any of those people on that show. I still have cute little (chicken) legs, my waist is defined, my butt is still high and huge tight, my seven two chins aren’t all that bad and I am still fairly graceful.

I felt SO bad for that chick that was like 600 pounds because she had lymph-edema or something like that. She started therapy for that and lost 65 pounds in two weeks. Um… hi. *waves* If I lost 65 pounds… I would be hot. HOT. Hawwwt!

I have got to do something about this extra weight I have been carrying around for several years. If I don’t it is going to take a toll on my heart and… AND… I want to be thinner so I can have a healthy pregnancy if Mister and I ever decided to add to the population.

It just broke my heart to watch that show… but yet, I couldn’t look away. It was like a train wreck. Oddly fascinating and yet humbling.

I wonder if that is why people watch me intently when I am doing the funky chicken at special events.

July 7, 2004

Reb's Choice

This morning I stumbled out of bed, walked into the restroom and turned on the light. The cat was following me with his quiet, early morning “mmmrrrow?” punctuating the steady rumble of a purr coming from his chest (or where ever it is those purr things come from… throat? belly? whatever.). We stood quietly staring. Me staring in the mirror, and him, staring at me.

He kept questioning me with his quiet “mmrrrrrrow?” which I think means, “Geeze woman, I know you are smooshy-faced and sleepy, but could you hurry your lazy backside up and get me some fresh food? The food you put in my bowl last night has gone horribly awry and I am a feared that I will faint lest I gobble up a fresh cupful of Nutro pronto. And I mean NOW missy.”

Or… he could just be saying, “Good mornin’ to yer.”

Why must I give my cat an impatient attitude and an awful Cockney’d accent?


Anyway, I just sort of stood there and tried to wake up. I looked on the corner of the counter and there sat a book that I have been reading for the past couple of days. The book is Eliot’s Banana. My sister gave me that book with a smile and said, “No. Really. It’s good!”

And I… like a tool, believed her.

This is the same woman who buys and asks for O-frah’s book club listings for Christmas or birthday presents.

I was sucked in to two books by this guy. One was a book about some chick named Delores that was so mentally unstable that she tried to drown herself next to a beached whale. And the other was about a pair of identical twins and their struggles, one to be like his brother and the other to be anything else but like his twin.

Both of those books disturbed me deeply, in several ways. I found myself sucked into the sickness of Delores and her unhealthy self-image, because she was fat, she had to be crazy. Right? And because the only man she ever loved, her daddy, left, she had to eat and eat and eat to make herself fat. Right? Ugh. And the other one… the twins. Shit. One hacks off his hand because God told him too? Co-dependant relationships are not a joy to read about.

And both of them… Both of them. BOTH. Of. The. Books. Ended poorly. Sorta like… blah-dy blah-dy blah Big POINT. The end. No denouement, no “In Conclusion”… Nothing. I’d like a little closure with my poorly written bucket of crazy, Thank You.

Um hi.

Yeah, Reb. I do love you. Really, more than my luggage.

I love your sense of humor and your ability to make people feel really special with your attention.

I love how you research and complete the smallest detail when planning something for somebody or a group of friends.

I love your huge brown eyes and long eyelashes and that precious little birthmark hidden in your eyebrow.

I love how you go from calling Mom and Dad repeatedly on the phone to karate kicks when you have had a few glasses of red wine.

I love your loyalty to friends and loved ones.

I love that you are both my older sister and a best friend.

I love that you have anal tendencies that run amok when you are coordinating a trip or an event, but that your closet could be hiding Jimmy Hoffa or the missing Monkees and you’d be okay with that.

I love how you treat your son with the utmost care, love and respect and how he has gleaned the best parts of you and your husband to make the most perfect little boy.

I love how you chuckle with that deep belly laugh when something strikes you as particularly funny.

And most of all, I just love you.

But please. No more books. Kay?

I sat down at my vanity this morning because I had like two chapters left to read in that Eliot’s Banana book. I had already grimaced at the sodomy with fruit and the painful way the main character deals with her brother’s death… but THAT is how you end it Ms. Swain?

::heavy sigh::

Spoiler ahead… seriously. I give it all away. If you want to read that book without an inkling of what the end is all about… Scroll down past the second line.

Dear Ms. Swain,

Regarding the end of your book:

Handing your dead little brother’s cleats to your lover that you cheated on with some guy who has a diabetic cat is not the way to leave a smile on someone’s face. It is almost a surefire way to guarantee your spot in literary history will be right up there with Mr. Lamb, under the heading of “Had pictures of O-frah canoodling a goat… so she had to feature my book on her show.”



In conclusion, Yes, I know that Ms. Swain and Mr. Lamb have enough money from the sales of their collective books that they could have my gender reassigned and put me out for rent in Tijuana, and that my entries suck some serious gorilla wang occasionally but alas…

No more, please.

Note to self: regardless of how cute Reb is and how much she assures you that a book is, indeed, good. Run the opposite way. Screaming.

July 12, 2004

You got it... bucket of crazy was wife number three.

I have on the ugliest shoes ever invented, made, dreamt up, fabricated, designed and or brought to reality. I found them during the move… and this morning in my rush to leave, I couldn’t find my trusty Enzos so I grabbed these out of the garage (garage, not garbage) and slapped them on my tootsies.

Seriously. You can’t imagine the suckitude.

Check it… navy blue loafers, with a gold detail bar-thingy on the top. Schnnnnnnaaazzy!

Hideous. Truly.

My outfit is thus: Navy blue blouse, tan pants with subtle pattern, my tin-cup necklace, pearl earrings… And the Shoes Of Ass!

Ok. So the gossip.

My ex-sister-in-law… Debra Jean (or Trixie ‘round these parts) was married to Little G. Little G was my ex-husband’s (X) brother. She and I were best girlfriends in college and ended up marrying brothers. Yes, yes, very redneck of us… shut it. It wasn’t planned or anything, really. No. Really.

Anyway. After I left X, Trixie made her escape soon after. I will leave the details of her escape to Houston for her to tell. It was pretty much like my escape to Dallas, just with more stops at McDonald’s for the kids (she has two) and less drinking, smoking and profanity.

Or… one would think!

X married soon after I left, as a matter of fact, the only thing holding him up from replacing me was my court date to see the judge. He actually called me to ask me to hurry the hell up. Yeah, class all the way baby! Nothin’s too good for me!

It actually took Little G a few years to remarry after Trixie left. But remarry he did. A local bucket o’ crazy by the name of… um shit, … No… Shit is not her name, I just can’t remember it. Regardless, he did remarry, like two months ago.

Guess what. Yeah, you could tell this was coming, couldn’t you?

Yeah, they are getting divorced.

My ex-father-in-law, Big G is on his third wife. He was on his third wife before his thirtieth birthday.

X? Yep, wife number three.

And Little G? You got it… bucket of crazy was wife number three.

Between the three of them, they have had nine wives. Nine. Hello. Um, NINE! Trix and I were number six and seven… if you are playing the home game.

They are NOT worried about diluting their gene (Ha!…just for you Trix… ain’t I punny?) pool. Just the opposite, apparently they are out to gather a small harem for their wicked matriarchal bitch of a mother to lord over with her bible-thumping passive aggressive ways.

Bitter much?

So… anyways, Trix and I had a good laugh over that yesterday afternoon. Laughing at her ex-husband’s expense? You bet’cher ass buddy!

Do you guys like my new layout? Isn’t it all somber and serious looking?


Like a real newspaper no? No? Really? I think it is quite smashing. Props and a big ol’ shout out to OZ for the new design.

I was reading the latest entry over at Amalah about her make up… and I have to admit, I seriously have a problem.

She’s got this cute little silver box thingy from Sephora that has pull out drawers, and levels, and sprinkles. I want that box. I loave that box. Yes, loave.

Hmmm… That sounded sort of pornish.

If I had that box, would my makeup and potions and lotions and powders be organized? Uh, no. I would still have like eleven products from Clarins sitting on my bathroom counter. I would still have a travel bag with products bursting at the seams. I would still have a spa bag that I insist on taking everywhere with me. A spa bag that has glitter eyeliner and black/gold eye shadow huddled in its’ depths. I would still carry a makeup bag in my purse everyday in case those two other bags get lost and my house burns down.

I have every shade, color, texture and combination of lip gloss and lip stick that is available to a consumer. I have clear, I have deep red and I have everything in between. I have vitamin E sticks hidden in my nightstand, my husband’s nightstand, in my purse and on my bathroom counter. I slather my lips with vitamins every night right after I apply one of my myriads of hand lotions to my hands, elbows and feet.

I want to be soft, supple and smooth.

I want the variances of my green/blue eyes to show with the choice of eyeliner and eye shadow.

I want my lips to scream to Mister… Kiss Me! I am soft and dewy!

I love L’Oreal Voluminous Mascara and my Revlon eyelash curler with something akin to rabid devotion.

Apparently I have a problem.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a manicure appointment to get to.

I bet the women at the salon are gonna laugh at my shoes.

July 13, 2004

My left pupil was all jacked up, cracked out, Courtney Love on Letterman and shit.

Do you guys remember the onset of my first migraine back in November of last year? Well, the first migraine that required a visit to the ER and with much vomiting. Yeah, that one, well… I have been doing fairly well. I have not had a bad one in a few weeks. Knock on wood. Not even during the stress fest that was the move.

One hit me pretty hard on Sunday afternoon. It was like I had this mohawk of pain that started at the base of my skull and went over the top of my head. I was down for the count and out cold for like four hours after my Imitrex shot. I promptly woke up at 6 pm, fixed a huge meal of spaghetti, salad, French bread and baked a cake within 45 minutes of my getting out of bed. I’m nothing if not a domestic goddess yanno.

Yesterday, Monday, I went to my chiropractor for a visit. It was just a standard monthly adjustment that I have been meaning to do since we moved (I jacked up my left shoulder a bit.). Dr. S adjusted my spine; many snap, crackles and pops were heard. Then she asked me to turn over on the table and proceeded to adjust my neck.

Right side… crrrACK. Ok.

Left side… crrrAOHGoodLordMaryJesusandJosephThatHURTlikeaBITCH!

Let’s try again… wiggle that left foot Suz, when is Mister’s birthday Suz? She asked me anything and everything to try and distract me so I wouldn’t tighten up when she tried to adjust me. That one little vertebra was just stubborn as all hell and was NOT going to let go.

She asked me to sit up. I did. I turned to look at her and she promptly got all “Holy SHIT!” on me. She didn’t actually curse. She’s a professional for crap’s sake. She did, however, ask if she could check my vision. She pulled out her penlight and checked my pupils.

Apparently, and here’s where it gets fun. [Chaaa, right.] My right pupil was a-ok. Nothin goin on there. Just a pupil hangin out in an iris, expanding and contracting with the amount of light available to it at any given moment. Regular pupil-ly stuff right? Right.

My left pupil was all jacked up, cracked out, Courtney Love on Letterman and shit. All big and tarded.

Let’s recap shall we? Right pupil? Checkity, check-check bitches. Left pupil? Holy Crap what the hell is wrong with your EYE? Did you put Drain-o™ in that shit or did you recently suffer head trauma?

She asked me how my vision was. It was sort of wacky. Not woo-hoo, a fun house ride, and squiggle vision wacky, but weird enough. Like, if I covered my right eye and looked at the Dr., one second she would be all-double, the next second… right as rain. And my head was starting to hurt, not in the normal place, which is a hook over my left eye and the back of my head, and not in the mohawk pattern like it hurt on Sunday. It just hurt at the back of my head, and over my right ear on top of my head.

Dr. S asked me to stay in the office. My eyes went back to normal, but she didn’t want me to drive if a migraine was coming on. She put me in an exam room with the lights down low and asked me to stay a bit. I did and when she came back to check on me the third time (she really is an angel), she checked my eyes again.

They were cracked out again. She said, “Suz, why don’t you look in the bathroom mirror to see for yourself.”

I did.

People. I looked like I should have been snifflin my nose, scratching my arms and doin the junkie shuffle while going through a bad high off some meth.

Or what I would imagine that would look like.

Ok… have you guys ever seen the movie Spun??? They show how these junkies see the world right after they fix, then they show their faces. My eyes looked like that.

So, today has been all about calling my neurologist, trying to get an appointment with an ophthalmologist and trying not to spaz.

I have an appointment on Thursday with an ophthalmologist and hopefully he will be able to tell me that everything is ok. My vision will not be impaired permanently; it is just an effect of the migraine on my occipital nerves or something.

July 14, 2004

Like a Lamborghini Thunder Star with Wings or something.

Ok, update from the information yesterday. I made mention of this in the comments/guest book section, so if you have already read that little tidbit… I apologize for the redundancy.

I got a call from the neurologist’s office yesterday afternoon. Janet told me that Dr. Bell wanted to schedule me for several tests at the hospital as soon as possible. These tests are (I actually typed testes… heh) an MRI brain, and MRI c-spine and an MRA head and neck. I don’t know what any of this means.

I do know that I had a CAT scan back in November when I had the big, bad migraine from hell.

Aren’t CAT scans and MRIs sort of the same thing? One is just more advanced, right? The way Mister explained it was thus: an X-Ray is sort of like a 1978 Dodge Dart, a CAT Scan is a 2003 Corvette and an MRI is a 2004 Lamborghini Gallardo or something that sounded equally impressive. Like a Lamborghini Thunder Star with Wings or something.

The doc also wants me to keep the appointment with the ophthalmologist that I have scheduled for tomorrow at 2:45. So, yeah… buncha scary tests to make sure nothing is wrong. I don’t think anything is wrong per se, but something may be a bit amiss.

All of the MRI/MRA things are scheduled for next Tuesday at 9 am.

I’m sort of looking forward to the MRI brain one. I really want to see those results when they come back. The director of my department has migraines quite regularly and she said that every time you have a migraine it makes this little star pattern on your brain and that those little star things are visible on the MRI films. Sounds pretty cool, but a little freaky too if you ask me. You are supposedly able to see the actual damage each migraine does to your gray matter.

I wonder if that has any bearing on how I can go months and months without anything goofy, then one day I’ll be all ‘tarded and forget who people are for a millisecond. Even if I am married to said people. Or if said people is my mother or sister. Do you guys ever do that?

I’d like to think that it’s just because I am so incredibly brilliant that my brain gets overloaded with all of the smart shit that I think about that for one brief millisecond, I just “reboot”.

Or… not.

So, yeah… there’s that.

Oh, and tonight, I am (or we are) entertaining a group of friends for dinner. Patrick and Chrissy are the sweetest couple and they have three girls under the age of four. They had us over to dinner a few weeks back and we wanted to have them over once we got settled in the new place, so Sunday we made plans for tonight.

Another set of friends (Trina and Marti) from church just called my cell phone because they are in town to see some friends of theirs that just had a baby. When Trina called, I had the brilliant idea to ask Trina and Marti to join us as well.

We are going to have six adults, four children under the age of four and a cat running around our house tonight. I’m kinda excited. Mister was all “Check with me next time before you commit…” when I called him. But I think he’s excited too.

We will also have company this weekend for an overnight stay. My parents are going to be in town. They are coming in for a funeral. My brother in law’s grandmother passed away yesterday morning. She was 94 and the sweetest thing. She had had a stroke Sunday morning. So my folks are coming in to go to the funeral and to stay with us Saturday night.

I don’t have dust ruffles on either of the beds, but I am excited.

July 22, 2004

I am always amazed at my luck for being born into this family.

This past weekend I had the pleasure of providing food and shelter for my parents.

They have stayed with me before in my apartment as a single woman, both of them refusing to sleep in my king size bed. Instead they insisted on the following… sleeping on either leg of my ugly ass green (lost in the 70’s sofa pit group) couch.

When they stayed with Mister and me after we got married, they refused our bed to rest their weary heads and instead allowed me to make them a super duper floofy pallet on the floor in the living room, consisting of several blankets, four pillows, a sleeping bag, our oriental rug on the bottom and a king sized down comforter on top.

The cat has slept with them every time*.

And every time they say in the sweetest voices, “We slept great!” and when I raise my nonexistent eyebrows at them, they add “No, really!”

My parents will have their 63rd and 64th birthdays next month. They are sprightly for their ages and are in better shape that Mister and I are collectively.


I have felt like a heel every time they refused my bed in lieu of less comfortable places to rest.

This weekend, however, I was able to provide them with not only their own room (with a door! Holy Crap!), but their own king size bed, some pillows, a bed skirt (No!, You don’t say!) and even a freakin pillow sham.

On Sunday morning I was able to offer them breakfast while sitting at an honest to God kitchen table. Coffee from the incredible Mister’s Super Duper Deluxe Supreme Coffee Maker 2000 Plus with Wings with real mugs, real creamer, their preferred sweeteners, and all that crap!

I seriously feel like a real grown up. Being in this house has done something to me. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I still want to whine and eat chocolate frosting straight out of the container that it comes in, and if I have to have eye drops put in my eyes, Mister has to wrestle me to the ground like an over eager badger… but we’re in a house. A House.

We have dudes to take care of our yard for goodness sakes!

I do the dishes because the kitchen looks pretty with an empty sink and my stainless steel colander just hanging out, waiting for the lone leaf of romaine lettuce to be washed and cut up for a yummy salad.

Hi, I’ve never been a huge slob or anything, but a few glasses could stay in my sink and I wouldn’t go mental about them. Now? Counters cleaned off and smooth surface of stove 409’d please.

If I start making pastries using the cold-water method and placing doilies under my bunt cakes, I will definitely know… my days of riding horseback topless are over that I am on the path to becoming a grownup.

I was just so happy to be able to offer my parents a clean, comfortable, nice, neat, super snuggly place to sleep for the night. They have done so much for me over the past 32 years that I don’t think I will ever be able to even scratch the surface to repay them.

They have clothed and fed me, they raised me with love, compassion, grace and faith. They instilled in me a confident nature and the ability to smile with my whole face. They endured and even encouraged my fanciful, creative and sometimes just downright weird personality. They engaged my mind in responsibility and taking blame, compliments and an interest in my actions. They worked with me on my challenges and cheered me throughout my victories. They taught me that family is so very important and even if you are crazy, your family will love you, they just may put you on the front porch in a rocker in your older days to perpetuate a southern myth. They showed me that they did (and do) just want what is best for me. They kept their mouths closed and their hearts open when I made a decision at a very young age to marry the (obviously) wrong man. They welcomed me back into the family as a divorced woman and even applauded my strength in leaving. They have helped me out financially, spiritually, mentally and physically more than I am worthy of. They have prayed for me daily. They have also shown complete glee at me finding (finally) the right man. They have been role models, jailers, punishers, cheerleaders, teachers, conspirators, bankers, mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, restaurateurs, entrepreneurs, healers, nurses, caretakers, and most of all, at this stage in my life, they have been my friends.

I enjoy the time I get to share with them and I am always amazed at my luck for being born into this family. Sure, we have had our bumps, but all in all, I believe that I am a very well adjusted young woman. I just hope and pray that Mister and I are able to offer our children the same.

*It was so cute. Max, who loves my father (and the sentiment is returned, no matter what that coot says) slept with my parents Saturday night. They left the door to their room open so Max could come and go as he pleased. At 3 am my mother woke up. She decided that she needed to tinkle and at my father’s request, she woke him up. There is a banister outside our guest bedroom door that overlooks the stairs. Daddy didn’t want my mother walking around at night in a strange house without him and falling to her death on the stairs or anything.

She woke him up and said she needed to go to the restroom. So my mom got up, my father got up and they went to the restroom… with Max following right behind them.

I just think that it is precious to think about my folks and the cat, all three of them at 3 am in our guest bathroom.

Cute huh?

On a side note, two of my favorite journalers have taken a leave of absence.

Dusty Scott at Pork Tornado has left the great unwashed masses to pursue his dreams and fatten his wallet at the teat of the Atlanta Illustrated web site. I applaud him and his ability to rake in almost a million hits a week to his now defunct (well sorta) website. A Million? What the fu…? Crap, that’s a lot of people reading your stuff. And he even had the good graces to leave comments in my guest book and respond to my emails a few times.

What? Not like I was stalking him or anything.

Shut up, and turn away from my shrine to Lewis Grizzard**. You are not worthy.

And Miss Writes Incredibly and I Want to Be Her When I Grow Up at Sundry. Not to sure what is going on there. Not like it is any of my or anyone else’s business. I just wanted to let her know that she will be missed and all that schmoopy stuff. Get well hon, whatever it is. And if I can help, drop me a line.

**If you got this reference, I love you forever with sprinkles and stuff.

July 23, 2004

The rampant James Van Der Beek humping.

While I was getting my hair cut on Wednesday … by the absolute coolest hair doer EvAH!... I noticed that they had an eclectic selection of music on. While we were at the shampoo bowl, I heard the call letters KJKK and the station name, Jack FM. It was the radio? No kiddin.

I have been listening to 100.3 for a few days now, and I think I’m in love.

I have never heard a radio station with this kind of programming. Or lack thereof.

For instance, this morning, the following songs were heard on the way to work. And no, I’m not kidding.

1. Paradise by the Dashboard Light by Meatloaf (You guys know I love that song.)
2. Bitter Sweet Symphony by The Verve. This song was on the Cruel Intentions soundtrack. That movie was fantastic.
3. Somebody’s Watchin Me by Rockwell…. Bwahahahahahaha!
4. What I Am by Eddie Brickell and the New Bohemians
5. Alright Now by Free, see? They even throw in some classic rock into the mix.
And finally…
6. Don’t Wanna Fall In Love by Jane Child. What in the hell ever happened to her? I remember wanting to pierce my nose and braid my hair when that song came out. Oh, here’s what happened to her, I may just need to buy her new album.

So, yeah… I love the new station. Check it out if you are in the Dallas area.

We have a new reader among our midst (of all two of you). Everyone say hi and welcome Reb, my sister. She asked me for the address to this site, and I … gave… it…to…her. I know that several other journals that I read give their families full access. I am just not too sure how my parents would react to the amount of cursing I practice and the rampant James Van Der Beek humping.

Go ahead Reb, click on that link, (the underlined word “humping”)… it will take you to another entry that I wrote in April.

You liked Dawson’s Creek. Right?

I’m probably scaring her to death. Sorry Reb, really. It was just a weird dream I had and had the bad taste to share.

So, the ophthalmologist, Dr. Rugwani, gave me the test results yesterday for the MRI/MRA’s that were done on Tuesday and I’m not sure about what I should think.

There is a bunch of mumbo jumbo radiologist speak and then these few nuggets. [They are all capitalized to add to the level of scary I think.]


Wait just a second. What does that mean? A booger? Or something a little less cute?


Are they talking about my butt?


Ok, so it is a booger… just a very stubborn one. ?????


The DESCRIBED ABOVE information looks like sand scrit or hieroglyphics. The only think I got was the scary capitalization part. I have a herniated disc. Top of my back, base of my neck. Whee.

Not sure what it means for the future, I haven’t even seen my neurologist yet… or my chiropractor.

The ophthalmologist dude just shook my hand and said he wanted to see me in a few weeks. Um…

What the fuck?

Let’s look up herniated disc on google.

Side Note: Yesterday I was googled for gestational period for lizards. Sorry random googler.

Herniated… herniated…her…ni…ok… here we go.



Crap that was scary.


Well, let’s not do that again shall we?

I’ll just wait on my doctors to tell me what the deal is.

I really have nothing this morning. Or maybe I am censoring myself because Reb has added herself to the throngs of Suzanna Danna readers. Throngs. Heh.

I’ll try again later.

July 29, 2004

Yeah, I'm the kid on the right that looks like a young boy.

I've been gone, babies. Did you miss me?

Wait a sec, don't answer that... especially if the answer is no.

I was in San Antonio for a conference and I should be beaten about the head and shoulders repeatedly for not calling Trixie and her brood to come downtown to see me. I should have kissed and loved on her children (since I basically pulled the first one out of her body) and bumped bellies with her loving husband. But alas, I logged over 39 working hours by 7:30 pm Tuesday night.

My butt is draggin.

Oh, yeah... I have a question. San Antonio people, do you guys (or your restaurants... particularly the ones on the riverwalk.... a place that rhymes with Café Ole...) believe in carbonation? My coworker and I set out for dinner on the riverwalk Sunday night. We were looking forward to a bit of Stoli, diet Coke (for her) and tonic (for me).

Service was crappy... albeit a bit surly... and the drinks were flat and altogether awful.

What gives aye? We even asked for just a regular diet Coke with ice to maybe "help" out the "situation" with my coworker's first drink [read: flat and watery with a nasty sludge of warm Stoli at the bottom... Stoli should NEVER be warm]. The waitress was all exasperated that we would order something so incredibly complicated as a diet Coke with ice.

The evening was saved when we crossed over a bridge to the other side of the river to have a taste of ice cream at The Bestest Ice Cream Parlor Ever to Open It's Doors to the Public! Really, not kidding here. If you guys are ever in San Antonio... I am going to go ahead and give you each a directive to find this treasure (Yay! Justin's Ice Cream Parlor!), and have a taste. He'll even give you unlimited free samples.

And… he’s cute.

Well, there was one dude there, sorta Italian looking in a cute and boneless sorta way. Tall and sinewy. All smiles and shoulders. I am assuming that he is Justin. And even if he's not, he provided great service and a very cute smile.

Ok, I just searched Google for a pic of the real Justin, and apparently the dude that served us is not he.

He was still cute.

Seamless segue number 1:

Have you guys seen Man On Fire?

Hi, tear jerking, heart ripping, cheer inducing film of wonder. How you doin? Thanks for making my husband talk to you throughout the whole blasted movie. Thanks for being so good that on a Friday at a dollar theater the only seats left were in the third row from the front… with my neck jacked to Georgia… I still enjoyed you.

Thank you for so engrossing me that even in such uncomfortable seats I was so happy to see the ending play out like it did.

Seamless segue number 2:

And ... Also? Starsky and Hutch? Yeah, not so much.

Mister and I rented that little gem from Blockbuster last night. Not sure if my sense of humor is sprained or something but I did not even smile once. We even turned the movie off after Starsky's little dance with cocaine.

So yeah, I saw the dance off and everything.

It is sad when you look forward to the perkiness and quick wit of Snoop Dog to save a film.

Snarkiness? Table for one please.

Seamless segue number 3:

While I was trying to explain to you in the above paragraph that my sense of humor has been injured or something this came out... "from my blatant slaughtering of punctuation laws and grammar standards".

First of all, that is such poor sentence structure that my 10th grade English teacher is probably rolling over in her ill-fitting Donna Karan knock off.

And B... that had nothing to do with humor at all. It was just a misplaced tangent. It wasn't even necessary. You cats are all too familiar with my butchering of the English language already.

PS.. Donna Karan. Love your stuff honey, call me.

Oh, and this.

I am not even going to edit this to block out the eyes of the cute boys. I am not going to change the names to protect the innocent either because yeah, these cute boys? I was takin them to a strip club. Innocent my ass.

Hey Stacey? Does someone look familiar?


Oh, and yeah. I don't look a damn thing like this anymore. I don't have the enormahuge hair, or the pretty little collarbone anymore. Shit people, this picture was taken 12 years and about 100 pounds ago.

I miss my collarbone.

I weep for it.

One more thing, that picture in the background of my sister and myself??? Yeah, I'm the kid on the right that looks like a young boy.


About July 2004

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

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