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August 2004 Archives

August 4, 2004

Mister: I think I would rather concern myself with Biloxi Bob.

Over the past several days Mister and I have been almost manic in our obsession with a certain little ditty that is henceforth and forever stuck in my brain. Curious to know what the little song is? Here you go, kind reader. Please follow this link to share in my giddiness.

And Just. Like. That. I have infected you too.

I even downloaded a 22meg version of the skit from that particular Muppets gem.

Mah na Mah na… indeed.

So there.

Also. Yes, also, I went to one of my favorite lunchtime websites and tried to infect those people as well.

Almost the same way Leigh’s (Miss Doxie) boyfriend, El Dukay, infected all of us when she shared that The Dukay spoke up in his infinite wisdom with this little pearl… "Did you know that, at some point, every day, you think about a monkey?" TH. Anks. El Dukay.

Now, everyday, I think to myself… “Self? Have you thought of a monkey today?” And Just. Like. That. I perpetuated the myth of monkey thought.

And also…I tried to explain this to my analytical minded husband last night in bed. The rational, “No, really, try not to think of a monkey tomorrow” turned into a look of, “Oh good God Almighty, she’s caught the crazy.”

But, it also turned into Mister saying joyfully:

Mister: I think I would rather concern myself with Biloxi Bob.

Me: Wha?

Mister: Biloxi Bob.

Me: Um.

Mister: ::blink:: You know… Biloxi Bob. That groundhog thing.

Me: Baby?

Mister: What?

Me: Do you mean Punxsutawney Phil?

Mister: Uh, yeah… him.

Me: ::snicker::

Mister: Biloxi Bob is his Southern cousin.

Me: ::snort::

Mister: [quietly] shut up.

Me: Heee!!!

I got a call from my mother Thursday night of last week. Mister and I were out and about shopping for (Monkeys!) groceries and I didn’t get her call. When we got home the message was this:

“Hi Suzanna and Mister, this is Mom. I just wanted to tell you guys about this. Tonight on the NBC national news we were watching about the flooding down in Lancaster. Dad looked up at the officer talking to the reporter and said, ‘Hey! That’s Bean!’ So, if you guys get back in tonight before the news goes off for the evening, watch it! He looks great!”

Of course, I missed the footage. I looked at NBC5i.com and everything.

Footage of the flooding? Check.

Footage of some teenager getting saved from rising floodwaters? Check.

Slideshow of some dude saving a cow from rising floodwaters? Check-itty, Check, Check bitches.

Footage of Bean? Yeah, not so much.

If some of you are like, “Who the hell is Bean?” Please check out the back-story here. For those of you too lazy to check out the shameless self-linking, here’s the short story.

Bean was one of my best friends throughout high school. Crushes ensued, feelings were hurt, and I was a bitch. The End.

I haven’t seen Bean since a baby shower for one of our friend’s who was having twins. That was, hmm… like two and a half to three years ago. He was there with his wife, a sweet and quiet woman from my youth group at church in high school. Bean and his wife had their three-year-old daughter with them. His daughter is so beautiful and so totally smitten with her big bear of a father.

I haven’t even gotten to introduce Mister to Bean or the rest of his group. Bean’s best buddy from high school, Steve, has met and hung out with Mister, but Bean hasn’t.

I really want to see that footage.

I want to see how he’s doing. Not like I’ll be able to tell from some grainy web cast footage of a news story, but that doesn’t keep me from wanting to see it.

I think I made Mister a bit jealous when we were listening to the message my mother left the other night. I didn’t mean to, really, but when she said that they saw Bean on the news I squealed, “BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAN!” I was excited to hear some news about him. Even if it wasn’t personal. I always like knowing that my friends (even if they are estranged friends that I don’t keep up with that much) are doing well.

The reason I haven’t seen Bean or Steve in a few years is because the link that kept everyone together and seeing each other on a regular basis is gone. Steve’s wife Traci. They got divorced over a year ago.

I need to call her.

I wonder how she is doing.

She came to our ya-ya weekend the 2nd year we had it. We had a blast with her.

Ok, this is spiraling off into incoherent stream of conscience typing. Sorry ya’ll. I feel a need to get out the “Part III” of my Just One of The Guys series. Not sure if I should or not.

Let me hear from ya’ll. The comments thing at the bottom of the entry thingy works really well.

August 6, 2004

On the border of Texas and Louisiana: Texas Longhorn Club

Living in East Texas during my late teens and through my early to mid twenties was a formidable challenge. Although I loved the piney woods, the laid back people, the smallness of the town(s) and the good friends I made there, there was always something missing.

I thought I found it when I was 19 or 20 years old.

I was always a big fan of road trips and the mere act of getting in my car, strapping on my seat belt, placing my big white and blue mug (which I threw away during the move, Oh the horrah!) into the seat belt in the passenger seat next to me, putting a fresh pack of smokes between my legs and taking off was a delight to me.

That feeling of freedom was something that I cherished. But I always felt like I was either running away from something, or toward something. I would rope my poor friends into countless road trips over the nine (holy shit, NINE!) years I lived in East Texas.

My group of friends would go to Bullwinkle’s (a country bar that is new defunct) on a Thursday night and at 11:00 pm, after sweating for several hours on the dance floor and having a raucous good time, I would find my girlfriend Stacey (and whomever else wanted to come, Hi Kerry and Stephanie!) and shout in her general direction, “Do you Know WHAT TIME IT IS?!?” She would grin and we would head towards the front door.

When we got to the front door, we would get in my little four-door Oldsmobile, make sure we had smokes and something to drink and we would head southeast for two hours until we hit Orange, Texas.

There was a place right across the river on the border of Texas and Louisiana called the Texas Longhorn Club (geeze I wish that place hadn’t burned down (repeatedly) I would love to show you guys pictures). On Thursday nights it wouldn’t close until 6 am, on Friday nights it wouldn’t close until 4 am and on Saturday nights… 2 am. That place was The Crazy, and it was in Louisiana so we were of drinking age if we were at least 18*, which we were.

*Note: Louisiana’s drinking age was 18 until 1994. Federal funds (road and highway) were withheld from the state until they changed it. Their roads were ass-terrible.

We would walk into that place and almost get lost. It was yooge, the dance floor was bigger than most restaurants, or bars, that I had been too. The ceiling was high over the dance floor so it wasn’t that hot and above the front of the club was a second floor where most of the regulars would go to play pool and drink (or chair-ble dancing… helllooooo Trixie!). The margaritas were cheap and yooge as well. We’d grab a drink and find the guys that we knew and commence to dancing and drinking until all hours of the morning. It was a riot.

More on this later, there are stories upon stories about this place, but that is for another entry… or twelve. Ladies, you know who you are, send me ideas to write about… “Take care! Take caaaaaaaaaaaaaare.” Heh.

My Friday classes suffered, but alas, I did graduate. So nyah.

The road trips weren’t as fulfilling as I thought they would be. When I got out of class on some days I would go and just drive around the Loop (224). Just driving made me relax a little, but I was still restless.

I started driving further and further in concentric circles or just heading a main compass direction. Some days I would head west and go to Lake Nacogdoches, some days I would head east and park at the Carl Monk Scenic Overlook, unknowingly parking less than a mile from where I would eventually live for 5 years. Sometimes I would head north and go into Cushing or out to Henderson, but mostly I would head south into Lufkin.

Lufkin seemed to be a larger city than Nacogdoches. There was more of an industrial feel. I found the Brookshire Bros. Distribution plant, I found a few movie theaters, a mall, a Toys R Us and then I saw it.

On the north loop (287) of Lufkin, on the right hand side (if you’re heading north) was the Ellen Trout Zoo. I love zoos. I love the smell of them, the education programs on animals and I especially loved the Ellen Trout Zoo’s admittance fee. It was by donation only back then and as I was a poor college student, I would meekly stuff a few bucks in the collection box every time I would visit.

I fell in love with the lemurs and the otters (river otters… LOVE!) and especially the big cat enclosure. They had lions and tigers (a few black bears, oh my) but the piece de resistance was the jaguar exhibit.

They had a black male that was glorious and a spotted female for his mate. The large male would find a high perch and lay there in the sun looking at you like, “Go ahead, mere mortal, worship me and my muscular sleekness. Look into my eyes and shiver in your very soul. And gaze upon my gorgeous coat that the sun reflects the pattern of spots and subtle undercurrents of my hotness. By the way, if you didn’t get the memo… I rule.”

So, yeah, I was completely taken with this zoo. It was close, it was small, the keepers were cool and it wasn’t crowded. There would be small groups on field trips, but mainly it was the staff, the animals, and uh… me.

I was there so often that when the jaguar couple (What? I can talk about them like they have been invited to my next cocktail party… hush.) had three cubs on Christmas day of 1991 I got a call.

I was in Plano, home for the holidays and working my ass off at Victoria’s Secret (hee!) or Paulette’s or something. One of the keepers called me and said, “Hey Suz, just wanted to let you know that the cubs came last night, a spotted female, a black female and a black male. The little black male is a little weak, but they seem to be doing fine.”

I was so excited. I couldn’t wait to get back to school so I could go see the babies.

They lost the little male two weeks after he was born to kidney failure, but the two females were doing Ggrrrreat! Sorry, I couldn’t resist.

I went to the zoo several times in that first few weeks of the cubs lives. They weren’t out for the public to see, but at six weeks old they would be, so… I went back. The zoo was practically empty and the female jaguar was back in the enclosure with the male. Where were the babies? A keeper called me over, I can’t remember his name for the like of me but the dude looked suspiciously like Weird All Yankovich. He asked me if I would like to see the little ones.

What do you think I am? High? Of COURSE I want to see them.

He brought them out, for me … TO… PET… And to LOVE ON! I am not kidding you people. His only word of caution was that I should keep a firm grip on the base of their (whichever one I was holding) tail lest they try to get away.

I had a jaguar cub in my lap. I had a jaguar cub on my shoulder. I had a jaguar cub try to eat the lens off of my Photography 201 camera that was the property of Stephen F. Austin State University.

I have pictures of these babies, close up and personal. Actually, I have the negatives, black and white negatives that I developed. The photos are long gone. I should get a few more prints.

I was crying like a little bitch because it was so awesome.

The little black female was more timid than her sister the spotted one. The spotted one went from my lap to my shoulder in a half a second. If I hadn’t been holding the base of her tail (Thanks Weird Al) she would have been up a tree the next second.

I had puncture wounds on my back from her claws, but I didn’t care.

She was chewing on my hair so I grabbed her little muzzles and shook it gently.

I cannot tell you guys the impact that made on me, being that close and personal with a big cat cub. Two of them!

I will never forget Weird Al for the gift he gave to me that day… but apparently I’ll forget the fuck out of his name.

August 9, 2004

Everyone put on their bathing suits but me, because I, as we have realized before, am a genius.

Mister and I went to see my parents this weekend for their combined birthday celebrations. My sister and her little family came too. We planned just to hang out with them and have a family weekend. Lots of relaxing and birthday party stuff. Including pool cake.

And I, like the party queen that I am (Ain’t no party like an SD party cause an SD party don’t Stop!), decided to tell them all about the cracked out pupil and the increasing frequency of my migraines.

Go Su-Z! Kill the Par-TY! Go Su-Z!

Ah, good times. Good times.

To my (minimalist) credit, I did wait until Mister and I were practically pulling out of their driveway to head back to the Dallas area yesterday evening.

Yeah, cause I’m smooth like that.

Mister had been trying to get me to tell them all along, because they had a right to know, he said. Because, we’d want our daughter to tell us something like that, he said. Right? RIGHT?

Oh, all right, fine. Geeze.

I stood there sweating (more on the sweating later) in their driveway and tried to tell them in the most nonchalant way about my Courtney Love pupil and my MRIs and MRAs on the 20th of July.

It didn’t help much that earlier that day I got sunburned with the intensity of a 1000 burning suns out on the lake.

Ok, let me back up.

Yesterday morning (Sunday) we all woke up to have a nice breakfast and relax a bit. We skipped church because we are all heathens and we’re going to hell, but we truly enjoyed our lazy Sunday.

Reb and Daddy-O decided to see if the pontoon boat would pull a water skier. Daddy’s little 1975 Glass Master has pulled a frillion people, at one time or another, but Momma’s new pontoon* had yet to run the gauntlet.

*After Momma and Daddy retired and moved back to Texas, Daddy went out for bread one afternoon and came home with a new boat for Momma. Because he’s smooth like that.

We all packed up a little cooler, grabbed a few towels, (everyone put on their bathing suits but me, because I, as we have realized before, am a genius) the sun block, and our hats and went down to the boat dock.

We pulled out away from the little cove and into more open water, Reb hopped into the lake, slipped on her skis and BIL threw her the rope. Daddy gunned it and she popped out of the water like a jack in the box. The toy, not the fast food joint. Reb made a few runs and even dropped a ski to slalom for the first time in a few years. She did a great job and made it look effortless.

BIL’s turn… He hopped in the water and when Daddy gunned it, he popped up like he was born on skis.

Gray (their son) was getting tired so we made a pass by the dock, let Momma and Gray off and took off again.

Mister wanted to learn how to water-ski.

He did so well. He never made it all the way up but he gave it one hell of a college try, I was worried that he was going to wear himself out completely.

All in all I think we were out for maybe an hour and a half. I had on a tank top and some shorts. No sunscreen.

Now, if you didn’t know before, my skin tone is commonly known as by one of the following monikers: Irish Pale, Porcelain Goddess, Clear and “Holy Shit! My Eyes! What the Fuck is That? Nuclear Winter?”

So, yeah, I’m a bit on the pasty side. I thought we’d be out for about 20 minutes. Nope.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

We got back to the house for lunch and I wasn’t hungry. I sat there and picked at the avocadoes in my salad and then got a stitch in my right side right under my ribs. I excused myself from the table and went to lie down.

Apparently my sister thought I was having a heart attack.

I lied down and felt this pain move from the top of my head (felt like a hatchet in my head) to a hook in my left eye. Ut oh, migraine.

I asked Mister to give me one of my Imitrex shots and I passed out for about two hours. When I came to, the headache/migraine was gone but in it’s place was left the tingly, itchy, raw, fire pink skin of incredible sunburn.


I got up and started packing. My sister and her brood had already departed for the Dallas area, and I didn’t want to be too far behind them. Sunday traffic and everything. I also had a doctor’s appointment scheduled with my neurologist for 9:40 am in the morning to go over my test results from the MRIs and MRAs.

We got everything into the Lincoln and Mister looked at me like, “For God’s sakes woman, tell them already.”

So, I did.

I stood there sweating from the humidity and the uncomfortable skin associated with being burned with Freakin Magma (!) and I told them.

Daddy got his chin down, eyebrows furrowed, small mouth, “I’m not very happy about this Suzanna Danna” look, and my mother just looked fearful and like she was going to click her tongue any minute and say, “I knew something was wrong.”

Which… she did.

I told them that they shouldn’t worry, nobody else (I meant my doctors) seemed to be worried, that I had a dr. appointment this morning (Monday) with my neruo and I was sure that everything would be fine.

I promised to call them after my doctor’s appointment Monday morning, kissed their faces, got in the Lincoln and drove away.

This morning I slept in a little bit. I called my boss last night and left him a message to remind him about my doctor’s appointment in the morning. So I got up early, got showered (I knew my sunburn was horrid when in the shower, my wet hair felt like somebody was trying to loofa my back with a wire brush) and got dressed.

Mister followed me in the Lincoln so I could go directly to work after the appointment.

We got to the doctor’s office, I signed in and sat down in the uncomfortable waiting room chairs.

The lady I make my appointments with, Janet, and whom I had called on Friday to make sure that my appointment was on Monday the 16th, stuck her head out the window.

Janet: Suzanna Danna? Are you sure you are supposed to be here?

Me: Yes ma’am, my appointment is for 9:40 am on Monday the 16th of August.

Janet: ::blink:: Right.

Me: [looks at her watch, sees that it reads the friggin NINTH of August] Shit. I’m sorry.

Janet: That’s ok sweetie, I’ll see you next Monday.

In the car, calling my boss.

Boss: Boss speaking,…

Me: Apparently I am a tool.

Boss: And you’re calling me to tell me this? (Or something equally as funny and “Hey, don’t worry about it.” –esque.)

Me: Explain, Explain… yadda yadda Apologize

So yeah. I am all sorts of confused when it comes to dates this week.

I called my parents on the way to the office to tell them that my dr. appointment wasn’t until next week and to apologize for not being more forthcoming with them about this situation.

And when I spoke to my mother, like most things (between she and I), our conversation turned to my weight.

When we spoke last week about sleeping arrangements for this past weekend, I asked her if the little blow up mattress was in my closet for me to sleep on. She assured me it was then we got into it about why Mister and I can’t sleep together on a double bed. It’s a freakin double bed… and he’s 6’5” for goodness sake.

She actually said to me, during that conversation, “If you two do not loose weight, you are going to be in scooters by the time you are our age.” (My mother and my father’s ages are 63 and 64.)

I know she thinks that size doesn’t matter, that only health does.

But that’s not the truth I fear.

When I spoke to her this morning she threw out that I needed to make sure my neruo knew about my rapid growth spurts, my rapid weight gains, my birth control pills and my hypoglycemia. I assured her that I would, but then I said something that I think hurt her heart.

I said, “Momma, both you and I are guilty of self diagnosis. We explain away things that happen, but I am afraid that you and I are both guilty of trying to find something medically wrong with me so I just won’t be another fat ass.”

She said, “No, no, no, that’s not true, I only care that you are healthy…” and she went on and on. “I’m just worried because you don’t eat much

“Yes, but mother… I eat high calorie things, and I am sedentary.”

She then said that she promised herself that she wouldn’t say another thing to me about my weight, that she had promised herself that many times.

But ya’ll… she always does. I think it is just her way. It has ceased, or so I like to claim, to hurt my feelings.

I had to get off the phone with her. I was almost to work, but that wasn’t all of it. I felt guilty talking to her about all the things I need to do about my health while in a bag on my passenger seat set a paper bag from Grandy’s with steak and cheese biscuits in it for my breakfast for the next few days.

I felt so shameful.

When I got to work, my sister called me, asked me how I was doing, I assured her I was fine, told her about the mix up with the dates for my appointment and that’s when she said that she was afraid I was having a heart attack yesterday.

She said that Momma called her, very upset, asked Reb to be the go-between to make sure I knew she was sorry, that she didn’t mean to mess everything up.

What do I do with this information?

Should I call my mother to console her for how she feels about my weight?

I mentioned to Reb that it has been hard to have this weight for 10 years and that I know what I need to do; I just need to do it. That when I was so unhealthy in college and just too thin, Mom praised me with words and affection for looking so great.

Reb was steadfast that Mom only cares about my health, not how I look.

I asked her, then why was she feeding me Slim Fast in high school?

Reb, was incredulous. “She did not.” I assured her that yes, she did. But because I felt guilty for what Reb thought I may be insinuating, I offered, “Maybe because they were just healthy.”

We both grabbed onto that poorly lobbed excuse like it was a friggin lifesaver.

I know I need to lose weight.

I know I could be healthy.

I know I need to watch my food intake, if anything to stave off diabetes.

I know, I know, I fucking KNOW.

So, why is it so hard to put the theory into practice?

Maybe Mom is right, and I need a support group.


August 11, 2004

The Sound Of Sunburn

Hello discomfort, my old friend,
I've come to be sunburned again,
Because the sun’s path was creeping,
Burned my back while hubby was skiing,
And the screaming that was planted in my brain
Still remains
Within the sound of sunburn.

In restless dreams I tossed alone
now I’m weary to the bone,
'Neath the halo of a night lamp,
I turned my pillow to the cold and damp
When my nerves were stabbed by the pain of
a touch so light
My whimpers split the night
And touched the sound of sunburn.

And in the naked light I saw
Ten thousand freckles, maybe more.
Sun damage on my skin,
Clarin’s lady yelling it’s a sin,
Nerve endings on fire from my hair
It really is soft, I swear…
Disturb the sound of sunburn.

"Fools" said I, "You do not know
Sunburn like a cancer grows.
Hear my words that I might teach you,
SPF at least fifty-two."
But my advice like silent raindrops fell,
And echoed
In the wells of sunburn

My skin has not felt this flayed
Since at Wet and Wild I played
With my girlfriends throughout the morning
Oh the sunburn that was forming.
I promised I wouldn’t burn this way
Ever again, oh not again.
Well, Sheeit…
I whispered in the sounds of sunburn.

August 12, 2004

I've been Googling (like a mad bastard).


Yes, you� Hi there. How you doin?

Fine? Good.

Me? Um, I am a big bucket of crazy thanksforaskin.

In the past several days I have lost a lot of sleep due to� oh, I don稚 know� my sunburn was one reason, I believe. Other reasons may include that I have been dreaming about all sorts of cracked out shit. And another reason may be that I am slipping back into a phase of insomnia. Let痴 hope and pray that the latter is not the case.

Let痴 talk about the dreams. [As you scream a silent, 哲ooooooooooooo!� in your head.] I have told you good people about several of my dreams, yes, I知 sorry, but we are going to go down that road again.

I致e told you about Science Camp.

I致e told you about John Cleese痴 nipple, and, I have even had the bad taste to tell you guys about humping James Van Der Beek. [Same link, � incidentally. Heh.] As well as many, many others.

The dreams that have been plaguing me lately all have to do with men in my past, yes, yes� just like that stupid dream about Kim and Neal (Neal, is his real name� the moniker 敵omer� is too� gay. Or maybe, it is just too nice.). But as opposed to the dreams being mildly irritating or just plain retarded, the ones I have been having lately have been more along the lines of night terrors.

Monday morning I awoke with a start, clutching at my throat like I was some old woman who was 菟earl clutching� after hearing that her oldest nephew was indeed a gay porn star and squandering his inheritance on ass-less leather pants and pasties.

In the dream I had just come home from work. I walked in through the garage, like always, and put my purse on the kitchen table. I turned around to go into Mister痴 office to give him a hello kiss. When I looked up Marcus was standing there without a shirt on. I knew it was him, even in the gloom, because I could see the scar from where he had his spleen removed (motorcycle accident) glowing in the semi-darkness. He pulled back his lips from his teeth in this rictus snarl and moved his right arm from the right side of my body to my left in a very quick jerky motion. It took me a second to realize that he had just cut my throat from ear to ear. As soon as I felt the warmth of my own blood flowing down my shirt� I woke up.

I sat bolt upright and gasped for air, feeling to make sure my throat had not been cut.

Creepy shit huh?

So, yeah� I致e been Googling (like a mad bastard) Marcus痴 full name trying to find out where he is, and if I am, indeed, in danger of having my throat slit. His old address was where I paid for his apartment down payment to get him the fresh hell out of my apartment back in 2000(?). But I found another address that was closer to where Mister and I moved when we first got married. Ick.

Or what about this one. This morning I woke up out of breath and wiping the sheets like I was brushing something off the bed. I was just dreaming about being in Nacogdoches. Most of you know that I was previously married to X, we lived in a double wide, 1976 Redman trailer. In the middle of 650 acres in east Texas. Piney woods. Bugs. Particleboard flooring� trailer. DOUBLE WIDE! *shudder*

Anyway, east Texas is a lush area. There is much rain, much humidity, much red clay and many, many bugs.

Like this one.


So, yeah, nasty. I battled bugs in the house for the entire 5 or 6 years I lived there. We had so much rain, the floors were so crappy, and the house was so freakin old that I had mold, YES� MOLD! growing on the soles of my favorite pair of boots.

I my dream last night, I was in the guest bathroom shower in that trailer, but I was in there hiding from a flying cockroach the size of a schnauzer. That thing was absolutely yooge! It slipped into the shower with me by crawling up the opaque shower curtain liner, I could see the progress it was making by its� outline. It was so big that the shower rod bent a little.

I figured that I could wait until it got almost into the shower with me then I would throw back the curtain and run into the master bedroom.

I waited and waited, then sprung! And like in most dreams, you don稚 move as fast as you think you can. Almost like you are moving through Jell-O. I slowly and with much grunting flung myself out of the shower, knocking the big roach unconscious and to the floor in the process. To the floor I had to cross over to get to the master bedroom. And of course when I stepped over the blasted thing, it regained consciousness and flew upwards, narrowly missing getting caught in my curly hair.

Geeeeeeeesh� [all over body shudder].

Mind you, the whole fuckin time I am going through this hell, I am yelling at the top of my lungs for X.

店! Help!.. Shit! X!!!!! HELP ME! This thing has the wingspan of a KITE for God痴 Sake!�

All I heard was some blasted John Wayne rerun coming from the master bedroom television.

That bastard wouldn稚 help me at all.

I got to the master bedroom door and it was locked. X, that lazy fucker. I climbed a ladder and looked over the kitchen ceiling to see where I could hide. ??? The ceiling? I don稚 know either.

That痴 when it came at me, wings a flappin. It hit me in the chest and knocked me off of the ladder.

That is when I woke up.

I壇 rather be dreaming about sex or something normal.

What do you guys dream about?

August 16, 2004

So, yeah. I am clearly Pinky to Mister's Brain.

My sunburn is completely gone. All I am left with is the peeling, nasty and itchy aftermath of horrible skin trauma. I keep asking Mister to scratch me. There, no, there� no wait� my left wing bone� ahhhhhhhhhhh. And he, because he is the bestest friend, lover, husband, sweetheart a woman can have� does it.

Yes, I am a lucky, lucky woman.

But I figured out this morning, that even in my luckiness (is SO a word) that sometimes it bites being married to a man whose brain could power most of Manhattan if hooked up to a generator.

There we were, 9:40 am at my neurologist痴 office at Richardson Regional Medical Center. My husband and I talking with the good doctor about my cracked out pupils and my migraines*. The doctor assures me that I am fine. That the main thing he was looking for with the MRIs and MRAs was a stroke on my brain stem or my spinal cord. They didn稚 find that. Cool, that痴 some scary shit, but I am healthy. The occasional pupil abnormality is just related to the migraines I have. No biggie. Right?

Since the good doctor and I discussed putting me on preventive medicines for my migraines last time we talked, this time, with the increasing frequency of the migraines, we discussed which medication to use. Several different drugs were discussed, then we settled on Zonegranョ. It is actually an antiseizure medication that has side effects of preventing or slowing the frequency of migraines. I start taking it tonight.

While talking to the doctor about my nervousness concerning taking this medication, Mister and the neuro went off on some smart guy tangent and discussed; in detail; the half-life of this medication and other such 哲o, dear, that discussion clearly belongs on WebMD or Nova� things. They were talking to each other in a, 添eah� so glad I知 not the only clearly brilliant man in the room, call me later� peace� type of way.

I was sitting there drooling and chewing on a crayon.

I asked about Zonegranョ痴 effect, if any, on my birth control pills and asked the doc about how long we were going to keep me on the meds. I also asked him if he would prescribe some Sonata for me so I could sleep better. Mister spoke up with an answer that the Zonegranョ may relax me and take away the pain the migraines were causing therefore helping me to sleep better, unless the reason I wasn稚 sleeping well was caused by something else for example, watching too much TV before bed. Or something like that, I was too busy licking the linoleum to hear everything.

Dr. Neuro spoke up, 典hat is exactly the correct answer.�

They high-fived and hugged.

So, yeah. I am clearly Pinky to Mister痴 Brain.

Which is totally cool with me.

Love you Brain!

Hey, have I ever told you guys that I have a total girl crush on Joan Jett? Yep. Apparently it was a deep seeded love that started back in the 1981 Crimson and Clover days. Love her. And big thanks to Jack FM (100.3) I hear her a-bunches.

Do I wanna touch her? Indeed. And no, Reb, this does not mean that I知 a big ol� lesbian**, I just remember Joan fondly and with much love. After all, she is coming to Dallas on the 9th of September. Anyone wanna take me to a free concert?

Joan would SO kick my ass.

*I知 too lazy to link to my older entries today. I am sure you could find them if you needed to on my Older page. Click on 徹ld News� above.

**I知 a tiny one. MWAHAhahahahhaahaa! [ahem] Sorry. Kidding, really.

August 17, 2004

Because apparently, I am a twelve year old boy.

About two weeks ago Mister and I were driving around after seeing Man On Fire. We snagged some ice cream at Braum’s or Swensen’s or something like that. That’s not the important part.

The important part is this…

Are you guys familiar with the “anal” game? It is neither as dirty nor torrid as it sounds. It is along the same lines as the fortune cookie, “… In Bed” thing. Get me?


Alright. Yanno how when you were in high school or college, (or hell, it may have been last week for some of you) and you ate Chinese food? Yes Suz, duh. Well, yanno when the time for eating the fortune cookies came, and everyone read their fortune aloud and added, “In Bed” to the end of it?

For example, “Smiles are like Sunshine, they light up the room… In Bed.” Ok, that one was retarded. How about, “Your fortune will soon grow… In Bed.” Heh. Yeah, like that bitches!

The anal game, as mature and fun filled as the “In Bed” game… goes like this. Anytime I see a Ford, Lincoln or Mercury product… I add the word “Anal” to the front of the name of the vehicle.

Well, since the night in question (see above) I have been playing the anal game in my head.

Anal Explorer

Anal Expedition

Anal Probe

Anal Excursion ………(hee!)

Anal Navigator

Anal Aviator

Anal Focus

Anal Escape… ad nauseum.

I can’t stop this behavior. It is almost compulsory. I will be at a stoplight, counting the Ford, Lincoln and Mercury products looking for one I haven’t attached the Anal moniker to yet. I have been doing this for weeks people. Weeks.

I drive an Anal Mystique. So full of mystery and shrouded in query.



Because apparently, I am a twelve year old boy. You disagree? Why? I have the whole potty humor thing down and, yes AND… I have the crush on Joan Jett.

August 18, 2004

Yeah, I just linked Fabio to the Bible.

There are a bunch of things that I have been convinced of at one point or another. Most of these things are completely daft and moronic, but alas, my aim is to share them with you good people.

When I was young I was convinced that if you tinkled in the toilet, and then someone else had to pee too, and tinkled on top of yours, that the toilet would blow up. Imagine my immense fear at having to use port-a-potties and out houses. I was also pretty dubious about the toilets on airplanes, I was certain that they had to expel the “double pee” into the atmosphere lest the plane crash into the earth as a fire-y ball.

Samson was hot. HAWT! With all of those rippling muscles and long, flowing (and also rippling) Old Testament hair. He was the pre-Fabio Fabio… of… the… Bible… or something like that. Yeah, I just linked Fabio to the Bible. And, yes, I do believe that is grounds for going to hell.

I used to believe that if I stayed still long enough in the forest that I could actually commune with nature. And when I say commune with nature, my crazy ass means, talk to the animals. With. My. Mind. Yeah, this went over well. Hey, Young Doctor Doolittle, get a clue, will ya? Being a lover of animals is all well and good but when you are riding a horse and trying to command the thing to “Hi Ho Silver!” or some shit… with your mind, you’re at least a small bucket of crazy. Or if you are (and I was) trying to calm an agitated snake that was beginning to shed with a mental chant of “Relax, Relax, Relax…” you’re at least a small bucket of crazy.

I have tried this with people too. For example, Mister and his headaches. I have actually been conceited enough to think that I could draw out the pain using concentration, calming, massaging motions and sheer will. I think I actually made them worse, poor guy.

I have actually been so worried about what I looked like that I would spend an inordinately long period of time making sure that my eyelashes (if they hadn’t fallen out from stress that month) were perfectly curled, mascara’d and without a clump in sight. I have been known to use a straight pin or a safety pin to go between each eyelash to make sure it was not sticking to it’s brother. And I don’t care who you are, if you have a safety pin that close to your eyeball, it ain’t safe. I thought that people cared. I thought that that little attention to detail (or strange and morbid obsession, you choose) would single me out to someone as special. Or as Big Bucket of Crazy with complete and Utter Vanity problem mixed with OCD and Neediness…? Again, you choose.

I actually thought that I could sneak out of my house in the middle of the night when I was a teenager and not get caught. Heh. Yeah, this was a rich one. My father (wisely) planted a holly bush in front of my first floor, bedroom window. I decided to not let that deter my efforts to sneak out with my friends from school or from my church group, or my very misguided (and very short) boyfriend. I would sneak out the laundry room window or any window I could. But my favorite was going out the window that let out onto the porch by the pool. It was the quietest. This gave me the added benefits of having to squeeze my skinny ass through a window and between the window and the patio furniture sofa that was on the porch (that window didn't have a screen). I would then mosey to the side yard and hop the fence, walk to the neighborhood pool, cross the pipe and meet everyone on the bike trail, smoke a few cigarettes, try and act like I was cool and not trying to look like I was trying to act like I was cool [you know what I mean?], talk about mundane bullshit that we could have discussed on the phone… annnnnnd scene. Back to the house, jump the fence, shimmy through the flaming hoops and obstacles and slip quietly into the house. So very quietly. Creeping down the hallway to my bedroom and jumping out of my fucking skin when my mother says calmly, so very calmly (that was the scary part), “Did you have fun tonight? You better hope you did, because that is the last fun you will be having for a loooong time.”

Yeah, we went through this song and dance several times throughout my middle, junior and high school career. I was like a Houdini dog. One of those escape artist puppies that just gets out of the house just to see that they can. Stupid.

I thought that $20,000.00 was a huge salary when I first graduated from college.

I had a notion that if someone was petting me (oh hell, I still do this)… say Mister was petting me, stroking my back or gently pulling the ends of my hair… that if I stayed still, oh, so still… that he would keep petting me indefinitely until I moved and reminded him that he was petting me, causing him to stop.

Whoops… time to go… I just realized that I have to get to the house and get changed. Mister and I are meeting Marigold Mind at Luna de Noche tonight for dinner then we are going to the Magnolia to see Garden State. My Zach Braff love will not be denied. :)

I may keep this little thread going, it is pretty interesting.

Speak up with your notions via the comments section.

August 24, 2004

The one where I sort of disappoint you.

I’m a bit worn out. Mister and I have been traveling every weekend this month. Have I already told you guys this? Yes? No? Well, let me catch you up to speed. The first weekend of the month, Mister and I went (along with my sister and her family) to my parent’s house for their collective birthday celebration. Good food, good times, hearty sunburn and back in town just in time to do a few loads of laundry and start the week over with Monday.

The second weekend, Mister and I went to some friend’s (from church) lake house out by Mount Vernon. No clue where that is? Go 30 northeast of Dallas by about 100 miles. There. No wait… a little bit further… there. Yeah, there. Go for a ride out on their boat for an hour or two after a late lunch, find a few (million!) acres of lily pads floating in a serene and almost forgotten part of the lake. Leave their home at the ass crack of dawn on Sunday to make it to a class at 8:30 am and to church on time and … few loads of laundry after lunch, straighten up a bit annnnnd repeat.

This past weekend we went with some other friends (from church too), their three daughters (4, 2 and 6 months), their nephew, their father, a bunch of guns, an ass load of ammo and some hamburger meat out to a cabin north of Stephenville, TX. Ahhhh, the relaxation of a semiautomatic weapons and children… and enough spaghetti to feed the cast of Phantom of the Opera, what?… theater people really love noodles, yo. Mister really had fun, he had a playmate to run around and shoot stuff with and I got to learn about how some women’s nipples crack and bleed when they nurse. So, really, it was great for the whole family.

Really, we have had a great time these past few weekends, the families that have had us over are so gracious and sweet to share their time and families with us, we are blessed to have such fellowship.

That being said.

My snarkiness knows no bounds, really. For that, I apologize. I am just punchy as shit.

I haven’t slept well this whole month. I am anxious. I have flutter tummy, I am not eating well, my skin is dry and itchy (a first), my eyelashes are falling out and I am scared of my own shadow. I have burst into tears no less than 4 separate times since Sunday night. Bless Mister’s heart, he is being a total rock and if it weren’t for him I would be a raving basket case.

Something is coming to the surface in my heart and in my mind and I am dealing the best way I can, but I am not used to being such an emotional wreck.

I am not the type to be afraid, if anything I was always stupid enough to face whatever it was head on, but last night while laying in bed talking I looked out into the hallway and saw the pole that holds up the banister to the staircase. I know that the pole is a pole and not some unnamed man or scary person that is coming to get me, I know that in my mind… or I think I know that… on the surface, but something scared me to the point of burying my head against Mister’s shoulder and weeping like a little bitch while he prayed over me for God to release me from these demons of self doubt (among other things). I couldn’t even go to tinkle afterwards without running past the open bedroom door.

So… yeah, I am really looking forward to this business trip.

I leave for San Antonio tomorrow and don’t get back until late Friday night. I can’t wait to see how well I don’t sleep in a strange bed in a strange city without Mister’s large soothing hands, sweet words and imposing form to guard and protect me from shadow men, or my own mind. This bites.

I’m not looking for calls from any of you loving friends (or sisters) saying, “Awwww sweetie.” Really, I’m not. I’m just journaling this so I can be honest with myself about where I really was (at this point) and how low it got when I crawled out. I don’t want to be here. I don’t like this head/heart-space I am in and I want to crawl out and I will even if it means kicking and screaming the whole way.

I haven’t been this anxious in a long, long time. I am lucky enough that I made a decision a few years ago to not swallow my pain, my anxiety or my remorse. I am dealing with a few things that I haven’t had the pleasure of dealing with consciously though.


It is a new feeling. Apparently it has been there for a long time, I just haven’t ever faced it head on. It’s ugly and it won’t go away quietly and I refuse to bury it or shove it under the carpet so it may be battle, but it is one I am willing to fight. I have a wonderful cheerleader on my side, Mister, an amazing coach, God, and a strong heart.

The funny may be a few weeks in coming. Ya’ll just bear with me… kay?

Love and bunches of kisses…

Did I tell you guys that you look really pretty today?

You do you know.

About August 2004

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

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