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November 2004 Archives

November 2, 2004

What the Hell is this then, Distemper? Scurvy?

I wrote this last Monday afternoon after I got back from my conference. I was gone for about 3 business days but because I never get online at home, I always feel out of touch until I get back to my office.

I take my blackberry™ with me but because of some weird blackberry™ gremlin I can’t get into my frillions of contacts, I always end up feeling completely cut off. Even if I am just in downtown Dallas.

That Burger Kingゥ commercial with the creepy ass King of the Burgers waking that guy up Freaks me right the Hell Out. Just about as much as that old 80’s Genesis video for “Land of Confusion” where they all had puppet heads and fat fingers. Eeeesh!… that thing gave me nightmares. I had just about gotten a hold of my irrational, “I don’t care if you’re trying to hand me a breakfast sandwich Fucker! Get out of MY BED!” fear when it was brought up on a pop cultural mainstay. Yes, VH-1’s Best Week Ever.

Now I have this whole other irrational “What if One of those Burger Kingゥ heads shows up at my door on Halloween? Or better yet, because he’s got a sick sense of humor, now that they sell those masks, what if Mister wakes me up with one of those on his head one morning and I die of fright?” fear.


I really would yanno. I would totally die.

Mister would have to post an obituary that would say something to the likes of…

And then I stopped writing because I was feeling icky and I went home that Monday night and then yanno what happened?

Yep. I got so sick I horked up my lower intestine. It wasn’t pretty and I actually can tell you what it is like (from experience) how it feels to get split pea soup stuck in your sinus cavity from throwing up so hard and with much repeated regularity… said Missus Obvious McNo-shit.

Monday night at 11:20 pm I started throwing up and at around 5:40 am Mister started throwing up.

We were your regularly scheduled party of “Holy Shit Do I Have Parvo?!… What the Hell is this then, Distemper? Scurvy?”

By 7:30 am I got up enough strength to call into the office to tell them that I wasn’t going to come in that day then I ran to the bathroom yet again for another fun filled round of how much liquid can pass through my system without me having ingested anything in over twelve hours.

It was a hoot.

That lasted for four days ya’ll.

I’m fuckin skinny.

Well, not really. I’m still a fat ass, but good Lord. Mister and I just started eating solid food again on Saturday. I had to use up all of my Personal Time Off and now I am five hours in the hole.

My best friend LuLu had her baby and I didn’t even know she was going to be induced because I was too sick to check my work voice mail. Her husband called my cell phone on Friday (ETA: Actually, it was really Thursday, and I was standing in the frozen food section of Tom Thumb like a little lost girl while my husband tried to get me to push the cart full of Gatorade and cup-o-soup mixes out of the nice peoples' way... it didn't work... I wasn't all that movable.) and told me that their baby girl is here. I am so excited, I can’t wait to meet her. Hi Amber!

Oh, and also, I missed Stacey’s and Hot Barney’s collective birthday’s because I suck. And one of the pumpkins. Happy Birthday Wendy!

But, I did vote.

More hilarity about my water poo later. Smoochies.

November 5, 2004

Names changed to protect the drunk and disorderly.

When I was in college, full of piss and vinegar, I came home after a few semesters full of ideas and, truth be told… bullshit. I thought I was open minded and educated, smarter than your average bear after courses in political science, sociology, psychology and social psychology I thought I really knew what I was talking about.

After many years of my father’s face turning red in forced silence from watching me give my allowance to the homeless and sending it overseas to help out Sally Struthers, he saw me turn eighteen. He saw me enter the workforce at an even younger age than my peers at fifteen, so he knew I wasn’t a slacker, he just wanted to know if I had exercised my right to vote.

I stammered about the man and how unfair life was.

Unfair. Unfair. Please.

This was coming from a middle class white kid, my tuition was paid for and I had a place to live and never had to worry where my meals were coming from as long as I was in school.

Small Veer: Sure, I had been the subject of reverse discrimination at the hands of the Smithsonian Museum… a few summers before after applying for an internship I received word that because I wasn’t a poor, handicapped kid, or better yet, an ethnic poor, handicapped kid, that they couldn’t accept my internship… and you can bet your sweet ass I still have that letter. End Veer.

So my father asked me what my ideas for making America a better place were… I spouted off about equality and better heath care and giving more back to the poor, your standard Democratic Party platform…

My father did not miss a beat.

“Susan,” he said, “How are your grades this semester?”

I replied, “Well, Daddy-O, I have been working so very hard. I have been taking several labs this semester and it has really been quite a load of work, but I have buckled down and really have applied myself. I’m proud to say that I made the Dean’s List this semester and I have a straight 4.0… All A’s!”

I did a little dance around the ottoman in the living room.

Then he said, “Baby, that really is great, I am so proud of you and your hard work. I know that you really wanted to make the most of your education and I am so glad that you were able to get into this school and that you are doing so well. So tell me, how is Lisa* doing?”

“Well, you know Dad, she really didn’t get to have fun in high school and I guess when she got to college she just went a bit nuts. She hasn’t been going to class that much, she stays out late at night and I think she’s in danger of being put on probation if she’s not careful. Actually, it is pretty much already in the works, her mom is going to kill her.”

“Oh really? Why is that?”

“Well, she missed a final because she got sick from staying out too much and her grades are falling.”

“What are her grades like?”

“Well, if she’s lucky, she’ll squeak by this semester with a 2.0.”

My father then told me, “Susan I am so proud of you for doing so well, and Lisa is your friend right? You love her right?”

I replied, “Yes sir.”

“Here is what I want you to do. I would like for you to give her one of your points.”

I just looked at the man like he had lost his mind.

He continued, “If you give her one of your points you will have a 3.0 and she’ll have a 3.0, everybody will be equal and everybody will be happy, Lisa will get to stay in school, you’ll get to keep your friend and her mom won’t kill her. Eeeeeveryone wins.”

And then he sat back and crossed his arms.

I sat there and looked at this man who gave me life, I have half of his chromosomes, I beat him in a foot race (finally!) at the tender age of 14, he’s fair and loving and funny. I feared that he had lost his mind.

I spoke up in a voice that I fear was a bit on the whiny side, “But Daaaaaaaad, that’s MY 4.0… I earned it!”

He patted me on the knee and said, “Welcome to the Republican party Sweet Pea.”

*Names changed to protect the drunk and disorderly, and after all this is only an anecdote. Somebody asked me (the lovely Kath McCall wrote about it) today why I vote the way I do. This pretty much sums it up.

November 8, 2004

Tone Loc's "Funky Cold Medina" would act like some sort of homing device for my girlfriends and I.

Very interesting.

Whilst in the staff kitchen this morning fixing my breakfast, our web specialist walked in to mix his normal healthy juggernaut of granola/berries/yogurt and a bamboo hut* or something.

I greeted him and he said, “How was your weekend? Did you stay out of trouble?”

I said, “Of course, I never get into any trouble.”

He responded with, “That is not the rumor that I heard.”

Now, this sort of threw me. There I was, stirring warm water into instant grits of all things. I had just gotten back from a weekend spent at the home of my parents and apparently I have the reputation of being some wild woman?


Is it because I am fairly young? Is it because I share an office with another fairly young woman? Is it because she is single? Is it because he is just teasing me? Is it because I work with a bunch of accountants and direct eye contact may be seen as wild behavior?

I know, I know… IT guys are sometimes shy and they go to opposite extremes to tease when they just want to make conversation. I know he really didn’t mean anything by it because he does the same thing to my officemate.

It just got me to thinking about how wild my little band of women were in college.

Close your eyes and picture this. Oh wait, if you close your eyes, you can’t read.

Then let me paint a picture for you.

Regardless of the club scene or the week or weekend night in the early 1990’s you would find loud music, smoke, beer and the promise of a connection luring upwards of fourteen of our closest girlfriends out of the dorms and into the clubs. Even after we moved out of the dorms and into apartments we would gather to primp and preen before the mirrors, shouting over the loud music to be heard that this guy or that was on the phone making sure that we were going to be there that night.

The Greek fraternities are just formal groups of the same types of gatherings, just in male formations... with more organization and a residence to throw parties in after the clubs have closed their doors for the evenings.

We always had our plans for the night. Which club to start out at and which dirty spoon to end the evening with, and who was supposed to hook up with whom.

“Let’s walk over to Crossroads, Three’s A Crowd is playing for Happy Hour… then we can go to Bullwinkles' for dancing. The Pikes are having a party, so are the KAs… we can always go out to Jitterbugs… isn’t Sterling City playing? And if we want, isn’t that guy with the mustache having a party too? Let’s meet up with everyone over at the Hot Biscuit after everything closes… Kay? Oh, waiiiiittttt…. Aren’t the Phi Delts throwing some big bash too???...

That wasn’t the best part, no… not by far… for me the best part was the music. Whether it was the sweet seduction of a waltz with an older gentleman in the smoky interior of Cotton Eyed Joe’s, or the upbeat heartbeat pounding jitterbug (normally a very fast and upbeat song) and having my partner toss me so high into the air that my boots knock out ceiling panels over the dance floor at Bullwinkles... or the best, the dance music thrown into the country mix to break it up. Bass shaking the very air and techno rocking the house while a bunch of men in cowboy hats get out on the wooden dance floor. Hee!

If you haven’t ever seen this… it really is a sight to behold. It happens in Texas quite a bit. Country music clubs have the best dance floors, hardwood and usually scattered with sawdust for sliding. Just to break up the sets of country and western music, they play hip-hop and techno every 30 minutes or so. Cowboys get out on the floor and some of them can really get down. Heh.

The first few drumbeats ba-da-dum-dum-da-dum-dum of Tone Loc’s "Funky Cold Medina" would act like some sort of homing device for my girlfriends and I. You would see our heads pop up (not unlike prairie dogs) from whatever conversation we were engrossed in, whomever we were already dancing with, or whatever drink line at the bar we were standing in and we would automatically search for the two tallest members of our group so we could converge on the dance floor en masse.

It was like some sort of primitive ritualistic call to shake our hips, heads, necks and rib cages to the beat.

Sir Mix-A-Lot’s “Baby Got Back” had the same effect, Technotronic, C&C Music Factory, even Clarence Carter. Our group was a multicultural mix of young women with rhythm and grace; music spoke to all of us, although… Stacey never really heard the call of Country and Western. :: smile::

Most of us never even left the dance floor, spending our nights worked up in a rhythmic frenzy, two-stepping, three-stepping, waltzing, jitterbugging, fast dancing, slow dancing, polka, you name it, we did it often or tried it at least once. It was a beautiful thing. I really wish I could have captured that in a bottle.

Anywhere to dance, it was almost a drug.

We would go to the lake on Monday nights when the bars weren’t open. We’d park our cars and turn our radio stations all to the same stations, leave our windows down and dance in the parking lot. We’d get hot and sticky and more often than not end up in the lake. Sometimes… nekkid. The park ranger would run us off after 10pm only if we were drinking or if the sheriff was patrolling.

We danced in the hallways of our dorms and the parking lots too. We danced in the parking lots of our apartment complexes. We danced in our bedrooms. One of my dear, dear friends (a friend I need to tell you all the story of) D’Wayne taught himself how to dance in his dorm room before venturing out onto the dance floors of the bars. He is one of the smoothest waltzers (is so a word) I know.

I miss dancing so much; it has always been a huge piece of my life. I never thought of myself as a wild child in college, I just liked to dance. I was a virtual never-ending supply of energy where dancing was concerned, and I still love to dance, I just don’t want to brave the bars to do it anymore. They are loud and smoky, the drinks are expensive and I feel fat.

How could anyone mistake me for wild anymore? Hmmm?

*I typed “and a water buffalo” first, because it was funnier, but seriously… it didn’t make any sense, and because he is the web guru, he may be reading this, and in that case, Hi Wayne! Don’t get me fired, kay?

November 18, 2004

They were young, they needed the money.

I have to admit something.

I have a guilty pleasure, and no, it is not porn, smoking (dammit), Judith Light or shaking my ass to Sir Mix-A-Lot… although, that last one is kind of cool… No, this guilty pleasure comes in the form of television crack.

The Swan. (insert weird chime noise here.)

::And an angelic chorus of hallelujahs is heard from the heavens.::

Crack people. I am so drawn in by this televised train wreck. What the hell is wrong with me?

I get home on Monday nights from a long day at the office. I make dinner for my husband and myself. If I do a load of laundry fine, if not, fine. If I do dishes, rockin… whatever, as long as my ass is in the living room when the Fox network starts televising The Swan. (insert weird chime noise here)

What is it about those women that fascinate me so?

Why do I want to see their transformations so badly?

One week Mister and I were watching and I wondered out loud, “I wonder how they are going to fix that poor woman’s teeth…” He answered, “Dynamite would help.”

Apparently he doesn’t have a love for… [dramatic pause] The Swan. (insert weird chime noise here)

Last week they had the two sisters competing against each other for [dun, dun, DUN!] the crown and I was sitting there watching these women, both of them under 175 pounds with huge racks complaining about their lives.

Oh, the drama.

One of them got these monster hooters in high school and claimed she couldn’t dance because dancers weren’t built like that.

Um, hello, I am sure Charity, Porsche, Mercedes, Sunny and Lola down at the Titty-Burger* would like to totally argue with you about dancing with double-D’s. After all, they have totally put themselves through cosmetology school with the money they made off of dancing.

They were young, they needed the money.

And, Titty-Burger is totally a made up name for a gentlemen’s club, but don’t you think it would make a killing?

Anyway… back to the point.

I had a huge ass and I danced (ballet, jazz, tap, lyrical… sorry, no Titty-Burger™) for years and you didn’t see me crying over it and living with my mother into my thirties because I was a total recluse/goober/social-retard.

I even knew several other women who had large behinds and or boobie type centers of gravity to contend with whilst dancing and it never deterred them.

There was a girl in high school named Sarah M. I would love to use her full name just for the sheer joy of her finding herself via vanity-Googling… but since I am talking about her butt, I won’t. Sarah did a solo for our Sophomore Spring Show, she broke out of the mold of doing group numbers and opted to do ballet. Gutsy Miss Sarah, gutsy. With her larger hips and backside she had a very flow-y type of movement to her. She was graceful and yet powerful with a large chest and a bright smile. Almost like a ship moving on top of water. I loved to watch her dance.

In college one of my girl friends (and very briefly a roommate) was Rochelle T. (gorgeous really). Rochelle was raised just outside of Austin, TX by a very wealthy mother and father; they doted on her as the youngest of two. She had the best clothes, best jewelry; best make up, best hair and the absolute best smile. She described her ass as a buffet. One that you could park your drink on while you conversed with her. She and I had a few classes together and one happened to be dance. I had the joy of watching her bend and stretch and be quite flexible. She too was very graceful no matter what dance floor she inhabited, whether it was at The Garage or in the rehearsal room of our jazz class. And yep, Roch had a rack too.

I just don’t get where that girl on The Swan (insert weird chime noise here) got off bitching and crying about how she went away for the summer in high school and then came back as this woman with ::gasp!:: Boobs!… “And… ::sniff:: dancers aren’t built like that.”

I’ve got news for you missy. I have seen some that are.

In other news…

This is recorded on my cell phone memo function:

“John Tesh fucks up your favorite hymns!
K-Tel has an exclusive agreement with John Tesh to re-release all of your favorite Christian songs fucked up like only John Tesh can do!
Amazing Grace becomes Amazing Disgrace!
Why record original music when John Tesh can screw up someone else’s perfectly acceptable melody?
Order Now!”

Yeah, we’re going to hell.

But… it was funny.

Ps… please do not sue me John Tesh.

Ok poppets, I will be gone for quite a while. I will be at the parental units next week for Thanksgiving… Happy Thanksgiving! And then I have a three-city conference that will probably make me gray and my uterus fall out… but alas, send me g-mail babies!

I’ll be back in a few weeks!

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About November 2004

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

October 2004 is the previous archive.

December 2004 is the next archive.

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