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January 2005 Archives

January 3, 2005

I muttered to myself, "Traveling through hyperspace ain't like dusting crops, boy."

The other day (12/22/04) when the weather was a blustery twenty something degrees outside and I left the office at lunch to drive to a dentist appointment, the sky fell from the gunmetal grey it had been that morning to black in minutes. I hopped onto the busy street to take me across town and looked in a dazed wonder at the changing scenery around me.

Everywhere snow was sticking to trees and buildings. Cars were being transformed into moving snowmen.

As I drove slowly down the street I looked through my darkening windshield. I felt as if I was looking through the window of the Millennium Falcon with the rapidly falling snowflakes as my star field. I muttered to myself, “Traveling through hyperspace ain't like dusting crops, boy.”

At a stop light I watched as a large, fat snowflake hovered just above my windshield then expired as it came in contact with the slightly warmer glass.

All of that was in such amazing contrast to the weather this morning.

We cranked up the air conditioner this weekend on our second floor, as it was a bit muggy in the house. It has been hovering around seventy degrees all weekend and this afternoon it will be in the mid seventies.

This morning the rain woke me up. Sheets of rain pelted the skylight in the master bathroom as thunder rumbled and lightening flashed across the Texas sky. It has been raining for days and it doesn’t look like it is going to let up.

If you don’t like the weather in Texas, wait a few minutes.

I know that this is repeated at the bottom of my journal, but in case you didn’t see it…

The Buttons Below and De-Lurking Day Courtesy of Papernapkin.

To quote her, "January 5th, 2005 is officially De-Lurking day, a day when we encourage our silent readers to say something, dammit!"

If you would like one of (or all of) the buttons below, please email me. Thank you!

This morning I got a call from Amy. She sounded awful, she said she had a cold, but that wasn’t the reason she was calling and apparently she had some news. Fearing the worse… and some déjà vu (see the last entry please, I’m all out of linkin) I warily asked her what was up.

She said that someone was online in our old channel. Someone that she hasn’t seen in a while, someone apparently juicy enough for her to hack up a fur ball and give my cell phone a shout. I mentally rolled my eyes (not at Amy mind you, lurve Ames, lurve her and her squinchy cheeks *pinch*… I was rolling my eyes at the possibility of IRC drama, I loath IRC drama, L-O-A-T-H. Hence the reason I am no longer on IRC. Capice’?)… I probably rolled my eyes physically too, but no one was here to see me do it… and asked her who it was. I was hoping it wasn’t M again parading around in a skirt saying his name was Suzanna Danna. That would be just my luck huh?

But no, it was the seven foot tall junky. Whee.

He’s not looking for me, or wearing a skirt and prancing around saying his name is Suzanna Danna…. YET.

So, can I tell you how much my husband rocks?

Since we’ve been a one-income family for the past three months and we are trying to make the savings last as long as possible we really didn’t have a big over-the-top Christmas. We promised that we’d have “After Christmas” when he got an offer from a company and the pressure was off income-wise. Well, my parents, bless their hearts, gave us some money for Christmas and asked us not to use it pay bills.

Well, we can’t rightly agree to do that, but we did us a little bit of it to go shopping on Friday.

We went to one of those Prime Outlet Malls out in BFE that we knew would be having an insane amount of after Christmas sales. And we each took a list.

I wanted a few basics, some footie socks, some trouser socks, some black boots (maybe), some gloves… And Mister wanted some nice black dress shoes and maybe an overcoat. We each got what we wanted (except the overcoat) and I hit the jackpot when I walked into the Liz Claiborne Shoes store.

I found my new snazzy, black boots, sexy heel, slick zipper… then these… these… black hounds tooth and croc-leather heels. They are sex-AY! I tried to find a pic online but alas, I am denied.

And it is raining mice and frogs so I am denied wearing them… so denied again.

Stupid rain.

Two more things … Thing number one: I’m still working on my 100 things about me entry. I have decided that I am quite wordy and need to shut the hell up already with all of the explanations and just make those into entries. Maybe start that “Entries or Ideas” folders for my new year’s resolution like I said I would.

Thing number two: Please de-lurk tomorrow and say hello. Stop buy all of your favorite blogs, diaries and haunts and just leave a quick comment to let them know that you have been reading. And if you are feeling generous, sign a guestbook or two… you could even go back to Sheryl at Papernapkin and say hello there too. She’s a great read.

January 5, 2005

Today is National De-Lurking day!

Hi, you there. Yeah, you… with the clown shoes and.. um… the… face… Yeah, you.

Why won’t you comment?

Do you want to make me cry?

Well? DO YOU?


Sorry. I must apologize for that. You see, today is De-Lurking day as decreed by Papernapkin. Sheryl said so dammit.

So very distraught.


Ya see… comments are like crack. Most journalers, or diary-istststs (whatever…) check their stats… (yes, we can do that yanno… yes, just as often as we can misuse parentheses and punctuation) and we see that you have come by. We see that you have perused through our little slice o’ heaven or… little slice o’ crazy… and we know who finds us through Googling terms like “spank my butt” or “broken hamster pinky toe” (!?) and we know that you are here.

We know that you come back. We know which page is your favorite.

We know when you search our journals to find that one entry that made you laugh… or that one that made you cry. Or one that made you mad… because I voted Republican (Hi FredAlan and Erica.. hey Erica? Miss you girl…) But we know, we do, so why don’t you drop us a little note to say, “Hey Sue, I stopped by today and read your little entry. It really didn’t do much for me, but eh, to each his or her own.” Or even, “Yanno, Sue, that one, got me right here. I’ll pour out a 40 when I get home for ya girl!”

Or whatever.

Tell me you love me, tell me I suck. Tell me that you’ve felt that way too.

Just say something.

Just for today will ya?

By the way. Happy New Year!

January 7, 2005

100 Things About Me

100 Things About Me

1. Suzanna Danna is the nickname my Daddy used to call me.
2. Not for Roseanne Rosanna Danna or anything, I’m not sure if the man has ever seen an episode of Saturday Night Live.
3. I love that old episode where Gilda Radner and Steve Martin are dancing around all graceful and then they get happy feet.
4. I snort sometimes when I laugh really hard.
5. I love all types of music from metal to classical.
6. I grew up dancing.
7. I used to dance for the Atlanta Ballet Company in their production of the Nutcracker.
8. I thought I was hot shit.
9. I curse like a sailor.
10. But at least I don’t smoke anymore. HA HA HA HA! Yeah, like this lasted. TOTALLY Smoking again.
11. I started smoking when I was 13 years old.
12. I would still love to smoke (Hee! Still do) if it wasn’t so smelly and bad for you. Feh.
13. I have a cat.
14. His name is Maxamillian MaGillaKitty the Third, but he goes by Max.
15. He is better than your cat.
16. I am the worst procrastinator in the morning. Like, EVER. This morning I woke up extra early so I would have time to take a bath, cut and file my toenails, file, buff and paint my fingernails, curl my hair, do a mini facial, work on my eyebrows and still do full make up. I left like 20 minutes late. I didn’t read or watch TV at all and I was still Late-y McLatetister. Ok, so maybe I’m not so much of a procrastinator as an overachiever. Bite it.
17. I love to bake and cook homemade food, but I hate that lady on the food network that says if I buy anything prepackaged, like say, if I use a can of diced tomatoes in my recipe that my recipe is semi-homemade. She can rot in hell.
18. I wish my teeth were blindingly white and all glamorous.
19. Maybe if I just got off my ass and lost a few pounds I wouldn’t concentrate so heavily on my teeth and hair.
20. Or shoes.
21. I love shoes.
22. And sweaters.
23. I used to dance for my college repertory dance team. I thought I was hot shit then too.
24. Man, that was hard work.
25. I love sushi.
26. I love books.
27. I read almost everything I can get my hands on. I used to read mainly horror. I have some serious Stephen King and Dean Koontz loave… but lately it has been a mixture of Nicholas Sparks (blame my boss) and James Patterson… oh and Patricia Cornwell.
28. If you have a love for horror books and you haven’t gotten into Michael Slade, do so now. Start with Headhunter. Now. Do It.
29. I love movies.
30. I am suspension of disbelief’s bitch.
31. I love View Askew Productions. Kevin Smith cracks me up. Yes, I do love Chasing Amy, Jason Lee still makes me want to cuddle him and tell him it will be ok.
32. Fifth Element and Blade Runner (Science Fiction flicks… surprising?) are two of my biggest comfort movies. I also love Tomb Raider, Garden State(great soundtrack!), Story of Us, Usual Suspects and Fletch. “Can I borrow your towel? My car just hit a water buffalo.” Genius.
33. Kenneth Branagh, Jason Lee, Gary Oldman, Colin Firth, Rutger Hauer, Harrison Ford, Steve Martin and Kevin Spacey are probably my favorite actors. Actresses? I gravitate toward Michelle Pfeiffer, Dana Delany, Julianne Moore the odd beauties who play quiet strength really speak to me… then of course Angelina Jolie… RRRROOOOWWWWWRRR!
34. Kevin Spacey made me think of Annette Bening who made me think of Clay Aiken… Now, don’t get me wrong, I saw the Clay Aiken Christmas Special, and the boy can sing. I put my hands up to Jesus when he sang, “Mary Did You Know?” but come on, the hair? Sweetheart? Even my hair is better. Oh, and bless you for getting (struck from the record for being completely dated... except for this part... Megan Mullally (from Will and Grace) to sing… the girl has pipes! (And a great rack!)
35. I went to a very large high school, so large that I was still meeting people that I graduated with when I went to college.
36. I went to college in East Texas.
37. I got a BA in Communication. My Major was Journalism with an emphasis on advertising and my minor was Sociology. Yep… useless.
38. If I am in a room that has a TV and it is on and I am doing something else or just walking though, for some reason I will stop whatever I am doing to watch a commercial.
39. I have been reading online journals for about 4 a frillion years.
40. I started reading journals/blogs/online diaries when I wanted to get away from chatting online via IRC.
41. I quit chatting on IRC for good back in September of 2002.
42. IRC is a good place to meet some fantastic friends, namely one. Hi Amy. And some incredibly big buckets of crazy. Hi Kim, Hi Neal, Hi Marcus. Those last three were boyfriends.
43. Yes, I actually dated men I met off of the Internet.
44. Yes, I should have had my head examined.
45. Yes, I went through therapy back in 2001-2002.
46. Consequently when I decided that I was pretty much Ok with who I was and Ok with being alone for the rest of forever, Mister came waltzing into my life like a big beautiful Love Story.
47. Mister and I got married in September of 2003.
48. If you have never read any part of this journal, you may not know that I was previously married.
49. I was very young… and retarded.
50. I was a stepmother at the age of 22.
51. My ex- stepdaughter turned 15 17 (by the way, Oh My God.) this year.
52. I used to say that I never wanted to have any children.
53. Having a stepdaughter changed that.
54. And Mister solidified it. Meeting the man of my dreams made my uterus stand up and scream “Give Me A Baby Dammit!” Please. If we can't handle a fucking dog... then we can't handle a baby. End of story.
55. I am terrified of being a mother, but especially of being a bad mother. This is still true. I would suck as a mother, I am way too set in my ways.
56. I was diagnosed with migraines in November of 2003.
57. They suck.
58. I’m 5’9.5” or at least I used to be. I think I am shrinking. (Update... I am totally like 5'6" now... Seriously.)
59. I weigh more than I should, but most days, I’m ok with that.
60. Some days it destroys me.
61. I have very curly, long shortish* brown hair.
62. I can straighten it. *I cut it all off back in 2005.
63. I think that I am pretty lucky that way.
64. My eyes are green.
65. I have an older sister who I think hung the moon.
66. She is afraid of the Internet.
67. I suck at typing and most of the time I have to look at the keyboard.
68. I dream in color, I usually remember most dreams very vividly.
69. I love the History channel, TLC and Discovery Channel.
70. I also love Comedy Central, Cartoon Network on Sunday nights after 10 pm and VH1.
71. Scrubs and Father of the Pride make me laugh out loud. Did you guys see the premiere of that new show Committed? Kooky, yeah, I may be in love.
72. If my house were a Nielsen house, they would think a 13-year-old boy and an 80-year-old man lived there.
73. Mister and I crack ourselves up; we think we are the funniest people we have ever met.
74. My husband talks to characters in movies.… Out. Loud. And with a fair amount of conviction, I might add. Do not go to a movie with him unless you want a running commentary.
75. I ran over a cow. On accident.
76. I have been out of the country three times. Well, four or five… depends on if you count Matamoras, Mexico or not.
77. I went to Europe in 1998 with my mother and my sister.
78. We landed at Heathrow and toured London then traveled to Paris via bus then hovercraft. It was awesome.
79. I spent 8 hours alone in the Louvre by myself. I cried. I took pictures. What an experience. I would go back daily for as long as it took to see the entire place if I could. But I still liked the The National Gallery in London the best.
80. I saw “Phantom of the Opera” at Her Majesty’s Theater in London.
81. I also saw it in the movie theater over the ’04 Christmas holidays with Mister. Both were very different. I want to take Mister to London to see the actual musical.
82. I also cried at Notre Dame during that trip. It was gorgeous. I found Quasimodo’s little stone face on the side of the building facing the street. Incredible.
83. I have a tattoo.
84. I want another one. (Update: And a piercing.)
85. I wanted to be a ballerina when I was little.
86. Or a trucker.
87. My parents were very proud.
88. When on a family trip to the West Coast in 1991 we were driving thru Hollywood and I requested to be taken to Hollywood and Vine to, “See some hookers.” This wasn’t the first time I made the request to see hookers. The first time was when I was 7 and we were in New York. What was it about me and hookers? Or me and truckers for that matter?
89. My parents have never really known what to do with me. They usually say, “What are we ever going to do with you?” This is usually accompanied with a headshake and a tired smile.
90. I ran away when I was 13, how very Huck Finn of me huh? I didn’t get very far.
91. I was never really afraid of anything growing up.
92. I attribute it to having a lot of guts or… incredible amounts of stupidity.
93. My mother lost me at a fair one time when I was three or four only to find me a few minutes later. I was standing up on a stage holding a very large python to the “oohs” and “aahs” of the crowd. See? Stupidity… oh, and cuteness.
94. I thought I was gay for about two weeks when I was 16. And no, I wasn’t just slutty. (tm Margaret Cho)
95. I am terrified of singing in public.
96. My parents had my IQ tested when I was young. It sucked; I couldn’t slack off after that. If I did, I wasn’t “Living up to my potential.” I fear I will never live up to my potential.
97. I hate onions. I think that they are minions of Satan. Not for their taste, because I like to cook with onion powder and onion salt… but for their texture. Celery too. Bastards.
98. Likewise with beets. Except, I just don’t like beets at all. Taste, texture, flavor, color, smell, appearance… *shudder*… please do not ever ask me to go to dinner with you at Beet World. Thank you.
99. I have two little birthmarks on my body that are shaped like hearts one on my hip and one on my ankle.
100. And last but not least… I am convinced that people are going to look inside of my little tiny brain one day and figure out that I am either a complete and total fake or a loser.

January 10, 2005

Stephanie and I were totally oiled up with a mixture of baby oil and iodine.

July of 1987

Saturday, 9:30 am, Stephanie and I woke up groggy and mush-mouthed. We stayed up most of the night before giggling and talking about boys in our class and our plans for the next week. Kim was going to be coming into town soon and we needed to decide on Six Flags or Wet and Wild for our big excursion.

My mother was prodding us to get up and have some breakfast, “Giiiiiiirrrrrllllls!” She chirped in her high-pitched southern voice, “Get up, get up get uuuuupppppp!!!!” Trilling the last “up” into two sing-songy syllables.

We moved slowly from my tiny bedroom into the kitchen. My mother flitting around us like a small humming bird while Stephanie and I blinked our eyes at the cruel morning sun.

We foraged for food in the kitchen and watched the world with our bleary eyes.

My father came in and asked us if we were ready to go. He got most of the sentence out of his mouth, saw the state of our existence and turned around and went back out into his sanctuary… the garage.

That morning we were going to the lake to water-ski with two boys from my church, Ryan and Carter. Carter’s dad, Gil, had a dual-motor, inboard Viking (with wings) and my father was going with us as our safety net. My dad had taught most of my friends to water-ski so they were comfortable around him and his 1976 Glass Master (hoopty) boat… and Gil had the reputation of being sort of a wild man on the lake.

Stephanie had a small crush on Carter because he was Greek god hot. I pretended not to notice that Carter was hot and Ryan was quite good looking too... because these guys were my buds. I had known them since I was wee. I had even played H2O Tic-Tac-Toe* (on my driveway at one of our pool parties) with them.

*No, you can’t ask. Well, maybe later.

Steph and I moved it into second gear and shuffled into the bathroom. We each took showers and carefully applied makeup complete with waterproof mascara. (Wha? Yeah. Girls are weird sometimes.) And then we made the painfully slow selection of which bathing suit to wear.

“That one?” “No…, wait… Are my boobs showing?” “Sue, you don’t have any boobs.” “Oh, yeah, you’re right…” “Hey, Your hair looks really cute in a ponytail.” “Thanks.” “Can I get away with a binkini?” “Of course you can.” “Oh damn, I’ve started my period.” “One piece for you!”

And then… the time consuming decisions on the bathing suit cover up.

I thought my father would chew his own face off before we left.




”Are they even back there?”

Then. Dun DUN DUUUUNNN! We were ready.

We left at like 11:00 and met Ryan, Carter and his dad at the lake at 11:30 or so.

Stephanie and I were totally oiled up with a mixture of baby oil and iodine. It is a wonder we didn’t slide right out of those vinyl seats and into the water to be churned up by those dual manly turbine engines. Sweet. Oh…and then there’s the skin cancer factor. Did I mention that we are both normally the color of nuclear winter? She’s a breath-takingly, drop dead gorgeous red-head… and I’m… uh... Irish. Because we are smart. S-M-R-T. See? Smart.

And also… slippery.

So, we were gonna show these boys that we are cool. We were not normal girls.

We could snow ski with them. It’s a fact Jack.

Yeeeaaahhhh boooyyyeeeee.

We could water ski with them too, right?. Wait. Who is this Jack character?

Anyway, we headed out onto the lake in the boat. Ryan got out into the water with his one little lonely ski to slalom, shooting up rooster tails of water 15 feet into the air. Strangely reminiscent of when he ‘iced’ me doing the same thing on my first youth snow ski trip with our church two years before. Showing off bastard. He was very good. He’s always been very athletic.. and quite the poet (psst... he wrote me the sweetest poem in 8th grade English. I still have it.).

Then it was Carter’s turn to take a run on the skis. He decided to use some trick skis and a boom to hang out over the side of the boat. The crazy goob dropped both skis and barefooted in a small lagoon that was pretty still and placid. He was amazing and we were all whooping and hollering.

I had seen Cater jump on moving vans. I had seen him do flips on snow skis. I had seen him do incredible things with a half pipe and a pair of roller skates or a skateboard, but that took the cake. He got back in the boat and told us he wanted to be a stunt man when he graduated.

My father lifted an eyebrow.

You could tell that Gil thought his son was the shit.

We all skied over here in a cove and across the lake and there in a cove and across the lake and then Carter suggested that three of us, Ryan, Carter and myself all three ski together. Gil had three different rope lengths and the Viking (with wings) had enough power to pull that many people.

I looked toward my father for his ok and he said to Gil, “That will be fine as long as you make sure you don’t take any sudden turns, keep these kids out of other boats way and try to make it as smooth as possible so they won’t tangle their lines.”

Now I’ve been skiing since I was six or seven, same for Ryan and Carter. But under totally different circumstances. When my sister and I would ski together behind my father’s boat (longest distance, approx. 12 miles) we would be very aware of each other and the dangers of crossing lines, getting in each others’ wake, and general safety. These boys were… well… boys and were probably trying to kill their brothers from the time they exited their mothers’ wombs.

I decided to take the shortest lead so they couldn’t pull me in or anything and I asked for two skis so I would have more control. Ryan and Carter were both slaloming so I thought that they would be wobblier.

Oh, not so my pretty.

We all got into the water and situated with our skis. Tips up. Thumbs up… Gil revved the engine and the Viking (with wings) screamed and pulled us all out of the water with nary a thought. We popped up like little bobbles and flew across the water because Gil (that fucker) was probably doing close to 60.

The Viking was an inboard so there wasn’t much of a wake to contend with so the next thing I knew, Carter and Ryan were pulling up their lines and coming flush with me. And. We. Were. Making. A. Turn.

Great. Rooster tail of water on my left. Water up the nostril, nice. Rooster tail of water on my right. Water up the nostril… nice.

Carter did a sling-shot out to the right to be parallel with the boat while his dad was making a counter clockwise turn in this cove and I saw him let his line out. I thought I was safe.

Ryan let his line out and they were playing chicken behind me while I ducked their lines between them.

Gil decided to make the SAME DAME TURN in the SAME DAME COVE and pulled a hard left.

Hi. Big fucking boat. Two inboard motors. Small Cove. Three skiers being pulled behind it. Equals = BIG WAVES!

My thighs were burning from the work out of being pulled so hard from such a big motor and fighting off the guys and their pull lines. There were three-foot waves in that small cove and I was keeping my tips up and riding them like Sea Biscuit (tm Greg Focker). When Gil pulled that last hard left to complete that last turn to come out of that cove, he crossed over his own wake and created the biggest wave of all for me to compete with.

I lost.

I tried to keep my tips up. My legs were too tired. We were going too fast.

Both ski tips went under and immediately went east and west. I hit the water princess first.

I have never hit the water that hard, that fast with my tender pieces. Not even at a water park on a huge water slide.

I thought my legs fell off.

My skis definitely fell off.

I couldn’t feel my body from the hips down.

Gil made the turn to pick me up and I made the feeble attempt to pick up my floating ski to hold it aloft like a downed skier should. To no avail.

Lake water enema: 1. Suz: 0.

I gingerly felt ‘down there’ and realized that I did still have legs but that they were just numb. How was I going to tell the people on the boat, two of my peers… that happen to be guys that my hoo-ha just got ripped to pieces because Hey Carter? Your fucking dad wouldn’t slow down and I’m not that good of a skier and I thought I was tough!

[Please Note: Remember on my 100 Things About Me list? 91. I was never really afraid of anything growing up. 92. I attribute it to having a lot of guts or… incredible amounts of stupidity. This whole entry is a good example.]

Answer: I didn’t I sucked it up and yanked my little one piece bathing suit out of my ass (it was so far up there, it was incredible) and pulled myself up onto the stern of the boat with my feeble little shaking arms and laughed it off.

We hung out for a good portion of the day on the boat and watched the guys ski and Gil show off with his super duper tough man boat.

That afternoon when we got home, I went to the restroom to tinkle and change. I also needed to shower and put on clean panties and a pad because I had a tampon on all day from being at the lake. Sometimes being a girl is just yucky. I went to take out my tampon and… I couldn’t find it.



“Can, um… can you come in here for a second?”

“Sure… what’s up?”

”I can’t find my tampon.”


“Dude. Seriously.”

“Want me to go get your mom?”

So, horror of all horrors, my mother and I (with encouraging words from Stephanie in the hallway) used mirrors, dynamite and the powers of L. Ron Hubbard to deduce that the tampon was not in my young and impressionable princess.

The lake ate it.

January 14, 2005

This causes a problem, as I am not a fan of retching.

I like this office. It is quiet, it is clean, the people are respectful of personal space and there really aren’t many “kids” working here. The kitchen is normally tidy, the sinks cleaned out. No dirty dishes left to stink up the place and we have a lady in one of the departments that takes it upon herself to clean out the refrigerators every month or so to throw away left over Tupperware containers or whatnot.

That being said… for the past week the women’s restroom; we only have one (with three stalls); has smelled like raw sewage.

I normally drink tons of water.

Ok, that is an exaggeration. I normally drink about 64 ounces of water while I am at work. I am a thirsty, thirsty girl.

This causes a problem, as I am not a fan of retching.

It also causes a problem when I spout out brilliant things like, “Blarg, I can not stand that smell!” Like I did when I encountered the COO in the ladies restroom while I was washing my hands.


Now, why on earth would I even say that? Why couldn’t I just say, “Hi Christy.”? And then shut the eff up? Noooo I had to expound about the stench. Like some embarrassed little girl to make sure she knew I didn’t do it.

Like I would expect her to turn and engage me in some conversation. “MMMM! I Love it! It reminds me of the fetid reek of decay outside the Mayan ruins! Lovely!”

Oh, speaking of the Mayan ruins… not really but I don’t have any kind of segue and I’m too lazy to make a list.

Mister and I are going to see my parental units this weekend. I’m pretty excited about the trip. We haven’t been out there since Thanksgiving. It is always such a joy to make that little trip. It is the perfect amount of distance away. Mister always relaxes the moment we leave and we are both big piles of goo the whole time we are there.

My mother said she would help me work on my photo album collection. I am still working on getting it all in one place. I asked her to see if she could find a picture of the Kerr Krew so I could post it here. I don’t think mom has had a chance to look, so I’ll look while we’re there this weekend and maybe post it on that link from a few weeks ago.

I’ve had a few of the girls tell me that they really liked that story. Click the link for the story I am referring to. There are so many stories to tell from that era. I am trying to decide on which one to tell next.

I really do need to work on that Ideas Folder as opposed to just sitting down with an empty word document, flinging a couple of pages of ideas out, spell checking, wincing at my terrible grammar and tense usage and then putting it into cyberspace.

That’s the first real resolution I think I have ever had.

When I was young it was: I wanna be thinner, tanner, older, cooler, longer hair, thicker nails… Everything was so fucking superficial.

Now, I just want to be thinner.


Oh… check this out. Mister had a few interviews this week. Monday he got a call for an interview on Tuesday and he already had an interview scheduled for Wednesday. [Side note: Large Corporation that strung him along for almost 2 and a half months… they told him as late as last week that he was still in the running, Monday night he got a letter in the mail that he was not selected, but that they will keep his resume on file blah dee bloo. Farging Large Corporation that could sell me for parts if they wanted too... I'm so mad at you! I PooT in Your General Direction! Because I aM fOUr!]

His interview on Tuesday went well and his interview on Wednesday went even better. The Wednesday guy had an offer letter in hand, because they’ve been talking since before Christmas, but Mister negotiated something else into the deal. Wednesday guy said as soon as he got back to the office he would run the numbers and send the letter back to Mister as an official offer letter… Wooot!

Wednesday guy got back to the office* and his wife and kids picked him up at the airport. They were promptly rear-ended and taken to the hospital. The sweet man called and told Mister that he got the job, but it will be a few days on the offer letter due to the (wreck) circumstances. He starts Monday.

*The office happens to be in Orlando…. Florida.

Yeah, Mister will be working virtually… for a while, but we will probably have to move sometime down the road.

We haven’t told my family yet. Stacey was really the only one who knew… and then I called Amy yesterday. And now you guys know. Haven’t said anything to the office because I don’t know where, when, why, how, blah, blah, blah… Let’s keep this just between us shall we? I like it when we keep secrets.

Kinda feels like a little club or something. A dirty little club.

No, you can’t wear your clown shoes in here missy… those are for the stage!

January 18, 2005

The Other Chad Interview

Interview from TheOtherChad.

Please note that all of Chad’s questions are in Bold… my answers are not. Also, please note, that these questions came to me in the form of an email back on December 17th, 2004 and I truly and righteously suck for not answering them sooner.

Sorry Chad.

May you be signed to a record contract with your band and get buckets of money. Amen.

Question 1) What music do you really love, but are slightly embarrassed for liking? Well, I would have to say that I like ska and Josh Grobman or contemporary Christian music and have been made fun of liking all of them. But with the rising popularity of Gwen Stefani and No Doubt and… and um… sorry Josh, I still get made fun of for listening to you. Oh, and Rick Astley. What music do your friends or significant other love that makes you want to wear earplugs? Well, I like a lot of different types of music, but thrash metal is too angry for me and my husband likes it. My co-worker listens to top-40 and that “Goodies” song makes my sinus cavity feel like it is going to implode. And the Boo Bah’s music really freaks me right the fuck out.

Question 2) Hamsters. Cute or icky? I think that they are absolutely precious to look at. Really. Seriously. What? Not like babysitting for some neighborhood kids one time after Christmas permanently scarred me… why do you ask? No, nothing to discuss. Not like I was sweetly cuddling the tiny little hamsters in my hands and then the terrors of the neighborhood told me that we were going to play a game, something about Spies Like Us and then they put the poor hamsters on the fan blades in their room and turned it On! High! I tried to get to the hamsters in time, but before I could get to the poor little furry darlings they were dazed from being projectile wall missiles! Those kids were soooo grounded.

Question 3) What is your idea of a perfect day? Hmmm, I prefer the waking up before the alarm clock goes off, breakfast in bed type of morning. Laughing with my husband about antics of the cat or something funny, as we get ready for the day. Maybe a little road trip or something sinful like a manicure/pedicure or a massage for the two of us. A matinee movie, preferably a comedy they we both enjoy and can giggle about on our way to either a quaint sushi restaurant or to the Melting Pot in Addison for a relaxing evening meal. A stroll around the neighborhood after dinner or a drive around town finished off with reading a bit by the fire or if it is nice outside then having a drink on the patio.

Question 4) Who is your favorite coworker ever? Least favorite? I think my favorite co-worker ever would have to be a toss up between two people, well three. I used to work for this place in Nacogdoches where I was a customer service representative for the northeast. We took, on average, 95 calls a day. My boss’s name was Cookie and she was an incredible person. She and I tore up the town. I love Cookie. I still keep in touch with her. There was also a guy there that kept me in stitches and whom I probably would have left a lot sooner if it weren’t for him… oh and that pesky firing business. Ha ha ha ha! Michael Hall. He was like a tiny, good-looking, bodybuilding version of Chris Farley. By that I mean, he was short, very cute, a body builder and had the comedic timing and huge heart of Chris Farley. I miss them. Oh, and the other awesome coworker was Co-worker C. She was an outward manifestation of my conscience. She listened to me, she called me on my bullshit, she was kind and she was harsh when she had to be. I will always look up to her.
The worst, most awfulest (is too a word) co-worker of all times, was actually my ex-boss. He was rude, he was dismissive, and he had this thing about women… not just to me, but also to the ladies on the Board of Directors and the Executive Board. He would ask for my opinion and then put his hand in my face to silence me, he would snap to get my attention rather than saying my name. I worked for him for two years. Two years too long. He was nice to animals and that was probably his only redeeming quality. Ugh.

Question 5) Who is more irritating, Rush Limbaugh or Michael Moore? Michael Moore. Hands down. I can’t explain it. Well, I’ll try because I’m wordy and also… wordy. Maybe it’s his slovenly nature. Maybe it’s the yellow journalism that I perceive coming off of him and his projects in waves. Maybe it’s the sensationalism. I am not sure. I used to think that Rush was a right-wing fascist pig until I started hearing the full statements and commentaries that he was saying as opposed to the snippets the media would feed me. Now I dig deeper and I just see Michael Moore is kinda like that fat kid in the audiovisual club who would talk about the president of the student body behind his back and call him a big stupid head. I know that this whole paragraph is going to get me in deep water with the Fahrenheit 9/11 crowd. But, it is my opinion.

Question 6) Who's your favorite band or recording artist that most people have never heard of? I have several bands that most people really don’t listen to, or that I perceive as being sort of hidden artists. And I could be completely off the charts here, you guys could always correct me. TheOtherChad already let me know that I wasn’t the only one listening to Bob Schneider … and I regularly get Google’d for Kristy MacColl (I think that these are regional to Texas), but I love Keb Mo and coincidentally one of the songs that Keb Mo recorded… “More Than One Way Home” was written by my favorite local singer/songwriter Chant Duplantier. You can visit his site, and hear his music here. I love Robert Cray, Bonnie Raitt and the Sundays. Really anything with lots of feeling. There is also a band that my girlfriend and I used to follow around Texas quite often and they usually play at a bar called Sherlock's. They are called Rat Ranch and they rock solid. If you get a chance to go hear them... go.

Question 7) Are you a gadget freak, a technophobe or somewhere in between? I love my palm, and my blackberry. I would adore having an ipod and as far as gadgets in the kitchen go… my vacuum sealer is the shit. But I hardly use my earpiece for my phone, I am plumb retarded when it comes to using the graffiti method on my palm and if I leave my blackberry at the office… meh, no biggie. So I guess I am somewhere in between. Oh, and don’t tell… but the hoopty is so old that I have a cassette player. Woot!

Question 8) Is it really true that women don't care what men look like, as long as we have a sense of humor? That is completely untrue. I like hot men with a sense of humor. And large, smooth hands. That are tall. And loaded. Oh, and they usually have to have a fairly good fashion sense because I can not dress my way out of a paper bag, so unless they don’t mind being completely embarrassed. My cat has to approve as well. This is a must.

Question 9) What do you like about kids? Kids have that infectious laugh thing going on. They also are usually so not self-conscious. They will put seven ponytails in their hair, lipstick on their teeth, a polka dot scarf, a brown sweater with purple whale embroidery and ric-rack… they will completely forgo pants… put on rainbow toe socks… look at you and say, “There! Am I pretty!?” You just have to say. “Perfect. Let’s go.” What do you hate about kids? Maybe it is not what I hate about kids but what I hate about myself when dealing with kids, is that I forget that even if it doesn’t seem like a big deal to me at the time… that at that moment, whatever is going on in their little lives is the most important thing in the world to them.

Question 10) What movie have you seen more times than any other, and why? (Example: I have seen Grease at least 25 times and Footloose at least 10 times. I don't know why) Over the years I have seen Grease and Footloose each a frillion times as well… and when I was living in Nac with a roommate and no cable or local channels (or furniture) and all we had were a few VHS movies (and Totino’s pizza): Pretty Woman, Grease 2 (“What would they say if they knew it was Michael?” Heh.) and Fletch … “What is your address?”… “Seven.” I saw all of these over and over. And over. And over… and over. But when I got older, and I had a choice of what to buy and watch I returned to the same movies over and over again. Fifth Element and Blade Runner have always held fascinations for me. Especially Blade Runner, I saw it for the first time on HBO when I was 12. Rutger Hauer and Harrison Ford dueling with not just brawn and technology but in the end Rutger Hauer saving Harrison Fords life one handed while holding a white dove… very symbolic.

This concludes my interview with a vampi---

Wait, I mean… this concludes my interview with TheOtherChad. I thank you for your kind and thoughtful questions Chad.

If anyone else has questions, please email me. Thank you!

January 19, 2005

Don't come back without two sleeves of Saltines.

I know, I know.

I知 not supposed to talk about my dreams.

But hey, when you are having nighttime dalliances with Frank Caliendo and then he kicks you out of his bungalow and says, 泥on稚 come back without two sleeves of Saltines for my beta fish.� It must be documented!

And I got all upset about the rejection and then how to tell my husband about my affair with fish boy� I was still upset about it when I woke up.

The first thing Mister heard out of my mouth this morning was, 釘aby baby, I知 so sorry, sorry, sorry I had hot monkey love with Frank Caliendo [breathe] but he kicked me out to find Saltines for his stupid fish! [hitched breath] I知 so sorry baby!�


Well, good morning drama queen, sheesh.

Just try not to type it out in a word document over lunch to put in your journal.

Sorry ya値l. Really.

This has got to be the result of the interview questions from yesterday and TheOtherChad asking if women really love men for their senses of humor and not for their hot man bodies.

It has to be.

Because Frank Caliendo is no bigger than a chickpea� but hysterical.

And cute� just in a, 滴oly crap, he really can look just like John Madden!� sort of way.

No clue where the beta fish came into play.


January 21, 2005

I'll Be Your Huckleberry


Just… gah. I have been listening to this It’s A MAN Baby! lady cough and hack for the past two months. Seriously, it started right before Thanksgiving*.

It is really starting to get to me and I have started referring to her silently (and to Mister, of course) as Doc Holiday.

She’s been hacking and coughing and coughing and hacking… and it’s not like a sporadic thing. It is constant. And if you go into the kitchen during lunch, you may be treated to her discussing her mucus with another co-worker who looks just about ripe for spewing.

I sit nowhere near her. No. Where.

I am in another office down the hall from her.

How is it possible that Coughy McChokesOnPhlegm has not been to the doctor? Or gotten some medication for her illness? I’d be worried that she doesn’t have enough funds, but I see her constantly leaving her desk to go smoke, so I’m sure she has plenty.

I’m being mean.

I’m sorry.

It’s just getting all over my last nerve.

*I remember this like it was yesterday because she met me coming in from lunch and said, “I really wish I could stop smoking [hack/cough/weeze] but it’s the fuckin’ eczema.” And then she shoved the scaly palms of her hands under my nose. I just mumbled, “Mmmmm” like Ohhhhkay… and went inside. Not sure if smoking helps eczema… ??? Geeesh. ::shudder::

In other news…

I’m leaving for San Diego tomorrow, so you guys will not hear from me for a week or so. I’m going to a convention that I didn’t plan. And I’m looking forward to being on the other side.

So, if you are in San Diego this weekend… uh, well, I’ll… be no where near there you stalker.

Oh, and also… if you have been under a rock and didn’t know (I currently do live under a rock, so I almost missed this bit of news) Diaryland had some server problems this week. So please check the “Back Issues” button at the bottom to make sure I didn’t miss sending you the latest copy. Thanks!

January 31, 2005

I was so relaxed, I half snored.

I have decided that I would like to live at the Hotel Crescent Court Spa.

Even amidst the general malaise and crankiness that follows a long ‘living out of my suit case, you must be smoking some serious crack if you think I’ve slept’ type of trip and premenstrual blahs… the staff at the Crescent Court Spa treated me like a portly queen.

Fluffing my robe… inviting me to citrus water and scrumptious fruit, slathering my poor, dry skin with scented lotions and speaking in muted tones.

I could live there. Really.

The beautiful, ebony demi-god that gave me a much-needed aromatherapy facial barely said a word. He just went about his work quietly applying serums to my face and neck. All the while soothing tones of babbling brooks and ocean waves played in the background.


Steam opened my pores as Kenneth worked each new concoction into my neglected skin. Citrus to slough off dead skin cells and a moisture mask that smells heavenly and is so thick he painted it on my face and neck with a brush.

Almost an hour of attention paid to my face and neck.

I’m sorry skin. I’ve been so mean to you. I’ve been using hotel soap in the mornings to wash you and I’ve been so sleepy and downright cranky that I’ve been falling into my fitful rest with makeup firmly implanted upon my mug while my face screams in horror and my pores groan under the weight of their own dirt and sludge. Ick.

My eyelashes have become brittle and my eyes red and puffy as mascara flakes off into them with each toss and turn of each fitful and restless night.

I will do better, I promise.

The appointments just kept getting better and better.

Perry, a soft-spoken masseuse led me to another dimly lit room with soft music, a draped table and then he withdrew as I settled in for my massage. Before he left he asked me if I was having any issues that we needed to work on, sore back?, neck? I told him to treat me like I was eighty. He raised an eyebrow with a slight smile, and said, “So just a light, topical massage? No deep tissue?” I told him that was perfect.

I got onto the table face down and when Perry came back in he started at my neck and shoulders first. Normally that makes me tense up since I carry a lot of stress there, but he was wonderful. I found myself drifting. I didn’t even do that, “Where are his shoes?” thing… Oh, don’t give me that look ya’ll. You’ve done it. Face down, nekkid, in a strange room getting massaged, you know you look for their shoes.

An hour of beautiful attention paid to my poor dry skin.

I’ve tried everything. Really. I’ve taken vitamin E. I use Neutrogena bath oil after every shower. I have even cooled down my showers so they aren’t so hot. Nothing is working. I use lotion daily. My skin is still dry. So having this extra emollient lightly lavender scented lotion rubbed into my skin was heaven. I felt like a princess. My face was glowing. And the rest of me was following suit.

I was so relaxed I even half snored. I was almost a snort. Sexy. I laughed a little and he was so cool, he said, “No worries, we all relax.”

I love the Crescent.

After those two appointments, we (parties shall remain nameless) had lunch.

Check it. And got to remain in our robes. How cool is that????

After lunch, manicure… perfect, perfect little manicure and then a spa pedicure. So, more massaging and pampering. My fingernails and toenails are all OPI chick flick cherry.

We were there from 8:00 am until 2:30 pm. And I did not want to leave.

I plan things, conferences and meetings, for a living. One of the perks of this profession are that I do site visits and get “points” and blah, blah, blah…. Like when I worked for a national association, I planned conventions in Vegas. I have been to Vegas a bunch of times, and (here’s the rub…. Rub?… mmmmmmm) never paid for a thing. Not the room, which was picked up by the property trying to gain my business. Not the shows, those were paid for by the CVB in appreciation for us holding our gig at their convention center… you get the idea. Basically, I just had to get there… and that was taken care of by my company.

I’ve become accustomed to nice things… like the Crescent.

I cannot afford the Crescent.

This weekend was part of a birthday gift (not to me, I was just invited… lucky bitch ain’t I?) that was very generous indeed. I guess I just need to refocus my birthday, anniversary, Valentines Day, Christmas and any other gift-giving day signs to all point to “Anything to have to do with aromatherapy facials, massages, manicures and pedicures. Gift certificates welcome.”

I am sure that Mister would be thrilled, as he gets all hive-y when he goes clothes shopping for me. Last Christmas he took my lipstick into a store and said… “I need a sweater… that matches this.” Clever, no?

But then for my birthday last year he took me to the Melting Pot… and the pearls and … oh, well…. I think I wrote about it here. And he is so very creative, so if I took that away with the requesting of the “all things to take care of the outer me”… would he be upset about not being able to flex that creative gift giving muscle? Hmmm.

Hey guys, will ya’ll speak up? What do you prefer? Do you like the challenge of finding a gift for your bride, lover, girlfriend, boyfriend, mother, cat… whatever? Or would you rather get us a gift certificate to “Girls R Us”?

Stacey has requested at all gift-giving opportunities to have gift certificates for the Grand Spa. Which is a lovely idea… yes, I would love to be able to leave work and swing by a lavish spa to have some lovely lotioning and muscle smooshing and know I had a gift certificate to do it wouldn’t you?

Or would you ladies rather have gift certificates to Sephora and Saks so you can purchase your expensive department store brand makeup?

Clarins … I’m looking at you.
[psst… I still love you, call me. I’m at the same number… I miss you.]

About January 2005

This page contains all entries posted to Suzanna Danna in January 2005. They are listed from oldest to newest.

December 2004 is the previous archive.

February 2005 is the next archive.

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

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