Suzanna Danna

Last night at 12:30 am my cell phone rang out in the darkness. Calling for me from downstairs. George Michael’s Amazing (Shut it. No making fun of my ring tone.) singing out beautifully, loud and clear, startling the cat from his perch on the 6th step from the bottom stair. I, of course, didn’t hear the blasted thing because I leave it down there for a reason.

I have had the same cell phone number since… oh roughly 1842, and everyone and their dog have my number. My old boyfriends? Have it. Drunken bootie calls from the 1900’s? Have it. Some freakin 412-230-9978 calling card number that sounds like someone is licking the phone when they leave a message? Yeah, they have my number too.

So I get random calls, yeah… but I remember my number dammit. And if I learn one more number and forget my married name I am going to go carnival psycho crazy on someone. Ya dig? I also forget my sister’s phone number when I learn a new one. It’s like I have a finite amount of space for numbers in my noggin. Useless movie trivia? I have space in spades bitches… but try to get me to remember my parents’ address where they have lived for almost four years. Forget that shit.

And. Yes, AND. My phone does this… YOU HAVE NEW VOICE MAIL!!!! HOLY SHIT! I AM SO LOUD! ::silence for 38 seconds:: IN CASE YOU DIDN’T HEAR ME THE FIRST TIME YOU DEAF PUNK… YOU HAVE VOICE MAIL!!!!! Reminder thing that drives Mister batshit crazy.

And I can’t remember to put on pants some damn mornings, hello! So thank you for not pointing out that I can’t remember to turn my damn phone from silent to level four and vibrate to where I can hear it ringing from the depths of my desk drawer at the office or in the car. So… in that long winded explanation. I leave the poor little thing downstairs. Right? Right.

So… yeah…. Back to the message that I didn’t get last night at 12:30 am.

It was this.

Kerry: “Oh my God… I know this is totally inappropriate but… BEEEP…”

What the?

Ya’ll remember Kerry right? She’s the tall blonde on the left in this picture (of the Kerr Krew… the bottom picture. PS, Stacey is the other tall blonde.) Wave to the innernets Kerry. We lurve you.

Ok. So… Kerry was leaving me supposedly inappropriate messages on my cell phone at midnight-thirty and I didn’t even get to hear them? Hmmm. Must call her ass at 8:00 am and find out what happened last night.

Ring… Ring…
Ring…
Ring…
“Hi, Sorry I can’t take your call right now… but please leave me a message after the tone…BEEP”
me: Uh, Kerry, it’s Sue… I got your message from last night, well, really a half message. It is 8:00 am on Thursday morning the 9th and… Oh, that’s you calling on the other line.

::click::

me: Hey, I was just leaving you a message on your voice mail.
Kerry: Hi, how are you?
me: Fine, and you?
Kerry: Doing well.
me: What happened last night? I got a half a message from you. It said, ‘I know this is totally inappropriate but… BEEEEEP!’ What the hell?
Kerry: ::laughter::
me: Come on now…
Kerry: Well, I ran into your boyfriend last night…
me: Who did what?
Kerry: I ran into your boyfriend last night… I was with my friends and we went to Carson’s…
me: uh huh
Kerry: … we were standing out on the dance floor and I looked up on the screen and was thinking to myself ‘Why are they showing this old stock footage?’ and this girl bumped into me and was like, ‘OH My GOD! I love your accessories!’, then this guy grabbed the microphone and started to mc this bikini contest… and guess who it was?
me: Who?
Kerry: Randy the Master Blaster
me: No shit?
Kerry: No shit.
me: ::laughter::
Kerry: My friend had a friend in from Phoenix and we telling him what a meat market Carson’s was and that the men just walk up to you and you are all like, ‘Guy? Could you get your hand off of my ass?’ And the Phoenix guy didn’t believe us that is was that bad, then we walked in there and there was Randy and all his strippers and Phoenix guy was blown away…. Dude.
me: What?
Kerry: That guy is short.
me: Who Randy?
Kerry: Yeah.
me: Well, he’s normally on stage yanno.
Kerry: Well, yeah. His arms did look good. But man, that girl that remarked about my accessories was one of his strippers and she said to me, ‘I like your accessories so much, that if you were a guy, I’d be all over you.’
me: Ugh.
Kerry: Yeah… now.. don’t go writing about this on your site.
me: Oh hell yes I am.
Kerry: Crap.

And the reason that I am posting our conversation ladies and gents… is because she gave Randy the Master Blaster my telephone number when I was 19.

Love you Kerry!

PS… as soon as Carson’s posts the pictures of the bikini contest… you can bet your sweet ass I will post a link. Heh.

PPS… and ya’ll I’m not dead. I have not been kidnapped by militant pigeons or adopted by Anne … (I’m trying to wear her down ya’ll) I’m just working. Gah.

This weekend was busy. Mister and I had plans coming out of our ears, we had a date planned for Friday night, dinner plans with friends scheduled for Saturday night and church and a friend’s college graduation on Sunday. And amidst all of these plans we had our regular errands to run and chores to get done. Of course the laundry didn’t even get touched. But that’s for another entry.

While my husband was at home on Saturday afternoon I ran to the store to get our provisions for the evening’s dinner with friends.

Then I…

Wait. Let me back up a little bit to Tuesday.

Tuesday I was dressed in my standard work attire. A black v-neck, short sleeved, ribbed sweater and the grey, cuffed pants with a black belt.

Let me break down my wardrobe for you. I have about 4 or 5 different pairs of black pants, three different pairs of tan or camel colored pants, and wonderful pair of grey pants, one pair of navy pants and a veritable cornucopia of tops, sweaters, twin sets and blouses to choose from. Of course I do have the outfits that go together and the pant suits and the suits and the skirts and the dresses, and today I am wearing something that looks sort of like this… with straps and a little white shrug… but to be completely honest… I am fashion-retarded. That is why I stick with the Garanimals for adults clothing. Black pants, colored top, black shoes, rinse and repeat… five freakin times a week.

Um… yeah… that was a tangent that even left me a little winded.

Anyway, so I was dressed in the standard work attire on Tuesday and I was leaving the office when all of the sudden I heard a “SnnnNAP!”

Whoa. Um. Dude. That came from my right boob.

I actually looked down and addressed it, “You alright there fella?”

It looked fine. I wasn’t sporting a uniboob look or anything yet. I had just cracked the underwire from my bra. Apparently it was plastic and of no match for the boob that hath no fury like a boobie scorn.

Wha?... Yeah, I don’t know either.

So, I told Mister when I got home, “Lookit, she busted another one.” And tossed him the poor limp little bra with the busted underwire. He in turn tossed onto the pile of ruined and busted up bras that my right breast had cast asunder in days of yore.

Ok. Ok, Ok… alright. No more of this “My right breast is the terminator” bullshit. I’ll stop right now.

I’m just a little miffed that I had to go bra shopping. Alone even.

Gah.

But the place where I purchase them did have them on sale, Buy Two, Get Two Free. Rockin. Which is cool since bras cost a strict mint each. And the sales lady actually had the balls gall to say, “Bras are only supposed to last for six months.”

I wanted to say, “Six months? I am spending $34.00 on a standard foundation garment and this thing is only supposed to last for Six Months? You must be washing your under-things in straight bleach, lady because the bra that I have on right now is over three years old and it looks perfect.”

Mind you I do use a lingerie bag and I use the gentle cycle and NEVER dry my delicates in the dryer. And I have found that the satin/sateen bras last longer than the cotton and lace ones.

And of course the ones we find and the ones we love, don’t they always discontinue them ladies? I asked for a demi cup sateen (mumble mumble) size bra and she was all, “Oh, we discontinued that. But we have it in cotton.”

Hate. Haaaate.

Shut up bra making people.

I had to go through the whole dog and pony show of finding a new bra that actually works for me and my body style. “How about this one ma’am?” Sure, I’ll try it on, but the full coverage is too much and pokes me in the armpit because I don’t have THAT much boobage. “What about this convertible blah dee bloo with wings and ports of fancy?” Sure I’ll try it on, but I really don’t want cleavage up to my neck…Did you people really put pillows of AIR in here to enhance cleavage?? Holy Shit... “How about this fancy schmancy thing…” she kept talking and actually wiggled her eyebrows. Oh my GOD. Can this Be any Itchier?

Then I found one. And the heavens opened up and the angels started singing.

I put my t-shirt on over it and it looked normal. No tits up to my neck. No nipples threatening to poke out the eye of the nearest roving park ranger or whatever is roving nearly. “Ma’am? Can I have four of these in normal colors please?” “We only have two black ones, a cream one and an electric blue.” “Shit.” “Pardon?” “Nothing… Thank you.”

So I had to search for a normal color like… oh… gee maybe white?

Hate. HAAAATE.

I found a few other white ones in completely different styles… Ugh.

I wrestled with all of them then found a racer-back style that was up one number size and down one cup size… could it work? It was slightly normal… could I get so lucky? I tried it on and ….. LAAAAAAAA!!!!!!

I practically ran out of there with my four bras. The sale ended the next day so you know the ladies who worked there were like, “Shut up high maintenance girls with the ‘can you help me find a leprechaun riding a unicorn please?’ Gah SHUT UP!”

Heh.

So, when I got home, I showed Mister the bras. I tried on the black one and told him that I am going to christen it my version of Weet’s Dayum! bra… he wants to know if there were any “holy shit!” panties to match.

Oh… Did I tell ya’ll?
Guess where Mister is taking me? Guess, go on. The first one to guess even close to correctly in the comments will get a mix cd or something. The clue is: it is on June 25th. And I am excited... so excited that I may pee.

Also, we went to go see my pretend boyfriend at the dollar theater last week. He was in a movie with some popular attractive black gentleman. Oh, I kid.
It was Hitch, and Mister and I laughed out loud and with great regularity. I loved that movie. And I love Kevin James. It is defiantly one to add to my library of dvds.

And ya’ll? It is seriously hot as hell in the Dallas/Fort Worth metropolis. The sun has like kicked it up a notch and I wish it would quit it already. Yesterd’y? 101. That’s right bitches. 101 degrees. That means hawt. That means pull a baby pool onto the porch, make sure it is in the shade, park a cooler close by, start a fan and point it at your head, make yourself a tall glass of Boodles/tonic/three olives and light a smoke, turn up Jack FM and then don’t move for the rest of the day.

Happy Monday ya’ll… you look mighty cute in them jeans!

Update: Added this banner last quarter of 2004 after I did the Music journal entry. I should of added a border but with the blue Diaryland background, I didn't need too. As you can see... I am not very good at making banners... Are you? Wanna help me?

Update: Added this banner first part of 2005, Mister was convinced I was going to get tons of hate mail. But as Doxie and her sister so eloquently pointed out, the Amish don’t use computers. Ditto on the border thing. And on the sucking with banners thing.

Alright, ya’ll know that I would love for my teeth to be blindingly white. And my wish is that you would hear an audible “ding” and see one of those sparkles shoot from the flash of brilliance from the sun off of my choppers when I would smile and casually toss my hair… no? Well, yes. I would love that.

But alas, I have been foiled by nature. Damn you nature! (Please, don’t strike me with lightening.) My teeth are just the normal tooth color (pictures are posted somewhere, I’m too lazy to link.)

I have been lucky for the most part. I have never had to wear braces or any kind of lip-tearing retainer or headgear of any kind. So, yeah, that’s cool. And with the years of smoking (that I quit) and the vats and rivers of Dr. Pepper that passed over my lips (that I stopped too dammit) I was lucky not to have my teeth turn yellow, brown or even fall out.

But, here’s the deal, this has been a very toothful week.

A) I went to the dentist on Monday during lunch. As I was waiting for my turn in the lobby (I was early, I’m neurotic like that.) the receptionist-type-person asked me if anyone in the office had called me about Jennifer. “About Jennifer? No ma’am, why?” “Well, she is no longer with us so we need to put you with another hygienist. Will that be okay?” “Sure.”

So, in my mind I was thinking, if it wasn’t ok… then what?

They put me with Diana, Mister’s hygienist. Which was cool, but… I’ve been getting my teeth cleaned by Jennifer for over five years. I know about her puppy, her upcoming wedding (In Ireland!), her new apartment. I was sad. And, AND Diana didn’t know about my toothlet.

I never had any wisdom teeth come in. Apparently they were shy. I have one tiny little guy that is about the size of a 1carat diamond that dropped down… not even halfway behind the molars of my upper right teeth. Ergo… my toothlet. Or fanglet as Mister calls it.

B) I like Diana, she’s gentle for the most part and very complimentary. “Whatever it is that you are doing, keep it up, your teeth look great.” Blush, thanks. But. She got a little stabby-pokey around my bottom left molar and my gum line got pissed.

I couldn’t really eat correctly until this morning. All chewin on the right side of my face. I even had to get some Oragel™. That shit is nasty… but effective.

C) I’m all for the interesting faces look. And Lord knows I have a different spin on what is attractive than most people. Ask Mister. This past Sunday we were watching “Hell: The Devil’s Domain” on the History Channel and there was this professor guy, very Greek looking, from Loyola Maramount University as one of the panelists… and RAWR!!!! And Mister was like, “Really?” And I said, “Yeah, he has a very interesting face.” But do I really want to have one of them?

The reason I am asking is because I have this… gap… this tooth gap… that is creeping in between my two front teeth. It isn’t Seal or Madonna huge or anything. I can barely fit a fingernail in there. But I don’t want it there. Straight, blinding white, non-Tom Cruise “You can’t Handle the TOOTH!” … just lovely, white, straight teeth are my wish. Gah.

D) If the gap, the dentist, new hygienist, my neuroses about my teeth are not enough. Yeah, I had a dream. It was awful. And now, to pass the brain enema on to you so I can stop thinking about it I will type it all here in it’s weird and shaky, dream-like, totally incoherent entirety.

Just for you… because I love you.

Opening sequence: I was getting ready at 4 am for a conference I had that morning on stage at Treasure Island in Vegas. I was worried that with the water stage for the Cirque du Soleil performance of “O” that there wouldn’t be enough room for my conference… for CPAs.

Because… you know… clearly French circus performers and certified public accountants mix.

And then.

All of my front lower teeth fell out. Except for two stubborn ones.

Sexy.

I’m normally a smiley type of gal, and I was so worried that I wouldn’t be able to greet my attendees with a smile and a “Thank you for coming, blah dee bloo…” that I started crying. My dad walked by with a turkey leg in one hand, a bucket of quarters and a large poster with a sun on it and told me to, “Suck it up, baby doll.” I told him, “Daddy, I can’t… Literally. I don’t have any teeth.” And then I showed him the poor little napkin I had in my pocket that was overflowing with teeth.

I wanted to find a dentist, but it was 4 am in Vegas. And damn, I couldn’t get all those little teefs back in the napkin and into my pocket, and I had a lot to do before people started showing up for the conference… on the water stage.

I went outside the casino and terrorists were trying to hunt down this woman who was a water nymph. She could shape change and she had a magic vibrator… I found it and held it aloft like fucking Excalibur while the FBI guys swarmed in. She dove into the volcano thing out front and my two remaining teeth fell out.

I bent down to pick them up and the napkin fell out of my pocket and my poor little teeth went everywhere and I dropped the magic vibrator.

I woke up.

I blame that “rabbit” episode of Sex and the City that was on TNT last night.

I do. Really.

The previous bit of crazy was brought to you by the letter vain as shit and the good people down at that creepy ass commercial where those two old people are sharing dentures just so they can eat a Butterfinger™.

June 25th Contest:
Okay, a few of you have placed your bets on where Mister is taking me on the 25th of June. (I asked the question two entries ago… well, one, the banner entry doesn’t count.) I will leave the polls open for a full week. Please leave your guesses in the comments section at the bottom of this entry. The winner who is the closest will get a rockin mix cd made by yours truly. Or something. I like the mix cd idea.

Notify List:
Also, I wanted to point out the notify listy thing. Down at the bottom of the page there is a place where ya’ll can sign up for my Notify List. It will alert you when I have updated. The people on the notify list are the ones in the know.

Has it been a week yet? Yes? No?

Ok, who cares… this was so much fun. I love the contest thingy. I should have a contest every month or something.

Would ya’ll play?

I asked the question in this entry, where ya’ll thought Mister was taking me on June 25th for a Surprise. Although, it wasn’t much of a surprise when he let it slip before dinner one night because he can NOT keep a secret… heh. I asked it again in this entry to give a little more time to those playing along.

And the comments have been awesome.

Ya’ll fucking rock.

I got guesses on everything from car shows to Sea World (welcome back Anne!), to... a Miniature Book Society Grand Conclave XXIII (heh, thanks Alan), the opening of the War of the Worlds from Chad, the longest comment I’ve ever received from anyone from Almost Normal, to the moon in a balloon from jenn see, to Vegas Baby! from LuLu and…

The correct answer is… Rascal Flatts Baby! Provided by Miss Trixie. If she would ever update her damn site, I would provide you guys with a link. But I will be sending Trix with a mix cd of music of my choosing… but seeing as how we were related by marriage for 6 fucking years, she probably has all of my cd’s by proxy anyways. Have ya’ll ever heard Trix sing? Nope?

Hey Trix? Make an audio recording of some Lari White record or something. Love you! I’ll make a copy of that Vigilante TaTa’s cd I was telling you about and send it. (psst… wouldn’t that be a great name for a band? Yeah, I thought so too… that and Unnecessary Umlaut.)

So yeah… my awesome husband is taking me to Rascal Flatts Saturday night. The venue opens at 6 pm and it will be as hot as the surface of the sun. We will be at this place… and you will notice that it is an open-air music venue. So, yes, I will be sure and wear my sexy pleather-like pants like I did to the Poison/Winger/Ratt/Cinderella/Dokken concert that I went to back in June of 2002 and lost two inches off of my thighs that night.

See? S-M-R-T.

Gah.

Oh, and also sexy.

Actually, Mister got us seats under that canopy thingy and it is actually air conditioned. How much does he love me? More than I deserve, I’ll tell you that much for free.

And if you signed up for the notify listy thing at the bottom… thank you. The notify listers are awesome!

I was thinking about all of these different things while driving this morning… as opposed to actually paying attention to the road and the eleventy-four frillion cars, trucks, vans, SUVs and 18-wheelers all around me doing 60 miles an hour on the surface streets of north Dallas on a road that was clearly marked 40 mph. We’re over achievers.

I was thinking of how pretty that woman’s hair in the Lexus next to me looks. Someone should tell her that today. If we weren’t at a stoplight that was about to turn green and I wouldn’t look like a total maniac for honking my horn and doing that “hey roll down your window for a sec, will ya?” motion with my hand to tell her… I probably would tell her myself.

I was also thinking about how cute that young boy in the big red Chevy SUV next to me on Preston was. He smiled and I waved. I wondered if he was a good kid.

I saw a man pass in front of me on foot at Frankford. Not too many guys can carry off dreds like that buddy. Good for you.

Compliments.

We all think them all the time. Why don’t we say them more often?

Anne and I were IM’ing yesterday afternoon and she sent me a photo of her and one of her friends from her recent trip to Tunisia. Sunburned back and earache aside, ladies and gentlemen, without a dab of makeup on (she doesn’t hardly wear any… nor need a dollop of it for that matter) the picture – which I dearly hope she posts on her site – is absolutely stunning. The quality of light, her beautiful smile. Sun kissed skin. Anne is strikingly gorgeous.

I do try to give people compliments (heartfelt ones only) as often as I can. Sometimes to brighten a woman’s day just by complimenting her necklace or whatever goes a long way to brighten mine. It usually befuddles the men we are with…

Case in point: Walking through Willowbend Mall – Saks Fifth Avenue – With Mister.. March-ish.

A woman and her boyfriend/husband(?) and a random other guy came walking by, she had on these shoes (God… LOVE!) and I just casually said to her, “Great shoes, honey.” She looked down quickly, smiled, and said, “Thanks.” While all of the men around who noticed the exchange were scratching their heads and looking at each other and us as if I had just said, “Nice tits, honey.”

I would never say that to another woman. I would say, “Bangin rack, sweetheart.”

Anyway… I know that people can get tongue-tied while trying to deliver a compliment. I have, many a time.

I can remember being in church as a young girl and this couple came in the door. The woman was tall, and believe me ladies, if you are a tall one… please, do not slouch, stand up straight and proud, there is nothing like the sight of a tall woman who is proud of her attributes, including the height she was blessed with. (off soapbox… sorry) So, yeah, back on point. This tall woman had perfect creamy skin, jewel-green eyes and auburn hair. It was the late 1970’s or early 80’s and that feathered look was in. Her hair was perfectly feathered back from her forehead and held into place by all of the hairspray in Northern Georgia.

I was coming up the aisle to help my dad pass out the handout thingies, and she was coming down the aisle. I stopped right in front of her and said, “Ma’am?” “Yes?” “I really like your hair.” She said “Thank you.” And turned to her husband and said, “What a sweet little girl.” But NOOO… I couldn’t just stop there, I was spurned on by her compliment that I was indeed a sweet little girl, so I kept going. “It’s like you have your own visor, a hair visor.” Her left eyebrow shot up and she smiled that half smile thing, and I scampered away like a burned chimp.

Gah.

Open mouth, insert ugly white patent-leather shoe that I am sure I was wearing at the time.

Could I have given anymore of (what my mother calls) a Sideways Compliment? No. And I should have been soundly beaten for being such an idiot and not knowing when to shut the fuck up already.

I was trying to be nice and ruined it.

I probably caused that lady undue turmoil about her and her hair visor.

Dear LORD was it ever hot yesterday… and the day before and the day before. As a matter of fact, I may need to check my zip code because the last time I checked, I wasn’t living on the freakin surface of the sun or anything… but it sure feels like it.

Love applesauce. Just wanted to get that off of my chest.

I was trying to fix my hair this morning and a little voice whispered, “Why don’t you just give up already?” I’m convinced that each one of my hairs is individually controlled by a tiny little dictator. And they are never going to reach any kind of agreement. Geneva Peace Treaty? My ass.

Work with me here. I have bangs now. BANGS. Do you fuckers know what kind of commitment that requires? With the round brushes and the … just Gah. Come ON. I am actually using hair spray. But Nooooo, my little dictator-totalitarian bangship decided to get together on one thing this morning and part ways when it was time for me to spray my banglets. So now? I have shiny forehead.

Gah.

Not kidding.

(Click to make picture bigger.)

I like to call this “I wasn’t kidding about the pink twinset.”

Annnyway… last night as I was coming home from an awards ceremony/networking/dinner thing my phone rang. It was my ex-step daughter.

I told you guys that I had one of those right? At least briefly in the 100 Things About Me entry… at least?… I did… I think (confirming… and yep #s 50 – 53). I haven’t talked a lot about her because well (back me up here Trixie and LuLu… or any of the YaYas… Stace?) she and I basically grew up together. She was 3 when I met her and she’ll be 16 this year. Good Lord. Sixteen.

If any of you even utter the word old… I’ll knock you in the ass with my cane, I swear.

She and I still keep in touch and I love to hear about how everything is going for her with school, work, her classes, her friends, her summer, her boyfriend. She’s sending me pictures of prom and all of that in the next day or two. She’s extremely bright. Extremely. The only times she and I ever had problems when she(we) were growing up is when she would actually act her age. I am human and I would forget that she was really just six or eight and not fifteen going on thirty.

A very loving child, R and I bonded almost instantaneously because I think we were both looking for some sort of replacement family. And for a long time it was just she and I against the world.

Fridays was our date night, my mother in law would pick her up from school (we skipped her a grade when she was young… VERY bright) and she would call me at work and we’d plan where we were going for our “date”. Her daddy worked night shift, so we always had the best dates. Whether we were having a slumber party for her friends or doing dinner and a movie, date night was fun.

So when we started talking last night and she was telling me some information about her father and she actually said to me, “Susan, the longer I am away from him, the more I understand why you left.”

Ow. My heart broke.

It fell right out of my body and is lying in pieces on the dusty floor mat of the Mystique.

She’s only fifteen; she shouldn’t have her heart broken by a man, much less her father at this early age. I know ladies ((and Mister) who know me & know the story all too damn well…) I know… it was bound to happen. But I wanted to bypass Dallas, my house, my sleeping husband… drive straight to Nac… find her daddy and throttle him. Does he know what he is missing?

Yes X, teenage girls are hard to deal with, yes, you think your (current) wife is more important because you are terrified of being alone, yes you are mad and probably angry at the bad blood between R and your wife and your first wife (R’s mom). But this is your child. She is brilliant, and the most wonderful thing you have ever done and you are throwing her away.

I love this little girl young woman (geeeze)… and I know she has had some bad influences over the past few years. But she is bright and strong and she is already something incredible. Thank goodness she has a good step daddy.

I know ya’ll I am Cranky McRantyPants. I just had to share.

Onto something positive.

The executive chef at the thingy I was at last night? His name?

Not kidding…

Wait for it…

Michael Jackson.

And by the way… he’s brilliant. The food was excellent, divine, ambrosia of the gods I’d say.

And I’m going to Rascal Flatts tomorrow. And Mister is going golfing at the ass crack of dawn on Sunday. Mister? Golfing? What?

Oh, also… are any of you planning on going to JournalCon 2005? Here is the link. I’m trying to lure Anne to the states with promises of hot men, lots of alcoholic beverages and karaoke. If you know where I can find hot men wielding a karaoke machine with a built-in keg… let me know.

Ninety nine degrees. 99 degrees Fahrenheit. 37 degrees Celsius. Ugh. Humid. Schweaty.

Inside the office I wear a sweater at my desk. It is imperative. My officemate has a fluffy, green, fleece blanket she wraps up in and her little hands still turn purple.

There is a veritable wall of heat as soon as I walk out of the office and it assaults me and almost knocks me off balance with the violence and intensity of the difference in temperatures and it is not even August.

Hell, it was over 80 this morning shortly after 7am.

The air outside is�. Chunky and hard to breathe. People are wheezing, coughing, sneezing. Our ozone warning hovers between orange and red. The UV warnings are high. Everyone goes from their air conditioned houses and apartments to their air conditioned cars/trucks/SUVs to their air conditioned offices, malls, supermarkets, strip clubs� whatever.

It痴 like being in that bar that痴 been open all holiday weekend� when the a/c is just about shot. The fan is running. Yeah, there is a small breeze but it has this musty smoky smell to it like airplane air. Reconstituted. Like you are smelling other peoples� coughs, morning breath and the farts that they try to bury in the cheap economy class seats. There is a visible haze from all of the Marlboros smoked in the past 72 hours hovering over the faded green felt of the only pool table in the place. A flickering Budweiser light casts a meager glow on this barely moving smog because no one has left their favorite bar stool long enough to stir the air and the front door only stays open long enough for Misty and her long-time beau Ricky Don to go out in the parking lot and either neck or fight in the front cab of his flat-bed Ford.

Or� um� not.

In other news� Jergens Natural Glowｮ lotion loves me and my nuclear winter white skin. I started using it yesterday and I already have a healthy non-fish belly white glow about me. No streaks to be found. I recommend it to those ladies who are afraid of orange palms and the like.

Let痴 talk about my uterus for a moment. Guys, ya値l can move along. Pick back up after the line.

She痴 taking over and this time, there is no kidding around. I cried at church ya値l. Normal praise hymn. There痴 Sue� cryin like a freak. Gah. This morning? On my way to work� this song (if you click on link, there is audio) � and there I was� cryin. Geeze. What a sap. [Note to those who know, it reminded me of Copelan� Gah.]

I知 on Yasmine BC and to regulate my migraines for estrogen withdrawal therapy (I tended to get migraines right before the start of my cycle) I have been doing a continuous cycle of birth control pills and my normal migraine medication. This means I don稚 even stop for a menstrual cycle. 28 days? Not me.

The first time, I went (at my OBGYN痴 instruction) 3 months w/o a cycle. Holy crap, the cramps! The flow! The clotting! Oh My! Actually, HOLY SHIT!!!Is more like it. I thought I was going to die. The migraine that 祖aught up� to me almost killed me.

So I thought, hey, I知 smarter than my uterus, I値l go two months this time.

Oh my God.

I had my last BC pill Thursday night and the cramps that have been plaguing me ever since are incredible. The migraine that I had yesterday was intense. I barely made it home. I went to sleep yesterday evening at 5:15 pm and (woke up for two hours last night to get incredibly sick) and then slept straight through to this morning at 5:30 am.

What the hell?

I haven稚 even started yet.

I am so crampy and miserable. It feels like I am being ripped in twain! (Sooo melodramatic aye?) I am dreading the cycle itself. How long is this one going to last? Will I just bleed out like some calf at a slaughter house? Gross I know� but come On!

Advice? Knowledge? Does anyone have answers?

Back to our regularly scheduled non-uterine program.

Sorry guys.

Okay� um� humor or something.

On with the funny damn you!

Hmm.

Well, the Rascal Flatts concert was incredible. The traffic was so intense (it took us over an hour to go less than 2 miles) that 4 miles from Smirnoff Music Amphitheater Mister turned to me and pointed at some scalper on the side of the highway. 釘aby, if he値l give me $100 for these tickets, we池e taking the next exit and heading to the house.� I got all Lord of the Sith on him, 哲nnnoooooOOOOOOO!!!!!!�

Blake Shelton (and his mullet) opened for the boys and did and incredible job. That boy is COUNTRY. We are talking cane pole fishin and fatback eatin country. Carhart overalls and redwing boots country. Rubber boots between the cab and the bed of your truck and a hound dog standin on your truck box country. Bill Dance Outdoors and fried catfish (not from a stock pond) country. Ok, I値l quit� but he was cute, and country, and did an amazing job. The crowd sang along with every single song he sang. He was a real crowd pleaser.

Rascal Flatts came on and announced that we were part of history. We knew that it was a sold out crowd, but we didn稚 know that it was the largest crowd that the Smirnoff Amphitheater ever held. Awesome! The place was packed� and loud. I couldn稚 see a lot of the action because of some guy I値l call Earl.

I壇 like to take this time to overtly make fun of Earl.

Earl was an older gentleman, and I use the term gentlemen in the loosest of meaning. Earl had a flat-top hair cut that he kept displaying to everyone around when he would take off his black straw hat act out the words to the songs. Yes, Earl we know the song says, 澱aby blue eyes, your head on my shoulder� and we do not need you to take off your hat and point to your blood shot eye� turn this way and that for everyone to see and then pat your own shoulder lovingly.

Earl was wearing a white wife beater that looked as if it belonged on an eleven year old girl. Earl was not, in fact, an eleven year old girl. Earl had on stonewashed jeans� jeans whose seams I could hear screaming above the fifteen year old girls sitting next to me.

Earl liked to get up and walk around a lot. Earl would stand on his chair, and (manually) lift his leg and his screaming stonewashed jeans and foot (encased in requisite black snakeskin boot) over the chair as he was too cool to walk around. Earl would dance when he would be at full standing height on said chairs. Earl would dance when in front of chairs. Earl would dance with whoever was coming down the row. Earl would dance with the poor older woman beside him and the man痴 who was on the other side of him girlfriend. Earl痴 preferred method of dance was the white man overbite/air-hump. Yeah, I couldn稚 contain myself either.

Earl was in fact, a moog.

PS.. Get some more jeans man. I do not need to know your religion. Thank you.

Other than that? The show was awesome and I had a blast. Mister called my office phone and left me a few messages and I can hear the concert in the background� it痴 splendid.

Hope you guys are having a great week!