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October 2005 Archives

October 5, 2005

Like Wynonna but a lot less "Tranny".

I need a haircut in the worst way. For the past several weeks I have been wearing my hair up in the requisite chignon because I can not be trusted to actually blow dry, style and/or otherwise fix my ho-fro.

The bangs? They are long and pissed off at being straightened with a round brush then a curling iron and then swept to the side and sprayed there. The rest of my hair is left to be twisted and pinned at the back of my head like some sort of ornament on a Christmas package… without the bow of course.

This morning I washed and conditioned my hair and then made the mistake of using a John Frieda Frizz-Ease product… dear Lord… it was mousse. Normally I use a leave in conditioner from TiGi (Ego Boost) that has the consistency of spooge (bonus? or punishment?… discuss) and doesn’t weigh down my tresses or make them any angrier. But today is supposed to be rainy. I thought I needed a bit more… support.

Apparently I have displeased the follicle gods because I ended up looking very much like a cross between a wolverine and Tawny Kitaen… but I am fat… so, um… more like Wynonna but a lot less "Tranny".

John Frieda? Why did you want to hurt me so?

I so want to cut off all of my hair, but having fro-like conditions surrounding thin(ish) hair… dude, so not right.

Oh, I know who I looked like this morning. Ya’ll remember that guitarist from Faith No More? The dude with the four inch horizontal part (Jim Martin)? Yeah, him. But with tits. Hot no?

Moving on. Really, that mental image is very disturbing.

So. I think that our Cheese Club may have found a home over at BlogSpot. I may need some help with designing the page so any of you that have BlogSpot pages (yes, I know I have one… but I am not a blogspot genius) and would like to help, please let me know via my email account.

Again, the Rules:

Rules of Cheese Club
1. You totally talk about 'Cheese Club'.
2. You totally talk about 'Cheese Club'.
3. When someone yells "Aqua Net!" or goes eighties/nineties, or geeks out, the cheese is just starting.
4. No limits to how many can be involved in Cheese.
5. You must submit one photo at a time (to suzanna.danna@gmail.com).
6. Cheese shirts, cheese shoes… or hair or make up, accessories… ya’ll get the picture.
7. The Cheese can go on as long as it has to.
8. If this is your first night at 'Cheese Club', you have to vote.

Keep sending in those pictures ya’ll. And please, be aware that we are accepting Glamour Shots.

Speaking of photos, over the last week I was on a mission to find two photos for LuLu. I have told you all before about how I love pictures and have a frillion of them. I have many photo albums as well, but most of my pictures have not even left their little containers.

That is why I was excited to find the two pictures I want to share with you guys now.

To give a bit of a brief (Ha! Am I ever?) back story…

I’ve told you guys about Troy and Chad and LuLu and Trixie and I have told you guys about the Ellen Trout Zoo in Lufkin, TX (by the way… if you follow these links… I found the sheets of negatives with the pictures of the jaguar babies on them!!!!!) and I have told you about what a wonderful time I had in college and the tight bonds I made with some very special people. That is why I was so excited when I found these pictures.

One afternoon in the fall, Trixie (Debra Jean) was upset about something and so we decided to gather some friends (usually from the Rodeo Club) and have a Zoo Day to help break her of her funk. We had most days planned out already so a Zoo Day was special.

Sunday was for bowling… Challenge! Whoever would win the challenge round would have to do anything from fix dinner to pay off the winner with sexual favors. I kid, sort of. Monday was for watching movies. (Lord, if I never see Eight Seconds again it will be too soon.) Tuesday was the only day that we didn’t have something planned out so we normally did dinner night. Wednesday was for dancing (Ladies Night) at the Garage. And Thursday through Saturday were for going out… Happy Hour on Friday!

So Zoo Day was probably a Tuesday.

We took her to McDonalds and everyone was bound (by law – of goofy friend shit) to order Happy Meals. So we grabbed our Happy Meals and all piled into LuLu’s GMC Jimmy and headed to the zoo.

We did go into to the zoo to see the exhibits but we didn’t stay for long, we ended up veering off the beaten path and started playing on boulders and then we headed for the swings and the playground. There were several other kids on the playground with us and they shared the playground equipment very well. We even talked one little boy who was on top of the monkey bars to take our picture from above.

Please click to enlarge all pictures.

At the Zoo 1992 - From Above

From LuLu (in black) at 12 o’clock and clockwise… LuLu, Chad, Trixie, Matt, Me and Troy. Please note that my shirt says “I have a 3.8 Average”. What you can not see is that it says ‘blood alcohol’ in between 3.8 and Average. Apparently I thought I was clever. Lookit Chad’s long ass legs.

I found the whole roll of pictures and there were pictures of us in the reptile house and standing in front of the lemurs or another exhibit, but in all of the pictures we are huddled together as a pack. And that is how I remember our little roving gang of friends… as a pack. We meshed different gangs and formed new ones but we always took care of one another.

Lookin Saucy at the Zoo 1992

From left to right Troy, Chad, Trixie, LuLu and her hair and me. We were trying to be saucy.

October 7, 2005

He lived across the street and I would lock him in my room.

When I was young my days were veritable cornucopias of make believe. The fiction and fantasy sometimes bled into reality as I went about my daily tasks of entertaining myself in the woods of suburban Atlanta.

When I was inside I wanted to watch television, so my mother would hustle me outside and tell me to be sure to be back before dark. We lived in a subdivision called Somerset and the safe streets and wooded lots were a haven to grow up in.

I, being an animal lover, knew every home that housed a dog, a cat, a bird or a reptile of any sort so during my summer vacations or after school I would make my rounds and visit the animals. Kids? Who the hell cared about the kids? I wanted to be there when Mr. Carter gave his black lab, Lady, her treat or threw tennis balls to her. I wanted to hang out at the Dobie’s and pet their little black Scottie dog, at the Martin’s with LeRoy the Wonder Mutt or roaming the neighborhood with the Starr’s HUGE Golden Retriever, Dusty.

I would make up stories about the people in the neighborhood and their pets. These stories would normally revolve around something that I had seen on television.

Roller skating down Somerset Trace with Dusty trotting beside me I would shout into the breeze, “Faster, better, stronger! …Um, just like Wonder Woman.” Dusty would look up at me and snort as if to say, “Moron.” “Oh? That was the Bionic Man? Well, shit. Thanks for the correction.”

I always wanted to be glamorous, with long flowing hair and ruby red lips, sexy legs and high heels.

I always wanted to be somebody else.

When my mother dropped me off for Sunday School one Sunday at Eastside Baptist Church in Marietta, GA when I was wee, one of the teachers led me off to make a nametag while my mother chatted with the other teacher about what time to pick me up when the service was over. I stayed and enjoyed Sunday School while my mother went and sang in the choir and my father did his deacon-ly duties.

After the service my mother came to the door to pick me up and said, “Hi, I am here to pick up Susan [last name] please.” The teacher (who had led me off to make a name tag earlier in the morning) looked a bit confused and said, “I’m sorry but we don’t have a Susan [last name] here with us today.” And she stepped out of the door so my mother could see past her to the plethora of children clamoring about in the room.

My mother spotted me and said, “Yes, there she is.” She pointed me out and the teacher said, “Oh you mean Cindy?”

The teacher retrieved me from no doubt dancing on the tables and brought me to the door. And there pinned on my chest… and emblazoned on a bright yellow name tag 4 inches high was the name “CINDY”. My mother said, “Oh yes… Cindy

Her eyes probably rolled so hard that the tide came in early on the East coast.

I was constantly putting on plays for my family and dance recitals for anyone who would watch, and some who weren’t so willing. My best friend up to the second grade was Paul K.. He lived across the street and I would lock him in my room and make him watch me perform a whole act of the Nutcracker. Without sedative.

One afternoon my mother, my sister and I were meeting up with my grandmother and some of her friends for lunch. My sister was a tornado, and my mother (poor thing) probably did not sit down since Ford was in office, had dressed my sister and I up so very sweetly. We had impeccable manners and we knew when to use them. This was to be one of those times or… we “Would be sorry.” and we would most definitely have to, “Wait until your father gets home!”

So my sister and I hugged and kissed my grandmother when we saw her and went around to introduce ourselves to her friends. My mother introduced herself, my sister introduced herself, and one of the ladies bent down and addressed me and said, “Aren’t you the sweetest little thing? And just what is your name?”

Without missing a beat, I looked up, batted my eyelashes, curtsied and replied loud enough for all of them to hear, “Anastasia.”

I was four.

Quite early to be adapting the name of one of the wicked stepsisters from Sleeping Beauty, no?

By the way… I have made a very crude page for our Cheese Off and will start posting pictures in the next few days or so.

Click for Link to Cheese Off.

October 12, 2005

Andy Dick is asking me to help him adjust his g-string.

There are dreams. There are lofty dreams that propel men and women alike to great heights.

There are dreams that cause people to reach for goals that are not easily obtained by the common man.

Dreams that sometimes; yes sometimes cause the few lucky ones to find themselves standing atop of the zenith that was once just a huge pile of frustration, anger and obstacles.

And then there are dreams where Andy Dick is asking me to help him adjust his g-string / my ex mother in law has amassed an attic-full of purses from working at Mary Kay and she chases me through a maze of these purses and I can not help myself but to stop and admire a royal blue snakeskin tote (?) / I just want to take a shower but to get to said shower I must crawl along a ledge by the ceiling on my belly / I am trying to find the perfect crystal brandy sniffer* for Mister and all I can find is this horrendous cut crystal pitcher that someone has filled with Salty Dog mix / trying to keep the stainless steel floor of my kitchen clean.

So yeah. The sleep? Not happening. And I am not sure why.

For years Mister and I have been sleeping on his Sterns and Foster bed. I petitioned for a new bed since the day we moved in together. I have another king bed that is very comfortable. I love my bed, it is firm and soft at the same time. Perfect. But his bed is larger (Cal. King), so it stayed.

Mine went into storage until we moved into a bigger place last June. And then my bed moved into the guest bedroom. My parental units love to stay with us and sleep on it because they always sleep so well.

Oh how I hate his bed. It is soft and lumpy and has that pillow top fluffy shit on top.

I regularly remove the bedclothes while doing laundry and wrestle with the mattress to flip it. It is enormahuge and I always fear that I will make one wrong move and the headlines will read: ‘Suburban Housewife Smothered By Mattress’.

My neighbors will be interviewed** and they will tearfully say, “Who the hell was she now?”

Mister holds onto that mattress like it is a life raft. I think it is because a salesman got to him. A Sterns and Foster salesman. But ya’ll that shit is busted. It is like sleeping in a hammock and not even a nice one. Like one of those microthin-ass hammocks that you got for free when you bought a Frisbee or something and the kids you babysat when you were 12 used them to tether all of their stuffed animals up in the corner of their room… because if you tried to sit in one such hammock, you would look like that first dude in the opening scene of Cube.

So, yeah, the Sterns and Foster mattresses are nice and fairly costly, have a 10 year (or whatever) warranty and all that shit but if it is a broke down busted mattress… it doesn’t matter what label is on it, it is still a broke down busted mattress. Right? Right.

With the petition for the new bed (all of three years into our relationship) – I have forty signatures and everything – I am getting all sorts of twitchy around the eyes when it is nighty night time.

Ya’ll know I have issues when it comes to sleeping anyway.

I have been trying everything to sleep (not including the arsenal of sound machines, fans, pillows and lippy). Sonata? Check. Tylenol PM? Check. Fistfuls of Melatonin? Checkity Check Check Bitches.

Nothing is working.

A little light bulb went off over my noggin… DING! Second anniversary is what? Cloth? A fucking bed is cloth. Or covered in it. Or something.

I. Want. A. New. Bed.

Have ya’ll gotten the message yet? Can I get a stick to beat this dead horse some more please?

So, Mister has to get some new glasses. Hmmmkay. Lenscrafters. There is a Select Comfort store next to Lenscrafters at the mall. Lenscrafters,… hey! glasses in an hour. What shall we do for an hour? Let’s go lie down on those comfortable Select Comfort beds. If you want to set yours to ‘Cloud’ and let me set mine to just this side of ‘Not a Hammock for the Love of Pete!’ we can do that.

Hi there Chad, yes… please walk us through all of the models you have on the floor. Please show Mister why his hips and back are hurting on your fancy computer screen there that looks like a Marvin’s Magic Drawing Board.

My Sleep Number? Anywhere from 40 to 60. Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

Mister? 20. AKA… Hammock.

So, yeah, we got a Sleep Number bed. It was delivered on the 4th. It is lovely.

But guess who is still not sleeping? Because she is dreaming of Andy Dick and ex mother in laws and g-strings***? Me. And yeah, I don’t know what that’s all about either. I have tried going to bed early, and going to bed late. I have tried going to bed on time.

Tonight? We’re going to try booze.

*Who the hell were we in this dream? Mr. and Mrs. Fucking Howell?
**While using a GD leaf blower at 6:30 am on a Saturday.
***Dear Lord, please do not let me dream of my ex mother in law in a g-string, Amen.

October 17, 2005

Sue Asks the Mirror: "How old are you Susan?"

Do you guys remember when I broke my mirror a few months ago? That resulted in totalitarian eyebrowisms? Well, I did it. I finally went hog wild and spent the 6 dollars to replace the mirror that I use every morning to put on my face, do my hair and check my overall appearance. Well, from as much as I can tell from a broke-ass piece of mirror.

Ya’ll? Come closer.

Here, sit down. Let me tell you a little secret. No no no… shhhhh hush baby, it’s going to be okay. We are all going to get through this hard time together.

When you have been kidding yourself that you look A-okee Dokee from a broke ass piece of mirror? One that has lasted since basically Nixon was in office? Hairspray spots, water spots, dust… the thing, what was left of it was filthy. I could barely see myself.

And I was putting make up on … little tiny sticks thisclosetomyeye.

Not so much with the smart, aye?

So yeah, after you see yourself and what kind of job you do in a nice clean pretty sparkly mirror, one with the three circles of death magnification on the back to go along with the one big mirror on the front? Um…

Sue Asks the Mirror: “How old are you Susan?”
Parts answer…

Face: “Twenty Seven… um… Twenty Eight? Nine?”

Hair: “Fifty Five. Nice gray streak there Alice.”

Hands: “Thirty Three. HA!”

Ass: “Fat. Fuck ya’ll, give me the Dove Bar and back away slowly and no one gets hurt.”


October 27, 2005

What Texas Means To Me

I was coming back to the office from lunch a few hours ago and I realized something. It is October. Today is the 26th (Whooops, 27th… I got sidetracked). In the year of our Lord, two thousand and five.

Well, smack my ass and call me Lucy.

As of this month; on the 24th at four pm to be exact; I have been in Texas for twenty-two years.

Twenty Two.

22 – Like older than Ashlee (extraneous EEEEE’s) Simpson.

I would like to take this time to do one of those, “What I did this summer” essays but… about what Texas means to me. So yeah, cheesy, but with more words than a 4th grader would use.

What Texas Means To Me

Texas was a foreign place to my mind before I stepped a foot on Lone Star soil. I was convinced that every home was a large ranch style house with acres and acres of rolling hills and plains. Just perfect for the herds of wild mustangs and a lone palomino pony that I could rustle up with just a whistle or a click of my tongue. I would ride an oil jack at midnight to be perfectly silhouetted against the full moon; all the better to toss my fro long luxurious hair and giggle knowingly. And I would definitely have a boyfriend named Bobby, or JR. You know. Like on Dallas.

Yeah. I was twelve. Apparently a sexually ramped up twelve year old with an imagination that was running away with me.

So, when I got to Texas in October of 1983, I was slightly disappointed that all the homes in our neighborhood looked pretty much the same. Not one ranch or Sue Ellen to be found. I didn’t even have a horse tied up in my backyard… by the alley or next to the home that I could touch if I was walking between it and the one I lived in. Well, that is an exaggeration. I may have had to lean a bit. But I could mow that little strip of lawn in three passes.

Three passes!

Seriously, look how close the houses are together. I lived in the third house from the end… the first one on the bottom right of that street with a pool*.

And where the hell were the trees in my neighborhood? And please, a fucking crape myrtle does not count at a tree. It is a tree like substance, sure, but I was used to pine trees and forests. I grew up in this neighborhood for goodness sakes. On a large piece of property. It took us hours to do the yard work. And we had our own garden.

Three passes. Gah.

I was also distraught to find that all of the women in Texas are beautiful. No matter what age, race or creed the girls, young ladies and women are… Texas has the largest amount of hot women per capita than any other state.

I had this fantasy – totally unfounded of course – that I would be the sweet smiling Georgia peach and that being the new girl had its advantages. Well, it worked for this guy** when he was the new kid in our school. It should have worked for me. I should have been the prettiest little filly these cowboys had ever seen.

What? There is not one Bobby or JR in my 6th grade class?

Well, fuck.

I wasn’t a total outsider for long. My bubbly personality (read: can’t shut the hell up) and my charismatic charm (read: possible future flight attendant for Delta) ensured that I would reign as queen of the dorks for years to come. Sure, sure… I tried to break into the cliques of the popular crowds, but um… they are called cliques for a reason, and while I had a lot to offer them, the only thing that they… er I mean Kris C… (::cough:: HO! ::cough::) wanted from me was my boyfriend in the fall of the seventh grade.

I was supposed to be talking about Texas, and here I am… again hijacking the entry to work out my own personal issues.

Point? Ermm… uh…***

Ah, Texas… It took a while for you to grow on me. Like a fungus. I kept hearing all of these people talk about “Bigger in Texas, Better in a Dodge!” type of sentiments. Lone Star State this, and the biggest state that. Coming from humble southern stock, I thought it was all a bit egomaniacal. But then I was able to swim… in our pool… on Christmas Day.

Spring came and the huge expanse of sky that I looked up into on my way to school everyday became so intensely blue that my eyes would water. The “trees” began to bloom and there was so much color everywhere. And… AND… there were season passes to Six Flags!****

I began to love you Texas. When asked where I was from, I would say Dallas as opposed to Atlanta. My extended family is still in Georgia, but my heart belongs to Texas.

When I started college I moved to a place that looks a whole helluva lot like Georgia, East Texas.

Pine. Trees. Everywhere. And hills… even a tiny little mountain.

While in college my parents moved to Denver and I stayed behind. For one, to finish college, and for two… because I love you Texas. When my folks retired in 2002 they made their home in Texas again. And Texas, we could almost hear you sigh with contentment from their screened in porch on Lake Palestine.

Texas, I have traveled your interstates, your country roads, your farm to market roads and your highways. I have been swimming in your man made lakes and in your natural lakes. Lakes so beautiful for the cypress trees and Spanish moss that I could have sworn that I was in Charleston. Your big blue sky continues to amaze me and I am thankful for your warm weather… notice I didn’t say hot… because Lord… you can get hot. Hawt.

I have loved you for a long time now Texas, but I never realized how much until this past January.

In January Mister was in the midst of unemployment. He had an offer on the table from a company in Florida. The company wanted us to move so Mister could be closer. I left to go to a convention in San Diego on January 22nd. I was in a plane that left out of DFW International Airport and the skies were beautiful and cornflower blue.

There was no cloud cover until we hit Lubbock.

Before the clouds covered the view I was watching the plains and cities pass beneath me at 40, 000 feet when we passed over Breckenridge, TX. In Breckenridge there is a large lake called the Hubbard Creek Reservoir. When we flew over this lake the beauty was so incredible; the sharp contrast of the blue from the water and the green from the surrounding country; it brought tears to my eyes.

I was not just struck by the beauty, but the realization that my time in Texas could be short due to the circumstances of Mister’s employment. Of course I would follow him anywhere and eat whale blubber if I had to, but… BUT… I love Texas.

I love Pat Green.
I love salsa.
I love how weird Austin is.
I love TexMex food.
I love that we want to elect Kinky Friedman for governor.
I love the wind.
I love the lakes.
I love the ocean.
I love the hills.
I love the plains.
I love the desert.
I love the Piney Woods.
I love two stepping.
I love three stepping.
I love to waltz with your cowboys, Texas.
I love that a five hour road trip is no big deal to me.
I love the bars on 6th street.
I love the Italian place right next to Loop 12 and Marsh.
I love the bushy fu-Manchu/Texas mustaches.*****
I love that I know there is a farrier school in Scurry, TX.
I love the crisp nights and warm days of fall. This morning? 51 degrees. Now? 72.
I love Robert Earl Keen.
I love Southwest Airlines.
I love the hard angles and right edges of the Dallas skyline.
I love that if I turn north and drive for just a little bit I will be in BFE.
I love Mrs. Baird’s bread.
I love the big fucking farris wheel, the Texas Star, at the state fairgrounds.
I love boots.
I love horses.
I love how much time seems to slow down when you enter Fort Worth.
I love the bronze mustangs in Las Colinas.
I love tight jeans on cowboys… Jeezus.
I love that I was a member of an actual rodeo club in college.
I love shopping in Dallas.
I love that I went to a school with only two grades (11th & 12th) but that it held 3000 kids.
I love the rows and rows and scores of auto dealers.
I love that Ford, Dodge and Chevy do Texas packages for their vehicles.
I love Big Tex.
I love the big oak tree in my yard that sounds like the ocean when the wind blows.
I love that we have green grass way longer than most people.
I love belt buckles.
I love big hair.
I love David Allen Coe.
I love the Broken Spoke.
I love fried food.
I love my hats… straw and felt.
I love Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders.
And… I love Asleep at the Wheel.

There are so many things about Texas that I love. But I know it isn’t just about location, geography, topography and convenience. It is about the people I have know and loved here for twenty-two years.

I am proud to call Texas my home.

*Dear Google, what the hell is up with you not putting your little pointer on the correct house when I give you the right address? Huh? It was all jacked for the Somerset map. I actually lived at 3412, but could you point to the right house? The one with the additional acreage? Noooo. Hmmmph. Google, you are not the cousin for me today.
**He moved into town in the 5th grade and while still riding high on the ‘new guy’ wave, he gave me a box of Andie’s Candy’s mints for Valentine’s Day and asked me to be his girl. Smooth man, smooth.
***That was for you and your erm-ing neighbor Anne. Heh.
****Much like Six Flags over Georgia… Six Flags over Texas smells like afro sheen, pot and orange crème sickles. What?
*****On the right people.

About October 2005

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

September 2005 is the previous archive.

November 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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