Suzanna Danna

The lovely Francesa has tagged me with the following meme, and since she is so quiet and also going through law school� I must comply or suffer the consequences (of not being cool).

Seven Things To Do Before I Die:
1. Own a muscle car.
2. Swim with a whale shark.
3. Get in shape.
4. Surprise my husband with a completely planned trip abroad.
5. Get teeth fixed. (They are straight but with a small gap in the front and they are not blindingly white.)
6. Buy or do something incredibly lavish (just for me) and not feel guilty.
7. Share some of my writing with my parents (do not self edit).

Seven Things I Can't Do:
1. Write grammatically correctly.
2. Stop dreaming of myself smoking (while amazingly thin).
3. Not call people on my way home from work.
4. Get rid of or pass on the first piece of nice clothing a boy/man bought for me.
5. Not notice jewelry/animals/make up.
6. Not want to hug and kiss close friends, family and various old men.
7. Talk to my cat like he is a cat as opposed to a furry little person who doesn稚 pay taxes.

Seven Things That Attracted Me To Blogging:
1. Internet Voyeurism (and not in a creepy peeping Tom sort of way).
2. I am nosy.
3. Great way to pass the time at a horrible job (previous job, that was� horrible).
4. Narcissism.
5. It spoke to my love for dramatic story telling and whether not I could come across in writing as I do in person.
6. Posterity. I never know when I知 going to develop Alzheimer痴 and forget some of the juicy stuff.
7. It filled up the spot that was empty when I stopped chatting on IRC.

Seven Things I Say Most Often:
1. Holy Shit!
2. I dreamt about zombies again�
3. Heeyyyyyy�.. there.
4. Susan speaking� (I hate answering the phone at work.)
5. That? Would be awesome.
6. (Lately, because of this commercial�)
Me: [questioningly] Hells yeah?
Also Me: [convincingly] Hells yeah.
7. Want some hand lotion?

Seven Books That I Love:
1. The Bone Collector
2. Cider House Rules
3. Harry Potter books� just finished the first three
4. Headhunter
5. IT
6. Hitchhiker痴 Guide to the Galaxy
7. Elizabeth Lowell smut. Any of it� that and Patricia Cornwell痴 earlier novels.

Seven Movies I Watch Again and Again:
1. Fifth Element
2. Blade Runner
3. The Sweetest Thing
4. Cruel Intentions
5. Story of Us
6. Queen - Live at Wembley Stadium (1992)
7. Fletch

I will not tag the seven (or five) people required. If you want to play along, let me know in the comments. Of course, I値l want to come over and take a peek at your Seven痴.

Oh, dude. The movie Seven? I should have included that one in the seven that I named. How ironic. Or not� Alannis?

Saturday night Mister and I watched Deuce Bigelow in Eurasia or something. Whatever the name was� it was the second of the two Deuce Bigelow movies and I? Was not impressed. It was the unrated version and quite a train wreck.

The only outburst was not from a bark of laughter or anything quite as merry. It was the verbal equivalent of, 泥ude, that? That right there? Is wrong.� As we watched a woman with a male member for a schnozz sneeze jizz all over people at a restaurant.

See, I have one OCD thing (well, one that we will discuss today) where I have to watch a movie that has been rented or I will feel like I am wasting money. 釘ut Suz,� you say, 努hat about time? Time is money after all, is it not?� And I would reply back to you� yes, of course, you are right. But. I? I rented this piece of shite. It was a conscious decision. I must watch it to punish myself for thinking this could be even slightly entertaining.

And then, about 3/4th the way through the movie I realized an even more preposterous error. I had seen the last part of the movie already. The Horror!

Okay, I have seen the movie before, and Mister is clearly not amused. Do I fess up and tell my darling partner in matrimony that I have already seen the end of the movie? Oh, hell to the no. We watched the whole thing and then scrounged through the bonus features to see if there was anything of merit. Nope. Nothing there either.

So all of this fails to answer why in the hell I had yet another dream about zombies that night.

Everything about the dreams (as there were multiples) was visceral and genuine, lifelike and heart-poundingly terrifying. I would wake up from one segment of the nightmare and turn over only to be plunged back in as soon as I fell asleep.

I must describe a bit that is still sitting in the forefront of my brain. I almost have to look through the images to do my normal daily routines. Maybe if I put the images on paper, share if you will� then they will go away.

Ya値l know I love zombies. Hell, look at all of the journal entries dedicated to this zombie movie or that. All? Um, ok maybe just the one� this one right here.

Anyway, to get back to the crux of it� It was getting dark and I had to run from one city (couldn稚 see it as it was behind me) to another and the only way to get to said city was to run along this road that was completely deserted, no buildings, no tanks or anything with heavy gun fire that could help. This huge city was before me but it never got any closer. It was like running from AssCrack, Kansas into the shining and huge city of Dallas or um�. Denver. Definitely something with a D.

There were zombies ahead of me and behind me. I am not sure the trick for not getting bitten (that is how they turned you into one of them� maybe I was confused with vampires?... who knows.) but I was successful so far.

I was running companionably along with an older blonde woman who was very thin. She stopped me and said, 滴oney, I think you need to take this, Now GO.� She shoved a gasoline can into my hand. It was full and very heavy. I looked back up at her face and I could see that her eyes were changing. She looked miserable and I turned and took off towards the city once more.

[wake up � turn over]

I was still running along the road. I would misstep every once in a while and the gas can would bump into my hip making me miss my stride. It was these times that the zombies would take notice of me and my unchanged state. I would hear the frustrated howl of the ones on the side of the road that I just passed and the understanding reply coming from the ones headed out of the city and coming my way.

[wake up � turn over]

I gathered the twelve or so people that were healthy and running towards the city and I pointed at the mass of zombies coming toward us. We quickly constructed a trap made of hay bales in an open S shape and I found some doors and attached handles to one side so I, and my uh, team(?) could use them as barrier while I corralled the zombies into the S shaped trap.

The plan was this. When they came towards us with their arms outstretched, to push and shove them into either side of the open S. Once they were all trapped and we were safe with our door-shields, I would light a match and catch the gasoline soaked (from my gas can) hay on fire and kill all of the undead.

Oh, shit� they are already dead.

[wake up � turn over]

They kept coming. We kept corralling them into the S and I finally lit the fire and jumped over a cattle gate and hid behind a fence post.

[wake up � turn over]

In a house� why aren稚 these people using their door-shields? I crawled under mine and hid in a corner.

[wake up � turn over]

Still under my door in the corner. Really want to brush my teeth.

And the alarm goes off for Mister and I to go to church.

Gah.

And last night was not any more restful.

I WILL beat this not sleeping thing. I can not tell ya値l how wonderfully I slept for the first year or so when I moved back to Dallas (and got a divorce). I even slept wonderfully when Mister and I started sharing a bed.

But now? Yeah, not so much.

Also� this has nothing to do with anything that I have mentioned before BUT� I just got this necklace from this very talented lady, Gina O巽lynn � and it is absolutely Georgous! Hello, signature piece! How you doin?

I am so preening in the mirror at this very moment. Oh, ya値l KNOW.

It is National Delurking Week, courtesy of the lovely Papernapkin. Please let me know if you are out there by leaving a little comment in the space below. Requests, comments and criticisms are all taken. Thank you!

Oh, and Debra Jean has a new picture over at the Cheese Club. Follow the link below to go see� or to submit one yourself

Ok, this is completely ridiculous. Not just the fact that I dreamt about… what else? Fucking zombies again last night. But that I have become just about retarded in my old age.

I stumble like Ozzy (or John Madden) on Oxycontin. Or I have several times over the past few days. I have new jeans and new pants from Mister that he got me for Christmas. They are all “tall’s” and for some reason they are long as hell. Either that or I am shrinking. So mix the pants with the stumbling (and mumbling) and you have yourself a picture of grace and poise.

The other morning I went into the kitchen at the office to get my cup of hot water. Ya’ll know the boiling hot-ass water that comes out of that little temperamental spigot on the front of a commercial coffee maker? Yeah, that.

I am still a little bit squicky with breakfast foods in the morning, I have been ever since the generous gift of stomach flu that I received from Santa for Christmas, so my morning breakfast usually consists of beef bouillon or soup from a packet. Just add hot water to either, the granules of beef bouillon (how completely unappetizing does that sound?) or to the dehydrated packet of soup powder.

So I got my little Styrofoam cup of hot water, my big plastic cup of cold water with ice and a spoon to take by to my desk and then I stopped. When faced with the door to exit, I thought, “Hmmm, I have to open the door to get back to hallway and to my desk so that I may continue to be a productive member of this association and contribute to the society at large.” I took the hot (scalding, boiling, magma-like) water from my right hand and braced it against my tummy and then I reached for the door.

Now, I am such the genius when it comes to foreboding so many of you probably already know what happened next. The door opened with someone else barreling through it and I moved to get out of the way and the hot (scalding, boiling, magma-like) water seared my tummy like a well sautéed onion, or shrimp… or something with delicate translucent skin.

Smart no?

Oh, and then? THEN? A few days ago when we rented the ass munch that is Deuce Bigelow, Swahili Gigolo we also got Saw. Now I seriously thought that it would be an hour and forty-five minutes of “eeeeesh” and “Good Lord.” But alas, I was wrong. The only oogie factors in the film are #1 the marionette thingy that looks like a clown with some sort of John Merrick disease plus a bad make up job and Wesley from Princess Bride cutting off his own foot… to spite his face maybe?

Oh, ya’ll… I am so damn excited. A group of my old college friends are getting together in a few weeks back in Nacogdoches to celebrate a milestone birthday of D’Wayne. We’re going to go to Jitterbugs that Saturday night and dance, dance, dance. So very excited. Ya’ll KNOW.

Maybe I’ll write a coherent entry tomorrow. Maybe.

Much love and frilly panties.

I just re-read over my post from yesterday and I apologize. The grammar and tense were completely eff’d up. I inserted words that were not necessary into perfectly normal sentences and I deleted some that were obligatory to make any sense whatsoever. I didn’t elaborate on my poor little tummy (which is fine by the way… my ego was just a little bruised at the outward show of stupidity) or on the upcoming trip to Nacogdoches.

Thing the first.

I am fine, my little tummy is a bit blistered and I feel like a complete moron for causing the discomfort in such a retarded way. I knew better ya’ll. I KNEW better. My brain was all, “Uh, you sure this is such a good idea Einstein? Your abs are not the flattest, and any quick movement could cause that boiling water to upset and flee from the confines of the cup. You can barely walk down the hallway with the water not burning at least one of your fingers on your right hand.”

Did I listen? Nope.

What did I listen to you ask? Well “Things That Make You Go Hmmmmm” by C&C Music Factory has been on constant play through the shuffle on Herschel.

So, yeah, there’s that.

Ok, now onto thing the second, the mini reunion. (Psst, Trix, come to Nac.)

Ya’ll have heard me talk about D’Wayne and Troy from college right? The three of us were thick like thieves. Troy’s daddy, Sonny, was the one who passed away back in August.

Is any of this helping or must I link? (Links: on D’Wayne and Troy, on D’Wayne alone, on Troy alone and on Sonny. I am sure there are more, but I can’t find them.)

Anyway, D’Wayne’s beautiful wife Gloria (she’s one of my ya-ya’s) called me a few weeks ago and asked what Mister and I were doing the weekend of the 3rd and 4th of February. I told her that I needed to check and see if the family had plans for my sister’s birthday, but I didn’t think we had any plans yet. She told me she wanted to plan a surprise birthday for D’ and she wanted our whole group from college to meet up back in Nac and go out to Jitterbugs with everyone.

(Hey Trix? Did I invite you to Nac? Yes? Oh, well, then good. Hope you can make it.)

Can I tell you guys how incredibly excited I am? We’re all staying at the same hotel and LuLu is even going to be able to make it. Troy and his wife are planning on being there. Chad is coming down that Saturday evening after a fishing tournament and we’re still trying to talk Debra Jean (Trixie) into coming. One problem. Our holy-rolling, matriarchal, passive aggressive bitch of an ex-mother-in-law. If she finds out Trix is in town, she will cause problems.

This is a link to a pic of me, Chad, LuLu, Trixie and Troy when we were like 12. Scroll down.

I miss my friends ya’ll. We’ve become scattered. Trix is in San Antonio, LuLu and D’ are in Houston, Troy is in OK and Chad and I are in Dallas.

How apropos, after “She’s a Bad MamaJama” from Stevie Wonder… The Corrs’ “Breathless” just played. Ya’ll want to know what Trix sounds like when she sings? Listen to this song.

For all of us to be in the same place some 12 years (in LuLu’s case) after we left is an incredible opportunity to me. We all left, peeled off like the discarded skin of a reptile… that sounds so gross, but I used the onion metaphor yesterday. Little help here?

Anyway, LuLu left first. She left college to go back home and work. We would take any opportunity to travel and see her. When one of our favorite bands was playing in Houston several of us jumped in the car and headed to Houston. We all, and by all I mean all of us who traveled down AND the band, slept on the floor of Lisa’s parent’s house. We all went down for her uncle’s 40th birthday. The pictures of those times are some of the happiest times I remember. (Ok, I’ll see if I can find them… LuLu & Trix, ya’ll look too.)

D’Wayne left next. He went to Austin to work a job. He ended up coming back and staying for several years. And that is when he met Gloria.

Troy left next and went to New Caney (North of Houston) to live and work near his parents.

Several years later when I graduated (Trix was still in school) we ended up marrying brothers.

Chad stayed for a few years too. He ended up marrying another local (who actually dated my then husband a few months before I did).

At D’Wayne and Gloria’s wedding Troy met his future wife Shi. They just moved to Oklahoma from Arkansas.

In 1999 I left X and Nacogdoches to make a home in Dallas. Shortly after Trix left to move to Houston and make a home and start a better life. And a better life she did find… bless her little (filly) heart.

Chad was the last one to leave Nacogdoches. He and his then wife moved to Dallas for the job market. They didn’t last that much longer and she is now back in Nac and remarried.

To have all of us back in the same place; if only for a little while; makes my heart grow three sizes.

Just like the Grinch.

Freaking zombies have been replaced by giant transformer-like people… a whole damn family of them, and all four of them doing damage and generally wreaking havoc upon my house in the valley in Utah.

Um, hi. I don’t live in Utah.

I am thinking of doing a sleep study or letting some shrink take a crack at me because this is getting ridiculous.

I will be leaving tomorrow morning for a conference in Charlotte, NC. (I’ll be there until Wednesday, so if anyone is in the area, let me know.) This means travel, and travel means a different bed and a different pillow and no giant husband lying beside me whilst I toss and turn about on the unfamiliar bed.

I do love to travel, I am just not a fan of strange bed with weird smelling comforters.

Speaking of, I was in San Antonio at one of the Marriott’s on the Riverwalk in August of this past year. It was like a convection oven downtown with the temperatures spiking at about 110 degrees. I got out of the heat and checked in at the front desk. I went upstairs with my luggage and tried to relax a little before our 4pm set up time. I put my suitcase on the little luggage stand and unpacked my stuff. I put the hanging stuff in the closet and the other stuff in the drawers.

Normally I just take the comforter off of the bed because, gross… but this time I perched on the bed to take off my shoes. The comforter was still crouched on the bed like some weird Aztec patterned fog. When I went to put my shoes over by the door (I had flip flops on and I exchanged them for socks… as not to touch the carpet with bare tootsies… because again… gross.) I pushed off of the bed and apparently that little motion caused the gates of hell to open and spew forth a stench like that of Lucifer’s sweaty asshole.

Either that or some very hot and moist people had taken naps naked on the comforter, or at least had sex with some foul smelling farm creature because DAYUM(!) that was rank.

I flew from the room and ran down the hallway in search of housekeeping… and rubbing alcohol because I was not sure if I had just contracted some sort of fungus or at the very least a case of the scabies. Lice? Hantavirus? Monkey Pox? Gonorrhea?

Alas, I was cleared by the CDC and housekeeping replaced my comforter with one straight out of a bag. It smelled a bit like bleach, but anything is better than eau de SatanAss.

But on a positive note… I have renewed my love for Daryl Hall.

Yes, yes… just this morning. He accompanied me to work during a particularly slow traffic day. You Make My Dreams Come True… indeed.

What does Daryl Hall have to do with traveling and the comforter from hell? Absolutely nothing. I just thought I would mention it.

This just in: Well, not really just in. More along the lines of something that I have been thinking about for nigh on two weeks and it is driving me insane and I just finally put it into words in the comments section of my darling friend’s; Anne’s; site yesterday afternoon.

And now? Because I am totally lazy and quite content to pirate my own ranting and lunatic commenting… I present to you for your entertainment something I like to call…

Yesterday after I hung up the phone I promptly called the helpful bastard (Robert – the Comcast guy) something that disgorged forth from my mouth with such venom I surprised even myself.

[click]
“Clod.”

Yes, yes… I know. The language. And yes, I do kiss my mother with this mouth.

Clod? Clod of what?

We may have been over this before but that was the name my father chose to bequeath to other drivers or anyone of questionable mentality that he deemed worthy of such a moniker.

A trucker pulls in front of my father’s highway traveling vehicle and slams on the breaks?
“CLOD!”

Waiter trips and douses my mother with iced tea?
“CLOD!”

I fall off of the curb and accidentally smack my sister in the face with a flailing limb?
“Clod.”

Our clan has names and characters and certain things that are regional colloquial speech or familial sayings. (Regional AND colloquial? Yes! Captain redundant!... Shut it.) I will share with you several of ours and I would like to hear about yours as well.

She’s so skinny she’d have to run around in the shower to get wet.

If someone acted the fool or did not RSVP in a timely manner or any number of things that would make them different in a bad way from how I was raised, my mother or grandmother would say, “They just aren’t our kind dear.” My girlfriend J.Wo and I were talking about this at lunchtime today on the phone. She sent out an invitation and the only RSVP that she has received was mine. She asked about the other people and if their poor manners were a product of where they lived? I started to say, “They are just,” and she helped me finish “not our kind.” She had a Southern grandmother too. :)

One afternoon I was cleaning up the kitchen and dining room with my Great Aunt. She bent over to pick up a linen napkin from the floor and then stood up abruptly. As she walked into the kitchen I heard her say, “I just about lost my manners.” Meaning that she almost pooted.

My father credits my mother with running the household finances in such a way as to be almost perfect. His compliment to her is, “She could squeeze a buffalo nickel until it farted.”

Two songs that my Agriculture teacher (and FFA sponsor) would sing while working in the barn: “She has freckles on her but (butt)… she’s pretty…” And “She’s warm in the winter, shady in the summer time, that’s what I like about that fat gal of mine.”

My grandmother knew of a little girl in their small town who would slam doors. Car doors, screen doors, refrigerator doors. She was so harsh that one day a car door that she slammed fell off. Her name was Amy. So, anytime any of us (anyone in the family really) shuts a door with extra force, even if we don’t mean too you will still hear from somewhere in the house, “Slam it Amy!” Or something along the lines of, “Is it shut yet Amy?”

Dumb as a box of hair. – self explanatory

Goodness sakes alive! Or my lands! Either of these could be used in place of “Holy Shit.”

One of my favorite expressions comes from Trixie’s mother. She was raised in New York and it is not a southern expression at all, but ya’ll should hear her say, “Oh, go shit in your hat.” It is her version of, “Oh, please.” I have always wanted to work this particular one into my repertoire but I have yet to incorporate it into my lingo.

If I was working on a project and I couldn’t get the outcome I desired… my father would say, “You must not be holdin' your mouth right.”

The newspaper that my mother, father, grandparents and most of my extended family grew up reading is the Hartwell Sun. It has been a running joke for the past… oh, 4 or 5 decades with everyone that in each editorial piece describing a function either in town or out that the words, “And a good time was had by all.” will be present at the end of the column or piece.

If you go to visit my Aunt and Uncle in Hartwell today you will be treated to incredible hospitality, the sweetest hugs and wonderful food. You will also be asked to join them out on the porch were several things will commence… smoking, drinking Co-Cola (Coca-Colaｩ) and listening to the police scanner. Someone may even read the Hartwell Sun out loud… and at the end of each piece everyone must say, “And a good time was had by all!”

When I got married to the X in 1994 a piece was run in the Hartwell Sun about my wedding and reception. A beautiful description of my wedding gown and the silk brocade bodice, buttoned by renaissance buttons up the back, blah blah blah. They described the reception in two or three paragraphs. It really could have been summed up like this, “Hooo Wee that bride shore’nuff danced her ass off while the rednecks gathered around the kegs and floated them before 10 pm.” But of course, even after all of that description of the dress and the wedding and the reception the last sentence was, “And a good time was had by all.” Heh.

Ok, ya’ll’s turn.

John Mayer comes up frequently on Herschel. Herschel is my iPod for those of you who are new. I don’t know why I am so drawn to his music. Maybe it is that we followed part of the same life trail with both of us being born in Connecticut and then cutting our teeth in Georgia. Maybe it is that he writes about everyday, ‘everyone can relate to this’ stuff. Maybe it is that it is so soothing to hear a quiet guitar rift build into a rhythm that takes a song to a new key. Maybe it is; just like almost every woman in the history of ever; I want that song… just one… to be about me.

Content to be a background sort of girl as I grew up.

I never took on the role of something that I had to carry alone. Something that the success or failure of rested squarely on my shoulders. I guess you could say that I have been chicken. I’ve played the clown, the seductress, the smart girl, the good girl and the cruise director in equal parts but never each for long.

Gopher, please meet me on the lido deck.

Hiding behind being busy or taking on too many projects so that I have an excuse when I become spread thin… I had such great plans, such a fantastic strategy for how I was going to grow up and all of the wonderful things that I was going to accomplish.

Move to New York at 18 and wow them at the School of American Ballet. They would call me George Balanchine’s muse. Regardless of the fact that he died when I was 11. Live in a fabulous loft and live the life of a gorgeous dancer with beautiful feet*. Goal met? Uh, no.

Work up the nerve to try out for the solo in every recital known to our school district. Open mouth during tryouts and sing with an easy high sweet melody that is a bit raspy and breathy like a mix of Bonnie Raitt and Allison Krause. Watch as choir director wipes tears of joy and amazement from eyes and accept flowers from my accompanist. Goal met?
Self: Hi tune… this is a bucket.
Tune: Yo, what’s up bucket?
Self: Tune, please, oh please get in the bucket so that I may carry you.
Tune: I would have to say hell to the no.

Poof, I am sexy in denim mini skirts and little knit halter tops with big hair and attend countless rock concerts with friends. The band always notices me, usually the drummer of course. The drummer flings his sweaty hair back and turns to his camera man; who is filming the show for a video on MTV; “Hey man, see that little girl with the green eyes and a very flat rack?” He points a drum stick in my direction. “I want her in the shot. Make sure you get her shaking that sizable ass.” Goal met? “Mom? Can I go see Journey with my buddies when they come this year?” “Oh Susan, you are too young for concerts. Here, we’ll take you to this McDonald’s benefit to see Barry Manilow.” “_shit” “What is that Susan?” “I said ‘thanks’ and can I go next year?” “Of course.” Yeah, um… Journey broke up before next year came. And my mother would let me go see Motley Crue… over her dead and tattered body.

I’ve been comfortable to just float along. Go where I was wanted and do as little to draw attention to myself as I could.

But I always wanted to be the one the musician wrote a song about. I wanted to be that “Roseanna” or that “Mandy” (watch the Manilow digs ya’ll… he’s a saint). I wanted to be that “Brandy” or the Sara in “Sara Smiles”. But alas, my beauty, my charm or my wit were not meant to be immortalized in the strains of anything but, Susan, Susan, Bo Boozan, Banana Fanna Fo Foozan… SOOZAN!

I found this fun little quiz over at Anne’s. And it is a good thing too, I am not sure I could have moved forward without knowing what superhero I am most like. Personally I thought it would be Gambit because of my alluring red eyes, kinetic ability and that most people refer to me as “the white devil”, but alas…

Your results:
You are Spider-Man

Spider-Man 75% Green Lantern 65% Iron Man 60% Supergirl 55% Robin 55% Batman 45% Wonder Woman 45% Catwoman 40% The Flash 35% Superman 20% Hulk 20%

You are intelligent, witty, a bit geeky and have great power and responsibility.

These results are funny (well, maybe only to me…) Mister and I were pretending to shoot a web from our hands at lunch today, and Mister actually said, “My Spidey senses were right!”

Update: Mister just took the quiz and he is…. Batman. Heh.

*Dancer’s feet look like someone took a bag of hammers to them.