« May 2006 | Main | July 2006 »

June 2006 Archives

June 2, 2006

A riding crop, a tutu, a midget in a clown outfit and some flippers.

Ok, quick like bunny… here is a tee tiny update because I am just about to take off again for another conference. Three conferences within eleven business days of one another. That? My friends, is for the birds. If, of course the birds in question were all hyper and type A and had their little birdy butts all clenched up about three freaking conferences in a row and then… LORD, vacation, which I (as a bird) have not even started packing for yet. I have set up a staging area for the actual packing… because if I didn’t I would arrive in Destin, FL with a toothbrush, a bathing suit (oh, the fucking horror) a bottle of rum for the slushy mix, one tennis shoe and maybe a can of tuna or something. Or if the packing really went awry, a riding crop, a tutu, a midget in a clown outfit and some flippers.

But I digress.

So, Galdys. She’s fine. They… “They” being my doctors. Or my doctor, singular… but a singular doctor doesn’t really constitute a “They”…

Moving on.

My singular doctor has now gone from Defcon 4 to, “Eh, let’s test you again in a year.”

I would like to point out that Eduardo, the singular (but not single) doctor, is still hot.

Duly noted.

I am going to be gone for a while again. But please know that I love all of you and your emails and comments keep me warm at night while the cold northern wind blo-… yeah, ok. I’ll stop. Just wanted to say thanks. Thanks for your emails and comments of concern and the little notes that just say hi. Love those… and I love you.

You’re really pretty you know.

Here. A picture of where I will be from the 9th to the 19th of June.

June 21, 2006

My Second Home - Destin, Florida

Oh dear Lord, why the hell does it always happened that after you get back from a vacation you are twice as tired as you where when you freakin left!? I would like to state for the record, “Yawn.” And you can quote me on that.

The vacation was sublime. I truly enjoyed spending time on the beach, time with my husband on the way there and the way home and time with my family.

Also, good news, I didn’t catch the Ebola virus or Parvo (that I normally catch from my sister and her carrier monkeys) while we were there like I did the last time we went.

Wanna know a little bit about the trip?

Good, because I want to tell you too.

How about a list? You hate lists… hmmm… well, why the hell didn’t you tell me sooner? I have already compiled a little listy for the past (how long have I been gone? Eighteen days? now… nineteen days?) eighteen nineteen days. I’ll give you a list… in paragraph form. There… it is a win win situation. No? No… what do you mean no? Look. We are never going to get very far if you keep arguing with me. And you know how it goes… the longer I wait, the more I have to say and then the task; she looks daunting; and then I put it off and then the pile of shit I have to say just keeps getting bigger and bigger.

Ok, fine. Now I am all anxious.

Go Mavs!!!!!!!! (Shit. They lost last night. Yeah, this is taking me two days to write, what of it?)

Let’s start out with the last conference I did. It was in San Antonio and it went over very well. Smooth sailing and all that. But while I was there I looked at my little blackberry to check the stats of another project I was working on (multi-tasker? Why, yes.) and I found a very disturbing email, one that said that our COO had just been let go.


Hi, we are a tiny little nonprofit association that has less that 60 people on staff.

(My last job with hand boss, I was one of three people on staff. Why, oh why do I choose association work? Well, mainly it is for the wicked-crazy amounts of cash that I make…

Yeah, I know. That didn’t even fool me.)

They let our COO go… for money reasons. To flatten our bottom line or something. We just had a record year. So why did the COO have to go? I just thought about this because she just came by my desk and I was all, “I miss you!!!!!” and she was all, “Well, you just keep missing me…” She was a bit misty and I almost cried. I liked her. Apparently there won’t be anymore changes for a while, but man…

So I got back from the conference where everything went smooth like buttah and had approximately forty-seven minutes (two days) to unpack my suitcase, do all the laundry in the free world, reconcile the conference, close out the fiscal year with finance, board the cat and pack our stuff for eleventy days in Florida.

If you didn’t click on the link above that referenced the last time we went to Destin, I will paraphrase… or just cut and paste… about the last time we packed for this trip because I am helpful like that and also it was basically same shit, different year.

I got home around 2:30pm and we started the mad-dash packing that we now realize is the worst way to start off a vacation of any length.

Mister = a loving and kind man with the ability to prioritize event he smallest detail, systematic to the nines, with the mind of a programmer and the heart of an air traffic controller. Heavy on the controller part.

Me = a sweet and generous woman with a day dreaming quality applied to anything unpleasant, detail oriented but in a completely nonsystematic way… mind of an artist and the heart of an escapist. Heavy on the flighty.

The way Mister packs. Start with one objective. Complete objective and move on to the next task, only when the first one is completed.

The way I pack. Start with one objective, an object reminds me that I may need to pick up the film for the camera that reminds me that I may want to bring the Berry colored lip gloss in case we take some pictures in New Orleans, that pair of shoes would be great to wear in the car on the way, easy on and easy off… ooh look a butterfly!

Annnnnnnnnnnd repeat.

Off topic for a second: Don’t you love it when I quote… Myself? It is sort of like Bon Jovi singing about Tommy and Gina from “Living on a Prayer” in one of their latest, “It’s My Life”… and twice as cheesey (without the leather and good hair). Back on topic.

Guess what happened this time? Well, we had Friday the 9th off so Thursday… night… I threw our bathing suits on the guest bed (also known as “the staging area”) found like eighteen pairs of flip flops I wanted to take, threw those in the vicinity of the guest bedroom door and started hyperventilating about all the stuff I knew needed to be done before we left.

So what did I do? Watched Discovery Health Channel’s “101 Things Found in the Human Body” of course.

I fell into a fitful sleep that Thursday night and awoke around the ass crack of dawn with my heart pounding and the earplugs that I had been wearing to sleep the previous evening stuck to various places on my person. One had made a nest in my hair and the other had stuffed itself under my left breast.

I took a shower early Friday morning and ran around packing while naked. I was so out of sorts that I couldn’t figure out what I wanted to wear or pack. “Should I wear this or pack it? Wear it or Pack it?” Mister parked himself on his throne (the chair and a half in the living room) and started paying bills while I scurried and flitted around like a gnat. “Do you want to take these shorts?” “How about this shirt?” “How many pairs of manties do you want to bring?” “Would you like a hair cut before we leave?” “Don’t forget the recipes for our cooking night. Do you want this cast iron skillet?” “You really need some more shorts baby.”

No wonder he didn’t just up and throw a magazine or an unsuspecting cat at me, “Dammit woman, would you please shut the hell up? I am doing finances here, pack my deodorant and some KY and I’ll be fine!”

Heh. He didn’t say that. He should of though… would have been funny as shit.

He did say, “Why don’t you just go take a nap or something?” Because clearly I had lost my mind with the entire last minute minutia and the worry of not having enough shit to cram into our car.

Oh, did I mention that we sacked the Lincoln and bought a Tahoe? Well, we did. Last Saturday (the 27th one). And thank God we did. We had enough shit in that thing to choke a fairly large mule. Two large suitcases, toys for my sister’s kids, a kid gate (for me?), a heavy ass stone thing for my father for Father’s Day, three small bags, a large bag with the skillet and our spices, and overnight bag for the drive down, a bag with at least eight books inside, a beach bag with towels and various sundry, a bag for Herschel and all of our chargers, a bag of dvd’s, two pillows, a blanket and three hanging shirts. And a fucking partridge in an avocado tree.

I finally got everything rounded up, Mister and I packed the car and then I went to shove the cat in a cardboard box. What? It has holes in it. I have kept the cardboard cat carrier that I got when I rescued Max from the Irving SPCA. We don’t board him that often so I haven’t gotten around to getting him one of those pet carriers like I see all the time in SkyMallョ*.

*Holy shit those things are funny. Max would crap in my shoes if I made him get in one of those.

And for the first time? Max ran and hid from me. He normally just looks at you when you lift him under the little kitty armpits and lower him into the box. This time he was all, “Suckah!” And he took off and ran to hide under the guest room bed. I shoved a broom in under him and Mister succeeded in catching him and putting him in his little box.

So we got Max all boarded at his day spa… the Cat Connection… and then went to get something to eat.

Have you guys heard of this incredible new dish at KFC? Now, I am not a Kentucky Fried Chicken fan by any stretch of means but kick me in the ass and call me Polly, those famous bowls are a delicious way to work on a heart attack if I may say so myself.

So I had one of those (with a side of diabetic coma), Mister got his chicken strip meal and after we ate we headed out of town. Time? Three fucking o’clock.

Here’s the dish. Destin is a twelve to thirteen hour drive from Dallas. It was Friday at 3 p.m… Dallas weekend traffic starts… well, it starts the week before, really. We couldn’t check into our condo until Saturday at 3 p.m. (the next day) so I was looking at 24 hours to get there. No problem, I am used to long drives across the country. My issue was that we had not planned on where we wanted to stop. The no plans thing really kind of freaks me out. I am a planner ya’ll. I plan for a living. Not having a freaking plan makes me want to yell things at shrubbery and massage your grandmother.

But off we went.

We stopped in Slidell, LA at about 2 a.m. and got raped with a $149 room rate at a mother whacking Best Western. Best? Best, my ass.

Anyway, moving on.

I was all hyper about stopping in or around Mobile, AL so we would go to the Original Oyster House for lunch. The next morning we awoke and packed up our stuff. We didn’t eat breakfast because I wanted to save my taste buds for the she-crab soup.

The last time I went to the Original Oyster House I had the she-crab soup. Ya’ll? Ya’ll. This soup was creamy and buttery and tasted like sin itself. It was freaking pink but just about the best thing I had ever put in my mouth. I have lusted for the soup. I have yearned. I was so upset the last time we went through because we were running a little on the late side to get to the condo by 3 p.m. so we forwent the trip to The Original Oyster House for a trip to a rickety Wendy’s on Hwy 110.

So Saturday morning we woke up, peeled ourselves off of the sticky mattress (shudder) and took showers to wash the filth away. After our showers, repacking the Tahoe and filling up the gas tank we headed east towards Mobile and the Original Oyster House.

I called my parents on the way to let them know where we were and to tell them about my plans for lunch (I was with them for the miracle that was the she-crab soup) and my mother was all, “Oh, honey… I am so glad you told me what your plans were. The Original Oyster House got completely demolished by the hurricane.” I started to say something akin to disbelief and sorrow… I am sure it would have been totally eloquent… but then she said, “They rebuilt it about two miles up the road; you can see it from the highway.”

The relief that flooded me was absurd. It is a restaurant for Pete’s sake… not a hospital in Baghdad.

Hi, I am a fat girl. Can you tell? I have typed approximately five pages of information and roughly half of it is about freaking food.

So, yeah… back to the restaurant.


Mister and I didn’t go the last time we passed by on our way to Destin (in 2004) and I met him after the family went in 2002 so I have been hyping this Oyster House for… oh, say, four years. So it had a lot to live up too. We passed the old one that had been basically blown off of its stilts. We found the new one on Battleship Parkway (or whatever) two miles up from the busted up old place just like my mother said. Mister parked the Tahoe and I bounded out of the car like Tigger on crack all, “Hee! Race ya!”

We got inside and were seated by a sweet girl who introduced us to our waitress, Chatty McThroatyTalky. Chatty told us about the specials of the day and while she was rambling on in that ‘I have totally swallowed my voice box and I am speaking to you from my thorax’ voice it was all I could do to listen politely and not scream, “Just bring me the she-crab soup, woman!”

She finished her spiel, handed us menus, took our drink order and then asked if we had any questions. I looked from the soup section of the menu into her moonlike face, big teeth and vacuous eyes and asked her sweetly, “I don’t see it here on the menu, but does the chef still make the she-crab soup?” The “Dear God, Please!” was unspoken but totally out there. She blinked like four times then dashed my hopes and dreams (for lunch) by saying, “Oh, noooooo, we stopped making that years ago.” And she trotted off.

Bless Mister’s heart, I had asked him to wait on breakfast to we could dine on the sweet nectar of the she-crab soup and now it was two p.m., but yet… he still asked me, “I’m sorry that they don’t have the soup baby. Would you like to go somewhere else for lunch?”

“no.” I said, in a very small voice.

So we ordered, ate and then headed on to Destin. But before we left, we took a picture.

Click to make all pictures bigger. Thank you.

Not Worth the Hype
I would like to dub thee The Original Oyster Disappointment.

Destin, ahhh… Destin. I asked my parents because I truly could not remember how long we have been visiting this little piece of paradise on the emerald coast. They started coming even before my sister and I were born. As a family, we used to vacation in Destin every year when we lived in Georgia (Marietta) but we started just coming every other year when we moved to Texas in … 198…3? (My sense of time is so completely off.)

The first day we were there was Saturday. It was mainly for grocery shopping, getting the kids acclimated to the beach and the ocean, unpacking and getting things ready for the week. My sister and I decided to walk each morning… well actually, Colonel Klink (what I have decided to call her from now on) declared, nay proclaimed that we would walk every morning for our exercise and that we were going to go out every night.

Sunday morning we were up at 7:30, well, Col. Klink was up at around 5 a.m. with her youngest and I applauded her for not waking me sooner. We went for a 1.7 mile walk and sweated profusely. We went to the west that morning and the next morning I had a bright idea to walk to the east and maybe even to the Walgreens “just down around the corner”. Ya’ll? It was a 3.2 mile hike. That is like a 5K, or so Col. Klink says. I am not too bright with the whole mile to kilometer exchange.

Let’s discuss this for a moment shall we?

I walked 1.7 miles further than I have walked any morning previous to that Sunday and we even went out Sunday night. To a BAR. So that next morning when we walked the 5K… I… well, let’s just say that I am out of shape. Seriously and incredibly out of shape. Monday night we went out dancing and drinking as well, so Tuesday we took it easy on only walked a mile and a half. Wednesday we walked a bit more, a little over two miles… and Thursday morning? I gagged and bound Col. Klink, stuffed her into a closet and was back in bed sleeping like a baby by 8 a.m.

Other than my sister trying to kill me help me get into shape, we mainly spent the time cooking, laying on the beach, swimming in the ocean, lounging by the pool, going out to bars and nightlife arenas that made me feel so very very old, spending time with friends and family and looking at this:

View from the balcony.
Look at this view. If my hair would not be all nappy, I could probably live here just for the scenery.

Oh, and Mister shaved off his beard. He looks ten years younger. He did it, I think, Tuesday. I wish I could shave my face (or my back… heh) and look like I was 26 again. He looks great. He is all clean cut and doubly handsome. He had his beard and moustache for fourteen years. Fourteen years.

I’m rambling. There is so much to tell. New house, new car, clean shaven man, vacation to Destin, the tropical storm/hurricane that didn’t touch us at all… just made the waves really high and poundy, the drive there, the drive back, the great conversations and laughter, cute bunnies in my yard, Max being home from the boarders, seeing several movies including The Omen and Nacho Libre (Could there be two such different films to see so close together? I submit that there can not.)… oh, and fantastic po’boys from this awesome little gas station off of I-20 and I-59.

One last little picture because I have been on hold with TXU Electric now for 56 minutes (so not kidding) and I am about to loose my ladylike charm and go carnival psycho crazy on these poor customer service representatives.

See the yellow flag? The next day they put up a red over red flag which means ‘Danger Will Robinson… Do NOT go in the water’. At least they didn’t put up the purple flag, that means ‘Dangerous Marine Pests Present’.

I am glad to be home!

June 27, 2006

Goodbye Jenn See, We Love You

First thing is first. As some of you know I was out most of last week with some piddly upper respiratory infection. A shot, 24 hours bed rest and seven days on antibiotics later I am fine.

This morning as I was checking my work email and my personal emails something told me to check two of my favorite sites, monkey0 and my darling acorn, anne. I pulled them both up and while waiting for them to load I deleted some spam and checked my voicemail. When I returned to my browser I found a stunning picture of a turbulent grey sky hovering over the ocean, both sky and ocean as seen through the gauzy fabric of curtains, above the picture were these words, “Jenn See died. She was 26.”

Jenn See was not fine.

I did not know whether to just close down the browser so the information would go away and not be true or to try and find out more about this beautiful woman that I barely knew but respected immensely.

I looked at anne’s site and her words were so powerful, “Jenn showed me that writing could be a thing of joy, even in sadness…. [E]verytime I snap a picture of anything, everything, I think of her. Jenn showed me that photography was retaining a little of your childhood spirit, and letting it loose in the world.”

Still… there was no way that it could be true.

Jenn was so young, so expressive, a poet and a gorgeous person. She challenged people to see a picture, really see it and then she would or even sometimes ask you (dear reader) to give it a history, a plot, some emotion.

I finally took a deep breath and pointed my browser to Jenn’s site. It is true. She is gone and she will be missed.

The sweet comments, emails and her voice and vision have vanished forever.

You are missed Jenn See, missed and cherished. Loved and cursed for leaving too soon.

June 28, 2006

My best impression of Kevin Costner in Dances With Wolves.

Currently listening to Herschel* and thinking of all the stupid things I have done in my short and quite unremarkable history. This week has been filled with things that make me all reflective. Along with what I reported yesterday one of my coworkers lost her daughter last night. I feel like I am grasping at time and I am aware of not being able to tell those I love, that I love them enough.

This one story keeps circling the drain. I keep coming back to it while thinking about how lucky and watched over I have been. There have been nights when I have gotten in a car or truck to head home or to go on a road trip or something of the sort only to kind of shake myself from my reverie or my mental lapse halfway there; even worse… once I got to my destination and not remember the trip. Sometimes alcohol was involved, sometimes it was just exhaustion. I am just amazed that I even survived my twenties.

Let me lay down some facts that may or may not help you understand the strangeness of this story.
1) I was still in school and very young and stupid.
2) I knew G (at the time a Sheriff’s Deputy) for about a year before I knew he even had a brother.
3) I ended up marrying his brother.
4) Debra Jean (DJ) ended up marrying G.
5) The whole clan of them G, his parents and X lived on approx. 650 acres outside of the small college town that I lived in. In-laws lived on the west side… X lived in the middle and G lived on the east.

There was a crew of us that hung out in college. You guys have seen the pictures. A bunch of young scrawny kids grinning from ear to ear. Several of those that hung out with the crew were local. One was a lady who worked at the bar** we frequented, her name was Kelly. I loved Kelly. She was a little bit older than we were and she had previously been a teacher. She introduced me to Bonnie Raitt, Mulberry Wine lipstick and Bunko.

Kelly also lived with a singer/hairdresser that was an absolute knockout. The singer/hairdresser/Kelly’s roommate was named Debbie. She could sing “Desperado” like nobody’s business with a beautiful strong alto and a bit of rasp. Debbie was fond of having margarita and fajita parties and she had recently divorced the owner of the club where she sang onstage and where Kelly worked as the floor manager.

It was all so scandalous.

Late in the night after the bar would close many of us would make our way to the Hot Biscuit. It was a greasy spoon with the best French fries and a smoking section. This is where we met the local law enforcement, firemen and the ambulance drivers. They would come in at the end of the shift or to just break up the monotony of a long night on duty.

As I mentioned above, G was a Sheriff’s Deputy. He also happened to have land… land in those parts usually meant one of three things; chickens (gah.), cattle or horses. G had horses. I love horses.

The crew would sometimes head out to G’s house after the bar and the Hot Biscuit and saddle up a few horses and head out in the moonlight for a long ride. We would head north on the dirt road, when that dead ended into another we would turn east and then wind our way to the top of this small mountain. There was a clearing at the top of the mountain where a small house and an even smaller cemetery had been. Both were ravaged by the weather and the only company we had up there was the moon, the horses, a couple of grazing cows and each other.

If I was riding Hambone’s (a friend of G’s that boarded his horse at his house) horse, RC, I would feel comfortable enough to go bareback, coax him into a gallop, drop the reins and do my best impression of Kevin Costner in Dances With Wolves where he rides with his arms outstretched before a line of gunmen. The wind would rush by, my hair streaming out behind me, the moon so bright in the dark blue sky, the smell of pine in the cool air, eyes closed and a trusted horse beneath me.

I lived for moments like that.

Well moments like that and spin contests on the dance floor of the bar with Walt McG.

One night G was actually off duty so he came to the bar. He, Kelly and I decided to go riding after we left. It was pretty late but we headed out to G’s house, saddled the horses and just headed off. I was riding a big roan horse named applicably enough, Roan. Kelly was on a big rust colored quarter horse named Bo and G was riding a smaller quarter horse named Poco.

We left his circular dirt driveway and followed G across the “road” to another piece of property that G’s family used to own. I use quotations with “road” because it was a very dusty dirt road with sand taking it over and six foot walls of red clay on either side of it in some parts.

We entered the property to the south of G’s roping arena. We couldn’t cross anywhere else unless we went all the way up to the driveway of the little house that was set back from the road about 30 yards. There were walls of clay up to six feet and a fence that was broken in places. Across from the roping arena was a break in the clay wall that surrounded the dirt road and a fence opening. The three of us set off to ride around a small pond that was located further east on the property. He pointed out the little house in the distance by referencing the booger light and said that we would ride over there in a bit.

If you are wondering what a booger light is… it is basically a street light that most people in the country put up where the electricity enters their property. A telephone pole with a bright light on the top. Why is it called a booger light? No clue. I haven’t passed that redneck test yet.

We rode around the pond and then headed out to the pasture that was south of the house that G had pointed out. We were sitting there at like 3 a.m. on horses after we had spent a night at the bar. It was dark as hell because there was some cloud cover.

We chatted for a few minutes and then G goes, “Race ya’ll to the light!”

He took off but Kelly and I quickly overtook him with our larger, faster horses. Kelly cut to the left and headed to the light, I figured I could go straight and cut across the yard of the little house. That would be the quickest way.

G was behind us cursing up a blue streak. I whispered to Roan and he picked up speed. We cut through several of the large pine trees that surrounded the house, I would neck rein him to the right, he would drop a shoulder and almost pivot. I would neck rein him left and he would cut to the left. We were going so fast that everything was a blur. And then I saw it.

The little house was surrounded by a six foot tall cyclone fence (chain link). The fence shone dully in the glow of the booger light.

If the fence would have been any shorter I wonder if I would have tried to jump it with Roan. He was a roping horse, would he jump? I am not sure. I pulled to the left HARD, shifted my weight in the saddle and Roan did an almost 90 degree turn. I let a small breath out. I thought we were safe. Roan made about two and a half long strides and then I remembered the fence and the property line that dropped off about six feet to the dirt road below. I shifted to the right and pulled on Roan to follow, he did a complete 90 degree turn to the right. I am convinced that if he was going any slower I would have fallen off.

We spotted the booger light and I slowed him down as soon as we reached it. I didn’t want to go past it as my sight had been compromised by the bright light and wouldn’t adjust quickly enough. I supposed neither would Roan’s and I had no idea what was laying beyond the circle of light we now stood under.

Kelly beat us there and G came shortly after. I was shaking so hard from the adrenaline rush and Roan was prancing around beneath me. I wanted to punch G square in the mouth. He was laughing and I was cursing him and Kelly was all, “Holy shit, did you see that? Holy shit! Holy shit, G, did you see that? Sue? Are you ok? Oh My GOD.”

G said something in his normal quiet tone and then headed east along the perimeter of the fence. I couldn’t hear him as my blood was pounding in my head and I was so jacked up on nerves and relief that Roan was so incredibly awesome.

G called out from the darkness. I couldn’t see him at all on Poco. Kelly turned Bo towards G’s voice and trotted off after him. Roan and I stayed put in the relative safety of the booger light. Then a large thud echoed out of the darkness and following shortly after, “Ow, fuck.” And then a groan.

I hollered, “Are ya’ll alright?” as Roan and I cautiously made our way to the north east corner of the fence. My eyes adjusted to the light I saw two horses, one facing due south the other facing due east. There weren’t people on them. I looked closer and Kelly and G were on the ground. Kelly looked up and said, “He broke my pussy.” And then she rolled onto her back and cursed quietly. Bo (who was facing east) nosed Kelly and Poco (who was facing south) just stood there looking stunned.

G said, “We have to get back to the house, come on… get back on Bo…” Kelly cursed G and then worked on climbing back on Bo. I asked them what happened. G said, “I hollered for ya’ll to follow me. I had stopped and turned sideways, but I didn’t realize I was just out of the range of the light. Kelly and Bo started this way… fast… and ran straight into the side of Poco… directly into my right leg.”

Kelly replied, “You fucking bastard, you broke my pussy.” “Suck it up and get back on your horse. You’ll be fine. My leg is starting to swell.” G said. “Well how do you think my princess is!? Swelling! That’s HOW!” “Did you hit the saddle horn with your privates?” “Oh Lord, yes.”

Both Kelly and G got back on their horses and we took all three of the horses back to the pasture, unsaddled them and went into the house to asses the damage. G’s leg was swelling and bruised and he and I both decided to let Kelly give us a report on how she was doing as opposed to looking at the damage ourselves. She was thankful to be wearing jeans or she swears her princess would have just fallen right off.

Please CLICK HERE for an unbelievably lifelike rendition of the above story.

*Is it just me or does Eric Clampton’s (I) Get Lost just make you want to cry?

**OH MY GOD, did I tell ya’ll that Jitterbugs burned down?

About June 2006

This page contains all entries posted to Suzanna Danna in June 2006. They are listed from oldest to newest.

May 2006 is the previous archive.

July 2006 is the next archive.

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

Powered by
Movable Type 3.35