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August 8, 2006

His knee, that I affectionately refer to as FrankenKnee ...

self: Hi, last entry.
last entry: Hi.
self: Are you a little embarrassed?
last entry: [sheepishly] yes.
self: May I change your name to “brick”?
last entry: If you must. I thought I was funny.
self: Apparently not, I would say it was more along the lines of uncomfortable and crass.
last entry: Really?
self: Really.
last entry: I can do better.
self: No, I am sorry… you are dead to me.
last entry: [sniff]

So, yeah. About that ya’ll. Let’s just pretend that the last entry never happened.

Let me tell ya’ll about what has been going on. For those of you who are new to the site and haven’t rifled through the archives to learn morsels about me, I am married to a retired Marine. We call him Mister.

When Mister was a young man he tore up his knee during the time of his enlistment. Is enlistment the right word? Anyway, he tore up his knee… his left knee. They scoped it a couple of times to see what the damage was and it was this: I may totally be jacking this story up but, long story short… he tore the ligament away from the bone. The ligament didn’t tear… he actually tore the ligament, the ACL, (and a piece of bone) away from the lower leg bone… tibia right?

They did a major surgery on his left leg, inserted three screws into his knee and then started him on physical therapy. The physical therapy guy… on the first day of PT for Mister gave him 3rd degree burns on his knee with a hot pack. Mister’s knee was still numb from the surgery and he felt heat and discomfort and let the PT guy know. The PT guy lifted the hot pack, fanned Mister’s leg and said, “Well, you just have two minutes left, we’ll just put it back on there.”

The PT had to stop because the blister on his skin (knee) had to form, slough off (gross) and then they had to do a skin graft from Mister’s groin region to replace the skin that was burned off by whom I would say is the most incompetent physical therapist in the world.

After the burn healed they had to scope his knee again and remove scar tissue that built up during the whole burning the top of his knee-skin issue.

Suffice it to say, he was medically retired from the Marines… with honors.

That was about twenty years ago. His knee, that I affectionately refer to as FrankenKnee still gives him trouble. The cartilage inside is all jacked up and he normally stands mostly on his right leg to take some weight off of his bad knee.

That is why he was so freaked out when back on July the 17 at like 5:45 a.m. he was bending down to get his luggage to get on a plane for Memphis and his right knee audibly made a popping/cracking sound and Mister almost passed out from the immediate pain. Ya’ll… he saw stars.

He regained his composure, limped to his gate, went to Memphis, met with his Sales team, went on to somewhere in Indiana and did a presentation.

Hello, did I mention that he is tough?

That evening he went to an emergency care place, they gave him a brace and some medication for swelling and pain.

Ya’ll? I was in San Antonio*.

He? Was in Indi-fucking-ana.

And, he was hurt.

(And Galen was staying with Stacey and giving her hell. Gah, sorry Stacey!)

So to condense what has happened in the last few weeks it goes like this:
1) Mister tears up his good knee.
2) Mister does an amazing presentation in INDIANA and comes back Tuesday afternoon.
3) Mister goes to a doctor (orthopedic specialist) on Wednesday the 19th.
4) Doctor orders X-Rays and MRIs and concludes that Mister tore his meniscus (that cartilage crap between the bones of the leg beneath the knee cap thingy).
5) Mister calls his boss to let him know what was going on later that afternoon.
6) Mister’s work forces him into workman’s comp and to file FMLA papers.
7) Awesome orthopedic-specialist-surgeon-type-man will not work on workman’s comp cases.
8) Fuck.
9) Mister has to start from square one to find an orthopedic doctor/surgeon that will work with workman’s comp cases.
10) Mister does not get to see anyone until the following Monday.
11) Over the weekend Mister, who has not had one call from his boss takes the time one Saturday evening (because he can not sleep… hurty knee) at like 2 a.m. and sends out a few résumés.
12) Awesome Orthopedic Surgeon Guy that DOES take workman’s comp cases is found and is wonderful. He sees Mister on Monday July 31st and schedules Mister for surgery to repair his meniscus and other damage on August 3rd.
13) After doctor’s appointment on Monday the 31st Mister is asked to interview with a company who loves his résumé.
14) New Company calls him back on Wednesday the 2nd and ask him to come meet the CFO.
15) CFO and new company love him… it is hearts and flowers… and money… and an awesome benefits package.
16) Mister has yet to receive one phone call or email from his boss. Current employer (Whom I like to call SATAN) turned off his phone, his email access and basically ostracized him to Siberia. “But it is for your own good, you need to focus on getting better.” This from the HR person. Oh… bullshit.
17) Surgery.
18) Surgery went well.
19) Emails from company he interviewed with wishing him well and telling him he is awesome, that they will send butterflies, kittens and rainbows but to make sure and feel better soon. That they totally love him is implied. That they may want to have his babies can be read between the lines.
20) Nothing from present boss or company… ever… till this day. (Can ya’ll tell that this lack of consideration pisses me off to no end?)
21) Ya’ll like lists right?
22) Follow up appointment with surgeon goes well on Friday.
23) Weekend spent napping, watching movies (by the way… Brazil… WTF?) being bitten by a small, three pound badger that looks suspiciously like a puppy, cooking doing laundry and caring for Mister.
24) Monday… Mister gets a call from the HR lady at the company he interviewed with, “We… we love you man.” And they offered him a job. A great job. He accepted and immediately got a welcome email from the CFO who was all, “We wanted to offer you the job on Friday… but with 24 hours after your surgery and the threat of anesthesia still in your system… ha ha ha!” And then they made out… figuratively speaking, of course.
25) Yesterday during lunch, I went home, picked up Mister’s resignation letters for his current company and hand delivered them.
26) Still nothing from his boss.
27) Gah.
28) But YAY! New and improved knee and a new job!

And I think that is all.

Oh, and happy hour tonight with my girls at Sherlock’s. Lord, I am so ready for a drink.

*In San Antonio our contact at the hotel was all, “Ladies, we would like to give you a 30 minute massage, on the house… is 5:00 p.m. a good time for you?” My coworker and I jumped at the chance. My coworker was rubbed down by a large mean looking lesbian whose name was Susan. I… on the other hand was rubbed down by creepy breathing guy who freaked me out so bad that I pulled something in my side from trying not to flee from the table. Apparently Susan rocked at the whole massage thing and my coworker almost fell asleep. I? Am still fighting the lingering muscle spasms on my left ribcage.
Booo creepy breathing massage guy!

August 14, 2006

This was supposed to be something about not being able to travel with lip gloss, but I got side tracked.

While at happy hour with the girls the other evening the subject material turned raunchy as we regaled Stephanie’s sister Jen with this story. And then the awesomeness of the evening ramped up a notch … OR TWELVE! Because Jen got up to go to the ladies room and Steph said, “Didn’t one of us make out with him? Randy, I mean? [silence for about 10 seconds while she strolled down memory lane] Oh… Oh, my God… was it me!?” Kerry and I let out peals of laughter that harbor seals would have been jealous of, said laughter drew the attention of every patron in the bar and caused Jen to come running back to the table from halfway across the room, “Shit! What did I miss?”


Oh, and then? Kerry sent us all an email the next morning that said (posted here for my memory’s sake… and to make you cry a little bit… like I did):

Hey Sistas!! (Susan, Stacey, Steph & Jenn)

What a blast it was to see you last night! I have not laughed that hard in a very long time. Good Times!!!

I cannot wait till we are all grey & we meet at the community room at a local retirement village to look back at our entire lives. We will always be able to laugh & cry together.

Thank you so much for being in my life. I love you & I cherish your friendships more than you will ever know!!

Much Love,


Makes ya a little misty huh?

I also wanted to discuss this latest terrorist threat thing. No, I don’t want to go down the, “We’re all gonna DIE!” path with ya’ll. I want to talk about something that is near and dear to my heart.

My makeup.

Did ya’ll know that the airlines were making the passengers and the flight attendants do? The women (and some saucy men) had to throw away their makeup.

To wit:

No liquids or gels of any kind will be permitted in carry-on baggage. Items must be in checked baggage.
Exception: baby formula, breast milk, or juice if a baby or small child is traveling; prescription medicine, insulin and essential other non-prescription medicines.

Source: Department of Homeland Security. Link found here.

Anything that is in a tube, it a liquid or a lotion… Gone. Tossed. Make up, being thrown away. (And somewhere Elizabeth Arden is turning in her four poster bed … er her grave. Sorry Liz..) A coworker just came into my cube and she said, “What would you do if they made you throw away your entire make up bag and it’s contents that you carry in your purse?” I replied, “Someone would go down with a jacked up tooth.” As I applied a base coat of Burt’s Bees lip balm and then a dab or two across my lips of M*A*C lipstick in “O”.

Not sure if you guys have realized this yet or not but… I have a problem.

A few months back Miss Sheryl at did a little story where she asked her readers to take a picture of what is in their purses. The piece was called “in the bag” and it chronicled the very low maintenance, the mommy purses (the ones with all the food) and then those of us who really have issues. Namely, me.

I sent Sheryl two pictures of Elvira. (Both included below for your viewing and judgmental pleasure.)

The first picture was one of Elvira with her top zipper open and me… every so adoringly, peering inside.

This is what I normally see.

And the second one was basically is a very disturbing and quite detailed photo of what treasures that Elvira holds in her day to day duty.

Ya’ll know I love this purse. As we speak friends of mine and coworkers alike are gathering a plotting when to call in the reinforcements of Stacey and Clinton on TLC’s What Not to Wear because I wear black pants like three or four days a week and I have been carrying this fucking purse for neigh on two years. Seriously ya’ll. Two years. September 26th will be two years that Elvira has been mine, all mine.

And when Mister bought her for me as an anniversary present I suggested that she needed a car seat… and he thought that I. Was. Kidding.

It is relatively apparent that I am a twisted individual.

There was something that I was going to tell ya’ll and because it has taken me like four days to write this I have totally forgotten. Maybe it will come to me.

August 21, 2006

I also have an unhealthy obsession with Corey Hart and or George Jones.

You know you’ve been gone from your journal for a while when you have to actually look at the last entry written to see what the hell you were babbling about. I also had to delete at least three failed attempts to put together something coherent.

Lately I have also taken to leaving myself messages on my work voicemail with random thoughts just to get past them and get the thoughts out of my head… and also (fingers crossed) as fodder for new journal entries. The messages are as odd and disjointed as my thought process is at the time.

Picture this: Driving the hoopty in 106 degree heat that has rendered the inside of the car a balmy eleventy hundred degrees and the steering wheel a veritable cornucopia of unpleasant sensations, namely the BURNING of my hands! Oh Lord, the BURNING! Massive traffic. Radio turned to Jack FM or 101 WRR (???) and calling aunts and uncles and then myself and leaving shit like this (see link below) on my answering machine.

Anyway, I am just trying to pimp out storeandserve.com by attempting to download this voice message so you guys can be privy to the grammatical raping and constant uhm’s and uhhh’s and the dead air and … oh, yes, AND the lateral lisp. Ya’ll should hear me say sassafras. It is precious.
I give thee…
the voice mail in question.

You may have to jack with it a bit to get it to play, or download the file… or, or, or… I don’t know. It really isn’t all that important.

The whole point was this; I love ya’ll. I have been trying to sit down a write a little diddy just for you. Yes, just for you. But instead I have been leaving myself messages that may as well be in Sanskrit for all they do to jolt that perfect idea I had at the time of message leaving.

So let’s put some of these messages together and try to give you a sound entry, shall we?

I’d like to discuss the message left from the link above, it was a great idea about publishing a ‘Dating Guide for the Single Girl’ type of book. I wanted to make sure that women knew some of the secret language of dating.

I found out some of these things the hard way… especially since I was culling the herd (and then dating the culls) with some of the quality men I met on the internet.

Within the confines (ha.) of chatting and dating online you will run into profiles and sadly enough people who lie. And I am not talking about the obvious high school photos that are being sent out as current pics. I am talking about the men who say the following to you over a course of how ever long it takes for him to talk you into meeting him somewhere in public. It is normally the man’s preference that you are not holding an active can of mace and the leash of an attack dog named Cujo… with Cujo attached to the leash when the first meeting actually occurs.

Men will try to disarm (hopefully, not physically) a woman with words. They will tell you all about themselves and their hopes, dreams and aspirations. They will tell you about their job history and they will tell you about their children and their soon-to-be ex wives whom they haven’t seen in months.

They will say things like, “I am really just looking for a close friendship and someone I can hang out with.” The translation for this is simple, “I am really just looking for some casual sex with someone who may be cool to play air hockey with and whom I will not feel obligated to call every day because, hey… we’re just friends, right?”

I want to help women with the translation for certain terms certain things that should throw red flags and would normally except most women who chat online and date men from IRC are drunks.

I was.


No, seriously.

Don’t go away. Put down the Arizona Green Tea and Stoli and let’s talk a little.

Let me just give you a few words of advice. I started chatting on IRC when I was like 27 and put up profiles in match.com and yahoo personals, and who knows what else when I moved back to Dallas after my divorce.

I learned a few things over the years. Hopefully you will find them useful.

If a man you met online tells you, “I am separated.” You can almost bet on the fact that his wife is in the other room nursing a baby… or bourbon and thinks that her darling husband is just playing John Madden or some online blackjack.

If a man you met online tells you or if you see anywhere in his profile, “I am just such a passionate person.” This actually means, “I was housed in a correctional facility for my ‘passion’ when I was in my early forties.” Or better yet, “I am so passionate that I will smother you with love. And not in a good way.” Stalker.

If a man you met online tells you that he is very earthy and in touch with nature you can be pretty sure that he probably smells like Kim chi and if you are lucky? High Karate.

If he also says that he is extremely aware of the environment, this is basically him saying, “Yanno, I am too cheap to have my own transportation. I also have a class issue and refuse to use public transportation, would you mind picking me up to take me to work? And just so you know, later when I am drinking my dark ale… my righteous indignation will be fodder for a drunken cry (complete with sobbing and a lot of snot) because I am so passionate about… life, man.”

If a man you met online tells you that he is extremely affectionate this may mean that he won't get out of your car and you will have to drive to the police department to have him physically removed.

If a man you met online tells you that he is absolutely positive that the government is out to get him, three words… Mel Gibson - Conspiracy. Seriously. Check it out. I dated that guy.

And my favorite of all times… if a man you met online tells you that he wants to move to Dallas because the job market is better and, “Can I stay with you for just a few days? Seriously, I will get my own place in like three days tops.” What he really means is (and ya’ll… I fell for this shit twice. Twice. (Oh, shit… almost three times) Ya’ll know.), “I want to come and stay with you because I am financially retarded and you need to take care of me. Mommy? Is that you? Where’s the food? Also, can you put a down payment on a car for me to have repossessed in about a month and a half? Oh, and then? Then… I want you to either get so tired of me you run me off or put a down payment on an apartment, rent a U-Haul, go get my shit and physically move me yourself. And, I also have an unhealthy obsession with Corey Hart/George Jones.”

I think a book like this would be a hit. We could put it under the Self Help section and title it something like, “The Stupid Shit that Susan Did. Don’t Make the Same Mistakes.”

Well, really, my whole journal could be testimony to that. No?

August 29, 2006

"Get your facts straight before you complain."

Ya’ll know I am crazy right? Oh, ya’ll know.

Ya’ll also know that I could handle a catastrophic event with strength and grace and I am usually fairly pleasant… but, BUT, if someone is rude or fails to do what they say they are going to do… in writing*, I basically lose my shit.

*For example: Say you are a convention center or a large hotel property and you tell a group that they are your first priority when they come to spend thousands and thousands of dollars at your venue and pay $3.75 (+ tax + service charge) for every freaking can of CoCola and all they want is a little attention from the service staff. Then, let’s say that you give someone a direct date to send all the materials for the conference/convention/seminar/whatever that the person is having. Then, oh, just for fun, let’s say that you fail to tell your security guard to expect said materials and the freaking security guard sends your materials away, back to UPS never never land, never to be seen again, unless you rent a freaking Suburban and have someone go GET said materials. Seriously. This all happened two years ago at the San Antonio Convention Center… This kind of shit right here? This is the kind of shit that will make me carnival psycho crazy.

Oh, and also? When people are mean and back stabby and rude.

I seriously hope that I do not get fired for this post ya’ll. And since I have never mentioned my work place (love you work place!) by name then maybe I won’t get the boot.

Let’s just put all of this hypothetically shall we?

(Gah, just want to scream! So, so mad.)

Say, for instance that you have an IT department at your workplace. Everyone is fairly nice and stable. And let’s say that your director ordered a new laptop last year… oh, in say… November. Let’s also just guess that this new laptop was supposed to be for you and your team to order wireless service when you travel so you can register people onsite, work on your reconciliation and basically be efficient.

Not for… oh, just the purpose of printing out labels.

Let’s be crazy and suppose that the laptop won’t connect to the system. Ever. Let’s also be sort of wild and extreme and say that you, yourself have documented over nine conferences where the laptop would not connect to the system. Let’s also go out on a limb and say that you received a full day’s help from the audio/visual/tech departments on more than one occasion and they couldn’t figure it out.

Maybe you also dream of coding those charges to the IT department until they get the laptops all squared away.

Maybe you took the laptops home and could log on…. For seven minutes and then the system would kick you off. But you could log on from your husband’s system and stay there all freaking day.

No problems with surfing the web so no problems with the wireless systems. Just problems with logging into your system.

Just as a crazy girl may do, let’s just speculate that you called your IT Technology Support Specialist and gave him the information that you had gathered one morning while at a conference and maybe, just maybe you heard this coming back from the other end of the phone, “Get your facts straight before you complain.”

Let’s say that you didn’t jump on a plane, abandoning your attendees and your coworker to go strangle the support specialist and instead you handed off the phone to the in-house tech guy at the hotel.

Let’s also dream and maybe hallucinate that your director can not work her voicemail with the six pages of instructions to work the phone system so she asks you to change her voicemail while she is gone attending to her father’s funeral. Suspend reality and just go with the notion that you probably took care of this for her.

You may have also been thanked profusely for doing this. And when hearing on how you can actually change your own voicemail, maybe other members of your team ask you how do work this voodoo that you do. You might just help a few bothers and sisters out. Maybe.

Perhaps you were in San Antonio last week. Let’s also say that you have given up on calling IT about your laptop issues and that you actually called the Data Ops Manager of the venue you were planning on going to last week, you gave him your metaframe website and your password, login and network information. Maybe he got in, maybe… well, let’s just suspend disbelief and guess that he got in just fine from his system. (HE DID.) And that while you were in San Antonio that you took your laptop, and your director’s laptop and neither one was able to log in… Except from 7:08 am until 7:15 am on the first day. Then the system kicked your ass out and never let you back in the whole time you were there.

Following me?


Now… let’s just propose that you are sitting at your desk today after being blackballed from the IT department for your documentation of the laptop issues and you hear that your coworker’s voicemail is not working. You also hear someone from IT go to said coworker’s desk and the following conversation takes place.

CoWorker: My voicemail is all jacked up.
IT lady: What did you do to it?
CoWorker: Nothing.
IT lady: You mean you didn’t get all in the system like Susan because she is CURIOUS?!

The word ‘curious’ was said with total venom.

I did not touch my coworker’s voicemail, nor have I messed with the set up or anything database-y with the laptops, but yet I am now considered Public Enemy Number One with the IT group.

Oh My God. I am so angry.

I let my boss know just so he wouldn’t be surprised if I got all stabby on someone. And of course he won’t do anything. If he were any more laid back, he’d be dead. And my director won’t say anything to the IT director because the IT director is all defensive and protective of his team.

I told my director yesterday that our new laptop and her laptop are all well and good within the building and inside our wireless network, but outside it… they are just expensive label makers.

Coworker is now calling me Curious George.


[Deep breath…. DEEEEEP breath.]

Happy thoughts.

Mister loves his job and the dog threw up on me yesterday morning.

That is all.

About August 2006

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

July 2006 is the previous archive.

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