Suzanna Danna

Let’s all breathe a collective sigh of relief. I haven’t told you guys what is going on because… well, frankly, I didn’t know how to express what I was feeling. Also, I didn’t want to put this in writing until I knew that she was ok.

Ok, I just wrote then promptly deleted like six paragraphs of stuff. The long and the short of it is; Stacey went into the hospital on Saturday. The doctors were worried that she had either bacterial or viral meningitis. She was put into isolation for three days and just got out yesterday.

The tests (spinal tap (!!! And also… EEEEEE!) ect.) are conclusive, it was viral. She is drained and still in a bit of pain but when I went to into see her either Sunday or Monday* (I think it was on Monday) she was still coherent enough to say, “Hey. Where is Elvira?”

Hee! But also, Awwwww.

*I got to wear a mask and scrub in each time I went. I totally was looking for a hazmat suit, but no one rocks the yellow hazmat and big silver hat thing like Renee Russo in Outbreak.

So yes, I have been praying and calling and calling and praying and Stacey, she is the toughest woman I know. And I love her.

Admit it, ya’ll love her too.

Ok, now, on the lighter side of things (I have 15 minutes to write this and then I have to leave… I am never gonna make it… and? I have to pee.) (Damn. Ten minutes.)

I would like to tell ya’ll a little story about a man. A man whose glasses were so thick he could see the future. A man with tee-tiny little chicken legs and a big fu-manchu mustache. A man… a myth… a legend. Seth.

(Next day… picking up where I left off.)

Seth was a permanent fixture in our college lives. We went dancing almost five nights a week and there he would be. He was always around. I could always see him out of the corner of my eye. He was bowlegged and he hardly ever took his hands out of his pockets. Well, they really weren’t his whole hands, just more of both thumbs hooked into the front pocket of his jeans, as if any moment you would be witness to finger guns or a point and a wink.

Seth was a slight, thin man with a dour expression a massive black felt hat that he wore regardless of the season or occasion and a distinctive heel first walk. Sort of like he was doing the first part of the Cotton-Eyed-Joe dance with every step.

He had a slight lisp and would spit a little when he asked, “Wanna dansh?” The spittle would form in the corners of his mouth or get caught in the hairs of his overgrown porn-stache.

He and Lee (Lee, also known as Tatanka) started giving free dance lessons to whoever would show up to the bar at on Wednesdays at 6pm. The dance class lasted an hour and they would give instructions on how to do the electric slide, the hustle (hi, these are basically the same thing… GET MORE MATERIAL) or (heh) the Cotton Eye’d Joe. Sometimes they would break out of the line dance symposium and try to teach some of the people to waltz or polka.

Most of the time, no one showed up so Lee and Seth would end up dancing in an empty bar with Brooks and Dunn’s “Neon Moon” playing in the background. The music would echo slightly because the place was deserted.

Seth had rhythm. I am not sure if he had music or could ask for anything more… but he did have rhythm, and once in a while he would run through the ranks of all the women in the bar trying to get one of them to dance to his favorite jam.

I would dance with Seth when he started to look frightened that the song would end and no body, not even Lee would dance with him.

Sorta sad.

Anyway, I was finishing up college and needed an elective course for one of my semesters. I picked welding.

Ok, I’ll stop right here for a minute to let the laughter die down.

Let’s ease you into this sorta slow. I. Took. A. Welding. Class.

Can you guess who the teacher’s assistant was? You guessed it in one (stop screaming at your monitor Trix.). That’s right. Seth. He of the glorious flannel/plaid shirts and a woven belt that he could tuck into the left pocket of his jeans. Yes, Seth. He was so skinny that the belt just about wrapped around his waist twice. He was to be my personal assistant during this time of learning about… uh… welding.

I learned a bunch in that class. It wasn’t at all like Jennifer Beals depicted it in Flashdance. That whore. It was mig, tig, arc, stick and learning to lay a nice bead when the weld site was above my head. Ya’ll. There was math involved.

There was also an Oxy-Acetylene torch that I made my bitch. I was the best cutter in the class. Including Seth.

Seth started calling me at home asking if I wanted to study.

Like I needed to study. Well, yeah, ok… I needed to study. That is not the point. Yes, math is hard. What? Yes, I failed my final. Shut up. MATH.

So around this time Trixie (Debra Jean) started leaving me messages on my home phone, “He, it’s Debra. Are ya’ll coming over for dinner tonight? Oh, and… you love Seth.” So I would call her back, “Yeah, we’re coming. Need anything, Seth Lover?” So this went on for a few months and then she let it drop… but me? Now, would I let something like that go? No, nooooo. Have any dead horses I can beat? I’m your gal. As long as it doesn’t include math.

I would stealth call her house or send her a text message via ICQ, Yahoo or whatever. “You love Seth!” “Seth and Debra sitting in a tree… K-I-S-S-I-N-G.” Yes. Very mature. I would also leave her notes around her house, her car and in her purse. She wouldn’t find them for weeks and sometimes months at a time so I took to dating the little notes, “6/8/94 – Oh, and did I mention?... You love Seth.”

So the next time you see or talk to her, remember to tell her, “You love Seth!”

Up next? Buffalos!