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October 2, 2006

Sick sense of humor... and bad timing.

Scene from this morning.

CoWorker J: [reading out of the paper or MSNBC.com or something] Well, it says here that several Amish people got killed yesterday.
CoWorker D: What happened?
CoWorker J: Well, I’m still reading…
self: Was it road rage?
CoWorker C: Susan, you are so going to hell.
self: I know.
CoWorkers-all: [finally getting the joke] BWa AHA hahahahahahahahaHAHAHheeeee ha ha ha heh. Heh.

I left to go pee because I was about to wet myself from laughing so hard. “Jedediah … bring me the… well, we don’t use guns… or electricity… uh, bring me the mule and the hoe.”

I had massive cramps on my right side from trying to shut the hell up as my donkey bray of laughter was echoing through the cube farm. When I came back from the ladies restroom my director called me into her office, “Susan? Why were you laughing so hard?”

I was standing there… sweating, holding my right side where I had a laugh stitch.

My reply, “Please don’t make me tell you?... Please? I will start laughing again.”

“You realize… that everyone can hear you. Tell me.”

“Well, uhm… Amish people died and I suggested the cause was… road rage.”

Of course she just looked at me and said, “I guess you had to be there.”

October 4, 2006

But then again, I don't get embarrassed easily. See also: I like the song London Bridge by Fergie.

Ok, I don稚 want to point any fingers or lay the blame on anyone for any wrong doings, but I just have to know. Who in the hell punched me in the face� twice� while I was sleeping?

I woke up at like dawn痴 ass crack (4:38 A�M�(!)) and sat up, Mister mumbled, 的値l let him out.� and then he just lay there. The dog was whimpering quietly like every two minutes in a very apologetic way that sounded sort of like, 滴mmm?� As in, 撤ardon me, but would you mind letting me out so that I may use the toilet, m値ady?� So I shook Mister and asked him, 鄭re you really going to let him out?� He mumbled, 添es, YES.� and got out of bed to take the dog out.

I stayed in bed, laying there for about ten minutes wondering what the hell I had been dreaming about (Consequently, it was about a long-lost great aunt who had helped my great, great grand father raise his 12 children� she was nicknamed Smokey � because of the color of her eyes � and when my great, great grandfather wrote her a letter when she had left home he addressed it to Smokey Black. She was all 摘ff you old man, you don稚 want to claim me as kin, fine� I知 a changing my name to Smokey Black for good.� It was all very scandalous. (And can I be any more parenthetical? I suppose that I could, yes.)) and that is when I noticed that my face felt like I had been punched in the jaw, twice.

Where my jawbone connects to the rest of my head is a-fire on both sides of my face. I feel like I rolled out of bed sometime during the night and promptly fell and landed on my chin. My teeth don稚 hurt, but it hurts to hold my top and bottom jawbones together.

Did you hit me? No?

Well then what about you?

You there, with the clown shoes. Did you?

Ya値l. I know you didn稚 beat me while I lay dreaming (of Smokey Black!... Arrggggh. Was she a pirate?). A few months ago I went to the dentist. I love the dentist. It may be because I have never had an issue with periodontal disease or because I only have three tee-tiny fillings in my head, but I love the dentis(th)t. I have strong teeth, they aren稚 the most blindingly white teeth and I do have a small space in between the front two*, like Madonna� the singer, not the Mother of Christ� but they are mine.

*It is kind of embarrassing as the gap has only appeared over the past four years or so. But then again, I don稚 get embarrassed easily. See also: I like the song London Bridge by Fergie.

While I was getting my teeth cleaned and buffed I inquired about the space and maybe getting them whitened. So they scheduled a consultation for me with my (dear Lord, he is hot) dentist, Dr. Wood. And No. I am SO not kidding about the name.

I went back a few weeks later for the consultation and they put me in the chair. I flipped my hair off my neck and adjusted that little paper bib thingy so as to look as hot as humanly possible for the incredibly cute� Dr. Wood. Right, like that is achievable. Dentis(th)ts� chair, paper bib, laying prone, business causal attire, most likely lipstick on my teeth. Lord. Oh, there he is, there he is� do I have a double chin when I am lying this way? Are my pants puckering as to make me look like a she-male? Oh, great. The LIGHT. Yes, hi, how are you. Dear God, your teeth are perfect. Why yes, thank you, I will take the mirror and look at what you are showing me. MY EYES! Why would you use that bright ass light and give me a magnifying mirror. You could park a Buick in my nose pores.

Finally, I stopped freaking out about how cute he is, how perfect his teeth are, how imperfect my teeth are and that I had some sort of glitter thing in the corner of my eye. It looked like I was trying too hard, like I put glitter (?) there to draw attention to my eye corner because the LIGHT WAS SO BRIGHT, Dear God! The Light! But hey, check out my perfectly natural and totally cute (glittery) eye corner.

I know. I need help. Maybe some prescription help. Or booze?

I started listening to him and maybe even answering questions. I am sure he had asked me the same questions like eight times as I was lying there totally and narcissistically looking at my nose pores and eye corner.

Do I grind my teeth? No. No, I don稚 think so. Don稚 you have to be totally jacked up on massive amounts of stress to grind your teeth? (You, there, in the clown shoes, I do not need helpful hints from you that I am jacked up. Okee Dokee?) Bring my teeth together� ok� now move my lower jaw to the right? Oh. Yes, I do see how the top teeth fit in the grooves of the lower ones. Move my lower jaw to the left? Ah. Yes, I see.


A bite plate?

Invisiline braces and whitening? It would be my dream to have perfectly straight and blindingly white teeth. Yes, ok. Um. How much?

So, Dr. McHottie Wood left after spending about a half hour with me and I was ushered into the Insurance Lady痴 (yes, that is her name) office. She told me that I could have the teeth of my dreams for X amount. I was already prequalified for 18 months interest free payments. It was almost used car salesman-y.

展hat can I do to get you into that shiny new set of teeth today?�

Honestly ya値l? I really want to do it. I talked to Mister and we have been playing the, 展hich would you rather have� a pool or new teeth? A new car � or new teeth? A Vacation or� new teeth?� But then again we also play the, 的f you were Mister痴 favorite movie what would you be?� game. By the way, the answer is Thunderball. So I don稚 know. This is the first morning that I have woken up with monster pain from my face trying to eat itself at night.

My worry is that Dr. McHottie Wood said that my Invisiline braces would require about 10 trays (a new tray every two weeks). I don稚 want to wait until it requires 12, 14 or 16 trays. Have any of you done the Invisiline route? Steph did before she got married three years ago and she has the most gorgeous smile.

October 16, 2006

Would it be okay if I crashed his "All ME All the time" weekend with my parents.

“If my phone hangs up on you, it’s not because I think you’re stupid.”

The above quote courtesy of my sister as I was just telling her a heartfelt and tear jerking story about clipping my baby’s toenails last night.

And…. Scene.

Seriously, I typed that last Thursday afternoon, saved it for some reason then ran off for the weekend with my beloved to my parents' house for a golf and gumbo hoopla.

I’ll back up a bit so you won’t think me completely mad. (Also, I have been cheating on all of you. For the past few weeks I have been rummaging through the archives of Julia’s Journal - Here be Hippogriffs; ok, ok, ok… yes, I did start at her very first entry and have been reading them in consecutive order since the very first word. I am very Type A [read: Crazy] like that. So I have not had time to write entries for you. For the love of all that is Holy… ya’ll, I am only at July of 2006. JULY! And, I may secretly be a little in love with her. Okay, a LOT.)

Originally this past weekend was supposed to be a complete riot with women, wine, whooping and hollering. Or, um. Some sort of alliteration that has to do with a bunch of my girlfriends getting together for a small weekend, at a lake or ocean somewhere with a bunch of booze. Here’s how that went down. “Oh, I’m pregnant.” “Me too.” “Oh, there is a draught in Texas, no water, poooh.” “My… spleen (?) is swollen.” “I just had meningitis.” “I have seventeen kids and no child care.” “Ok, um… then we’ll put it off for a couple of weeks? Months? How about next year?”

So it was down to Stacey and I. (Hi Stacey!) And we were all, “We’re gonna go to San Antonio and drink on the Riverwalk and cause a ruckus and have strange men try to buy us drinks and give us small very luxurious countries just because we are hot.” And Stacey was all, “YAY! I have child care, I will escape!” And I was all, “Rock and roll!... Yes, I am old, shut up please.”

Then it was, “Well, I can actually only get child care for Saturday.” And I replied to Stacey, whom I love, “Stacey my darling, we can stay at the Dallas Westin Galleria and get pedicures and manicures and eat great food and go shopping and get a great room rate because I know people.” And again, we rejoiced.

And then on Monday of this past week…. Dum DUM DUUUUUUMMM! I got a call from Stacey. (Hi Stacey!) “Sue? Uh, [husband] has to have periodontal surgery on four wisdom teeth and two of them are impacted… because he hasn’t been to the dentist… EVER.” Me, thinking… “But he has such pretty teeth.” But saying, “Let me guess… Your child care has been thwarted.” And she replied, “Yes. Woe is me.”

Ya’ll, I had planned this weekend for months. I had even made plans for Mister to go to my parents’ house for the weekend so that the girls could all come stay at my house if we needed that option. My parents were all, “Yay! We will golf and make gumbo and have [Mister] work on our computer! Do not come with him Susan, we love him… you are second only in our love for our incredible son in law.” So I huffed, “Fine.” And then made plans for Galen to stay at the Puppy Palace so I could go have the girls’ weekend. Of DOOM.

Fast forward to Monday when all of my girl plans were foiled again, (“…And I would have gotten away with it too if it weren’t for you meddling kids.” – said Mr. Witherspoon) I called Mister to see if it would be okay if I crashed his “All ME* All the time” weekend with my parents.

*And by ME, I mean HIM.

Gamely, he was totally fine with the prospect of me joining him. So I called my folks and asked if I could join their, “[Mister] Is Awesome!” weekend. They said, “Of course, we’d love to see you too… just make sure that [Mister] walks in the door first. You can wait in the car for a while, can’t you? It won’t be too much trouble, right?”

I kid, I kid. Sort of.

Holy shit. I haven’t even told you guys about our anniversary trip have I? Slacker, slacker… geeze. What the hell have I been up to?

I told you, reading her.

You guys need some attention, some love, some soft core cursing… am I right?

Next entry, the anniversary trip. With pictures maybe. Or something. Remind me.


So the weekend of my anniversary trip my parents went to the Georgia vs. Ol’ Miss game (*ahem* Sick Em DAWGS!) and before they left my mother went to drop off some food for some friends of theirs. The friends have a year old (correct me if this is wrong) Schnorkie. (?) A schnauzer-yorkie mix. And the fucking schnorkie punctured a hole in my mother’s leg when it jumped up on her. The wound bled for three days. Stupid dog.

Three days.

My mother is not a big fan of dogs anyway… or animals of any kind. Chickens? Or any type of bird? She will literally run from them. But BUT… she was so awesome to me as a child, she let me have snakes, lizards, cats, dogs, mice (my first two mice were named Donnie and Marie… shut up), a guinea pig, hamsters, gerbils, tadpoles, frogs, insects of all kinds, turtles, you name it. As long as it wasn’t a bird? I could have it in the house. (Well, the exception to the rule was, if it was a snake in the house and my father was home, it had better be dead, or soon would be.)

So, mom = awesome. But. BUT she is not a fan of dogs. Dogs jump, they scratch her and try to hump her and … for some reason, because my mother has no great love for dogs? They love her. They want to sit in her lap and lick her perfectly applied lipstick straight off of her face. And also, the stupid leg wound wasn’t reinforcing the love affair she has not been having with those of the canine persuasion.

My father? Has always wanted a black lab named Booker T. Inappropriate? Maybe. Funny? Hells to the yes.

So they are luke warm when it comes to animals. We, as a family, have had several cats that have been like family members. Katie the first family cat, and the last was Lucy… my parent’s cat when they were first married was initially named Snatch. That right there? Is a story in itself. Again, remind me later. I will tell you the family secrets.

The parents love Max and my father is excited about Galen, but they had always had a “No Pets in the House” rule so imagine my surprise when my mother called me and said that it was Ok to bring Galen with us to their house this past weekend.

I was floored. They just had new carpet put in and it was supposed to rain.

No matter, bring him.

So, I cancelled his reservations at the Puppy Palace and went and got him a new harness and a retractable leash for his walks around their yard. I was picturing us walking through the neighborhood, my faithful dog (ahem, Mister’s faithful dog) trotting and heeling perfectly by my side.

Ha ha ha. Oh my.

Wednesday evening I was home from work hanging out with Galen on the back porch of our little house. He was happy, tail wagging, tongue hanging out happy. He kept putting his little paws on my knees. I was planning on cutting Galen’s toenails that evening when Mister got home (it takes two of us to normally do it because Galen is Squirmy McBitesAlot), but he was so happy and content with me playing with his paws that I popped inside for a brief second and got the toenail clippers.

He put his little feet on my knees and I took his left paw in my hand. I clipped the middle clear toenail and then went for his black pointer toenail. He pulled away and yipped a little. I decided to wait until Mister got home to finish them so we went inside. I sat on the floor and went to give him a treat and I noticed these tiny little spots of blood on the carpet.

Yes, I cut his toenail too short and got the quick… or whatever that part is.

The poor baby. I picked him up and ran his little paw under the water faucet in the sink, that is when Mister came in the door to find me wailing and the dog in my arms looking petrified and blood all over (exaggeration) my sweater. Mister calmly took that styptic stuff and put it on the puppy’s little toenail for a few minutes while the dog looked at me reproachfully and I felt like a worm.

It was awful.

I had Friday off, and Galen still needed his toenails clipped (see also: Momma’s punctured leg wound) so I called the Puppy Palace place and they filed them down for me. Best ten bucks I have ever spent. It took them like thirty-four seconds.

Anyway, we got there with little or no incident, stopping in Canton to let Galen tinkle at the Burger King. (That sounds like he used their restroom. He did.) And arrived at my parents’ house at like 9:30 on Friday night.

As soon as we arrived we went to take Galen out of his little travel thingy and found that he had chewed through the new little harness thingy, in like less than 45 minutes. We had just stopped to let him out in Canton. He, alas, is Houdini. And my mother? Is a genius with the sewing so she had some nylon thread and fixed up his collar toute suite.

Mister and my father at an 8:40 am tee time at the country club so they got up early to go get breakfast before golfing. Oh, and can I tell ya’ll? Mister actually typed out and sent, via email, his gumbo recipe to my father… who has been knighted in the Gumbo Brother’s Circle and will reap death upon sharing the recipe with anyone who is not Mister. So, yeah, it is a very small circle, but exclusivity is the name of the game here… that and keeping the recipe a secret.

So my mother and I got up early, I basically put my pajamas on, threw some socks and tennis shoes on, put my hair in a bun and took the dog out for a walk. My mother had yet to put her make up on either so of course we started running into neighbors. When we got back to the house we fed Galen on the porch (not inside, on the porch or in the garage… just NOT INSIDE (you could see her getting anxious as I suggested putting his food dishes in the corner of the kitchen. Heh.)) and then got ready.

The guys would be back by one o’clock or so, so we waited on them in the front yard. We took Galen off of his leash, took a drink or two out front and put our lawn chairs on the drive way. We started happy hour at noon ya’ll.

My mother and I got to talk about everyone and everything and I even found this little morsel (nugget) of wisdom in our friendly banter.

Oh. My. God. My sister totally told my mother about my journal.


I made my mother swear to never try to find it because it never mentions anyone by name (Hi Stacey!) and the language is fucking** dreadful.

**Mister wants us to quit talking like sailors because he had to talk to one of his employees about her filthy mouth last week and he feels all hypocritical for telling her that her yelling, “FUCK THAT SHIT!” is not professional, when I quote Erin by saying, “You have got to be tongue-jacking my shit box!” at least twice a weekend (three times this past Sunday)… but only to him… and you all. Because I love you.

It did rain, for about twenty minutes and while it was raining the guys got back from golfing. We moved our chairs out of the way and followed them inside to have lunch and to offer our help with the gumbo preparations. We were shooed out of the kitchen so we took a drink or two more and the puppy and went back out on the driveway when it stopped raining.

Ya’ll? (And I know it is supposed to be spelled y’all, a conjunction of You and All… but my fingers just won’t do anything but ya’ll. Will you all give me this small concession and not tell the grammar Nazis? Love you, mean it.)

Ya’ll? Neighbors started coming by. I swear. I met (or got reacquainted with) six pairs of neighbors. Three of them had their dogs with them so Galen got to visit as well. We would send the men in to check on Mister and Daddy because you could smell the gumbo from Shreveport. The women would stand (we eventually just brought out more chairs and some more drinks for the ladies) and gossip. Ya’ll we had Happy Hour until 6:30 pm. Neighbors coming and going, neighbors and their dogs coming and going, I even met that shitty little schnorkie and did not (ya’ll should be proud) kick that thing square in the butt.

We finally walked around back with our little troop of neighborhood women, me and Galen so we could see how far down the lake is and found the men all sitting on the porch smoking and laughing.

When everyone left, momma, Galen and I went in and we all had dinner. It was lovely and the gumbo was delicious. My father made roux for the very first time and it was a complete success.

The dog was an angel and slept with his little paws crossed and hanging out of his little travel kennel on the way home (trick for a happy boy? Just open the door, he’ll stay in there, he just likes to know he can get out if he wants to… easy peasy.).

I love weekends like that. Visiting with friends and family. I am so looking forward to Thanksgiving.

Much love and stories on my anniversary trip… and uh, stories about Snatch later too.

October 30, 2006

His crotch looks GREAT!

(Please note: I wrote this Tuesday afternoon of last week… on the tee-tiny keyboard of my blackberry. Then I got back into town, had eleventy-million things to do and promptly forgot all about it.)

There I was at thirty thousand feet. I was flying back into Dallas from Houston. I looked up to watch the flight attendant do her little spiel, "there are six exits on this air craft..." I looked down a bit to her left, my right, "please wear your seatbelt low and across your hips..." I saw the back of this man's head and a shock of recognition ran through me. There, in what would be seat 1D was the head (or the back of a head) of someone who once was a lover.

Short brown hair, slightly graying. Small bald spot in the Friar Tuck style...

I thought to myself, that can't be Roger. Can it?

And then I found myself running a short montage of a few moments of our time together like a little movie in my head.

Massages, sweet words, affection, laughing, joking, answering my work phone to hear a gravely voice uttering, "What are you wearing?" The thrill that deep voice gave me was sheer gratification. I was used to the standard, "I'd like to place an order for twenty seven oil seals, please..." and having this man take such an interest in me, a high level executive, take such an interest in me thrilled me to no end.

He was older and completely not my type. What I first noticed to be a man in his late thirties who had some sort of love affair going on with khakis and long sleeve button up shirts was not what I found the man to be when truly I got to know him.

One evening at the local sports bar with my boss, some work friends and Roger I was taken aback as Roger made a blatant pass at me. I was shooting darts with him and two others. I stood up to shoot and he stood as well, walked up behind me and before I threw the dart he grabbed a handful of hip (mine) and pulled me back into his body, he whispered low and against my neck, “Don’t miss.” And then he walked back to our table as I let the dart fly and completely missed the board.

There may have even been a dart injury, a run by darting, ending up in someone losing an eye. I’ll never tell.

But my perception of Roger changed on the spot.

From what I thought was some working white collar stiff changed to someone who was smart, funny and completely oversexed.

I knew he was taken and apparently, I didn't care. He had been dating this woman for years. She kept him on a short leash when they both lived in Dallas, but when he was two and a half hours away from her, for a short while… he was mine.

Don't get me wrong, I never pursued Roger.

But, I never turned him away.

In my late twenties when Bridgette Jones’ Diary came out, the rakish bloke in the office “Daniel”; played by Hugh Grant; immediately reminded me of Roger. Wicked and completely inappropriate text messages sent via ICQ flew back and forth daily. As a matter of fact, Roger and my boss set up my computer with ICQ and he actually gave me the nickname of ghettobootie.

(To those of you who just found me via Google… yes, it’s me… Stop looking for current pictures. I am fat and totally sassy. I am old now and I don’t even drink beer anymore. Sorry.)

Yes, entirely appropriate. Wouldn’t you say?

The man sitting in seat 1D just reached up to smooth his hair with his left hand. Hmmm, he’s wearing a wedding ring. Maybe he did marry that woman after all.

Come to think of it, the hand that I just saw did not look familiar.

I became very familiar with Roger’s hands for a few months, very familiar. He would invite me over for a drink. Dinner. Lunch. A nooner. He was my very first nooner and I felt like the most desired woman in the world. I left for lunch and came back a completely different person.

He was a wonderful masseuse and would make my body feel so amazing. He was untrained as a masseuse but he had such a love for women that it almost felt like worship to me when he would run his hands across my skin.

Our relationship was purely physical. There was no love. There was a lot of laughter and companionship but Roger was my first true lover. Let’s say it like this, “Hello lovah.” No strings, just pleasure.

I realized that I wanted more from him when he invited me to have lunch with his girlfriend when she came to visit him one week. There we sat, the three of us having lunch and I looked at her and I knew she knew. She knew and yet, she wanted him so badly that she would overlook his unfaithfulness. I knew that I needed to let him go because I almost felt jealous towards her.

The last time I saw Roger outside of the office, I was heading to a friend’s wedding. I was wearing a gorgeous dress that had an empire waist, was black below and cream on the top. The jewel neck was fastened in the back by small buttons. The buttons were almost Victorian and there was no one to help me get dressed. I called him on the way to the wedding and he was at home. I stopped by his apartment and ran up the stairs. He opened the door, turned me sweetly, buttoned up the top of my dress and kissed me on the neck.

I knew I couldn’t keep seeing him or I would end up as pitiful as his girlfriend in Dallas.

Roger was a total Jedi in disguise. You looked at him and you saw some whitebread man with a jovial sense of humor, a large mustache, khaki pants, an MBA and glasses. When the lights went low, you saw nothing but a man who could make you feel like the most special girl in the world, even though you knew, you knew that he was someone else’s.

Total Jedi.


So, yeah. Um. About all that other stuff I promised you? Uh, stories of the anniversary trip? Maybe later. Pictures? Uh, well. You see… I haven’t brought the camera into the office in a while. The last time I did? Was to download this picture.

Galen at five months.

Ok. Check this out. Mister is still all, “Where is the ROI?” About the puppy and is considering giving him away. AWAY!? Surely you must be kidding!? No, he is not kidding, and stop calling him Shirley. And it didn’t get any better last week when I took the puppy in to the vet because he had “bitey marks on his crotch-al area”. Yes, those were my exact words.

Turns out the baby got into some ants or is allergic to me, Mister or to Max. Or um, to pollen or grass or something. $145 later and now the baby has a daily regimen of 1 fish oil tablet (for fatty acids), 2 antibiotics a day and ス antihistamine twice daily.

His crotch looks GREAT!

Galen’s… not Mister’s… wait, not that Mister’s crotch isn’t National-Geographic-worthy-fantastic but,

I’m going to stop here.

More later.

Much love and no bitey marks.

About October 2006

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

September 2006 is the previous archive.

November 2006 is the next archive.

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