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December 2006 Archives

December 12, 2006

The texture of the cloth on the outside was so rich and creamy I wanted to roll around on it.

Babies, babies, babies… I feel like I have left ya’ll at a kennel or a boarding house for the past month. Forgive me for being nonexistent. But, as Willie Nelson says, “You were always on my mind….”

Did I really just quote Willie Nelson?

Yes, yes I did… move along.

Let me just forego with the pleasantries and just tell ya’ll about the damn robe (of degradation) already. I have been mentioning the robe for nigh on [checking calendar… Good Lord! Since October!?] a month and a half and the story really isn’t that great in the first place, but since I have been promising ya’ll the scoop, here goes.

Back in October my coworker and I went to Galveston for a site visit of this resort down on the beach. (Galveston… beach… Heh. Right.) Anyway, we went down the Friday before she had a conference starting on that next Monday. We showed up in Houston, had our favorite driver pick us up at the airport (free plug for Reggie @ Platinum Limousine, ya’ll call him, really… he’s awesome.) and he took us to Galveston. He even stopped off at a liquor store so my coworker could get a bottle of Stoli. Nice guy, that Reggie.

We were soon at the resort and Reggie dropped us off and we checked in. The place is massive and has a great spa and was built and is owned by that man who owns the Landry’s restaurants. Not naming any names here… I get Googled for pierced breast way too often as it is. (Sorry pierced breast Googlers… I have thwarted you again with my willy nilly mention of that which you seek!)

The last time I was in this same resort it was for a sales meeting. And the Vice President of the company I was working (please take into consideration that I was young and skinny enough to wear a bikini and not feel self conscious about it) for (not the same company I am working for now… I repeat… NOT THE SAME ONE.) put his foot in my crotch while a herd of us were in the hot tub after drinking heavily.

I thought it might be a mistake… a mistaken foot in the crotch, if you will… and I know you will. But, no. He was not forced to place his gnarled, old ass toe anywhere near my princess because of the number of people in the hot tub.

That hot tub can seat about a dozen people and by that time there were only about four or five of us left. So, I… being ever polite remarked, “Goodness it is warm in here. I am going to take a dip in the pool and then call it a night. ‘Night!” and I dove in the pool and swam to the other side (underwater… because I am yella… and a chicken – with amazing lung capacity apparently) and pretended not to hear Mr. Inappropriate ask me what room number I was in. Gah.

Where was I? Oh, yes… checking in.

So we got checked in and we made plans to meet downstairs in like five minutes because we were expected for dinner at this place adjacent to the resort and we had to walk. So I schlepped my stuff upstairs and threw everything just inside the door, dug my toothbrush out of my bag, brushed my teeth, tinkled, washed my hands, put some lipstick on and ran back out the door. I didn’t even have a chance to look around the room, open the curtains, check out my view, any of that stuff.

I met my coworker downstairs and we walked over to Landry’s and met with the other people on the same trip and our hostesses. They were so sweet and the dinner was wonderful. They laid out our plans for us for the weekend and I basically didn’t hear anything except, “Susan, your massage is scheduled for 11 am, you may have to leave the tour a bit early to get there by 10:30.” My reply? “Tour?” Heh, just kidding. I was all for seeing the property and SO SO SOOO ready for that massage.

When dinner was over they asked us all to pile in their little bus and they dropped us back off at the hotel. I went upstairs and went to take my stuff further into the room, maybe even unpack, iron something when I looked on the bed and saw a present. For ME?!?!? Yes, for me. See? It says so right there on the card. “Susan” See? It’s mine.

I opened up the gorgeous box and unwrapped the gold foil tissue paper (very froo froo) and inside was the most gorgeous robe I have ever seen. It was a beautiful pale eggshell color. The inside was white terry cloth and the texture of the cloth on the outside was so rich and creamy I wanted to roll around on it. It had the name of the resort embroidered on the right breast and on the left there was a little pocket, with my name embroidered in the same color… gold.

I was so excited. I pulled the robe lovingly from its confines of the beautiful box and that is when I saw it.

The tag.

Fucking tag.

Guess what size the robe was ya’ll? Just guess. No, forget it. I’ll tell you.

It was a medium.


Let’s take a look back shall we? When I looked like THIS (see below) I was not a fucking medium.

NOT A MEDIUM. Also, I should have probably been fed a sandwich or something.
AND? See that heinous turquoise robe hanging on my closet door? Size? XL, baby.

I am a big girl. This was just mean. This was the most beautiful robe I have ever felt or laid my eyes on… and it wouldn’t fit enough to overlap like robes should do. Nope.

I almost cried.

I packed the robe fondly back into the stunning box it came wrapped in, laid the golden tissue (fiddle, on the ground at Johnny’s feet…. (wait a sec, this is not The Devil Went Down to Georgia… sorry.)) just so within the box and placed it beside my luggage. I knew that I would have to give the robe up. I knew that I would give it to my mother. She is the size of a small parrot and loves to wear robes, and the one she currently wears is threadbare and about as old as I am. So… to my mother the robe went.

The sales person was so sweet and when I thanked her for the amenity she apologized for the size (is it THAT apparent lady?!) and said she would send me one that is my correct size. But, alas… no. I have not seen the robe come in the mail or delivered by golden horses drawing a pearl chariot.

I am bereft of the robe of glory and beauty.

I will continue to wear my husband’s long-sleeved polo t-shirt as my robe… and you will all love me for it.

Right? Right? … Hey, come back here.

December 18, 2006

I'm looking at you Cider House Rules... Damn you John Irving!

Oy, what an awful evening. I mean, the evening itself was nice and all and I got half a day off yesterday for Christmas (For me? Just what I have always wanted!) so I did some shopping (but mostly lugging around 40 pounds of cat litter… yes, I live the cherished life), tackled the post office (hoo-ah!) and got dinner on before 5 o’clock in the pm… but after that? Well, it was still pleasant, yes, but after the movie and the snuggling and the puppy “loading up” perfectly. After that? It blew.

I am not sure (searching archives now) if I have ever mentioned this particular fact to you all but I love to read… and let me simplify that by saying fiction. I love to read fiction.

Well, the previous two sentences were brought to you by the letter W… as in What the fuck have I been doing? I started writing this entry last Thursday.

Let’s see if we can even begin to wrap this little story about fiction up like a nice neat little Christmas package… nay present. For you.

And, as an aside, if you haven’t seen the comments from the last post… the robe (in my size) showed up in the mail on Friday. It was not wrapped and had no embroidery, but it is mine, all mine and I love it like a fat kid loves cake.

So the fiction. Yes, I love it. And yes, I have mentioned this many times and even went on a rant about the Gunslinger series from Stephen King (the shame). But the entry that I was thinking about only mentioned the novel that I have obsessed about (I’m looking at you Cider House Rules… Damn you John Irving!) only in passing. See? It is in this entry right here.

I went into a period of mourning when I finished that book. Lord, I was all melancholy and moody like some teenager with an unrequited crush on the cool emo kid with the hair that hangs just so.

So, I should have known better than to read The Hotel New Hampshire. Seriously. It was right there, in big bold letters. “Hey, Sue. Do not read this book. It will take completely abnormal things and make them seem normal, and make you feel all crazy like when you are about to sneeze and you hiccup instead. It will be days upon days of that.” It had all of the ingredients that make you internally cringe. Incest? Check. Death? Check. Rape? Checkity check check bitches.

And The Hotel New Hampshire wasn’t even as bad as The Cider House Rules. Ya’ll, that book made me cry. Outloud. Sobs and shit. Snot and heaving chest and all of that.

Yeah, I’m sexy. You can tell me about it later.

So with the drama surrounding these two and all of the other John Irving books I have read you would think that when NetFlix showed up on Thursday I would open up the first envelope and (note to self: Mister and I never finished Spanglish… did we send it back?) see the title and immediately put it back in the envelope, seal it and put it back in the mailbox. But did I do that? No. No, I did not do that. And I would like to submit my judgment for… well, for judgment.

The first envelope from NetFlix did, indeed, have inside it the DVD for Cider House Rules. I put the movie in our queue last year when I was still in mourning over the book. I should have removed it. I should have. But when I told Mister about the movie showing up he was interested in seeing it. I should have read another book in the living room. I should have watched one of my DVR’d (knock off of Tivo) episodes of Grey’s Anatomy or Giant Squid: Caught on Tape or some shit… but Noooooooo. I waltzed right into the bedroom, got all situated, cleared the business off of my side of the bed, applied hand and lip balm and settled in to watch the movie.

Snuggled up with Mister, the movie playing on the TV suspended in the northwest corner of our bedroom hitting pause every seven minutes or so for us to talk about, “What do you suppose he meant by that?” I read the book, supposedly I was the expert and remember… Mister talks to movies and worries about the characters. (And he says he doesn’t like fiction. Ha.) We only watched about twenty minutes of the movie and then we went to sleep.

Well, Mister went to sleep and I went into screamy nightmare territory. One in which a dear friend was getting an abortion and I had to hold her down and the only way I could comfort her was to give her a chaste kiss on the boob (?) and then the machine gun fire started and the picket line (on top of a twenty-four story building?) was picking off snipers from their hiding places and bodies were falling into the street below.



That? That right there? Was just wrong.

So what have we (Mister and I) been doing almost every night since? We get situated, get all snuggled up and then watch a goodly portion of the movie that we have already seen (Here’s Mister, “I don’t remember that part.” I sweetly reply, “THAT IS BECAUSE YOU WERE DOZING OFF! FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS HOLY, QUIT GOING TO SLEEP! WE HAVE TO FINISH THIS MOVIE!”… Actually, I am not all that screamy… more high pitched and anxious really.) and then pausing in each sequence to talk about it. (GAH! Stop dragging it out for the love of Pete!)

And my favorite (Warning: Sarcasm forthcoming.) part is where Mister says sweetly, “He’s going to fall in love with her isn’t he? I just know it.” I want to yell, or screech that, “This, my love… is a John Irving movie… it is not all puppy dogs, dandelions and kitten paws. There is death and bereavement and pain.” But I can not do that to him. He is so hopeful, and if the writers of the film do the book any justice at all there will be death and bereavement and pain, and you will be uncomfortable and you will like it because it was beautifully written (AHEM, White Oleander anyone?) and there will not be a happy ending. This is not fucking Disney. It is scary and real. Well, not real real… just “Hey, this is the world real.”

I totally forget it is fiction.

And Lord… my sister wants me to go see Running With Scissors with her over the holiday.

I may have some issues I would like to deal with.

Or some booze to drink.

December 27, 2006

It was the bestest day ever.

Guess what I got for Christmas? A sweet husband who listens to me and wants to help me break out of my comfort zone with my garanimals outfits.

What’s with the blank stare? We’ve discussed this. And my boss has threatened to call Stacey and Clinton on me. My normal work week is a hodgepodge of beautiful pants… all in an array of black. Slap on a twin set and I am done.

The following is a list and the corresponding links to the awesomeness that is my husband. Oh, and a little shout out that has to go to Weet for the link to Igigi that was my husband’s angel (angle? Obtuse?) of goodness and shopping karma.

This dress which I can not wait to wear because the fit is amazing.

This top which is sort of Stevie Nicks-ish… but apparently my husband is into black lace and cleavage. Who knew?

This top (with which I am having a very torrid affair) that I have on today.

This top that is very, very naughty. And also, awesome.

This jacket which again? Stevie Nicks-ish, but my mother was in love with it and the things it did to my figure when I wore it Christmas Eve.

And last but not least… this little fur jacket. The moment I put it on I channeled Marilyn Monroe and sung “Happy Birthday Mister Presidennnttt…” and then had sex with JFK.

I think I am missing something.

Either way.

Then? I went shopping for a frillion hours yesterday and used some money that Santa gave me for various sundry items such as two pairs of jeans, a black belt and a brown belt, two pairs of boots (snazzy, black and brown as well – Liz Claiborne Flex… if you must know), a few camis to wear underneath the boob bearing tops my husband bought for me in cream, white and black, a watch (from Fossil) and about eleventeen pairs of trouser socks so I could stop pilfering my husband’s socks from his drawers. (The heel would sit at my calf giving me that oh so sexy calf goiter look.) He wears a 13 or something large and yeti-like, but surprisingly has very pretty feet for a man.

Am I babbling?

By the way. I totally went shopping at the Lane Bryant Outlet mall… and guess what? I paid more for my jeans there than I would have online. BLAST! Those rat bastards. I was all duped about the, “Oh, tis an outlet mall… the bargains, they will be inexhaustible!” I really didn’t sound like that much of an asshole. I just thought, well, it IS an outlet store. The belts were like a Hamilton each. (Oh, I am ALLLL about the Hamiltons, baby.) And my camis? Very affordable. I know I shouldn’t be all in a tizzy that they charged me more for my jeans at an outlet. Because ya’ll know what an awesome shopper I am.



The best part of the holiday was last Thursday.

This was what was on the agenda. At noon, pick up Steph and her sister Jen… meet Kerry at Mi Cocina… Drink. At six pm call Stacey and see if she and her work cohorts were going to have Happy Hour anywhere. If so? Drink. Oh, and smoke. Get home at a reasonable hour, let the puppy out, let puppy back in, get in bed, read, fall asleep and then not wake up at a reasonable hour… because why? I had Friday off, bitches.

This is what happened.

Called Steph and Jen at 11:30, “We just got back in from our run, we’ll be ready at noon.” I was thinking, “Run? Where to? And was someone chasing you?” But what I said was, “Rockin.” And hung up to go finish getting ready. Got a call from Kerry, “Are you at Mi Cocina?” “No.” “Good, because I am going to be about 15 minutes late.” “Cool, I’m picking up Steph and Jen at noon and we’ll be there as soon as possible.”

I picked the twosome up, loved on Joe (the cat) and their mother for a minute and we were out the door. We got an awesome parking place (by the way, it was like 70 degrees outside, perfect weather) and met Kerry inside. We ate, drank, told old stories, gossiped and laughed until 3. PM. THREE in the afternoon.

Kerry had to go to work. (BOO, but… Yay! Go Kerry’s Business! I should totally link to her… Ok, if you guys ever need an interior designer (she travels too) please call Kerry, as she is the bomb.) Ok, and as soon as Jen’s site gets up and running I will post that too, as she is an incredible artist. And her sister worked on brains before becoming a full time stay at home mother. Shit, if those aren’t a pair of brilliant sisters… then I don’t know two who are. (As always, eloquent with my compliments.)

So after we left Kerry we decided to go to the house, let the puppy out for a moment then went… and… got mani/pedis. Drinking and pampering. How awesome of a day was that? Oh, and mix in Mexican food and Mojito’s… I was in heaven. While we were sitting there getting our toes done my phone rang, it was Stacey (who just called a second ago, she is headed out to San Diego to see her sister and their baby girl who was born on Christmas Eve… awwwwww!) she was already at the bar. It was like 3:45 in the afternoon and she and her gang were already at the bar. I told her I would be there as soon as I could and then just relaxed.

My toes and fingers all pretty… (oh, and I bought myself some beautiful earrings from Gina for myself for Christmas and I had those on, I looked totally cute) my cute earrings on, my cute little boots and a pack of smokes and I dropped the girls off at their parent’s house (they had another shindig to get to) and then headed to the bar to meet Stacey.

It was the bestest day ever.

So, what did ya’ll do over the holidays?

Oh, and I am totally going to this…
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December 29, 2006

We decided to dress Chad up as apparently the world's tallest and hairiest woman.

Christmas was awesome for other reasons other than the drinking and multiple happy hours and my husband’s taste in clothes. I got to spend time with my family, friends and loved ones for more than a few hours.

The food that my sister prepared was incredible and I have a tee-tiny movie of my niece hugging my daddy and in this tiny little voice going “Awwwwww” like she was comforting him, like “Awww, there ya go. It’s all better now.” That? Right there? So damn cute.

Also, Friday night? Mister and I got to spend time with Chad and his high school and current sweetheart Nicki. Do ya’ll remember Chad? I think I have spoken about him more than once. Ah, yes. In this entry right here and in this one too … and in these pictures.

Please click to enlarge all pictures.

At the Zoo 1992 - From Above

From LuLu (in black) at 12 o’clock and clockwise… LuLu, Chad, Trixie, Matt, Me and Troy. Lookit Chad’s long ass legs.
Lookin Saucy at the Zoo 1992

From left to right Troy, Chad, Trixie, LuLu and her hair and me. We were trying to be saucy.

Okay. Now that we are caught up with who is who… I just want to say that those three or four hours with Mister, Chad and Nicki were absolutely awesome. We didn’t just stroll down memory lane… We stomped down that son of a bitch. And, and… I thought my memory was watertight ya’ll. Foolproof.

Ha ha ha…

Um, no.

Apparently Chad has been telling Nicki this story of the “pseudo hand job” for about oh, twelve years and I did not remember a bit about it.

No, no… it isn’t as slutty as it seems at first. But when she busted out with that description of it. In front of my husband. I am sure may face read and my voice said something to this effect: “Ha. Ahem, oh, shit. Uh, I did what now?”

(sidetrack: Totally listening to Yaz’s “Midnight” off of the Upstairs at Eric’s album right now.)

Apparently one Halloween after we all graduated we were going to Jitterbugs (Hi, still burned to the ground. Insurance scam much?) for a costume party and we decided to dress Chad up as apparently the world’s tallest and hairiest woman. He was sporting a fu-manchu/handlebar mustache at the time and insisted that if he was going to embarrass himself dressing like a woman, he wanted to have massive hooters.

So, we (seriously ya’ll… this is allllll hearsay. I do not remember a THING.) put Chad in one of his fiancé’s dresses, put one of her impressive bras on him and stuffed that sucker full of socks and tissue. He had full make up on, his boots and a hat. Sexy right? 6’4” or something. Stick thin and um, not very womanly. Unless you prefer your women to have mustaches that look like this.

He proceeded to get tore up at Jitterbugs and was leaning on the bar ordering a beer and looked over at this woman standing next to him. She looked him up and down and he did the same and then told her, “My tits are bigger.” She (from what I hear) grabbed him (inappropriately) and was all up in his dress wearing business. She got a bit frisky with him I walked over (seriously… HEARSAY) to “save” him (these are HIS words ya’ll) from this rowdy woman. And maybe a bit from himself as his fiancé was a scrappy, nasty, nasty girl. She’d just as soon kick your ass as… well. She’d just like to kick your ass.

Klassy. Yes, with a capital K.

So I took hold of Chad and his beer and pulled him away from Grabby McSlutterson and then set about righting his costume. Hat? Straight. Boots with knee socks? Fairly strange looking sticking out of the bottom of a dress. Fake hooters? A little lopsided, oh well. Then apparently I looked at him and said, “You have a something on the front of your dress.” And I started wiping at him like he was four and I wanted to get the schmutz off of his outfit. (HIS WORDS!) I kept wiping until I realized that I was trying to brush his quite attached package completely off of his person. Then I turned scarlet and said something along the lines of, “Oh, that’s… you.” Annnnnnnnnnd then I ran away.


Trix? Do you have pictures of this? Can you confirm or deny? LuLu? Anyone? (Chad you stay out of this… I’m trying to clear my good name... AH hahahahahahahaa… ahem.)

I don’t think I actually have pictures of this alleged situation. (I do have one of Derrick mooning me. Don’t tempt me. I’ll post it. And then he’ll be the p0rn star of the journal world.) What I do have are pictures of the puppy outside in the snow. Yes, ya’ll… it snowed on 11/30/06 in Dallas. I? Was in Houston.

Well, I was about to post the picture of Galen in the snow and one of my Christmas Tree. But alas, I have run out of room. [::ding::] I just had an idea. Let me see if I can host the photo’s on Blogger, and then I’ll link them. Brilliant. Hell, I’m not using Blogger for anything else, and I never chose a winner of the Cheese Off. I suck. Hi.

For pictures, please CLICK HERE. Also? What kind of dog is that? Seriously. I have no idea.

About December 2006

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

November 2006 is the previous archive.

January 2007 is the next archive.

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

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