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January 2007 Archives

January 2, 2007

I am about as outdoorsy as Joan Collins.

Ha----------PPY New Year!

So, what did ya’ll do? Huh? Did anyone snort coke off of a stripper’s boobie? Anyone?

Mister and I stayed in and did our normal steaks on the grill, champagne and in bed by 12:30 thing. We are so incredibly wild and crazy. Ya’ll could not even keep up (with our walkers) if you tried. Party, party… party. It was like a Beastie Boys video, without the fake mustaches, or the couch (cow?) tipping.

Have ya’ll ever gone cow tipping? I want to say that I have not*; as it is mean and I wouldn’t want to be pushed over if I was sleeping standing up. But we all know how holey my memory is. Ah, like a sieve.

*Although I did run one over.

Ever since I heard about that story (go back an entry) I don’t trust my memory for shit.

I woke up the other morning swearing to Mister that I was “very outdoorsy” and was just in “Norweigia”. Hi, Columbus…? It is NORWAY and I am about as outdoorsy as Joan Collins.

I am seriously afraid that early Alzheimer’s has set in. I will be talking to someone that I have known FOREVER (i.e. my mother) and will totally forget who the hell she is for a split millisecond. I do that to Mister as well and he has almost got it down pat. I’ll be looking at him (he really is a handsome devil), listening, talking, laughing, then I’ll go blank and then snap out of it and tell him that I just forgot who he was. It doesn’t throw him anymore.

I still don’t believe that our house is actually our house. I feel sort of like I am living there as a guest.

Or I will get up and with purpose, stride into another room… only to forget what the hell I was going in there for.

Mister was cooking steaks on Sunday night and I went inside only to stop halfway to the hall office/cubby (where the camera is… and what I was going to get), turn around, watch television for a second, wander into the kitchen, open the refrigerator (?) go back, stand in front of the fireplace, remember what I was doing in the first place then I went and got the camera.

I really need to go back and look at my pictures. I need to listen to music. I need to remember where I put my Zippo lighter that J.Wo and Sil got me for Christmas last year.

Ohhh… and I need to buy some long underwear.

I actually had a subject that I wanted to write about… but, I forgot.

January 3, 2007

Can you hear the lambs sheep screaming Clarice?........fffffpffpffffff

I totally remembered what I was going to write about when I went back and read that entry on poor Bessy. Ok, now I am not suggesting that you do this… but back on like 12/29/06 I was here at work. Working. And I decided that I would pop over to take a gander at the genius that is Go Fug Yourself. Now, that, in itself, is no great stretch as I normally mosey on over to their site at least once a [work*] day. By the way: Could I use anymore commas? *And, I don’t normally get onto the computer over the weekend because… well, this explanation can wait until later. MORE, COMMAS….,,,,.

So I went over there to read and look at the train wreck that is the celebrity life. And I am no one to judge because seriously, have you seen my pores lately? Or those shoes I wore the other day? Or that red sweater? Regardless. I love me some Fuggin. And I noticed the sidebar with Pink looking like she was in mid-sentence. Hmmm…. So, I said to myself, “Self,” I said, “Stop using so many fucking commas, and… ellipses… and why don’t you check out that ad for PETA. It looks like Pink is talking to you… About, sheep? Who is hurting the sheep?!”

So I clicked on it.

And I watched the clip.

And I almost barfed.

And then I sent a terrified message to Mister via blackberry saying something akin to, “OH MY GOD! THE SHEEP! I WILL NEVER WEAR WOOL AGAIN! HOLY SHIT! I THINK THE SWEATER I HAVE ON RIGHT NOW HAS WOOL… I AM A SHEEP KILLER!” And yes, it was that dramatic and that caps-lock-tastic and… well, let’s just say that little Miss Drama Queen over here was dusting herself off a place to have a fit.

If you are at all sensitive. Even sensitive to the over use of the word ass. (Talking to you Stacey… that ad? May say, “Sheep smell like ass or may have their asses in some way mauled by gardening sheers…. And MAGGOTS.”) So please, do not watch it.

And that sweater I had on? I got home and was all, “La ti da… la la la… I will forget about the sheep. I will concentrate on cheese. And maybe a pudding cup. And oh, hello husband, would you mind terribly checking the label content of my sweater and telling me if there is Merino WOOL IN IT FOR THE LOVE OF PETE!??!?!” He looked? And said, “Hmm, I don’t know.”

Liar.

“Can you hear the lambs sheep screaming Clarice?........fffffpffpffffff”

Sorry.

But guess who didn’t look at the tag when she threw the sweater in the washer?

ME.

Okay, and the reason I don’t get on the computer much at the house over the weekends or even in the evenings is this… Mister’s office looks like he is sitting in a computer display at CompUSA. There are (I counted last night) 5 towers, a server, one monitor and enough cables and cords and routers and usb ports and a monster TV in there to supply a networking job for a small company. That doesn’t include the two or three personal laptops and the work laptop that are scattered hither and yon about the house.

Seriously. Ya’ll? I live in Fry’s.

Not to mention that for Christmas? Mister wanted one of these puppy’s right here. For those of you not following links it is a D-Link MediaLounge 802.11g Wireless High-Definition Media Player… or something like that. So I got it for him. And I? Seriously have no idea what it is. All I know is that he can access all of his illegally ripped DVD’s and my photos and our music all from the TV in the living room. Which is cool…

Well, until…

Dum dum DUUUUUMM!!

I started downloading some songs from cd’s and from Limewire on Sunday. I also wanted to put the mix cd that Weet burned for us for the Holiday Card Exchange on Herschel (my iPod).

Mister was downloading some movie and I was uploading about 250 songs, then I decided to update my iTunes to 7.0.

Um.

self: Hi.
computer monitor: I am a blue screen of death.
self: shit.
Mister: [runs into his office at high speed… skidding a little on the pergo floors** in his socks]…::blink:: What. Did. You. Do?

**Don’t judge me.

Clearly, iTunes 7.0 does not play well with others. And it makes the D-Link cry and go tell it’s mommy that iTunes gave it a wedgie.

iTunes 7.0 is bad. BAD.

Mister worked on my mistake for about 4 hours on Monday and he fixed it last night. He is the king and I now must make him a bundt cake with Kahlua, rub his feet, peel grapes and feed them to him via my boobs and make him chicken fried steak… everyday. He restored 2053 songs that I had downloaded and backed up… but all of the cds that I ripped? Gone.

I weep for the sheer work I have put into making Herschel all he could be and more for the past few years… I have made playlists and fixed the audio books just so. Gone. I listen to him everyday that I am at work and that I am traveling. I listen to him on road trips by plugging him into the Tahoe and into Samantha. I went into the DT’s yesterday being here at the office without him.

We backed him up… but with 7.0. That is not compatible… well to anything really. Mister found an older version of iTunes and put everything right again. Made it all shiny and new. But still. This is the reason I don’t normally touch Mister’s toys. I did the same thing last January. Gah.

Herschel is a basic black and white 20 gig model. He is nothing fancy but I love him and don’t want to replace him anytime soon. That may be the reason I have stayed with Diaryland for so long. Ya’ll? I started this site on 2/20/03. Hi, long time.

I want to make the move to WordPress or to Blogger or good Lord, to have suzannadanna.com…. ::Swoon::. I would love to have the means and the wherewithal (and the knowledge…. Gah) to have my own site. But the daunting task of moving my archives. Lord, I may be a little faint just thinking of it.

And then? Then, I think of all of the people that have been with Diaryland since Moses was in a cradle. I really appreciate that Weetabix started in May of 2000, Miss Smartypants over there started in September of 1999. And both have remained true to their writing style, their formats and the look of their sites.

I have actually changed the look of my site three times. Am I just fickle?

I know Jules (hi.) has made the move to WordPress and she said that it almost drove her completely insane.

But look at WordPress… So pretty, so user friendly. So… well, “searchy” is the term that I keep thinking about. Seriously. I was watching VH1’s “I Love the 80’s, 3D” and Lynn-Holly Johnson from Ice Castles (Shut up, I know.) was talking about how she has this cute little graphics design company that does websites and all of this other stuff and I basically stopped listening after she said “designs websites” because I was imagining her putting something together for me that incorporated both a brick wall and a sepia toned picture of a winterscape tree with no leaves.

What?

Don’t know. Move along Sparky.

So, yeah. It’s been a little bee in my bonnet for quite a long time. Just buzzing around for about a year. And I get so hung up on it and then I think. “But, my site is branded.” “Branded? This is not Kleenex.” And then I get all pouty. What would you guys do? And does anyone know how to move stuff from Diaryland over to another place and/or hosting thingy?

January 8, 2007

You are supposed to comfort me in times of dismay.

I am a sad person. Sad, so sad. I will give you reasons for my sadness and you will take me and hold me against your bosom or chest, pat my head (in a totally “There there…” way and not in a, “You silly little girl…” way) and soothe me.

Reason the first:
Do ya’ll remember me telling you about killing Mister’s computer command post and then him fixing it for me? He reinstalled 2039 songs back onto Herschel’s tiny little brain. Well, last week my boss heard about my plight and said, “Call me on your way home and we’ll go through my music collection and I’ll bring you cd’s to copy.” I was thinking, “BUT boss man! THAT is illegal!” So I said, “Cool.” And he brought me like 30 or 40 cd’s the next day to take home and “listen to”… not to copy them to my iPod library. No, no no. [Also, yes, yes YES.]

But alas, he brought them into me on Thursday.

(PS, still love Joan Jett.)

Before I left work for the haircut (love my hair stylist too) I started feeling all ucky. My vision was blurry and I felt all upchucky and hot. I was thinking, “No, I must not get a migraine or anything bad because I am not supposed to get that until I have my estrogen withdrawal headache the Sunday before I start my cycle… and today is Thursday. Not Sunday. This is bad. I do not start my cycle until Tuesday, last pill was last night.” Yes, I do carry on very lengthy conversations with myself about… well, myself when I am trying to rationalize how I am feeling and trying to talk myself into not having muscle spasms or cramps or headache/migraine/sinus headaches.

Myself replied a very eloquent, “Fuck you.”

My senses got all hyper and I could have smelled a butterfly fart but Oh, NO… I had to go into one of those places that sell out a large complex of individual salons to people who don’t want to work for Regis or Tony & Guy. A place that has the smell permeation of acrylic nails, hydrogen peroxide, perm solution and other such fragrant aromas. Mmmm.

My eyes were watering but dammit, I was going to get a hair cut. Before I went to have my haircut I hid the bags (and bags) of music within a dark corner of Samantha’s trunk/hatchbacky thing.

When I was done and my hair was sleek and shiny and about four inches shorter, I left and picked up dinner on the way home, making sure I called Mister to let him know that everything looked blurry. Smart no? Blurry headachy, driving and talking on my cell phone? Well, I just sorta wanted to let him know so he could track my whereabouts. Yes, it was that bad. “Susan?” What? “Why didn’t you have Mister just come pick you up?” Peshaw. Also, I needed to get home, and fast. So I also called my boss to tell him that I was all blurry and that I may call him and tell him that I was going to wuss out for Friday. He was nice and said that there was nothing important going on. And I said, “Good, because I feel like I’ve been run over.”

The next morning… yeah, I called him. “Not coming in, man.” “S’okay. See you in a week.” As he was heading off for a week of vacation.

Don’t you all wish you had my boss? Yeah, me too. I’m a lucky duck. He’s nice, and has amazing taste in purses.

So I have a week to rip all of his cd’s and then return them when he gets back from vacationing.

I stayed in bed most of Friday. I couldn’t really watch tv or read because of the blurry eye thing and my head hurt so much that I would whimper pathetically when I had to look up. Yes, the brazen act of looking up hurt my noggin. The puppy hung out with me and the cat stayed right beside me so I had company… and a lot of animal noises to accompany my dozing. Gah, it sounded like I was in the middle of a rain forest with all of the noise the cat was making with bathing incessantly and with the puppy chewing SO LOUDLY on his nylabone. Or, I could have been a little cranky.

When Mister came home that evening he was basically feeling the same way, “Eh.” So we both went to bed early. Saturday we went to CVS and I asked the pharmacist, “Do you have anything that will make my eyes stop hurting and my vision not blurry?” She said, “It sounds like you may have some sinus pressure.” And then she gave me these pills that were mink lined and had gold ingots inside of them, I took one when we got home and the heavens opened up and I could look up and thank sweet baby Jesus for better living through chemicals.

Also on Saturday Mister and I watched a bit of TV and this movie that he got from Netflix about this man… Well, you won’t believe me until I give you the plot from IMDB. The movie is called Keep the River on Your Right: A Modern Cannibal Tale and the plot outline is: “A retired gay anthropologist revisits the native cultures he studied in his youth.” Hmm. Now, I must also give you guys the plot outline from NetFlix: “In 1955, Tobias Schneebaum disappeared into the depths of the Peruvian Amazon. A year later, he emerged from the jungle naked and covered in body paint … a modern-day cannibal. Now, follow the stranger-than-fiction tale of Schneebaum's return to the jungle in 1999, 45 years after his original visit, to reunite with the tribesmen he grew to love and who haunted him for nearly half a century.”

Notice, in the Netflix one it fails to mention that Mr. Schneebaum is gay. Now, I love me some gay. But I was very interested when the movie showed up and I had never heard of the title. Mister has ordered it and was perplexed when Mr. Schneebaum kept mentioning, “These two men, are lovers. These two? Lovers. And these men are lovers as well.” While he was presenting a slide show of pictures on a cruise ship. Mister kept up the banter, “Well, isn’t that interesting?” And about an hour into the film he turned to me, “Do you think that Tobias is gay?” And just to fuck with him, I said, “No. Why?”

Don’t get me wrong. I am a documentary fool. I double majored in Sociology in college and I even have the five tape set of “The Human Sexes” by Desmond Morris, so Mister and I watch documentaries quite a bit. But I was intrigued in why he would order this one? Finally I fessed up that, “Yes, Tobias is gay. And old, and so cute… don’t you think?”

I am sure that Mister just ordered it because we went to see Apocalypto a week or so ago and we both thoroughly enjoyed it.

I think I am wandering around the point. Oh, yes.

Reason the second:
Sunday we stayed in, took down the tree, ordered pizza and yelled at the dog. We weren’t yelling at the dog for fun or anything but he did ruin (and by ruin I mean eat) a pair of Mister’s shoes, the carpet that is right up next to the tile in the foyer by the front door (holes, people… HOLES) and then pulled all of the shag part out of a square foot area of our bathroom rug. He wouldn’t eat any of his food, all he wanted were treats and water… and to lick the cat and eat carpet. Mister was ready to get rid of him by 4 pm on Sunday and I am so surprised that there is not an ad on Craigslist that says something to the point of: “Free to a good home, one small furry badger. 11 シ pounds of loving snuggling, teething, testicle having puppy. Please call me… DEAR LORD, PLEASE CALL ME NOW!”

While Mister was seething in the living room, the puppy was in his kennel and I was in the office ripping cd’s I noticed that where there had once been 2039 songs on Herschel that after ripping about 17 cd’s and trying to sync it that the computer hung up and now I have 2003 songs. Sweet.

Reason the third:
I was supposed to go to New Orleans for a large convention next Friday. Ya’ll know how much I love New Orleans. I have talked about it here, here, here, here… and here… and maybe several other places but ya’ll know, I love me some New Orleans. I have been looking forward to this convention because 1) I am attending, not planning 2) it is in New Orleans and 3) Food.

The reason I am sad is because of all of the danger that is bubbling out of that city. There were 14 murders last week. FOURTEEN. One of the murders was a woman who was killed 30 yards from the gaze of some New Orleans policemen.

I am working on canceling my reservations for the convention, the hotel arrangements and the tickets for the air travel but ya’ll, New Orleans is dying. The drug cartel is running rampant, the mayor is blaming all of this trouble on the schools (please) and the art, the music and the food will be casualties of war. I am so upset.

My coworker is still going. I don’t think it is the smartest thing to do, but that is her decision to make, not mine. I just don’t feel that it would be very bright to put myself in that sort of danger for a convention. I am trying to get all of my stuff (registration costs, ect.) transferred to the summer convention in Toronto. That? Would be awesome, as I have never been to Canada, but New Orleans, ya’ll… it just makes me want to cry.

Reason the fourth:
Have ya’ll seen the size of my ass lately?
The reason I ask is that well. I did this little search for a picture of these tee tiny little jean shorts that were worn only second to the hip white Levi jeans that I wore in this Blogger entry over here (3rd picture down, click to enlarge)… but those white jeans were hot baby. They even had a blue record on the back pocket with the word “DISCO” embroidered above said blue vinyl record. See? HOT.

But the reason that I was looking for a picture of myself in these tee tiny blue jean shorts was because I wore them and basically nothing else except a bathing suit for two years.

One summer when I went to camp… (please also see the link above… 2nd picture down) my mother was so freaked out that I would lose all of my clothes that she had so lovingly packed and written my full name in the back of the collar of each t-shirt and in the crotch or each tiny pair of panties with black permanent marker. She kept telling me, be sure to hang up my towel because if I didn’t it would mildew, make sure that I kept all of my clothes together or I would lose them, and, “For Pete’s sake, do not give your clothes away*!”

*I was one of those children. My nephew is the same exact way. One day my mother came to pick me up from school and I didn’t have my coat with me. She asked me where it was, “Did you lose your coat Susan?” “No ma’am.” “Well then, where is it?” “I gave it to so and so…” By the way, so and so is not a good name and my mother basically was all, “I bought that coat for you with hard earned money, why would you go and give it away!?” I meekly answered, “So and so did not have a coat.” Say it with me, Awwwww.

So I was so tweaked about not losing my clothes, having a mildewy towel and not giving anything away that when my mother and father came to pick up my sister and myself from camp (TWO WEEKS) my mother came into my cabin to help me pack. She opened my suitcase and there, inside, was each tiny t-shirt, tiny pair of panties and each pair of shorts still lovingly folded and in its place. I wore the same pair of shorts and a bathing suit for two weeks straight.

Yes, I showered. But I spent about 74% of my time in the pool or on a horse, so… um. Yeah, it was gross, but whatever. I was a happy girl. I didn’t lose or give away one thing… and my towel? Mildew free.

Where was I? Oh yes, the reason that I went in search of these pictures is because for Christmas I opened a gift from my mother. Inside was a box from Gymboree. I quipped, “Think it’ll fit?” and she was all, “Just you wait…” Oh, mother, the prankster. Inside the little Gymboree box was a pair of tee tiny jean shorts. The shorts. THE SHORTS that I wore everyday for like two years. Apparently my father has been doing some spring cleaning, in December, and for him spring cleaning means, “Woman, throw this shit away, I am not holding on to another twenty years worth of Southern Living!” So while spring cleaning, my father found this box of my clothing and inside? The shorts.

Behold.

And with a dollar for size reference.

Here’s the real test. On Christmas Eve, I opened that package. And my loving husband took this picture.
With my ass for size reference.

Enjoy.
Oh, and no making fun of my ass. You are supposed to comfort me in times of dismay.

January 18, 2007

My hotness (as opposed to the size of my ass) will eclipse the sun.

Ya’ll remember the mention of the headache-y/blurry vision/sinus thing in the last entry?

Or are you still stuck on the incredible size of my ass? Let it go baby, shhhhh… it will be ok. It is not The Ass That Ate Tokyo*. It is just a large organization of flesh attached to the lower part of my back and the upper part of my thighs.

*Mmmm Asian food.

Back to my sinus headache thing.

I called in sick to work that Friday. Oh, I already told ya’ll that… and what I did over that weekend. Then I posted the picture of the shorts on that Monday and by Tuesday I was feeling like I had been tossed into a chipper/shredder and put back together by 4 year olds (they use a lot of glue… and the pieces normally don’t end up where they should), so I went to the doctor.

I love this man. He is Argentinean, hot and insists that I am not fat. “No, no, no Sooosahn, your cholesterol is puurrrrrfect, you have the heart of an 18 year old, if you want to carry a little extra weight, eh… you are strong, you can. Do not ever let me hear you say that you are fat.”

Heh. A little extra weight.

See? Love him. He patted me on the knee when I hopped up onto the table for him to look at my ears, nose and throat. “They hurt, no? Your ears especially.” “Yesd. Yesd, they hurt bery mush,” I said (as hotly as I could through the phlegm). Then I blew my nose, popped an ear drum and was deaf for the last ten minutes of my appointment.

I could see him talking and writing on his little note prescription pad thingy. I have my own little Argentinean McSteamy. With the fabulous hair. And an amazing accent. So I didn’t mind that I couldn’t hear him it was like my own little medical docudrama. He is very expressive with his hands, gesturing wildly and raising his (hot) eyebrows a bunch.

Another reason I love him? I told him that I used to love to ride the bike trails all over my little town because when I was young, that was my transportation and (well, I left out the part about where we would all meet on the bike trails when we would sneak out at night) perfect for joggers, walkers and bike riders. So do y’all know what my hot Argentinean doctor did? He gave me a prescription for… get this… a bike. He said, “I have a guy. Go see [name of said guy] at [name of bike place] on [road], and tell him I sent you. With a ‘script for the bike, you won’t have to pay taxes on it and I am sure he’ll make you a good deal.”

How awesome was that? So, I? Am getting myself a damn bike for my birthday. And soon? My hotness (as opposed to the size of my ass) will eclipse the sun and Al Gore can kiss the Global Warming problem goodbye.

Then I asked him if I could go back to work. He was all, “No no no Soooosahn. You have a fever, go home, stay there for 48 hours at least. But eef you do naht whaant to do theees, eeef you want to get everyone seeek, then yoooose their phones and be sure to give them my card as well. Oh HO!” And then he walked off laughing like he was the hottest (yes), funniest (debatable), awesomest (yes) doctor in the world.

PS. Love him.

So I went to the pharmacy, stocked up on Puffs Plus with lotion (love them… LOVE, but hate them when they smear on my glasses) some medication, Riiiicooolllaaaaa (cough drops) and my prescriptions for antibiotics and some nasal spray that tastes like Freon, then went home and tried to sleep.

I even got all situated in the guest bedroom that did not include in the creature comforts one slightly bite-y 11 シ pound Chihuahua mix**. But did include a down comforter, a slightly cooler room temperature than the Master Bedroom and THE SUN! Dear Lord! The SUN!

**Seriously. If that dog is a full blooded Chihuahua then I am Blanche Devereaux. Or Charo.

Where was I going with this?

Oh, yes. I was pitifully sick, all snotty and my sinuses were inflamed. I couldn’t sleep, watch TV, eat (everything tasted like either the antibiotic or Freon), read or rest. It was miserable and you should all feel very sorry for me because. Wait, what? What did you say?

(It is here that I wrote about seven paragraphs about how Stacey was in a car accident last Monday and that we are lucky she is alive and then I look at the pictures of her totaled SUV she sent me today and I start to cry and I get all snuffly again and it is just not a pretty picture. So, let’s just all send good thoughts her way and tell 2007 that if it doesn’t lighten the hell up on her with the Achilles issues, the burst ovaries, the meningitis and now the asshole running a red light and directly into her car? That we are going to gang up on it and call it a non-year. It will be 2008 twice. 2007 will be dead to us. So 2007 better get going with making her husband all rich, her uterus all pregnant and her child and family and new niece to remain healthy. Capiche?)

And… breathe… (and cough up a lung… Ricooooolllaaaaaaa!)

Did ya’ll know that it snowed here? Here. In Texas. Well, really, it was icy rain that froze over and made us miss school/work for two days this week. Seriously, we closed Dallas down because of a little cool weather with some wintrymix bullshit thrown in. The weather teams on TV were all, “Holy shit! You guys better stock up on firewood and bottled water and Ravioli because this storm is going to Rock Your Ass OFF! It is going to get to like twenty something and we are ALL GOING TO DIEEEEE!!!”

Twentysomething. Really?

Wow. That’s like… a few degrees below freezing. Think we’re gonna make it there Scooter? Maybe I should go out and chop down the pathetic little willow like tree that is in my yard for warmth, huh? Should I start shredding books Sport? Maybe turn the kitchen table into kindling?

Seriously, these guys were all Chris Farley doing the “In the Van DOWN BY THE RIVER!” excited about this storm.

Yesterday I got up at my normal 6:30 am time and called into the office. “We will be opening two hours later than normal, please call back for an update before you leave the house.” At nine the phone rang and it was my boss. Mister walked into the bedroom to hand me the phone and I was all groggy, “Hullo?” It was my boss. “Are you sleeping!?” I started laughing. “Dude, what time is it?” “Um. Nine. Good thing I was calling you to tell you that the office is closed for the day.” “Rock on.” “What are you still doing in bed?” “Well, the message said two hours later… to me that means 10.” “But it’s 9.” “Heh. Yeah, I got that.” “Slacker.”

So since the 9th I have had off like seven days.

This is the best January ever. Except I had to move a planning meeting, and totally worked while I wasn’t in the office. But… BUT, I didn’t have to go in. But, I burned some personal time. So, um. I just cancelled out my point.

Mister and I are supposed to go to my parents’ house for the weekend with the rest of my extended family so I hope the Winter Blast of aught seven holds off for a few more days.

Also. I am going to this thing.

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In March. Green Bay, in March. Right now? It is 28 degrees and it feels like 20. I am sure that I am all tough with the pansy little Dallas ice storm (currently 38…. oooooooh) but I don’t know how tough my little hot house flower constitution will hold up to being outside, in the cold and snow, maybe with my nose all red and my ears hurty and also… um cold (thesaurus?... anyone?).

So, who’s comin with me?

January 24, 2007

A streetlight doesn't even come close.

I ordered long johns yesterday.

Long johns.

Oh, and while I was at my parents� house this weekend celebrating the National Holiday (aka, my sister痴 birthday month) I got to see someone.

This weekend was very odd.

I told y誕ll (Trying to change the way I spell ya値l. It痴 a great cause, please donate. If not for me, then do it for the long johns.) that I was a step mom once upon a time right? I am sure that I have mentioned it at least once, or twice, or beat the hell out of that dead horse within my first year of this journal. But y誕ll know. Y誕ll know.

She turned seventeen in November and I got to see her this past weekend.

My ex step-daughter.

She is beautiful and brilliant and hugged me a lot and I kept touching her hair and telling her that I was proud of her and that I loved her. She skipped the second grade so she is graduating in May. Graduating. In MAY. My (almost mine) little baby, is graduating in May.

She text messaged me on Friday something about 泥on稚 [my parents� names] live near [place they live near]?� So I texted back, and we went back and forth several times until my old ass and my nontexting ways just called her, 滴ey, how long are you going to be there? When are you and your mother heading back home?� 的n an hour or so, but I called [her boyfriend] and we don稚 have anything going on tomorrow, would y誕ll mind if we came by to visit?� 的 would love to see you�� and then I am sure I called her honey, baby, sweetie or poo. Yes, it is embarrassing, but it has been so long since I have squeezed her in a big hug or since I have seen her smile in person.

We talk via texting, on the phone and email pretty often, but I haven稚 seen her in about four years.

Four years.

Dear Lord, that is a long time.

And to be honest with y誕ll, I didn稚 want her to come with her boyfriend. I wanted her to come alone. Because� I am selfish. And I didn稚 want to see her 21 year old (yes, 21.) boyfriend macking all over her because y誕ll know how kids are when they are that age. And they have been together for over a year, so they are all comfortable with each other and I was sure there was going to be a lounging issue.

Lounging Issue = I, at the tender age of seventeen, would be sitting on the couch with my boyfriend. If I wasn稚 sitting ramrod straight with my hands in my lap or if I leaned on said boyfriend just to be touching him my father would say, 鉄it up. Stop lounging.� And he sounded mad too. Like I was blowing said boyfriend right there in the family room.

Until I turned, well, I think I may have grown up a little around 27-30ish� so until I turned 30 I thought that my father was a big old meany who wanted me to be a nun or at least not date until I was 40. Now? I understand.

You (and by you, I totally mean me) don稚 want to see that kind of familiarity between young lovers. Especially ones (or just the one) that you (yes, I mean me) used to tuck in and read night-night stories to, and shared the ugly green leather recliner with every evening and on Saturdays to watch The Babysitter痴 Club with on Nickelodeon. Seriously. I don稚 want to know if she is sexually active and if she is on birth control.

I have turned into my father.

When did that happen? At least I知 not bald.

Anyway. They came by at 1:30 pm and stayed for a few hours. R and S. She痴 the R. He痴 the S. And for some reason, I really did not want to like him. But? I did. He is sweet and tall and protective of her. Their hands automatically find each others when they are sitting on the couch, he rubs her neck while she is talking expressively with her hands, she beams when he says something about their future. And he lounged into her while she was talking to my mother and they just fit.

It痴 awesome that she has found someone she is so in love with. Really, I am very happy for her. I just want� well, I want so much for her. I want her to go to college, have a career, get out of a small town atmosphere, live in a dorm, and decide what she wants without it being decided for her.

And y誕ll? I can see her mother in her. Her father. I can almost tell the future. And I said as much to my mother as I watched them pull away from my parents� house with R seated firmly in the middle of the front seat of S痴 truck.

self: 溺omma?�
momma: 添es, baby?�
self: 典hink she値l go to college?�
momma: 的 certainly hope so� what do you think?�
self: 展ell, he痴 going with her isn稚 he? Because her mother doesn稚 want her to be alone.�
momma: 典hat痴 what she said.�
self: 鉄he痴 not going to live in a dorm because she 創eeds her space, and a kitchen where S can cook�.�
momma: 添es. She did say that.�
self: 的 predict that she goes for a semester, misses her mother or home life so much that she drops out� or��
momma: 徹r?�
self: 典hey get married young, either because they want to or because they have to.�
momma: 徹h, honey, you really think so?�
self: 滴er mother and father got married at 17 and 18.�
momma: 典hat痴 right.�
self: 添ep�. So��
momma: 鄭wwww� I hope not.�
self: 滴ide and watch momma, hide and watch.�
momma: 鉄he痴 such a smart girl though��
self: 釘ut what else does she know? This is her life. She doesn稚 know any different.�
momma: 的 hope we are wrong.�
self: 溺e too momma.�

We took pictures and they loved on my niece and nephew and R introduced herself as their 殿lmost cousin�. And she introduced S to my father, brother in law and Mister as, 典hese are your 疎lmost in-laws�.�

It was so wonderful to see her. She kept telling me that she thinks I have grown even taller. She痴 tiny, 5�1� and still comes to my chest like she did when I was still in her life. I miss her so much, but I know that I made the best decision I could at the time when I left.

I hope her life turns out to be everything she deserves, because she deserves it all y誕ll. Every little bit.

Sunday night when Mister and I were coming home� actually, we were driving to his office to pick up his Tahoe. (That Friday before I went out to meet him at his office because it works out somehow to be 30 miles shorter of a distance from his office than from our home.) We were on 144, going West at the 183 overpass, just past Cowboys stadium and Mister had just said, 添ou have a nice little vehicle here missy.� And I was all, 的 know, isn稚 she the cutest?� When WHAM!

Mister was all, 展hat the FUCK WAS THAT!??!?!!!� And I pulled over to see.

I had hit a street light that had fallen into my lane after a stupid ass drunk driver hit the pole going the opposite direction. There was a woman in the other lane pulled over into the median (she hit it too) and I went to the back trunk area to get my little flashlight so I could asses the damage. I turned Samantha (my car, for those of you not in the know� please feel free to get caught up right over here.) off, left the hazards on and went around front to inspect her grill. (Heh. Grill.)

She was bucktoothed y誕ll. Her little front driver痴 side fog light was knocked out, the fender was scraped up, there was a hunk out of the sidewall of the tire and the wheel well was all scratched up.

Awesome.

A cop pulled up behind us and he hopped out. 泥id you hit that street light? I almost did and I knew that it was there from the call that came in.� The unsaid, but totally implied 鉄HIT!� was there.

A man had pulled over in the eastbound lane. He hopped the guardrail and bounded up to the cop, told him he saw everything and that it was a 電runk, Hispanic guy driving a truck on three wheels and one rim headed towards Dallas�.

I thought to myself, 鄭m I on an episode of Cops?�

Mister, visibly shaken, and cold hopped from one foot to the other and smoked like a chimney.

I was shaken up a bit, but I hit a cow a few years ago y誕ll. A streetlight doesn稚 even come close.

Samantha is in the shop but I got great news from the repair guy today. Her alignment and her frame are both in perfect shape, he has the tire on order and the other parts are on backorder because she is so new. He痴 going to get her in running condition and then give her back to me so that I don稚 have to drive a rental until the parts come in for her new fog light and the fender� purely cosmetic stuff.

I can hear Jeff Foxworthy imitating his mother痴 voice in my head right now, 展e just can稚 have nice things!�

January 25, 2007

Here is a link of who I found (include link for my internet stalking purposes).

I have an urge. I’ve been talking about this to my friend Jules (check out her site over at there’s got to be a pony in here somewhere…) all morning on Google Talk.

By the way, she calls me her “internet-same-sex-invisible-crush” and that thrills me to no end.

The urge is to talk about an old lover. It came up during a conversation with Miss Jules that I had once been in deep loke (like/love) with a man who was separated… (read: Totally Still Married!) from his wife.

I know, I know. I do this to y’all all the time. You are probably tired of hearing about the Internet Crazies and my ex-husband and those random guys I slept with those times. (Seriously, if you are my sister or are related to me and are reading this, stop now. Really. It’s gonna get ugly and you probably don’t want to know this much about me.)

Wait, I have to tell y’all this first. Remember when my father was cleaning out the attic and found a bunch of my stuff? Also see: the shorts. He found an ass load of dolls and stuff. Ok, let’s all take a step back and remember that I did not really play with dolls. Stuffed animals? Okee Dokee. But beady eyed dolls that would say “ma ma” in a voice that sounded like one of those cow in a can things. (I want one of those cow things for my desk.) The dolls? Are way too creepy. Seriously. I have them haphazardly shoved into a garbage bag and hidden behind the sofa in the living room. I can tell that one night, they are going to rip a hole in the bag and come and suck my soul out of my sleeping body.

So? I called that “I Sold It on eBay” place and asked them if they would sell my dolls. The dolls are mostly Madame Alexander dolls that apparently are very expensive. You know what they said? “We will only sell your stuff if it will bring in more than $60.00… and you will retain 60% of the profit.” “So,” I replied “You’d take a 40% cut just to take some pictures of my dolls and post them on eBay?” The lady replied, “Yes.” So, I am going to take pictures of them myself and sell (read: Probably give) them to a lady I work with.

Well, goodness. I have really wandered off topic here huh?

Old lover. Right.

Ok. A few months ago I was playing a game I like to call “Googling Those Who Are Dead To Me… but not really because it seems that I am Googling them.” Please enable my crazy and tell me that I am not the only one who does this. Stop reading right now, and go leave me a comment that says, “Baby, shhhhh, you are not the only one. We all do that. Here is a link of who I found (include link for my internet stalking purposes).”

Well, since you are going to share with me? I’ll share with you. I found him in this link. I wont tell you his full name or anything, I will just say that he is a very big guy, wearing a baseball cap, a goatee and lifting a… well, lifting a fucking tiger. (psst… bottom left picture of the second page.)

And for those of you playing the home game this is the man who I have written about several times. The last time I think was back in like 2004 or something. Yes, I will spare you the links. But I was talking about how I dreamt about him, then my old coworker sent me an email saying that he called to leave his number, to ask how I was, blah blah blah. She told him I was remarried and wouldn’t give him any other details. Since then he has remarried his wife of a frillion years and apparently has taken up tigers as a job, sport or both.

I want to tell you guys about …

Well, no.

I have to keep some things a secret.

I want to tell y’all that I felt so loved by this man. He was kind, generous, giving, and therapeutic to my wounded feelings and my broken little heart. We would talk for hours on the phone, via email and chatted online endlessly. I needed his attention so much at that point in my life that I overlooked that he was still legally bound to his wife of (I think, at that juncture) fourteen years.

Juncture?

Whatever.

I met him on a sunny day in October at the Oklahoma Zoo and that day, he changed my world. “World” is such a strong word. But “heart” didn’t do the sentiment justice.

He picked me up and hugged me. It had been so long since I had been touched or approached with such love and gentleness that I almost melted. I was still a little bitter on the inside, so I didn’t share my tears of joy, relief or excitement with him.

He was living in Kansas when we met for the first time, and over the next few years I would see him every few months. I met his ex-wife and I met his sons. I even helped them move to Nebraska. We would go maybe a month or two without seeing one another for a weekend, and even that much time between visits was almost too much to bear. I needed to be near him.

I wanted to be more important than his sons. I wanted to be more important than his estranged wife. They shared responsibility of their kids even when they were divorced… I admired that, but was still jealous.

He was the first man I was ever jealous of. I wasn’t jealous of his charm, his close working environment with his female coworkers or friends, or even his (ex)wife. I encouraged them to get back together. They were better together than apart. But even then, I was jealous of the time he was spending away from me, not jealous that he shared a marital bed with the woman he was once married to.

Maybe I was just jealous of the time that I wasn’t being praised and handled like the hope diamond. Maybe I was just jealous that all of that attention that could have been mine was not there for me to enjoy.

I must admit that when he was there, in my apartment, all the time, I felt loved and cherished… but also a little smothered. I was so inconsistent. I wanted him to be with me, but when he was, I wanted to push him to go back to his ex-wife. I wanted to be petted and held and made love to… but I also wanted him to fight with me, to prove that I was right that he was this, that or the other. I wanted him to cook for me, coo over me and bathe me… but I wanted him to be a man. I wanted him to go out and make a life for himself and then we could work out a way to be with one another.

He was used to being the stay at home dad. He was used to working odd hours so he could be with his boys. He was used to waiting on and handling the needs of the woman/women in his life. I wanted him to change, but then again, I didn’t. I loved that he was tender and engaging. I loved that he could cook and figure out how to clean the lint trap in my dryer. I loved that he would wash my hair, bathe me and then make love to me like the world was going to end in the next hour. But… yet, I wanted something else.

When he went back home I would date men on and off again and he hated it. Hated it so much and would get so quiet that I could hear his brow furrowing over the phone. He knew that he couldn’t say a word before his divorce was final. And even when it was final, he hesitated to push me because I would come unglued at the first sign of jealousy.

I never told him I was jealous of the time he spent away from me. I never let him all the way in.

The most time we ever spent together was two weeks.

For the first part of the first week it was wonderful. He drove down and I was so excited that I drove up to Denton (north of Dallas) to meet him because I couldn’t stand it any longer. I had to see him, had to put my mouth on his, had to feel his soft goatee tickle my neck while he kissed the underside of my jaw. He would wrap his arms around me and lift me high off the ground, never squishing me just holding me. I would feel so safe.

He would wake up with me in the morning and talk to me while I was getting ready for work. He would make coffee and stand on the balcony smoking his off brand cigarettes and then send me off with a kiss and some sweet words. While at work, he would shop for groceries and fix dinner for when I arrived home. We would go out with my friends and listen to live music and drink cheap beer down at the Blue Note on Greenville. Around the second weekend, I started to see strain lines around my eyes as I did my makeup in the mornings and I wondered why I was getting so snippy.

I think I was having flashbacks of my relationship with my ex-husband. X didn’t like to work, he reveled in being unemployed and spent my paychecks like they were Monopoly money.

Kim did none of these things. He liked working, he didn’t like being unemployed, and he would use his own cash to buy things like groceries or whatever.

I think I just felt like I was being the new model that his ex-wife was being traded for. She did tell me that if she could choose anyone to replace her, that it would be me.

No. Just … no.

I am not sure why I am revealing all of these ugly things about how I treated him, because I did. I treated him badly and I wanted him to leave and feel like he was better off up north. I didn’t want him to leave his sons to be with some Texas Tart. I was never called that, but I certainly felt like it.

My heart was ugly and black when I was with him. He lightened it up several shades so I could go to therapy and work on getting it a nice off white color as opposed to the gray it was when I asked him to leave.

I think I want to apologize to him.

I would never do that because that would be selfish, only succeed in opening a door better left shut and making ME (it’s always about me, isn’t it?) feel better. I am sure he has moved onto better (and more stripey – a little tiger humor) things and I wish him nothing but the best. But that wish, will have to remain unsaid.

About January 2007

This page contains all entries posted to Suzanna Danna in January 2007. They are listed from oldest to newest.

December 2006 is the previous archive.

February 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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