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July 12, 2007

He mimed holding up a pillow to his little head.

Holy spreadable cheese. I am so glad that I didn’t come back to the office on Tuesday. I was having such a fit, and it just was not ladylike at all.

Long story short? That Ear Nose Throat guy? Is... a total douche.

Long story long. You sure you wanna push that button mister? Fine, suit yourself. Long story long.

Deep Breath... annnnnnnnnnd, here we go.

Alright. To catch some of you up to speed, I have been snoring ... LOUDLY for a few months now. I was worried that it had something to do with my surgeries
back at the end of March when they intubated me (good times... good times). So I decided to get a referral to an Ear Nose Throat guy. Hilarity ensued.

Well, not so much as hilarity as annoyance (scroll down to the end).

If you didn’t follow the links above it is basically like this. Went to see ENT guy, he scoped my sinus passages and my throat, found Hoffa and decided to put me on three medications and asked me to come back in two weeks. I went, was still snoring, the ENT guy didn’t know why I was there. As he was entering the office, “So, what seems to be the problem today?” I was totally caught off guard. “Um, you asked me to take two weeks worth of medication and then come back and see you. Two weeks worth of three different medications.” “Ah, I see.” And then he gave me a bucket full of one hundred dollar bills, kissed me on the mouth and said that I was the next contestant on TLC’s What Not to Wear!

Not really. He asked me some benign questions. Basically the same ones he asked me the first time I visited his stellar offices. I dutifully answered. He reverse tweezed my nostrils, found them blocked (shocker) and changed up one of the medications. “I would like for you to get a CT scan as soon as you can and then come back and see me with the results.” I got the CT scan last Friday... they made me take out my new piercing (suck)... and I got the films like he asked. I went back to see him on Tuesday and this is where we pick up the story.

When I went in on Tuesday I dutifully signed in, paid my co-pay* and sat down to wait for 45 minutes to see the ENT guy. When they took me back into the offices, I was put in a different room this time and waited another 15 minutes for him to show up. He walked in and brightly said, “So, what seems to be the problem today?”

*More on this later.

in my head: “Do you NOT read my file sir? Ever? I mean seriously. I have taken off a total of almost 9 hours from work to meet with you. I have seen you (this would be my third) three times in almost as many weeks. You have medicated me up the ass. Well, not literally up the ass. But you have medicated me with not one but two decongestants, an antibiotic and a nasal spray, you have asked me to go get a CT scan, which was another few hours out of work, not to mention the $53 fee for the scan and because you are a Specialist you demand fifty (FIFTY!... $50!) freaking dollars every time I come into your office. So let’s see, that is about 11 hours of missed work, five total medications at somewhere close to a hundred bucks, a fifty-three dollar CT scan and one hundred and fifty dollars in co-pays... and you want to know ‘what seems to be the problem!?’”

outloud: “You asked me to get a CT scan. I did. The films are just to your left.”

Because, as we all know, I am a big pussy.

He looked through the films, dropping them, smearing them with his little greasy fingers, and used a ballpoint pen to point to stuff when he got them stuck up in that little lighted box thingy. He went through each slide and what did he find? Oh, gee... I am going to go out on a limb and say, deviated septum, polyps, and a maxillary sinus cyst. DING DING DING! You are our new winner! You receive this great prize!....

ENT: So, did you get a report?
self: YOU have the report. You asked me to bring the films and I did... you said a report would be faxed to you. The report is in my file. [barely containing myself at this point]

He looked surprised to see my file at his right hand... my file that he brought into the 1970’s shag carpeted interoffice with him.

ENT: [flipping through the file]... um hmm... um hmm.... Ah, yes, we have the report.
self: ... [fairly sure I was gritting my teeth hard enough to bite my own face]
ENT: [reading the file]... hmm... So, yes... the polyp, the deviated septum and the maxillary sinus cyst.
self: ... [plotting his death]
ENT: So, there are several things we could do here. And you are sure you don’t need a sleep study?
self: Yes, I am sure. I do not have sleep apnea. As we went over before, and twice today I am familiar with what sleep apnea is. I do NOT need a CPAP machine, I do not stop breathing when I am asleep. I am just snoring. Loudly. Like a trucker.
ENT: Well, we could install two stints into your soft pallet to make it more rigid, therefore helping the snoring...
self: [eyebrows lifted in a “Seriously?” type fashion]
ENT: But that has not been tested long term, so we probably wouldn’t want to do that.
self: [do NOT roll your eyes, do NOT roll your eyes]
ENT: There was also this surgery where they cut two trenches into your soft pallet... that didn’t really catch on except for like a year or two...
self: So, not too popular, that one, aye?
ENT: No. I could do one surgery, in office, where I cut part of your soft pallet away along with your uvula.
self: Nooooooo. [totally thinking “You are not coming anywhere near me with a scalpel mister.”]

He talked for a while longer about my other “options”. I totally wasn’t listening, just trying to will the building to burst into flames. When I finally looked over at my purse and stood up from the chair I think he got a bit panicky that I wouldn’t come back so he couldn’t rape me for another $50 and ask me, “So what seems to be the problem?” next week. So he was grasping at straws and imparted this nugget of wisdom.

Hold onto your hats because it is awesome.

ENT: Have you ever thought of readjusting your pillow?
self: [::blink::] My pillow?

He mimed holding up a pillow to his little head.

ENT: Yes, your pillow, have you ever thought of readjusting it so your head can be in a more comfortable position and then maybe you will not snore?

The screaming inside my head was so loud y’all.

self: [::deep breath::] Yes, actually I have readjusted my pillow quite often...
ENT: Or, you know... you could just lose some weight.
self: Hey! THANKS! [biiiig smile]

I gathered up my films, picked up my purse and walked out on him while he was still talking. The receptionist asked me on my way past her if I needed to schedule another appointment. I kept walking. I opened the door to the hall and walked out. Both of them calling after me “Missus [last name]?”

I walked outside, got into Samantha, started the engine, took several deep slow breaths and then messaged Mister. When he called I replayed what had happened and he was all, “You need to report this guy! We need to tell Dr. Eduardo! Holy shit, that guy is insane! I knew I didn’t like him for a reason!”

I figured if I never reported the guy who used me as his own personal scab** then I probably won’t report this asshole.

**Yeah, uh... sorry.

I am not upset that he had me on so many medications; I am not even all that pissed that he wanted me to get a CT scan. I am however (comma) quite taken aback that he was not more in tune with his patients and their needs. I am upset that I busted my ass to make up hours I would miss from work just to be there (early) for the appointments that I scheduled with his precious time. I am upset that I would have to wait an hour or more to see him. I am upset that he pointed out various different abnormalities in my sinuses and wasn’t (EVER) sure in his answer about what would be the best course of action. He would just limp dick throw medications at me and suggest stuff that sounded ridiculous. If HE’s the specialist, then why couldn’t he be more...

I don’t know.

The office looked like something out of the Jetson’s cartoon. He had that old ass equipment. He had other people do the hard work (CT scan) and never knew why I, his “patient”, was there in the first place. I’m sure he has a lot of patients, but would it kill a guy to just flip the chart open and go, “Ah, yes... this is Susan, she claims to be bothered by the fact that she is ‘snoring like a trucker’... I have already put her on X, Y, Z medications, then switched her to A and ordered a CT scan for her last week. Here is the report. I am interested in my patients. I love people who wait an hour to see me and pay me fifty dollars for 10 minutes of my time.”

Would that be too much to ask?

In the mean time, Mister has started sleeping with ear plugs firmly nestled into his perfect man-ears and we are back to sleeping in the same bed. Rock.

July 26, 2007

Like a beacon to the crazy...

Hi! C’mere you... give us a big hug. Miss me? Yeah, I missed you too. Oh, and you. Annnnd... especially you, mrrrow.

Where have I been? What is this? You don’t trust me or something? I’ve been traveling. No where exciting, just work stuff.

I was in San Antonio last week and was served dinner by Jeffrey Dahmer. And this Saturday I am headed to Montreal.

What? Oh, the Dahmer thing? Well, the explanation isn’t half as creepy as the actual experience, and for fear of Google I may be a bit vague. Oh, who are we kidding? I am totally going to tell you every detail.

In all actuality, I am going to milk this Dahmer thing for all it is worth as I haven’t had anything exciting to write about in about eleventy days months and I am having quite the writers’ block with that whole “Pinky Swear” thing. Yeah, I’ve written a bit more, but... I’ll probably just trash the whole new section and start again as it is bad. BAD.

So, last week...

Wednesday a coworker and I went to San Antonio for a work thingy. We flew in, got to the hotel, walked over to Pat O’Brien’s and had lunch. It started a torrential downpour while we were there but we had to get back for a meeting at three. We waited for a bit then went back to the hotel in the rain, had a meeting, went for drinks with one of the hotel staff that we lurve and then set up.

After setting up, coworker wanted to go back to Pat O’s. As I am a good and proper woman (::snort::) I decided to take a pass at going back for drinks and decided to go check in, go to the hotel restaurant, have a nice quiet dinner and go to bed early as dawn’s ass crack would be arriving in the early hours. Four thirty in the AM in the early hours to be precise.

So I checked in. Went up to my room to freshen up a bit [read: sat on coffee table and stared at the wall for about 15 minutes... then burst into a flurry of activity that included wiping down the phone, tv remote and any other questionable surfaces with Purell®-soaked cloths then boiling my hands] then put the “Privacy” tag on the outside of my door, grabbed Elvira and went downstairs to look at their in-house restaurant menu.

The menu was like “Steak, Steak, Steak, Oh, and did we mention Steak... with a side of Steak? STEAAAAAAAAK!” But they had an interesting salad selection and some yummy looking tortilla soup... so, there ya go. I was in. I looked over and there were two tables occupying the whole place. My merry little table of one would round out the three tables for their early dinner rush.

A very nice hostess seated me and told me that Pale (with a D*) would be serving me that evening.

*I am totally not going to use his real name. You’ll know why later. And you guys can totally figure it out from the obtuse clue I gave above.

I will go ahead and give you guys the whole conversation because it was too surreal to not just step back and let you guys ‘hear’ the same things I did.


A slight, pale man with a receding hairline, small square glasses, a soul patch and a pleasant demeanor approached my table.

Pale: Good evening Miss [totally my real last name**], my name is Pale and I will be serving you tonight. How are you this evening?
me: Very well, and yourself?
Pale: [looking out the window, a slow smile spreads across his features] I am absolutely wonderful. I love this weather.

**I may be a hotel snob but I was not in the least bit taken aback that he knew my name. We frequent their venue often, I am a rockstar and ... the hostess actually asked my name when I first walked into the restaurant... and wrote it down... and gave it to Pale. Ahem.

I turned to look out the window at the soaked people walking around downtown San Antonio, the light looking as grey and filtered as possible through the overcast sky.

me: You like the rain?
Pale: Well, yes. You see... An optometrist once told me that outside of an albino, I have the blondest eyes that he has ever seen.
me: ....
Pale: [points to his eyes] They are very sensitive to sunlight, so I enjoy it when it is overcast like this.
me: Well, yes... you are... quite... pale?
Pale: I know.

He then handed me a menu, told me he would be right back to take my order and that he was going to check on his other tables. I nodded and looked over the menu. Salad, soup. Got it. He made his rounds and then came back to me.

Pale: So, have you decided what you would like to start with?

Now, normally, if you have dined with me, you know that I am all for trying just about anything on a menu unless it is beets or pickled onions or pigs feet or the eggs of a tender young pterodactyl or something. I just have two requests. No Onions. And No Onions. (Or beets... but I normally don’t run into that problem.)

me: I have a few questions.
Pale: Sure, fire away.
me: The tortilla soup, does it come with onions already in the mix or as a garnish?
Pale: Not that I am aware of, but I will definitely ask if it does, and request that they not add them if they are indeed in the ingredients.
me: Thank you. If they are already pre-made in the soup, no biggie, I am not allergic, it is just a preference. And the salad. I was wondering...
Pale: Onions?
me: Yes...
Pale: No onions are in that dish, and I will make sure that they are kept away from your plate. I totally get that about the onions. It’s texture thing right? I totally hate water chestnuts. You think that they are going to be crunchy and then they aren’t or are, I don’t know. Anyway... Anything else?
me: Yes, I would like some water. And could the iceberg lettuce in the salad be replaced with a leafy green of some sort?
Pale: Bottled water?
me: Sure.
Pale: And would more of the watercress suffice instead of the iceberg?
me: That would be wonderful thank you.
Pale: Okay, so [he repeats my order – I nod and he says...] let me clean off some of these extra place settings.

He retreats and I am sitting there waterless, totally wanting to whip my book out of my purse or pull out the old blackberry and check my email, or Google chat or something. But, I just sit. Another waiter comes out with Pale and they start clearing away the three unused place settings.

I’m screaming “WATER!” at Pale in my head.

He brings out the soup.

It was really very good. Tortilla soup... mmmm... it was a hearty broth with avocado and chunks of chicken, there were even some zucchini in the mix. In my head, “WATER!!!!!!!!!!” So, I flagged Pale down.

me: May I have some water please?
Pale: Of course, Aquafina or [I thought he said...] Tao?
me: Either is fine really.
Pale: I’ll bring the Tao. They are the same price but.. [leans in conspiratorially] Tao is just... fancier.
me: Well, who can argue with fancy?

He walks off and comes back with a teeny square bottle of water. He presents it to me like it is the freaking Shroud of Turin. He holds it in his right hand by the neck of the bottle and presents it over his left forearm so I can see the label. Fancy indeed, whatever... just pour it, AM THIRSTY.

me: Thank you.
Pale: You are welcome. So, what brings you into town?
me: [Stopping midbite of soup] I... I’m here on business.
Pale: With a conference? Which group?

I tell him.

Pale: Well, you don’t look like a [another group in house] and I wasn’t sure if you were a [another group in house] but you totally seem like a [our group].
me: Really? Actually I am just the planner. Not a member of the group.
Pale: And where are you from?
me: Dallas. [Taking small sips of soup... thinking “Go away, Eating. Fat girl, eating. Can you please stop talking to me? Alone for a reason, mmmm soup, go away.”]
Pale: Ah, Dallas. I’m not from here originally.
me: Is that so? [Mentally kicking myself.]
Pale: Yes, I was born in blah blah blah blah blah blah and my mother died when I was blah and my father on his number blah wife moved down here and I went to blah school, and my brother is a chef and my Dad used to work for blah and ... whoops, hold on, I need to check on that table.

I continued eating. I also snuck out my blackberry and texted Mister, “The waiter has a crush on me. I know his entire history by now, and I haven’t even finished my fucking soup.” Mister writes back, “He sounds crazy, be safe.”

Oh, little did I know.

Pale: I’m back.
me: Yes...?
Pale: So when I was in blah town going to blah school I thought to myself, “you know... this town isn’t for the likes of me... I need to go where there is more... [dramatically long pause] intelligence”, you follow me?
me: Sure.
Pale: So where did you go to college
me: Stephen F.
Pale: Nac-a-nowhere.
me: You got it.
Pale: So, you know what I am saying.
me: So, you didn’t enjoy [name of his school and town]? [mentally... “Stupid, stupid, stupid... stop asking him questions... your soup is getting cold.”]
Pale: Well, I would have enjoyed it a lot more if I wasn’t married at the time.
me: Ah...
Pale: You see, my ex-wife was a stripper blah blah blah blah didn’t know that until we had been dating for about blah weeks. She was blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah

He goes on to describe his ex-wife and everything about their marriage and how she was sleeping with another guy, he caught her, asked her about it... THREE DAYS LATER, and she didn’t fess up. On and on and on... and how he is still in love with her and his current girlfriend is an angel for putting up with it. Y’all, seriously. I could have written the “Pale Biography” by that point. Until... dum Dum DUMMM!

Pale: Now you know everything about me.
me: Seems like it.
Pale: Gotta check on that table, be right back.

He brings my salad, some people I know stopped by to say hello. We chat for a second and then they leave. Pale comes back over and repeats.

Pale: Now you know everything about me.
me: I guess.
Pale: Well, everything except the interesting and inappropriate parts.
me: The inappropriate parts are usually the most interesting. [Metally, “I swear, if you don’t SHUT UP...]

He visibly brightens and then says...

Pale: Well, there is one thing I could tell you that wouldn’t be too inappropriate.

I raised an eyebrow as in “don’t push it, you.” He totally took it as, “Oooh, tell me everything you very intelligent man, I am so very interested in your life and all that it entails!”

Pale: When I was married my wife had a friend of hers come in from Las Vegas. He needed a place to crash for a few days so he stayed on our couch. He kept mentioning that he had robbed a place unarmed and had millions and that the police may be looking for him. This was like back in 2001 or something, when I was living in [town].
me: Okay.
Pale: So, one night we were going out to this gay bar that he frequented and the cops pulled up behind our car and demand that we pull over, get out of the car, lay down on the ground with our hands out. That doesn’t sound like the kind of thing the police would do just for an unarmed robber, right?
me: Not sure...
Pale: The police thought we were all in on whatever Chris... we knew him by Chris but his name was Matthew Frenn... was into. So we all get out of the car and taken into custody. The police had every phone tapped, every room bugged in our apartment. They listened as Chris talked about how he was going to spend his “millions”. But [dramatic pause] it ended up that he hadn’t robbed anything or anyone.
me: What did he do? Oh, and can I have some of that chocolate cake?
Pale: Sure. He killed his step father and his own mother in Vegas.
me: Damn. What did you say his name was? I am totally Googling this when you walk off.
Pale: Ha! Matthew Frenn. With two n’s. Be right back with your cake.

He walks off to take care of the last remaining table’s check, and to get my cake. And I whipped out the blackberry, Google’d Matthew Frenn and wouldn’t you know?

HENDERSON SLAYINGS: 29-year-old man arrested in two deaths. (news) COPYRIGHT 2001 Las Vegas Review-Journal BYLINE: CARRI GEER THEVENOT REVIEW-JOURNAL

The son of a Henderson couple has been arrested in Texas on two counts of murder in connection with a double homicide discovered last week.

Henderson police said Matthew Scott Frenn, 29, was arrested Sunday in San Antonio. Police identified him as the son of a couple who lived at 15 Book Wagon St., where two bodies were found...

So I texted Mister, “Dude. Waiterboy unknowingly harbored a murderer.” Mister replied, “Get up and walk out of there now.” I said, “Can’t yet... cake.” If this guy was going to slay me or anything I thought that he already knew my name and could get my room number from the computer. Might as well have some cake.

I am sure Mister was sitting there chewing his face off with anxiety at his daft wife with “Tell Me Everything” written in neon on her forehead like a beacon to the crazy.

So Pale comes with the cake.

Cake = good.

Then he opens up a whole ‘nother kind of crazy. A kind of crazy that even scared me a little.

Pale: So, I was working at this tire/oil/lube repair shop at this local Wal*Mart.
me: [Mentally, “I just got whiplash... warn me about the sudden topic changes there champ.”] O...kay.
Pale: And I’m not big into talking with large groups of people, or playing around with the fellas.
me: But you’re just fine talking when it’s one on one huh?
Pale: Heh, yeah.
me: [Mentally, “SHUT UP, SUSAN!”]...
Pale: And the guys all thought I was kind of scary, quiet white boy in a predominately Hispanic working environment.
me: I can see where they would be coming from...[Mentally, “I said, SHUT UP!”]
Pale: So they made this AIM account for me under the name of... get this...
me: [Mentally, “Seriously, do NOT say one word.”]...
Pale: Dahmer.
me: Alrighty, check please.

And with that, I bid you a fair adieu. As I will be in Montreal until next week.

About July 2007

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

June 2007 is the previous archive.

August 2007 is the next archive.

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