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August 2007 Archives

August 10, 2007

Please keep personal phone calls a little more "brief".

There are strange things afoot at the Circle-K, y’all. I keep getting cryptic messages from my boss saying stuff like, “Please reserve Oct 5th for an out-of-town meeting. I'll explain later.” And, “If you want to see your precious Post-it™ notes again, meet me in the alleyway at noon. And come aloooooone!” Okay, not so much with that last one. But I got tickled typing it so at least it was funny to me. Heh.

Oh, and also... Do y’all remember Coughy McChokesOnPhlegm? She got canned yesterday.


You know what? This is totally not interesting to anyone but me. Let’s move on.

Y’all know how I cherish old friends and people who knew you back when? For example: see any entry that begins with “this one time?”, any story that has to do with college, dancing, Stephanie/Stacey/LuLu, any old friends from high school and or church.

Basically my whole repertoire is old ass stories from way back when (when I was interesting) and various shit that I get myself into on a daily basis [see also: psycho waiters].

Well, a few weeks ago. No... let’s back this puppy up and go for a whole what goes around comes around theme, shall we?


Remember these guys? (Click to make biggie)

H20 Tic Tac Toe anyone?
From Left to Right: Scott, Ryan (the sweet one who wrote me poetry in the 8th grade), Carter, Eric, Me and my ‘brother’, Brian.

And these two stories right here? About said boys (in picture above) and how we were all friends? A year or two ago [totally checking archived sent messages to verify myself – okay it was like on 2/2/06] I got word from my boss (who knows Ryan’s dad – go figure) that Ryan and his wife had moved back to town to open up shop as they are doctors or something. So I sent a friendly email saying “Hi”, I told him I was glad he and his wife were back in town and to please reply back and let me know if they would be up for dinner one evening to catch up with Mister and I. Never heard a peep from him.

Y’all remember Hot Barney? Also known as Tim... the jock in this entry? Still haven’t heard a word from him since October of 2005. Heard from his last (known to me) girlfriend via email last week or so (?). But still nothing from Tim.

Do you guys ever go onto classmates.com and search for people you knew in high school or college?

Do you ever Google people? Oh, come on. Admit it. You know that I am a big ol’ bucket of crazy and Google people like a mad bastard... and that I get those emails from classmates.com that say, “Hey, you big loser! Twelve people looked at your profile, sign up with our Supercalafragalistic Gold Package to see who!” I always try to cheat it and ... well, I am just not that smart. But you know who is? John.

I have known John since middle school. John’s family (like mine) was from Georgia and moved to the Dallas suburbs. John was always there. John was handsome and tall... the sweet guy who all the girls adored but never admitted it. (Except Stephanie, she totally dug John’s vibe. Shhhh... don’t tell.*) He was the guy who your [read: my] mother would try to talk you into dating. “Oh, Hortense, [or whatever your name is... and again, I totally mean me.] why don’t you call that sweet and very handsome John up and see if he will come over Sunday after church for lunch? Or maybe you could drop a hint about that new movie. Didn’t he ask you to the Soccer Banquet? That must mean he really likes you.” While you [again... me.] knew darn well that yes, John was tall and handsome, the good guy, the sweet one with a quick smile and a great sense of humor, a total catch... that he was never really into you [again... ME!]... that way.

*He was totally into Stephanie for a while, and she him (hee... 8th grade Valentine’s Day dance). So this is all no surprise. But again, here I am airing other’s people business. (Sorry Steph! (PS: this will probably continue until the end of this entry) Love you! Call me!)

But no matter how many dances and banquets you [ME!] went to with John there was no way your [again, I totally mean mine] mother would ever understand that you couldn’t really date him because your best friend still held a candle (...in the wind, never knowing... who to cling to... when the rain set innnnnnnn! Yeah, okay. Sorry about that. Need to lay off the caffine.) for him. Whether the candle was a massive burning pyre or a teeny little votive, Steph held one for John.

Confession: We totally made out one time. John and I, not Steph and I... pervs. It was awesome. Get this, driving into Amarillo, the sunrise bathing the ugly pattern on the bus seats in beautiful light while 35-plus other kids slept. We were a Baptist Youth Group heading for the mountains of Colorado to go skiing. John and I were the only ones awake and we started humming George Strait’s song “Amarillo By Morning” and then he kissed me. AWWWWWWWWW!**

**Don’t judge me. PPS... shut up.

John moved away shortly after we graduated and went back to Georgia. I saw him again, but only briefly with another friend (my 7th grade boyfriend Mike, whose family had moved back to GA when he was in the 10th (?) grade) when they drove up from Atlanta to see me at my Aunt’s house the summer before we went to college.

That long-ass run on sentence almost broke my brain.

So I found John on classmates.com and sent him an email. Not knowing whether or not he was a Supercalafragalistic Gold Classmates.com member and if he would even receive said email. I was basically just throwing something against the wall to see if it would stick. I sent him a completely moronic email basically slobbering all over myself. “OMG! Is this the John from [suburb]? DUDE! Email me! Let’s catch up and talk about all the fun we haven’t had together in the past like 20 years!”

Surprisingly enough, the man emailed me back. He was eloquent and sweetly surprised that I tracked him down. He is married with two kids and the most amazingly beautiful wife ever. We have been emailing back and forth, showing pictures and catching up as much as you can via email.

When I got back from Montreal and turned on my cell phone there was a message from him. I called him the next day and we chatted for an hour. I got this email from my boss during our phone call (unedited for your enjoyment)...


I know you enjoy talking with your friends, but please keep personal phone calls a little more "brief".



How awesome is it that old friends can come out of the blue and it feels like you just talked to them yesterday? The Georgia boys came out of the woodwork this past week. Mike (said 7th grade boyfriend mentioned above) emailed me from classmates.com as well. It was total coincidence because he and John don’t keep in touch. He’s been married for going on 12 years now... and has twins.

Also, remind me to tell you more awesome stuff about John and the time Mike lost a new pair of Reeboks when we snuck out one night.

PPPS: John may be reading this. I gave him the address. If so. Hi! Feel free to leave embarrassing comments below.

August 17, 2007

Housekeeping Items.

I want to start this out with a shout out. What? Am I too white for bringing the shout outs? Fine. Then I just want to make reference to two awesome things... and then ask help for one whiny thing.

The two... wait, three, THREE awesome things are as follows;

One: Weetabix is like the godfather of the internet. Except that she is a woman... with really big boobs and I have yet to see her pull a semiautomatic weapon out of her precious black patent leather clutch. You need something? It is as good as done. You want someone taken out... wait, not that part. But she hooked me up in a very big way. She writes for an awesome e-zine called Elastic Waist with some other splendid ladies. I talked to her about her entry on birthday cake and she asked me to write about what she and I have shared with one another in the past and BOOM! EW published my entry. See? How awesome is that?

Two: Weet sent me an email with that good news that the brilliant women over at Angry Fat Girlz had me listed as a Featured Post (on the right). It’s like a big love fest over here. Thanks for the props ladies! What? Too white to pull off mad props too? Fine. Then how about, “Thank you ladies for linking to my EW debut.”

Three: It may finally be time to make this public. It is not completely done yet but I finally went and did it (the Notify Lister’s already know this as they get the dirt first) and purchased my own domain name. I went with Moveable Type as my deck and... well, I had an epiphany. I am not very bright. I have no idea how to move over my images and get the searchy thing at the top to let me search for keywords in my journal instead of having to log into MT and then search. I want everyone to be able to search for such gems in my journal like “Iodine” and “Baby Oil”. Like the fine people that find me through searching “Breast Piercing” or “Grandma Boob”. Thanks Google.

Unveiling... (imagine a timpani in your head... seriously, this calls for fireworks and shit.) my new site. Dum di-deee dum dum Dum DUMMMMMM! I give thee: Suzannadanna.net!!! Yes, I know. It needs more. Well, just more. I want to have a list of links and maybe another column on the other side but, as I mentioned above. Not so much with the MT mojo. And if the site doesn’t have a sort of grey flowers in relief thing at the top, maybe hit refresh or something? Seriously.... I DON’T KNOW.

Whiny thing: anyone want to help me? I am in dire need of some Moveable Type smarts over here. Seriously, did you see it? Someone the other day told me that the new site needed more cowbell. I would link to him but he doesn’t have a site (slacker.). I have emailed designers from other places, even the people who entered the MT template contest. No response yet. Anyone? Please? Help?

So, that’s the news.

I’ll be back soon with a story about Reebok’s and almost getting nailed for breaking an entering ... at 13.

August 21, 2007


I told this story to my husband for the first time* the other night after telling him about getting in touch with John and Mike (old friends who moved back to Georgia during high school – in Mike’s case – or shortly after high school – in John’s).

*I probably told Mister this story before as I have a habit of repeating myself and as a bonus he has a habit of not remembering shit.

I was young. Like 6th - 7th grade young and I had this habit, nay... compulsion to sneak out of my house. I was up anyway (read: please note the frillion times I have mentioned that I currently drug myself into a stupor to get to sleep, insomniac, any sentence that begins with 3 am... ect.) so why not be productive. Right? I couldn’t watch TV as my mother was a light sleeper, same with reading all night. I would turn a page and hear my mother getting out of bed to check on me.

I slept (ha.) with a fan on 365 nights a year to act as white noise. It would help mask the sound of a cat slinking past my window outside, my sister yelling at whomever she was mad at (at that moment) in her sleep. “NO!” “mumble mumble” “I WILL NOT!” Traffic three streets over. My father turning over in his sleep. So the fan masked noise for me, but I still had to be careful because it didn’t mask other noise around the house and my mother was as light as a sleeper as I was.

I don’t think she slept through the night from 1970 to at least 1990.

Twenty years, no sleep. No wonder she took (and still takes) cat naps for like 5 minutes; in car rides or in her chair at the house; and awakes fully refreshed and happy, eyes blinking with maybe a small stretch thrown in. Those five minutes naps were probably all the sleep she could get with my sister and I in the house.

So for some reason I decided that it would be a smart move to start sneaking out of the house.

For the first year or so I would just lift my floor length window (that was on the front of the house), quietly pop out the screen, lay the screen up against the house for easy retrieval when I got home, crawl out, close the window and be on my merry way.

No biggie right? I was going for a walk, or to meet friends under the bridge on the bike path, or whatever. Who knows why I decided to just leave in the middle of the night. I wasn’t up to any kind of trouble, other than the whole being outside walking the streets of my neighborhood during the witching hours at like twelve years old. (Seriously, install an alarm.)

There was another insomniac in the neighborhood and she lived right across the street. One night I came home and my parents were up waiting for me. The neighbor had called my mom. I can just hear that phone conversation. “Yeah, I just saw her sneak out of her window about 5 minutes ago.” The next day my father planted a holly bush right outside my window.


I was long limbed, but not long limbed enough to clear a big ass holly bush and be stealthy quiet, and not get caught by Miss Neighborhood Crime Watch lady. So, my little outings stopped for a bit.

Not long though.

I was normally grounded for most of the school year for “Not Meeting My Potential” and or just slacking off on homework. I would ace tests, but if the homework wasn’t done, I wouldn’t pass that portion. I kept up a passable (sometimes even good) average that way, but the teachers were concerned with my general “don’t give a shit” attitude. I was always polite, that is what they didn’t understand. I was always truthful, I... just didn’t care.

teacher: Susan, I don’t understand. You’re test was impeccable, but you have yet to turn in this week’s homework. You know that the homework counts as ___ percentage of your grade, right?
me: Yes ma’am. I apologize, I know that my grades to reflect the homework that is missing. I will be sure to complete the work that is assigned next week.
teacher: Please do.
me: Yes ma’am.

And because my mother was in the school system as a sub-teacher almost daily** she knew of my occasional*** slip ups. And then this conversation would happen.

**My mother was more popular than I was.
***Totally not occasional, more like incessant.

momma: Susan, I spoke with Mrs. History Teacher today, she said that you failed to turn in your homework.
me: Yes ma’am.
teacher: Do you have a good reason for not doing the work that you were assigned.
me: No ma’am.
teacher: What is wrong with you? You have SO MUCH POTENTIAL... and yet you are letting it all just pass you by just because you are lazy.
me: Yes ma’am.

Sadly, this is where I would most likely be nodding in the correct places and making “I completely understand your disappointment in me” noises but I was really planning on what eye shadow would go with my outfit the next day.

When I wasn’t grounded for my grades or procrastination or not applying myself I would be grounded for sneaking out.

So, therefore I was grounded for about six years out of my high school education.

The no privacy rule, no closing the door rule, no lock on your door rule, and you are taking WAY too long in the shower rule, you are grounded and not allowed to watch TV, talk on the phone, go out with your friends and anything that has to do with contact with another human unless it is at church probably drove me batshit insane with desire to just fucking talk to someone without being under the thumb of one parent or another. And Yes... I do realize that I brought most of this on myself with the whole not doing my home work and my sneaking out in the first place but come ON.

Vicious cycle. I know. Whatever.

I stopped sneaking out of my bedroom window and started checking on the windows throughout the rest of the house. Couldn’t go out any doors. There were three. The front door and the back door (to the porch area) that both made this sucking noise like you were pulling a vacuum cleaner hose off of a cat, and the other door was to the garage. I couldn’t go out any doors. So... I was like a freaking mime trying to open the invisible window that wouldn’t make any sound.

I struck gold one afternoon. There was this window that was in the den. It led to the patio. The patio was surrounded by windows. The whole house was surrounded with windows, but my folks slept with their door open to their bedroom and could probably see me with the eyes in the backs of their heads.

OMG, remind me to tell you about the WaterGate phone my mother had in her bedroom. (THE RAGE!)

Back to the window: this was a quiet window. The only downside was that it was on the patio. The patio had patio furniture. Do you see where I am going with this? The patio furniture consisted of a glass table with 4 chairs, a chair with a poofy cushion that was waterproof and a matching couch. The furniture; four table chairs, the table, poofy chair and the couch all had iron frames. The iron framed poofy couch was pushed up against the quiet window.

Can you hear the screams inside my head from like twenty-two years ago?

I was bound and determined to make it work. At least one more time.

It was the summer, I was 13. I was dating my first serious boyfriend. His name was Michael. He had black parachute pants and liked Stryper. I was in lurve. We went to the same church and the same school and he was a bad boy. He was hard rock (Heh... Stryper) and looked a little like Stephen Pearcy from RATT. All tight jeans and dark hair with these piercing green eyes and eyelashes that made you want to punch him in the neck. I think he even wore black eyeliner once... and he pulled it off.

Our parents were scared shitless when we were together.

They should have been.

For some reason... well, let’s just go on the record and say that Mike was experienced. How you get an experienced thirteen year old boy, I am not sure, but unless he was totally faking it, and I bought it... he was experienced.

Lord, I am on page four and I haven’t even gotten to the part where we snuck out.

So, it was summer, the whole church group was going to Six Flags the next day as a fun thing for the kids. Most of us had season’s passes and were at the park several times a month. Michael called me and asked me to meet him behind the school at like midnight or something.

Also? The bike paths were a dream if you were a kid who needed to get somewhere and you had your bike, your feet or a skateboard. As our mom’s drove, Michael and I lived about three miles from each other. As the crow flew, and as the bike trails permitted, we lived about 1 and 3/4 miles away.

So I decided to use the window to the patio. I was reluctant to go out an not because I was tired or needed to get rest for the big day at Six Flags the next day or because I thought it would be stupid to go. I was hesitant because I knew that there was a chance of rain. That afternoon after I got out of the pool I went and took a shower, shaved (my legs pervs), went the whole nines on my hair so it would be ready for Six Flags the next day. But then Michael called. I was worried that if I went out and it actually did rain that I would be busted like a dingo in a daycare facility.

What does naturally curly hair do when faced with humidity? Or God forbid rain? Fro! I would get fro hair. I knew it would be a dead give away because there would be NO way to talk my way out of that one. “Susan, didn’t you go to bed with your hair done? It looks like you let it dry naturally. Or you are trying to imitate Dianna Ross. Did it rain in your ROOM SUSAN!!?!???!!!” Gah.

So, yeah, I wasn’t all on board with this plan for sneaking out. But what the hell, I decided to go. I waited until the house was quiet. I put on sweat pants and a t-shirt or something, some socks and some grey and pink shoes (I Know.) that I could hide if they got muddy or something, (Why sweats in summer? Not sure. Again, thought I could hide my “fat” under baggy clothes.) and headed for the quiet window.

I opened the window, popped out the screen, left it laying between the outdoor couch and the wall and then looked at the approximately 6 inch gap left to squeeze through between the top of the couch (that was squishy – except for that pesky iron bar that made up the frame of said couch) and the top of where the window opened.

I turned to the right in a crouch and braced myself against an end table and the window sill. I stuck my left foot, then my left leg though the small space. I pushed off with my right leg and got my ass and torso through and like some sort of contortionist I pushed myself the rest of the way between the 6 some odd inches left from the top of the iron couch and the bottom of the window... quietly. That is the operative word... quietly.

When I was through the gap, I leaned over the back of the couch and closed the window. QUIETLY. I froze, crouched on the couch, and tried to slow my heart rate so I could listen to see if I had awoken the slumbering parental units in their room.

All was clear.

I tip toed around the perimeter of the pool, back to the where the pool equipment was and scaled the fence. Once I was in the alley I broke into an easy trot to make it to the school and behind it in a few minutes. I met Mike there and we crossed the pipe, talking quietly the whole way. We were on our way across a field when the first sprinkles of rain fell. Not a lot, just enough to make it really humid and BAD for me.

me: Shit.
Michael: What’s wrong?
me: Rain, curly hair... totally busted.
Michael: Can’t you just take a shower and fix your hair when you get back?
me: A quiet shower... with a quiet blow dryer.... ?
Michael: Sorry. Yeah, you’re screwed.
me: [::heavy sigh::]
Michael: Well, since you’re already busted, want a smoke?

He pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and bent over a lighter to light one. He offered it to me after making sure it was fully lit.

me: [::shrug::] Sure, now... what do I do here?
Michael: Well, when you put it to your lips, suck in a little bit, not too much, then when you take it away from your lips, breathe in a little. That’s called inhaling.

I did as I was told. I brought the smoke to my mouth, placed it against my lips, took a small drag and breathed in as I handed the smoke back to him. I blew the smoke out as he was taking a drag and watching me closely.

Michael: You didn’t cough.
me: No. Am I supposed to?
Michael: Maybe you didn’t inhale. Here, try again.
me: Alright.

So I went through the same motions, this time taking a bigger drag and letting the smoke out slowly. Again, no cough.

Michael: Hmmm, maybe you were just born to smoke or something.
me: Whatever.

We walked along in companionable silence for some way, just walking and smoking as we worked out way into a neighborhood. There were new houses being built almost as fast as people could buy them and our suburb was growing rapidly. Michael had come by an open house earlier in the day, just before he called me, and unlocked a window on the side of the house. He thought we could use the house as a hang out for the evening.

We walked around to the side of the house and he slid the window open. The house next to us was completely dark but a yippy dog was going ape shit so I asked him to hurry so the dog wouldn’t wake the family. We used the air conditioning unit to boost ourselves over into the window ledge and left our shoes outside on the A/C unit so we wouldn’t get the house and its’ new carpet muddy.

We slid the window shut and he said, “In here.” And led me into a small bathroom. We sat on the floor and just talked for a while. Then he kissed me and told me that he wanted this to be a special night. He reached into his pocket and brought out a condom.

Hi. I was thirteen. The thought of losing my virginity, even though I was completely in LURVE with this bad boy was enough to make me so nervous that I seriously thought I was going to hurl. He tried to calm me down but just as I was about to seriously throw up (How cool was I?... SO very cool. I know. You’re jealous.) I looked up into the small window that was set up high above the tub/shower combo and saw the blue and red flashing lights of a police car bouncing off the neighbors’ house and the one we were in.

me: Mike, we gotta get out of here... Now.
Michael: Everything will be fine if we just go slow.
me: Let it go man, it’s not going to happen... and we are just about to get busted by the cops.
Michael: WHAT!?
me: Look up at the window. Either the neighbors and their yippy dog called the cops or we tripped an alarm.
Michael: Shit.
me: No doubt. We don’t have time to go out that window. I’m going out the back door.
Michael: But what about my shoes!? They are my new Reeboks!
me: To hell with your shoes. I’m out of here.
Michael: You’re right... right behind you. See you tomorrow.

We bolted out the back door and into a muddy back yard that thankfully hadn’t been fenced in yet. He ran to the left and I hauled ass to the right. I ran in my socks over streets and fields and into alleys and across drain pipes. I got back to my house and I was covered in sweat, I smelled like a cigarette, my socks were destroyed, I had blisters on my feet from running on concrete in wet socks and my hair was HUGE. But, my virginity was in tact, I was home and I didn’t get busted for breaking and entering... even if there was no breaking or damage involved. We snuck into a home that we were not supposed to be in, it could have been worse.

I took off my socks and hid them under my sister’s window, slipped over the fence and tip toed around to the patio window. I froze, thinking something was wrong but I couldn’t hear anything. The house was still dark, the screen was where I left it and the window was still unlocked. I lifted the window, slid back inside between the teeny gap, slowly put the screen back on the window with a teeny “snick”, lowered the window and locked it. I was just standing up to let my eyes get adjusted to the dark of the house when my mother said from a corner chair, “Have fun?” I jumped (because she scared the shit out of me) and I answered truthfully, “Not really.”

momma: We’ll talk about this in the morning. Of course you are grounded and are not going to Six Flags, and I am sure Michael’s parents won’t let him either.
me: Michael?
momma: The two of you were together weren’t you?
me: ...
momma: [his mother] called me. He walked out the front door.
me: ...

And I will go ahead and give you two guesses on who got to go to Six Flags the next day. That is right, Michael. And the last time I saw him, in GA in like 1988 or 1990, he was still razzing me about his freaking Reeboks. “Those were eighty dollar (or whatever) shoes!” “I wasn’t the dumbass that wore new shoes to sneak out in when it was clearly muddy as hell... EVERYWHERE!”

Since it’s been like 17 years, and we are back in touch, he is married with twins we are having a blast getting caught up on everything that we’ve missed. But we made each other a deal, I won’t sing him any Journey songs and he won’t even allude to those freaking Reeboks or he is dead to me. But... I never promised that I wouldn’t out him and the story of the freaking Reeboks on the internet.

August 30, 2007

Hair Cut (HUGE PICTURE - SORRY!) and Re-Org


I just typed that like a minute and a half ago and then it just sat there looking at me like some judgmental rabbit or something. “So.” It’s just so... leading. And Expectant. Better than an expectorant, but my grammar is shameful. Moving along.

The big news. Well, it may not be big to you, but to me? Yes. Very. And to Mister whose hopes and lollipop dreams ride on this very thing. A Very big deal.

I got my hair cut. And darkened. And layered. And then cut some more. It merely grazes my shoulders y’all. GRAZES. I am very caps locky today. But yet, I CAN’T STOP. My hair is piece-y. And shiny. And here is a picture of the back.

It’s not all that short but why is it that men always want women’s hair to be long and flowing... like it is a direct tie to our sexuality? I always saw myself as having long silver-grey hair as an older woman. Wearing chignons and updo’s and pulling the hair together at the nape of my neck with a mother of pearl clasp, but the other night at dinner I saw a woman with my hair type. Her hair was long and fine, silver-grey. She had it pulled back and it looked... well, it looked like one of those filmy clear shower curtains. And I don’t care who you are, that is just not a good look for anyone.

So I cut it. Feel free to tell me how pretty it is in the comments below. Or on the new site. I don’t even know if those work or not. It’s a work in progress. Anyone wanna kick in a little overtime. Rock on.

(No Segue Zone.) Also.... (Parentheses.)

Okay, I’m not really a talker of the whole work thing because I live in constant fear of being dooced. Or do I talk about work everyday and just not realize it? I don’t think that I go into too much of what I do (you can totally contradict me here) and all that it entails but I know I have mentioned my awesome boss. My awesome boss is responsible for the Ode to Hoopty thing, he is responsible for the purchase of Chelsea, and he and I have been traveling (and shopping) together for four years this coming December.

A few weeks ago the department did a massive reorganization thing. Yeah, I know, you have all been through at least one or two of these. But here is the thing. We see the people we work with more than our families, more than our spouses... we see them a lot. Right? So when I was actually blessed with an awesome boss... one who is witty and nice, a clothes horse, great conversationalist, knows about products (this totally sounds like I am describing Mister... am not, bear with me), can make you laugh, is a Godly man with a voice like an angel (the voice is where he and Mister differ, well that and Mister has a good foot on him height wise and about 100 pounds on him weight wise and is married to me... RAMBLING! Sorry.) and bossman; though Godly; doesn’t cringe every time I open my mouth even though he doesn’t drink, smoke, chew, dance, curse or go with girls who do (again... NOT MISTER) I really appreciated that he was a great boss, especially when I came from having Satan’s Hoary Ass as my Executive Director at old job.

I don’t know where there was supposed to be a paragraph break in that monster of a run on sentence but bear with me.

So we all went into the board room on the 13th of August and the director passed out papers for us to have as reference for later when she was going to discuss the whole re-org thing. I didn’t look at my stack of neatly stapled and three-hole hole-punched papers as I was there to listen and understand.

First thing. New person assigned into our group. Person who has never really had to answer to anyone; for 30 years – AT THE SAME JOB; and the first thing that this person did was show up late to the meeting and diss the director as she was taking her seat. Y’all? I know this is going to sound like I took a massive hit of acid and the effects were just kicking in (did not) but the space in the room was immediately covered in black and green. The negative energy in there was so palpable you could have scooped it up and thrown it at the wall (it would have stuck, then flop/skidded down the wall like those octopus sticky things you get out of gumball machines (Lord, she’s at it again.)).


Second thing. After the room quieted from the ugliness the director lady started telling everyone what their new objectives would be and who they would report to. I didn’t notice what the director was saying and what was on the sheet of paper in front of me until bossman looked over at me and gave me the, “Sorry I couldn’t give you a heads up.” look that I would no longer be under his employ. I was going to be reporting to someone else. And that is when I almost vomited. On the board room table. In the middle of a meeting.

Not that my new boss isn’t as awesome. She is totally cool and has a great sense of humor and is completely hands off... Love that. But. Tell me I can not travel with bossman to my conferences and that is sort of like a doctor coming up to me and saying, “Hey, Susan? You know how you brush your hair, your teeth, wipe your lady bits, type, write longhand, smoke, put on mascara, give a hand job and whisk a mean omlette with that right arm? Yeah, well, sorry to have to break this to you but we’re gonna have to cut that sucker clean off.” Shocking and very disappointing at the same time. Right?

Whoops, gotta go..
More tomorrow.

About August 2007

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

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