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October 2007 Archives

October 9, 2007

Rehab

You know. I used to love Halloween and all the things that went with it. Candy, dressing up, ear headbands, a tail, candy, inappropriately making out with carnies not getting all huffy when a cute boy would say, “Heeeere pussy, pussy, pussy....” when I was clearly dressed as a cat, candy, haunted houses (NOT CHAINSAW GUY), candy, wearing a unitard... in public .... and getting away with it, candy, staying out late and of course, the candy.

But now?

Oh, hell to the yes, I still love to dress up inappropriately. At appropriate occasions of course.

I wouldn’t wear a Playboy bunny outfit to a funeral... but I sure as fuck would wear one to a gathering of friends. A gathering called Tarts and Vicars. It should have just been called Whoooores and Really Touchy Priests. What? Redundant? Fine. Then, um, be-collared guys and gussied up gals smoking and drinking a lot. Still redundant? Um... people... in a bar?

Whatever.

I know I haven’t posted anything since that Mothra incident, [::cough:: ::cough:: almost a month ago ::cough::] but I have to tell you guys something. You know that bullshit that people spew about being busy as a one-legged man in an ass kicking contest (no offense to you one-legged men of course)? That shit ain’t funny. I am truly that busy, since the 21st of September, today is my 4th day in the office. And I am miserable.

But... BUTT... (big butt) I want to tell you all of a few days of sparkling goodness and merriment that have made all the difference in the world.

At the end of September, Mister and I celebrated our four year anniversary the way all good DINKs should. We took the day off of work, went to a day spa and left there feeling as though our bodies were made up of jellyfish parts and angel dust. We were sparkly, we were smooth, we were manicured and massaged. And then? We ordered out. Only because the next morning at dawn’s ass crack we were to get up and fly into the great Midwest for an impromptu visit with a small group of merry makers.

We flew in, met Jane at the airport. I ran over, and because of her charming text message “WHERE’S MY DRINK AT BITCH!? PS, I have on a light blue sweatshirt.” immediately knew who she was, hugged her (she’s not a hugger) and then was quite pleased as she kept up an incredible banter all the way to the inn. She’s very witty, that one.

We met the tribe in the bar of our favorite inn, had a few drinks, let Mister get acquainted with many he had not met before... Okay, everyone in the bar except me and maybe one other person.

Sidenote: Do you guys know how fucking awesome it is to have a spouse totally support you (and I totally mean me) in your quest for (let’s be honest here) friendship and acceptance? It is totally awesome. It doesn’t concern him that I am a huge bucket of crazy that has met some of the most awesomest people in all of the land through this “journal thing”. And he will willingly go along and join in the fun... and dress up as a Priest! (His name was Father McFeeley.)

I am going to be vague. And also... not.

I fastened a bustier and admired a priestly cassock on a young hot gay man. The young hot gay man was not wearing the bustier.

(Dammit.)

We went to dinner.

Um.

Do you know me? Do you really know me? This could all go a lot faster if you were just to see one picture.

Except... giving you the link to that picture would break every law I have ever set for myself on this here journal thingy. 1) No pictures with double chins. 2) No pictures of Mister. 3) No pictures of me in a ridiculous costume with Mister grabbing my boob and me making a perfect O-face.

Let’s move on to what happened after dinner. We went to this place, this place that makes you do awful things and causes complete strangers to get all up in mine and (Mare’s business and be those guys. You know who those guys are?

Mare & Susan: [hushed whispers, telling stories and excited “Holy SHIT! You did NOT!”’s ]

- sudden silence -

Mare: [whispering] There are two gentlemen standing behind you looking at your ass.
self: [whispering] Fantastic.
Mare: [whispering] Oh, here we go.
self: [::blink::]
Random Guy: [coming over, invading our personal space, clearly looking at cleavage] Hello, Ladieeeeees. [He looks back at his friend and wiggles his eyebrows or something.]
Mare: Nice buddy, real nice. My eyes? Are up here. Actually, they are in there. [points inside the bar] Why don’t you just move along?
self: [clearly in love with “Kiss My Ass” Mare, Now with 100% more Marabou! I give the guy the “shoo fly, don’t bother me” hands... and the “don’t be that guy” face.] Thanks Mare.
Mare: We’re not out of the woods yet.
self: These fuckers better move along because I want to ... nay, HAVE to hear this story.
Guy With Dreds: What’s going on here ladies? [puts his head into our conversation space, almost puts his arms around us... Mare gives him a look that would have made the first guy pee his britches.]
Mare: Costume Party.
self: Please go away.
Guy With Dreds: Alright, alright, no need to get defensive. [He departs.]
self: Okay, so... you were saying?
Mare: Okay, so....
Small Black Man: Now THIS is what I am talking about! Woo!
self: Oh, COME ON! Please, sir, kindly move it inside.
Small Black Man: No need to get mean.

Small Black Man started to say something else; Mare gave him a lifted eyebrow that would kill a Titan. He scurried inside. About that time, the bouncer who I would like to call Thunder*, stepped halfway out the back door to check on us; any loitering would be harassers scattered.

*Thunder was about 6’10”... maybe bigger, corn fed and nice.

We danced, we sang, we laughed, we joked, we took gajillions of pictures and we had just started. Well, the rest of the crew had just started. Mister and I pussed out at about 11 pm and went back to the inn for some rest. We knew we had a busy day in the morning.

We got up the next morning loaded ourselves up on the pimp limo bus and went for a little drive. We had breakfast and lunch and meat sticks and... Starbucks® and... did I mention the meat sticks? And cheese curds and antiques and “Come Sail Away” complete with hand motions by this pretty lady. Then we had dinner at this wonderful brewery, dinner was divine and then it was time for karaoke! (I am an observer only. I promise. I wouldn’t do that to you.)

The next day everyone else was headed to watch a football game at a pub inside a stadium. Mister and I decided to drive a few hours away and go see where he was born, where his dad was born, where he went to school... the whole nine yards. I got the tour y’all.

We took a frillion and one pictures and were harassed by the local help at the Dairy Queen for asking for gravy with their chicken finger basket. Apparently you have to ask for gravy.

DQ Bitch Basket: Because, you see, in the picture there above the registers, in that basket of chicken fingers*? That there? Is Ranch.
self: Well, I didn’t get any ranch either, so please, may I have some gravy?
DQ Bitch Basket: Well, next time... just so you know.... you have to ASK for it.

*Chickens don’t have fingers you fuck. And yes, I had to bow to the wisdom of some Dairy Queen working bitch who was all of 15 years old.

I didn’t get to see anyone on Sunday, but got to spend the day with Mister and his history. The next day Mister and I traveled home. It was a long day, and we were glad to be back at the house when we got there but... every time I see those people, I grow to love them more and more.

Yeah, I’m sappy. Get used to it.

October 16, 2007

The Princess and the Pee

Good morning poppets. I am ranty. I had a very strange day/evening yesterday that has bled into a strange morning today. Not too sure how many of you out there are into reading about the random minutiae that is my life but I have just about had it and want to share this award-winning bullshit with you, because that is what I do. I give, I am a giver.

Let me back up a few days. Over the weekend as Mister and I were being as slothful as we could (we were going for a record) I made mention that I needed to clean out the cat box. You know. One of those things you know you need to do but just the thought of it makes you throw up in your mouth a little bit. Right?

Max is a clean boy. He doesn’t even like to get in the litter box. He perches. He is a percher. He puts all four paws on the rim of the opening to his litter box and balances there precariously. It is like a mini kitty circus. Only trick? A cat taking a shit while on the tight rope.

He’s also not very bright. Don’t tell him I told you this or he would be mortified. He may be a little stupid, but he is prideful (and pretty). I had to go to an enclosed litter box many moons ago because sometimes he would perch... and have his ass facing the wrong way and just shit on the floor.

He also doesn’t like to touch the litter. So he doesn’t cover anything. He perches, does his business and then does that kitty-rake move on the inside cover of the litter box, the floor, the wall next to the litter box, the dryer... anything and everything that does exactly the opposite of covering his... waste. Nope, it just moves the air around better so we can all share in his gift of cat ass.

Which is lovely. And probably what brought up the thought in the first place. [As I walk by the laundry room.] ::Sniff:: “Hmmm, I need to clean out the cat box. Thanks for sharing Max.” “Mrow.” “No really, it’s lovely. Makes my eyes water and wonder why you won’t cover your own shit... but... thanks again man.” “Mrow. Purrrr-chirp.”

So the weekend goes by. Guess who doesn’t clean out the litter box? Me. You got it in one.

Okay, now that we’re up to speed, I will get you guys caught up on what happened yesterday.

Yesterday morning I was getting dressed and mind you, it had been storming all night. Massive lighting shows and thunder crashes. Huge rain drops pelting the windows and the roof. It was so loud. I was having some seriously jacked up dreams and they kept getting interrupted because of the light show and subsequent BOOOM!’s that were going on outside. Mother Nature was upset about something and showing it. So as I was getting ready I thought that I would take a bag, throw my make up in it (so I could leave early to help with the mess of traffic that I was sure was awaiting me outside), throw the shoes that I wanted to wear with my outfit in the bag, turn up the hems of my pants to my knees, wear flip flops and arm myself with a golf umbrella and make a mad dash to the car.

I did just that. Well, I tried to do just that. I left the make up off, folded my pants up to my knees, put on the flip flops, alarmed the house, stepped outside and locked the door then turned and opened the golf umbrella. It was coming down like... did any of you ever see “You, Me and Dupree”? You can admit it. I’ve seen it. But you know that part where it is a torrential downpour and the other two are in a car and they come to a T intersection and there in the headlights is Dupree sitting on a bench sopping wet? Then a bus comes by and sends up this massive tidal wave of nasty street water? Well, it wasn’t totally like that. But close.

It was coming down in those big fat raindrops that splash when they hit the ground so I was all sassy and thinking that I was so smart to wear flip flops and roll up my pants (which is totally a hot look) then I got to the sidewalk, the rainwater washed over my feet so I stepped into the grass and looked into the street. There was a mini creek of rainwater that went out to the ass end of my car, it was the same size on both streets and too wide for me to jump, so I just stepped into it and when I took my second step and tried to lift the foot behind me there was a sucking noise and the little mini creek took my motherfucking shoe.

I watched as it got washed under my car and then I was frantically trying to get to it before it washed down a gutter or something. So I had a bag slung over my arm, Elvira on my shoulder, a massive blue and white golf umbrella... one motherfucking shoe and I was chasing a flip flop down the street.

I got it but by that time I was soaking wet all over, what with all the splashing and the rain and the bent at the waist running to try and catch a renegade flip flop.

So I finally got to work (and hour and 15 minutes to go 11 miles) and I rolled down the legs of my pants and put on my cute shoes and went into the office. I put on my make up but not before taking a picture of myself pre and post make up that some of you have seen. Scary huh?

It was a strange day with many interruptions and organization and throwing away of stuff from 2002/2003 and getting ready for the upcoming gauntlet that I call October-December. Basically here is my “I’m Gone” schedule. 10/19/07, 10/21-23/07, 10/29/07, 11/7-9/07, 11/25-27/07, 11/28-30/07, Mister’s company party on the 1st of December, 12/2-5/07... not to mention department staff meetings, full company wide staff meetings, and the Thanksgiving Holidays. Suffice it to say, yesterday was kind of full.

I got home last night after stopping by Wal*Mart (shudder) for some packaged salmon, sun dried tomatoes in oil, that awesome Champagne salad dressing and filling up my tank with gas. (Remind me to give y’all that recipe for Salmon Pasta Salad. Easy and yummy!) When I walked in the house I (have an issue and have to clean the kitchen before I cook... anything... it’s a sickness, I know... but just let me have my thing... deal?) cleaned the kitchen, made the salmon pasta salad* and then let it cool in the fridge for a bit.

*When I went to drain the noodles I had to use a spatula to knock the strainer off of its’ perch on the third shelf. I can not reach it so I use tools. Like a monkey using a stick to get termites out of a mound or an otter using a rock to crack open a clam or something of the sort.

Mister and I ate as we watched parts of Jumanji (don’t judge me) and as I got up to go put the plates away and to check on the laundry situation. I noticed it. A smell. I have a nose like a blood hound and I normally notice things WAY before other people. A reason I don’t smoke until after work is because I don’t want to smell like cigarette smoke all day. I don’t do many perfumes... don’t like the strong smell of a lot of things. Mister had walked by this smell on his way in from the garage and didn’t notice it.

It wasn’t cat ass. It was pee.

Okay, let me back up again. The laundry room light is one of those fluorescent thingies that has been flickering (seizure inducing flickering... migraine causing flickering) since... Oh, since we moved in last March. One night it decided that, “Sure, I’ll come on when you flick the switch, but... eh, not all the way. I think I am going to go with a dim setting. Okay with you? No? Whatever. I’m a tired fluorescent light.” So I went to my little desk and got this desk lamp. It is a cheap desk lamp but I didn’t care, I needed to do laundry.

It takes 60 watt bulbs. Guess what I have on hand? 100 watt. I stuck one of those 100 watt bulbs in that lamp, plugged him in, put him on a shelf and turned it on. It was like doing laundry on the surface of the sun. I could see microscopic lint, I can wash the hell out of clothes and now I can see while I am doing so.

So.... I noticed this pee smell. I don’t like the pee smell. So I put on my flip flops (the same escaping flip flops from yesterday morning) and went into the laundry room. I flipped on my little 100 watt lamp, squinted and noticed that the cat had either decided that he didn’t like the state of affairs in his litter box, or he had his ass turned the wrong way when he went to relieve himself. He had pee’d on the little rubber mat right outside his litter box.

This will not do, pig.

I cursed because I figured that this little mess could have been avoided if I would have just cleaned out the litter box on Saturday. But nooooooooo.... I had to watch Fight Club and um... several awful programs (and by awful I mean awesome) on Discovery Health Channel (there should be a lock on that channel... I should never watch it... I end up blubbering like a hot wet mess by the end of each program. Like this... go ahead, click on it. I dare you.).

So there I was cursing. I pulled the laundry basket-sorter thingy out into the hallway, I pulled the vacuum cleaner out into the hallway, I went back into the laundry room and then noticed that I needed a roll of paper towels to clean up the mess and the paper towels were on the.... third shelf in the laundry room. Can’t reach. So, like an otter with a fucking rock, I took a clothes hanger and pulled one of the paper towel rolls down off the shelf. The roll came down and hit the little 100 watt in a 60 watt bulb lamp, the lamp tipped over and I went to catch it as not to add glass shards to the things I had to clean up. But what I actually did was, catch the paper towels, knock the lamp further over and burn the shit out of my right hand on that super hot mega watt bulb in the lamp.

Hand%20vs%20Lamp%2010-15-07.JPG

See?

So the moment my supple flesh touched the surface of that bulb the bulb shorted out and I was plunged into darkness with a burned hand and cat pee somewhere around my feet.

Mister had previously retreated to his office to “look up directions for a class he has to attend in the morning” and all he heard coming from the back of the house probably sounded like a rhino getting caught in a painting scaffolding with a very loud and verbose vocabulary of obscenities.

I got the pee cleaned up, emptied and threw away the bad litter and refilled the catbox with pretty sparkly litter that is made up of angle dust and bunny humping rainbows. Which apparently is the only thing that Max deems worthy enough for him to shit on. Shit upon? Whatever.

Let’s look for a silver lining to this cloud.

Foggy%20Day%2010-16-07.JPG

Um. Nope. Fog.

There better be some amazing sex or some really fantastic cheese in my future. I’ve earned it.

October 31, 2007

“It’s half past the hour and I have done something stupid...”

[Deep Breath]

Okay, so the hand burn thingy. After the blister got so large that a woman in my department asked if I was trying to grow another appendage, it burst when I was tucking my shirt into my britches. Go ahead. Gag, I even threw up in my mouth a little bit over that one.

So I knew I was allergic to Neosporin, I knew I was allergic to Polysporin. I had Bacitracin in my possession so I went home, washed my hands thoroughly and made myself a little gauze action with some Bacitracin on it and some of that fabric tape stuff. I was so worried that I would get a staph infection because I had burned my motherhumping hand on a lamp while cleaning out the cat litter that I kept the gauze, Bacitracin, fabric tape thingy going until I found myself scratching the gauze with a paring knife.

Not really.

I was just gouging at the bandage with the fingernails from my left hand and it was making an unpleasant “scritch scritch scritch” noise. It felt like I was being bitten on my burn wound by approximately twelve very angry fire ants... very large, very angry fire ants.... very territorial, very large, very angry fire ants. It hurt like a mother fucker and I finally took the covering off. My wound looked like...

Okay, you know in Grindhouse how they are driving down the road during Planet Terror and they keep hitting those people that had been infected? Well my hand looked like it had been infected by whatever strain of zombie cooties that made Quentin’s junk dissolve. A teeny active volcano surrounded by blisters and angry red welts and a nice purple color in the middle for ambiance.

I was suspicious of Bacitracin too... so suspicious that I just decided to go see that Hot Dermatology guy after a planning meeting on Monday. (Will tell you about the weekend later.) Hot Dermy guy was all chatty (he is so freaking cute y’all... and a Yankee to boot, the accent kills me. Weak-kneed and shit. I feel like my little Dr. McYankee crush is almost an affront to the Rebels.) and wanted to talk about this... and about that... but his nurse had already told me when I called that they were squeezing me in because it was sort of an emergency and not to let him get chatty.

Just checked with my coworker who goes to same McYankee dermatologist guy and he is as quiet as a mouse with her. So I guess it is just the curse of the hotness or my bubbly personality or something because apparently they have it documented in my chart, “Loves to chat with this patient.... her hotness burns the retinas of McYankee’s eyes.”

So I rushed in, showed McYankee my hand and he was all... “Aren’t you allergic to Polysporin and Neosporin?” “Yes sir [swoon].” “Well, I have this new antibiotic topical ointment that will work [he writes a script], so... how have you been? What did you guys do over the weekend?” The nurse met my gaze over McYankee’s shoulder and basically gave me the “STEAL 2nd!!!” look which I interpreted as, “Nooooooo!!!!!!!!!! He’s getting chatty!”

I took the script and started walking down the hall... talking the whole way... with him following me and the nurse following him.

“Dr. McYankee, thank you so much for seeing me on such short notice, I really appreciate you, [your hotness] your time...” “I know you do.” (We nearly had a moment y’all.) “And thank you for taking such good care of me.” “It is always my pleasure, and call me... if not in the next few days, then definitely in the next two weeks to let me know how your hand is.”

All together now... Awwwwwwwwwww.

So I went home after I got the script filled, boiled my hand, washed it vigorously and then applied the new stuff... Albrax? Clorox, whatever, something with an “A” at the front and “ax” somewhere else in the name.

Yanno, I think it may be made out of gold ingots or something. Maybe the eyelashes of the last unicorn. Fairy wings that have been born on a full mooned Tuesday of leap year. Who knows, but something made the salve $50.00. Why does everything cost $50.00? So I had the salve that was wrung from Jesus snot and I made a bandage with the gauze, the Jesus snot and the fabric tape after thoroughly cleansing my appendages. And what do you know? I am allergic to the fifty dollar tube of Jesus snot.

(Totally keeping the Jesus snot though, just in case... of... rapture or something. “Uh, Jesus? You dropped this.”)

So, I have a bunch to tell you guys.

Okay. I come from a big family. Not like Irish Catholic big for my immediate family or anything, but... well, my daddy has 32 first cousins. His momma’s family was large (don’t even get me started on my uncle (who married my daddy’s sister) and his 13 siblings), my grandmother had 7 sisters and 2 brothers. A family of 12, and all of the sister’s looked alike, there were twins and stuff and they were all so very close that growing up (when we lived in Georgia) we would go up to North Georgia almost every other weekend. And I saw my second cousins a lot. We played and got to know each other and I am very close to my first cousins (only 6) on my daddy’s side.

I know that like... well, everyone in Georgia is related to one another but, seriously... the family is large. And as of last week there were four of the original eight sisters left. Then Troyce died on Tuesday morning in El Paso. She was 92 and wonderful, we gathered over the weekend to celebrate her life, her family and her faith.

So I took Mister and basically threw him into a huge hugging, kissing, crying, laughing mass of family. It was the first time he had met most of them and... yay, there was much rejoicing. We took off work to fly into GA on Friday and were there until Sunday. It was nice to be able to look across a table and see a great aunt hugging on my husband and he relaxed enough in the group with all of them talking and laughing at once.

Truth be told... at the viewing not just once but several times Mister was mistaken for being from my father’s side of the family. He looks a lot like my late uncle and well, kind of like my dad. They part their hair the same. (Shut up Freud.)

Oh, fun fact. My father is Kim Bassinger’s 4th cousin.

I am sure Mister is still reeling from all of the people who hugged him, kissed him, told him they loved him and all of the people that he met, the ones who told him stories or just trying to keep the aunts straight.

Each of the 8 aunts, my grandmother included, was called something other than her Christian name. My late grandmother’s name was Dallas (ironic much? Shut it.) but she was called Doodler. Troyce? Was called Trixie. And almost each of the 32 cousins has a nickname as well. Even I don’t know them all. So every time someone would start a story it would include a nickname. Oh, and several Ralph’s, Billy’s, Johnny’s, and two Bobbie Gail’s.

The name Susan is everywhere too. I am Sue Beth, my 1st cousin is Sue Lynn, my great aunt is Franny Sue and so on and so forth until your head explodes or someone gives you a flow chart complete with names, nicknames and pictures.

So in the past two weeks I have had two planning meetings, a conference, I have been in two states and more cities than I can remember, I have seen family and friends and I have laughed and cried. I burned my hand, finished the book Lisey’s Story by Stephen King and saw the movie Phat Girls with Mo’Nique*.

*Whatever her name is. And don’t judge me. I cried.

I have been thinking about purging my closet (thanks Mo’Nique) and because of that, the next time I write I am going to tell you a story about a boy named Danny and a brown dress. No more of this, “It’s half past the hour and I have done something stupid...” weather report type updates.

One more thing.

I would like to send a thank you, heartfelt and sincere, to someone who has made me laugh more than I care to mention over the past five (or more) years.

Last Monday night I had just completed a marathon of a shitty day. I was tired, I was in a hotel room that flooded, people had been inconsiderate and mean all day and I was just worn slap out. I got back to the hotel around 9:30, it was too late to call Mister to wish him goodnight and I wanted a smoke. I went outside, but the pool, lit a smoke and pulled out my blackberry.

I opened up Gmail and there was an update from someone who I knew would let me wallow in suspension of disbelief and just be entertained for a while. There was an email from Dusty Scott over at Salami Tsunami.

I don’t know if any of you remember my issues with the Ear, Nose, Throat Guy... but I am going to tell you right now that if I had even a little bit of Dusty’s wit, his charisma, his charm and his gift with the English Language my entry would have sounded a whole hell of a lot better.

I sat there by the hotel pool and laughed out loud until they sent the security guard out to check on my sanity. It was just the thing I needed to put a shitty day behind me. So please... if you are feeling blue, just wander on over and take a gander on how it should be done.

Thank you Dusty.**

**Slow John-Hughes-film-type clap starts here.

About October 2007

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

September 2007 is the previous archive.

November 2007 is the next archive.

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