Suzanna Danna

I can feel my anger, it is hot and uncomfortable like a muggy summer night full of humidity and no wind. I can feel my blood pressure rising with each beat of my overworked heart. I can feel the thoughts in my mind spinning around and bumping off one another like an angry hive of bees.

I? Am furious.

I am a Taurus and we Taureans (?) are normally even handed. We are steady and sure, we are stubborn. We are also loyal and true, good to our word. Slow to anger, with long fuses and normally called doormats by our peers we sometimes get overlooked in the anger department. But once that fuse hits the gas tank.... KA-BLAM!

... I am back from my monster conference and this little tidbit above? I posted to the notes folder in my blackberry on Monday I think. I typed for a few minutes and then swallowed my anger and put on a neutral face.

More tomorrow.

Word to your chicken.

So, hi. Um, so what’s been going on, y’aaaaaaaaaaallll?

Look, I’m sorry. It has been ages and ages since I held you in my supple arms and stroked your furrowed brow. I haven’t told you a story in many moons. Yeah, I put up that one little paragraph of bullshit when I was angry, but have I met your wishes baby? No, no I have not.

I know, I know... you have needs too. Do you not bleed when someone hits you with a car? Do you not yearn... for oxygen... when you are being smothered? Do you not cry out... with pain... when bitten by a small fur-bearing mammal? Yes, yes you do.

So, I am sorry. My apology is here... in black and white (and sometimes gray). I know I treat you like Meredith treats McDreamy and then looks poutily confused when he moves on with his life. Have you moved on baby? Are you tired of me disappearing for months on end?

Or will you take me back? Will you stay with me? Will you endure the ... um, bad prose until I mildly amuse you?

Well, good. Glad to have you back on board Doc, Isaac, Beaver Gopher.... um, Charo. Let’s get up to speed and then we can relax a little.

Since we last heard from our heroine, she was one angry girl. It was like putting a badger in a blender and hitting frappe. I know I get a little angsty this time of year because of my travel schedule and not being able to enjoy the holidays with my family and for fuck’s sake, not having time to even put up a Christmas tree. I did the tree thing last year, and it was pretty. But I haven’t put one up yet and it is... oh, six days from Christmas Eve. I don’t think it’s going to happen, do you?

No? Okay, perfect. Let’s move on.

I don’t want to get dooced, so we won’t talk about work... because dear Lord, in heaven.... I would SO get fired if I opened up my mouth right now.

I haven’t told you guys about the plumbing.... and almost burning down the house... have I? Okay, I can tell by that look on your face that I haven’t. So. Onward!

Back at the beginning of November, one evening I was doing laundry and dishes and later when I went to wash my face to go to bed I noticed that the water wasn’t as hot as I normally like it. The next morning, a Sunday, I took a luke warm - almost cool shower and then casually mentioned it to Mister ... later... that evening when there wasn’t a thing he could do about it except crawl up into the attic and try to relight the pilot light.

No go.

Hmmm.

There was a pretty substantial amount of water in the catch pan under the water heater so we hooked up the shop vac and sucked the water out. The pilot light wasn’t staying lit because water kept dripping on the little gas pipe thingy. Awesome.

The next morning as I filled up the tub with our electric tea kettle and listened to Mister grumble about shaving with cold water I thought, “I can handle this. When I get to the office, I will call around and find a plumber that sounds trustworthy. I will make sure that they have a no ass-crack policy, and that they can come out on an emergency basis.” So when I got to work, I did just that. I found a plumber (nobody would agree to my no ass-crack policy) and they said that they would come out between 12 and 2 pm. I took off the second part of the day and the plumbers showed up at 12:30 and I rejoiced.

Until... dum dum DUUUMMMM! They told me that the water heater had busted the inside liner thingy and would have to be replaced. ALSO.... that the toilets in the guest bathroom and in the master bathroom needed to be resealed and blah blah blah.....

Long story short, they replaced the water heater, YAY!.... and when they lifted the toilet in the guest bathroom... sweet juniper Judas with a pink tutu... I felt like I was on the set of Mike Rowe’s (mrrroow) Dirty Jobs. That was the most disgusting thing I have ever been in close proximity to. And I went to COLLEGE*. It was like a big pipe leading directly into Satan’s hoary ass.

*wtf?

The plumber dudes were all, “The flange is broken.” I was all, “MY EYES!!!! MY EYES! MAKE IT GO AWAY!” The lining to my sinus cavity fled the building and I threw buckets of money at the plumbers to make the bad thing stop telling me it was going to eat my soul. Also, I got Mister a tall toilet. When I sit to tinkle I can’t put my feet flat on the floor, it’s all tippy toes baby. And when the plumbers brought it in, I was all, “Holy shit. Excuse the pun boys. Is that thing by any chance called the TurboFlush 2000?” Joe (plumber guy – sans ass crack) said, “Actually ma’am, it’s the TurboFlush 4000.”

Y’all? Joe wasn’t kidding. It has some air assist low flush scary thing in it that would suck down a house cat. So, Merry Christmas Mister! I present to you... the TurboFlush 4000. And I am not even kidding.

Okay, a few days after that Mister went to .... Austin, or somewhere for a day trip and I was going to call Stacey and beg and plead for a Happy Hour, because I needed a drink or twelve. But for some reason I didn’t. I may have called, and I may have mentioned it, and she may have been unavailable... or something, either way, I went home. But it was late and I walked in the door at 7:05 in the pm. And I know that time exactly because when I opened the door a cloud of acrid white smoke came boiling out of the house.

The cat gave me the finger and ran past me to the safety of the street and I went inside to 1) turn off the house alarm, 2) find out why there was smoke and 3) why the fuck the smoke detectors were not going off!

1) I turned off the house alarm. 2) I looked over at our stove rangy thing and noticed that one of the eyes of the flat panel surface was all angry and red, Hot and shit. And sitting on top of this angry red eye was.... a plastic toaster. Or, what was left of it.

I ran over, turned off the stove, lifted the rest of the toaster from the gooey remains on the stove and then found the first flat edge that I could lay my hands on, wet a towel and started scraping the white molten goo off of the stove. I was scraping and scraping when I realized that the implement I was scraping with was.... fucking plastic! So I chunked that and the wetted towel I had in my frantic paws into the trash. I opened all of the windows, the doors and turned on the fans in every room.

I grabbed the phone and my blackberry (redundant, shut up, I know) and went out to watch the cat fall out of a tree (from 3 feet up... shut it... he’s fat, no making fun of the portly) and call poison control. When I called and told the nice Poison Control lady what I had done she (laughed... not really) calmly went about telling me what plastic could burn down into... the lovely gasses and by products.

Oh, and 3) never found out why the smoke detectors didn’t go off. I guess they made an executive decision of, “Eh, whatever.”

So the Poison Control Lady was all, “Well, let’s see. Hmmm, yes, okay, here it is... Oh, dear. Carbon Monoxide. You’ll need to leave the windows open for the next 48 hours or so and keep clean air circulating. Sulfur Oxide. Blah blah blah... Cyanide.” I interrupted her. “Cyanide. CYANIDE?” She continued, “Yes, but only trace amounts. If there would have been more, you would have already been dead.” So very comforting.

So I sat out on the porch, watched the cat prowl the neighborhood and called Mister, calmly trying to tell him (with his freaking boss in the car!) that I had almost burned down the house. I left out the smoke alarms and the part about cyanide. I figured I would wait until he got home to let him in on those little nuggets of awesomeness.

As far as we can tell. The cat was the dirty culprit. We have left that toaster sitting on the stove for weekends at a time. Especially when we’re all, “Eh.” about dinner and decide on toast. So we figure that the toaster was on the stove, the cat (bastard) was up on the counter (a shooting offense in my house) and he put his little warm paw pad on the stove and it conveniently turned on. So now we have the stove on “CONTROL ALL LOCK” whenever it is not in use.

That’s what I’ve been up to... and how about you?

Oh, and sorry about this, but I had to turn on the comment aide thingy. I was getting spammed by dirty Russian brides and horny old men selling Viagra.

Missed all of you. MWAH!

Merry Boxing Day. Hug your local Boxer, or something.

It is the 26th of December and here I am at the office. There are three people in the department that showed up for this fabulous Wednesday and I? Am just trying to get through the day without throwing up. It’s 11:30 am and I have succeeded so far. Cheer me along people. Root for an iron will and an even stronger stomach! (And Phenegran... because I just took the last one I had on me and it’d better work. By gum.)

So, let’s talk about something cheerful.

I was thinking of telling y’all how I met my wonderful husband, Mister, but you know... for some reason I kind of want to wait and dole that story out in bitty pieces or make a little miniseries (pronounced ‘meh-neh-zeh-reeeze’ by my mother*) out of the story. Vignettes if you will, but I think I need to wait for a more appropriate time. Like maybe our 5 year anniversary or something. Who knows.

*As in, “Oh, The Thorn Birds was my favorite meh-neh-zeh-reee of all time! Also? I love the Hallmark Channel. Have you ever seen To Dance with the White Dog? It will just make you cry, cry, cryyyy!”

Yes, Susan... very cheerful. Well done.

So, yesterday I spent the afternoon at my sister’s house with her lovely family, our lovely parents, her mother in law and Mister. We played most of the day with the Wii that Santa left their family and now I? Want one. That thing is AWESOME. I bowled, I played tennis and golf... I made a fat little Mii. And Christmas Eve we opened presents from one another. I got another pair of sport knit pants from Lands’ End (shut it... they go with my twin sets... my adult Geranimals), a gift certificate for my favorite spa place a bunch of very cool things (including the David Sedaris box set) and a great recipe book from my mother’s church.

Mister, my sister and brother in law and I got my parent’s an iPod nano, a case, a audio cable and an iTunes gift card for Christmas. Okay, wait. Seriously. It’s a cool thing. And very practical. (Hee. Hello, what’s this? A box marked Pandora’s? Let’s open it shall we?) When my sister and I went to the store to purchase the nano we were helped by a six-foot fetus that was named Gabe or something. He was all of eighteen and when we were trying to decide on the case, he was all, “But their old right? So they probably have a fanny pack already.” Oh, if that kid only knew of whom he spoke.

I think of my parents, both in their prime (at 66 and 67), both of them active with their neighborhood activities, their church functions, their boats and time on the lake... their golf. It is not unheard of for my father to play (shoot? hit?) 36 holes of golf in one afternoon. They are so full of life. They have friends that all seem so much younger than Mister and I do even now. They travel and hike and fly fish.

I think of my brother in law’s father taken from us too early. I think of all of the things I want to tell people, to show them how much I love them and appreciate their roles in my life.

I think of Mister’s sister who was rushed to the emergency room yesterday morning with her left arm numb and they still don’t know what is wrong or what happened. I think of a friend and conference attendee, DH who...

Let me back up. DH is a friend of my old boss. They would see one another at various conferences and if one said, “Hi.” The other undoubtedly would reply, “I got my hat on.” And easy laughter would fall between them.

The back story is this is that during college DH and his friends were always pulling practical jokes on one another. One evening a friend said that he was going to take his girlfriend to the movies and DH and his friends told the young gentleman, “Be sure to wear your cowboy hat and they will let you in at half price.” So the evening came and sure enough, the friend and his girlfriend showed up to the theater, “Two for [name of movie] please.” The lady at the window told him how much it would be, and the young man pointed to his head and said, “But I have my hat on.” The movie attendant said (as if to a very dimwitted or retarded frat boy), “Yes, you do.” As in, “I can see that you idiot. What does that have to do with anything?”

So DH was always a welcome guest to our conferences. His open and genuine smile was so nice to have around.

After the 4:30 candlelight service at our church on Christmas Eve I called old boss to tell him that I enjoyed it and to inquire why his men’s quartet didn’t sing. He was walking back onstage for the 6pm service and only had a moment to speak. But he did tell me that one of his group had to leave suddenly as DH was found that afternoon by his two children, girls. He was dead.

He is my age y’all.

I know. I promised cheer and mirthful merriment but come ON. I miss my grandparents, I miss my sister’s father in law, I miss DH. I miss... I just miss. I am worried about Mister’s sister. He is worried. He didn’t want to tell anyone yesterday at the Christmas festivities because he didn’t want to be the guy with the bad news. I knew that the family would want to include his sister in our prayers. He didn’t want to be killjoy. Speaking of killjoy, one of my favorite ladies of all times, Shirley, had breast cancer about 12 years ago. She is a survivor but recently found lumps in her lymph nodes and under her arm and they are doing surgery tomorrow.

Will you, those of you who believe in prayer, and those of you who believe in sending positive energy... would you please pray and send positive energy for Mister’s oldest sister Joyce and her family, DH’s family (and my old boss) during their time of grieving and for Shirley?

Let me tell you a little bit about Shirley. She is a very special lady. She has two sons that span the age gap between my sister and I like this, her oldest, my sister, her youngest then me. Shirley and her steady husband of a frillion years have a beautiful home in northern east Texas. I swear, it looks like the Great Gatsby house as I picture it would be in my mind. They are generous beyond belief and I wanted nothing more than for Shirley to adopt me when I was younger. Not to hurt my mother’s feelings or anything, but Shirley and I have always had a special bond.

She is eccentric.

And let me quantify that. She collects things. Cars, vintage clothing, swans, jewelry, furniture and she used to travel to antique shows to give seminars on vintage pieces and how to go about antiquing.

She is always turned out in her finest, her petite frame covered in traditional lace and perfectly pleated long skirts, nipped in at the waist and the wrists. Her beautiful curls are usually held into place by an ivory clasp and her head covered in a perfectly matching hat. Gloves are standard as well as her choice of footwear... immaculate and like she just stepped out of a flawlessly preserved tintype. She is a milliner’s dream.

She can tool around in her 1957 red Thunderbird with her oversized sunshades, her gloves perfect leather on the steering wheel, a scarf covering her head and she looks just so ideal. It’s almost as if she brings the best of the past with her wherever she goes. So please, as you are thinking about DH’s family and his winning and open smile, please also think of Shirley and her beauty as she goes through surgery tomorrow.

I wish I knew more to tell you about Mister’s sister. I don’t know her very well. I wish I did, but how well you know someone doesn’t diminish your thoughts and positive energy and prayers that you send her (or their) way.

Also, one last request. Please keep two friend’s of mine close to your hearts’ these next few weeks and months. Lulu is going through a big change in her life and I am sure she and her precious little girl could use a little positive energy and prayers headed her way. And Stacey, she sounds frazzled. This time of year is stressful for her and she has some peripheral bullshit that she is handling right now. Think of her and send a smile and a warm prayer her way as well.

Okay. More later... and maybe it will be a nice story.

Thank you all and Happy Holidays to you.

PS... I am thinking of each and everyone of you, even if you don’t comment (sorry, it seems to be user error is the main obstacle to get that thing to work) but I know who you guys are and I stalk and love you anyway.

Oh. You know what? I haven’t ever lived up to my end of the bargain to tell you guys about the little brown dress and Danny. I mentioned it back during this entry (@ the bottom) from the end of October.

Why not? It’s like two months later... totally relevant. Right?

In college I was everyone’s friend and almost nobody’s girlfriend (except for that brief stint in insanity that was Mike Gibson). I wanted to just be free to dance with whom I wanted, go to dinner with whomever I wanted, share my bed (WHORE!) with whom I wanted and just leave the messes of relationships alone.

That did not mean that I was asexual or even everyone’s little or big sister. I was a shameless flirt and quite the little hussy, if I may be so bold as to say so.

I tried juggle dating one time. ONCE. I was dating like six or seven guys (okay, like five) at a time and not sleeping with any of them. It was awful. I couldn’t keep them straight, but they all knew that I was not exclusive and at the slightest mention of jealousy I would hit the road or just walk away from “dating” them. It was odd.

Not sure if I was trying to prove something to myself or to them, that I could be all guyish if I wanted to. I could date and not form emotional attachments to these men. Sure, they could feed me and enjoy my company (how incredibly conceited) but anything beyond that? I didn’t want to hear it. It was like I was a pro-dater. A mini-escort service... with no sex.

I am rolling my eyes so hard at myself right now that they almost got stuck.

There was one chink (okay... two) in my tough exterior armor though. I was fiercely protective of my friends and I was a sucker for a good dancer*.

*Still. ::swoon:: Shut it... No judging.

So we had this little merry band of friends that would spend almost every evening together. Sometimes we would be at a bar, dancing the night away. Sometimes we would be at the bowling alley playing CHALLENGE**! Watching movies (8 Seconds Gah!), hanging out at the lake or in this tiny little alcove down by the river between Sam Rayburn Reservoir and Lake Kurth just south of town.

**Yell this with a French accent.

At the river we’d bring coolers of beer, keep the windows open on the trucks so we could hear the radio, light a fire and just hang out.

One evening a friend named Travis brought his high school buddy from Fort Worth to the bar. We all got along famously as the new guy, Danny, was quick with a laugh or smile and boy howdy, that man could dance. Like buttah. The girls of the group vied for Danny’s attention all night and somehow, in the end of the evening at the bar Doug Supernaw had signed the inside of my felt hat (at Danny’s request).

Danny was as good as in.

We had to make it to the liquor/beer/wine store before they closed so we all said we’d meet up at the Hot Biscuit to have a little breakfast then make our way to the river’s edge. Now, the “river” was nothing more than a damp spot in the woods. Too wide to jump across but too narrow to be any kind of recreational watering hole, but it was perfect for a little campfire and a little howling at the moon.

We met up at the river and all of us took turns trying to find sticks and logs that weren’t too wet to light. We turned up the radios and sat astride or perched on the older, thicker logs that we had arranged around the fire pit. We smoked, laughed, sang along to the music and told stories and jokes on one another and drank Lone Star beer. It was an almost perfect night. It was a bit humid and by the time the sun was coming up there was a dense fog along the river and the fire had burned out. The group was down to about five or six people and we all hugged and promised to see one another the next night.

The next night it was about the same as the first. And over the course of a few months Danny would come to town, we’d all vie for his attention, especially on the dance floor and then he would leave with his big city manners and his polite ways and we would beg him to come back our way again.

One weekend I was supposed to go hang out with my sister in Dallas and Travis said he was going that way because he was going to be visiting Danny at SMU. Somehow we decided to switch cars and my sister went out of town and it was decided that Travis and I would jut meet up at Danny’s, go dancing with him that evening and then I’d just go to my sister’s apartment and hang out for the weekend.

How it really happened:

Travis and I were speeding along the I-30 and I-45/I-75 interchange and I was driving his Camero. Firebird... ? Whatever, it was some souped up, revved up, black, two door monster machine. He? Was driving my 4 door, red, Olds, Cutlass Calais.

Heh.

He was leading the way, and like today... that stretch of road is constantly under construction. He was two cars in front of me and he whipped onto the exit road. I saw him, almost too late and whipped his car in between two other vehicles and punched the accelerator to straighten out so I wouldn’t hit those yellow barrels or the guard rail. Not sure how I managed to pull that one out of my ass, but I did.

Sometimes I am not sure how I made it out of my twenties.

We sped along up the access road to Walnut Hill and found Danny’s apartment. I had packed hastily because maybe it was a last minute thing for me... maybe that is why my sister was going out of town? Or I thought it was Orthodox Easter (more on this later) and just got the dates wrong. Whatever it was... I was packed for basically a relaxing weekend by my sister’s pool (cut offs, bikini, lace less Keds®, faded t-shirt), for travel home on Sunday (jean shorts and a t-shirt), for going out one night (boots, jeans, shirt) and toiletries.

We got to Danny’s and he had a really nice apartment, a loft/condo deal. He offered me the guest room and guest bathroom to freshen up and change for dancing and I did just that. When I emerged, Danny handed me a beer and we hung out on his porch with some of his friends that had shown up. Danny led the way and we all drove under I-75 to a bar and took up residence by the dance floor. We all had a blast, dancing all night and when it came time for me to get home Danny insisted on following me back to my sister’s apartment to make sure I got home safe.

He drove behind me the whole way and when we got there I asked him to come inside. It was late and I told him if he wanted to stay he could. He took me up on the offer but remained, ever the gentleman, fully clothed and on top of the covers.

In the morning when he was rustling around to get ready to leave, I played possum because I didn’t know what to say (yes, because I am yella... so what?) and when the front door shut I finally opened my eyes to find a sweet note there on the pillow next to me saying something like, “Susan, I had such a great time last night. Please call me around 1:30, I have something to ask you. My number is ---*---*----. Yours, Danny”

Something to ask me? What? Why couldn’t he have asked me then and there? Oh, yeah. It was because I am a big yella chicken and was playing possum... no doubt sucking in my stomach and trying to look extra skinny and alluring at the same time while “asleep”. And remember, I was quite a porker in college. Here’s a picture to remind you how hot LuLu (L) and I (R) were.

Ah, the eyeroll... there it is again.

Anyway, so I went to my sister’s pool for the morning, laid out (got burned I am sure) and then went back to the apartment after lunch and called Danny. He was very polite and seemed genuinely pleased that I would call him at the time he asked me too. He said that he had just gotten back from Ft. Worth, having lunch with his parents, that they as a family were going to see Fiddler on the Roof tomorrow and would I like to join them?

The fuck?

In my head: “He smells so good. To meet his parents!? Fiddler? I love Fiddler! I have nothing to wear. I would be mortified to show up in anything that I packed. Oh shit, he’s old oil money or something. Nope, nope, nope, definitely not, Uh oh, fifteen minutes to Judge Wapner.”

What I said: “Danny, you are so sweet to ask. And really, I would love to go...” “But?” he asked. “But,” I replied, “I didn’t come packed for an evening at the theater. I am so sorry, but I have nothing to wear. Please, thank your parents for me, it is a lovely invitation and I would really enjoy meeting them, I am just not prepared.”

He replied, “We’ll take care of that. Would you still like to go?”

WARNING: Danger, Danger, Unfamiliar territory, do not proceed, DO NOT PROCEED!

I had no idea how to continue. I didn’t know what “We’ll take care of that.” In Rich-Boy-ese meant. He had been so nice to me, and had never tried anything untoward. I really wanted to go, but I was unfamiliar with this whole thing. I needed some ground rules. I was begging for control and found myself slipping. In my head thoughts were whirling around, “If he is talking about what I think he is talking about, does this in some way make you some sort of indentured servant?” I was SO small minded y’all.

I decided to be honest. I was in untried waters and had pride as big as Texas. I even had trouble with boys buying my drinks. I normally was an, “Okay, you got that one? I get the next round.” type of girl. Very prideful.

I asked him, “Danny, I am not sure what you are proposing here, and I am really unsure how to proceed or answer. Can you give me a little bit more information?” He chuckled low, to make sure I knew he wasn’t making fun of me and then he said, “Susan, you are a breath of fresh air. I know you don’t want to take anything from anyone and that in itself if very admirable, but if you would allow me to do so, I would like to help you find an outfit and wear it as my date to meet my parents for Fiddler on the Roof tomorrow.”

I am sure I was the picture of grace and beauty with my gaping maw hanging open.

He continued, “You don’t need to worry about anything, we’ll take care of it all, it will be my pleasure and we can go before we head over to the theater tomorrow. I will pick you up at one, we are going to the 5 pm showing and I look forward to having you on my arm. Is that okay with you?”

I stammered out an eloquent, “H’okay.” And we hung up.

That evening I went and got take out and ate it in front of my sister’s television. I was very nervous about the upcoming day as I had no idea about what to expect. I took a long shower, washed my hair and shaved my legs and when I got out I slathered lotion on my skin and blew my hair dry. I knew I wanted to curl my hair with my sister’s rollers in the morning before Danny picked me up and I had to scrounge around to find make up as I had not brought hardly any with me. I slept fitfully and dreamt that I was in some awful outfit and that my stockings had run and that Danny was mortified that I was his date... embarrassed to bring this East Texas college girl to a family function.

When I got up the next morning, I curled my hair and dressed in my shorts and t-shirt with my lace less Keds® and waited for Danny to show up. He showed up at five minutes until one and he looked incredible and effortless in a lightweight grey suit with a nice white French cuff shirt with braces, cuff-links and a perfect tie. I felt like an ass going anywhere with this perfectly turned out gentleman with me in my shorts and lace less Keds®.

He drove me down to Northpark Mall and we walked in. I had never been to this particular mall as it was in the University Park/Highland Park area. I was unsure of where to start and I was aware of two things. 1) I sweat when shopping. It is an anxious ordeal for me. I am more of a buyer, I know what I want, I go in and get it. I do not shop well. And 2) we were on a time constraint. Ut oh, more pressure. If I got any more anxious my hair that I had worked so hard on was just going to just fro up. Anxiety = my head gets hot. Not a good look for me.

But Danny knew exactly what to do. He walked me through the stores to one of the anchor department stores and then back to the dress section. He picked a simple brown sundress (size 8) with a square neckline, a wide brown alligator belt with a gold buckle and a slit up the left thigh that was held together by matching alligator buttons in brown. He asked me to pick up hosiery and he handed me over to the lady at the dressing room and asked her to help me.

I tried on the dress, it fit perfectly and because I was tan it gave me a golden color. The belt accentuated my teeny waist and cinched up nice. I put on the hose and they fit as well. The dressing room lady asked if I was comfortable and I nodded. She said, “Good, because you are supposed to wear this out of here.” She neatly folded my garments and put them in a bag, took the tags from the dress and went to ring them up. I stepped out of the dressing room and Danny looked me over and said, “I know just the thing to set off your outfit.” He paid and we walked back through the mall and stopped at Charles David. He picked out a beautiful brown pump the same alligator material as the belt and buttons on the dress and I slipped them on, perfect.

I was starting to get a whole Julia Robert’s feel about the situation. Thank goodness this was before I had the normally nagging question in my head where any man that had a semblance of taste was concerned, “Gay or Not?”

So there we were, he in his perfect lightweight grey suit, handsome as the dickens... and I in my perfect little brown sundress with the awesome shoes and the silky hosiery. We walked out to his truck and he drove us over to the theater. We walked in, I was introduced to his parents and the evening was sublime. I really enjoyed them and their company and Danny, as always was the consummate gentleman.

I realized something that weekend. That someone could do something nice for you and you weren’t obligated to them. A simple thank you and honest pleasure in the gift is all they are after. I’ll try to find the dress and take a picture.

Every time I think about cleaning out my closet I think... okay, everything goes except the brown sundress.

Thank you Danny, wherever you are, you are thought of often and with fondness.

Who here remembers my teary break up with cheese earlier this year? You? You? How about you, over there with the clown shoes? Do you? It was ugly and I even received well played, sweet and yet smart assed (way to go Jules) condolences cards from well wishers about the heart rendering break up with my beloved cheese.

For those of you who don’t know how the whole thing played out. It went down like this:

1) I went to get my lab work done for my hot Argentinean GP.
2) He hotly told me, “Oly sheet, jour cholesterol level is not good. Jour triglycerides are at 464 points, we must do someteeng.” <-- I know, my phonetically correct spelling of how he talks makes him sound like Speedy Gonzalez... but he is not. It is more Antonio Banderas, with blue eyes. Trust me. HOT. Sinewy, Harley riding hot. Dark skinned perfection that dislikes the words “fat” and “morbidly obese”. And I quote, “No, I do not like that phrase... morbidly obese, what is that? Why do they not have the term “morbidly skinny”?” Don’t you just want to chew on him?
3) I, being a big baby about the whole thing and refusing to take any more medications, say “Fine.” and adhere strictly to a vegetarian diet (WITH NO CHEESE) for 6 to 8 weeks.
4) I got my lab work redone for my hot Argentinean GP 8 weeks into the vegetarian bullshit.
5) Did I mention that I couldn’t have any cheese?
6) My labs come back and I am yet again in the presence of the Argentinean GP’s hotness.
7) He says, “Tell jour parents they are fired. Jour triglycerides are at 600 points. We can not even get a reading on jour cholesterol. Jou must take medication.”
8) I huff and say, “Fine.” again... all the while thinking... “He is so hot.”
9) I take Crestor (10 mg) and of Lovaza (400 mg) a day forever or just since April or whatever.

Okay, are we all up to speed? Does anyone really care? How about I tell you that hot Argentinean GP has dark wavy hair and rocks a lab coat?

Let’s move on.

So, I get a call from hot Argentinean GP’s office, “Susan? It is time to get your labs done again.” He asks for lab work every 6 months to keep track of everyone’s.... stuff. (Scientifically speaking, of course.)

I had stuff to do last Monday so I was fasting anyway (see also: too stupid to eat breakfast), so I swung by the lab in hot Argentinean GP’s building to see Linda. Linda is a one-stick wonder. I have this nice little vein in the crook of my right elbow; the only problem is that it runs horizontally at the surface. She gets it every time though.

I’ve been to phlebotomists or clinic people that have bruised me up and down both arms and hands looking for a spot. They’ve used 22’s, 24’s, butterfly needles, six or seven sticks at a time... and if I have been fasting it never works. They label me a “hard stick” (translation, “I can’t do this.”). But Linda? God bless her, she is so good to me.

So I went to see Linda and then scheduled my appointment to go over my tests with hot Argentinean GP for yesterday in the afternoon. Mister went with me... thank goodness because it turned out he has pneumonia.

One, two, three (all together now)... Awwwwwww.

I know. Poor baby, just what he wanted for Christmas.

So we go through all of Mister’s stuff. Hurty shoulder, dry cough, wet (ew) cough, when are his next labs? He wants a Bow Flex®. Then it was my turn. I was so selfish sitting through all of Mister’s stuff because I just wanted to know one thing. Has it happened? Have I turned into a walking block of cheese? Will I stroke out at any moment if my heart rate goes above x?

I barely let hot Argentinean GP finish his dictation about Mister’s poor state of being (aww!) into his little recorder thing before I pounced on him. I pinned him to the little rolling chair and put my face mere inches from his... “What do my labs say doc?” I asked breathlessly. He yelped and ran from the room. I had crushed his little motorcycle boot clad foot when I pounced on him.

Not really. I sat calmly in my chair and asked him breezily, “So, what do my labs have to say doc?” He flipped the chart open and said four beautiful words to me. Words that made the blinds all over the building open up and the white light of Jesus fill the rooms and offices. He said, “Your cholesterol is perfect.”

I blinked and said, “What?”

He repeated, “Your cholesterol is perfect.”

I wanted facts and figures. “Like... HOW perfect?” I asked suspiciously.

He showed me the chart. My triglycerides were 213, my LDL was 33 and my cholesterol level was 113. Perfect.

Well, mother fucker. What do you know about that?

Then he turned the page and said, “But, your thyroid has just about given up.” He compared the information from the labs from this year and now and said, “It is amazing how much can change in six months, huh?”

Oh, and as a side note, last Saturday I went to the eye doctor person to check to see if I could wear contacts. I am forever sweating (my face and head get hot... it’s weird) and I take off my glasses and then leave them places and because I am near sighted I have to have them to see to drive and I squint because I don’t have prescription sunglasses..... blah blah blah, you get the picture.

So I went for the exam thingy. I was a bit wary because I am (as Mister says) a noncompliant patient. And the thought of touching my eyeballs makes me want to throw up. Not sure why. I will hold your hair if you ever vomit and I can hang out in a surgery or seven and watch a tumor being removed on Discovery Health Channel while I eat my dinner. But the eyeballs, ::shudder:: eeeeeesh.

OMG. I just realized why.

Fucking Halloween.

When I was little they used to make up a “Frankenstein’s Lab” in the school to walk the kids through. They would blindfold you and put your hands in different bowls. Spaghetti, “Braaaains!” Corn syrup or oil, “Blooooooooood.” Skinned grapes, “Eyeballllllls!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” AAAYiieeeeee! (Vomit.) And scene.

I don’t even have an issue with that scene in Bladerunner where they are at the eye guy’s lab and the big dumb guy is putting little eyeballs on the shoulder’s of the scientist like they are little parrots. But Mister has to hold me down like a cranked out ferret to get drops in my eyes.

So, I was a bit reluctant. Add those things to the fact that I am getting over a frillion year long sinus infection and that my eyes are all burn-y anyways with the pollen in the air and you have yourself a recipe for success!

Long story short? They told me I have small eyes. Wait, let me quantify that. An Asian woman told me I have small eyes. I lost one contact within the first few hours. No clue where it went. I have taken them out and put them in again several times but it isn’t pretty. My eyes get tired from wearing them and I haven’t worked up to 12 hours of use yet. I am at like five hours.

Go me.

Does it get any easier?