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January 2008 Archives

January 3, 2008

If it ends in sex and some perfect black trousers? Rock on.

Ever since Heather posted a link to that song I have had this lisp-y little girl voice singing about wanting a hippopotamus for Christmas in my head. And sadly, there was not one under the Christmas Scrooge-iness (I originally typed Stooge) that was the non-tree that we did not decorate and sing carols around during the Holidays. (Insert inappropriate yuletide log joke here. Also? That’s what she said.)

But you know what was under (around, or also known as in-the-pockets-of -Mister’s-winter-coat) the non-tree? A bunch of cash.

Nothing says “The Baby Jesus Loves You” like cash.

Know what Mister and I did with our Christmas cash?

We called Jenny.

Seriously.

I’m just going to wait a little bit until this sinks in.

(Imagine the Jeopardy theme song in your head a little. Dooo dee, doo doo, doo dee, doo, doo dee do do doup! do doodilee doodilee doo. Maybe Alex Trebek’s smarmy little mustache from the 80’s. Sorry about your acute heart attack, Alex. May I call you Alex?)

Anyway, so yeah. We (and by we I mean Mister and I, not the royal we) have been thinking... well, not to candy coat it or anything but the thought process went a little something like this. “Holy fuck, we’re fat.” “No shit, I can’t see my feet.” So we looked into all these different programs. We talked to Hot Argentinean Doctor and he was up for helping us with anything we wanted. He just refused to go along with the word “fat” or the words “morbidly obese”. He finds it offensive (how cute, the thin, sinewy hot doctor finds those words offensive). But we were insistent as we think we can write off the whole Jenny thing if we are labeled as morbidly obese.

Yes?

No?

Whatever. We’re doing it. Today? (I proudly proclaim!) Is day... um. Four! The food is actually awesome and I have a hard time getting all the food in each day. But that was rule numero uno at the “center”, as a 6’1” lady told us, “Whatever you do, make sure you get it all in.”

Mister and I have similar goals for wanting to get healthy. 1) Hot sex. And lots of it. 2) for him: Shopping at Eddie Bauer. For me: Shopping at Anne Taylor Loft.

We are so incredibly shallow. But whatever. If it ends in sex and some perfect black trousers? Rock on.

I’ll tell you guys what I weighed on Sunday. I have no shame.

Ready? And y’all? No laughing, or I will sit upon you. (I really want to post a before picture, but... lo’ I am chicken.) (Also, no reminding me about the weight loss debacle of aught three. Or any other time I tried to get healthy before this. Promise? I got my blood pressure under wraps and my cholesterol in check, I can do this too... right? No juicing, and no weird Beach Body 90 bullshit.) (One more thing... parentheses.)

Here is the number, 266.

I am still beautiful and Rubenesque... I just can’t see my freaking feet. I have sprouted this belly. This rotund protuberance almost like I am pregnant (NO!), have a beer belly or am providing a safe and warm hiding place for Lara Flynn Boyle. The underwire on my bras is starting to cut into my belly. Lara Flynn Boyle must go. She can stay in the guest room, but no hiding under my rib cage and just above my waist.

And? I have back fat.

Dear God in heaven, true to life BACK FAT. I could be rendered, processed, tanned and worn by Buffalo Bill!

So. There you have it.

Jesus loves me (and you too... sometimes), Merry Christmas, Happy New Year and I called Jenny because I have back fat.


January 9, 2008

I feel like a T-Rex. (Rawr)

While driving home the other night (it was fucking 70 degrees here people. Seriously) I had the driver’s side front window rolled down because I had been smoking. It wasn’t rolled all the way down, just about four inches or so. I rolled down the back windows too to get a cross breeze and air out the car.

Now I have to admit something. When I was wee I would watch people driving around in their cars, arm out the window, elbow propped on the frame and their hand resting where roof meets car door. I thought that was the coolest freaking thing ever. No clue why, just thought it was hip, daddy-o.

What? All the sudden I am Potsie?

I used to see my father... left arm out the white diesel Oldsmobile with a Salem Ultra Light, Menthol 100’s (baby) dangling from his long tan fingers. He’d be singing along to the Oakridge Boys and tapping his hand on the roof in time with the music. “Gettyup, ah, oom pah pah mow wow.” We’d be driving along, accompanying him on one of his million business trips.

The whole family got to go when it was summer.

I’d be in the back seat singing along ... “Hiiiiiii Ho SilVER Awayayaaaaaay!”

Shut up, we’re southern.

I’d roll down my window too (if you’re a smoker, you know that in a car this fucks up the smoke draft) and prop my elbow on the frame and try to reach my fingers to the roof. When that NEVER worked, I would roll the window up half way and then just kind of act like it was the same thing. Me, hanging by the roof of the car by a few bitty finger tips like some sort of malnourished spider monkey... my arm stretched all the way out because I was still too short to even come close to being shoulder height with the bottom of the window.

Now that I am all growed up, I still can’t reach the fucking roof when I prop my elbow out the window... I have to skootch forward or kind of lean so I can put my fingers on the slanty part where the windshield meets the door.

I feel like a T-Rex, my bitty little arms held in front of me, useless, groping and tipped with six inch long claws.

You are all aware of how cool I am right?

Let me take this to a whole ‘notheh ....leh-vel.

The other evening as I pulled up to a stop light I slipped my fingers out the four inch gap between the window and the roof and I was singing along to something. The left arrow turned green and for my hair’s sake, I decided to roll up the back windows so the cross draft wasn’t so... drafty.

Can someone get me a thesaurus up in here? Ah, thank you... change that last word in the paragraph above to breezy. K THX BAI!

All of the window buttons for my car are right at my fingertips, right next to the gear shift in the middle console. I reach out my right hand and push the buttons for the back windows to roll up.

You can see where I am going with this, right?

As I was going from a full stop to ease off the break to roll forward for my turn at the green arrow... I hit the wrong freaking button and I rolled my mother fucking fingers up in the window.

I panicked. I removed my right hand from anywhere near the buttons and made the left turn with my left fingers all smooshed in between the glass of the window and that black squishy extrusion seal thingy.

Following me? One back window rolled up a bit, the other back window still down because... well, I hit the button for the front window and squished my own fingers. It literally took me about seven seconds to be clear enough (from pain and panic... and fear of someone honking at me. “I don’t care if you rolled your fingers up in the damn window lady! Just move your car! That green arrow is not infinite YOU ASS! HOOOOOOONNNNKK!”) to just reach down with my right hand and push the button that would roll down the window to the driver’s door... ergo freeing my stupid hand.

I don’t know what I was thinking, but as soon as I rolled my fingers up into the window I became retarded. I was more worried about getting honked at and pushing the window up/down button the wrong way possibly severing my fingers and OMG! MY RINGS!

The fuck?

I successfully freed my hand, my rings are fine (both scratched/dented where the engagement ring met the wedding band in the convenient window smoosh) and the bruise on my left ring finger is finally gone.

It’s days like that when I am completely aware of what a jackass I am.

In other news. Mister and I went to weigh in and get our food for the next week on Saturday. Member? We called Jenny.

Mister lost 4 pounds... YAY!

I... uh, gained 7 ounces.

Seriously? Seriously.

Not sure how this works. I am on a 1500 calorie a day deal. But there is so much freaking food. I have trouble with getting it all in. But I GAINED... gained 7 ounces. That is almost half a pound in one week. So... at this rate I will be 26 pounds heavier next New Year.

AWESOME!

January 18, 2008

I started this post on... Tuesday.

Meanwhile back at the ranch, Susan boldly steps on the scale at Ye Olde Jenny Craige.

I actually lost 5.4 pounds.

Woo.

Here’s the bad part. Member when I gave you guys the number of the beast... 266? Actually that was from the Dr.’s scale... Ye Olde Jenny Craige’s scale measured me the first time at 269.2... then I PUT ON 7 ounces and was 269.9 and this week I lost 5.4 pounds so I am at a grand total of 264.5. So the number of the beast has diminished somewhat.

Enough about the weight stuff. I’ll keep you guys posted if you are interested (multiple “eh”’s heard from the peanut gallery) (mmmm peanuts), but I don’t really want to turn this into a weight loss (or gain) blog/journal/personal space thingy.

So, I was having this incredibly inappropriate sex dream the other morning.

No segue zone. Wear a helmet.

And I have come to a conclusion. I will forbid myself from watching Cashmere Mafia ever again*. It is petty drivel that is sucking the life force out of everything Sex and the City like a large Darren Star produced leech or a tick or some other Gucci wearing parasitic show.

*I am totally going to record every episode on the DVR and then whisper sweet nothings at the TV as I watch each one.

Okay. What? I loved it. I can’t help it. Lucy Liu is the bomb and I am all about the pretty lipstick lesbians.

Next day...

I am postal. Not screaming obscenities at pigeons atop a church while brandishing a gun postal. But postal nonetheless.

Oh, wait. First I have to tell you about using a Neti Pot for the first time last night. Several weeks ago my allergy lady (has a major unibrow) told me to use a Neti Pot twice a day. She is trying to get rid of my sinus infection. I am on a whole ‘notha round of antibiotics and nose spray and.... hey, this is almost like déjà vu’ from another post I wrote.

Annnnyway.

I finally bought a Neti Pot like last Thursday and just got around to [read: also get over the fear of] using it last night.

What? Look, I would rather be ripped apart by wild dingoes than to drown or suffocate. It’s one of my little quirks. That and clowns... GAH. And loogies... and maggots.

[runs off screaming]

Okay, I’m back. And I’m still pissed. Wait, first the Neti Pot... then the pissed off part.

Ode to Neti Pot.

Neti Pot, you’re pretty okay.
Never thought I would see the day,
That I would shove saline solution up my nose.
‘Twas by my own minor accord
Opened the box in which you’re stored
And quickly found that using you really blows.

Ps. Nothing fucking rhymes with nostril.

Why the hell doesn’t it say in the little pamphlet (included inside the box) that; for like an hour afterwards; every time I bend over to pick something up after using said Neti Pot that mystery saline solution would come flying out of my face? No warning, NO WARNING. Just ::drip:: Ew. Thanks Neti Pot marketing guy.

But I do have to say, my sinuses feel... washed?

Okay, now back to the mad part.

Wait, one more side tracky thing.

This past weekend Sil (visiting Texas and her parental units with her three lil’uns** for a month from Chicago) and I went to Houston for a whirlwind tour. Okay, not really a tour. More of a “hand over the baby and some bacon salt and nobody gets hurt.” type of thing. J.Wo gave birth to that precious little bundle of joy New Year’s Eve. So Sil and I went down to steal the baby so J.Wo(now Ho) and her husband Dave could sleep for the night.

**That’s babies for you people north of the Red River.

Y’all know how babies have that smell? That strudel and baby powder smell? I know, I sound completely out of my mind. I can’t describe that smell but hand me a baby and my brow starts to glisten with perspiration. It’s sexy and you want me, I can tell. It is just one of those lovely things about me. “Here, Sue, hold the baby.” I take the baby, smell the baby’s head and immediately start to sweat.

Is it just me or does everyone have that “Reproduction” song from Grease 2 stuck in their heads now? No?

Here, lemme help.

Where was I?

Oh, the baby. I took the first watch and was all keyed up because I had the sole responsibility for the peanut until 4:30 a.m. Feed every two hours, change an hour later... lather, rinse, repeat.

I didn’t put him down. I was terrified that something would happen unless he wasn’t snuggled all swaddled and next to a warm body. I didn’t want him to cry. We were there so the new parents could actually sleep. I thought if the baby cried then they would both wake up. He was sooooooooooo good y’all. He hardly made a peep.

Don’t tell his parents but while the baby and I were watching tv... if I couldn’t see his little chest rising and falling with each breath... (so embarrassed) I would twitch my arm so he would scrunch up his nose or flail a little hand or something. Just so I would know he was ok. He was breathing, he was FINE.

No idea why I was so anxious about this baby. No idea why I was all, “He made a little grunty noise... Shit. Does he need to eat? Did he poop? Is he about to unleash a wailing of catastrophic proportions? I don’t know, I. DON’T. KNOOOOOW!” He was perfect y’all, perfect and I? Was all Miss SpazzALot.

Another sign that this was the best decision ever.

Oh, I just remembered. I had coffee on Friday. That explains the Sister Spaz routine.

So, the mad thing. I’m not over it. Nor have I received any closure since I started this post on... Tuesday and now it is Friday. But, I have decided to put said issue in a proverbial Fuck It Bucket. Adapt or move on. And just between you, me and this fence post over here... I think I am stuck here for a while. So, adapt it is.

I am about eighteen ways to Sunday upset that I am not going to be able to be with the tribe at Meatacon next weekend, so my panties are already in a twist.

I need to write a story or something.

Topics? Suggestions? Requests for explanations about my past? Leave em in the comments people. This is a You Ask, I Tell game.

January 31, 2008

Ridiculous socks... You know you want them.

A quickie just so you guys know I am not dead.

Number 1: I am still a sad little moppet about missing Meatacon and am awaiting the pictures to be posted from the foray with baited breath and much anticipated glee.

What I was doing other than being among the loved and cherished tribe at Meatacon will now only be referred to as “the suck” and included such words as, “There is a motion to be passed to amend the amendment that was amended for the first amendment.” And then my head blew apart in massive chunks of gore because I rolled my eyes so hard that the pressure caused an explosion of the greatest magnitude. No fewer than six were lost that day.

Number 2: I am leaving today to go to Austin. I have a planning meeting for a conference there tomorrow. Currently there is an uproar about the meeting being scheduled for 30 minutes earlier than it has been for the prior eleventy thousand years (a precedent of which I was not aware... THE HORROR!... also, just inherited said group) and I am just telling you the latest bit of petty bullshit. There is more, OH THERE IS SO MUCH MORE! And I... I am seriously contemplating something rash, like speaking my mind, rolling my eyes, delivering withering bouts of passive aggressiveness and pouting.

Because seriously? Tomorrow’s meeting will be “the suck II, electric bugaloo”. Or “the suck II, the suckening”.

I am battling the suckage by three four methods.

a) Ridiculous socks.
happy%20socks.JPG

b) Sock paired with (look away Wendy)... the unholy union of crocs and Mary Janes.
mary%20jane%20crocs.JPG

c) Loads of crack cocaine snorted off the asses of service industry entertainment... if you know what I mean. And I think you do... food wenches from Medieval Times.

d) And, last but not least... actually the most... I will be spending Friday evening with the ever lovely LuLu in Houston*. We are going drinking and dancing dammit, and there’s not a thing you can do to stop us.

*Oh? I didn’t mention Houston? Because that is ....................

Number 3) I am leaving Austin tomorrow to fly into Houston where I will be until next Wednesday at a convention that I am attending as opposed to putting on. There will be education, there will be networking, there will be drinking, there will be sweating (it is supposed to be in the 70’s and raining Monday and Tuesday) and there will be other... stuff. I am tired already from thinking about it. Well, that and the fact that I packed last night. For seven days. Last night. I got to bed at almost two, up at 5:45. I think I may just need a nap.

Alright, back to it.

Love you all, mean it.

PS... no one played the “You Ask, I Tell” game. Do I offer too much already?

About January 2008

This page contains all entries posted to Suzanna Danna in January 2008. They are listed from oldest to newest.

December 2007 is the previous archive.

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