Suzanna Danna

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.