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February 12, 2008

It was like poking a snake with a stick.

A few jobs (about four, and over ten years) ago I was working for this man named Steve. He was the fatherly (drunk) type who was extremely protective of me. He owned a manufactured housing lot.

Yes, I worked for a man who sold trailers to couples named Ricky Don and Billy Lauren.

Shut it.

No really. This is a good story, you just have to get past the fact that I worked there.

A college degree and $10 an hour. Working at a mobile home lot.

Breathe in.... breathe out.... and let it go. In through the nose.... and whoooosh, out through the mouth. There you go. It’s okay baby. I know. I know.

So, there I was working for Steve and his partner. Let me Google the partner, because, if the baby Jesus loves me there will be video to back this up.


This really doesn’t have too much to do with the story but I have to paint a visual for you guys. Seriously.

The partner’s name was Hank. Hank Dunkerson. I just Googled him and found some guy in Knob Lick, Kentucky... and I am not even kidding. I also found his name mentioned on MySpace and somewhere selling real estate in Indiana. But when I knew the Hank I am talking about, he was an evangelical preacher... between jobs.

Somehow Steve worked a handshake deal with Hank to be partners at the dealership, which was named, (I am so ashamed) Mobile Home Junction. Just like Petty Coat Junction but without the classy element of the three dames and a mutt swimming in the town water supply. But with, WITH the classy element of an evangelical preacher and his beer belly, the straining buttons and the non t-shirt wearing under the cheap WalMart button down shirts. So on a blistering day or when he had one too many hot dogs and he had been out walking the lot trying to make a sale he would come back in and be purple. His armpits wet with sweat, his face red with exertion and those poor buttons over his belly just a straining to contain that extra subway foot long he had for lunch and not succeeding so you would be treated to the sight of his sweaty belly hair.


He couldn’t be counted on to show up on time or to stay his full shift so his wife and their eleventy kids were always running all over the place. And oh, OH... his wife.

Let me sum this up as quickly as possible because I do want to get off this tangent. It’s making me a little uncomfortable.

He met his wife when he was officiating her wedding. At the time he was dating her mother. And just like that, true love.

You can’t make this shit up people.

So, Steve was awesome and Hank made my teeth itch.

I was their office manager.

Steve would bark orders to the sales guys from his closed office door on one hand and then on the other make customers feel at home, welcome and at ease when they were signing the dotted line on the largest purchase they had ever made. And Hank? Was a preening peacock with all the winning characteristics of a pedophile/used car salesman.

Behind the “office” was a warehouse where we kept the furniture to stage the homes to make them look less like a metal box on axels. I was so uncomfortable in the “real office” (Hank wanted to talk religion and then discuss the merits of something sexual... sweet.) that I asked Steve if I could office in the warehouse. He installed a window A/C unit in there for me and I could smoke, get my work done and have a barn cat sit on my desk and no one to bother me. It was awesome.

The guys would call me or come out to my office when they needed someone to close a deal, do paperwork, make some service requests, order supplies, whatever... and so they could get away from Hank. Steve would come out to my office and pull up a chair under the A/C unit and take a nap while I was clackity clacking on my little Brother Word Processor, filling out sales slips, running people’s credit and researching titles and whatnot.

The business was booming and Steve and Hank decided to hire a few people. They had their finance guy who was like buttah with the banks, they had their office manager (me), they had their “talent” – Hank – to do the commercials, (Lord. Seriously. Someone has to have seen them. They were SO bad.) and they had Steve as the fatherly “everything is going to be fine” guy to do that laid back sell thing.

One of the first sales guys didn’t last so long. It was a purely commission job and he wasn’t charismatic enough. Nor did he have the requisite sweaty belly hair that Hank sported.

This young kid came along. Named Mike. Mike (I could just go ahead and tell you his last name as Google cannot find him. Linton.) came to the office and made a sale or two in his first few days. He was a nice enough guy but had... I don’t know, a dark side. His wife would come to the sales lot and bring her kids. Mike was her second husband and younger than she was. Sometimes she would just be looking for him, sometimes she was looking to get away from him. One time he left her at the lot and I ended up taking her home. Forty-five minutes away.

No clue what that was all about but he wasn’t all there. He was... odd. And for some reason I taunted him. It was like poking a snake with a stick, but he just wouldn’t leave well enough alone sometimes so I would give him a rash of shit. He normally would lay into me when other people were around.

Mike: Hey Susan?
me: Yes, Mike?
Mike: You’d go out with me right??
me: ::blink::
Mike: I mean, you think I’m the man... right?
me: Hey Mike?
Mike: Yes, Susan?
me: You aren’t my type.
Mike: It’s because you’re married, right?
me: Sure. If that’s what you want to hear.
Mike: Bitch.
me: No need for that. You asked. I told you the truth.
Mike: What, so... like... would Gary Wayne be your type?
me: Sure... if I wasn’t married.

Steve used to say that we had a pretty strange little family unit there at Mobile Home Junction. A preacher (Hank), a drunk (Steve himself), a midget (finance guy), an alien (Mike’s ears stuck out like he was Spock), a cowboy (Gary Wayne) and me.

This has nothing to do with anything but Gary Wayne (and yes, the name is redneck, move along) was hot. HOTTTTTTTT. Sizzle. He would come out in the evening (on Steve’s command) and bring me a cold beer*. If he was feeling froggy he’d turn up my radio and ask me to dance right there in the warehouse. Most times I would. Nothing like winding up a long ass day with a nice waltz.

*If I ever see another Key Stone Light, it will be too soon.

Hank had it out for Gary Wayne from the get go. He was intimidated by him and his sales record. He was pissed off that some cowboy could sell more than he could. The lot was getting to be too small for all of those egos and business was booming so Steve decided to open up a lot about 20 miles southwest of our location on the loop in Lufkin. That lot was called Deluxe Homes.

Steve took the finance guy, another sales guy (Roger) and pulled a friend of his named Lee out of retirement and opened up the new lot. Their business was slamming the competition. I would have to drive over there several times a week to do a closing on a house. Steve was kind to me; he would pay me a bonus on each contract that I closed because there was so much paperwork involved.

Mobile Home Junction was floundering except for Gary Wayne. Hank decided that he wanted to do a land/home venture with a friend of his so he opened up a third “lot” between the two existing ones and made Mike the manager of Mobile Home Junction.

Steve told me, “No matter what, you don’t have to report to anyone but me. I hired you. They didn’t. So if they give you shit, you just call me. I don’t know what Hank is up to with this land/home thing, but I have a feeling it is going to go south.”

“Please take me with you!” I begged. “I don’t want to be left up here with.... them!”

“You’re closer to home up here, no worries, everything is going to be fine.”

Hank decided to move me back into the main office. He put my desk in the same room as his so he could, “keep an eye on me.” So every day I would go in, start on my work and somewhere around 10 he would roll in and then talk loudly on the phone or in the kitchen or his family would show up or something. Some poor person would come onto the lot, the sales guys would get the short end of the stick if Hank wanted to show off and Mike was left holding nothing.

Mike started to get pretty squirrelly. His sales were going south and he had no control.

One night I was closing a deal for Gary Wayne and I had my notary stampy thing and my record books in his office along with the sales contracts and whatnot. That evening when I left, I accidentally left my notary stamp and the record book in Gary’s office.

Mike jumped all over me the next morning. He waited until Hank got there so he could hear him say, “I found your stuff in Gary Wayne’s office.” His voice dripped with venom. He shook the book and the stamp at me and I took them, smiling brightly, “Oh, thanks!” Hank came storming out of his office, “What stuff?” Like I had left some porn, a blow up doll, a sheep, a rubber mat, a ball gag and a sex swing in there. I held up the record book and my stamp, “This stuff.” Hank replied, and I am so not kidding, “Don’t let that happen again.”

Hank and Mike went behind closed doors and whispered and talked for a good hour as I answered the phone, worked and Gary fielded the sales.

Later on that day Hank asked me into his (our) office and closed the door. He proceeded to counseled me about the sanctity of marriage and how if I was going to go screwing around on company time then I could just leave.

And then he belched, left the office and drove away.

I called Steve and told him what was happening. He told me to pack up my stuff and show up at the Lufkin lot in the morning. I did as I was told and the next morning all hell broke loose. Hank and Steve had a massive argument because Hank had no idea how to do anything except point at various things in the homes and say, “The crown molding makes it have that special homey touch. Can you see yourself living in this beautiful home? We can make it happen.” Hank had no idea how to field service calls, talk to the manufacturer, deal with inventory, do a proper title search or print up the paperwork to sell a home. All of the finance went through the Lufkin lot so he was shit outta luck there too.

All the new kids that Hank and Mike had hired started fleeing the lot like rats from a sinking ship.

Mike wanted to come to Lufkin, Steve said he was full up so Mike stayed where he was. Gary Wayne went to another dealer and was very profitable. I would travel up to the original lot to do contracts and that is where it got ugly.

Mike would come on to me, he would tell me horrible stories about his marriage, his step kids... anything to stay in the same office space I was in when I was marking up the sales contracts and getting ready for a closing. It was very uncomfortable. I told him that I didn’t want to have any interaction with him as he made me uneasy.

He grew a wispy mustache, “How about now?”

It was awful and I had quit taunting him a LONG time before any of this happened. My husband at the time said that Mike was pissed off that I turned him down in front of people. My argument was that he came onto me in front of people and to save face in a lot full of men I had to turn him down at the exact moment that he was inappropriate.

When things got sketchy I got the sense that if I even came back at one of his remarks with something close to ego bruising or anything other than, “oh, yes... you are the man.” (which I would rather be chewed on by a wild badger than say) that he would snap, so I just did my work in silence and would greet the new home owners warmly and then leave as soon as I got their signatures, set up their delivery and explained their warranty. It was dreadful.

If I was at the lot I asked that someone else be there as not to be alone with Mike after I found him staring at me one afternoon while I was typing up a contract. I looked over into the kitchen and I swear, if he could have killed me with that look, then I would be dead.

Y’all have to understand. I was a young, Southern, polite, hardworking girl that needed that job. I was miserable, but I was polite. I never led the man on, nor was I friendly with him. I treated him civilly when customers were around but other than that, I ignored him. I was furious with him for trying to get Hank to fire me for “having relations with Gary Wayne” (ps.... SO did not happen) and when he tried to pull rank ...

Oh! I didn’t tell y’all about this one.

One night I was in Steve’s old office doing some work and Mike came in and told me that everyone had gone for the day. I started to pack up my stuff to leave and asked him to close the gate on his way out. He suggested having a little fun since we were there alone. I tried to laugh off his advances and he got pissed. He told me that if I wasn’t stupid and wanted to keep my job that I would get with the program. Or something just as lame. I said, “Goodnight Mike.” And walked out the door. He yelled something out after me but I was running for my truck.

It turned out that I had good reason to be frightened of old Mikey boy.

He was a jealous man and did not approve of his wife’s ex-husband being involved in the kid’s lives. They were his kids, not Mike’s. It was a very strained relationship.

One morning I was due to go to the original lot before I drove down to the Lufkin lot. A couple wanted to close on a home they had picked out the night before and schedule the delivery. I showed up, unlocked the gate, unlocked the office and turned on the air conditioning. I made sure my papers were in order and then the couple came in. I took them back to Steve’s old office and kept an ear trained on the front door. I heard Hank pull up and one of the other sales guys. I heard the phone ring and Hank basically shouting (he was a loud talker  understatement of the year) into the phone. I closed the deal with the couple, got them scheduled for delivery, explained their warranties to them and then went to walk them out the door.

Hank asked if he could speak to me when I was finished.

I watched the couple drive away, excited about their new home and then I turned to go back inside. Hank was red and sweating although it wasn’t that hot. He asked me if I had talked to Steve yet that morning. I said, “No sir.” And then he said...

Hank: There’s been an accident.... I think.
me: Pardon?
Hank: Well, it seems that Mike shot his wife and her ex-husband last night.
me: Wait, what?
Hank: Mike shot Veta (sp?) and then her ex-husband last night, then he turned the gun on himself.
me: Is Veta okay? Where are the kids?
Hank: I’m not sure of all of the details, but no... Veta is not okay. He shot her in the head and she died.
me: And her ex?
Hank: He’s going to make it.
me: And Mike?
Hank: He shot himself in the chest, but they think he’s going to make it too.

I sat down hard, stared off into space for a few minutes and then got up slowly and walked to the door. I got into my truck and went to the Lufkin lot. Steve was very worried as I didn’t answer the phone at Mobile Home Junction and Hank did. He tried to tell me about what he had heard on Mike’s story, but I didn’t want to hear it. I just kept thinking, “I taunted that man. Sure, he was an asshole, but he killed his wife. His wife. I was in close quarters with a murderer almost every day for over a year.”

He was in jail when they buried Veta. I went the funeral. Open casket*.

*The fuck?

A few months later before Mike’s trial he was out on bail. I was sitting on the porch of the Lufkin lot office having a smoke with Roger when Steve came out of the office, took my smoke, threw it in the butt can, grabbed me by my upper arms and shoved me inside. He said, “Get in my office and don’t come out.” He looked startled for a second, scanning the parking lot. He asked me, “Where is your truck?” “Parked behind the office.” I replied, a little off balance. “Good” he said, “Now go, I’ll explain later.”

I went into Steve’s office and curled up in his chair and turned towards his office window. He could see everything from that office and you always knew there was an eye on you when you were out on the lot. He was one of the greatest bosses I ever had. He let me be me, expected the impossible from me and I delivered. He taught me so much.

I sat there curled up in his chair, peeking out of the corner of the blinds, smelling the familiar scent of Steve’s cologne, beer and the old battered wooden desk he insisted on using. I was just about to let my mind wander when a familiar truck pulled into the lot. It was Mike Linton. He hopped out with a smile on his face and greeted the very uncomfortable welcoming party that stood on the porch.

Steve stood with his back to the door of the office, clearly blocking it. Did I mention he was 6’6”? They all said hello to Mike and I saw Mike look around. I could hear muffled voices coming from the conversation and it sounded like Mike asking what everyone was doing outside. Steve replied something about enjoying the weather and trying to drum up business and then Mike asked if he still had a spot on the sales team. Steve told him that it really depended on his trial and the outcome of his situation. Not wanting to piss Mike off, but trying to set a boundary, Steve stepped to the porch steps to block them as well.

I saw Mike’s eyes flicker to the window to Steve’s office. I had no idea how long I had been holding my breath but I didn’t draw in a shuddering lungful of air until his glance slid away. Mike asked Roger (the jovial one of the bunch), “So, where’s Susan? Up at the other lot?” Roger said, “Not sure man, she’s probably out getting lunch, running errands or doing some work.” Mike asked, “So, does she still work for you Steve?” All Steve said was, “Leave her alone Mike.” Mike looked down, then looked back at where I was peeking out of the blinds in Steve’s office and then grinned and walked to his truck. He was all, “Great to see you guys.” And then he drove away.

When he was gone, they all came into Steve’s office to tell me what was said. Steve asked me to stay at the other lot for a while as it was further from Mike’s home. Mike was under surveillance and one of Steve’s cop buddies had called to warn him that Mike was coming our way.

I totally attract the crazy.

I don’t remember what happened to Mike after that. I think he went to jail, prison, was on parole, whatever. I just don’t remember. I tried Googling him and I even called the Lufkin Daily News, their archives online don’t go back that far so I was out of luck. I didn’t work for Steve for very much longer. I didn’t like the long drive, dealing with oily Hank and his schemes and the way he treated Steve mad me madder than a wet hen.

It was all Steve’s money that built the lots, Hank was just a salesman who got a good bargain when Steve gave him the original lot so he wouldn’t have to deal with him ever again.

Yes, Hank was that bad.

I didn’t have health insurance, dental or a 401K. I was working at a mobile home lot with a killer asking around about me. I knew it was time to move on when I had the tubal pregnancy and didn’t have the insurance to take care of me in the hospital. I left Steve and his gang in June of 1997 but kept doing his contract work after hours for a little extra cash until 1999, when I left Nacogdoches.

I think I’ll leave it at that. 8 pages all from a little note I left myself that said, “Write about Mike Linton.”

February 20, 2008


Did I tell you guys that I died last week? Stacey called me on Thursday or Friday and when I answered she was all, “Damn. I’ll talk to you later, sounds like it hurts, KThxBAI!” Somewhere between posting about the mobile home killer (heeee) and working for a few hours on Wednesday my body decided to take a dirt nap and I broke out into one of those cold greasy sweats. I was sexy. So sexy that I decided to put my best foot forward and go to see Hot Argentinean Dr.

He was all, “Ay Dios Mio! You are seeek!” Not really, he swabbed (hotly) my nostrils and tested me for scurvy influenza A & B. The eagle has landed, in my sinuses, request a fly by? That’s a big negatory Ghost Leader, two days bed rest STAT!

Well, I’ve gone and gotten my Speedy Gonzales, Top Gun and ER references all fucked up.


The long and the short of it were I was supposed to go to bed for two days but I didn’t get out of bed for like four. It sucked. But I am better (cough, hack, wheeeeze) and feeling great! I kept thinking to myself, “Self? You should look up a bunch of old pictures and write a story or something with this time you have.” And the next thing I knew it was Sunday and I had spent four days napping and watching HGTV. The fuck? Then I was mad at myself for renewing with Diaryland for another freaking year because I haven’t fixed the images on the “new site” nor have I fixed the links or the formatting. I am so rolling my eyes at myself right now.

I’m gonna get right on that. Just as soon as I ... um... think of something else to help me put it off for another TWELVE months.

February 22, 2008

Random Crap All Shoved Into One Long and Rambling Entry (Trips, Music, Easter and Passports)

So, I haven’t told you guys about my trip back at the end of January and the beginning of February, right? Right. Well, I do not have any photographic evidence but I will tell you several things.

I had to pay Southwest Airlines $25.00 to cover my 8 pounds over the 50 pound limit because Shrek (my suitcase) was stuffed to the gills. I do have the receipt though. What? Shrek. Yes, he’s huge and green and I am creative, shut it. I had to go to Austin for a planning meeting so I left Thursday afternoon and flew in, had the meeting Friday morning (SUCK!) then left directly after and flew into Houston.

I got checked into the Hyatt Regency Houston and LuLu came to pick me up, can I tell you guys how awesome she looks? Not to get all personal and up in her business but dayum, the woman looks HOT. (::cough:: divorce agrees with her... ::cough:: is all I’m sayin.) Note to former Mr. LuLu, go away, you are no longer welcome in my brain.

We went to Mo’s. There... as bars in Texas are wont to do... was a country band on stage and then they would take a break and the dance music would come on. I had a blast, I had my pedometer on (yes, am dork , let it go) and I actually danced over a mile and a half with a very nice gentleman and a very hot woman (she let me lead... shut up). I got to see Glo and D and meet a bunch of people. I will also say that I have found the best waitress in Texas. Her name is something very magical but she will take care of you and try her hardest to get you fucked up. Go to Mo’s, ask to be served by AllieCat or something like that and then sit back... or dance your sweaty ass off... and let her make the drink choices for you. You’ll thank me later.

And no, Glo and D.... when I called you at 2:30 am threatening to leave a booger in that guy’s car, I actually did not do so. Afterall, I am my mother’s child and she would have been horrified. (But that shit would have been funny as hell.)


Saturday I woke up and tried to find the cat that had shit in my mouth. Unable to do so, LuLu and I went to pick up her child for lunch, had lunch at Luby’s and then LuLu took me back downtown. I went and registered for the convention, unpacked my suitcase, planned what I was going to wear to a reception... and then out later to see Rat Ranch (BOOYEAH!) with LuLu at Sherlock’s that evening.

Side track: About, oh... I don’t know... eleventyfrillion year ago in the (motherfucking) sweet ass year of 1993 (damn that was a good year), LuLu called me in Nacogdoches. She said, (sweetly) “Get’cher ass to Houston Friday by two o’clock in the afternoon. We’re going on a road trip.” I did not ask where we were going, I did not ask what I should bring, I just threw a pair of cut offs, my bathing suit, a towel, a pair of boots and jeans, some nicer shorts, my Keds® and my toiletries in a bag and headed for Houston around noon. I got to LuLu’s parent’s house around 2:30. What? There was traffic on the tollway. LuLu and I packed up her truck and headed out to pick up her Aunt Jeannie.

Now, Jeannie was only older than LuLu and I by a few years so it wasn’t like traveling with family. It was like traveling with a rockin cool chick that was very outgoing and tiny as a button.

We hit 290 and headed to Austin. LuLu’s other Aunt Carol and their family have a lake house on Lake Travis so we had a place to stay. We got there, went for a swim and took a tour around the lake (HUGE LAKE) on the jet skis and then took our showers and got ready to go to 6th street.

We parked somewhere off of 6th and Red River and made our way down to see Arival (back when Arival was Arival and this badass - Tilman was rocking lead vocals). So we found Arival, I have the t-shirt to prove it... and we commenced to smoke, drink, dance, shout along to the songs and cheer on Tilman and his crew. It just so happened that Tilman and LuLu have known each other since Methuselah was wearing short pants. So when they took a break Tilman came over, hugs all around and he said to us, “There is another band from Houston in town tonight, they’re pretty good. Y’all wanna go across the street to see them?”

We all agreed and went across the street to the Brass Keg or something and walked in on a band that rocked Prince, Nine Inch Nails, Journey, Skid Row and everything in between. Um. We made it back to Tilman’s bar to hear their closing number. Yes, we suck. But man, the band that we were listening to were so... fucking awesome.

That band, ladies and gents, is Rat Ranch.

An aside to the side note: When Mister and I were a-courtin, he and I were talking about music one day and he goes, “When I lived in Houston in 95 or 96, over those like eight months to open that call center? There was this awesome band that played at this big lodge looking place. They covered everything from Nine Inch Nails to Blue Oyster Cult and Damn.... they were so good.” I asked him, “Was the place called ‘The Outback’?” He replied, “I think so.” I asked him, “Was the band Rat Ranch?” And handed him a cd. He was all “NO WAY!” So, yeah, that was pretty cool.

Back on track.

So, I was at the Hyatt Regency downtown Houston for a large convention. I went to a networking thingy then hauled ass back to the hotel to change so LuLu could pick me up and we could go see Rat Ranch at Sherlock’s that night. T’was awesome. The rest of the week flew by in a blur of booze, schmooze, networking, and attending sessions.

There was one other high spot.

I went to this networking thing on Monday and this band that I am very familiar with was playing, Emerald City. Since apparently I am a fan of live music (Call me Chant! I love you!) I was sitting near the stage while people swarmed around me. I went to another part of the facility to see what was going on in there and that is when I heard it. It was a voice from my past, one I hadn’t heard in a long time.

I rushed back into the room with the main stage and I looked up on stage and there he was. The old lead from Rat Ranch. His name is Mark Russell and LuLu and I used to call him Conan as that is what he looks like. All muscle-y with the voice of a rock god. He was doing Emerald City’s sound. I walked over to a man who handed me a CD and asked him.

me: Is that?.....
dude with ponytail: Ma’am?
me: Did he used to sing for Rat Ranch? [pointing at Conan on the stage.]
dude with ponytail: [big grin] Yep.
me: Oh. My. God.
dude with ponytail: [eyebrow lift]

I started texting LuLu and Mister. “I found the original lead from Rat Ranch!”

Mark got off stage and I wanted to talk to him so bad, but the man was working. I waited for a lull and then went to speak to him. I didn’t want to be all, “Dude, Oh, I have been looking for you for like eleven years!” because, hello restraining order. So I walked over to the sound board and asked him if he was indeed the former lead for Rat Ranch.

me: Hi, I know your voice.
Mark: Really?
me: Really, the first time I heard you was in Austin back in the early 90’s.
Mark: Yeah, that was a long time ago.

I totally wanted him to be all, “Yesssss, I remember you! I have been looking for you since the summer of 93! You are totally hot. I have missed your face at my gigs. Please let me sing this next song in your honor.”

I am completely kidding, but also... NOT.

He was very kind and I hope flattered and he told me that he was living basically down the street from me now. He said he did sound for Emerald City but had his own gig going. He gave me a card and I gave him mine. I was so excited y’all. I am still trying to find out where he is playing now so Mister and I can show up to support live music and all of that. [read: drool when he does his rendition of “Separate Ways”.... like when Chant does that “Let Me Make Love to You” song... right Stacey? RIIIIIIIIGHT.]

Ps... Unanimously, “OKAY!” Hee.

That was just for you Stace.

So, I survived that trip. I got some edumacation, got to see some old friends, hear some great music, dance over a mile, drink a bit (A LOT) and generally got run down on lack of sleep, lack of food, an abundance of booze and smoked like Wendy O*.

Anyone who has been reading along with the comments has noticed that my brother/partner in crime/wild and crazy guy Brian has asked for me to tell you guys the story about when he almost brained me with a set of nunchucks.

I, being of sound mind and body, but normally having to write shit down so I can remember it asked Brian in an email today to refresh my memory about said nunchucks story.

This is his reply:

OK, just to jog your memory it (briefly) went something like this: You and Steph are up late AND up to no good... sneaking out I guess. I am in perfect angellic sleep. I awake to hear something in the bushes outside my window. Suddenly, I see shaddowy figures moving back and forth... whispers...
I roll out of my bed quietly and reach under the box springs to grab my trusty 'chucks. I breeze across the house and out the back door as to gain the element of surprise on the intruders. I, in my boxers and t-shirt, move across the lawn. I still hear low whispers coming from behind the bushes. I prepare... and spring into action ready to chuck the shit out of whomever is lurking in the bushes and surely trying to break into the house! (I'm secretly hoping it's Bryan Jones... desperately hoping it's Bryan Jones) Just as I'm about to go "super ninja" on someone's ass, I have to quickly reel back as I realize that it's you and Steph that have caused my alarm. Now, I'm standing there infront of you two ladies in my skivvies with a pair of nunchucks... not cool. It was this episode that made me realize that I would NEVER get to go out with Stephanie.

Now, I am a goodly and sweet angelic type so I have NO idea what Stephanie and I would have been doing sneaking around outside his house in the dead of night. I am aghast at the story and the notion that someone of my chastity and honor would be hunkered outside a boy’s house in the bushes.


Heh. We totally did that.

Also... another favorite quote from Brian today about our high school experience. I asked him if he, like every other free man on the planet had a crush on Stephanie too. His answer: “YES I had a crush on Steph from the beginning. But, she became a cheerleader and I became the historian of the German club. You do the math, dear.”

Two more things, then I will shut up for a while.

Number One: When I was in Nacogdoches my parents asked me to come visit them for Easter. I was married, didn’t give a shit if my no-good redneck husband (at the time) joined me or not on any trip so I looked at my calendar, located Easter and asked for time off. I bought my tickets, or my parents did. Whatever. And as I was getting ready to leave the next weekend, I called my parents to see if they would come pick me up from the airport when I arrived. My mother asked in a confused voice, “This weekend? I thought you were coming for Easter.” I am sure I rolled my eyes as I replied, “Yes Maaaaaaaaahm, this weekend is Easter.” I looked at the calendar with my dates off and the flight information to see over the dates a holiday listed. It was Easter alright, but ORTHODOX Easter.

And my sister, the loving goddess that she is gets my parents a calendar from Shutter Fly every year. And she always thoughtfully puts ORTHODOX Easter on the calendar for me. How sweet.

Never have and never will live that down.

Number Two: I like to consider myself a cool wife. I cook, I clean, I do not fuss. I am not in the habit of nagging and I’ll go with you to a strip club. Cool, right? I do get a bee in my proverbial bonnet about some things. Thing the first, movie rental late fees. Not sure why? But that drives me carnival bat-shit psycho crazy. Thing the second. Passports. Mister and I both have passports. I have used mine a total of like twice, but my rationale is that one day (like fucking Jason Bourne) you may need it. So when it was coming time for Mister’s to expire I started three months out asking him to please do the paperwork, and we’ll send ours in together so if we want to take a trip for, oh I don’t know... our fifth wedding anniversary ...OUTSIDE THE COUNTRY we could.

I can’t surprise you with a wonderfully planned trip to Dubai my love if we can’t leave the country. Yes? NO.

So, I started in November reminding him, sweetly, “Honey, your passport is going to expire in January, please do the paperwork and let’s send them off because mine is going to expire in March.” In December, “Have you even gotten your passport out of the lock box? I mean, I know you are like totally busy downloading illegal wares from the Internet, but could you just go get the thing? I’ll do the paperwork. Gah.” In January, “We are at CVS, they do passport photos, let’s get them done even though I look like a Fraggle and your have three day’s beard growth, who cares, it will just be a document that we will have for TEN YEARS!”

January came and went. This past Sunday I was all, “Fine. No, really, that’s cool. Mine is going to expire in March, YOURS expired in January and I’ll just do mine and get it out of the way. No really. No problem.” Total passive aggressive bitch, no? YES.

He pulls his passport out. It doesn’t expire until the year 2010. I am not kidding. Mine? He pulled it out of the document holder and started that deep chuckle belly laugh thing that would be totally creepy if he weren’t so awesome. I was all, “What? March right?” “Ha ha ha ha ha... oh, meee... ha ha ha ha.” “WHAT!?” I started to get screechy. He handed over my passport. Expiration date... JANUARY 2008. I stomped my feet and actually threw a temper tantrum. I guess it was funny because he was over there laughing his ass off as I stomped around and screamed in the master bathroom.

He said one thing. “Orhtodox Easter, huh?”


*And if you got the Wendy O reference, you are my kind of people.

February 28, 2008

Mister has found his love connection.

I am going to start writing this on Wednesday because I know I can’t finish it and hopefully by Thursday or Friday I will have pictures of a very sweet and lovable thing* to share with y’all.

*not my uterus.

Now, I want to talk about my uterus. For those of you who are sick to death of this shit, it’s okay baby. I understand. You don’t have to stay. Go over... um... Here... to Natalie Dee’s site. Enjoy a comic and a laugh. It’ okay. I’ll still be here when you come back. And hopefully by then I won’t be talking about my uterus.

So, we all know what happened last year in March right? For those of you who are new to the game, long story short... Operation Barren was not successful. The tubal ligation was not performed because of blah blah blah (not important) and I had just the ablation instead.

The ablation was to make my uterus uninhabitable for a fetus to grow rendering me barren. 90 seconds of electricity and burning off the lining of my uterus should have done it right? NO. I went a few weeks later and had an HSG, basically a fluoroscope into my princess with dye and right there in black and white my perfectly open and unaffected tubes flushed everything through, it was a total let down.

My shit is jacked up. I have already had a tubal pregnancy and a c-section to prove it. I don’t trust vasectomies and I don’t like the idea of anyone messing around in Mister’s junk. And if you haven’t learned by now, I am a wee bit of a control freak about the whole, “It’s my body and if I don’t wanna have a baby, you can’t make me... (screechy) Dammit!” thing.

So, today I went to see my OBGYN. He’s a cool kind of cat and I was referred by a friend’s princess who vouched for his awesomeness.

That was sort of awkward sounding. Sorry.

And... I just followed my own link and spent about 27 minutes over at Natalie’s site. So I have three minutes to finish this... or to just make a continuation.

Oh yeah, the OBGYN guy, let’s just call him a cooch doctor. No, that doesn’t trip off the tongue at all does it? Gyno-Guy? Yes, that is better. Okay, so I went to see the Gyno-Guy because... well, he had asked me to get a mammogram last year around March-ish. And I was all over that shit in a hurry.

So I got one on Tuesday of last week.

I was really expecting the results to be there at the Gyno-Guy’s office when I got there today, but no go. T’was alright, I had another issue I wanted to bring to his attention, and it’s not like you can get one of those placard signs with a light up arrow and just point it at your crotch to hope he is a mind reader and just gives you a pamphlet or something. Really, you can’t. I tried it. Doesn’t work.

So I went to have a consultation. That is what they call it when you don’t have to do any landscaping or even shave your legs the morning of your Gyno-Guy appointment... a “consultation”. (Just for y’all’s piece of mind, I did shave my legs anyway because you never know when a brother’s gonna be all, “Let’s take a looksee here... alrighty?” I didn’t shave one morning when I was going to the dentist and lo and behold, “Let’s take a looksee, shall we?”... So after the exam, I was putting my pants back on and... um, no? Okay fine. Then I’ll just end with “That’s what she said.” Doesn’t work there? Little help?)

At the consultation my issue de jour was, “Um... you know how you guys burned off the lining to my uterus? Well, see, here’s the issue, I have a Super Uterus and it regenerates. I have been having my cycle since last year about August-ish. What can we do to shut ‘er down? I wanted a tubal ligation and a side order of ablation to cut off the babymakin at the pass, see? And all I got was a lousy hospital bill and a regenerating uterus.”

I was nicer and probably a bit more eloquent than that, but y’all get the point.

And so did he.

He scheduled me for another “procedure” for 3/28/08 and he was pretty cool about it even when he said, “I can’t promise that this will work. From your HSG it looks like there is no blockage, so it should be okay, but if it doesn’t work, we’ll figure something else out.”

This SO better work.

More tomorrow.

I have returned, tis the morrow.

Too early for Ren Faire jokes?

Okay how about this. No more talks of my princess. I will just tell you one other thing. Or maybe two other things.

Thing the first. Mister has lost an ass load of weight. His pants are all baggy in the butt and he has to go to the next notch on his belt like every week. Between the two of us we have lost over 50 pounds since 12/31/07 and he’s the one that has lost over 30. Can y’all believe that shit? He is actually going for the “results not typical” thing. And yes, I know. Dudes lose weight faster than women. Not really worried about that at all, and I am proud as hell for the man but I just thought about something.

Even if I lose to my goal and Mister loses to his goal all the money that we have saved not eating out is going to have to go to a new wardrobe for both of us. I will still be a porch butt on a (thicker) stick with T-Rex arms and he will be eleventy feet tall with gorilla arms. Our hotness will eclipse the sun and we will become famous. I am absolutely sure that Brangelina will be replaced by Mistersan. The paparazzi (whom I affectionately refer to as the pa-pa-zao) will be all hiding in the bushes when we take the dog to the vet and shit.

Dog to the vet? Wait a minute Mistersan, you guys don’t have a dog! Remember the awfulness that was the crazy and mental unstableness and cat-beating-uppingness of the puppy Galen?

Thing the second. Yes, we do remember that. I finally got Pappa over to Mamma’s way of thinking. Selected rant on Mamma’s way of thinking, Take One. Selection taken from Saturday evening at the Rotary Club Gala after Mamma had a few too many Three Olives Cherry, 7UP and Soda’s: “Oh My God. Yes, the puppy is cute, but please do not get into a bidding war with some rich, retired Willow Bend guy with an ego the size of his money clip! Yes, the puppy smells good. Yes, it is precious. But honey, it is a PUH-PPPEEEE, Puppy! And a Shih Tzu on top of that. Do you know how many times we will have to let him out during the night? We haven’t seen the parent’s, we don’t even know the breeder! Oh, please. Fine, if you want him.... fine... “

Ten minutes (I’m hiding in a crowd with my hand over my mouth in abject horror as the bidding keeps going and I can’t see Mister) later I hear the winner got the dog for $1275.00 and I was about to order another drink. Mumbling, “Oh dear Lord, what have we done?” Mister comes over smiling. I asked him, “Did you get your dog?” “Yep, let’s go pay them.” “Well, fuck.” “I’m kidding, there is no way in hell I would pay that kind of money for a dog.” “Oh Thank God. Please, baby, please” (Petting Mister’s chest like a drunken country club member) “... next time you want a dog. Get a dog. Adopt an older one, one with an established personality who will not terrorize our home... and for Pete’s sake, get a bigger one!”

We went home and I proceeded to put Mardi Gras beads on the cat and Mister took pictures of me with the cat and I would totally show you guys the pictures because they are hysterical but I can’t bring myself to do it because... well, because I was squatting. And I don’t care who you are, squatting is not attractive on anyone.... Brangalina!

Sunday morning rolls around and I stumble out of bed at the ass crack of 9 am. A heathen AND a late sleeper. See? This whole barren uterus thing does have its advantages. Mister had been up for hours. And apparently what he was doing was drinking his coffee while perusing the PetFinder.com website.

He showed me several older dogs, he showed me several older/bigger dogs and I was happy. All he wants in a pet is for it to lie at his feet when he gets home from work. The cat tries, but then the sneezing (on Mister’s side) starts and Max flees to the safety of a no-sneeze zone.

With a puppy they are basically retarded until they are 2. (Herding and Birddogs – really any kind of working/sporting dogs not lumped into the same category... no offense y’all.) And puppies chew and ruin your carpet and furniture and every other word is “no, no no noooooo”.

I have always had older cats and when in Nac we had older dogs. And those were the best. I adopted Max when he was four or so and he is awesome. He’s a cat/dog.

Mister found this place south of Dallas and found his dogmate for life on the Petfinder.com website. He didn’t see the exact dog on their personal site so he called with a heavy heart asking if they had already adopted him out. The dog that Mister was looking at was a 7 year old German Shepherd named Andrew 711. He has hip dysplasia and was previously adopted and brought back by a family with smaller children who would try to ride the dog like a horse. He would voice his protest, not barking, but sort of grunting like, “Get off of my back you little shit, this hurts. I am not a horse. Lemme alone!” and so the family brought him back (with one 2 year old child firmly attached to Andrew’s back legs) to the rescue center and they gladly took him back after asking the people to please remove their child from the painful hips of Andrew.

Gladly Andrew was still there and Mister asked if we could come and see him.

We packed up and headed south. When we got there the place was wonderful, large expanse of land, clean runs a nice lady to greet us and when Mister said, “Hi, I’m ___ and I spoke with you on the phone about Andrew 711.” Her face lit up like the sun. She took us to him and he was sitting on top of a dog crate. Ashley said that he was more comfortable up on the crate than on the concrete because of his hips. There were three dogs in his kennel, a very aggressive black female (she was beautiful) and two submissive males. After watching hundreds of hours of The Dog Whisperer I was confident that a submissive (but not timid or skittish) male is what would work for our household. Ashley went into the kennel to put the leash on Andrew and to help him off of the crate.

We took Andrew out on a long walk and he was so happy. Mister took a knee several times to pet the dog and let him smell us. We walked for about an hour and I asked if Mister wanted to look at any of the other dogs. He didn’t want to but I asked him to just speak with Ashley about the other dogs, just to do due diligence on picking the right one for him. Ashley asked what we were looking for and then told us that she had over 300 dogs there and if we were willing to take a special needs dog she would show us to a few others. Mister kept Andrew by his side as we walked the property and met (and rejected) several other dogs. Mister had found his love connection (canine style).

We did the paperwork and then Andrew walked right to our Tahoe and put his paws on the back bumper like, “Alright, let’s get out of here!” We opened up the back and he tried to get in and then looked at Mister with his beautiful copper eyes like, “Little help with the back part there buddy?” Mister lifted Andrew in and crawled in after him. Andrew’s tail was a thumping and on the way home we stopped at PetCo and let Andrew pick out a bed (got a little extra padding to go under the heavily padded bed), got his food, the food we wanted to switch him to, one of those platforms to put his food up on to aid in digestion, a new collar, some treats and a toy or two.

We got home and Andrew and Mister walked the perimeter of the back yard, Andrew did his business and then he flopped down at Mister’s feet and grinned up at him happily. Y’all, I thought Mister was going to cry. Here was a calm, submissive, massive, beautiful, full blooded German Shepherd that had bad hips to Mister’s bad knees. They are a match made in heaven.

Sunday night we figured out that Andrew didn’t answer to the name Andrew. He came to whistles, clicks, “puppy”, “baby”, “hey buddy” and almost everything else so we decided to go on a name quest. He needed something that he liked and would answer to. We threw every name at him and he calmly would sigh or look away as if we had hurt his feelings with, Günter, Tanner, Wolfgang... ect. He just wasn’t having it. But he was very good about sleeping in his massive dog bed and waking me with a teeny whine and a blow fish puff of air in my face. I would wake Mister and he would take the dog out.

Monday rolled around and we were all, “Our fence is toothless, he doesn’t have an enclosure, we don’t have a doggie door, what are we going to do?” “Let’s leave him in the house and see what happens.” “Um, alright.”

I made calls all Monday looking for estimates for our fence. I had several people ask if they could meet me Monday afternoon. I asked for the rest of the day off itching to get home and see if there was a house left to put a fence behind and thinking that the dog would meet me at the door with the cat’s severed head in his mouth. When I got home Max was sitting in his normal spot, the window in the dining room watching the world go by and when I went inside this is what I found: nothing. No messes, the dog hadn’t touched the cat’s food or the cat’s water, the cat was alive, there was no marking or piles of poop. It was like... it was refreshing. The dog freaking rocks.

We can leave him at home, alone with the cat and no supervision while we are at work and everything is fine. He loves to lay by Mister’s feet and the dog and cat have an easy relationship of touching noses every once in a while. Our little family is complete.

And my parents are SO not behind this venture. My mother said, “I won’t come to your house for a year!” See you guys in a year then.

We finally figured out a name for him last night between our dinner, his dinner, a walk and watching Paranormal State**. His name is Zeke. Like it? He seems to.


This is a picture I took of Zeke this morning before I left for work. Isn’t he gorgeous?

**Freaking love that show.

About February 2008

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

January 2008 is the previous archive.

March 2008 is the next archive.

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