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August 2008 Archives

August 8, 2008

Chairble Dancing 101

The year was 1993, it was spring. The pine trees were shedding pollen like a wet dog shaking off water and the days were warm with crisp and foggy mornings and perfect breezy evenings. The double blooming dogwood tree behind Kerr dorm was in flower and people were just getting back into the swing of school.

There were two of them… a blonde and a brunette. The mission was simple, on Friday drive to Lake Charles, Louisiana and be there before the rodeo event the next afternoon at McNeese State University.

As supporters of the Rodeo Club they helped raise money for trips like this one and they made sure the cowboys were taken care of at events.

These two ladies were NOT buckle bunnies flocking to the likes of Tuff Hedeman or Ty Murray just for a quick shot at being on the arm of the famous bull riders. If truth be told, one of them was more drawn to ropers and the other liked the bigger stockier build and larger framed bulldoggers.

Both ladies were appalled at the attitude, the stature (wee) and complete arrogance of Donnie Gay whenever they crossed his path and saw the flocks of faculty and sponsors kissing his tiny little peanut ass.

Except for the politics (see above, RE: Don Gay) they really liked being a part of this small club. They felt like little warriors that were supporting their school team that was never hailed or praised with the financial backing and press coverage that the football team, the basketball team or even the forestry majors enjoyed.

And the blonde and the brunette liked the cowboys. Cowboys said “ma’am” and took off their hats to ask you to dance. Cowboys had manners and treated their mothers like queens. Furthermore they smelled nice, weren’t afraid of an honest day’s labor and normally liked biscuits and gravy. Biscuits and gravy are easy to make if you have flour, water, pepper and some bacon or sausage drippings… perfect for any poor college kid to make.

The drive wasn’t a long one from their school in East Texas. They were barely going over the Texas state boarder. It was about three and a half hours, down TX Hwy 69 towards Beaumont and onto I-10 East.

They packed with military like precision, each borrowing outfits from dorm mates, friends, acquaintances and various sundry people from all over the campus and the surrounding neighborhoods. They were going to support the Rodeo Club, yes… but they were going to be within a stone’s throw of one of their favorite honky tonks, The Texas Longhorn Club.

After they had packed up the brunette’s four-door family mobile they made a few stops before leaving town. First stop was the liquor store where they purchased two things; a liter of Southern Comfort and a 2 liter bottle of Dr. Pepper. They had found that by mixing the two with the awesome crunchy ice from Sonic (or Whataburger) that the mixture tasted not unlike a Coca-Cola slurpee from 7-11. They had two massive 32 ounce cups so they stopped and bought a few cups of ice from the Sonic, swung by the Chevron on the south side of town, filled up the family mobile and bought several packs of smokes and headed out of town.

They laughed, joked, sang, smoked and gossiped the whole way down to Lake Charles. The whole rodeo team and the rodeo club were staying at a hotel just off of the main highway so the blonde and the brunette were asked to meet everyone there before 8 pm. They had taken off around 3 p.m., just after class let out and made it to Lake Charles in about three hours and change.

With all the talking, gossiping, smoking and laughing that the blonde and the brunette did during the drive, they did not realize that they had killed a bottle of Southern Comfort… nor had they stopped to pee.

They pulled the family mobile up in back of the hotel and saw everyone mingling about going from room to room to get ready for the evening.

That evening everyone was heading to the Longhorn Club.

After the ladies parked, their friends surrounded the car and everyone was helping unload the bags of clothes, hair dryers, curling irons, hat boxes and tons of makeup… the blonde and brunette got out of the car. Standing for the first time in 3 hours and a liter of Southern Comfort later they realized that they were quite drunk.

They were all sharing rooms at the hotel and the blonde and the brunette picked to bunk with a couple of girlfriends in one of the first floor double rooms. Most of the rooms had the interlocking doors and throughout most of the first floor, the doors were open to let the crew run from one room to the next. All the girls were showing what they brought with them for the night out and putting outfits together as others curled, styled and teased their hair to incredible proportions and heights.

The boys were on the back side of the hotel where the family mobile had been parked. The blonde and brunette went around to the back side to say hello to the boys in their immediate circle of friends. All of the boys had their front doors to their rooms open and they were walking from room to room slowly and methodically checking to see who had brought the best beer/whiskey/bourbon with them.

The room with the Jack Daniels black label and Coca Cola won out and trips were made into every room to snatch cups, glasses and to make the announcement that the beer bathtub would be in Brian’s room. Brian and his roommates would shower next door.

One and all pitched in and each grabbed an ice bucket and started an assembly line from the ice maker to Brian’s bathroom to fill the tub with ice and beer for the after party. The blonde and the brunette each had a drink in the Jack and Coke room and when one of the girls started jumping on one of the double beds the other pulled her out of the room and said that it was time to get dressed for the night out.

Everyone showered and primped and prissed and applied lipstick just so (for the girls) and shined their belt buckles just so (for the boys) and then it was time to hit the club.

The family mobile was a preferred mode of transportation because with a bunch of skinny college kids in a four door sedan six would fit easy, and that is if nobody is sitting in anyone’s lap. The brunette was aware that the car’s personal best was to hold at least nine people. With all of those cowboys around there were trucks of every size and shape, but most of them only fit three across the cab.

When everyone left the hotel it looked like a caravan and many “Wooo Hooos” were heard throughout Lake Charles, through Vidor and up to the Toomey Starks exit that night.

With it being a Friday night, the club would only be open until 3 am.

Only. Three. A.M..

Most of the kids on the trip had not partied in Louisiana before and were used to the strict Texas Alcoholic Beverage Commission (boooooooo) rules and the jacked up legislation and zoning in Texas. Most clubs in Texas were closed by midnight. Hard liquor sales had to be padlocked or the stores had to be closed at 9 p.m. and you couldn’t buy alcohol until after noon on Sunday in most parts. Some places were dry counties that only sold beer and wine and most clubs you had to purchase a membership to drink. So a bar that let in kids that were 18 and up, served them liquor AND let them stay and play until 3 o’clock in the a.m. was pretty novel.

The blonde and the brunette let one of the cowboys drive the family mobile. They piled about eleventy people into it and headed to the bar. They all got in at the door and immediately bellied up to the bar. Drinks were purchased, smokes were lit, rounds were made around the bar and the dance floor to check out the scene and the level of excitement notched up a little.

The girls were all made up and had on their cutest/hottest (depending on the girl) outfit and the boys had even brushed the felt on their hats. Everyone was stoked for a good time.

The blonde and the brunette had on their skin tight Rocky Mountain jeans, their boots (lace ups and ropers), belts with dainty belt buckles, tops that were convertible (tanks under cute jackets for when they got hot) and enough liquor in them to render them bullet proof. It was customary to carry four things into a bar when the blonde and brunette went out. 1) A pack of smokes. 2) ID, that conveniently slid into the front cellophane of the smokes wrapper. 3) Money. And 4) lipstick. One of them carried the lipstick, normally whoever’s pants fit a little looser.

It was well known that the cowboys, even the ones who did not smoke, carried lighters and matches to light the ladies’ smokes.

The blonde and the brunette got a drink each and budgeted their remaining money for the rest of the time they would be in Lake Charles, for food and for fuel to get home. They walked away from the bar and a roaming pack of young men followed. The girls noticed and then pretended not to. They rounded the dance floor, gave a head nod to their best guy friends (to assure the boys that they were alright) and then settled at the left of the DJ booth.

The pack of men approached and one of them stepped up and asked the blonde to dance. She accepted, handing off her drink to the brunette in a silent, “Be right back, please watch my drink.” move that women are automatically born with. It is well known that if two women are together, one has to stay with the drinks/purses/smokes or other items while the other is dancing. The blonde and brunette had yet to decide if they wanted to include this pack of random boys into their safety group of friends so they kept them to the side for a few dances. When the blonde came back, she smiled at the brunette to let her know that the boy she danced with was not psychotic and potentially a good dancer. When another man from the group asked the brunette to dance, she accepted, handing off her drink in the same manner as the blonde did a song or two earlier.

The blonde and the brunette kept the boys with them until they had danced with almost each one in turn and then they made their apologies and a break for the ladies room so they could reapply lipstick and then come out and go the other direction as to avoid the roaming pack of boys they had just left.

When they came out of the ladies room their pack of cowboys and other friends called them over. They all danced with one another and the brunette always reserved the waltz for the tall skinny one of their group. Once the waltz was out of the way and a jitterbug or two had winded the brunette they decided to up their game and get a couple of margaritas.

The margaritas at the Longhorn were stout, salty, came in huge glasses and were on the rocks. Have you ever tried Club premixed Margaritas? Yes? Kick up the salt and the alcohol content and you have yourself a margarita from the Longhorn. It was like sucking on a lime encased salt lick… with tequila.

Tequila. Tequila had an odd effect on the blonde and the brunette that evening. After their first margarita they went to make another round of the bar to see who else was there? The ladies stopped under a fan amidst the tables at the south end of the bar and a gentleman approached, his friend lagging behind, clearly interested, but shy. The gentleman asked the brunette her name, she looked up at him. He said, “Well, if you won’t tell me your name, will you dance with me?” She looked up at him and in an uncharacteristic move said, “Maybe, but my friend (points to blonde) here and I are a bit thirsty. Would you mind buying us each a margarita?” He smiled, looked at his friend and asked the ladies to stay put, he’d be right back with their drinks. “Keep the ladies company,” he told his friend.

The ladies looked to the friend; the friend turned purple and looked at his shoes. The margarita guy returned with the beverages and the ladies clinked their plastic glasses together triumphantly as this was the first time that the brunette had asked a man to buy her…much less her and her friend… a drink.

They stood there in companionable silence drinking and making small talk as the margarita guy’s friend got more and more uncomfortable. The brunette and the blonde decided to take their leave as the margarita guy had yet to ask either one of them onto the dance floor.

As they walked away from the gentlemen the brunette (often distracted by shiny things) looked up and saw a staircase that seemed to lead to the second floor. It was lined along the wall with neon signs proclaiming COORS! and Texas Bud Light! She had been to the Longhorn previously (a few TOO many times) and had never really paid attention to the upper floor as the dance floor was what normally held her attention.

She pointed with her chin to the stairs and asked the blonde if she was game for a little look-see. The blonde agreed and they headed up the stairs. The noise was getting louder with each step they climbed and the smoke was pouring out of the open doorway along with a string of people walking in and out. They reached the top of the stairs to find another bar and a full fledged pool hall. The hall had its own music coming from the jukebox leaned up against the wall and the level of sound was astonishing.

The blonde and brunette found a large bar table close to the action and started watching guys and girls alike play pool. There were bets being thrown, people making out in the corner and the whole vibe was completely different than the dance hall downstairs. The blonde said, “Hold the table, I’m going to tell the boys” and she rushed out of the upstairs room, down the staircase and along the west wall of the club to find their friends. They all agreed to come upstairs and when the party started getting loud everything was great. Friends dancing, friends playing pool, friends buying drinks, friends lighting smokes and everyone talking smack.

Somehow the tequila shots showed up on the table and the brunette and the blonde gamely took one a piece. Or was it twelve a piece? A young man in their immediate circle gathered up dollars from everyone at the (now three) tables that their group occupied and he went to the jukebox to set up a playlist that would suit them all just fine. He included rock and roll, country and western, a few blues tunes and some dirty dancing music.

People were all over the little pool hall above the dance club. The ones that weren’t buying drinks were dancing close to the jukebox and trying to stay out of reach of the pool cues in play nearby. Everyone was drinking, smoking, laughing and talking it was a good night. The blonde and the brunette were absolutely certain of their hotness and invincibility. Several things were for sure that evening, “Hoo DEE HOO!” was yelled often and with much conviction, the blonde and the brunette were drunk, they were also a bit warm up in the smaller room. The girls’ jackets came off and that brought with it hoots and hollers for taking off other items, and then money was offered to do so, then somehow… I’m not sure as this is complete hearsay… but the blonde and the brunette decided that it would be a fabulous idea to give these boys and girls a show.

The brunette and the blonde sure-footedly stepped onto their chairs and then looked at one another, the brunette nodded and they both put one boot clad foot onto the table. The table listed strongly to port. So on this day of great drunken moments in history they danced with one foot on the chair and one foot on the table. Hence, chairble dancing was born.

Around 3:20 am when the club was shutting down, everyone filed out into the shell covered parking lot to locate their vehicles. The brunette had already given up her keys to a friend to drive over to the club so she gamely crawled into the back seat with a few others and asked that the window be rolled down for the drive back to the hotel. The blonde sat in front and navigated.

About 15 minutes into their drive the brunette began to feel a bit woozy. She didn’t eat dinner, she had a split a bottle of SoCo with her friend on the way down to Lake Charles, she had a jack and coke, several margaritas and who knows how many tequila shots and or beers. (Did she drink beer that night? The answer is still unclear.) She asked the driver politely, “Excuse me please, excuse me, but would you mind terribly… excuse me, pardon me… yes, excuse me, but would you please pull over? Yes, please do. Excuse me, pardon me, excuse me… yes, please pull over. Anywhere is fine really, just no ant hills or the middle median of the highway*. Yes, this is fine. No, I’m fine with it being a trailer park. May I get out? Excuse me, pardon, yes… thank you. Ooh… look, concrete stairs. Perfect. Excuse me.”

The brunette politely got out of the back seat of her car; she walked tightly over to the concrete stairs of an abandoned trailer in a trailer park, sat down and politely vomited.

Politely.

The blonde may have pointed and laughed, (the answer is still unclear there as well) or maybe she just passed smooth out. But it is a well known fact that… well, let’s be honest the rest of that trip is a blur. There are no well known facts except what you have read above.

I am not sure if any of the rodeo club supporters got up in the morning to help out with the rodeo or to cheer on their team or even how the blonde and the brunette got home.

Mysteries of the universe.

They all start somewhere near Vidor, Texas. I’m sure of it.

*Take care… TAKE CARE! <-- This? is for Stacey.

August 27, 2008

In a Rut.

I’m a pussy.

It’s true.

Here’s the deal. I am a trained monkey. No, I do not have a small leash or dance to an accordion. (Shut up.) I am just kind of stuck in a rut. Okay, not kind of. More like Titanically stuck in a rut. A rut the length and depth of Mariana's Trench.

I do the same thing, yet with different groups, over and over and over and over. I have certain obligations and I do make very detailed events look seamless (it’s a gift) but I would like to expand on what I do for a living. Yet? I am a weakling. I have no gumption for taking the next step to get certified (dear Lord, the application is MONSTROUS (I am very afraid)) or to look for another job.

My rut is a fairly comfortable one, down lined with the occasional feather shaft poking me in the cornea or my right boob.

I am confident and very good at what I do, however, I am afraid that it has become easy. I am not being challenged mentally. My only challenge is that I am gone all of the time and the trips are little rabbit-y hopping ones. A few days here, now a few days there, oh… a few more over here… and just a few more there. It’s a pain in the ass.

If I were doing large events like I used to I would be in San Diego for a week, New Orleans for nine days, Atlanta for five. And the trips used to be spread out. Not so anymore. I have basically been gone since June and I am happy to announce that I will not be crazy traveling again until December.

Rock on.

But? I know I can offer so much more. I know that there is more creativity inside me. I know that I could … I don’t know… maybe… write a book. There was a comment left at the last entry asking if I had a book in the works. (Thanks Roni that was a massive compliment that I am still trying to comprehend.) And a friend (miss you Wendy) has asked me why I haven’t already put something to paper for the love of God.

My excuse? Nobody has asked me too. I haven’t been asked by a publishing house to write something.

Oh. My. God.

I am such a puss. Not to mention terribly disillusioned. What publishing house is going to wade through almost six years of my entries (out of the millions/billions of other sites out there), find a few well turned phrases and shout, “Eureka! We have found her! The answer to all of our prayers was right there in front of us the whole time… online!”

The crux? I am a big weenie with gigantic dreams and no guts. I come in everyday at my job because of a sense of loyalty and also health care. Lord knows it isn’t the big bucks. Why should I be loyal? I know where the company’s loyalty lies where I am concerned. Can you say expendable? Yes, yes… I have been here for a hairs breadth away from five years, but the scales have been removed from my eyes (as it were).

I’ve been having amazing dreams lately, movie worthy and very exciting dreams. Have I written any down to send to Kevin Smith to say, “Hey man. You know, I have this idea and I believe it is right up your alley.” No. No, I have not.

I have been asked to write editorials for a local chapter of a professional organization that I am a member of. Very nice, very cool… I have already been called brilliant and NO, I did not once use the word Fuck. I save that for you guys because I love you. But it is not the same.

Also? I have been sucked in by Twilight. Yes, I am sorry, I know you had higher hopes for me. But… another big butt… I have been somewhat moved by the books to write something because, dear Lord, have you seen any of the books? Parts of them are more descriptive (I can use seven adjectives in one sentence too!) and more poorly written than most of my fiction. I was reading the eleventeenth paragraph on how Bella was coming apart at the seams and the hole inside her… yadda yadda yadda and one thought slammed through my head. No disrespect meant Mrs. Meyer, but I could do better.

I know I am restless.

I know that I could use the crazy imagination that God gave me and write something.

I know that I could find a better place to work or change my position or role.

I just need to gather the courage.

Better yet, let’s be completely honest about this. I need to gather the courage AND get off my lazy ass and do something about it.

About August 2008

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

July 2008 is the previous archive.

September 2008 is the next archive.

Many more can be found on the main index page or by looking through the archives.

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