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October 2008 Archives

October 7, 2008

Housekeeping, State of the Union and Fart Jokes.

A few housekeeping items and then we’ll get into the real meat of the story.

Number one. I finally put up an about me page up there on the upper right hand corner of the journal. It isn’t very deep… I’d be generous and call it superficial and quaint. But it is there. If there are any juicy tidbits that you think I left out and would like me to add, please let me know. I added the page because when I stumble upon a journal and there is ALL this information and not really a summary of what I would be letting into my brain if I started reading the journal I feel a bit cheated really. So, that was my attempt. For those of you who know me and think you could do better, write it up my little chipmunks and the winner may have their words (and their link) on the about me page. Question: Should I include the links to the other places I write in the about me shit? Or, is that too, “Ooooh, lookit me, people think I am amusing.”

Number two. I have also made a little logo and started a cafepress site. No really, I did. Look over there to the right, no, your other right. And you can get pins and mugs and shirts for your dog and infant that proudly states that you, your infant and your canine are all (indeed) Freak Friendly.

And I keep getting emails and various conversations thrown at me by people in real life and those that I know through the internet, this journal, various sundry places and most all of them are in a heightened state of freak-the-fuck-outted-ness. They are losing their minds about the stock market (Hi Mom! PS, you better not be reading this. I just said Fuck.) and the state of the union and they wonder, “Hey, why aren’t you frothing at the mouth and burying what is left of your 401k in Mason jars out by the county water tower or next to the shed.

I have little interest in the financial aspect of it for a few reasons. And gasp, yes, you may gasp. But come on. My husband works for a freaking bank. He’s got his fingers on the pulse of what is happening, and he tries to shelter me from too much gloom and doom. (I am a sensitive little hot house flower. Shut it.) If the market takes a nose dive and is pulling 6 g’s then my wonderful life partner takes my 401k and metaphorically speaking DOES bury that shit out by the shed. He moves it into a money market account and blah blah blah, whatever.

Another reason that I am not all hopped up on “OH MY GOD! BLACK MONDAY!” or whatever the current drama is, is because previously I have had to grow and/or kill what I have had to serve for dinner (breakfast… lunch, whatever). I have fed three people and a dog on a damn scrambled emu egg and I have survived. So, if I can survive in abject poverty and be miserable with the partner and the situation I was in, I think that my situation has improved dramatically because of who I share my life with. We could live in a van down by the river and I could make it work. You just hide and watch.

As far as politics. I cannot make up my mind to save my life, or yours.

I was sitting there this weekend rifling through the channels on dish and channel 73 popped out. Freaking Obama has his own station. Brilliant. There is a continuous loop showing his family, who his people are, where he comes from and he is really appealing to the everyman. I can’t say that for McCain or Palin. I do not watch the debates (pipe down, you.) I do not take everything I see in journals, online sites or twitter to be the God’s honest truth. I just don’t know.

About four years ago a young woman whom I had lunch with on a pretty regular basis completely severed ties with me because I voted for Bush in the election. Straight party Republican. That was her right and something she felt very strongly about. Me? Not so much.

Mister and I went to dinner with this lovely lady and her husband on Saturday, but according to a previous post she wrote, “Republican Women are Idiots.” We all got along perfectly fine. Love them, absolutely love them, and I don’t think that they would turn their backs on Mister or I if we voted Republican or Democrat… regardless.

I can put in my two cents, I can look at the platforms and try to do what I think is best for my country when it comes time to vote, but seriously y’all. I just don’t know.

So, with that out of the way, I will be skimming through the regular journals I read and skipping over any political and or monetary diatribes. You can’t sway me one way or another. Well, to be more blatant… I have no clue what I want to do with my money and who I want to vote for, so, there’s no use.

I should have totally talked about Jack Shacks instead. Next time, back to the absurdity and base humor of fart jokes, I promise.

October 10, 2008

“Hey, wanna screw?”

I just got an email message over at my Facebook profile: “you should call me sometime, i have something funny to tell you but i would never put it in writing.” And then he left his number. I replied back: “i'm officially a little bit scared. you call me.” And I left my number… and he did, he called me.

About sixteen years ago I came back to the Dallas area for the summer. It was to be the last summer I didn’t take classes and my last summer to be spent in Dallas. My plan was to be out of school with maybe two majors in four years. If I was going to do that, I had to spend my last two summers, between sophomore year and junior year… and junior year and senior year chock full of classes.

So this was to be my last summer of irresponsibility.

I got a little part time job and enrolled in one three hour class and spent the rest of my free time hanging out by the pool and all over town with my friends. I did errands for my mother, worked, stayed up late, read an obscene amount of fiction, watched movies until I couldn’t blink and ran the roads.

Everyone else had jobs too so we all worked in the morning (or afternoon) and then we would schedule a plan of whose house to go to in the evening. What movie would be on? Who had the food? Wanna go to Ad Libs (a local Comedy Club) or to Applebee’s and drink?

It became a ritual. Sometimes friends from college would come and visit and we would introduce them into the clan. Sometimes we would go visit college friends on the weekends and when we got back into town our routine would be waiting. The girls would get together for happy hours and go dancing; the guys would watch wrestling or smoke cigars and grill something outside.

It was one of the most relaxing summers ever. We were all chestnut brown from the sun and full of energy and the spark of youth. Our smiles came easy, the laughter was infectious and it was as if we were each a small part of a larger organism. We knew what each person was thinking , we anticipated needs and we laughed and loved as one. The innocence was there and we were all still just kids, but we knew change and accountability were coming so we reveled in the time we had.

I was still hanging out with my guy friends from high school mixed with the ever expanding group of friends from college and Natalie was over the moon with the attention she received from all of them. Who wouldn’t be? A bunch of good looking young men paying attention to you, anyone would be lucky enough to have that kind of deal working, but we were all taking care of one another.

Natalie needed to feel like she was the most desirous in the group so we made her feel as such. Stacey wanted laughter and lightheartedness, we gave that to her. I needed dancing, indecent jokes and laughter, I was given that in spades. Kerry wanted to shock and awe us so we would go to ladies’ bar with half naked men dancing on the bar. Stephanie wanted everyone to be happy and we tried to give her what she wanted.

When our friends would visit Marly would need to be challenged with humor and wit and we would take her to Ad Libs where she would have to wear the paper bag of shame on her head if she cursed out loud. Troy wanted to shoot off fireworks from David’s back porch and almost catch the neighborhood on fire… wish granted.

We also all needed, whether we wanted to admit it or not, a bit of assurance and affection, something that told us intrinsically that everything was going to be okay. The world was saying that growing up was what we were supposed to do; that summer, those three months, told us it was going to be fine. The summer calmed our nerves, made things shiny and gave us the means and the gumption to purchase booze when we were too young to do so. It even made things that were once taboo on the level.

I can remember going downtown to Ad Libs and entering with our seven or eleven dollar cover charge and our two drink minimum and laughing for hours. The shows would start at eight and ten and the later show normally went late into the night. Then the managers and bouncers would pour us out into the streets of downtown Dallas. Many of us were not in the mood for going home quite yet, so we would come up with something… anything to create a diversion, let the night, the flirting, the atmosphere and laughter go on just a little bit longer.

Sometimes on those nights we would play truth or dare. A truth was just as dangerous as a dare in the company of those friends. We took those dares and we tried to one up each other constantly, so constantly that one heavy and humid summer night I found myself streaking down Ross Avenue in Dallas at 1 am in the morning.

As the summer wore on a small foursome formed. It was me Natalie, Tall and Hot*.

*Stop smirking Hot or I will reveal your name and put a picture of us up right here. Also, I almost called y’all Milo and Otis. So, just be happy and stop gloating. Yes, you are a handsome man, we got it. Now move on. Also, if the boys ever find this… we are DEAD. I will not use these men’s names because these stories have not been told to the others of their original group of guy friends. This was mainly because of the strained relationship I had with one of the original men of the group, Bean. We didn’t feel the same way for one another. I’ve been over all this before in these pages, do not want to rehash now. But if anyone needs a link (Gah, I hate breaking tense and prose for an explanation) fine, here’s a link.

Natalie, Tall, Hot and I would get together for dinner, we would go out when others had to work anything that we could do to put that little foursome together. It was a combination that worked all around. Our senses of humor were similar, we liked the same thing and for some reason we thought we were just a little bit more grown up or mature than the rest of the clan (original guy group). It was never said out loud, it was just one of those things that you knew, you lifted your head to acknowledge and you moved on.

We all enjoyed each other. Tall adored Natalie so she got to feel like the Queen of Sheba and Hot and I got along just fine**.

**Hold you’re britches, I’m getting there. PS, we are SO dead.

It got out one night when the whole clan was gathered that Tall and Hot had lost a bet to Natalie and I (or some such bullshit) and that they had agreed to make us dinner for their penance. Behind Natalie’s back Tall was planning some romantic thing that he was convinced would sweep her off of her feet and into his arms or something. Hot and I just sat back and watched the whole thing with amusement.

Little did anyone, except our little foursome, know but Hot and I had found another more mutually beneficial way to pass our time together. We had become lovers over the summer and if any of the clan knew there would have been a big mess. Hot and I had a great time together, things were relaxed, no pressure and we explored and enjoyed each other’s bodies***.

***Happy? That’s about as much as I am going to say (maybe), this is not that kind of journal.

The night of the dinner there was anxiety over what Bean was going to do, we ALL knew he wasn’t happy about our little foursome. He was jealous, he was angry and to make matters worse, we soon found out that he was drinking that evening.

The four of us went to Tall’s house for the dinner and the boys proceeded to preen and strut around like they were French chef’s delivered straight from heaven to serve us a meal of… spaghetti. It was a fabulous time. Tall’s parents were out for the night so we had the house to ourselves. We could ramp up and be loud and we could couple off and not worry about getting caught making out in the kitchen.

The boys went to get dessert for Natalie and I and that is when we all heard the roaring engine coming from the street in front of the house. Tall looked outside and pointedly said, “Oh shit.” Natalie and I followed the boys to the front door and outside into the hot summer evening. On the street in front of Tall’s house was Bean in his car. He was revving the engine and speeding past the house to stomp on the breaks at the end of the street, squeal his tires as he spun the car around and then rev up and speed by again. I really don’t remember that much of the evening except the boys, Bean and his car and me asking everyone to step inside so I could try and calm Bean down. I can’t remember if it was Steve who warned us about Bean’s state or that I found out for myself when I asked him to step out of the car so we could speak.

Hot and I hid our tryst for the rest of the summer. We didn’t want the wrath of Bean coming down on either one of us or to tear a rift in the fabric of the group. That was the main thing. We wanted to keep the clan happy so we snuck around. I would meet him at his house after work or class and we would still see one another with the group. I took him out with the boys to a strip club one night and did my best not to show any preferential treatment to him. Not sure if I succeeded or not.

One afternoon we met up at his home and when he pulled me into his room he whispered low and removed my clothes, he lay me back on the bed and moved his mouth over my body tasting me and then flipped me over and let me do the same to him.

I found out much, MUCH later that Tall was actually there that afternoon furtively hiding in the closet.

So when Hot called me today we discussed how fun and relaxing that summer was I said, “Yes, all except for you hiding Tall in your closet to watch us… gah!” He laughed good naturedly, seemingly apologetically and when I said, “That was the last time.” He corrected me. He said that there was one more evening. One night when my house was surprisingly empty that we spent the whole night together. We showered one another and he went on to describe how sweet it was. Y’all. I cannot remember that. I don’t know if it was when my parents were out of town for some reason because my daddy would have killed me dead if he knew I had a boy alone, all night in his house.

Hopefully this awesome night Hot was referring to was before I found out about Tall hiding in Hot’s closet that afternoon.

Oh, I almost forgot. Hot actually called to remind me of sitting in Applebee’s one evening and I found a small screw on the window ledge. I leaned over and asked him, “Hey, wanna screw?” When he nodded in the affirmative, I handed him the tiny piece of metal. He said that he still plays that trick on his wife and she replies with, “Alright now… SUSAN.”

October 15, 2008

A dollar in the hand is worth 21 cents in a mutual fund.

This morning I received a very comforting email from the company holding my 401k funds. It reads:

“Dear SUZANNADANNA,
The extraordinary events of the past few weeks have tested the portfolios and the confidence of investors around the world.

We understand.

Rest assured that in times of market volatility, Fidelity retains the strength and stability that you've come to expect from us.

As the markets continue to fluctuate, keep in mind:
• Market volatility is normal, and is to be expected.
• Your investments should reflect your risk tolerance and investment time frame.
• Stay focused on your long-term goals.

Fidelity has 60 years of experience providing our customers with the service they need to help them feel confident about where they stand, even through changing market situations. We're here to do the same for you.

Visit NetBenefits® to access more information on market volatility (link).
You can also view your quarterly statement here (link).

Sincerely,

Fidelity Investments”

I forwarded the email to Mister who moved our funds into a money market account before the plunge of the stock market. Smart that guy. Kind of why I married him. That and the insanely large size of his… brain.

So I forward the message with one little word: Heh.

He replied back with:

Translation:

“Please, please, oh please don’t move all of your funds into cash. There are lots of other ‘chicken littles’ who are moving their funds and have stopped the bleeding, but isn’t it more fun to be like everyone else? What that does is upset our fund managers because now it will be harder for them to overcome the dramatic losses to your funds that they should have avoided in the first place.

Ohhhmmmm

Ok,

Let me console you with some words of wisdom to add to your comfort:

It is better to give than receive; a dollar in the hand is worth 21 cents in a mutual fund; ask not what your mutual fund can do for you, ask what you can do for your pathetic mutual fund managers. Seven hundred billion stitches in time doesn’t amount to much; a copper penny saved is worth 1.6 cents.

There now, don’t you feel better?

Kindly go to your HR office and max out your 401k contributions so that you can lose even more money, er … wait, thirty days hath September, April, June and November –

Oh yeah, so that you can contribute to the Great American Dream (of our mutual fund managers getting an obscene bonus this year).

Thank you for your support,

Mr. Grubby Hands, ESQ, CFP, PFS, PC, LLM, JD, CFP, ChFC, CLU, LESS

P.S.

With all of those initials after my name, don’t you trust me that I know what I am talking about? Believe me, I have channeled this information from an old yogi master with pigeon toes, vertigo and a scorching case of … well … it should be healed by now, what with the advent of antibiotics and all.

Any way – you can trust me – REALLY!!!”

I married the epitome of Awesome.


October 16, 2008

Is it me? Or is it a little warm in here?

From one “thirty-something” woman to the whole wide world of the Internets (Thank you Bob Dole)... I have a question. And y’all, I want a real answer. I need to know. Am I insane or is the whole world suddenly sexy?

Don’t know if it is the whole damsel in distress thing that the world has going for it right now, or that I have been shoe shopping recently (which never fails to make me hot), if it is the old lovah’s coming out of the woodwork (thanks Facebook.) that make me all head in the clouds thinkin about way back when, it could even be the music that comes across Spencer (my iPod) or hell, Gershwin’s Rhapsody in Blue made me a little mmmmmpurrrrrrroooar the other day when I was trying to be good and listen to the classical station so I wouldn’t be tempted… to… do anything really.

I suddenly find brushing my hair to be WAY too pleasurable. And the song Bat out of Hell by Meatloaf is… erotic?

Oh, God… please tell me that it’s not hormones.

If that’s it (and I’ve heard it gets worse), poor Mister.

I hope I’m not gonna be like one of those cats in heat all, “Hi there, big boy, have you seen my ass? Let me show you it. Yes, I am rubbing lovingly up against the leg of this bar stool and listening to Chant* while wearing my new shoes, eating chocolate, dreaming of sex… and brie.”

Because you know. I love me some cheese.

*Gawd.

Deep breath…. Annnnnd release.

Let’s talk about Chant for a second. Chant? Do you mind man? Do you care if I discuss openly on this site (sort of basically talking directly to Stacey here… shit, they’re in Little Rock Friday… oooh, but Monday!?!?! Sherlocks!) and talk about you like you are… for lack of a better and more mature term… YUMMY.

Okay, I’m going to take your silence as a yes.

People, if you haven’t yet, get thee to see Chant, Jerry and J.K. post haste. I am not even kidding.

Lord. Just go to the site and listen to a little bit of Forecast Calls for Pain (Mmmmmrrrooow Robert Cray…).

Pardon me, I uh, hey there Boston vertical stapler, how YOU doin?

Sorry, okay. So, go to the site, listen to a little of the song (or go to their MySpace site, the live medley starts out with a bitty portion of my favorite song of all time, Little Wing) and then think of, um.. Hmm, how to put this bluntly and eloquently at the same time?

Alright, ladies, you know when LL Cool J licks those pretty lips? Or maybe bites the lower one just a little? Yeah? Stay with me.

Okay, now. Take it a little bit further. Imagine that you have stumbled into a nice R&B bar or a Blues club, something relaxed with an air of :: sniff :: what is that? Testosterone? Talent? Joy? Now, mix those things with a voice like butter, a brilliant sense of rhythm and absolute pleasure in playing music.

In front of you see a Creole man with a nicely trimmed goatee/mustache combo wielding the force of innate musicability (is so a word) and a guitar like it is his lover.

Listen close, hear his passion impregnating (shut up) every note, every syllable with blues, with obsession, fervor and excitement of playing. Now see him bite his lower lip then ask (in song) “Let me love you**!”

**Picture yourself here. As the YOU. The YOU that only a tortured soul of a blues musician will write music about. About the soft skin of your neck, your sweet smell, how your lips taste and the succulent beads of sweat between your shoulder blades when you are… making love, mowing the lawn, darning a sock. It doesn’t matter what you are doing, but YOU (hypothetically) caused some talented young (lover) musician to write a song about you.

I need help.

Alright. I know, I know babies. You need the cool water of something totally NOT SEXY to bring you back down to the world of the unhot. Hmm. Um. I’m all out. I can’t rein my mind in. Even Norah Jones sounds hot to me right now. I almost lost it this morning with a cell phone commercial on television using Joan Jett’s Do You Wanna Touch Me?

Indeed.

I’m only thirty six. Is this going to get worse? Please tell me that I will not be distracted by … oh hell, anything at this point. It’s a gamble to go to lunch for Pete’s sake. “Hey, nice way to deliver my water with a slice of citrus waiter… or waitress.”

Seriously?

Seriously.


October 24, 2008

Say Hello to my little friend.

Alright, simmer… simmer.

I have taken (very poor quality) pictures for you. I wanted you all to meet the newest member of our little family.

Gigi.JPG

“Bonjour mon nom est Gigi et c'est ma petite soeur Gidget.”
Translation: “Hello my name is Gigi and this is my little sister Gidget.”

This is my new purse Gigi. The wallet (her little sister Gidget) are both COACH from the Gigi line. I fell in love with this purse last December or January but I would have been smoking some serious crack to pay a car payment for a bag so…

When Mister and I went to San Antonio for our fifth (Freaking FIFTH!) anniversary in September we stopped at an outlet on the way down. We stopped at the one in Roundrock, just north of Austin and I picked out three bags. I couldn’t make up my mind so Mister did his little, “pick a number between one and three.” I picked the number two and he handed me the most expensive bag. We bought her and they wrapped her up and we headed on our way.

He asked me if I was excited.

Strangely enough I was not. I was not excited about a COACH purse. That evening when we got done with dinner and back to the hotel room I did not unpack the purse, unwrap it, name it and then transfer my things from my first COACH purse, Elvira into the new one.

Mister knew something was wrong.

Could I be ill?

Mister: Honey, are you okay?
me: Yes, thank you, why do you ask?
Mister: You haven’t put your stuff in your new purse and you haven’t even…
me: Yes?
Mister: … you haven’t even named her. Is that not the one you wanted?
me: Well…
Mister: It’s okay. Really, I want you to be as happy with your new purse as you have been with Elvira.
me: Thank you baby. And to answer your question, no… I am not in love with the new one.
Mister: You need to have the one you really want.
me: I agree, so while you are golfing the course…
Mister: the PALMER COURSE…
me: … Right, while you are golfing the PALMER COURSE, I will run to the COACH outlet store in San Marcos and see what I can find.

Now that the matter was settled, I could relax a little. I was so worried that no purse would ever take the place of Elvira. I know I am a total shoe whore but I am pretty monogamous when it comes to purses. I have Elvira, Chelsea (the brown Kathy von Zeeland one), Scarlett (the red Aldo one I got in Montreal) and that is about it. I do not change purses every day, I am kind of a one purse woman. And Elvira can NEVER be replaced. She is my first, my most versatile purse and I love her.

Yeah, guys. You can look away now. From here on out it is mainly purse talk, no more about golfing. Oh. Here’s a link about me being the porn queen of Nacogdoches. The top part is about boobs so if that bores you, scroll down to “***Oh the irony.” And read from there. Enjoy.

The next morning when Mister left at the ass crack of dawn to be the first (golfing) foursome on the PALMER COURSE for the day I got up and went to have a bite of breakfast. It was way too early to leave for the outlet as it was about 45 minutes to an hour away and they didn’t open until 10 am. I was scheduled for a noon massage so I had to get there, do a looksee and return/exchange if needed and then be back by 11:30 so I could shower and make it to the spa by 11:45. Good plan right? Right.

I left the resort at 9:10am and hauled some serious ass to San Marcos. I got there 10 minutes before the outlet stores even opened. When they did, I walked in with my COACH bag and the imposter wrapped up and hiding inside. A very nice woman named Mya came over.

Mya: Good morning ma’am. Do you have an exchange?
me: I’m not sure.
Mya: You’re not sure?

I handed her the bag and gave her a brief rundown.

Mya: Oooh, the purse is still wrapped up in the bag.
me: And I haven’t even named her.
Mya: Pardon?

So I introduced her to Elvira, told her about love at first sight and that the previous day had been Elvira’s fourth birthday.

She didn’t bat and eye, call for security or anything. She just nodded empathetically and said, “I’ll just put this other one behind the counter.” She asked me what I was looking for. I told her that over December-January I had been in a COACH retail store in Dallas and fell in love with the Gigi. The Gigi in question was a gorgeous dark teal/navy/sea blue leather. Mya said that she had heard of that bag but had never seen one. She asked me to follow her and she checked the system. The warehouse was out of that color but there was one, and it was in Texas. It was in Lubbock but if they shipped it to me it would be retail cost. I asked if she had the Gigi in anything other than black in her store (as I already had Elvira). She thought a moment and asked me to wait.

She came out from the back of the store with Gigi in her hands. Gigi is the most beautiful camel color I have ever seen. Several other patrons turned to ask her if she had another one. She answered, ever politely, “No ma’am, I’m sorry, this is the last one.”

AND SHE WAS MINE.

Mya handed Gigi over and asked if that was the purse I wanted. I said, “Yes, please.” She showed me that it had been marked down several times and that it was less (a lot less) than the purse I had in the bag when I came through her door.

Inside%20Gigi.JPG

I am roomy and also beautiful. Much like a fine car, or a hot woman with a little extra junk in her trunk.

Mya: Why don’t we look around just in case.
me: Alright, but I want this one. Look how she hangs against my side.
Mya: She’s yours, you can have her, I just want to make sure that she is the one.
me: She is. I have money left over right?
Mya: Oh, yes.
me: Then I need a wallet too. Maybe a makeup bag. Like this one.

And I showed her Florida Evans.

We found a wallet (Gidget) but not one makeup bag that I was even interested in.

Gidget.JPG

I proudly carry $1.29 and a saucy striped interior.

Gigi was named so perfectly that I started calling her Gigi before I even left the store. Gidget was a natural name for the cheeky little sister. Gidget’s interior pockets for credit cards and cash is a light blue leather.

Front%20Pocket.JPG

Your keys and glasses? I have a place for you to keep them.

All that and I got almost a hundred dollar credit.

I was in and out of the store in less than 45 minutes. I hauled ass back to the resort and was early to my massage. My little masseuse was fabulous. She had red hair, great hands and was funny enough to give me the verbiage where guys go for a happy ending massage… “Jack Shacks”.

All in all, it was a fabulous anniversary weekend.

One more thing. This morning when I got here I was listening to conversations around me at the office and I have been fighting against the rage that has been building so I sent my former boss a text message telling him that I was checking out today, that headphones are my friend and I just might write a story today.

He sent back this email.

I Think I’ll Write a Story Today

On days when I’m just too burned out
To think about life’s cares
Or listen to complaints and gripes
That people want to share
I turn my thoughts to make-believe
And with them I escape
To places that I dream about
Through tales that I create…
So….

Chorus:
I think I’ll write a story today…..
I’ll start with pen and paper,
Or a blank computer page
And even if nobody cares
about the things I say
I think I’ll write a story today….

My story might be good or bad
Depending on the mood
It may filled with happiness
Or maybe gloom and doom
In either case, I have to say -
But you may disagree,
This exercise of truth or lies
For me is ther-a-py

So…. I think I’ll write a story today (la la la la…..)

I would link to his Facebook page, give you his email address or maybe even a link to him singing America the Beautiful on YouTube but as he a man of God who bribed me with a Lancome gift with purchase over a year ago to stop saying anything having to do with female genitalia (and other plumbing parts) as to stop embarrassing him, I will not link to him. Unless you email me and ask for the YouTube video.

And no, he does not read this page.

As proof? Vagina. Uterus. Fallopian tubes. BLADDER!

There. See?

About October 2008

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

September 2008 is the previous archive.

November 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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