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April 8, 2010

Coffee Talk (#1)

Expectations never verbalized. Most communication problems in work, life and relationships are based around expectations never verbalized.

This is my own opinion.

Neither women nor men are mind readers so if a woman has this thought in her mind that, “Oh, wow, look at the date. It’s the 10th, that means that in two weeks we will have been fucking/dating/married (to) each other for six weeks/months/years! I wonder what special thing he’ll surprise me with.” [dreamy expression] EEEEEEEEEEEEEhnnnn! (<-By the way, this is how I spell that WRONG! buzzer noise.) Totally wrong…. jackass. No, not you, that other douche over there, not paying attention to my little lesson.

I knew this girl in college, well, she was in college and I was married to a redneck emu farmer/night shift cop. Guess which one of us had the better set up? Anyway, moving on. This beautiful woman was fucked up when it came to men. She was statuesque, funny, charming, gorgeous and the way she ate everyday common food was like watching a burlesque show. Hot, and yet not revealing too much. If you know what I mean… [glaring at dude that dated one of my college roommates… with your flip top head chewing].

So, she was pretty, kind and had so much going for her, but for some reason she had a wire crossed where dudes were concerned. A guy would pay attention to her, she would fawn all over him like he was the last man on earth and she wasn’t this goddess of a woman. He would string her along and she would scramble for any bit of affection that he may toss her way. He would tell her that he wasn’t interested. And I swear to God, we had this conversation.

Gorgeous: Can I talk to you?
self: Sure.
Gorgeous: Okay, I know that you’ll tell me the truth* and I am just so mixed up.
self: What’s up sugar?
Gorgeous: Well, you know I’ve been seeing SAM** for a little while…
self: Yes.
Gorgeous: And I just don’t know what to doooooooo!
self: [I start to panic as she is getting upset and I was not comfortable with… um, emotions.] So… um… what did he say?
Gorgeous: That he didn’t love me.
self: I’m sorry; I know that must have hurt your feelings.
Gorgeous: But SUE… He didn’t mean it, I KNOW he didn’t mean it. I could see it in his eyes that he feels something for me! [commence to wailing]
self: Gorgeous?
Gorgeous: [sniff… sniff… two perfect tears roll down her poreless skin… blink… sniiffffff] Yes?
self: Um. If the guy said he didn’t love you, then suck it up and move on, he doesn’t love you. He didn’t deserve you anyway, what is he like three feet shorter than you?
Gorgeous: [Wailing]
self: Oh dude… um, I’m sorry. <pat pat pat> [Frantically looking around for help.]

*I hadn’t developed tact yet.
**Short Ass Man

That gorgeous woman had let that sawed off little shit use her and take advantage of her because she never told him up front, “Look man, I am into you, and I don’t do casual. Savvy?”

Now, let’s move on to lesson number two. Expectations verbalized and never met. Let’s say that we are in the movie When Harry Met Sally… to be honest, I am really not sure where this is going, it just seemed like the right movie reference to throw out for the moment. In the movie Harry and Sally had this ships passing in the night sort of relationship, they love each other… but never at the right time. They hate each other, that too is sort of messed up by timing. But in the end they are sitting on the bed, the timing is right for each of them, relationship wise and they decide to take the leap. But first they get the important shit out of the way, no comb-overs, never squish the toothpaste in the middle… always roll it from the bottom up, ect.

I know people who got all the important shit out of the way at the beginning of their relationships. I know people who got everything hammered out all the way down to IRA’s and which side of the bed is more important to sleep on. I know people who have downright over analyzed their expectations, and what’s more they have put that shit (by request) on paper… I am guessing for future reference.

What happens when those hammered out promises and written lists of expectations are met to the fullest extent for years and years and years, and then one day. No, not so much. Or at all really.

What do you do then?

Do you keep your mouth shut next time around or keep trying to hammer out the details until somebody really gets you and you get them?


Discuss amongst yourselves.

April 13, 2010

Entry Number 400.... I am so proud. (Also... dry humping.)

To break up the monotony of typing up comments left from attendees that include charming ones like the following, “Speaker seemed very knowledgeable but ‘uhms’ (120) drove me to distraction… and yes, I counted” (complete with 120 little hash marks next to the speaker’s name), I have decided to tell y’all about a very uncomfortable sexual encounter I had when I was young.

FINE, now… I have your attention? You cheeky little whores.

In high school I didn’t really date much. Either I was sandwiched between two large guys (my best friends) that were on the offensive guard of the football team or I was in relationships with dudes for long periods of time. So I really didn’t “date”. There wasn’t a lot of awkward, “Hey, both of y’all are single, why don’t you make out?” [forcefully shoving me into the chest of a guy I knew nothing about] things going on. I went on a lot of dates, but only because I clean up pretty good for a white girl, I knew most of the guys and their parents (fabulous impression/manners, *ahem*), they needed dates to proms, homecomings, football banquets, soccer banquets and the like, I can dance and I’m all about helping a brother out. But I never really had the dating dating experience that most girls got in high school.

I didn’t have my first “I carried a watermelon” moment until well into college.

In high school there was this tall handsome guy who smiled quickly, was pretty crass, but in a COOL way (pe-shaw) and showed signs of being interested. One evening after the Senior High football game, this guy and I walked across the soccer fields to the McDonald’s where the rest of our school was hanging out. I don’t know how we got paired up, I have no idea where everyone else was, I just know that on the way over somehow… seriously, I do not remember the sequence of events to save my life… we ended up on the grass making out like our lives depended on it while he furiously dry humped me until I was bruised.

I remember being astounded at two things. Number one. How did I get onto the ground without falling, is he seriously that smooth? And Number two. At what part does this go from being totally hot into the more gray area of, “How am I going to explain these grass stains?”

And no, that isn’t the uncomfortable part.

Fast forward to a few weeks (months?) and my best girlfriend is dating the dry humper. Apparently he and I had the same idea. “Sure, that was fun, but um… tell no one, really. It’s cool. Whatever.” They were a new couple and I am sure that I mentioned the sneaky make out session on the soccer fields to said best friend BEFORE they started dating. I am hoping I did.

We were at a party in our neighborhood. All the cheerleaders were there, all the jocks were there, some of the stoners… your standard party. (No,YOURs! I said, defensively.) And somehow I literally got thrown into dry humper’s best friend’s lap. Yay. “Hey, both of you guys are single…” [I could feel my internal organs shriveling] “Why don’t you two go for a walk or something?” I looked up into DHB/F’s face, he smiled and helped me out of his lap and to stand. “How about it?” He asked. “Sure.” I mumbled, and even managed to force a wee smile. On the way out the door, I looked at dry humper. He smiled then winked at me. OH MAH GAWD. His best friend must have known about the soccer field make out session. Dirty rat (bastard).

Okay, so, to set the mood, I was already pissed. I had made out with DH and now, DHB/F wants the same treatment or something. I was incensed. My virtue (heh) was at stake! What did these boys think of me? That I was something to be passed around, made out with and dry humped until black and blue*?

*Yeah, try to explain THAT.

But on the other hand, hopefully DHB/F had no idea, he was just a nice guy, taking me for a nice fall stroll in the crisp air, around the block… and… into… the… alley… behind the house of the party. My left eyebrow was basically IN my hairline. I was curious to see where this was going. What, EXACTLY, did this jackass want from me? And how could I turn the situation around?

DHB/F lit a smoke and passed it to me, I took it and we sat down on a retaining wall on the side of the alley. He lit his own and started a friendly conversation. Since he came from a different middle school we had a lot of mutual friends, but didn’t know about each other. He seemed confident and relaxed. Slowly, I relaxed too, until it was just another dude I was talking too. We passed the time for a bit and smoked another cigarette. After the smokes were done, I thought we’d just walk back around to the front of the house and reengage (Make it so, Number One.) in the party.

But um, No.

DHB/F threw a fast one at me, “Susan, may I kiss you?” He asked. He almost said please. And hell, it was just a kiss, I said, “Sure?” He leaned in and kissed me. It was quite pleasant. I was kind of shocked. After the kiss, I stood up and offered DHB/F a hand. He took it and I pulled him to his feet. He said thanks, brushed off his jeans, I did the same… then he said, “Can I kiss you again?” I smiled and said, “Yes.”

He came at me like a spider monkey.

He was all fumbling and frantic. He shoved his hand down the front of my white (suck it Trebec) jeans and forced a finger inside me. I froze. “Doesn’t that feel good?” he breathed on me. “No.” I said, standing rigid with shock and anger. He froze too. “No?” “No, definitely, NO.” He decided to get belligerent with me. “No, really, and what would YOU know about it?” “Remove your finger from my vagina and your hand from my pants, NOW.”

What I said, “Dick.” And then I turned around and walked back around the corner and into the house where the party was. Same plan, “Sure, that was NOT FUN, but um… tell no one, really. It’s cool. Whatever.”

What I wished I had said, “Listen to me you little shit, ‘what do I know about it?’ WHAT DO I KNOW ABOUT IT? it happens to be MY VAGINA. And I am pretty sure that I would know if something felt good or not, so take your hands off and out of me before I charge you with assault or worse, sick my friends on you… OR MY FATHER, you’d wish you’d never been born.”

He never touched me or talked to me again. I didn’t have him killed, it was just an embarrassing encounter that in today’s society knowing now what I didn’t know then, would have been a hell of a lot more serious. Thank God I don’t have children.

I talked to Dre’s wife the other afternoon, she surprised me by saying, “I got you a present, it will take 5-7 days to get here, and your mother will approve!” I guessed, “My mother would approve? What is it? A bible? A chastity belt? A burke?” She agreed, “Yes, it is a burke.”

If I had teenage daughters I would totally make them wear burkes and they wouldn’t be able to go to parties or OUTSIDE until they were thirty.

April 14, 2010


This is probably a bad idea, since I thought about it this morning in the same vein of, “Maybe I shouldn’t have posted that story yesterday.” Cut to about a millisecond later and my AADD* was in overload and I was laughing my ass off at how this would actually play out.

*Totally not diagnosed. But, really… come ON.

Bruising Caused by Dry Humping

The People VS Dry Humper… Case 2398652056.

Baliff: All Rise. *pause* The Honorable Judge Dinklescheimer presiding. You may be seated.
Honorable Judge Dinklescheimer: This case causes me a great degree of discomfort and I would like to get through this as quickly as possible. I would like to remind the jury that they are under a strict gag order…
Dry Humper: (whispers) That’s what SHE said…. :: snerk ::
Judge Dinklescheimer: (raises an eyebrow at the defendant) … to not speak to the press about this case until it is closed. Would the defendant please rise… Son, you have been charged with aggravated assault using a blunt instrument. How do you plead?
Dry Humper: Not… guilty?
Judge Dinklescheimer: Counsel, keep a leash on that boy until these proceedings are complete.
Defense Attorney, Mr. Weasel: Yes sir.
Judge Dinklescheimer: Alright, boys and girls, here we go. Dr. Bono, your opening statement?
Attorney for the Plaintiff, Dr. Pro Bono: (stands and walks to the podium, adjusting his suit jacket, he opens a file folder and addresses the jury) Ladies and gentlemen, I am here today to protect the virtue of my client, Miss Danna. On a fall night in the soccer fields between Clark High School Stadium and the McDonald’s on Springcreek this young man (gestures to the defendant) caused significant bruising to my client. Your job here today is to find defendant guilty without a shadow of a doubt. We have character witnesses, a scientific expert and the testimony of a dorky little girl to show you that, that BOY (points dramatically) dry humped my client with MALIACE!
Mr. Weasel: OBJECTION!
Judge Dinklescheimer: You can’t object under opening statement, Jackass, but out of curiosity, on what grounds?
Defense Attorney, Mr. Weasel: I don’t like how Dr. Bono said the word “malice”… it just sounds sinister.
Judge Dinklescheimer: Overruled. Jackass.
Mr. Weasel: OBJECTION!
Judge Dinklescheimer: What now?
Mr. Weasel: Why do you have to be so mean?
Judge Dinklescheimer: What are you?... a 15 year old girl? Suck it up, Weasel.
Mr. Weasel: Yes sir.
Dr. Bono: I have nothing further. Your stand, Weasel.
Mr. Weasel: Thank you. (stands and walks to the podium, trips over his shoe laces and addresses the jury) Good people of the jury. I am asking for leniency for this boy, for he knows not what he hath done! He had no idea that he would be causing harm to the plaintiff. It was out of passion… and hormones that this accident occurred. Thank you for your time.
Judge Dinklescheimer: Dr. Bono, your first witness?
Dr. Bono: We would like to call an expert witness to explain to the jury exactly what happened.
Judge Dinklescheimer: And who would that be?
Dr. Bono: Dr. Frank N. Furter.
A rush of whispers that sounds like the ocean sweeps through the packed Courtroom as Dr. Furter flings open the swinging doors at the back of the room and strides down the center aisle. He swings open the divider, walks past the jury, gives them a jaunty wink and takes his oath from the bailiff.
Dr. Bono: Dr. Furter, could you tell the jury your full name and your occupation.
Dr. Furter: It would be my pleasure. My name is Dr. Franklin Norbert Furter I am a medical doctor with a specialist in adolescent hormones and I work for the Kellogg Foundation in Human Sexuality Research.
Dry Humper: He said, FURTER… heh.
Mr. Weasel: Zip it Sport.
Dry Humper: Yes, sir.
Dr. Bono: Dr. Furter, could you also tell the jury what makes you an expert in this field, and then show them your findings?
Dr. Furter: Of course. I am an expert in this field because I TOO was once a young man with my mind and body completely and totally driven by the hormone testosterone.
Dr. Bono: Dr. Furter, what kinds of things happen to a young man’s body during this delicate time. Let the record show that I am providing Dr. Furter with Exhibit A.
Dr. Furter: Ah, yes, Exhibit A. A chart showing the level of testosterone in a dairy bull that is mating several times a day and that of a 15 to 18 year old boy. They are about the same. 1000 kilos of testosterone per pint of blood inside their bodies, it makes them about as safe as a loaded weapon.
Dr. Bono: A loaded weapon? That sounds pretty dramatic, Dr. Furter. Let the record show that I am providing Dr. Furter with Exhibit B.
Dr. Furter: This is a picture of the plaintiff’s right hip area and her upper thigh. See the bruising and the discoloration of the skin? This is concurrent with blunt trauma. The bruising is a contusion.
Dr. Bono: Can you explain to me what a contusion is?
Dr. Furter: Of course, since the skin is not broken, it is not a laceration, a bruise is a trauma to the skin and the underlying muscles, where blood is gathered and then reabsorbed by the body.
Dr. Bono: Can you explain to me and the jury why you think that the defendant actually caused this… bruising to the plaintiff?
Dr. Furter: Yes, when a boy or a man has that much testosterone flowing through his body, it causes the penis to become engorged. An erection can be caused by anything as innocent as a brief puff of wind, or the affections of a young girl. The age and .. *ahem* size of the person in question would be consistent with this pattern of bruising. The size and shape of the bruising are consistent with a rock hard penis covered in denim. See, boys of this age can have such severe erections that they could possibly nail a rail road spike through concrete. Although most are aware of their partner’s discomfort, they are unable to stop themselves.
Dr. Bono: They are unable to stop, Dr. Furter, are you saying that they are… in a word, crazed?
Mr. Weasel: OBJECTION!
Judge Dinklescheimer: On what grounds?
Mr. Weasel: The witness is painting an awful picture of my client… words like enraged, erections, bruising, bull and crazed! This is preposterous.
Judge Dinklescheimer: Overruled.
Dr. Bono: No further questions your Honor, thank you Dr. Furter. Your witness, Weasel.
Mr. Weasel: Um, no questions at this time your honor.
Judge Dinklescheimer: You may step down Dr. Furter. Thank you.
Mr. Weasel: Look, I just want to say to the jury that my client is a good kid, he was just playin around, having a little fun, a little slap and tickle, if you will….
Judge Dinklescheimer: Counsel, you will refrain from outbursts like that in my courtroom or I will have you jailed for misconduct.
Mr. Weasel: It’s not like she didn’t drive him on and make him crazy kissing him back… and the…
Judge Dinklescheimer: Mr. Weasel, I am warning you.
Mr. Weasel: We’ve all been there before, and I am sure she was asking for it. And what? Does she have the skin of a peach? WHO bruises like THAT from a little dry humping? WHO?
Judge Dinklescheimer: Bailiff, please remove Attorney Weasel from my courtroom.
Dry Humper: Shut up man.
Mr. Weasel: She was ASKIN FOR IT!....
Judge Dinklescheimer: Good day Mr. Weasel, that will be a ten thousand dollar fine along with a night amongst the city’s finest.
The bailiff takes hold of Mr. Weasel’s arm, the attorney starts to resist, the bailiff gets him in a head lock and drags him away from the table towards the back door… Mr. Weasel loses a shoe. He is turning red in the face and spittle is forming at the corners of his mouth.
Mr. Weasel: She was ASKIN FOR IT!....
Judge Dinklescheimer: I SAID, GOOD DAY SIR. Case scheduled for next month so the defendant can get YET ANOTHER lawyer.
Dry Humper: Heh… FURTER.

April 20, 2010

The Highs and Lows of Selling Your Home.

Okay my lovelies, here’s a brief run down. Mister and I are selling the house. It has been on the market since the 25th-26th of March and as of today we have had over 31 showings. Pretty impressive, no? Yes, mother fucker, it is impressive. What is not impressive is that the home has not sold yet. The average days on market for a house in our neighborhood (one level, 3 bedrooms, 2 baths) is seven to twelve days. SEVEN TO TWELVE DAYS.

We met with our realtor on the 14th of March and had it fixed up (trim painted, front and back doors painted, carpets cleaned, windows washed, house professionally cleaned, walls retouched, all light fixture covers removed and scrubbed, lawn mowed, hedges trimmed, had it staged by a friend who may not want her name or website linked here as I just said “Mother Fucker”, ect ect ect.) by the 23rd. Professional photos taken on the 24th and the house listed the afternoon of the 25th. First showing… and many to follow… on the 26th.

It has been nonstop and I don’t know if you guys knew this but seeing that timeline up there really made me want to throw up in my mouth a little.

We have had two offers on the house. One flakey family who had just bought a house not 20 miles from here, and one “cultural difference” issue where the client wouldn’t talk to the realtor bringing the offers except through email. Asian gentleman didn’t want to talk to some uppity FEMALE gwylo and her know it all antics, verbally assaulted her when she couldn’t get us to accept low ball offer. Awesome.

But the best by far are the Sneaky Smurf Surprise attacks. Or… showings. Mister and I get up early every day… yes, even on weekends…. And vacuum, dust, open blinds, turn on lamps, ect to make the house look pretty. Because showings in these parts can start as early as 8 am and end as late as 9 pm. So we are basically perched and ready to flee at an instant. Two Saturdays ago, we got up early, did the cleaning and had our bags packed and ready to go at 10:30 am.

Mister: When are they supposed to show up? Are they late?
me: Not until 12:30.
Mister: Then why are we up so early?
me: Well, you never know.

Heads cock as we hear something at the front door. I think it is a solicitor putting a flyer in the door. I walk forward, see through the windows a realtor and a family of four.

me: Somebody’s HERE!
Mister: OHsNOs!
me: Abort! Abort!
Mister: Run out the back door!

We grab our shit and head out the back door, furiously trying to get the garage door to close before they come in the house.

Mister: [pulls out of the driveway like a NASCAR driver] Man Your Buddy! MAN YOUR BUDDY!*
me: [phone rings] Hello?
Showing Service: Hello, this is blah dee bloo with Blah Blah Blah, there is a Blah Blah there with Blah Blah office wanting to show your house…well… right now actually.
me: WE KNOW. [dramatic eyeroll]
Mister: Heee.

*He totally didn’t say this. But it sounded funny. To me.

So we have had at least two Sneaky Smurf Surprise attacks… or… showings the past two Saturdays and then… Duh duh DUUUUUUUUUUUH! Yesterday. I am so freaking stressed out I have a rash (yes, another allergic reaction to … air or whatever) across the front of my neck. It’s hot. Really, I have been emailing the picture out to random people (shout out to Dre’, Jen, Kim, Mike, Co-worker and Kerry… hot guys, right? Can I get a What What!? Right? Hey, wait a minute… come back here.) all over the internets and I decided I needed to get my biannual blood work done, might as well get hot Argentinean Doctor (MROW) to check out the hot neck action I am working.

So I go to see Hotness (aka, Dr. W, love him SOOOO!!!! ::sing songy::) and one of his awesome PA’s drew my blood, got a urine sample (again with the hotness, cut it out already Sue!, you’re killin us over here!.. Alright, alright… Fine.) and sent me down to room four (MROW!?) so Dr. W. could look at my neck (with desire). Shot in the butt, stop by Arby’s for a jr. roast beast sammich and headed home….

I got there, set my laptop up on the dining room table, and started working, ate my sandwich and then looked up around 12:40 and a lady in a black jeep pulled up to the house… backed up to look at the house. She popped out with a man-child of about 21 or so… they walked up and looked at the front of the house… I… I fucking hid in the kitchen with my Arby’s bag. Because I didn’t know who they were and … I’m yella. Shut up.

My shit was sitting right there on the dining room table. Purse, laptop bag, laptop… CORD for laptop. Then they rang the doorbell. I threw away my Arby’s bag and went to answer. My car was sitting out front so I was surprised that she had the door halfway open as I traversed the 10 steps to open the door.

I stepped up and said, “Hello.” She said, “Oh, didn’t you know you had an appointment?” “No ma’am… I will be out of here in a moment.” I shoved my laptop and cord into the bag, flung my purse over my shoulder and hauled ass. I stopped when I got into Samantha and made a note about her make and model of car and license plate because something seemed off. I drove around to the Wal*Mart parking lot and just hung out and worked for a while. I had another showing from 2-3:30 pm and so I just sat in the parking lot working on a conference and making calls from my car like a jackass until 3:30.

I went back home, there was no one there. I gathered my stuff, took it back in the house and about the time I set it all down on the dining room table again, my phone rang.

Showing Service: Hello, this is blah dee bloo with Blah Blah Blah, the 2-3:30 showing needs to reschedule. Her clients had to leave but they would love to see your home.
me: Okay, could you look in the system and tell me the name of the lady who was here earlier today?
Showing Service: We don’t show anyone other than the rescheduled appointment I just told you about.
me: Alright.

I walked into the hallway and the smell hit me.

There had been an unauthorized poo in my house.

I’m just going to ask you to read that sentence again. Twice should do it.

That lady in the jeep and her condescending, “Oh, didn’t you KNOW you had an appointment?” and her man-child (unless parents are buying their kids houses nowadays) used my home… MY ABODE… my Sanctum, y’all… as a rest stop.

Hey, that house is for sale. Can we pull over so I can poo? SURE!

I was mortified.

I Oust©ed, I Ozium©ed and when I felt that the air had been purified (By The ALMIGHTY SPIRIT!) I went in there to Scrubbly-Bubble it. I lifted the lid… and MAYDAY MAYDAY MAYDAY!! We have a rouge hair… I repeat, WE HAVE A ROGUE HAIR!

No. It wasn’t Mister’s. I have been with that man for almost eight years… I would know one of his if I saw it.

To put it sweetly and shortly. This is getting Old. Someone please buy my house. What do y’all think of that burying a St. Joseph idea? Hmmm?

Love you. Mean it.

About April 2010

This page contains all entries posted to Suzanna Danna in April 2010. They are listed from oldest to newest.

March 2010 is the previous archive.

May 2010 is the next archive.

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