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February 2011 Archives

February 7, 2011

Are You Breaking Up With Me?

So, yeah. Anyway.

News? Um. Hmmmmm.

I got bangs. There’s been a bunch of snow and ice and stuff and I got stuck in an elevator. I pulled off a planning meeting with 2 dudes in between rolling brown outs that left us in the dark. I had amazing willpower not to yell, “BOOYAH! BITCHES!” to unsuspecting people when that meeting was over and the conference was planned. I need a cape or something. The office was closed for 4 days last week (yes, it was closed the day I got stuck in an elevator, woo.) I have an incredible crick in my neck and I cooked twice this past weekend for the first time in my new(ish) apartment.

Lessee, what else?

We celebrated my sister’s birthday at my parents’ house a few weekends back and it was awesome.

Y’all don’t care about any of this shit do you? You’re all like, make with the porn writing you little slacker! But I’m tapped out on that… for now (she said ominously.)

Today I had a few things to do. Thingy number one, a dental appointment at an ungodly hour. My teeth are sparkling y’all. See? (*ding*) I just smiled. Thingy number two, I got to have lunch with our birthday boy of the week, Dre. Raise the roof! What What!? Too white for that? Alrighty. Thingy number three, I had to go get some Christmas decorations back from a friend.

Ok. Ex friend. Here’s the thing. I had a very dear friend of mine break up with me. You heard me. She broke up with me. I even asked her, “Are you like (pause), breaking up with me?” “Yes” she replied.

Do y’all remember a few posts back when I was laying my issues all out on the table for everyone to look at, sift through and comment on? Yeah, one of those issues cost me a friend. Or it cost her. Whatever.

The issue is the one where I am all “not my problem, not my responsibility” but with LOVE. I know how things are when people get attached to someone who isn’t the best match for them. I get it. I know that it’s all Ron Burgundy up in this bitch and people are like, “Look! It’s the most glorious rainbow I’ve ever seen!” “Do me on it!” I have no problem with people getting what they want and liking what their getting. If you are pickin up what I am laying down. My thing, apparently, is not wanting to be put in the middle. Especially if it is all Melrose Place and Falcon Crest-y.

Short answer. I don’t do drama. I am too old. That and it makes my goiter flare up and my bunions, Oy!, don’t get me started.

Long answer, I don’t feel it is my place to police people when they are in a relationship. We are all adults here, right? RIGHT? Hey! Come back here. It’s not my business, right? It isn’t my job to be all, “O.M.G. did you SEE what so and so wrote on FaceBook!? Apparently he/she didn’t know about (insert random hook up and supposed love triangle here*).”

*Complete with diagrams, references, photos taken, screen shots of texts, the works… you get it.

So when some drama was being laid heavily at my feet and I accidentally stepped in it (my fault, I know. I KNOW.) I waded through it the most graceful and stone faced way I knew how. When that didn’t work, I let go of some people on FaceBook so I wouldn’t have to SEE the drama and then comment on it later when asked. Smart, right? Then I got an email from this person who was all, “What did I do? I thought we were better than that!” Then I got my ass handed to me for being mean and leaving people out of the loop or whatever. I really don’t know how this whole thing started. I just know it got ugly, and UGLY fast.

So I did the only thing I knew how to do. Mend fences, be diplomatic (“No, I don’t care who you are fucking or what you tell them**. Just leave me out of it.”) and to be honest with those in the mix. Not honest as in the above O.M.G. scenario. It is not my issue. I was just honest as in, “Hey, I mended fences with X, Y and Z. Just wanted to give you the heads up. If you wanna do the same, cool. If not, cool.”

**Angles weep at the sweetness of my words.

And… I got broken up with. She thought I was hiding something when I was really just trying to get out of her/their way.

So. When I swung by her house today and just wanted to snatch her up and hug her as opposed to being offered back some earrings I had given her it was awkward to say the least. I was stone faced and polite, she was stone faced and polite. I gathered up my belongings and was on my way.

I guess I don’t speak “girl” very well. Any pointers y’all wanna let me in on?

Also, I want a shirt that says, “I Make Nice Boys Cry.” That story for another time. Maybe.

February 18, 2011

Not Half As Creepy as Clay Aiken's "Invisible"

Disembodied Voice: Hey, um (awkward foot scuffle noise) .. Susan?
Self: What?
DV: Hey, look, I don’t know how to tell you this… but…
Self: Oh, out with it. And stop that looking around for someone to get you out of doing this thing…
DV: How did you….? Nevermind. Look, here’s the deal.
Self: Shoot.
DV: Um. Well… Ok, I’m just gonna come out with it.
Self: (eyebrow raise) …
DV: 1988calledandwantsitshairstyleback… Whew! That wasn’t so bad. Don’t you feel better? Whooo-boy , I know I do.
Self: What? Sorry, you were mumbling and talking at the speed of ludicrous. Say again please?
DV: Don’t make me…
Self: Look, MARTYR… I didn’t single YOU out to tell you something you may think it’s hard for ME to hear… so just tell me already. Enough with the dramatics. Geeezus.
DV: Fine. (deep breath) 1988 called, and it wants its’ hair style back.
Self: (pats hair and small curly bangs at front of white girl afro) … Did 1988 mention the mall bangs?
DV: (sigh) Yes. That’s what started the whole thing.
Self: Fine. I’ll straighten it tomorrow. Okay? HAPPY!?
DV: Yes, thank you.
Self: Oh, and Disembodied Voice?
DV: Yeah?
Self: FUCK YOU AND FUCK YOUR DEAD SISTER*.

There has been a bad case of “passing the hell out” surrounding my sleep time lately. Yes, I am an insomniac. Yes, I drug myself with enough pills that Danny Bonaduce is all, “Whoa, sister. Slow down. Holy shit.” Just so I can get some shut eye.

3 hours. Doable.
4 hours? Heavenly.
6 Hours!? OMG, I feel like I could judo chop a tree in HALF, bitches!
8 hours!? ZOMG~!!!!!!!?!?!>@<#@)(@(PONIES! (Smurf Theme in head on constant loop, maybe some inappropriate making out with the checker at the local grocery store. Keep in mind, 17 will get ya 20, fuckers.)

Last Saturday night I had all sorts of good intentions (you know what they say about good intentions? Am I right?) of giving myself a special gift of “me love” after I got home from one of the best days ever. I washed my face, I brushed my teeth, I flossed, I tinkled, I washed my hands, put in my retainer (I am so freaking sexy), I applied the various moisturizers (eye gel, check, face cream, check, moisture mist, check, vitamin E lip balm, check, hand/feet/shoulders/boob/leg/arm lotion… CHECK), and got into bed with some friends. And by friends I mean my neighbors.

(Wait for it… wait for it.)

Ok. Not really. By friends, I meant vibrators.

And the next thing I know, I wake up at 11 am, Sunday morning. The Select Comfort mattress is still on 100 (I normally like 45), my CPAP mask (sleep snorkel… HOT :: sizzle! :: ) is still hanging on the bedpost, and I am curled up around my vibrators wrapped lovingly in their little washcloth protective special self-love cloth like they are my favorite teddy bear.

Last night I had a frou-frou event to go to. It was very fancy and the dress that I received from IGIGI last year that showed all the cleavage in the world (I got it altered and it fits lovely, if still a little low in the front… WARNING: Prude alert!) is what I wore and it looked beautiful. It is comfy, has POCKETS! (scream that like Oprah) and looks great with pointy, pointy black heels or boots. Bonus. Last night I wore heels.

I also drank all the champagne, red wine and white wine in the world, made inappropriate remarks about a person (who hit on me… in front of his wife. Hi, not a swinger. No, no, judgment here I am just aware that you could buy and sell me for slavery because you are uncomfortably rich like a motherfucker and I would hate to embarrass myself in public, or you, you rich bastard air bag) during their little heartfelt speech while eating some of the most glorious food/wine parings in the DFW area.

Emily Post didn’t cover that little faux pas in her handbook. Bitch.

So I got home… same nightly routine, same … Mmmm hello, me. How YOU doin? Scenario. PS: Apparently I am a little easy when it comes to me.

This morning, same shit, different day. Except for the Smurf theme I have two things rolling around in my head. Thing number one, from the B-52’s 1978, hit tune “Rock Lobster” the part where they sing “There goes a narwhale” and then the accompanying “EHNEHNEHNEHHRN” sound.

Annoying, yes?

Not as annoying as this. Imagine Rick Rolling yourself. But making it totally stalker-y.

Rick Astley all…

“Never gonna give you up
Never gonna let you down
Never gonna run around and desert you
Never gonna make you cry
Never gonna say goodbye
Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you”

My brain is all…

“Never gonna give you up
Never gonna let you down
Never gonna run around and desert you (so I’ll just put you here in this trunk for safe keeping)
Never gonna make you cry
Never gonna say goodbye
Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you (unless you make me… LOOKIT WHAT YOU MADE ME DOOOO!!!! (broken sobs of the insane) Why do you MAKE me hurt you!?)”

Too late to take it back. Quick, hit publish before you chicken out, pussy!

*Shout out to Becky

About February 2011

This page contains all entries posted to Suzanna Danna in February 2011. They are listed from oldest to newest.

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