Suzanna Danna

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