Suzanna Danna

Few things on this glorious Friday afternoon.

Thing the first. I am so excited that next week I will be taking off the 6th through the 9th and I may not do a DAMN thing. SUCK IT people who have to accomplish many worthwhile things while on vacation. This is MY staycation and I am gonna try to win a freaking medal (or at least honorary mention) in Sloth. I am going to sleep late, I am going to go to bed at indecent hours, I am going to drink, I am going to smoke, I am going to curse. I may even dance a little. I may have some sex*. I may even practice being passive aggressive**.

* depends on how ** I am.

I’ve been working on that last one lately and I have to tell you, I am pretty good at it. I mean, I thought for the longest time that it really wasn’t my “thing”, yanno? But, here I am, just a few months (OMG a little over 9 months) shy of my 40th birthday, and let me tell you something I have really surprised myself.

Take a for instance… okay? So, I ask a boy to come to my parents’ house for the long weekend. I’ve known him for a while, he knows my parents, he went to a wedding with me … danced with my momma (OMG) and so… shoe in… right? I mean. After seeing him all being sweet to my momma I had to make him my boyfriend or something.

Few things. This is the same dude that fell asleep with his finger inside my vagina. And he has … other… responsibilities and shit. No, you cheeky little monkeys, he isn’t married (never has been), doesn’t have children, takes care of his family (I have SO MANY WORDS I CAN’T SAY), has a full time job, a dog… all these things.

Why yes, I am glad you asked. I am very pleased that he is a responsible individual who is employed and very … responsible. He does sometimes mention that he wants more… more… something. More of a relationship. I think he just doesn’t want me to fuck other people… either that or he really enjoys my company.

So after he danced with my momma (and didn’t run away after I fucked*** (mumble mumble mumble)) I was all “Ok, so, you’re my boyfriend now.” “I am? Am I?” “Eh… well, you don’t have to be, I can take it back.” “No no no no no no… no… it’s good, I like it.”

Because I am motherfucking SMOOOOOOOOOOOOOOTH.

***WHAT? Yeah, I told him. I’m honest. I may be a slut, but I’m an honest one.

So, the dog. Let’s just say that in (length of time that may include the word “a fucking YEAR”) the time period that we’ve been seeing each other he’s stayed over … oh, maybe 5 or 6 times. “But Susan, WHY!?” you ask me with your brow all furrowed up and cute that way. Yes, you are… you are precious. And your ass looks fabulous today.

So I answer you, “Well, because yes, of course we are having plenty of intercourse and he only fell asleep during some type of coitus once… but he needs to be home by 2 am-ish so that he may take care of his canine companion.” “But SUSAN” you say, “With all of your charms, wouldn’t he want to stay over and sample your ample and lovely wares throughout the evening, the night and maybe in the morning time for some sweet, sweet love? After all, he doesn’t have a wife and kids to worry about, right?” I may pat you on the head for being so adorable but I will cup my right elbow in my left hand, my right hand in a thoughtful pose under my chin… shaking my head in a sad and ironic way (JUST LIKE ALANIS) and I will tell you. “Oh, you sweet, sweet thing. Here, let me show you the way this rolls…” then I will throw gang signs and yell “YEAH BOI!” and hand you my blackberry.

Textual Intercourse.

CuteBoy: (lots of information about his 3 year dog who either ate something or scratched his throat and CB took him to the vet, vet found nothing wrong with dog, gave dog (who coughed up blood) a steroid shot and an antibiotic… dog is happy… CB is a freaking wreck)
Me: (gives CB many outs (over hours and hours and even like a day) for the weekend with family at parents house on the lake… WITH LOTS OF BOOZE)
CuteBoy: (finally takes the out)
Me: (rolls eyes)
CuteBoy: I mean I’m just so worried freaked out that (blah blah blah… I stop reading)
Me: I understand, I really do. (Which I do.. Shut up, I totally do.)
CuteBoy: It’s just that if this happens again (family members whom he is also taking care of) won’t be able to handle it if I am gone.
Me: I understand.
CuteBoy: (MORE WORDS ABOUT DOG)
Me: Look man, I get it, I really do. He is your furry child and you worry and that’s fine. I just wanted to let you know I am feeling a little passive aggressive about the whole situation and apologize for it.
CuteBoy: (MORE WORDS ABOUT DOG)
Me: Step back for a moment if you can and really look at the situation from my perspective and my outlook on where I stand priority wise.
CuteBoy: I know, that is why I am trying to work on (MORE WORDS ABOUT DOG)
Me: And please take this with the intent in which I mean it (sweetly). He was there before me, and he’ll be there long after I’m gone. I understand that he’s more of a priority than I am. Doesn’t mean I have to like it. I’ve never been #1… not with you, not with anyone. And I’ve been freaking married… TWICE… so that’s MY issue, not for you to fix. So when I say I understand about (DOG) I really do, OK? This also goes for your mom, your sister(s), nephews, job, pool, car, house, yard work, friends and workouts, I get it.
CuteBoy: Please stop that…
Me: Alright.
CuteBoy: I know you understand, but know you mean way more to me than most of that above.
Me: (13 minutes of silence with open jaw) I appreciate the sentiment.

40 minutes later:
Me: Just an aside. I would have left out the word “most” up there because I’m over here all “oooh, hopefully I rank above the pool… Oh! Or the yard? The car!?! (hopeful face, fingers crossed!)"
CuteBoy: Awwwww fuck me with a chainsaw….

See? Was the passive aggressiveness palatable? Could you taste the sarcasm? Smell the shock and AWE motherfuckers?

So, there’s that then.