Suzanna Danna

Recap, Weetacon 2012

2012-05-15T18:19:21Z

March 21st I headed to DFW to hop on my first of 2 planes that day. I got to Chicago, switched for one of those small, 3 on one side, 2 on the other jobs and then landed in Green Bay. I turned on my phone to a text from the gorgeous Wendy and she let me know she was headed my way to pick me up. We were going to run errands and basically be fabulous while doing so. I was so excited I wanted to kiss everyone at baggage claim. They really don’t frown upon that kind of thing in Green Bay, but it is not encouraged… the open mouthed kissing of strangers who are waiting for luggage. Wendy arrived and stepped inside baggage claim. She braved me messily licking her face and humping her leg like an excited puppy and then herded me and my large suitcase (Shrek) out to her cute car. We both hopped in and headed up to Door County. Our first stop was the Starbucks to get iced black tea as it is fabulous and tastes like motherfucking sunshine. Then we headed up the road to get cheese. We stopped at Chuck's Dyckesville Bowl and had a frost mug of root beer and the most amazing fried cheese curds in the whole world*. I took one bite and was like, “Holy Christ, these are so fabulous, they need their own t-shirt.” Wendy calmly pointed to the wall where there was, indeed, a t-shirt. Guess who walked out with that t-shirt that Chuck is holding? Yes, bitches. Me. We meandered up to Renard’s Cheese Heaven (that is not it’s real name, but it should be) so Wendy could pick up cheese that is so amazing it will make you cry. On the way back to her house we (totally SHE… I couldn’t see anything because I was still blinded by the awesomeness of the cheese curds) saw a herd… gaggle?... flock? murder? of turkeys in the thicket on the side of this little off shoot of a road. We pulled into the south entrance of the road and sped up to where Wendy spotted the gobblers and (it is a gift, she can spot wildlife a mile away) slowed down to a crawl to scan the area with our keen eyesight (I didn’t even have my glasses on; I wouldn’t have been able to see a barn). We got out of the car when we saw movement and I tried to get video. Yeah, fail. But it was a fun adventure. We came back into town, plotting and planning our evening and the rest of the week the whole way in. We stopped by her local market and stocked up on her necessities, some yummy goodness for that evening’s dinner and a bouquet of flowers to place around her home. Yes, she is fancy enough to have fresh flowers placed around her house. My goal is to be like her when I grow up. Seriously. Wendy and I made dinner plans and futzed around in the kitchen and arranged flowers in her many vases (that she made and or purchased) until it was time to pick up her adorable pug, Aveline, from daycare. We went to the puppy day care and Wendy showed me around. It is a fabulous facility. Ave came out from the back of the daycare and bustled around our legs and feet like a teeny little Col. Klink, making sure her person was there, that she would be getting to ride in the truck and snorting derisively in my direction when I asked her questions. We got back to the house and worked on dinner. Wendy’s husband was around and we ate a delicious meal and chatted about the coming weekend. After dinner we decided to get settled with the IGIGI garments, we needed to match up each garment with the person who selected it so we could have the IGIGI fashion show during Weetacon. Having matched up the person with their garment I started trying on Wendy’s clothes, the fabulous black sequins skirt I had begged for and stomping around her house like Sally O’Mally yelling, “I like to KICK… and STRETCH and KICK!... I’m FORTY!” She didn’t ask me to leave. Fabulous. We hung out for most of the evening and I have to be honest with y’all, I love to come into Green Bay early for Weetacon. Yes, it is a soothing thing to be in town early and not have to worry about traveling nightmares and not making it on time, ect. But it is also nice to know that on top of getting settled at St. Brendan's Inn way before I have any actual duties, I get to spend time with Wendy. That is a happy place for me. Sappy? Yes. But true. I had been part of the planning committee in the past and this year, I was swamped with other responsibilities and I missed out on being part of the team (sad face), but I offered to be the “pick up girl”… basically the fluffer who would take care of anything last minute, or whatever was needed. Note to planning committee: Sorry for not being a true part of the team this year. Wendy and I packed up her car with all sorts of goodies for the coming weekend and headed to St. Brendan's Inn. That place makes me so freaking happy. It is a perfect spot to launch any activity that Weetacon can throw at it. Space for Karoke? Check. Awesome restaurant? Check. Bar that feed you incredible drinks (FOOD GROUP!) like the one below? Check. Let me line this out for you. The St. Brendan's Bloody Mary is composed of the following: tomato juice, vodka, celery salt, olives on a stick, pickle, lime, lemon, meat stick, cheese stick and a Spotted Cow beer chaser. It is the breakfast of champions. Because of the 80’s theme the schedule was school related as most of us were in school in the 80’s. Here is a rundown of events. I will tell you what each thing means. If it isn’t evident. (And even if it is.) :)

Schedule of Events Thursday 5 – 7 pm Early Bird dinner at Caffe Mario 7-10 pm DIY night with DIY Studio and Gifts Friday 8 – 9:30 am Weetacon bake sale and Gracie Designs Trunk Show 10 am Morning announcements 11 am Lunch 12:30 pm Class pictures 1-3 pm Gym Class 4-6 pm Field Trip 6 – 7 pm Booster club (sponsored by the PTA) 8 pm -??? Glee Club auditions Saturday 8 am – Yoga and meditation sciences 9 – 11 am – Self defense with Coach Dave 11 am – 12:30 pm — Open lunch period (find someone to sit with!) 12:30 – 2:30 pm Study Hall (zzzzzz) 2:30 pm – Community Service (Weetacon Raffle) 4:30 pm – Fiber Arts Fashion Show sponsored by Igigi 5:30 pm – Homecoming Dinner at Prime Quarter 8 pm – ??? Curfew (sneak out and meet us at the Bad Bar!) Sunday 11 am – Yearbook signing and award ceremony 3 pm – Hang out and play video games at the coolest guy in school’s basement

Thursday was lovely with people showing up in droves. Sarah, Dave, Allison and I worked the registration tables. Making sure that everyone got their nametags (courtesy of Michael), their programs and their pocket guides (courtesy of Melinda and fredlet). If they were signed up for the IGIGI fashion show, I made sure that they got their garment, tried it on and made sure it fit. (IF it didn’t, I found an alternative for the fashion show/review.) Lots of hugs and smiles and kisses. It was lovely to see everyone again. Thursday evening we headed to Caffe Mario that is settled on the Fox River. It was lovely. I went with the spaghetti and wanted to roll around in it when I tasted it. The food was awesome and we kept getting texts and messages from people who were arriving. We headed back to St. Brendan's to have our Thursday night function in the Waterford Room. The ladies from D. I. Y. Studio and Gifts were on hand with some homemade goodies (jewelry, ect) and the fixins to make your own perfume and lotion. I made some Coco-Coriander and Sage lotion and a little roller ball perfume. The fragrance is so delicious. I have it on right now. Nom. We hung out in the room for a while then meandered to the bar, then back into the main room, then all went to bed at an obscene hour. It was fabulous. The next morning we had a trunk show and bake sale and our friend Kelly from Gracie Designs was on hand to offer her amazing line of handmade/hand sewn accessories. I grabbed up many of her headbands as per the norm … replace the word headbands for any word that she makes, card cases… purses… wallets… barrettes, hats… put a wearable noun here… she makes it. She even put some velvet backing on a few headbands so they wouldn’t slip off my pea-head. She brought it to me later that afternoon because we were meeting up again when we finished the opening ceremonies and Wendy gave us some sage words about the powers of smiling and going after your dreams. The bake sale was a rousing success and there were stickers and pins and bacon chocolate chip cookies and bacon Rice Krispies treats. Yes, BACON. There were meat sticks and cheese sticks and cake pops that were so good they would make you cry. There were bags of check mix and snacks of all sorts and sizes. We raided the tables like vultures and praised all those who made things to donate. They were fabulous! We all grabbed a bus buddy and headed outside to gather on the steps. After Wendy took the class picture we all loaded up on the bus and went on a tour of the Packers Stadium, after the bus tour we headed to the roller rink. YES, we are adults. YES, we have a fucking ass load of fun. YES, you can join us next year. We rooted around the roller rink and did the hokey pokey (I have video) and turned ourselves around. Because that’s what it’s all about. I almost busted my ass in the ladies room and completely marveled at my total LACK of muscle memory for this kind of activity. Yeah, I am 40.… and yeah, I had some wheeled shoes strapped to my feet earlier this year. Am I still graceful on skates? Hell, no. Was it a blast? Yes. Moving on. After the roller rink we all jumped back in the bus we headed to the Rock K Ranch, which is located between Green Bay and Appleton. We have been going to this ranch for years for our annual sleigh ride but this year, because of the later time we selected for Weetacon and the lack of snow, we had a horse drawn hay ride. It was raining and lovely. We went deep into the woods, singing and passing the Doctor around each of the two wagons and ended up at a gorgeous bonfire. We hung out at the bonfire and took pictures of one another and shared more Dr. McGillicuddy and then hopped back on the wagons and headed back to the barn for, what most Weetaconers call their favorite time of the weekend… the bratwurst and booyah fixed lovingly and with much awesomeness by Wendy’s mother in law, June. The spread of food is immense and mouthwateringly delicious. June makes everything from booyah (a scrumptious stew) to brats with all of the fixings and pineapple fluff and the sheer amount of food is staggering and everyone loves it all. SO HARD. Her pineapple fluff has been rumored to make angels weep with respect. After the amazing meal we all loaded back up on the bus and headed to St. Brendan’s. On the way back to the hotel we played 80’s trivia and won prizes. This year was the eighth year of Weetacon badassery and fredlet made an amazing logo to go along with the theme of 80’s and Infinity. Check it. Fabulous, no? YES. Yes, it is. On the way to the Rock K Ranch we played Cards Against Humanity in the bus. And according to Wil Wheaton:

OH while playing Cards Against Humanity: "GODDAMMIT! It's ALWAYS the clitoris!"
— Wil Wheaton (@wilw) May 12, 2012

This game came around many times over the whole of Weetacon, the most spectacular, was on Sunday. Friday evening Chad hosted the Karaoke and we danced and sang and got serenaded by the owner of St. Brendan's. We laughed and joked and dared each other to sing something or another. Chad rocked Taylor Swift so hard that I laughed and cried at the same time. We stayed up until 3 am or so and sent our karaoke team up to bed with the promise that their equipment would be fine until the morning. Saturday while most people were leaning self defense from Dave or taking yoga or having lunch a few of us were laying out the incredible goodies for the Raffle. Weetacon is amazing. Yes, it is a get together for so many from all walks of life and all over the globe, but it also a charity event. We raise money through the bake sale, through the raffle and through the sale of the Weetacon calendars. We raise this money for a local Green Bay Charity called Paul’s Pantry. Over the years we have raised over $10K, which is pretty impressive for a group of goofy writers/bloggers/internet lurkers. We had over sixty items, all more incredible than the next. There were handmade quilts, pottery, scarves, gift certificates, booze, art, photos, an adult themed corner (*blush*), a camera tote/purse by Jo Tote (Just like this one…CLICKIETY) and other amazing items. We bought tickets and started filling up the paper bags in front of each item. It was fabulous. Quick shout out to one of our sponsors… Hi George’s Cream! I love you! Y’all? Order some of this stuff now. Maybe I can ask them to do a giveaway or something, but regardless, I want you all to order at least a small tube of the George’s Light, Special Moisturizing Lotion. You will thank me. So will anyone touching you. Later that afternoon all the ladies who were participating in the IGIGI fashion show put on the garments supplied by IGIGI (in exchange for a review.. WIN WIN! Right!?) and walked the makeshift runway in the Waterford Room to the hoots and hollers of our fellow Weetaconers. The ladies all gathered in the bathroom and then filed into the hallway as Wendy announced us and was our emcee. It was lovely, we took a picture at the end and I am always amazed at how incredible IGIGI is. The garments are truly cut for plus sized women and they fit a multitude of different body shapes. Go back a few entries and you can find my review of the Minnelli Sequined Skirt. Which is the BOMB. After the runway show we all went to a nice place a few miles away called Prime Quarter. It is one of those “cook it yourself (or pay $2 extra to have someone not fuck up your steak for you)” places. Shawn (my chocolate bunny) and I shared a gorgeous filet and salad and I personally burned our Texas toast on the grill. When we got back to the hotel Jen and I went upstairs to get ready for our 80’s themed party which was being held on the 2nd floor of the Fox Harbor Pub and Grill which is basically across the parking lot from St. Brendan’s… BRILLIANT PLAN. Seriously. I was wearing what ended up being a “Hi, I am Pat Benetar, I will dance in support of the local prostitutes/dancers and my bandana wrapped around my ankle is FIERCE” type of thing while Jen spiked the shit out of her blonde hair, put on all the black eyeliner in the world and went goth. She rocked it. Me? Shut up. We walked next door, went up the stairs and fell face first into awesome. Everyone was dressed up in their finest 80’s garb. Paula and her husband were Robert Palmer and one of those chicks from the Simply Irresistible/Addicted to Love videos. Sarah and Dave were Jennay, a local Avon sales representative complete with her bible on “Color Me Pretty” and one of the guys from Devo, whip and red planter hat accounted for. Chris and Wendy Mc were put upon teens with leather and lace gloves and bad attitudes. It was fabulous! We played 80’s television show theme trivia and Trish swept the floor with all of us. Sunday rolled around and we all (rather glumly) gathered in the Waterford Room for the last time. Wendy gave out trophies and Miss Congeniality and awards for things that happened all weekend. After the award ceremony, people started drifting out to the lobby to start saying goodbyes. By ones and twos our group broke up and drifted off to travel home. A few of us stayed. We headed to Van Able’s for lunch and then over to Scotty Boom Boom’s house to play Rock Band. When we left Van Able’s Gwen and I got a ride with Scotty. We headed over to June’s house to pick up the left overs from the hay ride feast. There was so much food that his trunk was over flowing and Gwen had baked goods on her lap and nudging her gently in the head. We got to Scotty’s and put everything to rights and waited for people to show. When everyone got there a vote was taken and it was unanimous that Mike and I would head back to the hotel to pick up the Cards for Humanity game. We went and when we came back, we played the game in a circle on Scotty’s floor. It was fabulous! One answer was far and away the most remembered. We were going around the circle and Gwen was down to one of her last cards. She had an answer that she didn’t think would go over well with any question that was previously asked… and she felt that this question was no different. “What is the new fad diet?” So when it came her turn, she shook her head in consternation and replied to the question that was asked and with a small shrug of one shoulder and a lift of her hand, she intoned, “Bees?” The whole place FELL OUT. That answer became the new “That’s What She Said” for the whole day. We were all laughing uproariously and started a twitter avalanche that spanned the United States. The Weetacon twitter reply rendered even the heartiest weak with laughter and sore stomach muscles. That evening we held fellowship in the bar of St. Brendan’s Inn. The few of us that were there were quiet and introspective and we spoke of love and community and that we couldn’t wait until next year. Monday, we headed home. I miss you all. I love you. And I count myself a very lucky individual to be able to call you all my friends. The movie of the Photo Booth from the 80’s night. Chad BLED to bring us this movie. I can almost watch this without crying. *Yes. The WHOLE DAMN WORLD.

Wordy Dry Humping (Not As Satifying as the Real Thing)

2012-04-20T18:52:43Z

I have been thinking about this for almost a month. Yes, a month. It has been almost that long since I went to Green Bay for Weetacon. I haven’t written about it yet as I am not sure what I want to share, as it is sort of like when a white man takes a picture of a Native American and “steals part of his soul” type of thing. It was my experience and I kind of don’t want to share… because I am selfish. That may make NO sense to you if you are not in some way crazy. Here, let me share my crazy with you. I share (some things) well with others. Sometimes. I’ll ease into it*. How about that? *That’s what your mom said. So over the past month (I cannot believe time is going so fast… apparently that is what happens when you are officially OLD as SHIT.) I have had some incredible things happen. I told y’all about going to the Anatole with Nugget (mmmmm sexy time) and I told you about packing for Green Bay. I have not, however, told you guys about the 40 Days of 40, Easter, the Mavs game… or my secret admirer. Let’s get started. The 40 Days of 40** is amazing. **Whoops, I just realized I already told y’all about this… But I DID NOT give you a photo. (Sorry about the “view image” bullshit, I am not smart enough to fix it. :: shrug :: I’ll make a thumbnail. Click to embiggen. As of today I am on day 19. I have received the following items. What I received and what the note inside the package read. 1. Day One – 2 packs of smokes. “One for each day for the next forty days!!” 2. Day Two – A chocolate bar. “Sweets for the SWEET!!”*** 3. Day Three – 40 small bottles of bubbles. “Because you are so bubbly and fun!” 4. Day Four – “40 pennies!! You will never be broke!!” 5. Day Five – 2 bottles of white out. “Susan did it!! She ruined the computer!!” 6. Day Six – bubble bath. “Have a nice relaxing day!” 7. Day Seven – My first camouflage t-shirt I got to go hunting when I was little. “We love all the different sides of your personality!!” (This was worn by my niece and nephew until it got too small for them, then returned to me.) 8. Day Eight – A gorgeous gold tone Christian Dior cuff bracelet that was my grandmothers. “Happy Birthday from Butter” 9. Day Nine – Hershey’s Kisses “Forty kisses for our sister, daughter and aunt!!” 10. Day Ten – Hardback Novel Back of Beyond by C.J. Box “30 more days! :) Day 10” 11. Day Eleven – 2 packages of Ramen Noodle Soup “Will you ever forget those Ramen noodles??” 12. Day Twelve – A stuffed pink bunny. “NOT Orthodox Easter!” a. Snippet taken from February 2008 entry,

“When I was in Nacogdoches my parents asked me to come visit them for Easter. I was married, didn’t give a shit if my no-good redneck husband (at the time) joined me or not on any trip so I looked at my calendar, located Easter and asked for time off. I bought my tickets, or my parents did. Whatever. And as I was getting ready to leave the next weekend, I called my parents to see if they would come pick me up from the airport when I arrived. My mother asked in a confused voice, “This weekend? I thought you were coming for Easter.” I am sure I rolled my eyes as I replied, “Yes Maaaaaaaaahm, this weekend is Easter.” I looked at the calendar with my dates off and the flight information to see over the dates a holiday listed. It was Easter alright, but ORTHODOX Easter. And my sister, the loving goddess that she is gets my parents a calendar from Shutter Fly every year. And she always thoughtfully puts ORTHODOX Easter on the calendar for me. How sweet. Never have and never will live that down.”

13. Day Thirteen – 40 dollars in ones – no note. Was on the phone with Nugget, he asked me, “Does your mother want you to go to a strip club and make it rain?” 14. Day Fourteen – A blow up beach ball. “Ready Beach!? Here we come” 15. Day Fifteen – “Lip Gloss for that pretty smile!!” 16. Day Sixteen – One of my senior photos… I have on a red and white shirt, an acid washed jean jacket, hair that is SO large … and I am cuddling my cat. Yeah, I don’t know either. “There she is --- Our Susan!!” (My mother loves punctuation. A Lot.) 17. Day Seventeen – “Pens to write your first book!” 18. Day Eighteen – Hardback Novel Taken by Robert Crats “Day 18” 19. Day Nineteen – A packet of 60 pcs of Eclipse gum. No note. Just a vague sense of unease that fairly screams, “Damn girl, have a mint.” ***Which fairy tale was this in? And who said it? It is so much fun to open these presents every day… and Max is enjoying it as much as I am. In every picture of the gifts I post on FB, Max is just out of frame waiting to pounce and play with the bag, twist tie, paper, ect. A few weeks ago I got a strange text from a metroplex number. It simply stated, “I meant to do this sooner but time got away… SO… For the next 37 days I’m going to remind you that you are tuning 40… starting now. Happy 40’ish Birthday!” I said thank you and asked who it was. They responded with, “The answer to that will be my present to you… in 37 days.” Over the next nine days I got texts daily, and I responded one time to say “thank you mystery person” and another to tell said person that I was officially freaked out. Seriously y’all, think about it. No matter how sweet the intention or how benign the texts… “goooood morning nearly 40 girl!!!!!!!” at 6:38 am takes on a creepy tone when you are sufficiently paranoid. When I told the person that I was kinda skeeved out, he told me who he was. It is one of my oldest friends that I grew up with. I am currently trying to find pictures of him wearing jams he made in home ec class. I will then post the pictures of him (in said JAMS!) on FaceBook with NO remorse. Although he is still telling me happy birthday daily I am not freaked out in the slightest… knowing who is giving you shit is so much better than a secret ~~stalker~~ admirer. I guess that thing about Knowledge is Power is true. The day is getting away from me. So I will leave this entry as it stands, and I will bring the Weetacon funk and the Mavs game noise (and some tidbits on Nugget) the next time. MWAH! Be good to each other.

IGIGI Rundown and a Chance to WIN!!!!! (Yell it like Oprah!)

2012-04-10T20:32:27Z

Awesomesauce, thy name is IGIGI. So this year at Weetacon several of the ladies got to participate in the IGIGI Fashion show and wear some beautiful clothes. I was so excited when Weetabix contacted us and asked us if we wanted to participate. Did I ever!? Answer: YES! I have been lucky enough to participate in the IGIGI fashion show twice before and I am always in awe of the fabulousness of the materials, cut and drape of the IGIGI garments. Ladies, I don’t know if you are a size 2 or a size 32. If you fall in the range of 14-32 there should never be a question of where you purchase your standard go-to’s in your closet or your special pieces for amazing occasions. You should always turn to IGIGI for your clothing needs. I have several things to say, and I will harp on this repeatedly below… BUT… please hear these few points. Do you want clothing that fits your body (as a plus sized woman this is sometimes rough to do)? Do you want clothing that is travel friendly? Do you want to feel fabulous in what you wear? Please just go to IGIGI’s site, purchase ONE staple for your closet (black skirt/top/jacket/pants… whatever is your comfort “go to” garment) and try it out. You will find yourself wearing the hell out of IGIGI stuff in no time. Yes, it is more expensive than the clearance rack for Lane Bryant… I KNOW. But… seriously, listen to me. It is SO freaking worth it. My magnificent grandmother always said, “Trends come and go, dress classically and spend a little more on your clothes, it will be worth it because in the end… they will last.” I cannot say this enough, y’all, these clothes are draped for plus sized women. They are sexy, classic, timely, body conscious, do not need to be dry cleaned (most of the time), can be balled up in a suitcase and then worn immediately and not look like you just crawled out of an overhead bin, the materials are breathable and lovely to feel (if you are a tactile junkie, like me) and the most important. They last forever. I decided to crawl out of my comfort zone (of black pants, black shoes, a twin set… and GO!) because (YAWN!) Booooooooooooring! So, I asked to wear the Minnelli Sequins Skirt in Black. Oh My Gopher. Seriously. The (sexy) little skirt that has just enough (jazz hands) pizzazz to amp up any occasion, but not too gaudy looking. If I think sequins, I immediately think of Cee Lo Green or Michael Jackson’s sock and/or glove (because I am ancient) and the look to me normally is, “Oh hell no.” This skirt? It is sequins, yes, and it jacks the awesome factor up to eleven because, y’all? The material is fabulous and the sequins (I still can’t believe I ordered a sequin skirt) are small, and not crazy reflective. They add just the right amount of sparkle to an everyday separate and make it amazing. Not like you are secretly hoping to be Liberace’s stand in. So to answer the question, “What did you like about the garment?” My first answer would be – The fabric. Have y’all ever touched sequin material before? This is the opposite of that. Scratchy? No. Hot? No. Heavy? No. That is what surprised me the most is that the fabric is so freaking friendly. It drapes, it is a little stretchy and it is not cheap looking. It is lovely. “Was there anything you'd like to be different about the garment (ex. did it fit ok? Was it too long? Did you need a special bra or foundation?) and how will you compensate for that (ex. Get it hemmed)” I made a mistake with this garment. I ordered the size I thought my ass was. Um. Apparently I am not that size anymore. It was way too big… too long, too wide, ect. So I rolled that puppy up about 3 times, and walked that runway of the Waterford room like I was comfortable with my arms showing. Booyah. I will defiantly have to have the skirt hemmed and I hope it is not too expensive, but like most clothing that really fits me (small waist, BIG ass, long legs, short torso) I am used to having things tweaked. “What was your impression of the value for the retail price? (I.E. did it look like something you'd buy at Walmart or something you'd buy at Barney's New York?)” This skirt retails for $90 dollars. I believe that it will last for a bajillion years if I take care of it. I won’t be able to ball this one up like I can with my wrap dresses and IGIGI tops. I will have to be gentle with it. It is sequins, dur. So because of the feel of the fabric and how it drapes I would say that this garment is spot on cost wise. I would pay more for a skirt like this. I know, I’m not made of money and currently have not won the lottery (aka “redneck retirement fund”), but I know quality when I see it and feel it. “Where do you envision yourself wearing this garment during your real life off of the Weetacon runway?” I envision myself wearing this garment to work (I will so get the “what is the special occasion?” harassment, SO WORTH IT.), out on the town, to special engagements like the theater. I believe that because I live in Texas, this will be a year round go to garment. Hopefully people won’t get tired of it as I am planning on wearing the crap out of it. “How will you accessorize this outfit and make it your own?” It is black (fabulous) and therefore can be worn with almost anything. In my humble opinion. I think I will wear it with twin sets, sweaters, maybe a t-shirt and a jean jacket with sandals. I think I can dress it up with a twin set and pearls or a velvet jacket in the winter. Or make it all casual for a night at the movies with Nugget. Yes, it is that comfortable. “Bonus question: how many other Igigi garments do you currently have in your closet?” I have many pieces from IGIGI. I got my first few in… I believe 2006 and they have been irreplaceable to me. The first one is a black and cream paisley, ¾ sleeve, lace trim, pseudo wrap top in a lovely silky material that I wear all the freaking time. If I were to count I would have to say I have (counting on fingers… and toes…) I believe… twelve garments. I ended up giving this pretty sequin skirt to LadyLoo and because she way tall (yes, I am tall… but that lady has legs for DAYS!) and she rocked it for the evening of our 80’s party. It looked gorgeous on her. She is also FREAKING Awesome for ordering me the skirt in an 18/20. If you are looking on IGIGI’s site, please read the reviews of each garment. I should have ordered a size (or two) down, according to the reviews. When will I ever listen? I know. It’s fabulous, right!? Want a chance to shop at Igigi on us? Just go to the Igigi website, pick out the garment you'd love to have for your very own and leave a comment here on this post, telling me exactly how you'd accessorize your new Igigi fashion and where you plan to wear it. One lucky commenter will receive a free $50 gift certificate. But wait, that's not all. Each of our Weetacon Igigi reviewers will be giving away a $50 gift certificate to Igigi, so you can enter by leaving one comment on each of those reviews too. Yes, you read this right: Weetacon and Igigi are giving away over $1000 in Igigi by Yuliya Raquel gift certificates! The only catch is that you must enter by May 15 and you can only enter once per review. Winners will be announced on Weetacon Igigi review page by May 18th. FCC-liciousness: (ganked from Karen’s site (don’t judge me.)) The [skirt] in this entry was provided to me for review purposes by Igigi. The content of this entry was not dictated by Igigi; I get to keep the [skirt] for my personal use. Updated to add this awesome photo. Weetabix tweeted this on the evening of Wednesday the 21st of March. We were playing with the garments and putting peoples' names on the tags and I found my skirt... and was lunging around her home kicking and shouting "IIIIIIII'm FORTY!" UPDATE 5/17/12 Gwen is the WINNER WINNER CHICKEN DINNER! of the IGIGI giveaway! Congratulations Gwen!

40 days of 40!

2012-04-05T21:43:39Z

Yanno what’s really odd? I am comfortable with the fact that I will be forty in 36 days. YUP. Forty. I had to get used to it as my Kerr Krew and I celebrated our 40th birthdays in style earlier this year. We have also been getting together for birthday dinners for one friend or another since last fall. I took off work tomorrow because my daddy is smoking some ribs for me for my birthday dinner. My sister’s family all had Good Friday off, so we’re all headed to my parents’ place for the weekend. Daddy wanted to cook for me and I requested his famous and fabulous, fall off the bone, holy crap that’s amazing! ribs. And y’all? I don’t normally ear bar-b-que. The Texas BBQ Commission tried to take away my Texan membership card because of that fact alone. But when my daddy makes his ribs? I eat so much that I just lay on the floor, moaning, holding my full belly with my mouth open hoping someone will drop some more of that sweet sweet rib meat into my gaping maw. This may be a slight exaggeration as most people who know me, and have eaten with me will attest to my weird eating habits. I pick. I scoot stuff around on my plate and Dear Baby Jesus, never go to Arby’s with me as I deconstruct my sandwich and then remake it to my personal (CRAZY!) specifications. But I really do love the ribs that my daddy cooks. And no, I refuse to apologize for being a grown ass woman who calls her father “daddy”. It’s charming,… shut up… it IS. Back to the birthday… Yes, I will be 40, and I am okay with it. The coolest thing happened. On Sunday my sister and her loving husband came over to “drop something off”. I had no idea that they would be arriving with a surprise. I opened the door to find the two of them holding bags and bags, seriously, of presents and with my parents on the phone via speaker. They entered and my folks were shouting “HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” and then my sister told me that the next day would kick off the 40 Days of 40! Each day I would open a present, and they were marked, Day 1- Day 40. I couldn’t peek at the bags and I had to do them in order. It is the coolest thing. I started Monday and I am on Day 4. I have opened things varying from 2 packs of smokes (“One for each of the 40 days!”) to forty mini bottles of bubbles (“Because you’re so bubbly and fun!”) It is the sweetest thing and I am really excited about my birthday. Stacey and Kerry turned 40 last year and Dre turned 40 in February. Nugget and I are 3 days apart. He’s the “older man”, so we are both turning 40. Stephanie and Ginger are the babies with August and September 40th birthdays. So I have finally come to the conclusion that I am okay with my age, but I am not ok with how I feel right now. And because of that… I have to admit something. I have been avoiding y’all. I need to write about Green Bay and how amazing the weekend was. But I can’t get out of my own way right now. Something is off. It has been off, well, for a while now. I think it started when I began to come off the Nirivam. I had been on it for (searching the archives… HOLY SHIT) for five years. And my new Doctor, a kindly, middle-aged, Indian man… asked me to switch meds. To recap… a quote from 3/7: “…I have been weaning myself off of my current anti-anxiety meds (Nirivam, 2mg, 2 pills a day) and switching over to some other anti-anxiety med (Celexa… we know I’m crazy, yes?). So, hi, I am an anxiety riddled, insomniac, crazy person coming off a narcotic. I can’t eat. I can’t sleep. I am losing weight by the ass load. I can’t fill up a normal bra anymore. Lord…” That is putting it mildly. Last Saturday I had the shakes like a crack baby and embarrassed myself something good trying to cut a stuffed jalapeño from Kenny’s Burger Joint (NOM!!!!!!!!) in 1/4ths. It was spectacularly bad. Like Tourette’s-y bad. I haven’t been sleeping, as the shakes keep me awake with the (motherfucking) muscles spasms and limb jerking. It is exhausting, it is like seizing but being completely aware the whole freaking time. I can’t stand this. My heart pounds. I am worried that I am in danger of a heart attack because my heart pounds so hard at night that it rocks my body. My tongue is coated in some weird film. It doesn’t matter how often I brush my teeth and my tongue. Speaking of my tongue, it is too big for my mouth. Yes, seriously. I have little shred marks on the sides of it where it rubs against my (BIG SHARP POINTY!) teeth at night. I have weird numbness in my face (forehead), my scalp, the back of my neck and the outsides of my hands and feet. Apparently I am falling apart. I went to see my Dr. on Tuesday after a particularly bad evening the night before. I was shaky, my head was pounding and so was my heart. I just wanted to make sure he was aware of what was going on with this whole… getting off a narco thing. Why yes, that DID happen to be the day that multiple tornados touched down in DFW. This will be important in a minute. I told the kind dr. what was going on, he nodded and steepled his fingers, his eyes narrowed in concern as he listened then listed my complaints on my chart. He then said the thing I was hoping for, but needed validation in the form of my medical professional telling me that I wasn’t insane. The items I listed above are all symptoms of coming off a narcotic. He suggested that I came off of it too fast and suggested that I go back on the half pill or a ¼ pill for a little while longer. I staunchly refused. He commended my will power and asked how the Celexa was working. I asked him what it was supposed to do. He said, “Help you with your anxiety and let you sleep.” I guffawed heartily. He did show concern about the whole heart pounding so hard it rocked my body thing. And ordered an EKG. As his nurse walked in she was visibly nervous about the black sky beyond the 3rd floor window panes that were covering half of 2 walls of the little exam room. She said “Oh Sushaaan, you are not SKAAAHRED, but I yam… oh, I YAM.” I told her that there was no need to worry yet. She asked why, I pointed to the sky and said, “Well, I don’t worry until the sky is green.” She relaxed and said, “Really!?” Like a child that was just told that it was ok to stay up past their bedtime. She ~~felt me up~~ hooked me up to the machine and then started the process. It was going well until … the sirens started screaming. For some reason she relaxed as I tensed up. She told me why she was relaxed. “Oh, that’s good, the alarms sound when everything is ok… yes?” I replied, “Um, no.” Good thing the EKG results did not show my terror, or my shakiness… as they were spot on perfect. I still have an amazing heart and the good dr. told me as much as he commented on my weight loss and the things I have been doing right. Now, believe you me… this weight loss is not on purpose, and if he knew what was really going on (oh hell no I didn’t tell him about this next part) I am sure he would have had something to say. According to my scale, I have lost 19 pounds. According to the kind doctor’s scale, I have lost only 11 pounds since the end of January… because his scale is a fucking liar. This is not good and healthy weight loss, this is water weight or muscle or ketosis or something that has to do with being shaky, losing your appetite, not eating and having water poo for months on end. Hi! I am not healthy! Also, getting off the Nirivam may have caused my thyroid medication to kick in, therefore causing a serious spike in my metabolism and thereby jacking my shit all to hell. I’ll get out of my own head in a while, but for now, please forgive me for holding out on you about Weetacon.

Can I Have a Hug?

2012-03-29T18:59:13Z

I am wearing a dress today. I know, right? It is so freaking humid that when I got out of the shower this morning, my face immediately began to sweat. Around my hairline was hot as a light bulb that has been left on for too long. My face was clean and an alarming shade of pink. The air conditioner was set to 68 and I had to lie on the bed, under the fan (on high) for about 10 minutes before I could moisturize. So, yeah, today called for “nothing touching my legs” sort of fashion. I have on a maxi dress that I bought while in the company of Kerry last year. I also wore it to a wedding last June. It is sort of revealing in the cleav-area, so I wore a tank top under it. And because I’m a little uncomfortable with people looking at my arms*, I put a small sweater over it. So now? I have on three layers… and flip flops. But I’m freaking adorable, and no one has asked me if I have an interview today (since I have stepped off the path of my normal Geranimals for Adults style). Win/win, fuckers. *I have an alarming amount of small bruises all over my body; my right arm is spotted with little bruises that are not attractive. Under right arm? Check. Elbow (both)? Check. Wrists? Yup. Abdomen? Um hmm. Legs? Dear Lord, who beat you with a small mallet? I believe most of these were sustained while traveling. Traveling you ask? Yes. Traveling. Last week was Weetacon and it was LOVELY. I will regale you all with a tale about the weekend in the next post or two, but right now? I am missing my tribe like WHOA and I am a little fragile. The post-Weetacon blues has set in. And the only thing that has kept me from the subsequent wailing and gnashing of teeth on this here site, was the wee, tenuous thread of dignity I still have left. Let’s just say that I love Green Bay with the intensity of a thousand burning suns. It is not just my Weetacon time (which is freaking A-MAZE-ing! SING IT!**). It is every time I have ever been to Wisconsin. So? I applied for a job in Madison on Tuesday. Yeah, I’m sure that is a check mark box for insanity right there, but whatever. I did it. ** I also need to suggest that you all go out and buy this A-MAZE-ing** (no, I won’t stop saying that) game ever. Seriously. We played this game on the bus and at Scooty Bon Bon***’s house on Sunday. Check it. Cards Against Humanity A quote from their site.

What is Cards Against Humanity? Cards Against Humanity is a party game for horrible people. Unlike most of the party games you've played before, Cards Against Humanity is as despicable and awkward as you and your friends. The game is simple. Each round, one player asks a question from a Black Card, and everyone else answers with their funniest White Card.

A party game for horrible people. Totally makes you wanna play, doesn’t it? It was HI-larious. Trust me on this. Order it from Amazon, or make it yourself. I suggest ordering it for the low low price of $25, because, then? You will have a nice little box to keep all of the awesome inside. AND, you don’t have to go through reams of card stock and cursing at your offices’ weak ass paper cutter with the wonky blade arm. Just sayin. ***I was texting to Scotty Boom Boom and this popped out of my thumbs. I was a little drinky, it fit. It also made me giggle. And he didn’t protest too terribly much when I started calling him Scooty. Until it caught on with Tex… and THEN I saw his eyes tighten around the corners a bit. Sorry man. (Sorta, because it still makes me giggle.) Also? Bees?????**** ****It’ll be funny later. Or not. Whateves… Will catch up to y’all shortly when I don’t feel like a ravenous teenage Tasmanian devil that has been shot full of horse tranquilizers and rhino estrogen along with a nice stimulant to keep me from sleeping. SINCE SUNDAY¹. And? I have been having nightmares² of my ex-husband showing up in my dreams when I am fighting off drug lords with my bullwhip (???) and he’s all casual, “Will you make me a sandwich?” Me: “You are NOT supposed to BE HERE.” (cut to me using a Stihl chainsaw and making mincemeat out of my opponents at the lumberjack competition… because losers get SHOT…) Him: “Did you put away my laundry?” Me: “YOU are NOT supposed to BE HERE!” (cut to me loading a canon for the pirate ship that is coming about…) Him: “What are we going to have for dinner?” Me: “I SAID… YOU!areNOT!supposedtoBE!HERE!... ARRRRRRRGGHHH!!!!!!!” And apparently I morphed into a swashbuckling pirate-tess in that last dream. (eyeroll) (footnote: 2 would explain 1.)

Weetacon Mini Freak Out and St. Patty's RunDown

2012-03-19T20:08:55Z

Monday. Yep. I’m in the office and storms are comin. We have already had one power outage already today and it is not even 2pm. I have updated my Weetacon packing list and need to work on that stuff tonight when I get home tonight. I’m a little freaked out because the high there is supposed to be 81 ͦ on Wednesday and, y’all… that just ain’t right. We have been instructed by the goddess herself, Weetabix, to make sure we closely monitor the weather in Green Bay and probably bring rain gear. Rain gear. Hmmm. I am not an owner of rain gear. I have umbrellas stashed all over the place and my take on rain is “eh, I’m not gonna melt or anything.” So I normally just run through it. I may take off my shoes and go barefoot to run from building to garage, to car to… wherever. Because I’m positively BRIMMING with etiquette. But to plan for a whole weekend with outdoor activities? (Let’s be honest, I will be there from Wednesday through Sunday… it’s more than a weekend.) I may need a slicker or something. I will definitely need the waterproof mascara. Speaking of: I tried NYC Big Bold Mascara, and I put it to the test this weekend. EPIC FAIL. I have never had a product fail the “Susan packing in a hurry, getting bajiggety and therefore sweating profusely about the hairline” situation. This one? Failed and failed mightily. Twice. Packing to GO to my little staycation with Nugget and then packing to COME BACK. It gave me raccoon eyes and I had to lick my finger and pull my delicate eye tissue back and forth to get it off, then reapply powder. Not a good product. Back to L’Oreal’s VOLUMINOUS, I go. If you are not a head/face sweaty mess while wearing this product, I am sure it would be fine. Maybe. (She said ominously.) Update on Stacey: Hi Stacey! She is home (was able to go home the day after her surgery) and she is feeling better than ever except for her large neck brace. It makes me sad to think of her in an uncomfortable neck brace that is making it easy for her to heal, but rough for her to rest and sleep. So, I like to think of her with one of those cones that you put on your animal so they will not bite/lick/pull at their place of incision after surgery. Maybe a small window cut out of the front for her television viewing pleasure. (Have been trying to recreate the picture with MS Paint to no avail. Woe. Because that would have made her laugh. :) ) My best effort. View image Stacey and I at a bar somewhere… Shocker. “Cone” added by me. Okay. Back to the weekend staycation with Nugget. It was fabulous. Absolutely Fabulous. We had a blast. Got there Friday evening after dinner (which in hindsight we both agree that we should have just gone there first and had dinner on site.) and checked into our King Suite with an amazing view of the Dallas skyline. Our amenity was a nice bottle of champagne and yes, dammit, I kept the cork. We sipped on our champagne as we went over our plan for the next morning. We would get up for a nice breakfast at the Terrace Grill and then we had 80 minute massages scheduled for noon. That’s really all we had scheduled because we figured that the rest of the time we would either go out and see Chant at one of his many (3) gigs during Saturday or we would stay in house because, dur, it was St. Patty’s day and Dallas people get a case of the Cra-Cra when green beer is involved. Also, we had planned to have all the sex in the world. Saturday morning we got up and showered, cursed at the suck ass bed (oh, the horror, seriously, it was painful to sleep upon (good thing there wasn’t a lot of THAT goin on, if you know what I mean (wink wink))) and went for our breakfast and then on to our massages. The massages were completely lovely. We both felt like Jello-O when we were done but stopped off at one of two grand pianos that we found on property and let him play and sing for about an hour. Yes, I have video of that. No, I don’t have a video of all the sex in the world that we had when we decided to go back to the room. Around 9pm (seriously, All the Sex in the World) we decided that it would be prudent to get cleaned up again, and go find something to put in our bellies. So we showered and got pretty and decided to stay on property as opposed to fighting the hoards of people at the bajillionty restaurants on restaurant row a few miles from us. Good thing too, as we discovered that the food at the grill we popped into was AMAZEBALLS. The delicate shrimp spring rolls with the sweet chili sauce and the peanut oil cabbage and red and green pepper salad? NOM. The medium rare burger with smokehouse bacon, Wisconsin cheddar and the spicy mustard? Double NOM. The side of mac and cheese that I am pretty sure was made by some Scientist when they said, “Think of the word awesome… now makes something taste like THAT.” Delicious. (NOM!) We wandered around the atrium (one of several) on property, took goofy self portraits of ourselves and watched this thing. The Nebula. Pretty awesome, right? It was a beautiful evening and we went back upstairs to… yeah, you guessed it. The next morning, we woke up early and … ok, now I’m just bragging… before we cleaned up and went to breakfast, had steak and eggs and then packed up to come home. This morning, Kerry texted me and I replied. View image She hasn’t responded. Wish me luck for Weetacon! WOOOOOOO!

Happy Pi Day!

2012-03-14T21:47:11Z

Hi Hi Hi Hi Hi Hi…. Hi… (poke poke) Hi… Hi? Happy Pi Day! Come this time next week (Wednesday), I will be in freaking GREEN BAY! HELLO WISCONSIN! I am excited and freaking out a little. I haven’t started packing. I haven’t even started my packing spreadsheet. I need to put together an 80’s look… I’ve never really been a trendy dresser, so this may be a little challenging. If I just toss my hair up in a banana clip, wear blue eye shadow, blue eye liner, humongous jewelry and MASSIVE amounts of mascara I’ll nail it, yes? No? Suggestions of what to wear would be welcome. Bonus if you know my closet and its contents and want to help. Come over, I’ll provide drinks. Why am I going to Green Bay? Phhffttt. You are apparently new. I’m going for Weetacon. Jealous? Come with me next year. It’s fabulous. I started going in 2007 and have only missed one year (glares at 2008) and I hope to never miss it again. It is a remarkable time of fun, laughter, drinking, games, dancing, a fashion show with AMAZING garments from IGIGI and cheese. I have been looking forward to this extended weekend since I left Green Bay last year. If I have said it once, I will say it a hundred times. Every time I go to Green Bay, regardless of time of year (March, July, September, really any time), it gets harder and harder to leave. This weekend Nugget and I will be at the Hilton Anatole for a spa weekend* that I won (:: ahem::) LAST YEAR. It will be the longest time that we have spent around each other, well, ever. (Stumbles to nearest fainting couch with back of hand to forehead, calling out quietly, “Heaven’s to Betsy!”… Swoon… and scene.) *double fist pump Let me back up for a minute and catch you all up to speed on the post from… um, three entries ago? When I admitted to cutting my friend out of my life because of blah blah blah, whatever, I’m bored talking about it. Then last entry I came clean about unblocking said person from GTalk. (Because I’m weak, bitch, that’s why.) The next day, after unblocking, said person spent a large chunk of time (I’ll take “What is ALL Day? For $800, Alex.”) apologizing to me for behavior/words ect. and us basically working our shit out, yo. My dear friend Kerry called me this week to find out how thing have been going with the saga. Her firm position on all things related to this has been, “Believe people when they show you how they are.” (Stern face… of JUSTICE.) So when I told her that it was nice, that he and I had come to an understanding, things were better than they had been in a long time, that we spoke honestly and painfully (but refreshingly) about things that needed to be cleared up and I was very relieved. She asked me why I thought this time would be any different. I mentioned that the person in question had said that he was sorry for giving me “half ass” for WAY too long, taking me for granted and it would not happen again. She called me out and said, “Aren’t you doing the same thing to Nugget?” See? Y’all? This is why I love my friends. You know I appreciate all cards on the table, and you know I like when people are straight shooters and regardless if it is a taboo subject or not, they are free to speak their minds with me. I don’t play games, we are all too old for that and it is just exhausting. I know I am giving Nugget half ass**. You all know I am giving Nugget half ass. Nugget knows I am giving him half ass, so does Kerry, but for some reason this triggered me to raise my voice to her and start cursing. Defensive much? No. Shut up. (PS: I love you.) ** Let me be clear. Nugget (aka, Cute Boy) only gets half ass when he is not with me in person, on Saturdays (normally). In person, I am all in. During the week I am more invested in work and or friends. I started in with, “Just why in the hell should I give him 100% when I feel I am lower than his dog in his list of motherfucking priorities?” She replied, “But you’re doing the same thing to him that was done to you.” I came back with, “AND!?” This is where I started to raise my voice. She asked, “Is that fair?” I got a little loud when I replied, “Fair to whom? Fair to the man who is getting all sorts of awesome lovin weekly on Saturdays, who can call when he wants, come and go when he wants and doesn’t have some fucking girl hanging off of his neck and under his feet. That man has it so good that I am enabling him to never have to change a fucking thing!” She asked me if I wanted something more in the future. I quieted down and replied, “Sure, someday, maybe. I dunno. I mean, I don’t HAVE to have a man in my life, I just sorta want one.” She went on to say that I would probably never have a future with Nugget. Duly noted my friend, I never really planned on him being someone I grew old with when I started sleeping with him back in 2010. I just wanted some lovin, figured it would be good to just kind of ask for what I wanted, nothing more. So I did. Over a year and a half later, that is exactly what I have. But my friends worry, I am sure. I tend to be an all or nothing type of person, so I can see why they would be concerned. But on this subject I am just not 100% invested. Nugget is a sweet, dear man who is kind and gentle. But yeah, he’s got enough baggage to rent space so I just let him have time. Y’all remember what happened when we tried the boyfriend/girlfriend thing last year, right? Yeah, it started to end*** with this entry right here. ***Make sense? Well, that really wasn’t the END end of it. That was before the drama of the week of Labor Day, which culminated in me printing out an 8x5 index card with 10 bullet points (to match his 5 bullet points – not the 1400 words in an email - from October of 2010) on why the whole boyfriend/girlfriend thing was NOT working. I didn’t write about any of this. Sorry. Um. This entry is starting to unravel. Or maybe it is just my attention span. …. Hey look! A chicken! I can’t really wrap this up all nice and neat with a bow as I did not keep you all up to speed on what was going on when or with whom. Suffice it to say, I am glad my friend is back in my life. I have missed him. We went 6 weeks without speaking. I hated every second of it. Nugget is a sweet man, a dear friend who I am giving half ass to… I have been called out on it by Kerry and I got all defensive. I have my reasons for keeping my distance emotionally. He may deserve more than what I am giving him, but from where I stand in his list of priorities (seriously, check out that link) I think I am doing well to not try and be everything to someone I am just “something” to. You know? I am going to Green Bay next week. The end.

Midlife Crisis and Kerr Krew Weekend

2012-03-07T21:26:58Z

Holy shit snacks. I am so freaking wired. I haven’t had anything to eat today, but I did drink my instant VIA coffee. Caffeine and sugar… on an empty stomach. I am so rattled and shaky. My attention span is that of … HEY LOOK! A squirrel! Also (WARNING) I have been weaning myself off of my current anti-anxiety meds (Nirivam, 2mg, 2 pills a day) and switching over to some other anti-anxiety med (Celexa… we know I’m crazy, yes?). So, hi, I am an anxiety riddled, insomniac, crazy person coming off a narcotic. I can’t eat. I can’t sleep. I am losing weight by the ass load. I can’t fill up a normal bra anymore. Lord. I haven’t been smoking as much (didn’t smoke Saturday or Sunday… my first smoke on Monday was at 8:30 pm) and I can smell things… things that are making me want to hurl. Just went down to get a sandwich from the deli, and the smell of it makes me want to vomit. This is not pretty. Also, Weetacon is coming up and for some reason I am freaking the fuck out. Oh, wait. It’s the standard pre-Weetacon excitement/dreaded packing phase. Also, see above… weaning myself off a narco… also, will someone PLEASE give me something other than this sandwich? I swear, it is just a normal sandwich, meat, cheese, veggies, but it smells like hotdog water. Could I USE the word ALSO one more time!? Yes. Yes, I can. I think I am having a mid life crisis. The reasons I think this are thusly: 1) I have my nails and toes colored dark blue. 2) I have colored my hair a dark red. 3) I got purple extensions after the deal with that person from two posts ago. Why they are related, I’m not sure. Just had the extensions removed last week. I miss them already. 4) I have been researching doctors to do tummy tucks in the DFW area. No seriously, I’m not kidding. 5) I rarely, if ever, want to leave my little sanctuary of an apartment anymore. This could be the anxiety talking or my just seriously being completely over the whole traveling an insane amount for my job. 6) I am waffling on whether or not to contact said person from two posts ago. I unblocked him on GTalk this afternoon, not that I am online so often, but with the replacement of the phone, my last link was severed with the blackberry messenger being replaced with Siri*. It’s been WEEKS and no contact. It makes me insane that no emails or phone calls have been made from his side. Why? We’ve already been over this. I’m crazy. Also, I miss the friend I used to have. Can I get that back? Hardly likely. Also, I am a pussy. *I got a new phone a few weeks ago (like 5). The 4s and Siri isn’t as much my bitch as I would like for her to be. See? Told you I could use the word “also” again. I really want to eat this sandwich, I need to eat this sandwich, I just don’t want to toss my cookies when I open the container and the full aroma hits me. I almost got sick last night after drinking fruit juice. FRUIT JUICE. Seriously. I have the leg shake thing in full swing. I had a 4 day migraine** from Thursday of last week. It has subsided to a dull roar. **I am such a weak assed individual for even putting this in here. Explanation below. Stacey, bless her heart, is having surgery on her (FUCKING!) neck tomorrow at 3pm CST. Please everyone, send thoughts, prayers, good juju to her. She has a herniated disc that has been causing her to have a migraine for six weeks straight complete with nausea, arm numbness and tingling, dizziness and an array of unpleasantries. The herniation is going into her spinal column and pressing on nerves that are responsible for the migraine, the arm stuff and the nausea and the dizziness. Speaking of Stacey, we missed her during the Kerr Krew weekend that we had out at Log Country Cove on Lake LBJ. She couldn’t make it. (Stupid neck herniation… is herniation even a word?). Did I even tell y’all about that? I may have mentioned it in my previous post about Vag. (Checking.) Nope, no mention. Okay… so. (Just drank some water, then sniffed the sandwich container, heaved… put it down. Nope, not gonna happen. Wrote on container with permanent marker… AHHHH! The smell of the marker! Put container in kitchen fridge, got more water, oh yay! I have a SlimFast in here. Heave.) The Kerr Krew Weekend. This was awesome sauce (except that Stacey wasn’t there). It started out with 10 of the original ladies then whittled down to seven that could actually go. It was Kerry, Steph, Ginger, Marley, Jalena, Tina and me. The ladies that were missing: Stacey, Amy and Nancy. Life happens, we know. We blew up Erin’s phone and then realized she had given her old phone to her son (Thank God it was before Marly started sexting her in spite.) and we got her new number and harassed the shit out of her Saturday evening. Kerry planned this awesome weekend outside of Burnet, Texas… It was just shy of a four hour drive from Dallas. We were all in and the price was a steal. The place slept 10 comfortably and had a hot tub, was like 300 feet from the cove and had a deck and large kitchen, 3 full bathrooms and 1 half bath off the kitchen. It was so awesome that we’ve already booked it for the same time next year. WOOO! We got down there Friday afternoon and all figured out where to sleep and then we started drinking (Kerry, Ginger and I were the only smokers) and Marly was making her freshly squeezed Ruby Red Grapefruit and Vodka awesomeness drinks for several of us, Jalena was drinking Crown and coke and none of us are sure what Tina was drinking, but by 9:30 she had gotten to 3rd base with about 4 people and licked my eye when I turned my head. By 10 pm, I was placing a chair under the bathroom knob each time Tina went to the restroom off the kitchen so she would think the door was stuck. Ginger had the brilliant plan to hold the door shut with a foot, remove the chair, then everyone got away from the door to add to Tina’s confusion when she finally got out. Holy shit, that was funny as hell. I can’t help it. I get the giggles every time I look at the videos from my phone. Shit yes, I filmed it, and SHIT YES we did it more than once. Nearly causing Marly to pee in her britches and pulling some sort of muscle in my … lower belly area from laughing so hard. Fucking with the over friendly drunk girl is hysterical to me. Hi Tina… Love you. Do you read my site? Especially when in the second video Vag is at the bathroom door “helping” Tina by making her yell, “Dear baby Jesus, please let me out…. Praise God, Hallelujah!” Heeeee. I would SO post that video to share with y’all if she weren’t a teacher. Or her husband wasn’t military. I have standards, fuckers. She passed out on the couch by 11:30 Friday night. The next day most of the group went to the caverns nearby to hike through the underground … um… caverns. Marly and I went shopping for our evening snacks/supper, yo… and Tina, poor thing, wasn’t feeling too well, stayed at the cabin to rest. We had a sunset by the water happy hour planned. I took some of the most beautiful pictures. I swear… it was gorgeous. Getting there was half the problem. The map we had was old and the directions were sketchy, we started out with the seven of us walking. Everyone had their red solo cup (que singing… “Red Solo cup! I fill you up!”) filled with their favorite beverage (which happened to be my favorite Firefly sweet tea and lemonade vodka… I’m fancy, and lazy… and apparently cheap), and Marly brought along the bubbly with more cups to have a toast at sunset. We got side tracked several times on the way because… well for a variety of reasons. Some were already tipsy, some were easily distracted (oh look! A Squirrel!) and others got caught up in the motherfucking awesome ass swings that they had all over the place. SWINGS!!!!!!! Yay! I guess you can tell which group I was in. Yes, all three. So we finally gave up, trudged back to the cabin, climbed into Tina’s big SUV (she was the only one not drinking) and drove over to the office area. We parked and walked behind the office to find (SWINGS!) a beautiful dock with seating and lights. We crowded around one circle iron table and toasted to a beautiful evening and awesome friends. View image (Seriously? What is up with the “view image” bullshit?) I can’t wait to do it again. Love you ladies! PS: Seriously y’all. Please pray/send good vibes/send good thoughts/good juju for Stacey tomorrow. AND her doctors. Thank you in advance. MWAH! Love you, you look hot in those pants.

Santa Vag is Coming to Town! SING IT!

2012-02-15T23:51:05Z

A week from tomorrow one of my favorite people in the world comes into town. Ginger. I love Ginger with the depth and intensity of a thousand burning suns. She is wee but please, by all means, do not let the tee-tiny packaging fool you. Dynamite comes in small packages; C4 can be explosive in Chicklet sized amounts... So is the way of Vag. Yes, her real name is Virginia, and in the 9th grade I decided that it would be prudent to nickname her Vag. Yes, she still speaks to me. Yes, I should be beaten about the head and shoulders with a large marmot, preferably dead and fly blown, but “Vag” it is. She is hysterically funny. She can be loud. She can be quiet and introspective, she is a dear, dear friend and I lurve her. She is an educator… with three children, and yet, she looks precisely (except for length of hair and boob size) the way she did in 1987. Actually she may be thinner, a fact that makes me want to punch her in the face… but with LOVE y’all. We cheered together (I TOLD YOU, no judging) on the Varsity team in 10th grade and we trusted each other so implicitly (and I’m a hoss, she is wee) that assisted “tossing” became a fun activity and quite crowd pleasing. I, however gangly, lumbering and towering was a perfect perch for her teeny little canary like frame to hop from. I being freakishly strong, and not to mention that she was incredibly powerful and had a gymnastic and cheer background, could throw her far and high. It was fun. Number one, I’m a base (dur) number two, Vag is a flier. Assisted Jumps with her in front of me were awesome. I would put my huge hands on her wee sides and she would brace on my wrists, she’s count it off, “One, two, three (squat to prepare for explosion) and FOUR!” As she’d propel herself skyward as I “assisted” and threw her high into the air for a toe-touch. She’d be over my head y’all. Land like freaking Tigger with a spring in her step then this monster yell would burst from her with a fist pump, “WOOO! GO COUGARS! YEAH!” And the crowd would go wild. Even if we weren’t at a game (football, basketball) … even if we were just practicing in the atrium at school, or fucking around at a house party. My favorite? Hmmm… I don’t know if I can explain this. Lesse…. Oh, look, goody! I don’t have to explain anything. Here. Click here to see an example of how awesome we used to be. Also, I may get her to try this next weekend. HAAAAAAAAAAAA! I cannot express how awful I was as a cheerleader. My movements being born from years and years of dance and ballet had a dreamy quality where the rest of the squad was muscular and tight with their movements. I looked like my name should be Willow, and someone please give me a stick and some recycled ribbon so I can dance around lightly like a sprite. But I was loud and could hold up others, throw them into the air, act as a base (brick for someone to stand upon) and follow directions. My arms were always askew during cheers, but I could dance. That’s all. Cheering? With like.. um, jumps and shit that looked like this? View image Haaaaaaaaa, no. I didn’t have enough power to jump high enough with enough hang time to get my long ass legs out to my ears and then back under me so I’d end up landing in a forced second position grande plie. NOT PRETTY. Like this… View image Wait, wrong image… more like this. View image Hot right? Yes? Yes? NO… NO!!!!!!!!!!! No, it was not! Also, what’s up with this “view image bullshit”? I clearly said “Embedded” But NOOO. Whatever… the important thing is, Vag is coming to town. More later. I think I broke it again. Fredlet? Help? (dodges shoe being thrown) UPDATE: 2/16/12 Email from: VAG (permission to post, granted) I'm fixin to take my f-in computer and hog-toss it out the slider... I've been trying to message you on your POST about ME (it made me laugh, it made me cry--good tears--not snotty gross ones) I am a STAR....lalalalalaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa.... ok, so....I am not stuuuupidddddddd........but I can't get my message to post -- yes I see the verification box thingy, YES I type in the STUPID words...and NO...it won't post...it's saying I left something blank----------I DID NOT!!!!! Am I missing some techno-thingy-do-dad---what's my URL (I filled that in--but maybe wrong or something!!) ------ or my stupid computer is crazy like Christina (YOU know the CAR!!) .........ok, almost feel better.... I can't wait to see you and tackle you-- !!! Love you Sue--- am currently stretching out nightly to ensure successful cheer stunts---not really, I actually fell on the ice in my driveway yesterday and kind of feel like the lady in the "I've fallen....." commercial....I'm totally fine---just thinking about how things didn't HURT when I was younger. OH, and I got a pretty, pretty princess haircut today-in honor of our special occasion!! Love ya again! Ginger PLEASE NOTE: the commenty thingy is probably broken, just like the posting pictures thingy... fredlet only threw ONE shoe at me.... and I am so freaking excited about next weekend. Will leave that for the next post. Seacrest OUT.

No... YOUR Pants are on Fire.

2012-02-10T22:07:23Z

Hey Y’all. Just wanted to share this little nugget of awesome. It’s coming up on the holiday of holiday’s (President’s Day, dur) and I wanted to share this coupon with you so you could shop my store (yeah, look, to the right over there, where it says “You TOO can wear my stuff. Click here to shop.” click that… Over there.) My logo is the shit, it’s all unisex and funky. Get your loved ones t-shirts, coffee mugs, messenger bags, totes, mouse pads, magnets, pins, hoodies and basically anything fabulous that has my amazing Freak Friendly logo emblazoned upon it. Conversation starters, for sure. Yeah, explain THAT to your parents/colleagues/priest. Take $5 off orders of $40* or more 02/10/2012 - 02/14/2012 use code: 02LEAP10 There. Now that that little bit of housekeeping is out of the way (that originally read “out o the way, like, I think I’m Irish or something… oh wait, I AM.), I wanted to tell you guys a story. Okay. This one is kind of hard to do. I know I will be judged and judged harshly. I know that I can’t hide behind poorly written fiction; I just have to suck this one up (TWSS) and get it out there. It has been on my mind constantly since. Well, since a long time ago. I can’t pinpoint the date (I can, but I won’t) and I can’t tell you exactly who, the use of names is just improper. So I will try to be honest, brave, and to the point. Please keep in mind this is MY side of the story, if he wants to pipe up, please, by all means (even if he wants to do it anonymously), just saying that these are MY feelings and MY opinions. I may have to be vague in some cases, just to save face or try and … oh hell, let’s just get to it. Shall we? A few years ago a friend of mine and I found out that our marriages were shit. He knew LONG before I did about his own. I was kind of in denial. We both tried hard; hell… he’s still trying. I just decided I was too young to be that miserable. I had too much to offer and I was tired of being invisible. He? Well, either he’s a saint, a martyr, a masochist or something that doesn’t have a word for it, because he’s still there, taking abuse on almost a daily schedule. I know he has a temper and he blows up quickly, fights dirty and uses words that hurt… but he’s still there. They both are. Together and miserable, but at least not alone. I think that may be his biggest fear. He may be miserable but he knows she’s there. She’s a constant source of strain. But she’s not going anywhere. She is mean and sometimes petty, but at the end of the day, he knows when he gets home, he is not alone. She has asked, demanded, screamed, yelled, cried many times for him to leave, to just get the fuck out and she asks him “Why do you stay!?” I don’t know either y’all. All I know is that last fall when she said, “Take the dog and your shit and get the fuck out!”… He tried. And it failed miserably. He couldn’t even get past the house without a cataclysmic event taking place. A for Effort, but F for Showing Your Work. You did your best kid. I didn’t know where he was going to go. We have these massive communication blocks were time and messages are missing. We are close friends and let me assure you, we have never slept together, but we have been having what I would call… an emotional affair for years. We used to tell each other everything, lean on one another for support, hang out, let loose, relax and just be. And these large blocks of miscommunication would get caught up with speaking about everything… an all cards on the table approach that I am so fond of. Here’s the crux. A few years ago his wife (who is ill) asked me, “If something happens to me, will you take care of him?” I asked her exactly what she meant by that. Because, damn, that is sort of jacked up. She said, “Exactly what you think it means, take care of him, he doesn’t do well alone, you two are close and we love you.” Then I thought about it. I talked to my parents, my friends, him. And I told her I would. He and I discussed our future, we talked finances and retirement y’all. I let Nugget (current lover) and Big Papa (would love to be in the picture but is geographically unattractive) know. They were both like, “So, if something happens to her, I’m out of your life?” my reply, “Yes.” Because that’s how I roll motherfuckers. Loyal, honest and above board. Last fall as I was driving to my parents place a hoard of messages popped up. I was getting off the Interstate so at the next turn I read the messages. I was floored, and worried… I tried to message him back, no reply. I finally gave up and called him. He wasn’t where I expected but he said again to me, “I just can’t do this anymore.” I have heard him say that over and over and over. And here I sit, watching him doing it over and over and over. You know how in the dictionary that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and over and expecting a different result? Yeah, that. Same goes for me… you’ll see why in a minute. So when I asked him if he wanted to talk about it, he said no. I asked him what I could do. He said, “I could really use a friend right now.” I alerted him to the fact that I was less than 40 minutes from my parent’s house (trip normally takes about 2.5 hours) and he said, “Oh.” And that one little syllable broke my heart. I could have turned around and come back for him, I could have. But I had it on good authority that if I would have done that and chosen him over my parents not only would I feel like a shitty offspring, but that when I got back, the situation could have changed dramatically and he wouldn’t be able to see me… or something. That’s the thing y’all. There is always something. In front of my friends and privately with me we would talk about our futures, hope for what was to come. He would be open and honest about what he expected from me and vice versus. He even took a 3 hour grilling from one of my closest girlfriends in the world. The answers he gave to her questions and the things he told her unbidden made my heart soar. I could do this. I could wait for as long as it took. I could be there for him as a friend and as his potential future. My mother would whisper, “Don’t settle.” If I started to get impatient. I was, y’all… I was so impatient. I wanted him to be mine. I knew how to treat him, I knew how to love him, I knew how to be with him… Or so I thought. Where before in front of my friends and privately with me we would talk about our futures, hope for what was to come, it became harder and harder to see one another alone. We normally hung out the three of us, me, him and his bride. I was first and foremost their friend. In my head and my heart, an impatient friend, but a friend. She would remind me if he and I had laugh fest about something that she didn’t find funny (for example: in a movie) that, “I’m not gone yet.” Somehow, I became a threat. She’s a woman; maybe she could read my impatience. Maybe so could he. Probably because I told him (I KNOW, *buzzer noise*) I was feeling impatient. I’m a stupid stupid girl. I wanted to take care of him, I wanted to make sure he was healthy and sleeping well, and loved …. He was always taking care of her, his family, his friends. The small things I did for him, he told me how much he appreciated them. I wanted him to be happy y’all. OH holy hell did I ever want him to be happy. He started referring to me in friend terms. TO ME. Yeah, I knew something was up. As opposed to calling me kitten, love, babe or any other number of pet names he was like, “I’m so lucky that we are such close friends!” *record scratch* So, I set out on a mission to ask him to be as frank as possible with me about who I was to him now. He told me that things had changed, and that the future thing probably wouldn’t pan out. I was FLOORED. I asked him why. He told me that he had offered me everything I had asked for (see impatience above) and that I had turned him down flat. Let me go on… he said that he had told me about having papers ready and wanted me to go with him to the lawyers office and when he told me that I was like … Hold the MotherFucking Phone. Wait… WHAT? So he was all, “Wait, so you don’t remember now? Is that it?” And I was like, “You think I would remember something as life changing as that, No… (name) I don’t remember that. AT ALL. Can we talk about this please?” That’s what hurt him the worst. Number one, he thinks I turned him down, that I would turn down everything I wanted… and Number two, that I don’t remember doing it. “That little amnesia bullshit act isn’t cute, Susan.” So I worked my way from being his future, to his friend, to not even that. Now it’s been me that has been taking the abuse. The conversations, when I even hint that I want to discuss the above information become hectic and erratic and I am told that if I were a true friend I would not bring it up again because it is too painful to talk about. If there is an issue, I like to talk about who said what, when this happened, what we can do to get back on the right track, behavior modifications, and things that are more thoughtful and respectful. Yeah, no… he was havin NONE of that. So my feeble attempts to just be his friend, I lied and falsely owned up to it… because I didn’t know what else to do. I don’t remember it. I don’t remember the conversation, or him asking me to go to the lawyer’s office (because we would have had a WHOLE other conversation about that is not where I belong. Boundary here… this is the dissolution of your marriage? I will be over here.. let me know when it is safe to come out…) I don’t remember shit. So I was like, “Yeah, you have every right to be mad, sorry I broke your heart, forgive me? Can we get past this?” And he was like, “Our friendship has endured a lot worse, yeah, we can get our friendship back.” But like a dog with a bone and somebody give me a stick to beat this dead horse, I had to come clean, “Dude, you know I can’t lie to you anymore, I really don’t remember these actions, can we PLEASE talk about it, PLEASE?” And he got angry. At one point there was a “Fuck You I am DONE with you!” Next day, “GOOD MORNING!” I was (still am) so freaking confused. I have early onset of Alzheimer’s, he is a fucking Master Jedi of manipulation or our communications got garbled up in BlackBerry/GoogleTalk/Text/AT&T and VERIZON. Sun flares. I don’t know. I just feel like there’s always going to be an excuse. It is so much effort to help out with her, try to be cheerful, leave the room/house when they argue, listen to her shitbag him repeatedly, watch him struggle through his parent’s health as well as hers, help her (insert weird things in this space from waxing to apparel), stay positive, never talk about anything except for surface stuff with him unless it is online and sometimes that stuff gets lost y’all… it is just so hard. So last week. :: sigh :: I put him out of my misery. Yeah, his birthday was (mumble) and I missed it, but I just had to let him go. I couldn’t be his outlet for anger or his enabler to bury important life changing shit under a rug. It was too much effort. He is so wrapped up in his own drama that he probably doesn’t even know that I blocked him on Google Talk, took him off the notify list and deleted him from FaceBook. I think about him constantly, but there is only so much I can do until I either let it all go, or work my way around to forgetting all about our miscommunication errors and our previous future. I am sad. But I had to cut it off at the source. He texted me after the last blow up and said he wants to hopefully calmly chat in person sometime and reach something we both can live with and that he’ll leave me be until I am ready to chat. I haven’t responded. I don’t know what to say. Except, “pick up a motherfucking phone.” I want to pin this whole thing on miscommunication and have an open and honest (albeit painful) discussion about what exactly happened but I know that is not likely to be on the list of “To Do’s” in the future. He wants me to own up to something I can’t do and not lie about it and take responsibility for doing something I am not sure happened. I can’t do it y’all. I just can’t. I know I hurt him or he wouldn’t be lashing out like this. I’ve tried to put a time line together. I want to say that if he said (when I was headed to my parents) “I’m finally ready to take that step right now” and then all I heard was the “and I could really use a friend” part of the sentence. And I said “No, sorry, I am almost to my parents’ house.” Or something like that. That? I could believe. But I can’t meet his demands, go back to just being his friend when I have been building my future around him for the past few years. I can’t. It hurts to be someone he doesn’t trust and doesn’t find appealing anymore. He’s called me a liar y’all. A LIAR. That? I can’t abide by.

Happy New Year 2012!

2012-01-10T23:42:57Z

I have this idea. Whether right or wrong I believe that our lives are broken down into percentages. I used to call it a rule, but “idea” sounds better, and I am sure I have mentioned this before. The percentage idea is that our lives are basically* split up into 80% and 20%** (to make up the 100%... I can do math, I are S-M-R-T). The percentages are thusly, 20% is what happens to us and 80% of how we handle those situations, how we react. *Don’t argue with me. **Could even be 90% and 10%. I know, crazy right? Taking actual responsibility for our own lives? What the hell am I thinking? (Coming back to this page after working for the better part of three hours on something mindless and I swear I had a point. Racking brain. Biting lip. Going backwards in my head on what…. OH … that, yes… carry on.) So we are not just little leaves being tossed willy nilly about the sky in a wind storm. No, we definitely do have control over what happens in our lives. Some of you think you don’t, but you do. Let’s do a for instance, shall we? Let’s hypothetically say, oh… I don’t know. That you… hate your job. Number one, be thankful you have a job. B) Seriously, be really thankful that you have a job. Let’s say that you really dislike your job, but you are thankful to have employment and thank the six pound, 8 ounce baby Jesus (insert your own deity here) for the job daily and when you pay your bills, and go to the doctor because you have health insurance. I mean, you are SUPER thankful. Right? Right. That’s better. But even though you are right and properly employed… there are things that make you want to punch people in the genital area*** and you are not a violent person. No. But you really can feel the rage beginning to build and then it turns into a full blown migraine (minus the vomiting) when this screech owl of a woman bathes in gardenia based perfume that you have asked her not to wear before because of aforementioned migraines and apparent allergic reaction to said scent, yet still, STILL … you can smell it at least 30 feet before you get to your desk and she sits a mere 4 foot (by crow) away. ***And or face. Could happen. Yes? Or that you have been with your current employer for almost a decade (minus a year and some months) and you are not being paid what you believe you are worth. You have to do grunt work, not that it is below you (because you’d flip burgers for a living if you had to… amen!!!), it most certainly isn’t, but you are not feeling challenged. You have been told to lower your expectations. You know this feeling, you were married to it. (BTW… hi ex-husband**** who is now researching blogs. Sir, did it ever occur to you, ironically or otherwise, that it would be rude after not showing the least bit of interest in your previous bride’s blog for almost a decade until you wanted to start one of your own to ask her for advice? No? Just checking.) ****As an aside, he would never get past the part where I lose my train of thought. Or that run on sentence. You feel like you are in a rut. Yeah, you kind of want to hunker down until the employment percentages change and are more in your favor. But here’s what you do. In a jacked up job market, regardless of where in the world a job is (Fairbanks, Alaska? Seriously? Yup.) you will make changes to your very marketable resume and send that puppy out. You will sling resumes far and wide. Your job within your job is to interview at least every six months just to keep your interviewing chops about you and to keep your resume current. Hey, wait. I know that person. I AM that person. I walk by a little shadow box, mounted by the door to my apartment, with a fortune from a Chinese cookie inside that reads, “One day you will be an accomplished writer.” And the guilt that takes hold of me sometimes for being a humongous LAZY whore is crushing. But these are the things I (we) can change. I do challenge myself to send out my resume, I do interview, I may turn down the offer because yes, I am comfortably rutted into my routine, and I am not being challenged, but I am employed. I have health insurance. I love that I have a job to get up for in the morning. I love that finding a job ISN’T my job. I may not always love the job, but I have one. And I am thankful. Being a massive lazy whore and not finishing a book, a short story, a novella because … well, it’s hard is such a pussy move. Hello, my name is Susan. (from the crowd gathered around on metal folding chairs “Hi Susan…..”) And I’m a puss. I have had this discussion with the always beautiful and talented Weet on several occasions and my excuse (that’s all it is, an excuse to be lazy and not take the time, not research, not start an outline, not even throw ideas into a bucket… nothing) is that everything I write turns out to look like I am completely ripping off the story line from Blade Runner. No, seriously… check it out. In which I kill off a main character. PARTY FOUL! At least I didn’t kill her off in my first attempt. Weet’s argument is this. Art is cyclical. Written word, poetry, fiction, movies, you name it. In 70 years it’ll be rehashed and covered again. Example? My favorite one she rattled off in a millisecond was, “Romeo and Juliette?... West Side Story. Same thing, just reworked for the time period in which it was placed.” I’ve never even taken part in National Novel Writing Month. Why? Because I am a chicken… and as previously discussed… a LAZY chicken. I’m like one of those boneless chickens from Gary Larson's Far Side, "Boneless Chicken Ranch" cartoon. (Have image downloaded, but Moveable Type is jacked... use your imagination.) So, after coming perilously close to breaking my New Year’s Resolution (no noodling in 2012), I have decided to keep my head held high and regardless of how retarded the story is (in a bordello, a mustache competition and a sloth rescue?... WRITE IT!) then I will make my posts here more frequent. I will start on a novel. And I will keep slinging that resume. You guys never know when it’ll stick. Much love and Happy New Year!

How To: Give Your Lady An O

2011-12-28T22:58:48Z

In this season of giving and receiving it has been brought to my attention that there is not enough “How To” manuals on the shelves. No, my dears, I am not speaking of How To … Make a Better Bundt Cake, Realizing Your Self Worth, Turning a Million in Real Estate into Twenty Five Bucks of Cold Hard Cash. I am speaking of How To Guides to giving that special gal in your life the gift of a magnificent orgasm. I don’t care if you are bi, straight, gay or just really friendly*… this season give her the gift that keeps on giving. And I am sure that you will receive in return**. *I am not a whore. I am just very friendly. **Unless they are slutty, selfish bitches. You know who you are my darlings. The first thing you have to realize is that each woman, like a unique special snowflake, is as individual and as special as a hot house orchid. Sometimes, they can be hardy. Sometimes they can wilt on you for no apparent reason. And sometimes, they need a hand/mouth combination of… spritzing. If you know what I mean, and I think you do. (You can purchase those teeny little spritzing cans at your nearest Home Depot or Lowe’s. And if you actually try to use one of those on her… special flower, you may be receiving an all expense paid (by you) trip to the ER to fix your broken jaw.***) ***Unless she’s into that sort of thing… then, mrow, call me mama! (I have no idea what I am saying.) Alrighty, back on track. So each woman is unique in her own way. Some women are all about the, “Wooo!” “Lemme get on top!” “TURN OFF THE LIGHTS!” and then Bam! They are happy campers. Most women are a little more complicated than that. You have to take into consideration several things before you proceed: 1) Her state of mind at that particular moment. 2) How she is feeling about her body at that particular moment. 3) How she is feeling about YOU at that particular moment. 4) Is she particularly stressed out? 5) Have you been sweet to her lately? 6) Have you told her she is pretty? 7) Does she believe you? Or does she just think you’re sweet talking her to get her to do that thing she does with her tongue? 8) Is she planning on murdering you for being a cheating whore? 9) Does she have family coming into town? 10) Would she rather be doing a million other things that she knows she has to do right that second because each moment that passes is a lost opportunity to do laundry, pluck her eyebrows, run to the store for a half gallon of milk, has she shaved and lotioned properly?, do her thighs look good in this light? 11) Seriously, WHAT the fuck is wrong with you? TURN OFF(down) THE LIGHTS! 12) Have you touched her in sweet ways all day/week/month long? Or is this the first time you have touched her in months? If your answer is 12 is anything other than "I touch her lovingly every chance I get."… then fuck you. Go to hell. Everyone else, keep reading. So, yeah, you have your plate full thinking about all of those things. But just think, we’re women, we’re crazy (in a good way) all of that shit above is already in our heads. Your mission, if you chose to accept it, is to make allllllllllllll of those thoughts go away. You can do it, we know you can. With the right combination of affection, lighting, distraction and timing she’ll be putty in your hands (mouth, whatever). Our minds are full on tilt-a-whirls of thought process. Get us to focus on you (or better yet, ourselves), on what you are doing to our bodies, make us feel like we are one big “pre-sneeze” and we will do whatever you want (within reason). Touch us gently, make out with us, kiss our necks, the arches of our feet (unless we hate that (TRIXIE)), the backs of our knees. Turn off the phones, lock the doors, don’t try to do a music mix (I beg of you, we’ll be analyzing each song wondering what the lyrics mean), just make sure it’s a comfortable temperature and then unleash your lust. Take cues from her body, is she pulling away? She doesn’t like that. Is she leaning into it? She does. Good going… keep it up. Is she still talking? Shut her up, kiss her. Do something you know will make her do that sharp intake of breath, followed by a small moan that you look for as a “GO GO GO!” sign. If you do not know what this means… close this page and go ask an older man, or better yet, an older woman to take you under their wing and for the love of God, teach you. Take off her clothes as she would take them off of herself, either slowly or efficiently, always removing each item with care or then folding it neatly and placing it away from a candle if you have one lit nearby. You don’t want her thinking, “Dear God the house could catch fire, and THAT is my Favorite blouse!” Right? This is all about taking away her worries, making it like a spa environment. As a matter of fact, that is a great way to look at this. If you can make this a safe little vacation bubble for the two of you (yes, even if it is only for an hour or two) that would be a fabulous way to view it. Take away her worries, her stresses; make sure she is concentrating on the things that you are doing to make her feel sexy, sultry, in the moooooooooood. Yeah, most of this is mental. We know. Seriously, we’re insane. It’s ok. We’re aware of it too. Just help make it go smoothly and all will be right. Once you have her in the mood, and naked… (or in a little chemise, if she’s self conscious about her body) then tell her you would love to fulfill her fantasies. That you want her to feel good. But not too much pressure y’all. I once had this man want me to orgasm at the stroke of midnight… on New Year’s Eve… while eating chocolate dipped strawberries and holding a flute of champagne while he went down on me. Um. No. I am not a circus performer. The less thought she has to put into it (letting go is key), the better. This is about HER after all, right? So make it about her, move around her, don’t make her come to you and sit/lay a certain way so your damn hand/arm/face/neck/knees don’t get tired. OMG do not get me started. Actually, if she trusts you, the more thought you can take away from her, the better, right? So, maybe a sleep mask as an impromptu blind fold, maybe a scarf as a way to tie her wrists together softly so she doesn’t feel like she has to please you simultaneously. Small things like that y’all… they work wonders. Listen to her. As a matter of fact if you are okay with taking a little verbal instructions, say so… softly… but NEVER EVER EVER FALL ASLEEP. Oh holy, Lord. Seriously, you wanna set back Orgasm-O’Clock? Fall Asleep. Yeah, go ahead, make her feel BORING. “Hi, your vagina is boring to me, I am going to fall asleep with my face, finger, whatever inside of you.” No. NEVER. We don’t care if you just pulled a 72 hour shift as a NICU nurse, DON’T Care… Don’t fall asleep on us. Take No Doz, load up on caffeine … just stay awake if you want to give your lady an O-face she’ll never forget. And y’all? Don’t be afraid of toys. Seriously. There is nothing insufficient with you or your technique (maybe) we are just used to a little bzzzzzzzzzzzzzz to go along with our self appointed “Me Time.” Climb aboard, don’t mention that anything is weird****, and just enjoy the ride. ****So help you God, if you use a toy and your hand to make any sort of S.O.S. noise, the backbeat to your favorite jam or the melody to your favorite team’s fight song. We are not human kazoos. Start slow when you go in for any kind of penetration. Some women like it shallow; some women like it deep, some women only want you to lightly lick their left earlobe. Whatever it is, do it. And if she isn’t into that at all, then don’t do it… take it all up top and tap lightly or massage small circles on her clitoris. If you can’t find it and if you don’t know where it is, ask. We’ll show you. Most women like a combo of penetration with clitoral stimulation, but please keep in mind, you are not a jack hammer and our vaginas are not pot holes in a city street. Unless she specifically requests a fisting, then, by all means. Take your time, listen and watch for body language and verbal cues. Biggest tip I can give you, kind reader, if you find the G-Spot (again, if you don’t know where it is, ask… or for Pete’s sake, Google is your friend (Ps: Porn is not)) and she gets wetter and you hear the verbal cues we discussed earlier, this is NOT the time… I repeat, this is NOT the time to pull a “variety is the spice of life” move. Consistency is key when you get all the stars aligned… then keep doing whatever it is you are doing, for as long as it takes… I promise, it’s worth it.

If Only I Could Draw.

2011-11-18T21:58:48Z

I was having this amazing dream where everything was crisp and vibrant. The colors were kind of soft with a patina but only around the edges. In the middle the contrast was so bright you could taste the dust motes on your tongue, you could see the starkness between a ray of sunlight and shadow like the light carved the darkness with a blade. I could smell the exhaust of the little scooters in the streets, racing past at break-neck speed. I could feel the dirt stuck to my face. I was on the phone, and walking, walking, walking, pleading with an embassy, talking to confidants and listening to the advice of close friends and smart people. I was working a deal, it was so complex, sort of like the domino theory of transplants that only happens on Grey’s Anatomy I was so hot, sweaty and grime stained, and I kept wiping my face with an old dark blue bandana that I had shoved in the back pocket of my cargo pants. Sometimes the point of view would be like that of a “Ghost Hunter” with the shoulder mounted (POINT IT AT MY FACE!) camera, kind of shaky and missing frames. Sometimes the point of view was very circular, because this deal…. MAN… this deal had to go through. I was working on (for pennies a day, enough to buy a cup of coffee) adopting children for each of my family members, my friends, and the man whom I am sleeping with (shut up). I was adopting these babies with flies in their eyes so my family and friends would receive a picture and a description of Umfoofoo and Shakira and about how they love to learn, dance and read, and notes that would read, “Thank You my new adopted family! Because Of YOU I can afford a flip flop and this aluminum ashtray.” It’s a freaking Christmas MIRACLE! Somehow the dominos didn’t fall right and I ended up with a retired circus grizzly bear who was wildly incontinent and who would remove his diapers if they weren’t just motherfucking perfect. My biggest worry THEN was how to get him changed if he wouldn’t lift a freaking paw to help. Not to mention how to catch an Alzheimerized grizzly to change its diaper. Freaking nightmare. Stupid bear.

Samara is in My Toilet.

2011-11-02T22:12:35Z

Mascara on lashes and lipstick on kittens Bright colored sweaters and being bitten Brushing my hair being tied up with strings These are a few of my favorite things Products and lotions and high leather booties Earrings and make up that make me look cute-y Smacking my butt cheeks ‘til they fairly sting These are a few of my favorite things … Oh… hi… sorry, you caught me singing to myself. Remember the other day when we were talking about things getting clogged… toilet… slow drain in the tub. Well, I have been singing this little ditty (and variations thereof) in my head since Monday. Monday was the day of “ONCE YOU SEE IT, IT CAN NOT BE UNSEEN!” My toilet was clogged again. AGAIN. I know, if I wouldn’t use a catcher’s mitt amount of toilet paper to protect my hand from pee, this wouldn’t happen. Whatever, it’s a quirk. Deal, okay? So, yeah, I was working away from home… toilet clogs, I call the people… the service people. Whoever they are, those guys that make living in an apartment awesome. I have a leak? “Hey, um… I have a leak.” Boom. Fixed. I have a clog? “Hi, yes, it’s clogged again.” Boom. Fixed. Those guys. So I called the people. “Hi, I have a clogged potty and the drain in the bathroom is slow.” “You have one bathroom only, yes?” “Yes.” “H’okay, we’ll be there soon.” “YAY!” This Lilliputian man shows up and knocks. I have to open my door to see anything other than the top of his head as he was too short for the peephole. Pocket service man. He was carrying a plunger and two sets of pliers. The needle nosed pliers will be important in a few minutes. Remember them. He nods up at me and smiles. I can see him thinking, “Oh great, just what I need, a big, fat chick who ate too much of her own Halloween candy calling me for a clogged toilet.” He was pleased (I’m going by the smile on his face) to get to the bathroom and find the water clear…. Just clogged. He took care to remove things from the back of the toilet, bath salts in a glass container ect. and remove the back lid. He flushed, plunged and was done in like 30 seconds. I gave him some paper towels and a plastic sack to put the plunger in and he turned his attention to the tub. Now I have had these issues before (clogged toilet, slow drain), but I have never been there for the actual fixing of said issues. This is important. He reached into the tub and unscrewed the little stopper for the drain. (Excuse me. I need to walk away for a moment.) He used one set of pliers to take the stopper off and the other… the other to reach in and grab a giant mass of (Dear God, it looked like something from The Grudge) hair and with a gleeful grin, dropped it directly into the toilet and flushed it. He went back from more and this time pulled out more hair that rivaled the size of an East Texas barn rat. He flushed this as well. I was thinking, “If that … (vurp/swallow) gets caught and clogs… I’m running for it….” He went back a third time and rooted around for a moment with the awful noise of metal on metal on wet, moldy, HAIR and pulled out a third mound of… You know… I am pretty sure that he may have been fucking with me, because if I lost that much hair between this and the last time I called “the people” for my slow drain, I would be well and surely bald. But he hauled up another clump of … Lord. Yes, more hair, and I can guarantee you … Ok, I’m making myself sick about this… so let’s not talk about it anymore, and I’ll promise to not ever be home for “the people” for when they come back. Or I just won’t talk about it. Ok, just one more thing. I’ve been having nightmares that the chick from The Ring is going to do that weird jerky crawl thing out of my ~~well~~ toilet/TV in the middle of the night and breathe on me. Happy Halloween! BTW… I still have all of my candy left. Not one trick or treater. I would like to take the time to blame this on me following Steam Me Up Kid and Gween Brick on FaceBook and giggling maniacally while sitting on the porch. Yeah, that could be it.

Giant Wad of Toilet Paper.....

2011-10-28T20:33:50Z

So let’s talk about shit. Literally. I wanna sit y’all down and talk about bodily functions. I have a small one bedroom, one bathroom apartment. Well, one bedroom and a bath and a half (Max’s restroom is in the laundry room… that counts, right?). So my… business… is done in a very private area. Alone, with 4 deadbolts and a garage door between me and the outside world. I am not one to follow you into the restroom for conversation, I have a shy bladder* and on family trips my mother and I have been known to “go without” for neigh on a week. My daddy says it makes us mean. Moving on. *Friends in college would be at the apartment and whenever I would (Khaaaaaaan!) “break the seal” after one or seven too many beers, Chad would holler through the apartment, “WE CAN ALL HEAR YOU PEE!” to which my bladder would close up, the kegals stopping the flow at the mere mention of someone hearing me tinkle… and I would carry the heavy weight of a bladder full of beer around with me the rest of the night, while someone would try to tickle me. Lovely. PS… Fuck you all. So, suffice it to say, I have…. Issues? Thank goodness the X’s trailer** had two bathrooms… and locks on the doors. As he would be one to come in while I was in the tub and make motions towards… his… morning constitution. (Gag.) I would hurl things like razors, loofas, towels, whatever was in reach, screeching, “Getoutgetoutgetout!” until he backed out saying, “Okay, ok, ok… I’m going to the other one… Lor-DUH.” Yes, he could make “Lord” two syllables. It’s a talent. **Oh the irony. It burns. Mr. X is a very polite man who would (even in agony of appendicitis… which makes you… gassy) have the grace to act embarrassed if he tooted. (I’m 12, pardon me while I hide my mouth behind my hand and giggle at the word toot.) He never dutch ovened me… Thank God. Or anything like yelling, “Hey, come lookit the shape of my deuce!” I’m not saying that I don’t have baggage, I do. I am also fully admitting that if there was an attractive man, over 5’10” who had similar values, got my motor runnin (if you know what I mean), was kind, nice to old people and animals, employed (or wealthy enough not to have to be) and made me laugh and wanted to make sure I was treated in a Queenly manner (spoiled, spoiled, spoiled)… if this said Mr. Right was firing on all cylinders and a great conversationalist. If he was smart and liked to brush my hair and pet me… I still don’t know if I could get past a dude who wants to poop with the bathroom door open, then talk about it later like it was a prized piece of art. Or ask me to pull his finger or fart on me (in my general direction) then laugh and run away (or… stay… either position is equally repugnant). Is this mad? I mean, yeah, I use enough toilet paper in one session to make sure NOTHING TOUCHES MY HAND… EVER. Enough that would provide perfectly stable and safe padding shall your vehicle’s air bag fail to deploy. What? I’m “green” in other areas, but we will NOT skimp on the toilet paper. I DO have one problem. While at work (ok, more than one problem) there are chatty people in the stalls. The toilets could flush a housecat, which is awesome. But I have… difficulty even trying to void my bladder when there are people in there freshening up, talking gossip, or God forefend… talking on their cell phones. And for some reason I am mortified when an older lady comes in and just sits down to well… do her business, noisily then comes out while I am boiling my hands and tries to be chatty. Lady, I just heard you drop off the kids at the pool and hit the air breaks like six times, no, I don’t want to discuss my boots. Yes, they are awesome. And they help out a charity. (distant pimp music) And now it’s time for a break down. Lookit. These are mine. Wearing them right now. So excited I may have to pee! Ut oh… Go Here… Buy them. And NO, I am not getting rid of 2 Pairs of shoes just because I bought ONE… THESE are for Charity!