tag:www.suzannadanna.net,2012://1 2012-01-10T23:56:31Z Princess of Irony Movable Type 3.35 tag:www.suzannadanna.net,2012://1.1441 2012-01-10T23:42:57Z 2012-01-10T23:56:31Z

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...

Suzannadanna 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! ]]> tag:www.suzannadanna.net,2011://1.1438 2011-12-28T22:58:48Z 2012-01-10T23:52:47Z

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...

Suzannadanna 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. tag:www.suzannadanna.net,2011://1.1437 2011-11-18T21:58:48Z 2011-11-18T21:59:41Z

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...

Suzannadanna 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. ]]> tag:www.suzannadanna.net,2011://1.1436 2011-11-02T22:12:35Z 2011-11-02T22:15:28Z

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...

Suzannadanna 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. ]]> tag:www.suzannadanna.net,2011://1.1435 2011-10-28T20:33:50Z 2011-10-28T20:38:30Z

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...

Suzannadanna 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! ]]> tag:www.suzannadanna.net,2011://1.1434 2011-10-19T20:32:10Z 2011-10-19T20:43:34Z

Victoria felt like she had a placard hung around her neck declaring her the world’s most gullible woman. “If it were more accurate,” she thought to herself, “then it would just read “FOOL”.” Victoria, Tori to her friends, had always been the one to jump into things that most others...

Suzannadanna did love her and he fully intended for the time to come, and soon, for him to hold Tori on a pedestal on which she deserved to be. Tori cried. At home… alone, later that evening. The years stretched out before Tori. She spent time with her friends and one man in particular. A man with whom Tori was certain that there would never be a future. He had enough baggage to rent space and she would never be that priority that she wanted to be for someone special. That priority that she and Jimmy had promised one another. She worked, she spent time with her family, but the time she normally spent with Jimmy and his wife dwindled. Previously she and Jimmy spoke every day. They would text back and forth continually keeping up a string of playful banter mixed with emotional support and serious matters. The chatter screeched to an abrupt halt, the texting and phone calls were far and few between. One evening on her way home from a business trip Tori, as was her custom, texted Jimmy to let him know that she was on the road and when she would be arriving. About an hour later he responded with a message, “I can’t do this anymore.” Tori waited, wondering which subject he was referring to. He went on to tell her about a large row that he and his bride had been in for several days. The fight was never ending, it seemed, and he wanted to just leave. Tori reminded him that he had a key to her place and as always, was welcome to seek refuge. He had never done so before, so Tori doubted that he would. Another hour went by and the next flurry of texts were confusing and frightening. Jimmy told Tori that he was on his way out the door when something happened with his bride and that she had fallen and that they were on the way to the ER. Missed calls and undelivered texts resulted in Tori arriving a little before 11pm completely uninformed about Jimmy and his bride’s situation and very worried. Finally getting a call back from Jimmy, he said that he was at the ER and could really use a friendly face. Tori packed a bag of snacks and bottled waters and headed toward the ER, putting all of the missed communication and miscommunication between she and Jimmy behind her she went to stand by her friend. At the ER the tension was so thick it was hard to breath. The bride was in pain, Jimmy was in pain and his eyes looked sorrowful, tired and just plain beaten down. Tori greeted the wife, asked her if she could help make her more comfortable… with that Tori sat beside her friend and waited. After a while when Jimmy would leave the room the bride would speak directly to Tori, asking her about her trip, completely lucid when moments before she had been incoherent with pain and a mixture of medications. Tori was shocked. She looked at the defiant gaze in the bride’s eyes and realized she had gone way too far. In trying to support her friend, she had helped wedge open the gap that was already there in Jimmy’s marriage. She had enabled him to not lean on his bride, his already intended, his partner. She had let him think he had a safe haven waiting for him when he decided to let go. She was guilty. She was ashamed. She was furious. Tori did not know how to deal with these emotions. Clearly her father was correct. It was a slippery slope. She was in love with a married man. How could she let that happen? Of course Jimmy was going to honor his vows and stand beside his bride. He was miserable, but he was comfortable. It was hard to imagine that after all the talk that had passed between Jimmy and Tori, she had felt the vibrations of the train on the track beneath her feet but was too stupid to get off when the train barreled down upon her. She watched Jimmy backtrack into his comfort zone. She listened as the bride dirtbagged her friend. She watched as Jimmy turned and said Tori wasn’t the person he thought she was. Someone he couldn’t really see himself with in the future. She felt hurt, betrayed and mostly, she felt the fool. She knew it was the oldest story in the book, she just never thought it would happen to her. Tori stepped back and took a look at herself in the mirror. Drawn across the bathroom mirror in red lipstick was one word to keep her in place. To remind her that she looked like a fool. She was THAT girl. And what was worse, was that she was in love with someone who would never be hers. Unrequited love… “So this is what that feels like.” She said to her reflection, the word “FOOL” on the mirror breaking her face into lines. She began to cry. Artwork by ELLY, used without permission because I can’t find her. But… all credit given. ]]> tag:www.suzannadanna.net,2011://1.1433 2011-10-13T17:42:19Z 2011-10-13T17:59:26Z

I had dinner the other evening with someone who I thought would remain firmly seeded in my past. The FB message, a basic, “hey, I’m in town, wanna grab a beer and catch up?” kinda threw me for a loop because A) it was so freaking casual and B) I...

Suzannadanna Kerry: How was your dinner last night? me: It was nice, went to Down Under Pub and Grill had a few beers got caught up. Apparently I am a complete and total whore (or my vagina is just really friendly) because she was not satisfied with my answer. Kerry: And… me: Annnnnnnnnnnnd… I got abducted by aliens and now know the meaning of life. me: And… What? Kerry: Ok, b that way… me: You wanted something juicy and whorish to happen didn’t you? Heh Kerry: [preach to the] Choir here me: Want me to make something up? I’m good at it. :) me: He proclaimed his undying love for me, said a day didn’t go by that he didn’t rue the day I left Nacogdoches, he brought 2 dozen peach tulips and a pair of Kerry: edible underwear? me: Tiffany diamond stud earrings and a map of his land and handed over the deed… along with his heart. Kerry: Is this like Mad Libs? me: He wooed me with words of hunting, fishing and exotic trips to Africa and the Hedonism Resort. Then swore that he had full (from neck down) laser hair removal. Kerry: (silence) me: His nails were manicured, his hands were soft, his body … hard as steel, we’re eloping this weekend. Kerry: (silence) me: And he bought me a pony. I’ve only seen the picture, but Patches looks lovely. Kerry: Patches of shit. me: You don’t believe me? I’m hurt. Then I sent her a picture with the caption below.
Patches and the baby boy he bought for me too.. She’s still not really speaking to me. ]]> tag:www.suzannadanna.net,2011://1.1432 2011-09-23T17:17:07Z 2011-09-23T17:18:13Z

So we (and by we, I mean Steph, Stacey and I) took Kerry out to dinner last night to celebrate her OMG HOLY CRAP SHE’S TURNING THE BIG 4-0 TODAY, RIGHT NOW! As in SHE CAME OUT OF HER MOTHER’S WOMB (she’s gonna kill me) FORTY YEARS AGO ON THIS...

Suzannadanna FORTY YEARS AGO ON THIS VERY DATE! IN THE YEAR OF OUR LORD, 1971. There were no strippers, no all girl fight club, no circle of validation, it was just a normal night out on the town for four ladies. ONE WHO HAPPENS TO HAVE JUST ENTERED INTO THE REALM OF ALL THAT IS FORTY! Well, it was us and a very odd little man. Let’s call him Eli, as that was his name. And Eli was his name-o. Hey OH! No. I will not apologize for getting “Old McDonald” stuck in your head. So, we went to a fondue place that sounds a lot like “The Melting Pot”… because that was its name. We figured we’d have a nice leisurely dinner of boiling our food. And get caught up gossip wise and tell stories and… try to assuage Kerry that NO, nothing weird is going to happen. No, we had NOT… I repeat NOT… hired Randy the Master Blaster to come and gyrate on her lap with his 50+ (60+?) year old balls trying to escape from a flimsy man-thong. We knew good and well enough to be cool about this because that lady holds a grudge worse than my sister and we are all gonna be lining up for the next age bracket, “Yeah, I’m 40. Hot right?”, soon. Stacey first, then me, then our baby Steph is last. If we would have pulled anything funny … including, but not limited to, singing Happy Birthday to her… we would all pay, and pay dearly. (Excuse me. I need to call her and sing. Annnnnnnnd done. Yes, it was beautiful. Shut up.) So we walked in, some lady that had been huffing glitter and had the voice of Glenda the Good was all sing-songy, “Welcome to the Melting Pot where all of your dreams will come true!!!!” (sweeping arm gesture included) I was like, “SAH-Weet! So I can finally get that large, naked, mute, Samoan massage therapist I’ve been harping on and on about?” Stacey and I met Steph and Kerry at the bar area where the latter two were having a glass of wine. Glenda the Good showed us to our table and Kerry was immediately suspicious. I went back to the bar area to settle up the tab with Steph and it took a little longer than forever because as soon as we returned to the table Kerry was all (she was wearing a monocle and had a very bright light pointed at us… surprisingly, her Russian accent was spot on), “Vaht vere you doin-k that took so verrrry long, my little pretties?” “Dude, relax, nothing, I was just… um… making out with (enter Eli) … Eli here in the hallway.” “BullShitz, because Eli was in here… with US!” Then she threw her small cigar down and crushed it out with her patented riding boot. (Man, that lady can really work a Nazi-period pantaloon.) We calmed her down. No singing, no balloons, no strippers, no kumbahya, no clowns (shudder), no pirates making balloon animals, no surprises… relax*, we promise it’s just dinner and a few gifts. We had no idea how odd the evening would turn out. *Is it just me or when someone tells you to “relax” when you are already a little agitated, you immediately picture that scene in any grocery store in the galaxy where the lady has had it up to HERE with her precious little unique snowflake of an offspring and they are having a complete meltdown. Cue snot and hiccupping sobs and the mother grabbing said wee child by their upper arms and screaming into their faces, “RELAX! JUST… (huge sigh) RE-LAX!!!... (muttered, ‘Jesus Christ’)”….? Just me? O-KAAAAAAAAAAY then. So Eli is taking drink orders and is completely flustered by our lack of concern for his spiel. He had told me in the hallway that he knew me and was glad I was back. I just assumed (yeah, yeah) that he was one of the many waiters that used to serve Mister and I back in the day. We had a special section and everything… whatever. I told Eli, it was good to see him again... they all look alike, I swear, and he was even like “You’re the one with the turtle joke.” And I was like “Uh, yeah… I mean, who isn’t? Am I right?” (high five) Whatever. Because, Yes, I am that person. So he was like pointing around the table, “Wine, wine, wine and… Voss sparkling water over there for my special friend… correct?” Kerry,“Whatever.” (with an eyebrow raise in my direction) Me, Steph and Stacey, “Um, yes.” And he disappeared. Kerry: What the fuck is all that about? I call bullshit. Me: Um, seriously, I have no idea. Stacey: :snort: Steph: What? Kerry: You do not know that guy. Me: You are probably right. I mean, I have been here quite a bit but… the last time I was here was with Paul, so… um… Kerry: You totally don’t know that guy. Steph: That would have been a LONG time ago. Stacey: No kidding. Me: But, in all honesty, the turtle joke IS mine… so… I don’t know. Steph: Which turtle joke? Me: There are so many…. And Eli returns with more info on the spiel. Kerry: :cough:Bullshit:cough: Me: Um, Eli? I haven’t been here in quite a long time; I really don’t think I am who you think I am. What I mean is… I don’t believe we’ve met. Eli: Of course we have. You’re unforgettable. And the turtle joke (private laughter, for himself… as I guess… it was private). Me: Eli, then you’ve been here for what?... Two? Four years? Eli: Oh, um… no… two and a half months. Me: Yeah, no… definitely no. Not who you think I am. We don’t know one another. Eli: You MUST have come in with another girlfriend or something. Me: Um, no. Eli: But… Me: Can we move along? Spiel? Eli: Okay, so the special “Big Evening Out”….. (waiter speak) Kerry: Liar. Me: Shut up. Stacey: Heh. Steph: What turtle joke? Eli departs and Kerry opens her gifts, and then gives US party favors because she’s just like that, yo. She hands something to Steph and says, “To keep you from, you know…. On your trip…” Stacey is like, “What?” Kerry: You haven’t heard about this? Me: Oh, shit. Stacey: Nope. Steph: :giggle: Kerry: Well, so Susan and I were talking the other night about Steph and all that she juggles and how brilliant she is, and how gracefully she handles everything, Me: About how things can be falling all around and total chaos but it’s like she rises above it and has this calm… like…. If you put a stethoscope to her temple you’d hear something like Canon in D major or… la la la la la la la la laaaaaa (smurf theme) Stacey: Is that the theme from the Smurfs? Kerry: Yes…. but me being the pessimist that I am I was like, ‘nothing can be that perfect… I bet she’s secretly a cutter’… Me: So I was like, yeah, but if she is, she’s just cutting a little under her left breast, where no one would ever see… with a perfect little ritual and a tee tiny little blade that’s been, bedazzled or something Stacey: Y’all are awful… Kerry: It was never meant to be mean… because we were discussing her brilliance… Steph: :giggle: Me: And Kerry FUCKING TOLD HER! Steph: :giggle: Stacey: :gasp: Kerry: It wasn’t like that… I told her how we thought she was amazing… Me: And Steph punked me SO hard. Stacey: What did she do? Me: One night I got this text from Steph “Y’all caught me! Good thing too, as I was just sharpening my Exacto knife!” Steph: Hah ha ahahahahahaaaaa heeeee Stacey: Oh, My… God. Me: I know, right!? I was mortified, I had NO clue how Kerry had presented it to Steph and I would have HATED more than anything to hurt her feelings…. Kerry: Sue was freaking so hard, she kicked me out of the vault club! Me: The next morning freaking Steph punks me again, “La la la la la la!!! Have a Smurfy Day! I’m off to work!” Stacey: …. Holy shit. Steph: heeeee! Me: I know… right? Jesus. So I pulled my balls out of my purse and called her that evening and rambled on and on … on her voicemail no less… about … everything, I may have admitted to being the 2nd man on the grassy knoll. … whatever… I felt awful, and clearly she had taken it with the intention it was meant… but she punked me HARD. Put me RIGHT in my place. Eli returned cheerfully, “So how are my favorite girls?” Kerry tried to kill him with a glare. It didn’t even slow him down. “Do you know what you want for starters, birthday girl?” (GLARE) Heh. He would interrupt every conversation, every bought of laughter, even ordering was weird. Eli: So we’ll just start with our resident expert over there… Me: Ok, so for our cheese fondues we’ll have… Eli: OMG, that is gorgeous turquoise… Me: :blank stare: Stacey: Your necklace. Eli: What would you call that? Me: A pendant, a medallion… um, 12 dollars from Torrid? Stacey: Heh. Kerry: (Glare of death) Steph: (sips wine… eyes darting left and right) Me: Ok, so for our cheese fondues we’ll have… Eli: Are you sure, the blah blah blah Ginger… with the Big Night Out…. Me: …. for our cheese fondues we’ll have… Eli: I mean really, for the price it is your best bet and with the coupon… Me: …. for our cheese fondues we’ll have… Eli: Ok…. And your salads, and entrees? Me: (orders for whole table) Eli: Fabulous choices. I knew I could count on you to pick the best. (he departs) Me: Is he gone? Stacey: Yeah. Me: Holy shit. I mean… wow. Sorry. And did he just queen out on us? Kerry: Nelly… Me: Huh? The evening went on like that for hours. We would be laughing and joking and enjoying our cheese and he’d come in and freaking spill Kerry’s wine all over Steph. Steph… not stabbing him with her little fondue fork… was gracious about it. And then he’d jump into an already rousing laughter from the four of us with a “HA HA HA HA! I know! Me too!” Then he’d try to assert his manliness, “The last time you saw me I must have had that FULL BEARD.” (in my head… Like Katie Holmes?) Or “Hah, yeah, I know… If I would have tried to shush my ex fiancé she wouldn’t be having ANY of that!” (in my head… where are the three snaps in Z formation?) We of course had a blast. We always do with the four of us get together. It was just a very strange evening. After the checks were paid and we were all walking out, I SWEAR he tried to follow us downstairs to the cars. It was strange, “Y’all come back and when you do… you’d BETTER ask for ME!” Once downstairs, “Like hell I will.” From Stacey and “Fuck, how much did you guys tip him!? He tried to come home with us!” From Kerry. So Happy Birthday to my dear friend Kerry. May this year be the best and the next 40 even better. I love you! ]]> tag:www.suzannadanna.net,2011://1.1430 2011-09-02T20:34:29Z 2011-09-02T20:40:12Z

Few things on this glorious Friday afternoon. Thing the first. I am so excited that next week I will be taking off the 6th through the 9th and I may not do a DAMN thing. SUCK IT people who have to accomplish many worthwhile things while on vacation. This is...

Suzannadanna CuteBoy: (lots of information about his 3 year dog who either ate something or scratched his throat and CB took him to the vet, vet found nothing wrong with dog, gave dog (who coughed up blood) a steroid shot and an antibiotic… dog is happy… CB is a freaking wreck) Me: (gives CB many outs (over hours and hours and even like a day) for the weekend with family at parents house on the lake… WITH LOTS OF BOOZE) CuteBoy: (finally takes the out) Me: (rolls eyes) CuteBoy: I mean I’m just so worried freaked out that (blah blah blah… I stop reading) Me: I understand, I really do. (Which I do.. Shut up, I totally do.) CuteBoy: It’s just that if this happens again (family members whom he is also taking care of) won’t be able to handle it if I am gone. Me: I understand. CuteBoy: (MORE WORDS ABOUT DOG) Me: Look man, I get it, I really do. He is your furry child and you worry and that’s fine. I just wanted to let you know I am feeling a little passive aggressive about the whole situation and apologize for it. CuteBoy: (MORE WORDS ABOUT DOG) Me: Step back for a moment if you can and really look at the situation from my perspective and my outlook on where I stand priority wise. CuteBoy: I know, that is why I am trying to work on (MORE WORDS ABOUT DOG) Me: And please take this with the intent in which I mean it (sweetly). He was there before me, and he’ll be there long after I’m gone. I understand that he’s more of a priority than I am. Doesn’t mean I have to like it. I’ve never been #1… not with you, not with anyone. And I’ve been freaking married… TWICE… so that’s MY issue, not for you to fix. So when I say I understand about (DOG) I really do, OK? This also goes for your mom, your sister(s), nephews, job, pool, car, house, yard work, friends and workouts, I get it. CuteBoy: Please stop that… Me: Alright. CuteBoy: I know you understand, but know you mean way more to me than most of that above. Me: (13 minutes of silence with open jaw) I appreciate the sentiment. 40 minutes later: Me: Just an aside. I would have left out the word “most” up there because I’m over here all “oooh, hopefully I rank above the pool… Oh! Or the yard? The car!?! (hopeful face, fingers crossed!)" CuteBoy: Awwwww fuck me with a chainsaw…. See? Was the passive aggressiveness palatable? Could you taste the sarcasm? Smell the shock and AWE motherfuckers? So, there’s that then. ]]> tag:www.suzannadanna.net,2011://1.1429 2011-08-04T22:15:54Z 2011-08-04T22:17:24Z

“Knock, KNOCK!” he yelled as he opened the door. “In here!” she yelled, walking into the kitchen from the back of the house. He smiled and his eyes brightened as she smiled back and walked towards him, arms flung out wide for a hug. “Hey, baby,” she said. He wrapped...

Suzannadanna “Knock, KNOCK!” he yelled as he opened the door. “In here!” she yelled, walking into the kitchen from the back of the house. He smiled and his eyes brightened as she smiled back and walked towards him, arms flung out wide for a hug. “Hey, baby,” she said. He wrapped her in his arms and whispered against her hair, “Hi yourself.” He squeezed her and she melted into him noticing, not for the first time, how they fit so perfectly. Not too tall, not too short… kind of like Goldilocks and her porridge… just right. As not to get distracted and do what she had wanted to do for years, she untangled herself from his arms, pressed a brief kiss along the corner of his mouth and said brightly, “What would you like to drink?” She went to the fridge and the liquor cabinet, opening both and rattling off the contents of each like an auctioneer. He chose something easy and she joined him with a beverage. Turning on the stereo they briefly talked about their day and the weekend ahead. Leaning with their elbows on the marble of the tall island kitchen, talking with laughter and good natured banter she felt herself unwind and watched his face as a slow blink took his eyes. She always felt so relaxed around him. He knew her, knew her mind, her heart, she didn’t have to play chameleon to anyone, she could just be herself. And she knew he felt the same way. That slow blink said loads to her as she watched his body language for cues. He was relaxing and letting down his guard. He took a long pull on his drink and finished it. She asked, “Another?” and he nodded. She went to the fridge to grab him another drink and he came around the corner of the island, leaning a hip against it, the empty bottle of his beer dangling from his fingers. He crossed his arms and then his legs at the ankle and said, “Hey.” She looked up, “Yeah?” “C’mere.” She smiled a little private smile and went to him, grabbing his empty beer bottle and throwing it in the trash she turned and was suddenly in his arms. He slid his fingers around the back of her neck, resting his thumbs along her jaw line, he pulled her head away from his own for a moment and just looked at her. Smiling he pulled her in for a kiss and her arms wound around his body to rake down his back. He kissed her hard, moving her head to the right and then to the left as if however he kissed her, he still wanted more. His tongue pressed against hers, stroking, and his teeth nibbling at her lower lip. She moaned into his mouth and let her head fall back, he kissed along her neck and into her ear, “I love you.” And he called her by her full name. It was a pronouncement. They had told one another that they loved each other for a long time. But for the past few years it had meant more and more with each passing day, each big argument that they conquered and then moved past. Each new thing they learned about each other. The words, I love you, meant more and more. She paused, pulled her head back and ran her fingers through his hair, making sure his eyes met hers before she replied, “I love you too.” And she called him by his full, God-given name. She had always been a big proponent of tell those you love, regardless if it is friendship love, family love, just lusty love or true love… tell those you love that you love them. Often. Don’t let a moment pass that you could have told your best friend from high school or your brother, “Hey, I love you.” Because you never know when it may be the last time they hear it. He, on the other hand, never said anything to those he cared about unless he meant it. He would not promise something that he knew he couldn’t live up to. This wasn’t just some reassurance type of comment for either of them, this was a “Hey, look, you mean the world to me; I love you for who you are, who you have been and who you are yet to be. I love you not in spite of your flaws, but sometimes because of them. I love you and I am going to be here for you when the time is right, when we can truly do right by one another, I love YOU. You are my heart.” He kissed her again, she kissed him back. They laughed and kissed some more. He ran his little wicked tongue over the inside of her upper lip, she grabbed his ass. They talked of what they wanted to do, but they never wanted to cross the line. They wanted to wait until the time was right and there was only them. Just the two of them, when no one else matters. Emotions run high between them… one minute they are singing along to a song, talking about remember whens, the next minute as she is bending over looking through the contents of the fridge that he steps in behind her. She feels him a moment before he presses into her backside, his hands finding her hips, turning up her ass and arching her back. “No fair”, she mumbles, pouting, knowing that HE knows what a turn on that is for her. So she turns it back on him. She presses back into his crotch and rolls her hips, grinding into him in time to the music. He groans and she mock whispers, “I win.” They start playing the, “Guess what I wanna do to you?” game. They have been playing it for years, starting out slowly, telling, teasing and walking that thin line between what is appropriate and what isn’t. This particular evening the gloves come off. He tells her in hushed tones while looking straight at her what he wants to do to her, how often, where, in what position and how badly he wants this physicality to manifest. They have walked this line for a long time, the banter getting increasingly bawdier. They never wanted to cross that line to ruin their friendship or hurt each other in any way. However, at hearing his confessions, she (aroused) let’s her mouth open and all of the things she wants to do to him fall out in a rush that is as embarrassing as it is exhilarating. She knows his buttons and he knows hers. One of the benefits of being buddies for so long is that they’ve talked about their previous sexual experiences with each other. They dissected what worked, what didn’t, what drove them absolutely to the brink of insanity as well as their insecurities. He knows her kink, she knows his buttons, and they aren’t as far apart in their wants and needs. It is almost too good to be true. He notices her not watching his mouth (as she normally does, or his eyes and hands) but with her gaze fixated on the zipper of his jeans. He asks her, “Do you want this?” as he gestures to his groin area then runs a hand across the zipper. She moans softly, and just nods, words have escaped her. She wants to see him handle himself. He is a little embarrassed, but she knows that his weak point is a blowjob, she drops to her knees in front of him and whispers, “Just a peek, just a taste, just a little….” He admits, “You’re killing me, you KNOW I can’t go for just a little anything where that is concerned. I’m helpless…” He sighs then says, “Fine.” He takes his hands away, putting them on his hips; she looks up a slow blink later and says, “Feed it to me.” A shuddering breath runs out of him as he undoes his belt, lowers his jeans, untucks his shirt and pulls his cock from his pants, offering it to her. She leans forward and licks around the tip of him, then the underside of his shaft then slipping the whole thing in her mouth. She hears him draw in a breath and the next moment over the stereo Stevie Ray Vaughn’s version of Jimi Hendrix’s “Voodoo Child” thrums through the air. She rocks back on her heels, locks her arms around his waist and gives herself over to the music and the feel of him in her mouth. He takes her head and thrusts into her mouth and deep throats her so her eyes water. She grabs the shaft of him and pulls back, running the tip of him over her wet lips, looking up at him with tears in her eyes and his cock in her hand. He moans, “Oh God.” And she stands up. He grabs her and leans her over the island. He pulls her jeans up tight on her ass and begins to spank her relentlessly underneath her ass, he is using almost the same tempo she was using on him and her ass is stinging, she rewards him with small yips and gasps. They both know that they are coming teeteringly close to the edge of no return. They have never had intercourse and this was building up to an amazing bubble of opportunity. He steps away and they both laugh with relief. Straightening his shirt, his pants and everything else he is shocked when she whips his belt out of the loops. FAST. His eyes grow large and she steps behind him and starts giving him licks with the end of the belt, small stinging smacks, in the same sweet meat spot underneath his ass. He stays completely still and when she comes to herself, almost like coming up for air. She shakes her head and tries to give the belt back, but can’t resist a small slap with the end of the belt against his nipple. It startles them both and he asks again. She knows the edge is there, she knows she could top him, she knows he could top her… that he is a switch, can take or be taken is almost too much. She shakes her head, beads of sweat popping out along her hairline, she said, “No… take it, please, God. Take it.” And hands out the belt to him. He leaves his hands at his sides, and says, “No, go ahead, do it. I want you to.” She hears a voice that she doesn’t recognize as her own say, “Fine… Beg Me.” He does, and she complies. She flogs him through his thick golf shirt like it was the most normal thing in the world to smack his nipples with his own belt. She stops, hands over the belt and says, “We have to stop NOW.” He agrees. They profess their love for one another again and talk about this new level of compatibility. Is it meant to be? They have all the time in the world to find out. tag:www.suzannadanna.net,2011://1.1428 2011-08-02T21:47:33Z 2011-08-02T21:48:44Z

So. It’s hotter than a motherfucker outside and I don’t want to live here anymore. I’m tired of being iced out of the office for 4 days because people can’t deal… and then going outside and having my face melt off because it is literally 110-120 degrees NOT COUNTING THE...

Suzannadanna A No.7 smokeless e-cigarette in Blueberry. Guess who is smoking in their cube right now? That’s right bitches! Anyway, as I MAY have mentioned above, it is too freaking hot to be outside. Currently 109, NOT KIDDING. Yes, I have a cute little patio, yes, I have a fan, yes I go through about 3 gallons of water a day, but damn, just to have the pleasure of a smoke outside is not pleasurable anymore. Until, it cools down. It’s so hot that people are going a bit crazy. The web specialist guy came around my cube a little while ago for the second time and politely knocked on the wall, “It’s me again…” he started. I drawled, “Hello, Margaret.” From the other side of the cube I heard a small snicker… so I proceeded… “are ya nekkid?” More laughter from other side of cube and a shocked look from web specialist dude. Clearly NOT a Ray Steven’s fan, this web specialist. I thought it was funny. ]]> tag:www.suzannadanna.net,2011://1.1427 2011-07-08T22:05:46Z 2011-07-08T22:39:32Z

Click here for Part I. Click here for Part II. Click here for Part III. Click here for Part IV. He stepped back and fully released her hair. Her arms dropped to her sides, her palms open to him in supplication and she licked her lips as they felt large...

Suzannadanna Click here for Part I. Click here for Part II. Click here for Part III. Click here for Part IV. He stepped back and fully released her hair. Her arms dropped to her sides, her palms open to him in supplication and she licked her lips as they felt large and pulsing from his passionate kiss. She was surprised at the mention of “beginning” but was not fearful of this self-possessed man. He knew what he wanted and she was sure as her name that she was going to give it to him. He stepped forward and slowly circled her as if measuring a prized pony. She stood still, her skin breaking out in goose-flesh where his shirtsleeves brushed her. She kept her eyes forward and down, she let him lift her hair as if weighing it. She let him wrap his hands around her upper arms as if testing the resilience of her skin. She let him remove the small sweater from her shoulders and slide it down her arms. He folded it and placed it near her small purse. He put her arms back to her sides, palms forward as if this pleased him. As he went around her she involuntarily turned her head towards him and caught the intoxicating whiff of his exclusive cologne and underneath that, the smell of him. He smelled of sandalwood and the expensive leather of his shoes. He smelled of a fine cigar and a hint of another aroma; something spicy, it just screamed power and MAN in her mind. His breath was warm and his hands large and dry. She swooned slightly at the effect his scent had on her. Her body clenching and growing damp at his nearness. He looked straight into her eyes as he circled her again. The dark gaze and glittering depth belied the smile lines around his eyes. That predatory gaze was back and she snapped her attention forward and lowered her eyes. He stood behind her and parted her hair into three bundles; he rapidly braided her thick mane so he could throw the heavy braid over her shoulder, loose wisps of hair coming undone around her face. He smoothed his hands over her shoulders then moved to her left side. The sensation of him playing with her hair had her so calm that when he placed his left hand on her left shoulder she almost leaned into him. He stiffened his arm and the sharp crack of his open palm spanking her underneath her buttocks almost lifted her off her feet and drew a quick yip from her throat. She blinked and felt the pressure of the air before the hard smack of his hand caught her first on the right buttock and then on the left. Her arms were locked tight at her sides. He steadied her and then slowly moved his hand from her shoulder to her left hand. He moved her tight arm to be cradled from elbow to wrist in the small of her back, he told her, “Clasp your arms together behind your back.” She did as she was bid. His voice so soft, so commanding, he slowly bent her at the waist said, “Keep your chin up.” and continued to spank her. She found herself arching her back and lifting her ass to receive the blows. Small tracks of tears ran silently down the sides of her upturned face. She made no move to protect her backside as it stung and grew immensely hot. She felt no embarrassment in the act of one adult spanking another for sheer pleasure, this man, this stranger; this Master was tearing down her walls without even being told what they were. He could read her soul through her as she had read so many others before. She relished giving up the control and slowly melted at his hand. He cupped her bottom feeling the heat of her skin through her pants and slowly, gently pulled her shoulders up so she was standing upright. Her sensible heels still shoulder width apart, her arms still linked at the small of her back, her chin up, her chest heaving with deep breaths and silent sobs. He grasped her shoulders, palms first then his strong fingers wrapping around joints and turned her towards him. As he wiped away the tears, he gathered her to him in an embrace covering her face and eyelids with small delicate kisses he placed her head on his shoulder. She finally let loose at his gentleness and small praise and cried in earnest. “Chaton,” he said as he wiped away her tears and pressed her head more firmly to his shoulder, “darling, you were splendid. Those beautiful tears and that proud stance, such beauty and passion, you have truly made me proud. I am so happy to have found you at last.” Quieting her sobs against the hollow of his shoulder she waited for him to go on. She would follow him anywhere. With grace and tenderness he had shown her power and control that she had given to others. Now she understood why her previous lovers pursued her so hard for something serious. This breaking down of her walls opened her to more sensuality, to heightened awareness of pleasure. They had not even touched flesh to flesh and she felt so drawn and unlocked to him. She knew his name. She knew he could release her from her own control issues, freeing up so much pleasure. She looked up into his tan face and sure eyes and drank in the sight of him. He kissed her forehead, the tip of her nose, her chin, her top and bottom lip and said, “Chaton, I do have something for you. I was hoping to give it to someone some day, and the day is today and that someone is you. May but I ask one small favor in return?” She unclasped her arms from the small of her back and threw them around his neck, kissing his face in abandon. A hundred small kisses, her chest heaving and her mouth aching for each kiss. “Anything, just ask, and you shall have it.” She replied. He picked the braid off her shoulder and pulled it back her head being pulled back in the process, lifting her chin with the other hand her head came up and she stared him in the eyes. “What is your name?” he asked. “Chaton.” “I will not ask again. What is your real name? I must know. And before you hasten to answer, know that this will be a binding between us. Proximity and geography do not matter. I have been searching for someone with your spirit for such a very long time. You have been on MY side of the paddle, so to speak.” Her eyes widened at his correct guess. “No need to look surprised Chaton, I know that with your control issues that I had to find someone who had been on the delivering side. I gambled,” he paused with a wry smile, “some say I’m lucky.” She thought for a moment. This would change her life. Not keeping someone at a stiff arm’s length, giving up more of her soul to this man in the short time they had spent together than any man or woman she had ever been with. She took that breath, wiped the fresh tears from her cheeks and blurted out, “Vivianne… it’s Vivianne.” Before she could stop herself. He closed his eyes and gathered up her hair in his hands, pressing her head back into his shoulder again he lifted the hair and pressed his face into it, smelling her hair as if memorizing the scent. “Vivianne,” he whispered reverently. She knew that regardless of her punishments and rewards with this man that he would keep her on a pedestal for their full relationship, just as she would hold him in high regard. He stood her back and went to sit on the chaise in the room. Vivianne stood where she was and watched him reach into his valise and withdraw a small box. He bid her to come nearer and without him having to ask, she dropped to her hands and knees and closed the distance between them. Once reaching him she laced her arms behind her back again, bent forward to kiss the hem of his cuffed trouser and then leaned back on her heels. He was beaming at her as from the box he pulled a narrow velvet lined jewelry casing. He opened it and asked for her right arm. She obediently gave it to him and lowered he eyes. She could feel him watching her. There was a weight, a heat to his gaze. Vivianne felt the cool band of metal being opened upon her right wrist, she glanced up and the Cartier bracelet was closed with a firm little click and then the golden screw was fastened securely into both sides of the bracelet, locking it onto her wrist. He put the little screwdriver back into the velvet box and then with both of his big hands, he pressed the bracelet to her skin. He asked, “Do you like it?” Breathlessly, she nodded. She had been fond of the thought of eternity necklaces and cuffs for years, but never had she dared to dream that she would find someone like him to claim her so effortlessly and in such a short period of time. He stood, drawing her to her feet. He cupped her face in his hands, and brought her forward for a chaste kiss. “We must plan for our next meeting. We have so much to discuss!” he said with great excitement. He led her to the door and told her, “Call me at five o’clock… in the morning. Five o’clock and not a minute later.” And then she was standing in the hallway. She pulled her phone from her purse as she slowly started her dazed march to the elevator. Only an hour had passed. She didn’t know how she would be able to wait eleven hours to see his face, feel his breath or hear his voice. She was mentally and emotionally stunned, but her body was vibrating with excitement. Vivianne set the alarm on her phone. *This is Part Five of a series. If you are interested in having it continue, please leave a comment below. ]]> tag:www.suzannadanna.net,2011://1.1426 2011-07-07T16:36:02Z 2011-07-07T16:38:14Z

Negativity hurts me. I don’t mean it hurts my feelings, I mean it physically hurts me. Sounds overly dramatic, non? Yes, yes it does… and I am completely aware. But I just have to go out on a limb here and tell y’all that I don’t watch the news. I...

Suzannadanna I told him that those people he was yelling at could not, in fact, be corrected by his constructive criticism, but that I could hear him and his anger and the negativity was not helpful. He (on his own accord… I had nothing to do with it… I ASSURE YOU) slowed down, started listening to the Spa channel on XM and generally chilled the fuck out. (And yes, for those of you who were in the car with me Sunday evening during that insane traffic for the fireworks thingy…. Um… Sorry. Wine?) So all this talk about … you know, I’m not even gonna go into it. Suffice it to say I don’t like hearing about people hurting children, the elderly, animals (shut up Willie Nelson and Sarah McLachlan … FOR THE LOVE OF GOD AND THE ASPCA!*) or each other. So… in the immortal words of Abraham Lincoln (from Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure (OMG… 1985!?)… “Be excellent to each other. And... PARTY ON, DUDES!” *Yes, I am THAT kid who would watch Sally Struthers on Sunday after church and cry when my daddy said I couldn’t send my allowance to save the “babies with flies in their eyes.” ]]> tag:www.suzannadanna.net,2011://1.1425 2011-06-23T16:32:24Z 2011-06-23T16:33:15Z

I have been driven from the safety of my work station by the stench of red (purple, whatever... DAMN) onions, set out for a group that is not associated with ours.  Sure, it's a nice deli selection but, holy Lord, the smell hurts my face. This reminds me of something...

Suzannadanna Me:  (undressing and putting my stuff together for nightly ritual... I remove my cute Yellow Box sandals with the "pewter" straps.)  Oh.  My... GOD... I have "ring around the Wal*Mart feet".... what the hell?   Marly:  Well we have walked a bajillion miles today... how do mine look? She flings one leg out of the bed and presents the bottom of her foot to me.  It is completely black.  (She had been wearing the same sandals... or a variation thereof).   Me:  Damn girl, the whole bottom of your foot is black, get your nasty ass into the shower and at least wash your feet before you go to bed. She fluffs the covers and pulls her leg back under the sheets... Marly:  You think our Wal*Mart feet are bad? Fuck... (dramatic face) my pussy smells like PetSmart. We laughed for a solid 20 minutes... would wind down, then start giggling again.  It was the perfect mix of lewdness and timing.  Brilliant. Y'all... I haven't laughed that hard, for THAT long in a very very long time.  I proceeded to get in the shower, wash MY Wal*Mart feet, wash my face, brush my teeth and do my nightly ritual.  I would break into giggles at the mere thought of what she said.  Not to be completely graphic, but I have a nose like a bloodhound and if she would have been telling the truth I would have thrown her ass in the shower myself.  She was merely being funny.  I still giggle my ass off whenever I find my PetSmart card in my wallet, when I pass any kind of PetCo, PetSmart, whatever and when I just think about it. PetSmart.... heeee....]]> tag:www.suzannadanna.net,2011://1.1424 2011-06-10T21:46:08Z 2011-06-10T22:23:38Z

I’m really awesome at doing weird shit like training the cat to hop up on the bathroom counter to have his ears cleaned with Q-Tips, making the perfect blueberry cobbler, reenacting the dance portion of the Thriller video, naming that tune in like 3 notes, trivia that doesn’t even come...

Suzannadanna Thriller video, naming that tune in like 3 notes, trivia that doesn’t even come close to being relevant, turning a conversation to oddly appropriate innuendo like that* (snap), road trips, packing a carton of smokes, making reservations, dressing people with odd body types (myself excluded) and packing suitcases tetris like. *Take IT… take it ALL! 7-11 You Dirty little WHORE! Come back here and take it… take it (wink and little taps with forefinger to chin, biting lip softly between each word) ANY WAY YOU TAKE IT. I am really bad at one thing. Well, ok, more than one thing. But this one thing kind of takes the cake. I’m bad at being jealous. I just don’t have much practice. I don’t even have the natural tendencies to be jealous of the correct people. You are supposed to be jealous of your … boyfriend’s previous lover. Or your husband’s ex-wife, or secretary, even some woman that he talks about WAY too much. Right? I am totally doing this all wrong. You’re supposed to be jealous of someone you love or care for spending too much time with someone else, or telling them secrets as opposed to you… inviting THEM out for happy hour as opposed to you. Spending precious moments and sweet words and kind, thoughtful gestures on someone else other than you. Right? Um. Yeah. I’m doing it wrong. I’ve been jealous of two people in my life and they have both been other men’s wives. What? Yeah. I said it. That’s completely nuts, right? I mean. And just yesterday I called Stacey: Me: “What the fuck is wrong with me?” Stacey: “Why?” Me: “I’m jealous of (so and so’s new girlfriend).” Stacey: “Why?” (I could imagine her tilting her head.) Me: “It’s stupid.” Stacey: “I’m sure it’s not stupid.” (I could HEAR her smirking.) I proceeded to tell her my reasoning** and she dutifully explained why it made perfect sense to any normal person of why this wasn’t crazy talk. **Can’t give away all the good details. I still think I’m doing it wrong. “TRY HARDER!” (Is yelled from Ohio.) Ok, so I will be gone for the next two weeks. Next week I will be in Galveston where the water is warm, the air is humid as breathing through a sponge and the stench wafting on the breeze smells like an incontinent hobo fucking a dead carp. Mmmm. The week after that I will be in Fort Worth. All of this is work. Don’t be jealous. (Heh.) But I will try to write something interesting in the mean time. Ok… interesting to ME. ]]>