Suzanna Danna http://www.suzannadanna.net/ Princess of Irony en Copyright 2010 Wed, 25 Aug 2010 15:49:06 -0600 http://www.sixapart.com/movabletype/ http://blogs.law.harvard.edu/tech/rss Surrealism At Its Finest TERRY (follow the link, I’ll wait) left me a message on FB early Sat morning that said, “I just left you a voicemail.” So I listened to the VM and it is the most intriguing thing. He sounds almost the same, but with this West Texas accent. I was freaked out, didn’t know if I wanted to text, phone, run away, go back to bed, whatever… but I had promised that if I picked a day, he’d pick a place and we’d catch up over coffee. I finally bundled up the nerve and called him. He was so freaking casual. I, however, was not. I blurted out, “Ok, how in the world did you acquire a southern accent?” He was like, “Want the truth?” “Yep.” “Alright… Several years in a West Texas (facility [sic]).” You could have shot me and I wouldn’t have noticed. I am sure my nervous grin was snapped on so wide my head almost fell into two pieces. We agreed to time… “Eight am?” I almost blurted out, “Are you high?!” thought better of it and said, “How about a little after nine?” “Pete’s Coffee at Market Street, 9:30, SW corner of blah street and blah street [sic].” (Nervous smile about to split my skull in two.) “OKAY!” I shouted. I am so fucking smooth. So the next morning, I fixed my hair (like it would matter in this heat), put on minimal make up and then fretted over what to wear. Coffee house, coffee house… what the hell do you wear to meet up with some man you haven’t seen in 22 years? Whatever, denim capris and black t-shirt, flip flops… and that nervous grin. There… PERFECT. Make up… um… will I cry? Who knows… Slap on a little waterproof mascara, lip gloss… Good to go. Maybe… who knows… no one will see past the hideous, rictus grin! I drove to the meeting spot and walked in a few minutes before 9:30 am. He was sitting on the little couch with an ankle crossed over a knee. One long lanky arm across the back of the couch and he stood when I walked in, gave me a warm hug and said hello. I may have blacked out. I’m not sure. Somehow (his manners probably) I ended up with a latte, seated with a stack of napkins in front of me because I was immediately sweating like a horse and I kind of turned to him and said, “Okay, the last twenty two years… Go.” He laughed good-naturedly then laid out the background of what I had missed since the last time I saw him. I thought it had been at Burger King (use searchy thing), but apparently I saw him after that near his parents’ place off Lawndale. I was riding in the car with Craig (seriously, this was all news to me) and when Craig flagged Terry down, we all spoke for a bit, he asked me for a kiss on the cheek and when I went to oblige, he turned his head so I kissed him on the mouth. In his words, “Just to be a shit.” We got through that part and then he went on to after he dropped out of school, the following years, the trouble with his family and habits. What had driven him from one year or one consequence to the next and how it snowballed. Each story more horrible than the last. I wanted to comfort him, hold him, to tell him I was sorry. I still don’t know if that would have been welcome or scoffed at. Then he told me about getting sick, being in the hospital close to death for a number of weeks and the young girl that used to look at him with such trusting eyes broke. I tried to stifle it y’all. I’m just not that strong. I cried for him. Then I cried for me. It was exhausting and we spent four hours talking. There may have been a little closure; there may have been some rehashing of old events and discussing our various feelings over them. He told me that when he saw the pictures of me and Mister-X (I so need to re-do my “About Me” page) he thought I had finally married Ryan, a man who wrote me poetry in the 8th grade. I told him I still wanted to punch Karen in the neck for (in my opinion, even though he and I had broken up) stealing him away from me. We were honest, we were long winded and when I told him I wasn’t that hard girl with a wall around my heart anymore that I cried at the drop of a hat he said, “Maybe that’s a good thing.” His face is still so familiar to me and it was amazingly surreal to see him and hear him tell stories after half of our lives had gone by. The day after we talked he called me. Just to say, “Hi.” It was a very unexpected pleasure, and I hope that we continue with our getting to know one another again. I admitted that I didn’t quite know how to feel about our getting together for coffee and the subsequent four hour discussion. He, always one with eloquent words, simply replied, “Do you really need to feel a certain way about it?” No. I guess I don’t. ]]> http://www.suzannadanna.net/2010/08/surrealism_at_its_finest.html http://www.suzannadanna.net/2010/08/surrealism_at_its_finest.html Wed, 25 Aug 2010 15:49:06 -0600 The List "OK, Sue, you still have time to make it 47* years with Mr. Right!! Here is the list: Criteria for men: Christian Similar background White (WASP) Similar education Good job Unmarried Not many kids to support Family person Fun, cool, likes dancing, going out and music Steer clear of: Weirdo’s Guys with no ambition (Slackers---Dad’s word) Someone with a load of baggage Someone you would be ashamed of Someone who is a mooch or owes a lot of money Someone who does not pay YOU attention ----put you on a pedestal Someone who wants you to support him or be “his Mama” Someone who lives with his mama Guys who goes from one to the other----“ladies men” or cheaters Guy who drinks too much----problems!! Good luck!! Don’t date anyone over twice you would not marry!! I love you!! MOM" #1 Notice that they left women off the list. Bar's open ladies! WOO WOOO! #2 *Apparently I am going to die when I am 85. Don't jack with my momma, she's witchy like that. #3 Heh. God, I love my parents. Have a good weekend y'all, I know I will. Now, where're all the White (WASP-y) women at? ]]> http://www.suzannadanna.net/2010/07/the_list.html http://www.suzannadanna.net/2010/07/the_list.html Thu, 29 Jul 2010 09:08:25 -0600 Title Less Entry: Part I Snow; small, crisp and biting flung itself at Jeremy’s face like angry insects. The northern wind howled through the trees and the empty streets of the small town, but he had seen worse. The small hard particles of snow that were almost ice were sometimes easier to see through and drive in than the heavy, snow globe like flakes that normally fall earlier in the winter. Jeremy hugged the doorway of a squat mercantile building trying to stay out of the weather as much as possible, he didn’t want to be seen either. He huffed hot air from his lungs across the lenses of his high powered binoculars and used a small eyeglass cleaning cloth to wipe the steam and the small melting bits of snow from the special made glass. When he was sure that the condensation was cleaned completely away he raised the scopes to his eyes and swept the view to a small apartment above the garage of the Masons’ home. Busying herself with her meager dinner preparations, Michelle hummed tunelessly and danced a little to the music she had stuck in her head. She swept chopped spinach, chicken flavored couscous, grape tomatoes, lentils and some olive oil into a small bowl. She smiled at her verbal cat, Herman, as he yowled at her. Michelle liked to think that Herman was merely singing along, so she cha-cha’d and made a pivot and Herman yowled again. “Pretty good for a white girl, huh Herms?” The cat purr-chirped at her and she tossed a small grape tomato near his full food bowl. Herman pounced on the tomato, swatted it under the cabinet and turned to Michelle, yowling like he was being starved to death. “See? I knew you didn’t like tomatoes.” She playfully mocked her cat. The light coming through the semi-transparent curtains above the two car garage showed a woman, brunette, tall and athletic, talking to someone Jeremy couldn’t see. She was clearly fixing dinner for one and singing to something on the radio. He couldn’t see her face, but saw her hand gestures as she spoke. As she moved her hips and stirred whatever was in the bowl, Jeremy second guessed his acceptance of the job he had taken. One week earlier he had been sitting in his comfortable recliner looking over his empty appointment book and the equally empty checkbook, stealing from Peter to pay Paul when his phone rang. The party on the other end offered him a job, good money and more importantly, the job was local. Well, sort of local. One more expense he wouldn’t have to pay out of pocket to be reimbursed for. There was only one catch. He would have to go back to his home town. Arriving on schedule Jeremy checked into the local one story motel on the highway and started checking around looking for the person that his temporary boss wanted found. He didn’t know why the boss was looking for a white female, Michelle (last name unknown), to know her status, her whereabouts, whom she was seeing, what she was doing to make a living and the rest of the gamut. Jeremy really didn’t care, it was a job… and he cared even less when a cashier’s check for a hefty retainer showed up via courier mere hours after he had accepted the work. Jeremy had been following leads on this Michelle person for the past two days. He knew she was single, he knew she worked as a day shift waitress for the diner just across the way and he knew she had a meager income and was living above the Mason’s garage in the one bedroom rental. What he didn’t know was what she looked like. Keeping out of sight while he followed her trail had proved to be very fortunate, but now he was curious. He knew how she carried herself as he had been in the diner and had followed her long dark ponytail and her perfect posture down the street to her modest apartment. And now he was hiding almost in plain view across the street watching her make her evening meal. The biggest thrill and almost masochistic reason he took the job was because he knew this town like the back of his hand. He knew the diner where Michelle worked; he knew the general store and the alcove in which he was hiding. He knew the Masons, had played football with their son when they had gone to high school together. He had left for the bright lights of Chicago when he turned eighteen and had only returned once, to attend the double funeral of his parents who had died in a car wreck when he was twenty-three. Finding Michelle wasn’t the hard part. Staying out of sight and unnoticed by townspeople who would recognize him was. http://www.suzannadanna.net/2010/07/title_less_entry_part_i.html http://www.suzannadanna.net/2010/07/title_less_entry_part_i.html Fri, 09 Jul 2010 11:47:26 -0600 Quentin Tarantino - Call me, Hot Daddy SAVE the motherfucking WORLD… Head flung back in ecstasy, with my hair flying as he jumps (and totally REVS a massive bike) over what I think was a junkyard full of zombies. *No, I have no idea who it was with me… becoming rich and famous off of the sheer power of being awesome. I did whore it up in my dream to take at least three lovers, amidst the flame throwing and the walking across a little bombed out town with my hand in someone else’s, closing my eyes as a sign of trust that he could get us across the street. The fuck? Two I knew, and one… yeah, not so much. It was much easier when I was dreaming about me and Elizabeth Taylor camping in Norwegia. Shut up, it IS TOO a real place and we were motherfucking OUTDOORSY. Oh, if only I were one of those fancy artists who could paint or draw or even articulately explain what I saw, because Quentin Tarantino would have sneezed in his freaking jeans if he could have shared the dream with me. How I wish I could have remembered what the movie was called… because across the top was the title, sinister looking and awesome with the motorcycle/fuck/jump bursting through the tagline. Yeah. I KNOW. Right? Sex, explosions, machine guns, violence, more sex, saving the WORLD, more sex, trust and a budding friendship/relationship, a deep plot, some act of selflessness, did I mention EXPLOSIONS (?), motorcycles, more sex and fabulous internal monologues. It was the kind of movie that would have people cheering for the tough façade, though vulnerable and completely lethal bad boy turned to savior of the world with his kick ass (hot ass too, also very handy with weapons) “handler” …remember, he is lethal, he needs to be HANDLED. Mrow. Women would secretly want to see the movie because of the sexual tension and the I AM WOMAN, HEAR ME ROAR! theme and men would want to see it because of the action… and the fucking. See?
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PS.. Bob Segar still makes me horny. ]]> http://www.suzannadanna.net/2010/06/quentin_tarantino_call_me_hot.html http://www.suzannadanna.net/2010/06/quentin_tarantino_call_me_hot.html Fri, 25 Jun 2010 10:37:45 -0600 Timeline - PS I love you. Hi.. miss me? Yeah, I missed you too. You guys know what’s coming right?... Yeah, you do. Don’t get all shy on me now. You know… youuuuuu knooooow. That’s right babies. A time line. By way of explanation for, well for my absence. I really love you, you know I do… and your hair looks beautiful and those pants make your ass look awesome. Yes, part of it was work so I will blow past that. But the other stuff. It’s kind of a big deal. Okay, so it’s a big deal to me and I’ll get back with the program soon enough but here we go. And-a One. And-a Two… Timeline: (Not the whole thing…. Just the past few weeks… I promise.) March 4-8 Green Bay Thing March 14 Sign with realtor March 25 House went on the market March 31 File for divorce April 18 Open House April 24 Family thing April 29-30 San Antonio work thing April 30-May 2 Weekend in San Antonio with Marly May 6 Bury St. Joe in the yard at dawn May 11 Birthday May 13 Spa Day (OMG I so needed it) May 18 Insurance thing with State Farm May 23 Offer on house May 23-25 Dallas work thing May 28 Appraisal May 28 Move into apartment June 1 Finalize divorce June 2 Half Day work thing June 3 Leave after work for family’s house June 4-12 Destin with family June 14 Close on house AND Work Performance Review, plus a bonus 13 hr. day June 15-18 Work thing Coming up… June 29-July 5 Work thing and subsequent hanging with friends on 4th in San Diego July 23-25 Vancouver work thing July 25-27 San Antonio work thing Okay, some of you are rereading that list like it is your will. And to answer some of your questions. Number one. Yes, Mister and I got divorced. Number two. Yes, burying St. Joseph in your yard apparently DOES work. Number three. I know… Vancouver and San Antonio on the same day? I am predicting a small nervous breakdown by the 28th of July. So that’s what I’ve been up to. How about you guys? http://www.suzannadanna.net/2010/06/timeline_ps_i_love_you.html http://www.suzannadanna.net/2010/06/timeline_ps_i_love_you.html Mon, 21 Jun 2010 17:58:12 -0600 Stone In Love (Or just really horny....) go to, has really thrown me for a doozie this afternoon. I’ve been quiet, working away, trying to make up for being out of the office at a meeting yesterday and having an appointment this morning. I turned on my Pandora Radio thingy (look, over there, on the right, scroll down… clickity clickity… you can listen too, if you wanna) and stopped about an hour in. Journey’s Stone In Love came on. It’s not the whole song, because, um. I’m not that deep. But it is the way Steve Perry forces sex over the speakers with this two part phrase:
“Old dusty roads, led to the river, runnin' slow She pulled me down, ooh, and in clover we'd go 'round”
One minute…. Six seconds in. Here. I, help you. Dude. Those few words smashed me flat back into my comfy office chair. I couldn’t concentrate on anything because I was sure if I moved or worked on anything, answered a call, you name it, I would have messed up something because my mind was not present. Let me tell you where it was. This mad sensory overload just came jumbling into my head. Everything from the roads near where I live that weren’t anything but country lanes when I was in high school. Dusty, abandoned places to race around, drink beer and to have intense make out sessions that would erase time and space. Kind of like a worm hole. One minute, you* are tentatively leaning forward at the same time wondering if the other kisser is a head-righty, or head-lefty and will you mesh, the next, your shirt is untucked, your bra is undone, your zipper is part way down, your face is red from stubble (or force/duration… mrow) and somehow it is two hours past your curfew and you have kudzu in your hair. Dancing on a slow, saw dusted floor with a cowboy that smells like hay and Drakkar Noir, his hot hand pressed into the furrow in the small of your back. The smoke hangs heavy in the still air, a bead of sweat tickles down your neck and the faceless cowboy with a wry grin takes off his hat, leans over and licks it away. He dips you slowly then kisses you and you taste your own saltiness on his tongue. Walking through the hallways of school and being stopped and pressed back against your locker from chest to thigh by a smooth, maddening hottie whose ass you wouldn’t mind having lunch on. He kisses you like he is trying to crawl inside your soul. Perfect, bowtie pouting mouth. Sweet breath and as a bonus, the foresight to hold you by the shoulders should your knees give out on you. Dating? Nope, just kissing each other, because you are so fucking good at it. Have you ever rolled around in hay, or grass, or clover, or in nature with a boy (girl, whatev)? Been pressed up against a tree, the bark pressing into your ass, your hair tangling in the rough texture? Have you ever pressed someone else into the soft earth by a stream (or not) and slowly worked your way down their body pulling small sounds of pleasure from them as you nibbled, suckled, kissed and blew cool air across their skin. Something about those two lines.
“Old dusty roads, led to the river, runnin' slow She pulled me down, ooh, and in clover we'd go 'round”
Yeah, just something about those lines. *And by you… I totally mean me. ]]> http://www.suzannadanna.net/2010/05/stone_in_love_or_just_really_h.html http://www.suzannadanna.net/2010/05/stone_in_love_or_just_really_h.html Thu, 20 May 2010 18:07:22 -0600 The Highs and Lows of Selling Your Home. Mister: When are they supposed to show up? Are they late? me: Not until 12:30. Mister: Then why are we up so early? me: Well, you never know. Heads cock as we hear something at the front door. I think it is a solicitor putting a flyer in the door. I walk forward, see through the windows a realtor and a family of four. me: Somebody’s HERE! Mister: OHsNOs! me: Abort! Abort! Mister: Run out the back door! We grab our shit and head out the back door, furiously trying to get the garage door to close before they come in the house. Mister: [pulls out of the driveway like a NASCAR driver] Man Your Buddy! MAN YOUR BUDDY!* me: [phone rings] Hello? Showing Service: Hello, this is blah dee bloo with Blah Blah Blah, there is a Blah Blah there with Blah Blah office wanting to show your house…well… right now actually. me: WE KNOW. [dramatic eyeroll] Mister: Heee. *He totally didn’t say this. But it sounded funny. To me. So we have had at least two Sneaky Smurf Surprise attacks… or… showings the past two Saturdays and then… Duh duh DUUUUUUUUUUUH! Yesterday. I am so freaking stressed out I have a rash (yes, another allergic reaction to … air or whatever) across the front of my neck. It’s hot. Really, I have been emailing the picture out to random people (shout out to Dre’, Jen, Kim, Mike, Co-worker and Kerry… hot guys, right? Can I get a What What!? Right? Hey, wait a minute… come back here.) all over the internets and I decided I needed to get my biannual blood work done, might as well get hot Argentinean Doctor (MROW) to check out the hot neck action I am working. So I go to see Hotness (aka, Dr. W, love him SOOOO!!!! ::sing songy::) and one of his awesome PA’s drew my blood, got a urine sample (again with the hotness, cut it out already Sue!, you’re killin us over here!.. Alright, alright… Fine.) and sent me down to room four (MROW!?) so Dr. W. could look at my neck (with desire). Shot in the butt, stop by Arby’s for a jr. roast beast sammich and headed home…. I got there, set my laptop up on the dining room table, and started working, ate my sandwich and then looked up around 12:40 and a lady in a black jeep pulled up to the house… backed up to look at the house. She popped out with a man-child of about 21 or so… they walked up and looked at the front of the house… I… I fucking hid in the kitchen with my Arby’s bag. Because I didn’t know who they were and … I’m yella. Shut up. My shit was sitting right there on the dining room table. Purse, laptop bag, laptop… CORD for laptop. Then they rang the doorbell. I threw away my Arby’s bag and went to answer. My car was sitting out front so I was surprised that she had the door halfway open as I traversed the 10 steps to open the door. I stepped up and said, “Hello.” She said, “Oh, didn’t you know you had an appointment?” “No ma’am… I will be out of here in a moment.” I shoved my laptop and cord into the bag, flung my purse over my shoulder and hauled ass. I stopped when I got into Samantha and made a note about her make and model of car and license plate because something seemed off. I drove around to the Wal*Mart parking lot and just hung out and worked for a while. I had another showing from 2-3:30 pm and so I just sat in the parking lot working on a conference and making calls from my car like a jackass until 3:30. I went back home, there was no one there. I gathered my stuff, took it back in the house and about the time I set it all down on the dining room table again, my phone rang. Showing Service: Hello, this is blah dee bloo with Blah Blah Blah, the 2-3:30 showing needs to reschedule. Her clients had to leave but they would love to see your home. me: Okay, could you look in the system and tell me the name of the lady who was here earlier today? Showing Service: We don’t show anyone other than the rescheduled appointment I just told you about. me: Alright. I walked into the hallway and the smell hit me. There had been an unauthorized poo in my house. I’m just going to ask you to read that sentence again. Twice should do it. That lady in the jeep and her condescending, “Oh, didn’t you KNOW you had an appointment?” and her man-child (unless parents are buying their kids houses nowadays) used my home… MY ABODE… my Sanctum, y’all… as a rest stop. Hey, that house is for sale. Can we pull over so I can poo? SURE! I was mortified. I Oust©ed, I Ozium©ed and when I felt that the air had been purified (By The ALMIGHTY SPIRIT!) I went in there to Scrubbly-Bubble it. I lifted the lid… and MAYDAY MAYDAY MAYDAY!! We have a rouge hair… I repeat, WE HAVE A ROGUE HAIR! No. It wasn’t Mister’s. I have been with that man for almost eight years… I would know one of his if I saw it. To put it sweetly and shortly. This is getting Old. Someone please buy my house. What do y’all think of that burying a St. Joseph idea? Hmmm? Love you. Mean it. ]]> http://www.suzannadanna.net/2010/04/the_highs_and_lows_of_selling.html http://www.suzannadanna.net/2010/04/the_highs_and_lows_of_selling.html Tue, 20 Apr 2010 17:42:57 -0600 I SAID, GOOD DAY SIR. Baliff: All Rise. *pause* The Honorable Judge Dinklescheimer presiding. You may be seated. Honorable Judge Dinklescheimer: This case causes me a great degree of discomfort and I would like to get through this as quickly as possible. I would like to remind the jury that they are under a strict gag order… Dry Humper: (whispers) That’s what SHE said…. :: snerk :: Judge Dinklescheimer: (raises an eyebrow at the defendant) … to not speak to the press about this case until it is closed. Would the defendant please rise… Son, you have been charged with aggravated assault using a blunt instrument. How do you plead? Dry Humper: Not… guilty? Judge Dinklescheimer: Counsel, keep a leash on that boy until these proceedings are complete. Defense Attorney, Mr. Weasel: Yes sir. Judge Dinklescheimer: Alright, boys and girls, here we go. Dr. Bono, your opening statement? Attorney for the Plaintiff, Dr. Pro Bono: (stands and walks to the podium, adjusting his suit jacket, he opens a file folder and addresses the jury) Ladies and gentlemen, I am here today to protect the virtue of my client, Miss Danna. On a fall night in the soccer fields between Clark High School Stadium and the McDonald’s on Springcreek this young man (gestures to the defendant) caused significant bruising to my client. Your job here today is to find defendant guilty without a shadow of a doubt. We have character witnesses, a scientific expert and the testimony of a dorky little girl to show you that, that BOY (points dramatically) dry humped my client with MALIACE! Mr. Weasel: OBJECTION! Judge Dinklescheimer: You can’t object under opening statement, Jackass, but out of curiosity, on what grounds? Defense Attorney, Mr. Weasel: I don’t like how Dr. Bono said the word “malice”… it just sounds sinister. Judge Dinklescheimer: Overruled. Jackass. Mr. Weasel: OBJECTION! Judge Dinklescheimer: What now? Mr. Weasel: Why do you have to be so mean? Judge Dinklescheimer: What are you?... a 15 year old girl? Suck it up, Weasel. Mr. Weasel: Yes sir. Dr. Bono: I have nothing further. Your stand, Weasel. Mr. Weasel: Thank you. (stands and walks to the podium, trips over his shoe laces and addresses the jury) Good people of the jury. I am asking for leniency for this boy, for he knows not what he hath done! He had no idea that he would be causing harm to the plaintiff. It was out of passion… and hormones that this accident occurred. Thank you for your time. Judge Dinklescheimer: Dr. Bono, your first witness? Dr. Bono: We would like to call an expert witness to explain to the jury exactly what happened. Judge Dinklescheimer: And who would that be? Dr. Bono: Dr. Frank N. Furter. A rush of whispers that sounds like the ocean sweeps through the packed Courtroom as Dr. Furter flings open the swinging doors at the back of the room and strides down the center aisle. He swings open the divider, walks past the jury, gives them a jaunty wink and takes his oath from the bailiff. Dr. Bono: Dr. Furter, could you tell the jury your full name and your occupation. Dr. Furter: It would be my pleasure. My name is Dr. Franklin Norbert Furter I am a medical doctor with a specialist in adolescent hormones and I work for the Kellogg Foundation in Human Sexuality Research. Dry Humper: He said, FURTER… heh. Mr. Weasel: Zip it Sport. Dry Humper: Yes, sir. Dr. Bono: Dr. Furter, could you also tell the jury what makes you an expert in this field, and then show them your findings? Dr. Furter: Of course. I am an expert in this field because I TOO was once a young man with my mind and body completely and totally driven by the hormone testosterone. Dr. Bono: Dr. Furter, what kinds of things happen to a young man’s body during this delicate time. Let the record show that I am providing Dr. Furter with Exhibit A. Dr. Furter: Ah, yes, Exhibit A. A chart showing the level of testosterone in a dairy bull that is mating several times a day and that of a 15 to 18 year old boy. They are about the same. 1000 kilos of testosterone per pint of blood inside their bodies, it makes them about as safe as a loaded weapon. Dr. Bono: A loaded weapon? That sounds pretty dramatic, Dr. Furter. Let the record show that I am providing Dr. Furter with Exhibit B. Dr. Furter: This is a picture of the plaintiff’s right hip area and her upper thigh. See the bruising and the discoloration of the skin? This is concurrent with blunt trauma. The bruising is a contusion. Dr. Bono: Can you explain to me what a contusion is? Dr. Furter: Of course, since the skin is not broken, it is not a laceration, a bruise is a trauma to the skin and the underlying muscles, where blood is gathered and then reabsorbed by the body. Dr. Bono: Can you explain to me and the jury why you think that the defendant actually caused this… bruising to the plaintiff? Dr. Furter: Yes, when a boy or a man has that much testosterone flowing through his body, it causes the penis to become engorged. An erection can be caused by anything as innocent as a brief puff of wind, or the affections of a young girl. The age and .. *ahem* size of the person in question would be consistent with this pattern of bruising. The size and shape of the bruising are consistent with a rock hard penis covered in denim. See, boys of this age can have such severe erections that they could possibly nail a rail road spike through concrete. Although most are aware of their partner’s discomfort, they are unable to stop themselves. Dr. Bono: They are unable to stop, Dr. Furter, are you saying that they are… in a word, crazed? Mr. Weasel: OBJECTION! Judge Dinklescheimer: On what grounds? Mr. Weasel: The witness is painting an awful picture of my client… words like enraged, erections, bruising, bull and crazed! This is preposterous. Judge Dinklescheimer: Overruled. Dr. Bono: No further questions your Honor, thank you Dr. Furter. Your witness, Weasel. Mr. Weasel: Um, no questions at this time your honor. Judge Dinklescheimer: You may step down Dr. Furter. Thank you. Mr. Weasel: Look, I just want to say to the jury that my client is a good kid, he was just playin around, having a little fun, a little slap and tickle, if you will…. Judge Dinklescheimer: Counsel, you will refrain from outbursts like that in my courtroom or I will have you jailed for misconduct. Mr. Weasel: It’s not like she didn’t drive him on and make him crazy kissing him back… and the… Judge Dinklescheimer: Mr. Weasel, I am warning you. Mr. Weasel: We’ve all been there before, and I am sure she was asking for it. And what? Does she have the skin of a peach? WHO bruises like THAT from a little dry humping? WHO? Judge Dinklescheimer: Bailiff, please remove Attorney Weasel from my courtroom. Dry Humper: Shut up man. Mr. Weasel: She was ASKIN FOR IT!.... Judge Dinklescheimer: Good day Mr. Weasel, that will be a ten thousand dollar fine along with a night amongst the city’s finest. The bailiff takes hold of Mr. Weasel’s arm, the attorney starts to resist, the bailiff gets him in a head lock and drags him away from the table towards the back door… Mr. Weasel loses a shoe. He is turning red in the face and spittle is forming at the corners of his mouth. Mr. Weasel: She was ASKIN FOR IT!.... Judge Dinklescheimer: I SAID, GOOD DAY SIR. Case scheduled for next month so the defendant can get YET ANOTHER lawyer. Dry Humper: Heh… FURTER. ]]> http://www.suzannadanna.net/2010/04/i_said_good_day_sir.html http://www.suzannadanna.net/2010/04/i_said_good_day_sir.html Wed, 14 Apr 2010 11:47:38 -0600 Entry Number 400.... I am so proud. (Also... dry humping.) now… I have your attention? You cheeky little whores. In high school I didn’t really date much. Either I was sandwiched between two large guys (my best friends) that were on the offensive guard of the football team or I was in relationships with dudes for long periods of time. So I really didn’t “date”. There wasn’t a lot of awkward, “Hey, both of y’all are single, why don’t you make out?” [forcefully shoving me into the chest of a guy I knew nothing about] things going on. I went on a lot of dates, but only because I clean up pretty good for a white girl, I knew most of the guys and their parents (fabulous impression/manners, *ahem*), they needed dates to proms, homecomings, football banquets, soccer banquets and the like, I can dance and I’m all about helping a brother out. But I never really had the dating dating experience that most girls got in high school. I didn’t have my first “I carried a watermelon” moment until well into college. In high school there was this tall handsome guy who smiled quickly, was pretty crass, but in a COOL way (pe-shaw) and showed signs of being interested. One evening after the Senior High football game, this guy and I walked across the soccer fields to the McDonald’s where the rest of our school was hanging out. I don’t know how we got paired up, I have no idea where everyone else was, I just know that on the way over somehow… seriously, I do not remember the sequence of events to save my life… we ended up on the grass making out like our lives depended on it while he furiously dry humped me until I was bruised. I remember being astounded at two things. Number one. How did I get onto the ground without falling, is he seriously that smooth? And Number two. At what part does this go from being totally hot into the more gray area of, “How am I going to explain these grass stains?” And no, that isn’t the uncomfortable part. Fast forward to a few weeks (months?) and my best girlfriend is dating the dry humper. Apparently he and I had the same idea. “Sure, that was fun, but um… tell no one, really. It’s cool. Whatever.” They were a new couple and I am sure that I mentioned the sneaky make out session on the soccer fields to said best friend BEFORE they started dating. I am hoping I did. We were at a party in our neighborhood. All the cheerleaders were there, all the jocks were there, some of the stoners… your standard party. (No,YOURs! I said, defensively.) And somehow I literally got thrown into dry humper’s best friend’s lap. Yay. “Hey, both of you guys are single…” [I could feel my internal organs shriveling] “Why don’t you two go for a walk or something?” I looked up into DHB/F’s face, he smiled and helped me out of his lap and to stand. “How about it?” He asked. “Sure.” I mumbled, and even managed to force a wee smile. On the way out the door, I looked at dry humper. He smiled then winked at me. OH MAH GAWD. His best friend must have known about the soccer field make out session. Dirty rat (bastard). Okay, so, to set the mood, I was already pissed. I had made out with DH and now, DHB/F wants the same treatment or something. I was incensed. My virtue (heh) was at stake! What did these boys think of me? That I was something to be passed around, made out with and dry humped until black and blue*? *Yeah, try to explain THAT. But on the other hand, hopefully DHB/F had no idea, he was just a nice guy, taking me for a nice fall stroll in the crisp air, around the block… and… into… the… alley… behind the house of the party. My left eyebrow was basically IN my hairline. I was curious to see where this was going. What, EXACTLY, did this jackass want from me? And how could I turn the situation around? DHB/F lit a smoke and passed it to me, I took it and we sat down on a retaining wall on the side of the alley. He lit his own and started a friendly conversation. Since he came from a different middle school we had a lot of mutual friends, but didn’t know about each other. He seemed confident and relaxed. Slowly, I relaxed too, until it was just another dude I was talking too. We passed the time for a bit and smoked another cigarette. After the smokes were done, I thought we’d just walk back around to the front of the house and reengage (Make it so, Number One.) in the party. But um, No. DHB/F threw a fast one at me, “Susan, may I kiss you?” He asked. He almost said please. And hell, it was just a kiss, I said, “Sure?” He leaned in and kissed me. It was quite pleasant. I was kind of shocked. After the kiss, I stood up and offered DHB/F a hand. He took it and I pulled him to his feet. He said thanks, brushed off his jeans, I did the same… then he said, “Can I kiss you again?” I smiled and said, “Yes.” He came at me like a spider monkey. He was all fumbling and frantic. He shoved his hand down the front of my white (suck it Trebec) jeans and forced a finger inside me. I froze. “Doesn’t that feel good?” he breathed on me. “No.” I said, standing rigid with shock and anger. He froze too. “No?” “No, definitely, NO.” He decided to get belligerent with me. “No, really, and what would YOU know about it?” “Remove your finger from my vagina and your hand from my pants, NOW.” What I said, “Dick.” And then I turned around and walked back around the corner and into the house where the party was. Same plan, “Sure, that was NOT FUN, but um… tell no one, really. It’s cool. Whatever.” What I wished I had said, “Listen to me you little shit, ‘what do I know about it?’ WHAT DO I KNOW ABOUT IT? it happens to be MY VAGINA. And I am pretty sure that I would know if something felt good or not, so take your hands off and out of me before I charge you with assault or worse, sick my friends on you… OR MY FATHER, you’d wish you’d never been born.” He never touched me or talked to me again. I didn’t have him killed, it was just an embarrassing encounter that in today’s society knowing now what I didn’t know then, would have been a hell of a lot more serious. Thank God I don’t have children. I talked to Dre’s wife the other afternoon, she surprised me by saying, “I got you a present, it will take 5-7 days to get here, and your mother will approve!” I guessed, “My mother would approve? What is it? A bible? A chastity belt? A burke?” She agreed, “Yes, it is a burke.” If I had teenage daughters I would totally make them wear burkes and they wouldn’t be able to go to parties or OUTSIDE until they were thirty. ]]> http://www.suzannadanna.net/2010/04/entry_number_400_i_am_so_proud.html http://www.suzannadanna.net/2010/04/entry_number_400_i_am_so_proud.html Tue, 13 Apr 2010 15:29:18 -0600 Coffee Talk (#1) dreamy expression] EEEEEEEEEEEEEhnnnn! (<-By the way, this is how I spell that WRONG! buzzer noise.) Totally wrong…. jackass. No, not you, that other douche over there, not paying attention to my little lesson. I knew this girl in college, well, she was in college and I was married to a redneck emu farmer/night shift cop. Guess which one of us had the better set up? Anyway, moving on. This beautiful woman was fucked up when it came to men. She was statuesque, funny, charming, gorgeous and the way she ate everyday common food was like watching a burlesque show. Hot, and yet not revealing too much. If you know what I mean… [glaring at dude that dated one of my college roommates… with your flip top head chewing]. So, she was pretty, kind and had so much going for her, but for some reason she had a wire crossed where dudes were concerned. A guy would pay attention to her, she would fawn all over him like he was the last man on earth and she wasn’t this goddess of a woman. He would string her along and she would scramble for any bit of affection that he may toss her way. He would tell her that he wasn’t interested. And I swear to God, we had this conversation. Gorgeous: Can I talk to you? self: Sure. Gorgeous: Okay, I know that you’ll tell me the truth* and I am just so mixed up. self: What’s up sugar? Gorgeous: Well, you know I’ve been seeing SAM** for a little while… self: Yes. Gorgeous: And I just don’t know what to doooooooo! self: [I start to panic as she is getting upset and I was not comfortable with… um, emotions.] So… um… what did he say? Gorgeous: That he didn’t love me. self: I’m sorry; I know that must have hurt your feelings. Gorgeous: But SUE… He didn’t mean it, I KNOW he didn’t mean it. I could see it in his eyes that he feels something for me! [commence to wailing] self: Gorgeous? Gorgeous: [sniff… sniff… two perfect tears roll down her poreless skin… blink… sniiffffff] Yes? self: Um. If the guy said he didn’t love you, then suck it up and move on, he doesn’t love you. He didn’t deserve you anyway, what is he like three feet shorter than you? Gorgeous: [Wailing] self: Oh dude… um, I’m sorry. <pat pat pat> [Frantically looking around for help.] *I hadn’t developed tact yet. **Short Ass Man That gorgeous woman had let that sawed off little shit use her and take advantage of her because she never told him up front, “Look man, I am into you, and I don’t do casual. Savvy?” Now, let’s move on to lesson number two. Expectations verbalized and never met. Let’s say that we are in the movie When Harry Met Sally… to be honest, I am really not sure where this is going, it just seemed like the right movie reference to throw out for the moment. In the movie Harry and Sally had this ships passing in the night sort of relationship, they love each other… but never at the right time. They hate each other, that too is sort of messed up by timing. But in the end they are sitting on the bed, the timing is right for each of them, relationship wise and they decide to take the leap. But first they get the important shit out of the way, no comb-overs, never squish the toothpaste in the middle… always roll it from the bottom up, ect. I know people who got all the important shit out of the way at the beginning of their relationships. I know people who got everything hammered out all the way down to IRA’s and which side of the bed is more important to sleep on. I know people who have downright over analyzed their expectations, and what’s more they have put that shit (by request) on paper… I am guessing for future reference. What happens when those hammered out promises and written lists of expectations are met to the fullest extent for years and years and years, and then one day. No, not so much. Or at all really. What do you do then? Do you keep your mouth shut next time around or keep trying to hammer out the details until somebody really gets you and you get them? Thoughts? Discuss amongst yourselves. ]]> http://www.suzannadanna.net/2010/04/coffee_talk_1.html http://www.suzannadanna.net/2010/04/coffee_talk_1.html Thu, 08 Apr 2010 12:56:44 -0600 Post 2010 Weetacon Wrap Up glaring at 2008]) I get to go to Green Bay for a reunion of sorts. I have grown up with groups of people and reunions. My mother and father have a group of four couples that they grew up with, and went to college with, and got married with, and had children along the same time line as, and lived in the same areas as for most of my childhood. I can remember most of the parents’ 40th birthday parties, their children’s birthday parties, Christmases spent with, vacations had with, and retreats to the lodge at Lake Lanier in Georgia with those families. My family and extended family enjoy the company of one another and therefore spend as much time with each other as possible. Yes, we are healthy and normal. Maybe a little nuts, but perfectly happy and functional… now*. *She said ominously, but then moved on without explanation. Oh, come on, it’s a joke. Every other year my immediate family and a host of neighbors, extended family members, and other friends gather in Destin, FL for a week of drinking vats of Bloody Mary’s on the beach at 10 am. What? It’s tradition. You don’t fuck with tradition. We also have a shrimp and sundae night. No, they don’t go together…. TRA-DI-TION. And I quote, “You want motherfucking nuts on your ice cream?” You have all heard about the Ya-Ya weekends and the gatherings of the Kerr Krew girls. I love you all. I do. But the Green Bay thing is different. Am going to try and be non-schmoopie. Annnd Go. This is a group of people whom I have chosen as an extended family and they have in turn chosen to accept me as part of their rag-tag loving family. We are a tribe. I came into Weetacon during the third year and have been going every since. Except one time… (… still glaring at 2008). And even then, the tribe included me by calling, texting, sharing photos and stories. It was almost like I was there. BUT NOT. Suffice it to say, I will (crossing fingers) never miss another one. I dig these cats. I think that it comes from mutual respect across the board and the fabulous lack of drama. Well, the liquid panty remover** doesn’t hurt either. **Please see recipe at the bottom, courtesy of Scotty Boom Boom. There are games, there is normally a theme, there was a fashion show, there is a charity raffle, there is a sleigh ride, there is pineapple fluff and booyah, there is laughter, there is drinking (OH the drinking), there is the required Doctor… (see below… thanks Miss Meg). I think I see a developing pattern. PS … Shut up or I will hug Jane…. Again. I got my hat stolen while on the sleigh ride by Scotty and then tackled him in the snow for retribution. PS.. Scotty did not go down. He is scrappy. Also, FAIL. There are hugs and kisses and karaoke, and SWEET CAROLINE, bah bah bah! And programs, and good food and laughter. We scheduled naps y’all. NAPS, because that is the way we motherfucking roll, yo. Also, because we are feeling the age. I get loved on and praised and people laugh at my lame ass jokes and I named a woman Bruce. I got to wear a pretty dress, show my boobs, got hit on by a dude that was WAY drunk and seriously opened with this, “Your tits are really pretty.” And then proceeded to ask if he could motorboat them. No, I am not kidding. I snaked an arm around Scotty’s waist and because he is incredibly kind and very gentlemanly he interceded. We had pantscakes at an unholy hour and I popped my karaoke cherry… kind of. Am yella. This is my tribe. We are the Pineapple Fluff Gang. You people, you know who you are. You mean the world to me. You lift me up, you are the wind beneath my wings, you send me sparkly things just to make me smile. You never offer advice but give superb counsel when asked. You love me for who I am regardless of my wardrobe, financial status, employment status, ethnicity, religion or creed and whether or not I am all made up pretty or look like death warmed over. I love you, man. **Alcoholic Apple Pie Recipe Ganked from Scotty Boom Boom’s FB page <- I totally don’t feel bad for ganking it because he didn’t go down when I pounced on him for stealing my hat. ½ gallon apple juice ½ cup (slightly less, actually) of brown sugar 2 tbsp white sugar (could raise brown sugar to make up for it) 2 cinnamon sticks 3 shakes of ground nutmeg Simmer for 30 minutes. Add 500 mL of everclear or equivalent once cool. Add ¼ tsp of 2x strength vanilla extract with liquor. Final ABV: 19.8% Notes from Boom Boom: “I prefer it with brandy (it's smoother) which lowers the alcohol to about 8.5% unless you raise the proportion. I'd let it mellow for a 2-4 weeks if you can wait, but it should be fine as-is. Depending how good your sterile technique is (I sanitize everything like I'm brewing) you may want to refrigerate it if it's <15% alcohol or so. Use something decent [brandy] that you wouldn't be afraid to drink in a mixed drink, but you are putting it in with a ton of sugar and spice so you don't need to get extravagant. Last time I used E&J, which I think was about $15 or so a bottle. Don't use cheap vanilla, though--get the real stuff!” ]]> http://www.suzannadanna.net/2010/03/post_2010_weetacon_wrap_up.html http://www.suzannadanna.net/2010/03/post_2010_weetacon_wrap_up.html Thu, 25 Mar 2010 15:53:19 -0600 Good for What Ails You


Good for What Ails You
Originally uploaded by MStone The Doctor is IN.

Drink Bitch.
]]> http://www.suzannadanna.net/2010/03/good_for_what_ails_you.html http://www.suzannadanna.net/2010/03/good_for_what_ails_you.html Thu, 25 Mar 2010 15:48:28 -0600 IGIGI Strut Your Stuff, Fashion Review Weetacon*, but I also got to participate in the IGIGI Strut Your Stuff, Fashion Review (this is what I am going to call it from now on.) at the Bad Bar on Saturday night. *I’ll do the post Weetacon wrap up entry soon baby, soon. With a LOT of help from Weetabix and the talented designer Yuliya Raquel, ten of the lovely ladies that attended Weetacon, including yours truly, got to wear an item from IGIGI. Yes, you need to follow the links. I’ll wait. No, seriously. I’ll be right here. You looked? You liked? YOU LOVED, didn’t you? Me too. Guess what I got to wear? Go back and look… I promise, I’ll be right here. Go, look… and take a guess. You can’t decide between all of the amazing garments can you? Me neither. Okay, so I’ll tell. I got to model the Talent and Beauty Dress. Isn’t that just the most perfect thing? Here’s a picture of it on their model.
talentbeautydress.jpg
Yes, she’s gorgeous, and has amazing curves. Stop drooling, you perv. Let me tell you about the dress. It is in their Limited Collection and is the perfect colors of grey (or if you want to be sassy… “Pewter”) and black. The sweetheart neckline is just what the doctor ordered. For someone with a bit larger rack it would have been even more ideal. It was a bit big on the top, but absolutely fabulous on the bottom. The skirt is listed as “Tulip shaped skirt with pleats and pockets, Back vent and zip”. Did you see what they did there? Tulip shaped with POCKETS. Tulip shaping is a fancy way of saying, “I will drape your body and hide imperfections with love, baby.” And, pockets… come on, now they are just messing with me. I love pockets when they don’t take away from the line of the garment. As being a woman with hips (ps… shut up) I understand the need for curves but not, “What the hell just happened there? Oh, that is a Hot Mess.” This perfect little number pulled off the pockets with perfect design. You can dress this puppy up or down. At the IGIGI Strut Your Stuff, Fashion Review I wore black knee high leather boots and some pretty black onyx-y earrings. At a friend’s suggestion I did my hair massively curly, but UP… with ringlets hanging down to play off the pretty flower detail at the bust. I am sure I will wear this dress with heels, with sandals, with the boots again (because I looked bad ass) and with a multitude of accessories or just bare. I am sure this piece will be a lock, stock and barrel dress in my wardrobe as it has ¾ length sleeves and in Texas could be worn year round. I will definitely have to take it to the dry cleaners to get the Bad Bar funk out of it and to my tailor to take it up an inch or so at the shoulders because, seriously, I don’t think that showing that much décolletage at work, a funeral or at dinner anywhere (but at the Bad Bar) is appropriate. I will be taking a picture of myself in the dress this evening when my lazy ass gets around to it to post so all of you lovelies can see. Still scouring the Flickr pages for pics of me in the dress THAT night at the Bad Bar. If you find one, you’ll know why I am going to get it taken up in the bust. I meant to take a picture over the weekend, so here is me making a “whoops” face and trying to placate you with calling you “baby” and using Eben’s patented boyfriend voice.
Whoops%203-16-10.JPG
But here is a picture Mister took of me in the dress yesterday evening. Yes, I am outside. Yes, the wind is ruffling through my hair that hasn’t been even trimmed since October, but DUDE… the main thing is… Lookit the freaking dress (not the cleavage) the dress, it is so comfortable and pretty. I totally need to take it to the tailor tomorrow to get it taken up so I can wear it. SO COMFORTABLE.
Dress%20On%20Me%202%20View.JPG
And to quote LadyLoo… * FCC-licious: I was given a dress from Igigi to review. So that’s compensation, right? Ok, so I was compensated for this review. Now you know. ]]> http://www.suzannadanna.net/2010/03/igigi_strut_your_stuff_fashion.html http://www.suzannadanna.net/2010/03/igigi_strut_your_stuff_fashion.html Wed, 17 Mar 2010 10:26:51 -0600 These are a few of my favorite things.....
These are a few of my favorite things.....
Originally uploaded by suzannadanna]]> http://www.suzannadanna.net/2010/03/these_are_a_few_of_my_favorite_1.html http://www.suzannadanna.net/2010/03/these_are_a_few_of_my_favorite_1.html Tue, 16 Mar 2010 16:47:16 -0600 Up In The Air (PreWeetaconPost) 3/4/10 I am in the air somewhere, am guessing over Oklahoma. "Crash Into Me" by Dave Matthews band is playing through the earbuds and my iPod and I am on my way to Green Bay for the annual Weetacon. We just crossed over a particularly deserted part of the landscape and for an odd reason I felt the prick of tears threatening at the back of my eyes. The throat tightening, and the fear that I would startle the elderly woman sitting next to me if I were to burst into sobs and couldn't tell her what exactly (if anything) was wrong, were she to ask. Happy tears? Sure. I am headed to spend four days with my chosen family, my tribe and I feel (yes, I am a sap) particularly blessed to be a part of this group. And yes, I will regale you with tales and linkity links when I get back. But is that the only reason? Wander lust tugging at my internal make up? Maybe. The urge to just run and start my life over (I am pretty sure that the "Lucky Penny"* post gave away a little bit of that mindset)... Yep. A few months ago I startled myself by driving North along on 75 (Central) Expressway and thinking, "What if I just kept going?". I called Mister and the exchange went like this: Me: hi Mister: hi back Me: I am on 75 on the way back from the doctor and this though occurred to me... Mister: what thought? Me: what if I just kept going? Mister: well, how long does it take to get to Oklahoma City? Me: a little over three hours. Mister: and after that? Me: Kansas, in another three hours or so to Salinas. Mister: so..... You'd be in Kansas by the time I got home from work. Me: um, yes. Mister: okay Me: ... So, there's that then. Could it be just a general sense of maliase? Let's go with that. Random, odd things are making me cry more and more lately. Ever since I dropped my basket a few months I have been delicate as a butterfly wing. And here's the fucked up part. RIGHT NOW is when I am supposed to be the strongest. Lessee.... Um, nope. Not happening. I typed the above on my blackberry “notes” section on Thursday, last week. I was on my way to something I look forward to every year and I rend flesh and wail and gnash teeth when I don’t get to go. (See January of 2008.) It was wild, it was wonderful, it was a crazy and beautiful time. I hugged, got hugged upon, laughed, almost cried, drank A LOT, wrestled in the snow, got hit on by a 30 year old Frat Boy (the term motorboat was used… Seriously.), ate poorly, used (to the utmost ability) the restorative powers of the St. Brendan’s Bloody Mary**, not once… not twice… Okay, I can’t remember how many times exactly, but a couple of times. I slept well, I bunked with a fellow Weetacon-er well (she really doesn’t snore that loudly… I promise), I got kissed on the face and the lips more times that I can count, saw many boobs, giggled until I snorted, named a woman Bruce, wore a dress that showed more cleavage that I have EVER worn (I wore a tank top under a corset on Halloween… because I am prude… and yella), had an Out-Southerning at the Bad Bar complete with neck wobbling and “YOU NEED TO TAKE CARE OF YOUR BABIES!”, gave away shoes, bought shoes, received a pair of shoes and I promise that I will come back in the next few days (or whatever) to give you all of the details that I can. To those of you who were there, you know who you are, you know I love you and that I can’t wait to do it all over again, and none too soon. PS.. I am SO off my freaking game it is insane. *Sorry this made you cry Mary. I love you. **The St.B’s Bloody Mary has a stick of olives, a pickle, a lemon, a lime, a cheese stick and a fucking meat stick. They are certifiable meals in a schooner (with a Spotted Cow beer chaser)… FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS HOLY. ]]> http://www.suzannadanna.net/2010/03/up_in_the_air_preweetaconpost.html http://www.suzannadanna.net/2010/03/up_in_the_air_preweetaconpost.html Wed, 10 Mar 2010 14:51:54 -0600