Work or Something Like It Archives

June 21, 2005

Open mouth, insert ugly white patent-leather shoe that I am sure I was wearing at the time.

I was thinking about all of these different things while driving this morning… as opposed to actually paying attention to the road and the eleventy-four frillion cars, trucks, vans, SUVs and 18-wheelers all around me doing 60 miles an hour on the surface streets of north Dallas on a road that was clearly marked 40 mph. We’re over achievers.

I was thinking of how pretty that woman’s hair in the Lexus next to me looks. Someone should tell her that today. If we weren’t at a stoplight that was about to turn green and I wouldn’t look like a total maniac for honking my horn and doing that “hey roll down your window for a sec, will ya?” motion with my hand to tell her… I probably would tell her myself.

I was also thinking about how cute that young boy in the big red Chevy SUV next to me on Preston was. He smiled and I waved. I wondered if he was a good kid.

I saw a man pass in front of me on foot at Frankford. Not too many guys can carry off dreds like that buddy. Good for you.


We all think them all the time. Why don’t we say them more often?

Anne and I were IM’ing yesterday afternoon and she sent me a photo of her and one of her friends from her recent trip to Tunisia. Sunburned back and earache aside, ladies and gentlemen, without a dab of makeup on (she doesn’t hardly wear any… nor need a dollop of it for that matter) the picture – which I dearly hope she posts on her site – is absolutely stunning. The quality of light, her beautiful smile. Sun kissed skin. Anne is strikingly gorgeous.

I do try to give people compliments (heartfelt ones only) as often as I can. Sometimes to brighten a woman’s day just by complimenting her necklace or whatever goes a long way to brighten mine. It usually befuddles the men we are with…

Case in point: Walking through Willowbend Mall – Saks Fifth Avenue – With Mister.. March-ish.

A woman and her boyfriend/husband(?) and a random other guy came walking by, she had on these shoes (God… LOVE!) and I just casually said to her, “Great shoes, honey.” She looked down quickly, smiled, and said, “Thanks.” While all of the men around who noticed the exchange were scratching their heads and looking at each other and us as if I had just said, “Nice tits, honey.”

I would never say that to another woman. I would say, “Bangin rack, sweetheart.”

Anyway… I know that people can get tongue-tied while trying to deliver a compliment. I have, many a time.

I can remember being in church as a young girl and this couple came in the door. The woman was tall, and believe me ladies, if you are a tall one… please, do not slouch, stand up straight and proud, there is nothing like the sight of a tall woman who is proud of her attributes, including the height she was blessed with. (off soapbox… sorry) So, yeah, back on point. This tall woman had perfect creamy skin, jewel-green eyes and auburn hair. It was the late 1970’s or early 80’s and that feathered look was in. Her hair was perfectly feathered back from her forehead and held into place by all of the hairspray in Northern Georgia.

I was coming up the aisle to help my dad pass out the handout thingies, and she was coming down the aisle. I stopped right in front of her and said, “Ma’am?” “Yes?” “I really like your hair.” She said “Thank you.” And turned to her husband and said, “What a sweet little girl.” But NOOO… I couldn’t just stop there, I was spurned on by her compliment that I was indeed a sweet little girl, so I kept going. “It’s like you have your own visor, a hair visor.” Her left eyebrow shot up and she smiled that half smile thing, and I scampered away like a burned chimp.


Open mouth, insert ugly white patent-leather shoe that I am sure I was wearing at the time.

Could I have given anymore of (what my mother calls) a Sideways Compliment? No. And I should have been soundly beaten for being such an idiot and not knowing when to shut the fuck up already.

I was trying to be nice and ruined it.

I probably caused that lady undue turmoil about her and her hair visor.

December 20, 2005

Administrative Nightmares Ensued


Er, uh… Merry Christmas!

Ya’ll? I am so mad I could spit fire and save the matches. I am all het up about so many small things. And… AND I have already completed my Christmas shopping. So it isn’t the capitalistic nightmare that “‘tis the fucking season” for dropping a boat load of cash on stuff.

I just have to vent for a minute or twelve. Not long. I promise. Just read fast or something.

Ok, Mister… the king of a man that he is… has this job, see?


Side note: Just imagine that that noise right there… yes the “Uhhgrrrrah!” one sounds sort of like a cross between a wildebeest screaming as it is torn in twain from a Nile croc, the sound a wood chipper makes when it is grinding up a large boar hog and a southern girl trying her best to hold her shit together when she is thisclose to drop kicking a kitten.

PETA… lighten the hell up. I love cats. I’d really never hurt one. A wombat or a small child maybe. Kittens? Never.

Back to Mister. He has this job where he has increased productivity… pulled a project that was 6 months in the hole out and into the black… AND has been doing the jobs of 2.5 people because someone in HR just can’t seem to fill the position that needs to be filled. But he asked his boss (a boss that seems to bristle at Mister’s height and seems to think that since Mister is a retired Marine that he needs to be constantly put in his place… An example? I am glad you asked. How about two??? 1) Mister calls in with a migraine. He still worked from home. The next day bossman says, “You may want to weigh the reason that you call in… [pregnant pause with staring gaze] the next time.” 2) “Mister, you need to be happy and upbeat. If you can’t do that by Monday, don’t bother coming in or don’t come back at all.” Mister asks bossman the next day a SATURDAY while Mister is working, “Sir, do you remember when you said ‘you need to be happy and upbeat. If you can’t do that by Monday, don’t bother coming in or don’t come back at all.’? Do you remember which one it was?” Bossman replies, “Uh,…. No, I don’t remember.” Buddy, if you are going to go around threatening people… your WHOLE DAMN STAFF… (Mister isn’t the only one) and then wonder why turnover is so high, you seriously need a beating. Uhhgrrrrah!) if he could have a few days off over the Christmas season. He has three weeks a year to take.

He’s taken like oh, 6 days, since April and one was to go to a funeral!

Bossman says; in a matter of speaking; “No slaveboy.” And then announces that he himself is taking off like three weeks.

I am about to go carnival psycho crazy on his young punk ass.

Oh, ya’ll KNOW.

No one… NO ONE should every treat people like fucking chattel. There is so much more…. SO Much more ya’ll about that little evil gnome. But most of it would come out very poorly in print… and I would be screaming “Uhhgrrrrah!” a lot.

Number two. It is no secret that I do conferences. I just got done with one that about wore me the hell out. Within this conference there is a session that is usually very well attended by those who need this particular… let’s call it a class.

This class is offered online. It is offered eleventy billion times throughout the year for those who need it. And this year we decided not to have this particular class included in the circus conference that I just completed. The guy who cornered the market on this particular class, yes he has the exclusivity with our… company… he is a very shrewd little man. I do not begrudge him the fact that he cornered the market, or the fact that he makes about 16K for 12 hours of work… however comma… what I do begrudge is that he called someone in our company and threw an absolute piss fit that we would not be including his class in this circus conference.

He badgered that person and the decision was overturned. Or as that person likes to say, “Susan and I had a misunderstanding. Of course we’ll include your class in the circus conference.”

Clusterfuck of all administrative nightmares ensued.

I am still working out the details on the last city the conference was held in. Normally it takes me about four or five days to do this reconciliation. This year? Nine days. NINE.

And. Oh, yes… AND… I just got word that he sent little thank you’s (in the form of a $100 gift checks) to the woman he badgered, her other manager and her administrative assistant. Did my supervisor get anything? Did my coworker get anything? Did I even get a little note that said, “Thanks… or whatever.”???? I submit that Hell to the Fucking No… We did not get a got-damn thing. And WE were the ones who did all the work.

Oh. Ya’ll. It is just the principle of the thing.

So. [flaring of nostrils] Mad.

There’s more? Oh hells yes there’s more.

Barnie’s coffee. Mister loves. I hate. They shipped out my order (surprise for Mister for Christmas morning) twice. Both times, no tracking number. Lord.

The hot water faucet in Mister’s bathroom doesn’t work.
Shingles are falling off our house in droves.
The garage door opener doesn’t work when it’s cold.
My Seafood Newberg didn’t turn out correctly last night.
Cat hair… EVERYWHERE on the kitchen floor. ::shudder::
I haven’t gotten my 66+ Christmas cards in the mail yet.
Herschel won’t keep his formatting.
My mother is frustrated with the progress of her poor little knee and is crying (heart = broken when mommy cries).
My sister’s family has a carrier monkey (5 year old nephew in kindergarten) in their midst… everyone is sick.

And… My poor husband.

I’ll cheer up or I won’t come in or back at all on Monday. I keeed, I keeed.

August 14, 2006

This was supposed to be something about not being able to travel with lip gloss, but I got side tracked.

While at happy hour with the girls the other evening the subject material turned raunchy as we regaled Stephanie’s sister Jen with this story. And then the awesomeness of the evening ramped up a notch … OR TWELVE! Because Jen got up to go to the ladies room and Steph said, “Didn’t one of us make out with him? Randy, I mean? [silence for about 10 seconds while she strolled down memory lane] Oh… Oh, my God… was it me!?” Kerry and I let out peals of laughter that harbor seals would have been jealous of, said laughter drew the attention of every patron in the bar and caused Jen to come running back to the table from halfway across the room, “Shit! What did I miss?”


Oh, and then? Kerry sent us all an email the next morning that said (posted here for my memory’s sake… and to make you cry a little bit… like I did):

Hey Sistas!! (Susan, Stacey, Steph & Jenn)

What a blast it was to see you last night! I have not laughed that hard in a very long time. Good Times!!!

I cannot wait till we are all grey & we meet at the community room at a local retirement village to look back at our entire lives. We will always be able to laugh & cry together.

Thank you so much for being in my life. I love you & I cherish your friendships more than you will ever know!!

Much Love,


Makes ya a little misty huh?

I also wanted to discuss this latest terrorist threat thing. No, I don’t want to go down the, “We’re all gonna DIE!” path with ya’ll. I want to talk about something that is near and dear to my heart.

My makeup.

Did ya’ll know that the airlines were making the passengers and the flight attendants do? The women (and some saucy men) had to throw away their makeup.

To wit:

No liquids or gels of any kind will be permitted in carry-on baggage. Items must be in checked baggage.
Exception: baby formula, breast milk, or juice if a baby or small child is traveling; prescription medicine, insulin and essential other non-prescription medicines.

Source: Department of Homeland Security. Link found here.

Anything that is in a tube, it a liquid or a lotion… Gone. Tossed. Make up, being thrown away. (And somewhere Elizabeth Arden is turning in her four poster bed … er her grave. Sorry Liz..) A coworker just came into my cube and she said, “What would you do if they made you throw away your entire make up bag and it’s contents that you carry in your purse?” I replied, “Someone would go down with a jacked up tooth.” As I applied a base coat of Burt’s Bees lip balm and then a dab or two across my lips of M*A*C lipstick in “O”.

Not sure if you guys have realized this yet or not but… I have a problem.

A few months back Miss Sheryl at did a little story where she asked her readers to take a picture of what is in their purses. The piece was called “in the bag” and it chronicled the very low maintenance, the mommy purses (the ones with all the food) and then those of us who really have issues. Namely, me.

I sent Sheryl two pictures of Elvira. (Both included below for your viewing and judgmental pleasure.)

The first picture was one of Elvira with her top zipper open and me… every so adoringly, peering inside.

This is what I normally see.

And the second one was basically is a very disturbing and quite detailed photo of what treasures that Elvira holds in her day to day duty.

Ya’ll know I love this purse. As we speak friends of mine and coworkers alike are gathering a plotting when to call in the reinforcements of Stacey and Clinton on TLC’s What Not to Wear because I wear black pants like three or four days a week and I have been carrying this fucking purse for neigh on two years. Seriously ya’ll. Two years. September 26th will be two years that Elvira has been mine, all mine.

And when Mister bought her for me as an anniversary present I suggested that she needed a car seat… and he thought that I. Was. Kidding.

It is relatively apparent that I am a twisted individual.

There was something that I was going to tell ya’ll and because it has taken me like four days to write this I have totally forgotten. Maybe it will come to me.

August 29, 2006

"Get your facts straight before you complain."

Ya’ll know I am crazy right? Oh, ya’ll know.

Ya’ll also know that I could handle a catastrophic event with strength and grace and I am usually fairly pleasant… but, BUT, if someone is rude or fails to do what they say they are going to do… in writing*, I basically lose my shit.

*For example: Say you are a convention center or a large hotel property and you tell a group that they are your first priority when they come to spend thousands and thousands of dollars at your venue and pay $3.75 (+ tax + service charge) for every freaking can of CoCola and all they want is a little attention from the service staff. Then, let’s say that you give someone a direct date to send all the materials for the conference/convention/seminar/whatever that the person is having. Then, oh, just for fun, let’s say that you fail to tell your security guard to expect said materials and the freaking security guard sends your materials away, back to UPS never never land, never to be seen again, unless you rent a freaking Suburban and have someone go GET said materials. Seriously. This all happened two years ago at the San Antonio Convention Center… This kind of shit right here? This is the kind of shit that will make me carnival psycho crazy.

Oh, and also? When people are mean and back stabby and rude.

I seriously hope that I do not get fired for this post ya’ll. And since I have never mentioned my work place (love you work place!) by name then maybe I won’t get the boot.

Let’s just put all of this hypothetically shall we?

(Gah, just want to scream! So, so mad.)

Say, for instance that you have an IT department at your workplace. Everyone is fairly nice and stable. And let’s say that your director ordered a new laptop last year… oh, in say… November. Let’s also just guess that this new laptop was supposed to be for you and your team to order wireless service when you travel so you can register people onsite, work on your reconciliation and basically be efficient.

Not for… oh, just the purpose of printing out labels.

Let’s be crazy and suppose that the laptop won’t connect to the system. Ever. Let’s also be sort of wild and extreme and say that you, yourself have documented over nine conferences where the laptop would not connect to the system. Let’s also go out on a limb and say that you received a full day’s help from the audio/visual/tech departments on more than one occasion and they couldn’t figure it out.

Maybe you also dream of coding those charges to the IT department until they get the laptops all squared away.

Maybe you took the laptops home and could log on…. For seven minutes and then the system would kick you off. But you could log on from your husband’s system and stay there all freaking day.

No problems with surfing the web so no problems with the wireless systems. Just problems with logging into your system.

Just as a crazy girl may do, let’s just speculate that you called your IT Technology Support Specialist and gave him the information that you had gathered one morning while at a conference and maybe, just maybe you heard this coming back from the other end of the phone, “Get your facts straight before you complain.”

Let’s say that you didn’t jump on a plane, abandoning your attendees and your coworker to go strangle the support specialist and instead you handed off the phone to the in-house tech guy at the hotel.

Let’s also dream and maybe hallucinate that your director can not work her voicemail with the six pages of instructions to work the phone system so she asks you to change her voicemail while she is gone attending to her father’s funeral. Suspend reality and just go with the notion that you probably took care of this for her.

You may have also been thanked profusely for doing this. And when hearing on how you can actually change your own voicemail, maybe other members of your team ask you how do work this voodoo that you do. You might just help a few bothers and sisters out. Maybe.

Perhaps you were in San Antonio last week. Let’s also say that you have given up on calling IT about your laptop issues and that you actually called the Data Ops Manager of the venue you were planning on going to last week, you gave him your metaframe website and your password, login and network information. Maybe he got in, maybe… well, let’s just suspend disbelief and guess that he got in just fine from his system. (HE DID.) And that while you were in San Antonio that you took your laptop, and your director’s laptop and neither one was able to log in… Except from 7:08 am until 7:15 am on the first day. Then the system kicked your ass out and never let you back in the whole time you were there.

Following me?


Now… let’s just propose that you are sitting at your desk today after being blackballed from the IT department for your documentation of the laptop issues and you hear that your coworker’s voicemail is not working. You also hear someone from IT go to said coworker’s desk and the following conversation takes place.

CoWorker: My voicemail is all jacked up.
IT lady: What did you do to it?
CoWorker: Nothing.
IT lady: You mean you didn’t get all in the system like Susan because she is CURIOUS?!

The word ‘curious’ was said with total venom.

I did not touch my coworker’s voicemail, nor have I messed with the set up or anything database-y with the laptops, but yet I am now considered Public Enemy Number One with the IT group.

Oh My God. I am so angry.

I let my boss know just so he wouldn’t be surprised if I got all stabby on someone. And of course he won’t do anything. If he were any more laid back, he’d be dead. And my director won’t say anything to the IT director because the IT director is all defensive and protective of his team.

I told my director yesterday that our new laptop and her laptop are all well and good within the building and inside our wireless network, but outside it… they are just expensive label makers.

Coworker is now calling me Curious George.


[Deep breath…. DEEEEEP breath.]

Happy thoughts.

Mister loves his job and the dog threw up on me yesterday morning.

That is all.

December 12, 2006

The texture of the cloth on the outside was so rich and creamy I wanted to roll around on it.

Babies, babies, babies… I feel like I have left ya’ll at a kennel or a boarding house for the past month. Forgive me for being nonexistent. But, as Willie Nelson says, “You were always on my mind….”

Did I really just quote Willie Nelson?

Yes, yes I did… move along.

Let me just forego with the pleasantries and just tell ya’ll about the damn robe (of degradation) already. I have been mentioning the robe for nigh on [checking calendar… Good Lord! Since October!?] a month and a half and the story really isn’t that great in the first place, but since I have been promising ya’ll the scoop, here goes.

Back in October my coworker and I went to Galveston for a site visit of this resort down on the beach. (Galveston… beach… Heh. Right.) Anyway, we went down the Friday before she had a conference starting on that next Monday. We showed up in Houston, had our favorite driver pick us up at the airport (free plug for Reggie @ Platinum Limousine, ya’ll call him, really… he’s awesome.) and he took us to Galveston. He even stopped off at a liquor store so my coworker could get a bottle of Stoli. Nice guy, that Reggie.

We were soon at the resort and Reggie dropped us off and we checked in. The place is massive and has a great spa and was built and is owned by that man who owns the Landry’s restaurants. Not naming any names here… I get Googled for pierced breast way too often as it is. (Sorry pierced breast Googlers… I have thwarted you again with my willy nilly mention of that which you seek!)

The last time I was in this same resort it was for a sales meeting. And the Vice President of the company I was working (please take into consideration that I was young and skinny enough to wear a bikini and not feel self conscious about it) for (not the same company I am working for now… I repeat… NOT THE SAME ONE.) put his foot in my crotch while a herd of us were in the hot tub after drinking heavily.

I thought it might be a mistake… a mistaken foot in the crotch, if you will… and I know you will. But, no. He was not forced to place his gnarled, old ass toe anywhere near my princess because of the number of people in the hot tub.

That hot tub can seat about a dozen people and by that time there were only about four or five of us left. So, I… being ever polite remarked, “Goodness it is warm in here. I am going to take a dip in the pool and then call it a night. ‘Night!” and I dove in the pool and swam to the other side (underwater… because I am yella… and a chicken – with amazing lung capacity apparently) and pretended not to hear Mr. Inappropriate ask me what room number I was in. Gah.

Where was I? Oh, yes… checking in.

So we got checked in and we made plans to meet downstairs in like five minutes because we were expected for dinner at this place adjacent to the resort and we had to walk. So I schlepped my stuff upstairs and threw everything just inside the door, dug my toothbrush out of my bag, brushed my teeth, tinkled, washed my hands, put some lipstick on and ran back out the door. I didn’t even have a chance to look around the room, open the curtains, check out my view, any of that stuff.

I met my coworker downstairs and we walked over to Landry’s and met with the other people on the same trip and our hostesses. They were so sweet and the dinner was wonderful. They laid out our plans for us for the weekend and I basically didn’t hear anything except, “Susan, your massage is scheduled for 11 am, you may have to leave the tour a bit early to get there by 10:30.” My reply? “Tour?” Heh, just kidding. I was all for seeing the property and SO SO SOOO ready for that massage.

When dinner was over they asked us all to pile in their little bus and they dropped us back off at the hotel. I went upstairs and went to take my stuff further into the room, maybe even unpack, iron something when I looked on the bed and saw a present. For ME?!?!? Yes, for me. See? It says so right there on the card. “Susan” See? It’s mine.

I opened up the gorgeous box and unwrapped the gold foil tissue paper (very froo froo) and inside was the most gorgeous robe I have ever seen. It was a beautiful pale eggshell color. The inside was white terry cloth and the texture of the cloth on the outside was so rich and creamy I wanted to roll around on it. It had the name of the resort embroidered on the right breast and on the left there was a little pocket, with my name embroidered in the same color… gold.

I was so excited. I pulled the robe lovingly from its confines of the beautiful box and that is when I saw it.

The tag.

Fucking tag.

Guess what size the robe was ya’ll? Just guess. No, forget it. I’ll tell you.

It was a medium.


Let’s take a look back shall we? When I looked like THIS (see below) I was not a fucking medium.

NOT A MEDIUM. Also, I should have probably been fed a sandwich or something.
AND? See that heinous turquoise robe hanging on my closet door? Size? XL, baby.

I am a big girl. This was just mean. This was the most beautiful robe I have ever felt or laid my eyes on… and it wouldn’t fit enough to overlap like robes should do. Nope.

I almost cried.

I packed the robe fondly back into the stunning box it came wrapped in, laid the golden tissue (fiddle, on the ground at Johnny’s feet…. (wait a sec, this is not The Devil Went Down to Georgia… sorry.)) just so within the box and placed it beside my luggage. I knew that I would have to give the robe up. I knew that I would give it to my mother. She is the size of a small parrot and loves to wear robes, and the one she currently wears is threadbare and about as old as I am. So… to my mother the robe went.

The sales person was so sweet and when I thanked her for the amenity she apologized for the size (is it THAT apparent lady?!) and said she would send me one that is my correct size. But, alas… no. I have not seen the robe come in the mail or delivered by golden horses drawing a pearl chariot.

I am bereft of the robe of glory and beauty.

I will continue to wear my husband’s long-sleeved polo t-shirt as my robe… and you will all love me for it.

Right? Right? … Hey, come back here.

August 10, 2007

Please keep personal phone calls a little more "brief".

There are strange things afoot at the Circle-K, y’all. I keep getting cryptic messages from my boss saying stuff like, “Please reserve Oct 5th for an out-of-town meeting. I'll explain later.” And, “If you want to see your precious Post-it™ notes again, meet me in the alleyway at noon. And come aloooooone!” Okay, not so much with that last one. But I got tickled typing it so at least it was funny to me. Heh.

Oh, and also... Do y’all remember Coughy McChokesOnPhlegm? She got canned yesterday.


You know what? This is totally not interesting to anyone but me. Let’s move on.

Y’all know how I cherish old friends and people who knew you back when? For example: see any entry that begins with “this one time?”, any story that has to do with college, dancing, Stephanie/Stacey/LuLu, any old friends from high school and or church.

Basically my whole repertoire is old ass stories from way back when (when I was interesting) and various shit that I get myself into on a daily basis [see also: psycho waiters].

Well, a few weeks ago. No... let’s back this puppy up and go for a whole what goes around comes around theme, shall we?


Remember these guys? (Click to make biggie)

H20 Tic Tac Toe anyone?
From Left to Right: Scott, Ryan (the sweet one who wrote me poetry in the 8th grade), Carter, Eric, Me and my ‘brother’, Brian.

And these two stories right here? About said boys (in picture above) and how we were all friends? A year or two ago [totally checking archived sent messages to verify myself – okay it was like on 2/2/06] I got word from my boss (who knows Ryan’s dad – go figure) that Ryan and his wife had moved back to town to open up shop as they are doctors or something. So I sent a friendly email saying “Hi”, I told him I was glad he and his wife were back in town and to please reply back and let me know if they would be up for dinner one evening to catch up with Mister and I. Never heard a peep from him.

Y’all remember Hot Barney? Also known as Tim... the jock in this entry? Still haven’t heard a word from him since October of 2005. Heard from his last (known to me) girlfriend via email last week or so (?). But still nothing from Tim.

Do you guys ever go onto and search for people you knew in high school or college?

Do you ever Google people? Oh, come on. Admit it. You know that I am a big ol’ bucket of crazy and Google people like a mad bastard... and that I get those emails from that say, “Hey, you big loser! Twelve people looked at your profile, sign up with our Supercalafragalistic Gold Package to see who!” I always try to cheat it and ... well, I am just not that smart. But you know who is? John.

I have known John since middle school. John’s family (like mine) was from Georgia and moved to the Dallas suburbs. John was always there. John was handsome and tall... the sweet guy who all the girls adored but never admitted it. (Except Stephanie, she totally dug John’s vibe. Shhhh... don’t tell.*) He was the guy who your [read: my] mother would try to talk you into dating. “Oh, Hortense, [or whatever your name is... and again, I totally mean me.] why don’t you call that sweet and very handsome John up and see if he will come over Sunday after church for lunch? Or maybe you could drop a hint about that new movie. Didn’t he ask you to the Soccer Banquet? That must mean he really likes you.” While you [again... me.] knew darn well that yes, John was tall and handsome, the good guy, the sweet one with a quick smile and a great sense of humor, a total catch... that he was never really into you [again... ME!]... that way.

*He was totally into Stephanie for a while, and she him (hee... 8th grade Valentine’s Day dance). So this is all no surprise. But again, here I am airing other’s people business. (Sorry Steph! (PS: this will probably continue until the end of this entry) Love you! Call me!)

But no matter how many dances and banquets you [ME!] went to with John there was no way your [again, I totally mean mine] mother would ever understand that you couldn’t really date him because your best friend still held a candle ( the wind, never knowing... who to cling to... when the rain set innnnnnnn! Yeah, okay. Sorry about that. Need to lay off the caffine.) for him. Whether the candle was a massive burning pyre or a teeny little votive, Steph held one for John.

Confession: We totally made out one time. John and I, not Steph and I... pervs. It was awesome. Get this, driving into Amarillo, the sunrise bathing the ugly pattern on the bus seats in beautiful light while 35-plus other kids slept. We were a Baptist Youth Group heading for the mountains of Colorado to go skiing. John and I were the only ones awake and we started humming George Strait’s song “Amarillo By Morning” and then he kissed me. AWWWWWWWWW!**

**Don’t judge me. PPS... shut up.

John moved away shortly after we graduated and went back to Georgia. I saw him again, but only briefly with another friend (my 7th grade boyfriend Mike, whose family had moved back to GA when he was in the 10th (?) grade) when they drove up from Atlanta to see me at my Aunt’s house the summer before we went to college.

That long-ass run on sentence almost broke my brain.

So I found John on and sent him an email. Not knowing whether or not he was a Supercalafragalistic Gold member and if he would even receive said email. I was basically just throwing something against the wall to see if it would stick. I sent him a completely moronic email basically slobbering all over myself. “OMG! Is this the John from [suburb]? DUDE! Email me! Let’s catch up and talk about all the fun we haven’t had together in the past like 20 years!”

Surprisingly enough, the man emailed me back. He was eloquent and sweetly surprised that I tracked him down. He is married with two kids and the most amazingly beautiful wife ever. We have been emailing back and forth, showing pictures and catching up as much as you can via email.

When I got back from Montreal and turned on my cell phone there was a message from him. I called him the next day and we chatted for an hour. I got this email from my boss during our phone call (unedited for your enjoyment)...


I know you enjoy talking with your friends, but please keep personal phone calls a little more "brief".



How awesome is it that old friends can come out of the blue and it feels like you just talked to them yesterday? The Georgia boys came out of the woodwork this past week. Mike (said 7th grade boyfriend mentioned above) emailed me from as well. It was total coincidence because he and John don’t keep in touch. He’s been married for going on 12 years now... and has twins.

Also, remind me to tell you more awesome stuff about John and the time Mike lost a new pair of Reeboks when we snuck out one night.

PPPS: John may be reading this. I gave him the address. If so. Hi! Feel free to leave embarrassing comments below.

December 5, 2007


I can feel my anger, it is hot and uncomfortable like a muggy summer night full of humidity and no wind. I can feel my blood pressure rising with each beat of my overworked heart. I can feel the thoughts in my mind spinning around and bumping off one another like an angry hive of bees.

I? Am furious.

I am a Taurus and we Taureans (?) are normally even handed. We are steady and sure, we are stubborn. We are also loyal and true, good to our word. Slow to anger, with long fuses and normally called doormats by our peers we sometimes get overlooked in the anger department. But once that fuse hits the gas tank.... KA-BLAM!

... I am back from my monster conference and this little tidbit above? I posted to the notes folder in my blackberry on Monday I think. I typed for a few minutes and then swallowed my anger and put on a neutral face.

More tomorrow.

January 31, 2008

Ridiculous socks... You know you want them.

A quickie just so you guys know I am not dead.

Number 1: I am still a sad little moppet about missing Meatacon and am awaiting the pictures to be posted from the foray with baited breath and much anticipated glee.

What I was doing other than being among the loved and cherished tribe at Meatacon will now only be referred to as “the suck” and included such words as, “There is a motion to be passed to amend the amendment that was amended for the first amendment.” And then my head blew apart in massive chunks of gore because I rolled my eyes so hard that the pressure caused an explosion of the greatest magnitude. No fewer than six were lost that day.

Number 2: I am leaving today to go to Austin. I have a planning meeting for a conference there tomorrow. Currently there is an uproar about the meeting being scheduled for 30 minutes earlier than it has been for the prior eleventy thousand years (a precedent of which I was not aware... THE HORROR!... also, just inherited said group) and I am just telling you the latest bit of petty bullshit. There is more, OH THERE IS SO MUCH MORE! And I... I am seriously contemplating something rash, like speaking my mind, rolling my eyes, delivering withering bouts of passive aggressiveness and pouting.

Because seriously? Tomorrow’s meeting will be “the suck II, electric bugaloo”. Or “the suck II, the suckening”.

I am battling the suckage by three four methods.

a) Ridiculous socks.

b) Sock paired with (look away Wendy)... the unholy union of crocs and Mary Janes.

c) Loads of crack cocaine snorted off the asses of service industry entertainment... if you know what I mean. And I think you do... food wenches from Medieval Times.

d) And, last but not least... actually the most... I will be spending Friday evening with the ever lovely LuLu in Houston*. We are going drinking and dancing dammit, and there’s not a thing you can do to stop us.

*Oh? I didn’t mention Houston? Because that is ....................

Number 3) I am leaving Austin tomorrow to fly into Houston where I will be until next Wednesday at a convention that I am attending as opposed to putting on. There will be education, there will be networking, there will be drinking, there will be sweating (it is supposed to be in the 70’s and raining Monday and Tuesday) and there will be other... stuff. I am tired already from thinking about it. Well, that and the fact that I packed last night. For seven days. Last night. I got to bed at almost two, up at 5:45. I think I may just need a nap.

Alright, back to it.

Love you all, mean it.

PS... no one played the “You Ask, I Tell” game. Do I offer too much already?

February 22, 2008

Random Crap All Shoved Into One Long and Rambling Entry (Trips, Music, Easter and Passports)

So, I haven’t told you guys about my trip back at the end of January and the beginning of February, right? Right. Well, I do not have any photographic evidence but I will tell you several things.

I had to pay Southwest Airlines $25.00 to cover my 8 pounds over the 50 pound limit because Shrek (my suitcase) was stuffed to the gills. I do have the receipt though. What? Shrek. Yes, he’s huge and green and I am creative, shut it. I had to go to Austin for a planning meeting so I left Thursday afternoon and flew in, had the meeting Friday morning (SUCK!) then left directly after and flew into Houston.

I got checked into the Hyatt Regency Houston and LuLu came to pick me up, can I tell you guys how awesome she looks? Not to get all personal and up in her business but dayum, the woman looks HOT. (::cough:: divorce agrees with her... ::cough:: is all I’m sayin.) Note to former Mr. LuLu, go away, you are no longer welcome in my brain.

We went to Mo’s. There... as bars in Texas are wont to do... was a country band on stage and then they would take a break and the dance music would come on. I had a blast, I had my pedometer on (yes, am dork , let it go) and I actually danced over a mile and a half with a very nice gentleman and a very hot woman (she let me lead... shut up). I got to see Glo and D and meet a bunch of people. I will also say that I have found the best waitress in Texas. Her name is something very magical but she will take care of you and try her hardest to get you fucked up. Go to Mo’s, ask to be served by AllieCat or something like that and then sit back... or dance your sweaty ass off... and let her make the drink choices for you. You’ll thank me later.

And no, Glo and D.... when I called you at 2:30 am threatening to leave a booger in that guy’s car, I actually did not do so. Afterall, I am my mother’s child and she would have been horrified. (But that shit would have been funny as hell.)


Saturday I woke up and tried to find the cat that had shit in my mouth. Unable to do so, LuLu and I went to pick up her child for lunch, had lunch at Luby’s and then LuLu took me back downtown. I went and registered for the convention, unpacked my suitcase, planned what I was going to wear to a reception... and then out later to see Rat Ranch (BOOYEAH!) with LuLu at Sherlock’s that evening.

Side track: About, oh... I don’t know... eleventyfrillion year ago in the (motherfucking) sweet ass year of 1993 (damn that was a good year), LuLu called me in Nacogdoches. She said, (sweetly) “Get’cher ass to Houston Friday by two o’clock in the afternoon. We’re going on a road trip.” I did not ask where we were going, I did not ask what I should bring, I just threw a pair of cut offs, my bathing suit, a towel, a pair of boots and jeans, some nicer shorts, my Keds® and my toiletries in a bag and headed for Houston around noon. I got to LuLu’s parent’s house around 2:30. What? There was traffic on the tollway. LuLu and I packed up her truck and headed out to pick up her Aunt Jeannie.

Now, Jeannie was only older than LuLu and I by a few years so it wasn’t like traveling with family. It was like traveling with a rockin cool chick that was very outgoing and tiny as a button.

We hit 290 and headed to Austin. LuLu’s other Aunt Carol and their family have a lake house on Lake Travis so we had a place to stay. We got there, went for a swim and took a tour around the lake (HUGE LAKE) on the jet skis and then took our showers and got ready to go to 6th street.

We parked somewhere off of 6th and Red River and made our way down to see Arival (back when Arival was Arival and this badass - Tilman was rocking lead vocals). So we found Arival, I have the t-shirt to prove it... and we commenced to smoke, drink, dance, shout along to the songs and cheer on Tilman and his crew. It just so happened that Tilman and LuLu have known each other since Methuselah was wearing short pants. So when they took a break Tilman came over, hugs all around and he said to us, “There is another band from Houston in town tonight, they’re pretty good. Y’all wanna go across the street to see them?”

We all agreed and went across the street to the Brass Keg or something and walked in on a band that rocked Prince, Nine Inch Nails, Journey, Skid Row and everything in between. Um. We made it back to Tilman’s bar to hear their closing number. Yes, we suck. But man, the band that we were listening to were so... fucking awesome.

That band, ladies and gents, is Rat Ranch.

An aside to the side note: When Mister and I were a-courtin, he and I were talking about music one day and he goes, “When I lived in Houston in 95 or 96, over those like eight months to open that call center? There was this awesome band that played at this big lodge looking place. They covered everything from Nine Inch Nails to Blue Oyster Cult and Damn.... they were so good.” I asked him, “Was the place called ‘The Outback’?” He replied, “I think so.” I asked him, “Was the band Rat Ranch?” And handed him a cd. He was all “NO WAY!” So, yeah, that was pretty cool.

Back on track.

So, I was at the Hyatt Regency downtown Houston for a large convention. I went to a networking thingy then hauled ass back to the hotel to change so LuLu could pick me up and we could go see Rat Ranch at Sherlock’s that night. T’was awesome. The rest of the week flew by in a blur of booze, schmooze, networking, and attending sessions.

There was one other high spot.

I went to this networking thing on Monday and this band that I am very familiar with was playing, Emerald City. Since apparently I am a fan of live music (Call me Chant! I love you!) I was sitting near the stage while people swarmed around me. I went to another part of the facility to see what was going on in there and that is when I heard it. It was a voice from my past, one I hadn’t heard in a long time.

I rushed back into the room with the main stage and I looked up on stage and there he was. The old lead from Rat Ranch. His name is Mark Russell and LuLu and I used to call him Conan as that is what he looks like. All muscle-y with the voice of a rock god. He was doing Emerald City’s sound. I walked over to a man who handed me a CD and asked him.

me: Is that?.....
dude with ponytail: Ma’am?
me: Did he used to sing for Rat Ranch? [pointing at Conan on the stage.]
dude with ponytail: [big grin] Yep.
me: Oh. My. God.
dude with ponytail: [eyebrow lift]

I started texting LuLu and Mister. “I found the original lead from Rat Ranch!”

Mark got off stage and I wanted to talk to him so bad, but the man was working. I waited for a lull and then went to speak to him. I didn’t want to be all, “Dude, Oh, I have been looking for you for like eleven years!” because, hello restraining order. So I walked over to the sound board and asked him if he was indeed the former lead for Rat Ranch.

me: Hi, I know your voice.
Mark: Really?
me: Really, the first time I heard you was in Austin back in the early 90’s.
Mark: Yeah, that was a long time ago.

I totally wanted him to be all, “Yesssss, I remember you! I have been looking for you since the summer of 93! You are totally hot. I have missed your face at my gigs. Please let me sing this next song in your honor.”

I am completely kidding, but also... NOT.

He was very kind and I hope flattered and he told me that he was living basically down the street from me now. He said he did sound for Emerald City but had his own gig going. He gave me a card and I gave him mine. I was so excited y’all. I am still trying to find out where he is playing now so Mister and I can show up to support live music and all of that. [read: drool when he does his rendition of “Separate Ways”.... like when Chant does that “Let Me Make Love to You” song... right Stacey? RIIIIIIIIGHT.]

Ps... Unanimously, “OKAY!” Hee.

That was just for you Stace.

So, I survived that trip. I got some edumacation, got to see some old friends, hear some great music, dance over a mile, drink a bit (A LOT) and generally got run down on lack of sleep, lack of food, an abundance of booze and smoked like Wendy O*.

Anyone who has been reading along with the comments has noticed that my brother/partner in crime/wild and crazy guy Brian has asked for me to tell you guys the story about when he almost brained me with a set of nunchucks.

I, being of sound mind and body, but normally having to write shit down so I can remember it asked Brian in an email today to refresh my memory about said nunchucks story.

This is his reply:

OK, just to jog your memory it (briefly) went something like this: You and Steph are up late AND up to no good... sneaking out I guess. I am in perfect angellic sleep. I awake to hear something in the bushes outside my window. Suddenly, I see shaddowy figures moving back and forth... whispers...
I roll out of my bed quietly and reach under the box springs to grab my trusty 'chucks. I breeze across the house and out the back door as to gain the element of surprise on the intruders. I, in my boxers and t-shirt, move across the lawn. I still hear low whispers coming from behind the bushes. I prepare... and spring into action ready to chuck the shit out of whomever is lurking in the bushes and surely trying to break into the house! (I'm secretly hoping it's Bryan Jones... desperately hoping it's Bryan Jones) Just as I'm about to go "super ninja" on someone's ass, I have to quickly reel back as I realize that it's you and Steph that have caused my alarm. Now, I'm standing there infront of you two ladies in my skivvies with a pair of nunchucks... not cool. It was this episode that made me realize that I would NEVER get to go out with Stephanie.

Now, I am a goodly and sweet angelic type so I have NO idea what Stephanie and I would have been doing sneaking around outside his house in the dead of night. I am aghast at the story and the notion that someone of my chastity and honor would be hunkered outside a boy’s house in the bushes.


Heh. We totally did that.

Also... another favorite quote from Brian today about our high school experience. I asked him if he, like every other free man on the planet had a crush on Stephanie too. His answer: “YES I had a crush on Steph from the beginning. But, she became a cheerleader and I became the historian of the German club. You do the math, dear.”

Two more things, then I will shut up for a while.

Number One: When I was in Nacogdoches my parents asked me to come visit them for Easter. I was married, didn’t give a shit if my no-good redneck husband (at the time) joined me or not on any trip so I looked at my calendar, located Easter and asked for time off. I bought my tickets, or my parents did. Whatever. And as I was getting ready to leave the next weekend, I called my parents to see if they would come pick me up from the airport when I arrived. My mother asked in a confused voice, “This weekend? I thought you were coming for Easter.” I am sure I rolled my eyes as I replied, “Yes Maaaaaaaaahm, this weekend is Easter.” I looked at the calendar with my dates off and the flight information to see over the dates a holiday listed. It was Easter alright, but ORTHODOX Easter.

And my sister, the loving goddess that she is gets my parents a calendar from Shutter Fly every year. And she always thoughtfully puts ORTHODOX Easter on the calendar for me. How sweet.

Never have and never will live that down.

Number Two: I like to consider myself a cool wife. I cook, I clean, I do not fuss. I am not in the habit of nagging and I’ll go with you to a strip club. Cool, right? I do get a bee in my proverbial bonnet about some things. Thing the first, movie rental late fees. Not sure why? But that drives me carnival bat-shit psycho crazy. Thing the second. Passports. Mister and I both have passports. I have used mine a total of like twice, but my rationale is that one day (like fucking Jason Bourne) you may need it. So when it was coming time for Mister’s to expire I started three months out asking him to please do the paperwork, and we’ll send ours in together so if we want to take a trip for, oh I don’t know... our fifth wedding anniversary ...OUTSIDE THE COUNTRY we could.

I can’t surprise you with a wonderfully planned trip to Dubai my love if we can’t leave the country. Yes? NO.

So, I started in November reminding him, sweetly, “Honey, your passport is going to expire in January, please do the paperwork and let’s send them off because mine is going to expire in March.” In December, “Have you even gotten your passport out of the lock box? I mean, I know you are like totally busy downloading illegal wares from the Internet, but could you just go get the thing? I’ll do the paperwork. Gah.” In January, “We are at CVS, they do passport photos, let’s get them done even though I look like a Fraggle and your have three day’s beard growth, who cares, it will just be a document that we will have for TEN YEARS!”

January came and went. This past Sunday I was all, “Fine. No, really, that’s cool. Mine is going to expire in March, YOURS expired in January and I’ll just do mine and get it out of the way. No really. No problem.” Total passive aggressive bitch, no? YES.

He pulls his passport out. It doesn’t expire until the year 2010. I am not kidding. Mine? He pulled it out of the document holder and started that deep chuckle belly laugh thing that would be totally creepy if he weren’t so awesome. I was all, “What? March right?” “Ha ha ha ha ha... oh, meee... ha ha ha ha.” “WHAT!?” I started to get screechy. He handed over my passport. Expiration date... JANUARY 2008. I stomped my feet and actually threw a temper tantrum. I guess it was funny because he was over there laughing his ass off as I stomped around and screamed in the master bathroom.

He said one thing. “Orhtodox Easter, huh?”


*And if you got the Wendy O reference, you are my kind of people.

October 29, 2009

October 16th Part One.

I am eye twitchy like a mother fucker.

Hi, yes, so good to see you as well.

So the last time we spoke I tried to bribe someone with a blow job to find some shoes. It didn’t work and I am wearing the sensible (gasp!) substitute ones that I got instead and they feel like I am giving birth through my feet. No, Blanche, I don’t know how it is possible for three inch pumps to be uncomfortable. Moving along.

Okay, so, yes. I have been gone for a while, but this time (baby) I actually have a good excuse. Well, not really. It sounds good on paper. I mean, it sounds perfect on paper. Kind of like that guy you accepted a date from online and when you met him in person he wasn’t the 6’2”, dark haired, green eyed, athletically built, from old money with a huge… trust fund that he had billed himself to be. More like a 5’7”, dirty dreds, one left cast eye, built like a star fruit and living in a van down by the river with a really huge… goiter kind of guy.

Excuse = I had surgery.

Send wine… and a really large (mute) Samoan with talents in massage therapy. (This is not the first time I have requested this. I will continue to do so until I have said Samoan on property.)

That excuse sounds pretty good right? But then you factor in that I was at home recovering for the better part of 4 weeks… then the excuse unravels into a poorly thought out concept filled with days of HGTV, all the books I could get my hands on. Oh, and a twitchy right eye. Not one little blog entry (or blog read) in sight.

Seriously. The 140 characters of Twitter were too much for me to handle. I am fragile.

I have a theory about the eye. We’ll get to that in a minute.

So, yeah, I am back at work and was on FMLA while I was out. I wasn’t supposed to work, or check email, or talk to people about work… or do mail merges and put together a packet of stuff for my speakers that was collated by someone at the office and mailed out. So, yeah, I definitely DIDN’T do that… or anything. I was a model patient. Sweet, caring, kind, quiet… Ha.

If you are new ‘round these parts here’s an FYI… I mentioned it before but my plumbing was jacked so they went rooting around amongst my innards and decided to remove my uterus. I do not miss it. It was kind of like a couch surfing cousin with the tendency to overstay their welcome, speak of inappropriate things at family dinners and borrow your car and return it with the fuel indicator reading “EMPTY! BITCHES!”.

Yes, my uterus was a parasitic frat boy on the 7 year college plan.

Clear, concise, perfectly worded entry. Yes, coming right up. (Riiiiiiiight.)

So in the few weeks that I was home I worried about work a bunch. I was all butt clenchy and doing laundry and dishes and short of re-shingling the roof, SURE, I totally took a break. I completely relaxed. Except for that time, like a day or two after I got out of the hospital and my mother and I cleaned out my closet.


Okay. Yes, I did over do it. I over did everything enough that my doctor ordered me to sit the hell down. He also made me stay out of work for seven business days longer than I expected. I went back to work on Monday the 26th. You know when I relaxed? On the 20th. I finally GOT it. I finally realized that they don’t just tell you shit like, “Relax, rest, sleep, don’t lift anything over five pounds, no bending or stooping, take it easy.” just for the sheer fun of making you change purses. There is a reason. And if you have surgery, I don’t care what kind, please… follow your doctor’s orders.

This is how weak I have been y’all. I have played ONE game of Rock Band 2. ONE.

On to the eye twitch. So yeah, I totally worked when I was out on leave. I was only planning on being out for two weeks. And when the doctor was like, “Listen, sister, if you do not follow my orders, I am going to keep adding days, NAY… WEEKS, to your leave time.” I finally stopped checking email (sort of) and calling coworkers, ect.

But nothing, seriously, nothing prepared me for the day of the 16th.

I have been working at my current job for just about six years. On December 1st, the reign of Sue will reach that six year mark. I’m kind of proud of it in a weird way. Kind of like being proud that my marriage has lasted this long. Shut up. It is the little things that matter.

Anyway, I save certain things in my Outlook folders. I have many subfolders under my personal folders. The IT department harps on us to keep our Inbox empty as possible and keep everything that we are not currently working on under our personal folders. On top of the stuff that I need, but am not currently working on, I save three years of past conference stuff (that I totally reference ALL the freaking time) and I have other folders of conference stuff that I have planned out through 2012.

What? I am a planner. That is what I DO*.

*It is not who I am.

So I was hanging around the house the morning of the 16th. During my post surgery sabbatical I took to getting up when Mister did, just so I wouldn’t be on a wacky world of Susan sleep schedule (this, if I had my druthers, would be 2am – 9 am, maybe the preferred 3 am – 10 am or something weird like 3 am – 7 am with a nap from 2-3:30 pm). I was reading one of the many books that I devoured along the way and my personal cell phone rang. I looked at the number and it was coming from the office. I answered and there was a man from IT on the line.

Little fleshing out the story with a bit about my personal relationship with this man. I affectionately refer to him as Satan. He makes my life SO complicated sometimes. For some reason (oh, YES, I will totally give you a reason) he can push my buttons like nobody’s business. And NO, not in a good way. Case in point; a coworker and I were in San Antonio and we were trying to get connected to our system remotely, so we could get some work done. We had an IP address, yadda yadda yadda, all I wanted him to do was to white flag it with the security system, wasn’t happening… three hours later and with almost a full day’s help from the resident audio visual/tech guy on site, Satan actually told me, “Get your facts straight before you complain.” I put the phone down and walked off. (Leaving the poor AV guy to try and salvage what tenuous thread of patience he had left.)

I believe in customer service…. Internal and external. This guy and I are not on the same page. At all.

So when I picked up my phone (my personal cell phone… the number that he shouldn’t have) I was completely surprised to find Satan at the other end of my hello. The following conversation** took place:

**maybe with a bit of creative license but not much

Satan: Susan?
self: Yes.
Satan: It’s Satan.
self: Hello. (I said trepidatiously.)
Satan: I have some bad news.
Satan: I have lost all of your .pst files.
self: Excuse me?
Satan: I was repartitioning your hard drive and something happened with the backup.
self: Something.
Satan: Yes, there was an issue and even with the backups from Carbonite, the backups, (which were current) come in corrupted.
self: You have been telling me and the rest of the company to put everything under our personal folders for years.
Satan: Yes.
self: And we have.
Satan: Yes.
self: And now it is gone.
Satan: Yes. I must apologize.
self: Okay.
Satan: Um, I apologize.
self: Do you realize that you have lost over three years worth of past conference materials, all of my sponsorship information, speaker reference emails and all of the conferences materials that I have planned out through 2012.
Satan: Yes.
self: Yes?
Satan: Yes, and I apologize.
self: Satan, you will find and replace that material. All of it.
Satan: I will try.
self: [I started to get that scary calm voice, but I was shaking SO hard.] I need to go up the chain of command with this.
Satan: I understand.
self: This must be fixed.
Satan: I understand.
self: You… do?
Satan: Yes.
self: Bye.

So I called my boss and left her a message, called the IT demi-god out of Austin whom around certain circles is referred to as “The Wolf” (because he gets shit done, yo) and told him about the issue. He was all, “Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuck, seriously?” I said, “Yeah, seriously, is there anything you can do?” He said he would poke around ect. I got a call back from my boss, Satan had just left her office. He admitted to her that he had made two grave mistakes, one when doing the back up, and one somewhere else. He forgot to mention these to me. Apparently he didn’t have his facts straight before he cut me off at the knees. She basically said, “Well, if they can’t find the backup, just rebuild.”

And then I threw up.

Now, I don’t know about y’all. But when I get angry… I mean, really really angry… two things happen. Well, three. Number one, my eyes turn blue. Number two, I cry. Number three, I get even angrier because I am being such a pussy and CRYING. How cliché.

But I have never gone straight from full blown rage… to vomit.

Twas a first.


So I was all Fra-Gee-Lay and went into the living room to channel surf.

I think I will end this one here and pick it up again with the next part, I like to call, “The Day I Dropped Mah Basket.” Imagine me saying that all hiccuppy, crying with a thick Southern accent.

About Work or Something Like It

This page contains an archive of all entries posted to Suzanna Danna in the Work or Something Like It category. They are listed from oldest to newest.

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