Suzanna Danna

Hi babies. You doin alright? How are you holding up in this heat? Yeah, you heard right, it was 107 in the DFW Metroplex yesterday (um, Monday), uh huh… yeah, I am a small puddle on the floor typing to you right now.

So last week, wait… let me back up.

A few Friday’s ago… I believe it was the 13th, our high school had a “pre-reunion party” at a place called Fox Sport’s Grill up in Plano. It was our 20th reunion and people came in from all OVER the place. I was tapped on the shoulder to turn around into the face of one of my best girlfriends through those last two years in high school. Her ass has been in Miami (FOREVER) and I grabbed her in a monster hug and immediately burst into tears. Hi… I’m classy.

I’m even classier when the drinks had been flowing for over 6 hours and 1 am rolled around to what I will now refer to the “Time of the Licking”. Yeah, I don’t know. FaceBook, I’m sorry baby. I never meant to lick all those people. But a good time was had by all. (PS.. Shut Up Joey.) Also, that’s not me… it’s Gene Simmons but sweatier and with curlier hair… and female… and looks a lot like me. (Poor Dre’, had to drive my silent ass home. You know it’s not good when I go into stealth mode.)

So that was Friday, Saturday I was fragile and stupid and got the oil changed in my car, signed up for laser hair removal* and tried to eat a single chicken sandwich in 12 hours. Sunday I left for a six days with two worky (Houston and San Antonio) things back to back and got back in town Friday evening.

*Oh you KNOW you want to ask.

Saturday was mainly laundry and grocery shopping (won’t be leaving town again for a while, WOOOO!) and trying to stay cool and comfortable. I played a LOT of Rock Band, ate a sandwich (it’s true, I totally did) and that morning I set up a “Catch Up” time for Sunday morning with an old friend.

So 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.

Y'all. I can not make this stuff up.

My divorce was final on June 1st and this morning (it's about 9 am) I got this email from my mother.

The email was titled, "The List" and ..... well here, I'll just let you see for yourselves.

"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?

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.

This morning I woke myself up with actually saying out loud, “That was AWESOME.”

Apparently, my dream world is rife with excitement, sexy adventures, scifi gooey goodness and a movie poster (movie was made of said adventures complete with massive wealth thrown at us*, natch) featuring me and some lover. The poster looked like a cross between Meatloaf’s “Bat Out Of Hell” Album Cover and the VHS/DVD cover of “Heavy Meta 2000”. What? Shut up. I can be naked, astride my motorcycle riding Bad Boy lover who just helped me 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?

PS.. Bob Segar still makes me horny.

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?