Please bookmark the correct page at http://suzannadanna.net/ Princess of Irony

On Being 21.

Issue Date: Thursday, Mar. 11, 2004

Mister got the offer letter for the new job yesterday afternoon. I am so excited for him and proud of him. Really, this man is incredible. He didn’t get hired on his incredible list of skills ya’ll… he got hired on brainpower alone. Very cool.

We went to Red Lobster last night to celebrate a little bit. Not that we went to Red Lobster to escape the hideousness that I created in the everyday wok sitting on top of our stove when Mister got home from work … or anything… why do you ask?

Yeah, I suck at creating pad thai. But I’ll kick your ass makin buttermilk biscuits darlin!

We went to imbibe in Red Lobster’s New England clam chowder, some shrimps and an oyster or two. Mister had the lobster lover’s dinner, which could be drafted to feed all of south Dallas, and I had a half dozen oysters. Well, I really only had three of them because they were bigger than my damn head.

Yanno the movie Attack of the Killer Tomatoes!? No? Well, anyways, those movie tomatoes are humongous, kinda like Rosie O’Donnell’s head. I kept thinking that the oysters on my plate last night were going to rise up and demand compliance or they would take over the world. Yeah, they were that big.

This morning while I was brushing my hair and brushing my teeth I noticed that Mister was on the computer working on something. He had a look of determination about him so I sashayed [yup, a God honest sashay] out into the kitchen and asked him what he was looking so serious about. He said he was working on his resignation letter for his current company.

His idea for the resignation letter sounded a little like this:

March 11, 2004

Mack Daddy Mister Man
Our Address
Our Town, TX

Bossman-doo
Current Company
Company Address
Company Town, TX

Dear Bossman-doo,

GREAT NEWS!!!!!!!!!! My Monster.com search has finally paid off! Your company has earned a place in my heart as the biggest conglomeration of half-wits with extraordinary egos! Thanks for nothing!

Sincerely,

Mister…

P.S. I RULE!

Now, I don’t know if I would mess with perfection like that, but I think he may have worked a little to refine it.

Funny yes?


In other news, Hot Barney’s company has blocked his pleasure of viewing my site. I am not sure if it was for the holler of ‘rock out with your cock out’ at the end of yesterday’s entry… or if their delicate sensibilities were struck dumb with terror of the thought of me dry humping James Van Der Beek.

It is a mystery.


Please note: Just send me an email if you want to be on my notify list. It has been about a month since my first email to the notifylist.com people to “Help a Brotha Out!”… to no avail. So I may just scrap the whole thing.


Weirdest Google hit…. ‘Dog panties’.

Dear Sick Ass Freak,

Stop it.

Thank you.


This afternoon I read over an entry from M over at Les Cadeaux. She is an eloquent writer who deposited me directly back to my 21st year on God’s green earth. The year was 1993. The things that M wrote about may be a bit foreign to me as I was not forever tan, never comfortable wearing a bikini top into a grocery store, nor have I ever painted my toenails blue. But she did strike a cord with this quote:

When I was 21 I thought that friends were more important than family, that my youngest brother [I substituted older sister] was happy and that he [she] didn’t need to hear me tell him [her] I loved him [her]. At 21, I wanted independence, and the notion of care taking cramped my style. I thought my parents never fought, nor cried, never missed nor longed for anything.

I thought that blowjobs would make boys like me, that talking about boys and blowjobs would make girls like me, and that being liked was very, very important.

…When I was 21 I thought sex meant love and love meant forever and forever seemed impossible to grasp.

That whole grouping of words right there made me stop in my tracks. She hit the nail on the proverbial head ladies and gentlemen. The things that matter to us when we are that young should brand upon us and our culture that we, as a whole, should never marry, reproduce or make large decisions when we are that young.

Yes, I am generalizing. But shit. What were you thinking about when you were 21?

I was probably thinking about dating a FMF* part-time deputy sheriff that made my knees weak with one kiss in Joe’s Generic bar on 6th Street in Austin.

*FMF = Fuck Me Fine

Mister was probably thinking about anything but how he was raised, as he was fresh out of boot camp for the Marines.

Hot Barney had just found out that he was going to be a Dad and must therefore drop out of college to get a full time job.

My biggest worry was what to wear to the bar that night, as we went every night Wednesday through Saturday.

I… was a complete tool.

Sex was important because that meant somebody liked you, really liked you… right? No, you weren’t being used… you were using them right?

Being smaller than a Large was important to me. Hiding my tummy from ‘prying eyes’ when we went to the lake or, as I was skinny dipping or riding a horse sans clothing just to act like I was free and totally cool with my body image.

Acting like I had the heart of a hippy, totally cool with free love and how men were predisposed to have more than one mate. And I quote myself, “look at the sperm count compared to the number of eggs women have… it’s right there… in the numbers.”

Such a lie. Such crap.

I would have pashawed anyone who tried to tell me that with time I would think differently. With time, my attitudes would change.

In time… I wouldn’t be such a raging moron.

So… How do you think I’ve turned out?

What were you doing when you were 21?

|

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To understand this dear reward (above) at all, you must hie thee on and read gatsby’s grape ape entry and my comments.

And because of said comments he sent me my very own dream turtle in an email titled wee gift with these words attached, “my purple monkey is booked solid so i ordered you a tangerine turtle. hope he proves helpful.”

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