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Digressing again Phyllis!

Issue Date: Friday, Sept. 16, 2005

Two entries in one day? I’ve gone mad, MAD I say!

This morning was going swimmingly. I was productive, I was active, I was super working girl. No, not that kind of working girl. Melanie Griffith had nothing to do with the tasks I was completing this morning, neither did Joan Cusack*(see the bottom of the page for this footnote)… complete with a bad 80’s perm and ginormous shoulder pads… but I digress.

I was moving smoothly through my day. I finished some… stuff and some other stuff. And … er, some more stuff. And then I looked up and I was an hour late for leaving for lunch.

I work in a little team of people who back up the normal phone answering people. So we all have our little set times to come in, leave, go to lunch, sit down, turn around and pick a bale of cotton.

Yes, it is all very structured. How… rigid of us… yes, I know. But it seems to work.

Whatever, I’m all for structure and the type A side of me wars with the free flowing hippy girl side of me and they battle it out and it shows in my shoe choice. Or maybe earrings and lip color.

Digressing again Phyllis!

Shut it Maude. I’m beating this dead horse. Give me that stick, and stop calling me Phyllis.

So I left for lunch (an hour late… yesterday I ate lunch at 3:30… I need a spanking.) and decided to go across and down the street to a little Chinese place that has passable food. I started the car trying to decide if I wanted to get a real entrée or just get some soup or…

What is that I hear coming from the radio?

Journey singing Faithfully… ::sigh:: Come on. Memories flooded my noggin of the Hawgs** singing “Coach Bailey” to their Football Coach to that same tune at their senior football banquet.

**This is the same group that I spoke of before. Bean and Steve, the two guys who flanked me in high school. They had a close knit group of about 15 friends (I was the only*** female member… an honorary member of course) that they called the Hawgs. I refused to name them in a previous post because of the fear of Google.

***Other girls were let in as we got older and the boys had serious girlfriends and such.

Anyway.

I didn’t tell you guys this but a few months ago I was talking to Steve’s ex-wife T. She used to come to the Ya-Ya weekends and she and I had become pretty close. The reason I had called her was because I had a dream that night before about Bean and Steve. Bean mainly Bean, and that he was agitated and frustrated and I was worried about him.

Did I journal about this?

(Dr. Loony, paging Dr. Loony as Shit… you have a call on line one.)

Shut up ya’ll… just listen. This has relevance. I swear. (SHIT.) See?

So, when I told her that I was worried about Bean, T said, “Well, I guess it might be because his dad just died.” “HIS WHAT!?” “Oh my God, Sue, nobody called you!?”

So yeah. It turned out that his dad had passed away, no one called me about the funeral and I wasn’t there to offer support or anything. I got his numbers from T and called and left a very rambling and disjointed message and asked him to call me and told him that I had been thinking about him and that I was sorry for his loss… God, it was so awkward.

I sent an email or two as well.

Nothing.

There may be a reason for this as well. But that’s for a WHOLE ‘nother entry. ::heavy sigh:: Yeah, baggage. Not mine. And it’s hearsay but from people close to the source but I just don’t know. God.

Anyway, so I let the song finish (Dear Lord, is she still on the same topic? Eleventy paragraphs later? Yes. And I will thankyouverymuch to sit down and let me continue, or I will post a link to Steven Lynch’s Special Olympics and infect you with another song. One that will assure your passage to hell.) and I picked up my phone and tried to dial T’s number to see how she was doing and to check on the goings on of the group, if she knew. She was always the one to keep everyone together when she and Steve were married.

It rang and, “You have reached the voice mail for Michael, please leave your na--” Michael? Who the eff is Michael? So I tried her home number and … nothing.

Shit.

So? I called Steve.

Oh ya’ll, it was bad. I almost cried on him. I was all, “Member when ya’ll came to Nac? Do you remember Troy and D’Wayne? Troy… his daddy died a few weeks ago and I was there for his daddy’s funeral but not for Bean’s daddy’s funeral… and and and…”

Gah.

Ok, it wasn’t that bad. But I got the point across. He was in the middle of work ya’ll. Member that I left an hour later than normal. And these guys, the Hawgs, are SO NOT used to this Susan. The ‘aww baby, are you ok?’ Susan. They are more used to the ‘suck it up fag.’ Susan. I am so much softer now. Or to be more precise, I was so incredibly hard then. Now? I am just a normal woman.

So. Maybe that chapter is closed forever. Maybe I will just have to live with never being close to those men ever again. And maybe since they knew a different part of me, maybe I don’t want to be close to them. Or… maybe they have grown up just like I have and have become incredibly strong and solid and wonderful men. Most of them are fathers now. Amazing.

*Thinking of Joan Cusak in Working Girl and after talking to LuLu (she had incredibly big, red, currrrrly hair) this week I have decided to open my page next week to host an “Eighties Cheese Off”. What this requires is for the women to send in the picture of you with the biggest hair or the most incredible 1980’s type of outfit (blue eyeliner is optional) and the men, I hope to see white or grey scrunched rocker boots with little buckles, some acid wash and at least 3 or 4 mullets.

I will post the pictures as they come in on their own Eighties Cheese Off page and we will vote for who wins. Whomever wins will get … something. A prize. A mix tape … defiantly full of White Snake! Kidding. Something. A good prize will be picked. We’ll get Mister involved.

Send your entries to suzanna.danna@gmail.com .

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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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