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

It was awesome and I have an ulcer.

Issue Date: Thursday, Jun. 07, 2007

So, it is Wednesday Thursday (so, I got lazy busy). I was sitting here thinking about all of the stuff that has gone on since last weekend. Yes, I got Spencer. No, I haven’t posted a picture of him. Yes, I am thinking of changing host journals because I am at like 95% for my picture uploads and I don’t want to delete any of my old shit. Yes, I have been with Diaryland for like eleventy years (okay, like four and a half) and yes, it would totally be a pain my large and very high ass... but Diaryland has been taking FOR-E-VER (spoken like that kid in Stand By Me... Jerry O’Connell?... fuck, or was it Sand Lot?, A Christmas Story? Y’all know... oh, you know.) to load an entry and to check stats and or edit or search or do anything really. It has just become non-Susan-friendly. Plus, the pictures thing? I re-upped because I wanted to post more... but... BUT... the space for pictures is cumulative. How much does that blow donkey?

Anyone wanna help me out here? Suggestions? Comments? Complaints? Offers to redesign me?

Anyway. Last weekend was all about getting the monitor and the iPod, the week was fraught with packing for a conference that I had in San Antonio over the past few days and also Happy Houring with five of my favorite girls. One in from Seattle (Steph), one from Ann Arbor, MI (Steph’s brilliant sister Jennifer) and the rest of us were from here.

That was Wednesday. I just want to tell y’all that my sister was there. Along with Stacey, Kerry, myself and the other two. We had the BEST time (to be continued).

You all would have had a blast with us. I also want to say that I don’t drink wine, also that I didn’t have lunch on Wednesday and that normally two or three mojito’s from this place will put me on the floor. And I also want to say that Kerry and Stacey left early and that the two pairs of sisters were left. We went bar hopping to Martini Bar and then to Crú Wine Bar. I had a flight of champagne, then we moved out to the patio, had bottle of red, and then ordered a bottle of champagne with chocolate fondue.

Hi, table for drunk please?

It was the “I love you... man!” drunk. Seriously. And yes, I meant it every time I fondled the waiter’s hair and took pictures of and hugged complete strangers.

We decided to enter ourselves into a make-over show. We are going to bill the four of us as the two put together sisters (the older ones) and their sidekicks. I was tipsy and thought they suggested “The Two ‘Put Together’ Sisters and Their Psychos”. I was all, “PERRRRRRRRRRFECT!” “It’s Brilllllliant!” Except I can’t roll my r’s or l’s so I was just slurring my speech. Then we took pictures of each pair of sisters kissing the each other.

It was very fun, and totally inappropriate and my sister would kill me dead if she knew I was typing about her on the internets. She is afraid that the three of you that read me (not including Stacey and her office) will come to her house and take her silver pattern and maybe her favorite shoes. Or at least leave unpleasant mail in the mailbox like “Wax Your Eyebrow!? Ten Dollah!”

(Continuing) Oh holy shit. This was the funniest part. Kerry and I were the first ones there on Wednesday so we secured the most awesomest table in the place. It was a long couch with a full wall sized mirror, and three mini tables that we smooshed together with chairs on the other side. Perfect for the six of us. And with the mirror the ones facing us could see the rest of the bar. So we were all discussing everything from what had happened from the Kerr Krew weekend.

Okay, disclaimer: What happens at Kerr Krew stays at Kerr Krew. Except for this part right here, because I am about to tell you.

The weekend was a great one. We had friends come from all over and reunions are always tricky and when the actual Krew got together it was so awesome as to be in the dictionary next to the word “Awesome.” There would be a picture of all of us sitting on the patio of the wicked huge house, next to the pool, drinking, smoking and laughing our fool heads off. Oh, and Jalena wearing lipstick and earrings.

Dun DUN DUUUUUHN!!!! Then. Came the other one. The one that is not an official Kerr Krew-er Person. We all knew her kind of because she was in this service sorority with this one and that one and roomed in a condo with this one and had been in touch with one of them and blah blah blah, she was invited as a gesture of niceness. But when she got there it was all about... (tell me if you know one of these people) “Oh MY GOD. I am in the worst marriage ever, I have been married to the same prick for forty years, I am a (insert job here) and I have no place to release my crazy so I came up here to basically use you guys as an alibi so I can go clubbing and hook up with random fellas... oh, and also? Let’s play the game ‘I Never’... I guarantee you, that I will make it uncomfortable by round two... FUCKERS!”

Do y’all know her? ARE you her?

So at Mi Cocina the other night Jen and my sister were all, “Tell us about the Kerr Krew weekend!” Heh. Riiiiiiiiiiight. So, Steph, Kerry, Stacey and I just looked at each other and said, “Drama.” So my sister and Jen were all, “Ooooooh, tell us!” So I started with, “It was totally the bomb until drama crashed the party.” Their eyes lit up at the thought of the dirt they were about to hear. So I just said, “There was an extra person there. She went a little crazy at being let off of her leash for the weekend and ended up making the rest of us very uncomfortable.”

Jen, “YOU were uncomfortable? Like how?” I continued, “Uh, sexually.” Huge eyes all around the table... so I continued, “Well, y’all know the game ‘I Never’?” Jen and my sister replied, “Nope.” So, I explained, “It’s just a drinking game. One where someone says something outlandish and if anyone playing has done that thing, then they have to drink.” Jen, “Like what? Give me an example.” “Okay, so someone says, ‘I have never been married to the President of the United States.’ But this chick who showed up got all inappropriate by like round two...” Jen, “Really? Like what?” “Well, something totally outlandish like, ‘I have never taken it up the ass while skydiving.’”

My sister reached for her drink.

Heh.

Of course she’s never done that. She is the equivalent of Martha Stewart, but cooler and likes to karate chop people when tipsy. So, yeah, we all got a great laugh out of that little episode. It just so happened that when Jen and I were discussing the ‘I Never’ thing, my sister and Stacey were talking kid stuff. (Of course y’all were, I totally believe you. Freaks.)

So, this past weekend before I had to go to San Antonio, we had a houseguest. You see sometimes this person comes to stay with us and usually it is during my busiest time of the year. This person I call Pantsless Harry. Pantsless Harry is very jovial, and quite able to make his own meals, do laundry, watch movies... he only has one issue. He doesn’t want to leave the house. Why? You ask? Well, to leave the house Pantsless Harry would have to put on pants. And a bra. Yes, yes... I am Pantsless Harry and I get cranky when I have to put on a bra to go out and check the mail. Or when I have to put on pants and go to Lowe’s and buy ceiling fans and start projects (like putting up said fans) at 7:30 at night... when CLEARLY, Pantsless Harry should be downloading new music for Spencer, doing laundry and or packing for a trip the next day or watching Girls Next Door. Right?

mike just suggested that I need a camo shirt that says “commando hoooer” across the chest.

I’d wear it too.

Okay, just sprung another trip on Mister. He’s getting used to it I think. Just got a call from J.Ho and she (and Dave) asked Mister and I to come into town and stay with them this weekend. As Jay and Brenna are going to stay with Glo and D and it is the weekend of Steve and Linda’s annual crawfish boil... we are totally going. Called him, “Hey, wanna go to Houston?” He goes, “Sure!” So yes, he is totally getting used to me springing plans on him.

Speaking of springing shit on people, when boss man and I got to San Antonio on Sunday afternoon we were going to set up for my conference and then take our favorite CSM out to dinner. But lo’ and behold... the only boxes that had shown up were the ones I sent from the office and three small boxes from our printer that were shipped overnight and had the little notebooks for our attendees in them.

But where, oh where, could the pallet of 334 binders with (this is where I get screechy) materials; FOR THE WHOLE CONFERNECE; the ones I give to my attendees... be? Oh where, oh where could that fucking skid be?

I called the printer, I called UPS, I called the office, I called... everyone. No luck.

We set up as much as we could and then went to dinner. On the way back from dinner a storm blew in and caused some sort of electrical mumbo jumbo. It blew out some transformers and the power for most of the area was off from about 2:30 am until about 4:30 or so. Boss man and I chatted via blackberry because neither one of us could sleep for fear of not getting the wake up call, the alarm having no power, our phone and blackberry alarms not functioning, it was hot (no A/C) and the looming fear that no power meant no audio/visual, no food, no hot coffee, no lights... and we had no clue where the binders were. I was convinced that our attendees were going to come after us with torches.

It was awesome and I have an ulcer.

Monday morning came and I called everyone again. Finally getting in touch with the shipper he actually told me (and his name was Terry Bob... NOT KIDDING), “We had a bunch of drivers out sick and I know that your shipment was supposed to be there by Thursday, I just overlooked it. I am sorry.” I replied, “Terry Bob, I truly appreciate that you have been so honest and candid with me about overlooking my shipment. I also appreciate that you will understand that I will not be paying this invoice.”

The materials showed up at 9:35 and it took us 10 minutes with seven people to open the boxes, unpack the binders, place them on the tables by the break area and have the trash removed. The binders were in place and ready for the attendees to grab one between sessions. It was awesome. I have been through the comments on the evaluations and I haven’t seen one negative thing about the binders. Maybe it is because I kept feeding them and making sure that they were distracted. Or because they were just nice.

Either way, at about 10 am, my sales manager for the property showed up and handed me a gift certificate for an hour long massage. I booked that shit quicker than grease through a goose and had them extend the time for an extra half hour. And then? Because I am so thoughtful, I backed out on my dinner with the speakers and the committee, went upstairs when the conference was over for the day, dozed while my room service order was on it’s way up and then went for my massage at like 7:45 p.m..

My massage was supposed to start at 8:00 and I thought, “Oh, I will go downstairs, be let into this wonderful spa atmosphere, drink water with cucumbers floating in it and totally relax for 15 minutes before my massage starts.”

Um.

No.

The spa area was inside the indoor pool area, the indoor pool area that had hordes of screaming, splashing and shrieking children swarming all over. Oh, how relaxing. I am in the seventh circle of hell, just with more humidity.

The sign on the door (to a little room with two chairs and a curio cabinet) said, “Massage in Session, please call blah blah blah to make an appointment.” Well, I had an appointment. So at like 5 till 8 when this guy (missing teeth) came strolling out of the “SPA” (said sarcastically) door and headed into the men’s restroom I was a little dubious. Then he went back inside the “SPA” and the gentleman he was working on, exited.... WITH A FUCKING LIMP.

Okay, I... on a scale of one to ten per dubiousness? I was all the way to eleven.

Jacked up tooth guy with the little belt to hold the lotion thingy came out and asked me to come inside the office. I did. He handed me paperwork to fill out. I did. He went to change the sheets on the massage table and when he turned I saw it. A graying comb over ponytail.

I knew I needed a massage, regardless of how skeevy the guy looked, or that they guy in front of me LEFT WITH A LIMP. So, I made small talk. “Hi, uh, [let’s call him Daniel] Daniel. I was just wondering about your previous client. Did he have a limp when he came in here?”

Yeah, I know. Smooth, right? If you want lessons, you have to massage me for them. Or brush my hair. I like that.

So Daniel was all, “Oh no... I almost got it all out; when he came in here he was like this...” And he demonstrated how a three legged giraffe would look if it had athletes’ foot and also wanted to limp slowly towards an ice cream truck.

Go ahead. Get up and try to reenact that. I’ll wait.

I replied (without laughing mind you... I am so good sometimes. Other times? Not so much.), “Oh, so you helped him out huh?” Daniel was very excitable, “Oh, yes, it was an hour and a half of deep tissue massage. The back of his thigh felt like stone.” This gave me the perfect opportunity to tell him, “Then my massage will be an easy one for you, as I like to be treated like I am ninety, fragile and that I bruise like a peach.”

He finished changing the sheets and asked me into the massage room and to undress to my level of comfort. (See above: Pantsless Harry) When he closed the door the noise to the pool area was muffled and I was surprised how quiet it was in the little room. So I stripped, got under the sheet, but forgot to take off my glasses. Daniel knocked and when I told him to come in I also asked him if he would put my glasses over by my stuff. He was very kind and his voice had dropped in pitch, then he coughed something up and sounded normal again.

Again. Awesome.

He started immediately at my neck and face. His hands were a little shaky*, so I tried to get him to relax by talking about himself.

*It’s the hotness. It unnerves men sometimes.

So I asked him how long he had been in the business (8 years), how long he had worked for the current spa (2 weeks... (!)), how he had gotten into the business (two RN’s, friends of his, would get foot rubs from him, “You have the best hands! You should be a masseuse!” and so... a dynasty was formed.) and anything else that I could think of.

He started to relax when I told him that I detected lavender in the oil he was using. Blah blah blah.... somehow we got onto the subject of Burning Man (which I always get confused with Wicker Man bad movie, even worse toupee) and he told me that he is going this year. That in Austin they just had some regional event ... blah blah blah and then he announced, “Yeah, I’m a dirty hippy.” And somehow he got comfortable enough to curse freely and tell me about the man-thongs a friend of his in Austin makes for him for the annual Burning Man trip.

So. Just to recap. Three legged giraffe with athlete’s foot, Burning Man, lavender, the word “fuck” and man-thong.

He worked on my feet, my legs, my arms, and then asked me to flip, offered me a pillow for the girls and then adjusted the head rest so it was high and nice. I was very comfy. He worked the backs of my legs and feet then moved up to my shoulders and when he went to tuck the sheet (for professional draping) into the band on the back of my britches, he found that I wasn’t wearing any. And then called ME a dirty hippy.

Whatever, he was very gentle, I was so exhausted that he could have coughed up a fucking mogwai and I wouldn’t have cared. I just wanted to be petted and have some muscles relaxed. He got some .... thing... a muscle thing to relax that has been sitting on the right side of my sacrum FOR-E-VER all knotted up... so that was cool. All in all, it was a pretty good experience. Maybe I was just too tired to care. Or too stressed out to worry about it.

When I came out some muscled up beefcake (shaved chest) with a bathing suit on asked me to come over and speak to him. (Seriously, the hotness, she is a curse sometimes.) He asked me if Daniel was any good. I said that he was, the man replied, “He sure is ugly.” I told the guy, “Well, he’s good, and you are face down most of the time, so that is not really an issue.” I wanted to say something like. “Are you just staring at my tits?” Really loudly or ask him, “Does the beauty or lack thereof really matter in the masseuse or service industry. Or just in P0RN!?”

Then I noticed his girlfriend (or whatever) was glaring at me and I walked off to go to sleep the sleep of the fully exhausted, fully relaxed and the fully secure.

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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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