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

It is the goriest chick flick I have ever seen, and I loved it.

Issue Date: Tuesday, Apr. 17, 2007

I got a message (Google Chat – check it out, add me, I’d love to chat with you. Yes, you.) from a girlfriend (Hi Amy!) yesterday asking me for a favor. Knowing her as one to say, “Hey, do me a favor… let me borrow a kidney and keep my kids for a year*.” I asked her, “What’s the favor?” before I agreed to anything including a 1700’s steam engine and one of my limbs.

*I am totally kidding. She only wanted me to keep them for 6 months… that one time.

She asked me to pray for two of her friends. One of them is an old friend of hers whose daughter attends Virginia Tech and the other was a survivor (and the mother) of an attempted double-murder suicide.

I told her of course I would pray for G’s daughter (as they had not heard from her at that point in the day, the cell phones were all busy with parents trying to reach their children) and for the 13 year old survivor of the shooting and her mother. The shooting happened here. It was a father who shot his two children (girls) and then turned the gun on himself.

Amy was distraught, clearly. She and the mother of the two girls who had been shot; the oldest child survived and remains in critical condition; were pregnant at the same time with their youngest children. They knew each other and were friends. And Amy is very close to G whose daughter goes to Virginia Tech. We chatted very briefly and then she had to run.

What did I do as soon as we closed our conversation? I prayed for the children and their families and then I buried my head in the sand.

I take a very ostrich-like approach to news such as this. London bombing? Head in the sand. 9-11? Head in the sand. Tsunami? Rita? Fucking Katrina? Head in the sand (with a lot of crying).

A few years ago I realized that I couldn’t watch the news. I glean whatever knowledge I get from the radio, Mister, the ladies who chat over our cubicles at work and… well trying to avoid the news while Mister is watching it nightly. I can not handle it.

I was in Colorado a few years ago (more like a decade) when I was watching the news with my father. There had been a car crash and the news team was at the accident with shots of the carnage. The slick headed Johnny on the spot guy was all, “Accident, blah blah blah, critically injured and one dead…” and then the camera man zoomed in on a shoe. Not just any shoe. The shoe of the child that had been killed in the car crash. It was a teeny little blue shoe, the colors would change with the strobe red, blue, white and yellow lights of the emergency vehicles and the shadow that the teeny shoe threw behind it with each strobe of the lights was in sharp contrast to the grainy quality of the asphalt it was lying on.

A teeny empty shoe.

I excused myself and went upstairs to sob into my pillow because I didn’t want to upset my parents.

In November of 2004, again, I was watching the evening news (flipping through a catalogue and totally NOT trying to pay attention to anything other than the weather) while Mister caught up on Osama Bin Laden or whatever.

Mister is a retired Marine. He is expected to “Ooh-rah.” respectively when seeing other Marines in uniforms and blah blah blah military jargon (Future Weapons and Mail Call) blah.

So imagine my dismay when I heard the anchor going into incredible detail and playing the 911 call of the woman who cut off the arms of her baby girl less than two miles from our house.

I was physically sick.

I do not handle this stuff well. I do not handle reality well. I do not handle the babies with flies in their eyes well; I do not handle dogs that have been so neglected that the chains that keep them tied in their yards grow into the tissue around their necks.

Give me Zombies, give me witches, give me blood, guts and gore… In a MOVIE. Not real life. What the hell is wrong with people?

Oh, really quick. Let me go ahead and give a speedy review of Grindhouse… two words, Fuckin-A. You know what? Let’s go ahead and turn this whole entry around and talk about Shawn’s testicle and the movie… or the several that I saw over the weekend. Then I will round this out with a chat conversation that I had with my boss and we can stop thinking about bad stuff.

Okay, Grindhouse. Quentin Tarantino and Robert Rodriguez are geniuses. Geniuses. Do you all remember when they would have those cheesy 1960/1970’s slasher movies that were almost too cliché to be taken seriously? Or the vignettes that were put together like… well, like The Kentucky Fried Movie ? It was like that… but better, with 100% more zombies and boobs and Kurt Russell being beaten like a red headed stepchild by three pissed off chicks. And almost as funny.

It is the goriest chick flick I have ever seen, and I loved it. Both, all… whatever.

Eli Roth (director/sick fuck from um… Cabin Fever and Hostel?) Yeah, he directs one of the vignettes for the between scene “Coming Attractions”.

You know when directors don’t take themselves too seriously say, (like Tarantino) and play “Rapist #1” in one film (Planet Terror) and a cheesy bartender, “Warren”, in another (Death Proof)? Did you guys see From Dusk Till Dawn? Awesome character right? Same thing. So over the top that you are throwing a thumb at him like, “Can you believe the size of this guys nut sack?” He is AWESOME.

Speaking of nut sacks. Shawn’s tests came back negative. They will keep a close eye on him and test him every two months to make sure the cancer doesn’t come back. YAY! Go Shawn!

Mister and I also watched The Descent Friday night. Holy shit. Okay, I am going to give you a spoiler because it came out in freaking 2005. If you haven’t seen the movie, look away. Go to the end of the paragraph. The premise is six adventure seeking chicks go caving (?), spelunking (?), rootin around two miles below the surface of the planet… whatever. They go, they think they are going into one cave system, their leader (Juno… cool name) takes them into another, so whatever flight plan thingy they filed with the international caving association of cavers (I totally just made that up) was totally off the mark. The cave system that they were in? Was unmarked, unexplored, unspelunked (shut up) by anyone ever in the whole universe. But was it really? Um, no. There are these crawler things that are blind, have sharp pointy teeth and are a little hungry. The best part about this movie: 1) watch the behind the scenes, making of the film thingy… then 2)? Watch the outtakes. Hysterical. Okay. So the director… a brilliant bloke by the name of (something, I closed the window already and am lazy) kept the crawlers from the actresses until it was time for them to show up in the movie. The actresses had no clue what they looked like, when they were going to show up in the movie and/or what they were going to do in their first scene. The actresses’ reaction? Was real. So were mine and Mister’s. We screamed like 12 year old girls and I clutched my pearls and he joined me on the couch. Heh. Awesome.

Spoiler OVER.

So Saturday we went to a play being put on by a local high school troupe and they were rocking. Not going to mention it for fear of Google. And also because I am going to relay a chat message conversation between my boss and I that happened yesterday morning as he was traveling to (somewhere) to visit his parents.

Heh.

(See? Subject changed?... Head in the sand. Diversion. Look! Over here, something shiny.)

First off. Love my boss. Lurve. He is awesome. He lets me do my job, he does not micromanage and he has great taste in clothing. If it weren’t for my boss, my mother and Mister. I would be naked or wearing my little rubber ducky pajama bottoms with a blazer to work today. I enjoy his company, sometimes he thinks I am funny and he embarrasses SO easily. He is 42, single, never been married and has the voice of an angel. Okay, enough about him.

Back to me.

And my chat to him.

Y’all he would so kill me dead. He fires me at least three times a year if I embarrass him. So please, if you know him. Be kind. Do not tell him about this site, for the fear of my hedonism tendencies and the urge to use the word Fuck would surely strike him (a very sweet and Godly man) blind.

Blah Blah Blah – we talk about his flight to Houston and it leaving on time…. And whether or not his other one will leave from Houston to get to his parent’s house… it was late, he had no way of contacting them. My goal? To make him laugh out loud in a sea of people. Ergo, embarrassment.

boss man: flight is leaving late out of Houston, no way to call mom and dad, oh well, they’ll just have to wait
self: go find one of those massage chairs
boss man: some lady just waved at me, must be from [church he attends]
self: told you, you are famous
boss man: no clue who she is, not so rich and famous
self: fay-mouse, er, fay-muss…
self: next time some person comes up to you and I am standing there… if they start fawning all over you I am going to throw money at your feet and ask you to sing Mr. Bojangles
boss man: I totally believe you
self: you would do one of three things… well, four
self: 1) turn purple 2) run away 3) faint or 4) kick me then run away
boss man: then I’d fire you
boss man: again
self: okay, FIVE things….
self: or I could hold onto your arm and look adoringly at you, maybe cry a little bit… then tell the person praising you that you heal me every time you open your mouth

Break in communication here for a little clarification: There is this woman (he totally brings out the crazy) in the church that told someone on Easter Sunday that, “Every time [boss man] walks onto stage to sing, I just feel healed… he doesn’t even have to open his mouth, he just heals me.”

He is awesome, but he takes it all in stride. We were chatting during American Idol and Mister found the broadcast of boss man’s solo from Easter Sunday online. I told him we were listening to him. He said, “Are you healed yet?” I said, “No, but Mister has grown back some of his hair.” And on Saturday at the play, people were all “You are awesome, you have such a gift, blah blah blah…” and he just smiles… and turns purple…. And tries not to run away.

boss man: laughing
self: wait, six things… you’d throw your blackberry at me if I were sitting right there. Oh, and guess what you did last night?
boss man: what
self: well, to preface this weird answer, you have to know that I have been having very dark, strange, work related dreams lately.
boss man: you??? Never!
self: you helped me hide on the stairs of a beach house from some zombies
boss man: it’s those crazy movies you watch
self: heh, the best part was that you kept shushing me, “shhhhhhhh” like I was going to break into Liza Manelli’s “Sheeeee’s THE ONE!!!!!!!!” or something.
self: I love zombies.

(edited to delete a bunch of work related boring chit chat)

boss man: airport is really crowded, people are testy
self: it’s the zombies
self: remember, if you have to take one out, aim for the head.
boss man: they are only after you.
self: no.
boss man: they’ll be hiding under your bed when you get home.
self: They are after EVERYONE. Hey!
boss man: And in the closets.
self: Not cool man. Along with those creepy ass clowns.
boss man: behind the shower curtains
self: shut it sir (I said respectfully)
boss man: Max will scare them off
boss man: They are afraid of cats.
self: No, vampires and mummies are afraid of cats, don’t you know your monsters?
boss man: Ew. Hopefully there wont be cat stew cooking when you get there.
self: HEY.
boss man: I am ornery today.
self: You are totally PawPaw**… I am so going to embarrass you on purpose the next time I see you.

**PawPaw is code for him being an ornery old man.

self: I will say vagina loudly or something.
boss man: people are staring because I am laughing
boss man: stop
self: maybe hand you a large pack of condoms, “are these the ones you requested Mr. [LastName]?”
boss man: SSSTTTTTOOOPPPPP
self: “It says right here… Ribbed….” What?
boss man: Stop making me laugh
self: Okay, okay… you take back the cat stew thing and I will stop threatening you with condoms.
boss man: Ok
self: Deal
boss man: white flag is waving
self: Trojans back on the shelf at CVS
boss man: I said stop.
self: I totally did.

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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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