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I do not want to offend anyone with a boob.

Issue Date: Wednesday, Feb. 07, 2007

The past few weeks have been a blur of activity.

My sister’s birthday (aka, the National Holiday) weekend was at the end of January. I got to see my ex-stepdaughter that weekend. By the way, she called me on February 1st almost squealing into the phone that she got accepted into Texas A&M. I am so proud of her.

I had a planning meeting for a project I am working on.

My parents came in last Friday to take Mister and I and my sister and her husband to dinner for Mister’s birthday then my parents hung out with us all weekend. We went shopping on Saturday and my mother ended up taking home several new pairs of panties, three new bras*, six pairs of new socks, two new pairs of black pumps (one sling back the other with a wee buckle), a black pair of boots (just like the ones I purchased after Christmas (rock on)) and… a vintage sideboard for her hallway (?).

*Ladies, please get sized for a bra every couple of years or so. Your body changes. My mother had on a bra that I think I actually purchased for her when I was working for one of the lingerie retailers that I worked for… in 1990 to 1992**.

**I just searched the archives. Have I NOT told ya’ll about working for Victoria’s Secret and Paulette’s when I was wee? Oh Lawd, Lawd.

Sunday we went to church (you hoor!) and then to lunch before my parents left so that they could be home in time for the Super Bowl. We had placed bets; as all good Christian (hoor!) families should do; about who would win. My mother and I were betting on the Colts and Mister and my Pop were betting on, “Da’ Bears.”

After my folks left for the day Mister and I went shopping ourselves.

We have a nasty habit of hording gift cards. In actuality, we get all “Squee!” when we get a gift card for a birthday, anniversary, Christmas present, Valentines Day… you get the idea… then we put them in the lock box so they won’t get lost (alright, alright, so I won’t lose them like I did our certificate to a local hotel for two nights stay and dinner in their wine cellar… I’m sorry, alright!?) and then we totally forget about them. So on Sunday we opened the lock box to find several gift cards to Bed Bath and Beyond, one to Pier 1, one for Best Buy, one from Target and one for Home Depot.

We knew we wouldn’t go into Home Depot anytime soon.

As an aside, I am searching my entries and comments to see if Stacey (or I) ever told y’all about the time she lost her shit at Home Depot and ended up yelling at an associate, “What about your DAMN COMMERCIALS!? Aren’t you supposed to help me build a tree house or something here!?” HA! – Um… just spent about an hour and trying to find it (didn’t) and also listening to Budweiser Beer commercials. I found a link in one entry for the “We salute YOU, Mr. Hot Dog Eating Contest Contestant…” and about fell out of my chair listening to the jingle. – Aside… over.

PS. Stacey, make with the story telling prowess and leave a comment, or send me a guest entry or something.

Where was I? Oh. Right. We knew we weren’t going to go into Home Depot because of our previous experiences with that whole chain, so we decided to go to Best Buy first. Let Mister spend his gift card on something fun. That something fun turned out to be the complete DVD box set of Band of Brothers. Wheee! World War II!

Actually, I kind of like war movies. The Big Red One, The Dirty Dozen and High Noon are some of my favorites. And I really like the Band of Brother thing. Maybe I am just warred out. I am currently reading “Flag of our Fathers” and watching Band of Brothers… oh, and did I ever mention that I am married to a retired Marine? No? Oh, yes? I did? About a frillon-eleventy times? Well, okay then. And you guys remember how Mister totally talks to movies right? So, let’s do an equation. War movies/series + Mister = takes a long time to watch, what with all the rewinding to hear what was being said in the movie while my husband was saying (totally yelling) stuff like, “Flank RIGHT, you maggots!” Or “Captain Sobel Sir, can I invite you to suck a root?”

After our journey into Best Buy we headed over to Pier 1 and got this awesome bronze-y/reddish massive plate thing to go above our fireplace. Here is a picture of it, they call it a tortoise platter. I am not sure how a tortoise fits into the picture, but… apparently that is what it is called. Then we went to Bed Bath and Beyond and got two pictures, one large abstract on wooden blocks for the large wall in the dining room and one framed abstract for the smaller wall in the dining room.

We are finally actually making our little house look so homey.

I hung some butterfly pictures (antique prints that look like pages out of an Entomology book) in the guest bathroom. I hung my favorite naked trees (winter landscape photos of trees) pictures in the guest bedroom and I am itching to hang some other things.

We have mirrors out the ass. Long ones, narrow ones, oval ones, rectangle ones, ornate ones and we haven’t hung any of them yet. I have gallery opening posters from when my sister, mother and I went to Paris in 1998. They are very different. One is mostly blue while the other is a very angry red with an abstract face. They are in the same type of frames and I love them dearly. I think that they actually startle Mister.

He purchased some reprints for me off of the internet and we have yet to hang them. I have a large print of the naked red-haired lady on the Gladiator Bicycles poster. And one of this pretty lady (1940’s era) with red hair and she is smoking. But I haven’t even framed them yet. I totally wanted to hang those in the dining room, but because we have young ones in the house sometimes, I do not want to offend anyone with a boob.

Slight veer: Oh, My GOD. Hee. I sent out this huge email yesterday about the planning meeting we had back in January. I sent them a program matrix, several forms and blah blah blah. I got this email back from one of the committee members (a sweet sweet man, let’s call him Bob Smith) who said, “Susan, Thank you for the information. I spell Bob with only one ‘o’. Please check the spelling on your [blah blah blah] Program spreadsheet.” I checked the spreadsheet that I had sent out to the whole committee; and my boss; and it turned out I had called him Boob Smith on the document. End Veer.

Also… heh.

So the flurry of activity continues as tonight Stacey and I get our drink on at one of our exclusive Happy Hours where you can’t come unless your name is Stacey or Susan.

Mister is going to the Mavericks game and is so excited that he was contemplating getting a haircut at lunch. He is going with one of his business vendors and I think they have a suite. Which is very sweet.

Tomorrow is Mister’s birthday. He will be 94. We are so pleased that he is doing so well with his new teeth and the hip replacement he got for Christmas. (Actually, he’s the big four-oh.) I am taking him to the Melting Pot for dinner, showering him with gifts and maybe a blowjob afterwards.

Next week is Valentine’s day and we are going to PF Chang’s for their Chilean Sea Bass.

Mister is always so thoughtful with a gift and he spends hours looking for the card that says just the right thing (I have a jewelry box full of the cards he has given me… awww) and I? Well, I just kind of suck in that department. I am totally like a guy, running to Walgreen’s on the way to the restaurant so I can pick up a hastily grabbed Valentine card, some candy, a pack of smokes, a gift bag and some tissue… I stuff all the “gifts” into the bag, floof up the tissue paper around it, sign the card while doing 70 mph on the toll way and show up out of breath and sweaty to the venue because I don’t want to be late. Maybe I’ll just give him another blowjob.


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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.”

The Graphic Below Courtesy of Papernapkin.

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