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Happy Valentines Day to all of you. And yes, I should have posted this yesterday.

Issue Date: Thursday, Feb. 15, 2007

Cowgirl: oh, Happy Valentine's Day!
Suzanna: to you as well!
i should have brought you flowers
or at least a card
how about a letter
Cowgirl: ech, why??
Suzanna: i've always liked K
Cowgirl: how about a nice instant message, that's sort of my speed
Suzanna: ok....
then check this out
a poem
for Valentine's Day
to Jules
from me
Cowgirl: you're making me crack up already
Suzanna: Roses are Red
Violets are sort of Purple
Cowgirl: Raisins are brown...
Suzanna: You should be joining my ass
in Green Bay in March
Cowgirl: ha!
Suzanna: that didn’t rhyme
Cowgirl: I sooo wish I could
Suzanna: i know
how about a haiku?
Cowgirl: if you can pull a Green Bay haiku out of your ass...
Suzanna: i can pull anything out of my ass... it is a veritable magicians hat
Cowgirl: it's not the talking one from Harry Potter, I hope
Suzanna: nah
not as wrinkly
ready for your haiku?
Cowgirl: because that could get embarrassing in public situations
Suzanna: right... with all of the ass singing
Cowgirl: bring it, baby!
Suzanna: ok
a haiku to you... from me
Happy V.D. Jules
And not the bad kind
But the one with Hallmark shit.
Cowgirl: that is all kinds of awesome!

So… Happy Valentines to all of you.

Also? Last night on the news Mister and I were watching them talk about buying old homes and remodeling them for a tax rebate here in a suburb of Dallas. And this one guy who had done just that… taken an old home and remodeled it… used the word “Incentivize”.


I kept trying to get Mister to confess what it would take to get him incentivized but alas, I had no luck.

Last weekend… wait let me back up. And for those of you who have already heard this story (ahem… Jules ) then just skip down a few paragraphs.

Since I have known Mister he has been cold. Seriously. You know how those (to steal a term from LA Chihuahuas (the dogs and people)) are always shaky and cold? Ok, now think about a 6’5” man shivering and trying to crawl under me to get warm as I am his personal furnace. Just last night he put his feet on me to warm up. I am like a fluffy, person-shaped, electric blanket… that sweats occasionally. Ok, who sweats a lot. Do not judge me. I glisten.

I am so hot natured that people in my office ask me to warm their hands in mine when they come back from lunch.

Not kidding.

So, poor cold Mister has the house set to like 72 or 74 degrees in the evenings. All of the heat? Is concentrated into the master bedroom. I sleep naked, with the covers mostly off and a fan pointed at my ass (literally, my ass). The dog loves it in the master bedroom. His kennel is kept in there and he begs to go to bed. (So hot… I must love that man of mine an awful lot. Why yes, yes I do.)

And since I have known poor, cold Mister he has been without a proper coat. He has had a leather coat, windbreakers and some puffy thing that was awful and didn’t fit properly. So? Two Decembers ago, I bought him a nice zip-up black wool car coat with pockets and a turn up collar. He loves that thing. He hardly takes it off. He may relinquish it to the coat closet in June, July or March… but as soon as it dips below 68? He breaks that fucker out and refuses to take it off.

He wore it for most of his birthday dinner. Inside. Inside the restaurant, with a boiling fondue pot and cook top built into the table. I had stripped down to a t-shirt and my panties* and yet, there sat Mister bulking up his sizeable bulk (see also: FUCKING 6’5”!) with a thick-ass black wool coat in those teeny booths.

*Well, just about.

I always ask him, “Want to take off your coat and stay a while?” He’s all , “N-n-n-n-noooo it’s cold in h-h-heerrrre.” He leaves his coat on during dinner, at home, while in the car. His coat is always on him.

He tells me all the time, “Baby, thank you so much for this coat. I really love it.” My response? “You are welcome. Please take it off when you get in the shower.”

So… A few weeks ago… after many days and hours and minutes and infinite time of zipping and unzipping his precious (the precciouuusssssssss) black wool coat, the zipper broke. Surprise!

We went to the tailor to get some of his pants seamed, or something, and to get a pair of my jeans twinched**.

**To be twinched: To have the waist lowered on a pair of trousers and/or jeans as to remove the twelve inches of material dangling from my crotch to my mid thigh. I do not need that material. I end up rolling the waistband of my trousers/jeans over and over to get rid of the ‘low crotch effect’. And the roll move can only be done when not wearing a belt. I like belts. So, I have the waist lowered to get rid of this excess of crotch material. When rid of the excess material the remaining zipper is about two inches in length. Hence, what Mister refers to as twinches. Two inches. Twinches.

When we dropped off his pants and my jeans he asked the tailor if he would replace the zipper in his precious. Bong (seriously, the tailor’s name) said he would order the zipper and Mister could leave the coat (OH NO!) with him for a few days to repair it when the zipper came in.

The zipper came in on Sunday. The weather guys had been touting all week, “It’ll be 70 degrees by Tuesday! Break out your flip flops and your shorts people, it’s gonna be a warm one!” So, I convinced [read: pried the coat from Mister’s clenched up fists] Mister to leave his warm, wool coat [Please also note: under the coat, Mister had on a white under shirt, a long sleeved button up shirt and a CARDIGAN SWEATER. Not kidding.] with Bong and we’d pick it up Tuesday. After all, it would be 70 degrees by Tuesday. Right? Right.

Wrong. Yellow-bellied lying perverted weathermen!

Oh ya’ll. Mister has been SO mad at me!

It was like 34 on Tuesday. Yesterday and today? Snow.

But also awww… because he got sick.

But I went to pick up his jacket on Tuesday evening on the way home from work. When I got to the house and presented him with his precious. He was all, “My Jacket! My Jacket!” and he put it on and wouldn’t take it off until he went to bed.

Cute? Yes? But also, please take the coat off when we are in a booth in a restaurant and I have four inches of the bench to sit my four foot ass upon because his big shoulders and massive COAT are taking up the whole side. It is like sitting next to a very well behaved, nicely dressed and extremely attractive Kodiak bear.


I told y’all about calling one of my committee members Boob… right? Right? Ok. Guess what happened yesterday? After my short (ha ha ha) chat session with Jules my boss came into my office (cubicle) to see what I was doing for lunch. I had this awesome idea to search on this place that has chicken and dumplings as a lunch special one day of the week. The place is called Jen’s Place and it is not far from my office.

With my boss standing directly behind me with his eyes on my monitor screen, I opened an explorer window and typed in Jen’s Place dot com.

Oh. My. God.

It was Jen’s Place alright. And I saw all of her places. They are all very tan. And very porny. My boss squealed and ran out of my cube so fast that he created a vacuum and my hair followed the wind effect that he left in his wake.

What I was looking for was Jen’s Place Café and Bakery dot com. Don’t look up the first one. It will definitely NOT tell you that Thursday is chicken and dumplings day.


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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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