Suzy Says

From my darling Kathleen:

THREE NAMES YOU GO BY:
1) Susan (Work Suzy; faux-adult Suzy)
2) Suzy (Real Life Me; also variants used by my family such as Floozy; Flooz; Boozy; Snoozy – you get the idea)
3) Princess

THREE SCREEN NAMES YOU HAVE HAD:
1) I never had one! How retro am I?

THREE THINGS YOU LIKE ABOUT YOURSELF:
1) My friends
2) My family
3) My handbag collection

THREE THINGS YOU DON’T LIKE ABOUT YOURSELF:
1) Panic attacks
2) My real hair color
3) My real age

THREE THINGS THAT SCARE YOU:
1) Death
2) Boredom
3) Waking up day one to find that all my age and indiscretions have caught up with me & I look like Keith Richards

THREE OF YOUR EVERYDAY ESSENTIALS:
1) Black coffee
2) Books
3) Love

THREE THINGS YOU ARE WEARING RIGHT NOW:
1) Diamond earrings (I sleep in them)
2) Perfume
3) Lip Venom

THREE OF YOUR FAVORITE BANDS OR MUSICAL ARTISTS (at the moment):
1) Wilco
2) Blackalicious
3) Brian Wilson

THREE OF YOUR FAVORITE SONGS (at the moment):
1) I Am Trying to Break Your Heart (Wilco)
2) Passion (Blackalicious)
3) Good Vibrations (Beach Boys)

THREE NEW THINGS YOU WANT TO TRY IN THE NEXT 12 MONTHS:
1) Living in different places
2) Actually making money from my start-up job
3) Keeping my New Year’s resolutions (or, as a guy at the gym calls it, “New Year’s Revolutions”)

THREE THINGS YOU WANT IN A RELATIONSHIP:
1) Love
2) Trust
3) Passion

TWO TRUTHS AND A LIE:
1) The next thing I say will be true.
2) The last thing I said was false.
3) I am a very good liar.

THREE PHYSICAL THINGS ABOUT THE OPPOSITE SEX (or same) THAT APPEAL TO YOU:
1) Expressive, intelligent eyes
2) Beautiful hands
3) Strength without being musclebound

THREE THINGS YOU JUST CAN’T DO:
1) Drink milk
2) Vote Republican
3) Read or watch science fiction or fantasy

THREE OF YOUR FAVORITE HOBBIES:
1) Shopping
2) Reading
3) Blogging (readin’ & writin’)

THREE THINGS YOU WANT TO DO REALLY BADLY RIGHT NOW:
1) Be in Paris at a sidewalk caf&eacute, sipping champagne
2) Already be in Florida, walking on the beach
3) Be hanging out with my sis & bro in the hot tub under the stars

THREE PLACES YOU WANT TO GO ON VACATION:
1) French Polynesia (Tahiti, Bora Bora)
2) Bar Harbor, Maine
3) Italy (Venice, Siena, Florence)

THREE KIDS’ NAMES:
1) Clementine
2) Spencer
3) Wilson

THREE THINGS YOU WANT TO DO BEFORE YOU DIE:
1) Be rich
2) Be happy
3) Be fearless

THREE WAYS I AM STEREOTYPICALLY A BOY:
1) I hate housework and avoid it at all costs
2) I love baseball and hockey
3) I think naked girls are generally better to look at than naked boys

THREE WAYS I AM STEREOTYPICALLY A CHICK:
1) I love sparkly things, especially jewelry
2) I love to shop, with special focus on handbags and shoes
3) I’m all about the pretty

THREE CELEB CRUSHES:
1) Johnny Depp
2) Jared Leto
3) Gregory Smith

THREE PEOPLE WHO HAVE TO TAKE THIS QUIZ NOW:
1) Amy
2) Cassie
3) Lisa

?

That’s it. I’m heading to Florida at the end of the month to demand an explanation for the total lack of pink grapefruit juice. The presence of actual pink grapefruits does not make up for no sass in a glass for Suzy.

I must really want that juice, hmmmm?

I coughed myself awake this morning – even less fun than being awakened by an alarm clock, though definitely better than being woken up at 3:30 am – and decided to venture out to get some of my favorite pink grapefruit juice (“It’s sass in a glass!”).

However, the store owner informed me that the hurricanes that just wouldn’t leave Florida alone a few months back meant that there was no sass in a glass for Suzy or anyone else for a while. Back ordered, he said, in the mysterious jargon of retail.

But he did have actual pink grapefruits for sale, which made no sense to Me. I mean, if there are grapefruits, shouldn’t there be grapefruit juice?

Walking home, I pondered this conundrum, and another sprang to mind: why do we say men are womanizers, but we don’t say women are manizers? And could you refer to a gay woman as a womanizer, if she was? Oh, the shallowness of Suzy’s mind, especially when deprived of sass in a glass.

I came home to find the kitchen flooded (again), I have a raging cold (again), and an inbox full of misspelled porn invitations.

Now, if you’re going to send out these sleazy missives, at least have the courtesy to learn how to spell simple, every day words like “whore” (not “whroe”) and “sluts” (not “sltus”). The linguist and spelling bee winner in me wants to reply to these messages, giving their authors the correct spelling of these and other important porn terms, but I realize that this is almost literally pearls before swine.

Also, I’m too lazy, and my day will be entirely occupied by feeling sorry for myself (I was sick a *month* ago! My immune system is even more pathetic than I am!) and ministering to my illness. Good thing I bought up all those Kleenex shares the last time I was sick. I’ll have enough money to set up a school for illiterate pornographers.

I’m almost afraid to tell you how early I had to get up to catch my flight home, which left at 6:30 am. That’s in the morning, you know. So the alarm went off at the unSuzy hour of 3:30 am. That’s hardly even morning. You should only be up at that hour if you’re still up from having fun the night before, and for no other reason. As I groped for the off switch on the hotel’s clock radio, I heard a guy on the street below bellowing, “Fuuuuuck youuuuuu!”

That pretty much summed up my feelings.

I had that feeling again when I was on the plane, sitting beside a guy who demonstrated burping skills which Ashlee Simpson would have envied. It was astounding. And gross.

He also ordered coffee black, with six sugars. Now, as you know, I have no problem with black coffee – I drink it that way myself. I don’t want anything to get between me & the caffeine. But all that sugar? I was irresistibly reminded of the scene in the late great series, My So-Called Life, where Angela’s father asks her if she wants milk in her coffee, and she says, “No, I take it black, with three or four sugars”, because that’s how her dream guy takes his coffee.

My grandmother used to give me a spoonful of sugar to cure hiccups, but I never thought it would cause very loud public burping. Of course, it might not have been the sugar. And this guy ain’t anyone’s dream guy.

I’m trying the airport thing again today. Talk about the triumph of optimism over experience! It can’t be as bad as last time. Can it?

I’m going to be computer-free, so you’ll have to stay tuned until Wednesday to find out the latest adventures of Suzy.

Wish me luck!

How to Have a Really Rude Awakening:

– Stumble out of bed in usual zombie-like state, seeking caffeine.

– In pre-caffeinated state and bare feet, enter kitchen.

– Discover that kitchen floor is covered in cold water*.

– Consider going back for slippers, but feet are already wet, so what’s the point? Momentarily reflect on the wisdom of stepmother’s distaste for my wandering around in bare feet (though said distaste dated from her childhood, when bare feet were a sign of poverty).

– Splash over to counter and make coffee, which is pretty much unnecessary at this point, the shock of cold water having the approximate effect of a triple espresso.

– Go to bathroom, and discover that something esoteric within the mysterious interior of the tank has gone on strike or vacation or simply died, much mourned by all.

– Reflect on stupidity of getting a degree in linguistics instead of learning to be a plumber.

– Go back to bed.

*Mini-flood caused by there being too much water outside, so the leftovers came inside. I’m telling you, the entire goal of Nature is to get inside your house.

How to Get Nowhere

– Wake up early (ick) to get to airport on time.

– Get to airport on time, despite cab driver’s insistence on taking the stupid (read: long) way.

– Wait in very long line to check in.

– At check in, you are informed that the flight is delayed by at least two hours, maybe more, meaning that you will definitely miss your connecting flight. Agent changes your reservation to another airline which has a non-stop flight. Non-stop flight leaves in around 4 hours, but is the only game in town.

– Get to Security, where your bags are searched with the kind of avidity dogs apply to steak. You begin to feel guilty of something as they start running a little brush thing over your lap top and bag. People start looking at you like you’re a criminal.

– If they keep looking, they will get to see a female security agent totally feeling me up. My boobs haven’t been examined this thoroughly since my last mammogram. As the feelfest proceeds, I wonder if I could request a hot male security guard to perform this particular function. Remember that there are no hot male security guards, and if they were, the hideous nylon uniform would cancel it out anyway.

– Apparently my tits are satisfactory, so I am released. After 4 hours, report to gate only to be informed that my reservation is not in their computer and the flight is:

a. Oversold
2. The last one of the day.

– I should get a prize for not throwing a great big noisy fuss. I just tell them I’m going home. The agent looks astonished. I repeat the simple statement. She says I have to be escorted out, which seems like exactly the kind of thing that would happen to a girl who had all her baggage and boobage searched. I bet the people who caught the earlier show were nudging each other and saying, “I knew she was no good”. They’re not wrong.

– Get cab home.

Distance travelled: To the airport and back

Time elapsed: 8+ hours

Mental state: I think you know.

Here’s some total kitten cuteness to make your day!

I can’t take credit for either the kitten or the photo – both photographer and kitten are Czech, and the picture was taken on a cold winter day in Prague more than 40 years ago.

Last year, my resolutions were to get a job, and to figure out the whole spiritual thing.

Who was I kidding?! Greater minds than the fluff that passes for mine haven’t been able to figure out the spiritual thing for hundreds, even thousands of years. That one was waaay too ambitious. On the other hand, I’m partially employed, so I did sort of keep at least one resolution.

And I’ve become bi…coastal, that is. Like Kimberly Guilfoyle. Except I’m not on TV, I’m not a lawyer, I’m not a size 0, I’m not a brunette (really! I swear!), I’m not a wealthy socialite (yet), I’m not married to a famous and powerful man who is prettier than I am.

OK, nothing like Mrs. Newsom. Just like Me.

Good things about job:

– Part time (for now, anyway)
– Boss is old friend
– I mostly work at home
– Which means I don’t have to get dressed unless I’m leaving the house (I am considerate of the general public)
– I seem to end up working at weird times, but Boss doesn’t mind (he does the same thing)
– I get to travel

Bad things about job:

– Since it’s part time AND a start-up, I make a laughable (or cryable) amount of money
– Boss is great guy but a flake, so unreasonable deadlines can and do appear, along with sudden summons to be in another city ASAP
– Grooming standards have fallen to just above the level of the average street person
– I have to travel, exposing my delicate sensibilities to the horror of air travel

Worst thing of all: I had to get a PC to run financial software. It’s like having a small Egyptian curse in the house. And my iBook gets all huffy because I’m cheating on it with someone who is just so much less attractive, like Diana and Camilla. I’m trying to keep them separated so no catfights ensue.

Resolutions for 2005: Answer my emails before they molder and become a health hazard. And blogwalk, as the fabulous Michelle would say. more often.

Happy New Year, everyone! May it be healthy, happy, and (hopefully) peaceful.

The Year In Review:

January: Recovering from Christmas Concussion. Nurse Suzy meets Frontier Suzy (which is scarier?) as I spend most of the month at my sister’s place in the country, helping to take care of Mom, who once again rises from the almost dead. She makes Lazarus look like an amateur. Bonus: lifelong fear of the dark banished by a month of darkness bootcamp.

February: Went to Florida for the first time and loved it. At least Hurricane Suzy left the place in one piece.

March: The incredibly moving Bar Mitzvah. Computer problems.

April: My blog’s third birthday. Barry Bonds hits 700. Minor, self-induced back problems.

May: Blogger’s block.

June: Baseball games, one at home and one in enemy territory. Blogger’s block continues apace. Actually do not care about my birthday! ~gasp~

July: Dogsitting. New York City! Sunburns galore and flaming appliances! Garden party envy.

August: Third anniversary of my father’s death. Suzy’s Hamptons Diary.

September: Nothing fit for public consumption*.

October: The torpor continues. Shocked out of torpor temporarily by sudden mouse invasion. Sinus infection from hell.

November: Viva Las Vegas! Sick again. So is Mom, and of course, she outdoes me and is in the hospital. After a two week stay, she is released. She’s Wonder Woman! Thanksgiving with all my siblings and assorted friends.

December: The perils of country driving for a city girl. First foray into professional photography (as a rank amateur). A cardless and gift-free Christmas. The perils of city driving (or parking) for a city girl.

*If you’re curious, email me at speakall@earthlink.net and I’ll give you the dirt.

A Christmas comedy, starring Suzy
Co-starring an uncooperative car and a very recalcitrant turkey

On Christmas Eve, I volunteered to go to a mall(!) and pick up some last minute items for a friend, who was hostessing a quite splendid party. I braved the hordes of last-minute holiday shoppers, and emerged victorious, clutching my hard-won shopping. I got in the car, turned the key, and…

…nothing.

I couldn’t believe this, so I kept trying until I realized that the car battery had chosen a cold winter evening to expire, proving that no good deed goes unpunished. For once, I was actually glad to have my cell phone, and summoned help. While waiting for rescue on a cold winter evening, I reflected on the fact that time can actually stand still. When Rescue Guy arrived, it took less than one minute to bring the car back to life, and less than that for me to put the heat on.

Arriving at my hostess’ house, I hurried in with all the shopping I could carry, and then returned to the car for the rest of it. This was a good theory until I realized…

…that I had locked the keys in the car with the engine running.

No wonder I hardly ever drive. I’m a hazard when I’m parked.

Fortunately, it was a different Rescue Guy the second time.

The comedy continued in the kitchen, where the turkey, which had been defrosting for two days, was still frozen. We put it in the microwave to defrost, but after three rounds, it was still frozen inside. My hostess had the bright idea of pouring boiling water into the frozen cavity. There’s a trust exercise for you: I held the turkey upright while she poured the boiling water in.

It finally thawed enough for us to try and remove the plastic bag of grossness and the neck. The plastic bag gave up easily, but the neck would not come out. Peering into the dark recesses of the entr&eacutee-to-be, it appeared to me that there were two things in there, not one. A prolonged bout of turkey wrestling ensued, with one of us holding the pan and the other attempting to wrench the neck out (and whatever else was in there).

It finally emerged, and turned out to be in fact the longest turkey neck ever seen – the John Holmes of turkey necks. We ended up having to wrap the poultry porn star in foil and roast it at 400 degrees, and had dinner at a very European 9:00 pm.

Note to self: get a chauffeur and become a vegetarian. The world will be a safer place.

Well, I am more naughty than nice. But you knew that.

Beaded bookmark made for me by a friend who apparently knows me all too well!

The Grinchitude continues apace Chez Suzy: I haven’t sent a single Christmas card, I don’t have a tree or decorations, I haven’t sung a carol or bought presents or even done my traditional annual reading of John Masefield’s masterpiece, a Christmas story called “The Box of Delights” (my father used to read it to us every Christmas when we were kids, and this is the first Christmas ever that I haven’t read it).

But I do have a Festive Fire Escape (doesn’t that sound like an Edward Gorey book?).

And from the more glamorous days of air travel:

A stewardess told me that when she first started out in her job in 1968, they would actually weigh the girls before they were allowed on the plane. Once, she weighed 1/4 pound too much and was thrown off the plane, missing a day’s pay. She said, “I just laughed and sat by the pool that day. Eventually, they stopped doing this, since it was so hard to find replacement staff at the last minute.”

The Not So Glamorous Assistant

The fabulous K, she of the evilly delicious chocolate martinis, somehow convinced me to accompany her to the depths of the country to be her assistant at an outdoor photo shoot. She must have caught me in a moment of extreme weakness or have powers of persuasion so superhuman that she could solve that pesky Middle East problem while refreshing her lip gloss, because:

1. I had to leave the house at 7:15 AM. That means morning, you know (theoretically – the sun very wisely and enviably still had its head under the covers at that ungodly hour). Yikes!

2. Being a photographer’s assistant is not the same as being, say, a magician’s. There are no sequins or outsize feathers involved. Damn!

3. The country: It’s another name for Nature, and you know how much I love that. It consists mostly of fields of nothing, also mud and lots of it. My poor little boots!

3. The outdoors is shockingly over-ventilated, rendering me a temporary Suzy-sicle. The shoot was for the cover of a magazine and involved a particularly handsome, yet recalcitrant dog who paid no attention whatsoever to my stage directions, even when I tried to lure him with treats. I hate it when males are immune to my charms.

On the other hand, there was a puppy of possibly illegal cuteness, with the result that my coat is now covered in puppy slobber and dog hair, but it was completely worth it.

PS: You decide which is weirder:

1. The fact that the dogs’ owner names them all after hotels; or

2. The fact that he thinks it’s really cool and kept telling us about it. Frequently.

Revelation du jour: you can be just as bored on a cold, rainy day that keeps you indoors when you’re a grown-up as when you’re a kid. Despite the fact that you have access to a far wider range of playthings as an adult than as a child: TV unlimited by parental intervention; DVD’s & videos; the Net, with its alluring array of online shopping and other pleasures (some guiltier than others); phone*; email*; books, magazines. Sure, you could catch up on some of the annoying chores that are the lot in life of all adults, but who wants to when you’re bored and cranky and want to be distracted? It’s more depressing than a barrel full of Thomas Hardy novels out there.

Oddly, I would probably go out if it was snowing – snow being rain’s more glamorous cousin and all.

The truth is, I wanted to go shopping today, and am understandably annoyed that Nature has kept me from doing my bit to improve the economy. And my butt: shopping is my cardio, after all.

*The other truth is, I sort of hate the phone. Returning messages, like answering emails, is kind of a chore-ette. Like we all love to get mail, but are much less enthusiastic about answering it. Especially when you’re stricken with paralyzing boredom and have nothing of interest to say.

I may be a Grinch(ette), but I winterized!

My slide into Grinch-itude has escalated like drug use.

Last year, it was our family agreeing not to exchange gifts, though my sister Megan cheated by making everyone stockings filled with cool stuff and my dear Kathleen made and sent every girl in my family beautiful scarves.

I have to say, it made the whole thing a lot less stressful (also cheaper) and a lot like having a second Thanksgiving, just food and family and sharing happy holiday memories. It worked out so well that we’re doing it again this year (or not doing it, depending on how you look at it).

This year, I have actually decided not to send out any Christmas cards!! It gives me a feeling of terrifying freedom, and I also feel like I’m going to get in trouble somehow, but what a stress reliever! Last year, I sent out around 70 of them, and it was a lot of work, since I have the quaint notion that I should write (or scrawl – my always-odd handwriting has gotten even more eccentric with lack of use) something personal in each one. I used to start the day after Thanksgiving to get all the European ones out in time.

For those of you who are sending out cards this year, why not use the Dr. Seuss stamps? Even though you’re not a Grinch!

I’m here!

Well, actually, I’m still here.

I came up to the country to spend Thanksgiving with both of my sisters, my brother, and my mother, but it didn’t turn out as I expected. Mom was hospitalized two days before Thanksgiving with a platelet count of 12 (normal is around 200) and pancreatitis (infection of the pancreas, which can lead to diabetes). Four blood transfusions, one platelet infusion, and a week of intravenous antibiotics and she’s looking pretty good. It’s amazing how she keeps fighting. I decided to stay a few more days than I had planned because she looked so ill. What a difference a week makes!

So although she couldn’t eat Thanksgiving dinner with all her kids, she did have them all visit her in the hospital, and we have one more thing to be thankful for.