Archive for April, 2005

No Complaints

Through the Bannister

Three Trees and a Sky

I was going to make it a Biscuit Friday, but the VBD refused to sign the photo release. Truthfully, the VBD refused to “stay,” so I couldn’t get a photo that wasn’t his giant brown nose up against the camera lens. So bad.

I took these two photos this past Monday, and I titled this post then, too. That was before my blog was awarded its 15 minutes of fame. I felt on Monday as I do today, I have nothing to complain about. The pictures you see here are the first sights on which my very near-sighted eyes focused on Monday morning, as I came down the stairs to start the day. And I just thought, “Wow, look at that. How blessed am I to be greeted by such a bright, Springy sight, first thing on a Monday morning?” Then I thought, (because I’m a hopeless addict now) “I’ll share it with the bloggers!”

Thank you for commenting yesterday, for playing along. I can say with certainty, I have never laughed so hard at comments, here and around the blogworld, as I did yesterday. I especially enjoyed “the real William Shatner” over at Dang Cold’s place. I laughed so hard I scared the dog. (Maybe that’s why he won’t sign the release.)

Feeling thankful for bright Springtime views out my very own windows. Also feeling very thankful for good surprises, the gift of humor that God has so lavishly bestowed on those who visit here, for people who live and let live, and for friends who have the ability to feel true happiness for someone else’s good fortune.

(Johnny Depp is SO not gay.)

P.S. If you saw a celebrity comment somewhere, that was really funny, please share with the rest of the class!


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It’s been quite a week here at the house. In case you’ve heard, yes, it is true, and in case you haven’t heard, well, yes, it is still true, that on Tuesday, a STAR stopped in and commented on my little blog. This EVENT came about thanks to a one-man volunteer PR firm, who liked what he read here and went around blogworld commenting on the site of any famous person who’d let him in. Sort of the blog equivalent of writing my URL on the bathroom wall: For a good time, click Susie… So that my “visits per day” jumped from 187 on Monday to 590 on Tuesday! Now, mind you, the rich and famous LURK here all the time (hey Samuel L, hey Julia!) but they don’t often comment. Until Tuesday.

So once the butterflies had settled down, I said to myself, I said, “Sweet potato, (what? that’s what I call myself; shut up!), this is a THANG that has unexpectedly happened to you here. And you need to use this thang, and not just let it slip away without making some difference to someone.” So with that in mind, I’m going to milk it. I want to tell you just a little about one particular commenter who stopped in here on Tuesday. This person is a unique, gay American, whom I haven’t known for long, and have only “met” here in blogworld; still, I have a tremendous amount of admiration, respect, and yes, love, for this person. This commenter is also a blogger, who recently wrote very eloquently about issues such as gays adopting children, and relationships between gays and straights. I’m going to go ahead and give you the link, and I’d like for you to go visit my blogfriend, and don’t go actin’ all starstruck and goofy, just leave some love there. Go read, comment and then come back.

And now, just so I don’t have to go cold turkey on the celebrities-leaving-me-comments, how about leaving me a comment, posting as your favorite celebrity! (Oh, I guess you could tell me your real identity, too, so I can give you credit in your permanent record.) And tell us which celebrity you’d really love to get a comment from. And heck, it REALLY is cool getting a comment from a celebrity, so:

Go ye forth into all of blogworld, disguised as a celebrity that the blogger you’re visiting might enjoy, and leave NICE, ENCOURAGING and/or FUNNY comments. Think of it as a bloggers’ masquerade party.

This would be a good time to let you know that the beautiful and brilliant mrtl waltzed in here yesterday sportin’ an idea that was dangerously close to this one. So I had to have her silenced. Nooooo, she most graciously let me go with it. After I whined and threatened to wet my pants. *

I hereby challenge you to spread this thang! Oh, and as Bucky likes to say, “If nobody does it to you, do it to yourself!”

*If you leave a “faux” comment with someone who takes offense, this was totally mrtl’s brainy idea. She has agreed to handle all complaints, returns, exchanges, etc. I don’t wanna hear it.

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Between the routine gotta-do-it visits to the gynecologist, and various sadistic treatments for infertility before and after LG’s arrival, I have spent more than my fair share of time butt-nekkid in the stirrups. I have shared (with another audience) a few short vignettes, which I call “My Life in the Stirrups.” This is one of the stories from that “collection.”

WARNING: The following is for mature audiences only (no, wait, no one who comes here could read it)… what I mean to say is, the following is the one and only post on this blog that contains the words, “my” and “vagina” adjacent to one another in the same sentence. If that troubles you, go read something else and come back later in the week.

Booty Flies

I’ve had a long and wide-ranging career in the stirrups. The best, most beloved gynecologist I ever had was a 50-something, Colombian-born doctor named Joaquin. I didn’t call him by his first name, but that’s how I always thought of him, because I’d never known a Joaquin, and because I was pretty sure he looked just like one. He was happily married, as was demonstrated by the photos of his pretty, smiling wife with their 8 or 10 or 15 beautiful, smiling children, which were allovertheplace in his office. He was kind and gentle, and explained everything he did. “This is just my finger. This is just the speculum.”

My sister-in-law, who recommended him, told me how gentle and thorough and explanatory he was. One time he said to her, “This is just my foot . . .” We figured it must have been a language thing. English was clearly at least a second language, if not a third or fourth, and his Colombian accent was quite thick, albeit thoroughly charming.

I liked him first because he asked me, as part of his get-acquainted interview, whether I had any trouble reaching orgasm. Well, no I don’t, Joaquin, but I thank you very kindly for asking. No other doc has ever asked that (before or since). And shouldn’t they all? So many women do have trouble, but don’t say anything, and wouldn’t it just help so much if someone would just flat-out ask? So I liked him, because he cared about women’s sexual happiness.

So I’m there in Joaquin’s stirrups. He’s examining me prior to my wedding, when I’ve come to be fitted for the diaphragm that I will never ever use even once in my life, but I’m going to be grown up and responsible now, so I’ll have proper adult contraception. While he’s doing his thing, and I’m looking for a pattern in the holes in the ceiling tiles, he says very sweetly, “Susie, you have booty flies.” I am stunned. He says it again. “Just booty flies.” Ohmygod. How can this be happening to me? I am a good girl. I am so clean. I am so careful. How will I tell Jif? Did I get them from Jif? Wait. What are booty flies? And how do you get them, and deargod how do you get rid of them before the wedding?

I am panicking. I am sweating, trying to control my breathing. My eyes fill up with tears. I am frightened and embarrassed. Something off to the right catches my eye. It is the nurse, there to witness, to chaperone, and she is frantically waving a hand to get my attention. She wants me to look at her face. She’s been watching me deteriorate into a frightened, shamed, booty flies carrier. I can’t look at her.

I look at her. She points to her eye and then she silently mouths, very slowly and deliberately: “BEE-YOO-TEE-FULL EYES.” Over and over, she does this. OH!!!! I don’t have booty flies!!! I have beautiful eyes! I have beautiful eyes! I have beautiful eyes! Thank you, Jesus!! Thank you, Joaquin. And now I’m laughing. The gathered tears spill out and run earward, and I shake with laughter, and then I shout it, loudly and happily, “Thank you!! Thank you!!” Joaquin suddenly stops what he’s doing, is still for a long moment, while I laugh out loud and repeat thankyouthankyouthankyou. Then he leans sideways on his stool to look at me, smiles a small smile and nods. It’s been several minutes since he diagnosed the booty flies. He has no idea for what I am thanking him so enthusiastically. Did he just discover a happy new spot, to be named later with a letter of the alphabet and a hyphen? The J-spot, for Joaquin. The nurse has turned away so he can’t see her laughing. I smile at her back – her bouncy hair shakes, her shoulders shake, her hips shake with silent laughter.

I like a man who can look deeply into my vagina and tell me I have beautiful eyes.

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After the shocking content of last week’s post, I thought I’d better simma down a bit and offer something of some redeeming social value. I love stories — I love to read them, hear them, tell them, use them in my work. This is just a short one, but I truly love it. I clipped it out of my church newsletter, laminated it and put it up on my fridge. I read it often. The woman in this story is my super-hero; she’s whom I’d like to be if I ever grow up.

The Woman and The Stone

A wise woman who was traveling in the mountains found a precious stone in a stream. The next day she met another traveler who was hungry, and the wise woman opened her bag to share her food. The hungry traveler saw the precious stone and asked the woman to give it to him. She did so without hesitation. The traveler left, rejoicing in his good fortune. He knew the stone was worth enough to give him security for a lifetime. But a few days later he came back to return the stone to the wise woman.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said. “I know how valuable the stone is, but I give it back in the hope that you can give me something even more precious. Give me what you have within you that enabled you to give me the stone.”

(BTW, tomorrow we return to completely socially unredeeming, shocking content.)

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This is the Mama, at about the same age. I think I had been crying here. Probably crying about what they’d done to my bangs!

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Sunday Post ~ Have you made a mess of things? You’re still loved.

Psalm 103:8-12

file under: &Sunday Post

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If he were a cat, you know what kinda cat he’d be…

Biscuit. Makin’ copies. The Biskinator. Bisco-ramma. Biscuit-eatsa-Triscuit. Makin’ copies.

I love to copy. Sometimes I even exploit my dog in the process. My motto is, “Originality? Whose brainy idea was that?”

Anything worth doing has already been done. Go do it again!

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