I'd Rather Date The Devil

WWSD? Suzie would accept the invitation and have herself a lovely day.

I cannot believe the balls Dick possesses. How the hell do you leave your family for over three weeks and then invite them to go fishing with you like nothing has happened? What makes him think I will simply overlook the fact that he's been cuddling up to strippers for affection and accept an invitation to do anything other than string him up by the balls? I swear this man has been drinking some silly juice to think I would be remotely interested.

I'd rather date the Devil than spend even a second with Dick. I'd don a bright red, satin dress with my longest, spikiest heels. I'd walk hand in hand with the demon. We'd eat at a fine restaurant and pick the warmest corner to sit. He'd entertain me with idle tales and utter lies, but I wouldn't care. He'd trick me into coming back to his place for a nightcap and I'd find myself trapped in the depths of hell for eternity. This appeals to me so much more than being on a boat with Dick.

I ended up answering his text with this:

"I appreciate the offer however, I must admit that I'd rather hang myself with my own bed-sheets than to spend another moment with you. You repulse me in ways I cannot describe. It would be so kind of you to lose my number and never call or text me again. Enjoy your day and may your penis get caught in your zipper -- twice."

I am beginning to think there is truth in the old saying that some men think only with their dicks. He's such a prick! Now if you'll excuse me, Lucifer's calling.

Monkey See, Monkey Don't Do

WWSD? Suzie would take the mimicry as a compliment.

I can't stand copycats. I get irritated by unoriginal, thoughtless people who can't come up with their own shit. I don't mind someone borrowing ideas, but to copy and paste my whole damn post? Utterly ridiculous! I don't work my ass off in life to have someone else take the credit. This bitch needs to back the fuck up. (sorry for cussing)

It started with an email that had Miss Suzie - Please read this! as the subject. Hoping it was some sort of note confessing one's love for me and endless praises of how well I write, I opened it. To my horror, I found out that one of my beloved readers had stumbled onto another blog that was posting my stuff -- word for word nonetheless. When I visited the blog, my ears began burning and my blood began to boil. There, in black and white, was the words I had written.

I did as any good little Suzie would do (with the added flair I bring to the term). I left a heartfelt comment praising this woman for keeping it together in such terrible times. I wished her and her children well. I badmouthed Dick and told her she was better off without him. I then asked if she'd visit my blog as I think she could learn a thing or two. Three hours later, her blog is gone. I'm taking it that she got the hint.

For future reference, I do not care if you use my ideas. Call your husband Dick, refer to yourself as Suzie, and bitch and complain about all of life's woes. I couldn't care less and would welcome the competition. All I ask is don't copy me word for word. I write in a way that my personality shines through and more than likely, you wouldn't do it justice. There is only one me -- I'd like to keep it that way.

Are They For Reel?

WWSD? Suzie doesn't have time for movies when there are so many more important things to be doing.

I need to quit watching the Lifetime channel. It is seriously depressing me.

I am beginning to despise movies, especially romantic comedies. They never depict truthful relationships. They spoon feed me this vision of romance that leaves me wanting to hurl yesterday's dinner. Sure, most of them have some sort of tragedy happening at some point or another, but they always end the same way -- the boys gets the girl. Barf!

What I wouldn't give to go to the cinema and see a real romance story. One in which the woman has children and actually ages. A movie in which the love scene is interrupted by children, dogs, a cat, or hell, even a pot bellied pig. I want to see a movie that doesn't put band-aids on the truth about relationships. I want to see the band-aid ripped off and the wound laying open for all to see. Romance isn't perfect, so why the hell are the movies?

I blame these movies for the unhappiness of women today. They've been fed this bullshit for so long that they actually think this is what love is like. They don't understand when times get tough because it didn't happen that way in the movies. They expect their men to behave like well trained monkeys and actually get pissy when they act human. Give me a break!

Real relationships don't come with directors yelling Cut! They don't take breaks to powder their noses. They don't read from scripts and do not have lines to memorize. Reality doesn't need its own trailer and personal assistant. It just doesn't work that way.

With all this said, I am banning myself from all the girly channels until further notice. If you need me, I'll be the chick drooling over the ESPN guys.

Once Bitten, Twice Shy

WWSD? Suzie would welcome him back with open arms and a smile on her face.

I must have fool written across my forehead. I must walk around with a kick me sign taped to my back. Apparently, I am giving off the vibe that I am a sucker and will fall for anything because Dick thinks he can send a few half-hearted apologies via text messaging and I'm supposed to just take him back? Uh, no.

I don't know where people get off thinking they can hurt you, say sorry, and waltz back into your life like nothing happened. Do they not realize that they have to prove they are sorry and not just merely say the words? Why in the hell would I believe he is sorry when not only has he done this before, he's done it numerous times?

Let me guess: I'll take him back, things will be fine for a minute, things begin to get a little rough, and bam -- he's gone again. Sorry, but I'm no fool. There aren't enough I'm sorrys to warrant me allowing this poor excuse for a man back into my life. Someone could not pay me enough to deal with his issues any longer. Even if he promised to cook and clean until his dying days -- I am not taking him back.

So now I'm torn between listing his sorry ass on craigslist (as Satan reincarnated) or auctioning him off on ebay (as no longer needed). I'm sure I wouldn't get much either way I went, but it would be fun to screw with him anyway. Perhaps I'll list him on both, send him the links via text messaging, and tell him to leave me the hell alone. Even if he doesn't get the hint, I'll get a good laugh. I hate assholes!

Suzie's Five Year Plan

WWSD? Suzie would have had this shit planned out long ago.

After the recent events (my Dick of a husband leaving), I figured it was about time I put a plan together. I need some direction and purpose in my life. I decided to keep it simple and start with a five year plan. This is what I've come up with so far:

Year #1: I will sell the house I live in currently and use that money to buy myself and the kids a new home. I need to find a full-time job and get my shit together. This year will be spent picking up the pieces and figuring out what the hell I want out of life.

Year #2: Hopefully by now, I know what I want. I'm sure that I'll never trust men again, but that's besides the point. I'll probably spend this year fucking up the minds of any man bold enough to try me. I'll send them all back crying to their mommies. I'll probably start a blog and title it Maneater. I'll bitch and complain about how all men suck. Moving on...

Year #3: I've gotten over my hatred of men, but unfortunately, they are all scared shitless now. I'll spend this year attempting online dating sites trying to find a companion. Nothing will work and no man will want to even touch me with a ten foot pole. In the end, I'll find myself settling for a new puppy.

Year #4: I finally meet someone. I look past the fact that he has no legs, is blind in one eye, and has to talk through his throat. He is charming and I really think he loves me. This could be the beginning for me.

Year #5: I find out my new love has fallen for the lady next door -- an elderly woman with thirty cats. He apparently had a thing for pussies and I wasn't quite enough. So the cycle begins again.

So much for the five year plan. I think I'll just take it day by day. Who really plans that far ahead anyway? Shit can happen. I may win the lottery. I may end up in jail for forking my husband to death. One never knows and quite frankly, I'm tired of guessing.

Pity Party - Table For One

WWSD? Suzie would never be caught dining alone.

I hate dining out alone. I hate the looks you get from others (especially other women). It's as if eating alone automatically means you're lonely. That was my case last night, but that's besides the point. It was all I could do to get through my meal without hurling mashed potatoes at all the evil onlookers. I wanted to poke their eyes out with my fork, but I remained calm-ish. I figured if nothing else, I could at least have a little fun with the bitches. If I couldn't enjoy my meal in peace, I wasn't going to let them either.

The bitch to my right wore an evening dress that was a size too small. It was obvious she was also wearing one of those body shaper/corset type things as you could see the outline through the dress. She also had the most annoying laugh -- like a hyena choking on a rib bone. I walked over and complimented her on her dress. I then inquired as to how well her body shaper must work. I then insisted she loosen it a little as it sounds like she couldn't breath. I even told her she sounded like said hyena. Moments later, she excused herself to the restroom.

One down, two to go.

The bitch to my left had long, blonde hair with inch long brunette roots. She had on enough eyeliner to replicate the face painting of the Joker from the Batman movie. Her lipstick was orange and her shoes didn't match her dress. This one would be easy. I dug my mirror out of my purse and walked on over. I handed the mirror to her and simply said "I think you need this more than I do."

Two down. One to go.

The bitch sitting in front of me was the worst. She actually stared at me with sorrow in her eyes -- like she really felt bad that I was alone. She wore six inch stilettos and had hair bigger than we wore it in the eighties. It was obvious this chick was trying to make a statement, I just couldn't figure out what that statement was. I walked over and stood for a brief moment. I then asked if her ego matched her hair and shoes -- you know, big. She rolled her eyes and told me to fuck off. She wasn't as nice as she appeared after all.

Three down. None to go.

I summoned my waiter and asked for the check. My pity party had ended. None of these women looked at me with sympathy anymore. Their stares were now full of anger and annoyance. My job there was done. I think the next time I dine alone, I'll ask for a dark corner booth in the back of the restaurant and sulk in peace.

The Grass Is Always Greener

WWSD? Suzie would hire a reputable lawn care company.

I thought the chores of bathrooms and grocery shopping were bad, but mowing the lawn? That sucks ass! It took me two brutally long hours to mow both the front and back yards. When I was done, I was dripping wet (and not in a good way) and cranky as shit. Who the hell came up with this idea? Why can't I just let the shit grow to the point it will fall over and appear less tall on its own?

It's times like this that I actually miss Dick (if only for a fleeting, brief second). Mowing the grass was his job. Now I find myself doing absolutely everything around here and can't even squeeze ten minutes out of the damn day to paint my toenails (which I must say, are in desperate need of some attention).

It's times like this that also piss me off to think that he's out there doing whatever (or whomever) he wants while I have to play both mom and dad. Sometimes, I have fantasies of catching him in a dark alley and I am armed with forks and knives. Oh, the things I could do (none of which would really make me feel any better though).

Someone should seriously start a company for women like me - Dick for Hire. They should round up all those men out there that are afraid of commitment. The company could loan the men out to us so they can get a taste of what married life is like. This way, these men can mow the lawns, fix the vehicles, finish the "honey-do" lists, and see if marriage suits them or not. It's a win-win for both parties. Now someone, get this lady a drink!

Call Me Miss Spidey

WWSD? Suzie would capture the creature and let it free outdoors.

Me? After being frozen for five minutes, I grabbed the closest thing I could (which happened to be hairbrush) and took a swing at the bitch. Screaming like a girl and yelling for my dear life, I watched as the spider's legs curled underneath its now lifeless body. Yes, the spider was harmed in the writing of this post (can't you see the leg has been ripped right off).

If anything scares the shit out of me more, it's spiders (followed closely by snakes). I don't care whether they are big or small -- they seriously frighten the hell out of me. I almost stepped on this one yesterday morning and my son had found the same species in our mailbox the evening before. I must say, if I had to like a spider though -- this would be the one. A black widow.

This spider knows what the hell she's doing. She waits for Mr. Spidey to do his thing and then she eats the bastard. Thus, she has her spidey kids that she's always wanted -- without the added drama of having to take care of his ass as well. I'm now starting to feel a little bad about squishing her (I could have learned a lot from her).

I wonder if seeing two of these things in two days is some sort of sign. Before now, I had only seen one black widow in my thirty years of existence. Perhaps someone is telling me that Dick will soon fall off the face of the Earth, finally leaving me at peace. Or perhaps it's a sign that I should just barbecue him now and get it over with. Ooh. I could even make shish-kabobs and call them Dick on a Stick. Either way works fine for me.

Dr. Cunt-ner

WWSD? Suzie would have made the appointment and spread her legs with grace and poise.

I hate when people don't listen. It pisses me off when I tell someone something and two weeks later, they forgot what the hell I had said. My doctor is obviously one of those people (poor thing).

The poor bastard called two weeks ago reminding me that I was due for a pap test. Mind you, he never calls to inform me of any other visits, just apparently the ones that involve me and my cooch. I politely tell him that since Dick was laid off in January, I no longer had insurance and would call to reschedule as soon as I did.

I thought that was the end of that until he calls me yesterday to remind me yet again that I am due in his office to have my legs spread apart while this contraption is inserted in my nether regions as I make idle chit-chat and watch him adorn lube-laced gloves. I ask him if he is having withdrawals and he seemed taken aback.

Please! You're going to call me twice in two weeks asking if you can look at my cunt and expect me not to say anything? Yeah, right! How would he like it if I called him twice to ask of his whereabouts? A little to the left or a little to the right? Firm, limp, or somewhere in the middle?

Needless to say, after a very descriptive (for lack of a better term) conversation, I think he took the hint. I doubt he will be calling to remind me again, but will wait patiently for me to return his call. If nothing else came of this conversation, I definitely deserve an award for the most times cunt was ever used during a phone conversation. *takes a bow*

Scarbble

WWSD? Suzie would only use proper, English words.

I feel it has been rather pissy around here the last few days and figured I'd lighten the mood by letting you all in on a game the kids and I play. We call it Scarbble and it is played exactly like Scrabble - except the words cannot be actual words, but have to make some sort of sense anyway. Here are a few that we came up with last night (along with their meanings):

trilava: Lava that has been heated and cooled three times.

mudpud: A dirty moped that makes the sound "pud, pud, pud, pud, pud" when started.

nichewit: Someone who is only witty on one subject.

poopil: A poodle with big pupils.

hammuck: A dirty hammock.

doorcob: A doorknob made from a corncob.

pless: A plentiful mess.

lintitude: The exact location of lint.

Those were just a few we had come up with. We will be having a rematch soon, so I invite you to submit your own words and maybe I can use them to whip the socks right off their feet next time. Yes, I am a poor loser and overly competitive, so help a lady out.

One Tough Cookie

WWSD? Suzie would accept the apology and act as if nothing had happened.

I cannot stand when someone tells me they will be here at such and such a time and then are either late or don't bother showing up at all. It burns my butt cheeks (yes, another excuse to say butt cheeks), boils my blood, and gets my panties in a bunch tighter than Joan Rivers' face. Punctuality is a big thing with me and if you don't have it, don't bother.

I made an appointment with a company to service my air condtioner last week. As the weather is getting warmer, it is becoming more apparent that the unit isn't working as it should. I am getting rather tired of walking around my house and feeling as if I'm in a sauna (and why is it when you're in a sauna, it feels rather pleasant?).

They were supposed to be here this morning and have not been seen or heard from yet. I finally decided to call the company and inquire as to their whereabouts. I was given a quick (and rather flippant) apology and was told that they had an emergency call and were clear across town. It will take them a little longer to get to me.

Now, this I can understand (shit happens), but to not even bother to call and inform me of the change? Like I had nothing better to do with my time than to sit around waiting on their asses to show? Don't these people realize that I have important things like grocery shopping and saving the world to do? I figured I'd get even (it's been a rough couple of days and I needed the pick-me-up).

I called another (hopefully more reliable) company and scheduled an appointment for tomorrow. I then jotted a wonderful note that read:

Dear (company's name)

I had to run out for a brief moment as I seemed to have lost my mind somewhere this morning. I'm not sure how long it will take me to find it, but feel free to enjoy these cookies until I return.

Yours truly,
Miss Suzie

I then taped the note to the door and left a plate of cookies on the steps. I am now waiting patiently behind my blinds to see the reaction to having been stood up by a client. Assholes.

Headache For Sale

WWSD? Suzie would learn to do the things herself.

I have no problem with simple household tasks like changing light bulbs and replacing air filters and can accomplish them with the same grace of an Olympic figure skater. Unfortunately, I am not so good with more extensive tasks -- like plumbing.

This morning, I awoke to the sound of rushing water. At first, I thought we were having another storm, but quickly realized the sound was coming from inside my home, not outside. I ran in the direction of the noise and quickly discovered Niagara Falls had been relocated to my downstairs bathroom. It seems the toilet (yes, there's been an awful lot of talk about toilets lately) had sprung a mind of its own and a huge leak to accompany it.

Having no idea what to do, I panicked. I grabbed every damn towel in the house and threw them on the floor to soak up some of the monstrous puddle. I then grabbed a few pots to place under the torrent stream that was steadily spewing. I attempted to fight the bloody battle for a good fifteen minutes before I realized I wasn't going to win. I finally called my father who informed me to get the flood to stop, all I had to do was simply twist the little thing located near the floor off. Seriously? That was it?

Needless to say, I am no longer enjoying the pains of living in this house alone. I was amused the first few days as to the amount of shit that can break around here, but now I'm just completely annoyed. This is entirely too much house for one person to manage. So I was quite happy when Dick informed me today that he will be putting it on the market next week. The only thing I am not looking forward to is packing -- it's a bitch!

And Suzie Replies

WWSD? Suzie would dismiss it as a wrong number (or email address).

I received my first piece of hatemail. I had a feeling this blog would stir up some shit, so I bought special boots for those occasions. I am now wearing them and am ready to wade my way on through:

Dear Miss Suzie

I for one, think you are a complete nutjob! Anyone who remains in such a relationship has to be missing a few marbles. I pity your children and truly believe you are a horrible mom. Anyone who plays tricks on their children needs to be put in the nuthouse. Your vulgar language speaks volumes about your character. Your actions show the real you. I can only pray that whatever you choose to do that your children are protected from your actions.

Signed
Just my two cents

***

Dear Just my two cents

I for one completely agree that I am a nutjob (all part of my charm). I remain in such a relationship because I took vows (I don't break my promises). A horrible mother does not get up at all hours of the night to fight off the boogie man, hold puking heads, and offer comfort after nightmares. Anyone who plays tricks on their children is human. My vulgar language does indeed speak volumes about my character and it says "I'm not to be fucked with." My actions show that I am real. I can only pray that by my actions, my children will grow up with the ability to handle even the harshest of situations.

Signed
Miss Suzie

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to clean these boots and put them back in their proper location -- up your ass.

Pissy Parenting

WWSD? Suzie would have cleaned up the mess and went on about her business.

One thing I hate about cleaning my own house is the simple fact that I have to do it. I'll admit, I tend to be a little OCD when it comes to the cleanliness of my home, but that's beside the point. The one chore I hate more than the sound of Rosie O'Donnell's voice is bathrooms. It doesn't matter how clean you get it, someone's eventually going to piss all over your hard work.

Yesterday, I had the bathrooms spic and span. I eventually go to use one and there is pee all over the seat. Being as my daughter and I sit to go and Dick isn't here, I knew it had to be my son. Now, I don't know why boys have such a hard time getting it in the toilet and not on it. Perhaps you guys should lean in a little closer.

I've had the conversation about this with him numerous times. I've explained how I dislike wiping piss up all the time and how I had better things to do (like degreasing the oven), yet he continues to let it fly in the bathroom.

So being the clever little Suzie that I am, I made a concoction of lemon kool-aid and water. I then proceeded to pour it over the toilet seat. I called my son in the bathroom and told him that it was his turn to clean up the mess. I handed him a sponge and cleaner and walked out of the room (trying not to laugh as he moaned about my inability to hit the seat). I must say, he did a fine job and may have found a new appreciation for what I have to do around here.

Needless to say, the bathroom remains clean. Now, if I could just find a way to get them to put their toys back after playing with them.

How To Roast A Female Dog

WWSD? Suzie would have handled the situation with grace and poise.

Me? Not a chance.

I don't mind people talking about me, I really don't. It's all just part of life. What I do have a problem with is if you talk about me, at least know what the hell you are talking about.

Apparently word has gotten around the neighborhood that Dick has been gone for a week and apparently the boob brigade (also known as the other mothers) have been quick to start the gossip fest. My daughter came home from school asking if Daddy had left to be with another woman. After a few questions, I discovered that little Johnny No-Teeth had told her this at lunch.

I knew I should have let my blood cool down a bit, but I was pissed. I don't care what you say to me, but do not screw with my kids!

Needless to say, I marched my ass right on over to the home of Mrs. No-Teeth and asked her what the hell was going on. After five minutes of fumbling for something to say, all she could muster was "He must have heard us talking." I was livid at this point. I had just realized that I left my damn roast in the oven and it would probably be dry by the time I ripped this bitch a new one and returned home.

I politely informed her that yes, Dick has been gone for a week. I also told her that I do not mind her and her friends chit-chatting about the situation, but if they were going to talk about it, they should at least have the facts straight. I told her Dick did not leave because he found someone else, but that he left because I have a problem. It seems I have developed an addiction to all the men in the neighborhood and that her husband was next. Without giving her a chance to whine, I marched my booty right back home (and yes, my damn roast was dry).

I'm sure she got on the phone shortly thereafter, but as long as they are getting their shit straight, they will be fine.

Phone Sex

WWSD? Suzie would politely ask them to put her number on the do not call list.

I hate telemarketers (not the actual person, but what they do). They are the most persistent bunch of douchebags on planet Earth and call at very inappropriate moments attempting to sell me some bullshit that I do not need (and am pretty sure I had just told them that the week before). There is one in particular who calls about twice a week. I had started ignoring the call and letting the machine get it, but I was in a rather pissy mood yesterday and figured I'd have a little fun at his expense.

The conversation started like all the ones before -- "Miss Suzie," (Uh, you didn't really think I was going to put my real name there, did you?) "this is Tim from (insert company's name here because I forgot it) and I'd like to ask you a few questions if I may?"

I answer him with "Oh, sure. Now you call me back. You had no problem ignoring me for the last two weeks after our night of lustful passion. That's what is wrong with you men. You have no problem being up close and personal while you're getting your jollies off, but heaven forbid you actually call us back. What do you think -- it makes you look weak? Well you little dickhead, you weren't that strong to begin with and you proved that the other night. Sex with you was like sitting through a speech given by Porky Pig -- a long, drawn-out production full of fumbles and at the end, I was left with the feeling "well that's all folks." Grow some balls and quit being the little prick the world expects you to be. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a custard to attend to."

Needless to say, he hung up rather quickly. I know, I know. That was rather mean of me, but it felt oh so good. And that's the thing about calling a stranger's house -- you never know what you're going to get. I'm sure he got shit on all day -- at least I did it in a slightly entertaining way.

Ode To Suzie

Suzie Q: Are you this kind of Suzie?

"Hi Suzie,

I'm enjoying reading your blog and I have a poem I'd like to share with you. I thought of posting it to your blog, but then I thought, it's your blog, you might not want my little limerick there. Up to you - if you want to spread it further, go for it.

Limerick for all the Suzies in the World

This woman I know called Suzie
was carrying on one night like a floozy.
Reputation earnt
and a hard lesson learnt -
never do THAT in a jacuzzi!
by: Carolyn Cordon

Are you that kind of Suzie? I bet your readers think you are!"

***

Hi Carolyn

I enjoyed your poem tremendously. I'm not sure how my readers see me, but I think this would sum it up well:

There was a nice lady named Suzie
who apparently wasn't so choosy.
She married a prick
and calls him Dick.
Now her blood stays boiling and oozy.

~Feel free to add your own Suzie Limerick.~

Nailed At The Stake

WWSD? Suzie would think: No real harm, no real foul.

Dick worked his ass off to make our front yard look immaculate. It is one of the things he has actually done right, so I am quite protective over it. I had begun to notice that the edge of the yard (closest to the road) was beginning to wear thin. Upon closer inspection, I discovered why. There were distinct tire marks down half the damn yard. With the recent rain, it looked more like a pig's pen than an actual yard.

As petty as this was, it pissed me off. I could see if we lived on a narrow street and people had to use my yard when passing other vehicles, but that isn't the case. The roads are wider than most and there is no excuse to need to rip my yard to shreds for anything. Somebody was appaently just being an asshole.

So, I went to the store and bought these little stakes that resembled a mini-fence. I had a few of those up for about a week before I noticed people were simply driving over them as if they weren't even there. Not only did this piss me off, but it pushed me over the edge (yes, I could probably use some Xanax). The bitch came bubbling out and all hell was about to break loose.

I have since replaced the stakes, but have added a little extra reinforcement -- some three inch nails I had found lying around in Dick's dungeon garage. I'm not sure just yet, but I think that should do the trick.

Mother Facker

WWSD? Suzie would not let anything ruin a day that was set aside for her.

Dear old Dick left this past Thursday night and I haven't heard from him since. I have actually been enjoying the peace and quiet of his absence. Of course, today being Mother's Day, he had to show up. He wouldn't be Dick if he didn't.

I received a text asking if the kids were dressed as he wanted to take them out. I reminded him it was Mother's Day and I had my parents and brothers over for lunch and that he was welcome to see the kids this evening. Apparently, that wasn't good enough. Twenty minutes later, he shows up, knocks on the door, and walks right in. I politely ask him to step outside and begin to rip his ass apart.

How dare he leave and not bother letting his kids know he's okay? I haven't been able to answer the fifty plus questions they've had because I don't know where the jackass has been. How dare he come strolling in with enough drama to make a damn Lifetime movie when I just told him I had company and he was welcome to see the kids later? How dare he expect us to drop everything we're doing to appease him when he's the one that left us in the first damn place?

Needless to say, he tucked his tail between his legs and left. He later informed me that he had plans for this evening and wouldn't be able to pick up the kids (I'm now positive he never had any intention on doing so anyway). He has been repeatedly texting me and this is how I've answered: I've turned off my phone. The kids and I went to the store and bought massive amounts of junk food. We've rented three movies and will be spending the rest of the day pigging out and laughing.

The hell with him!

Witch Woman?

WWSD? Suzie would exchange pie recipes and set up play dates for the kids.

I absolutely hate going to my children's school. I’d rather be run over by a dump truck carrying senior citizen's disposed diapers. The women there are downright despicable! All they do is give you looks like you're plagued with shingles and talk behind your back in a voice that is just audible enough that you can hear what they are actually saying about you.

I used to think they were some kind of workers of the devil, but have come to realize that they are filled with envy and resentment. You see, these women are all pushing or have crossed forty. I am only thirty and still have my youthful charm. When I walk pass, all their husbands ooh and ahh, but how the hell is that my fault? I can't help that I was born beautiful and I can't help their husband's lust issues.

I've finally realized the best way to handle these women is by actually handling their men (not like that you perve). Just something as simple as telling him "It was nice seeing you last week." The man is too busy eyeing my boobage to realize he never saw me last week, but the woman – she is now wondering why her husband didn't tell her that he saw me last week and what he's trying to hide.

A simple, yet effective way to bitch-slap these women back to last week.

The Last Supper

WWSD? Suzie would fix a wonderful dinner, sit through meaningless chit-chat, and clean up afterwards without complaint.

You know something that really sets my toes on fire? Not being told things in advance. It pisses me off not to have the appropriate amount of time to plan things out. I absolutely despise having to run around like a crackhead with no crack trying to get things in order for something that should have been told to me a little sooner.

Apparently, Dick decided to invite his parents over for dinner last night and I didn't find this out until yesterday afternoon. That left me only a couple of hours to figure out what we'd eat, go to the store, tidy the house, and prepare a meal fit for a king. Me, being the great Suzie that I am, somehow managed to pull it off.

Something else that boils my blood -- idle chit chat. I really don't care that my father-in-law knows everything and is willing to share his vast knowledge of all things worldly. I would rather get into the real meat and potatoes. I want to know why their son is the way he is. Did they drop him on his head as a child and if so, can I do it again to balance him back out? But no such luck there -- I just had to sit and endure Dick's father's tale of two shitties.

And last (but not least), it really burns my butt cheeks when it is obvious how much effort I put into creating a meal fit for even Jesus himself, yet when everyone is done, no one offers a hand in the clean up. You don't mind walking in my home, eating my food, boring me with your drivel, and you can't even put your dishes in the sink? Puh-lease!

This only happens once every other month or so (thank the lord of all things sanity). But tonight, we are definitely having TV dinners.

The Other Woman

WWSD? Suzie would not mind that her husband has a mistress and would blame it on him just being a man.

Night after night, it is the same old story. I sit on the couch and flip through channels, hoping to find the meaning of life or at least a halfway decent drama to make fun of while Dick spends his time with her.

She, my dear readers, is a wonderful companion so I see why he adores her. She doesn't talk back (unlike me who tends to talk too much). She is always ready and available (unlike me who has to split my time between squawking kids, dirty laundry, endless cooking, and anything else that has to be done around here). She complains about nothing (while I tend to complain about quite a bit).

She, my dear readers, is also known as our computer and she must go down.

I've taken it upon myself to learn a thing or two about her. I've found that she doesn't resist viruses very well. I've found that if you take away her cookies, she moves much slower. I've discovered that I can't give her the boot as she just comes back, but she does have a mouse and when you feed her mouse baby oil, she gets quite squirrelly about it.

I was sure that with all this new information, I would be able to dispose of her rather easily, but it turns out that after all my research, I've now developed a crush on her myself.

Crappy Neighbors

WWSD? Suzie would bake the poor bastards the world's finest pie and politely ask them to stop.

I have the neighbors from hell. Among numerous other things to annoy me, they take their pitiful excuse for a dog (some white ball of fluff) for a walk and allow the thing to take a dump in my yard -- conveniently underneath my mailbox. They never bother to pick up the steaming pile of waste and simply mosey along as if nothing happened.

As always, I get up in the morning and being the good little Suzie that I am, I fetch the morning paper for Dick so he will have something to read with his first cup of coffee. Me, being dog tired and not fully awake, step in the pile of white fluff waste yet again. So now not only do I have to do my morning chores of fixing breakfast, packing lunches, getting the kids off to school, and myself off to work -- I have to clean dog crap off my feet before I can even begin.

Now, I know Suzie would handle this situation much differently. She'd spend an hour or two baking a pie that tastes oh so heavenly. She would then carry it to her neighbor's house where she would sit down with the couple and politely ask them to clean up after their hair-ball. By the end of the conversation, they will be best friends and she will have received an invite to Thursday night Bingo.

Well, I'm not quite that good of a Suzie. Instead, I left this for them at their door. Hopefully they'll get the hint (that was my last brown bag).

No Longer Secret

WWSD? Suzie would overlook the fact that her husband was hiding her Victoria's Secret catalogs in his garage.

The Boy had a project due for school and he needed a box to accomplish this task. Me, being the good little Suzie that I am, decided the best place to find one would be in the garage. I start going through the massive mound of boxes that have been collected since Dick started ordering parts for his new car. I had almost given up hope on finding an empty one when I picked up one that finally felt light. I took the top off and couldn't believe what I saw.

There in the box, stacked ever so neatly, were five issues of Victoria's Secret catalogs.

Now, I know I hadn't put them there and my kids never get the mail, so this had to be of Dick's doing. This would actually explain a lot. If you recall, we haven't been doing much lately, so the Vicki girls must be getting all the action.

Now I'm pissed! My blood has been boiling ever since and I spent half the evening figuring out how I should handle the situation. I think I've finally devised a plan. I am going to replace the catalogs with pictures of my ex-boyfriends. I will then put them in the box along with a mighty handsome dildo and a tube of lube. Oh, to see the look on his face when he makes the discovery! Priceless.

Ebb And Flo

WWSD? Suzie would overlook the fact that she's bloated and cramping and help her husband plant the garden.

Let me first start by saying that I didn't want a garden in no way, shape, or form. I knew what was going to happen. Dick and the kids would till the soil and plant the seeds. I would be the one spending the entire summer weeding and picking the fruits of their labor while they were out having a good ole time. I really wasn't feeling that idea at all.

So, you can imagine my dismay when I woke up this morning to not only a visit from my Aunt Flo, but my darling husband demanding that I help plant the garden.

As any good little Suzie would do I put on a smile, popped a few Tylenol, threw on some shorts, and got to work. I must say, it was rather satisfying to picture my husband's face as if it were the soil as I dug. There was something calming about chopping worms in half as I mixed in the fertilizer. But, by the time I was done, I didn't feel like doing a thing.

As always though, a good little Suzie’s work is never done. I must now wash the laundry and prepare something for dinner. I think I’ll throw a red shirt in with my load of whites and overcook my spaghetti noodles. Hopefully that will make me feel better.

Sexless in the City

WWSD? Suzie would only expect her husband to want her when he wants to.

See, this is the problem with marrying a man that is nine years older than you. You end up hitting your peak and he has already peaked. I try not to nag him about it (because that wouldn’t be very Suzie of me), but damn – a girl has needs too.

What gets my panties in a bunch (and not in a good way) is the fact that he only wants to do things when he wants to. He doesn’t care that I’m sitting over here drying up faster than the deserts of Sahara (too much info -- sorry). He doesn’t care that he hasn’t displayed affection in over a week. He doesn’t care that I’ve been sleeping on the couch because I’m afraid I’ll strangle him in my sleep. All he cares about it his own damn needs and as long as they are met, everyone else should be fine.

I bet he’d care if I ran off with the pool boy. I bet he’d care if the mail weren’t all that the carrier was delivering. I bet he’d get off his arse if he knew I was initiating a new rule: do me before I even think about doing you.

Hmm…perhaps I could kill two birds with one stone and make those exlax brownies Viagra and exlax brownies instead. Now there’s and idea -- must go get started right away.