Suzie's School of De-Slut

Can someone please explain something to me: What is causing teenage girls in America today to wake up and decide, "Hey, I want to be a whore?"

As much as I would love to blame it on Miley Cyrus and her nearly nude shots and stripper pole dance, I cannot. This was going on way before she came along. I would love to blame it on Britney and her wonderful display of who-ha, but no -- I cannot. I would even adore being able to blame it on the added hormones in cow's milk these days, but that only gives them tits earlier, it doesn't turn them into sluts.

It seems everywhere I go these days, I am confronted with this dilemma. The poor girls are letting all their girly bits hang out, act as if they couldn't care less about who gets between their legs, and just look downright disgusting. I would love nothing more than to sit down with their parents and with the most sternest of faces, offer a whopping "What the fuck?" Something has to give.

I have decided to help these poor girls. They must not know any better, so someone should inform them. The next time I see ass crack, I will politely approach the offender and in as loud a voice as I can muster, I will announce it to her. The next time I see ungirly-like conduct, I will approach and ask how much does she charge. The next time I see one of these poor souls with their parents, I will walk over, introduce myself, and tell them if they need financial assistance to provide decent clothes for their daughter, I'd be happy to help. I'll then leave them my card which reads, "Miss Suzie's School of De-Slut -- turning ho's into ladies."

I'm sure none of this will go over well, but somebody has to do something, right?

In Love Or Obsessed

1. In love: You call just to say hi.
Obsessed: You call to say hi. Five minutes later, you call to say you're missing them. Ten minutes later, you call to say you're thinking of them. Twenty minutes later, you start blocking your number and dialing just to hear their voice.

2. In love: You like to wear his shirt from time to time.
Obsessed: Not only do you wear his shirt, but you offer to wash his laundry so that you can wear his underwear too.

3. In love: You talk about them from time to time.
Obsessed: You can't have one conversation without mentioning their name. "Yeah, so and so thinks the same thing." "So and so said it was going to rain today." "I wish so and so was here to hear this."

4. In love: You carry their picture in your wallet.
Obsessed: You made copies of the picture and hung them all over your bedroom walls because their face is the first thing you want to see in the morning.

5. In love: You write sweet little love notes and leave them where they'll be found.
Obsessed: You write a sweet long novel of a note then drive to their work and leave it on their windshield. You then write a second one and tape it to their front door just in case they missed the first one.

6. In love: When you're apart, your heart grows fonder.
Obsessed: When you're apart, you think about putting on a diaper and attempting to track them down even if it takes all night.

7: In love: You are willing to compromise.
Obsessed: You are willing to change anything and everything just to make them happy, even if it kills you.

8. In love: You feel as if you can't live without them.
Obsessed: You know you can't live without them and have already devised a plan to fix things should they try to end things.

9. In love: You cherish the time spent together.
Obsessed: Not only do you cherish the time spent together, you become downright physically ill if you don't get enough of it.

10. In love: You can see this person in your life forever.
Obsessed: You have threatened to harm yourself if this person isn't in your life.

Stalker On Aisle 1, 2, 3...

I really need to find a new grocery store. Not only are the old perves a constant nuisance, there now seems to be a stalker to deal with. The last several times I've went grocery shopping, this employee follows me up and down the aisles -- to the point my son even asks why is this guy following us? I'm not sure if he has some mental issues or if he is just a nutjob, but I couldn't take it yesterday.

As I rounded the third aisle, I realized the stalker was hot on my tail yet again. I finally said enough is enough and turned around. Staring at him like I wanted nothing more than to run him over repeatedly with my cart, I stood there -- waiting. He finally realized I wasn't going anywhere and tried to leave.

I followed him.

Everywhere he went, so did I. Giving him a taste of his own medicine, he finally realized what I was doing. He slowly headed to the back of the store and disappeared behind the doors with the sign that read employees only. Fuck that -- I went too. I continued to follow him until he finally turned around and said you're not supposed to be back here to which I replied:

"Oh really? And I'm pretty sure you aren't supposed to be stalking the customers. You see those milk crates over there? If you ever follow me around this store again, I will personally stuff your crazy ass into one and put you in the cardboard baler. I will then flick the switch and giggle as the damn thing crushes your worthless little body. Have I made myself clear?"

The loon nodded and I walked back out, finished my shopping, and carried my ass home.
(Suzie +1 -- Stalker 0)

Bumper Stickers

For the Masturbating Male:

1. Vaseline -- made with my meat in mind.

2. Nobody does it like my hand and me.

3. Nothing's working like a jerking.

4. Men -- they take a beating and keep on leaking.

5. I take MJ's advice on a daily and just beat it.

6. Forget the dog, lotion's a man's best friend.

7. If you get caught with your hands in your pants, you're obviously doing it wrong.

8. Lotion -- the world's true meat marinade.

9. My palm is my pilot.

10. When in doubt, stroke it out.

(I'm off to get my head out the gutter, but feel free to throw yours in there and add your own bumper sticker saying)

Parenting With Pea Soup

We all know how I feel about pissy toilets. Well, it seems as if I have a new, even more disgusting problem on my hands. Apparently my daughter has forgotten how to flush after stinking up the bathroom. This was the second morning in a row that I go to open the bathroom windows upstairs and have been greeted with the stench of shit that has been marinating overnight. Needless to say, I've had it.

Searching for something, but not sure what, I found my answer in the pantry. Pea soup. I opened the can, poured some of the contents in the toilet, let some splash on the toilet seat, and smeared some on a piece of toilet paper that I let hang into the bowl by a thread. By the time I was done, it looked as if some very sick person had exploded in the bathroom.

Perfect.

I then grabbed a sponge and some cleaner and set it beside the mess. When my little princess gets home from school, she will realize how disgusting it is to have to clean that shit up. Hopefully, by the time she is finished, she will never forget to flush again. I'd hate to have to take it a step further and yes, I am evil, but they still call me mom.

One Lovely Blog Award

It appears that the lovely Timethief has given me One Lovely Blog Award. With many thanks to her, I shall now pass it on as requested. I've discovered two blogs recently that I have fell in love with and wish to give this award to them. Here's the fine print:

1. Accept the award.
2. Post it (the image) on your blog together with the name of the person who has granted the award, and his or her blog link.
3. Pass the award to other blogs that you’ve newly discovered. Remember to contact the bloggers to let them know they have been chosen for this award.

And here are the blogs I chose:

Daily Beer Review
Great stories and great beer -- what's not to love?

A little piece of me
This chick can draw and has loads of personality. Love it!

Be There In Thirty

As most of you are aware, my house is on the market. I had been keeping it spotless in case someone called ready to see it. It's been close to two weeks and no calls so I haven't been as worried about cleaning (it's been clean, just not spotless). I got a call from the Realtor this morning saying he wanted to show the house. I asked when and he replied in thirty minutes.

What the hell?

I hadn't showered yet, done my hair, straightened up from a card game the night before -- nothing! And now I only had thirty minutes to get it all done so a potential buyer who obviously doesn't give a rat's ass that I have a life and may need advanced warning could come tour my home.

Needless to say, I cleaned up the house as best I could and headed out the door (hair still not done). I ended up driving around looking like Bozo the Clown (yes, my hair looked that bad) and wishing I had some red and white face paint so I could finish the look. To make matters worse, I passed Dick (apparently heading to his parent's house) and I know he saw what I looked like and was probably thinking I looked like shit because I was missing him.

So this week's Golden Cock Award goes to my Realtor for being a jackass. He told me that advanced notice for all showings was guaranteed. He also said that he wouldn't allow anyone to just show up at the door (I guess that will be happening next). Although he did apologize for the inconvenience, I am still giving him two golden cocks, but if this shit happens again, he will definitely be scoring a five. Damnit!

Exorcism In Mexico

The kids and I rarely go out for dinner, but after surviving a bout of the flu and now craving chimichangas, we decided to head to Mexico (the restaurant, not the country). We arrived, were seated, and began browsing the menu. Before I had even decided on an appetizer, some horrible noise caught my attention.

The sounds were awful. A high pitched squealing accompanied by a grunt that was reminiscent of the girl in the Exorcist movies. I glanced a few tables up and couldn't believe my eyes -- a five year old boy was standing at his booth and uttering the hideous tones to his mother as if he'd been possessed! I honestly was half expecting to see the boy's head began rotating 360 degrees like in the movie, but it never happened. The mother did absolutely nothing.

Our food was brought to us and as the kids and I were trying to catch up on the day's events, we realized it was going to be impossible with little Satan screaming. I figured it was time to perform an exorcism in Mexico.

I caught the boy's attention and with the meanest look on my face and fork in hand, I mouthed the words knock it off! It seemed to have a slight impact as he did finally sit down, but the audible noises still rang throughout the restaurant. Catching his attention again, this time with a face that would scare even the meanest MMA fighter and clutching both my fork and knife, I said I mean it! I then apologized to the couple beside us that had witnessed my pissiness.

Needless to say, the boy shut the hell up and the kids and I were able to have our dinner in peace. I learned my daughter has a crush on the boy on her bus and my son is kicking ass on all his math quizzes. Ah, life is good (and so were those chimichangas)!

10 Things We Should All Know

1. If you're constantly walking with your head down, everyone can see your bald spot.

2. If you can smell your socks through your shoes, those around you can too.

3. Rubbing the inside of your nose with your thumb is still considered picking your nose.

4. If the person you are talking to is constantly turning their head away, chances are good that your breath reeks.

5. Just because you're wearing clean underwear doesn't give you the right to drive like an asshole.

6. If you stop to tie your shoe, make sure your ass is out of the way of traffic.

7. It is possible to fall up the stairs so quit running.

8. When someone says "hold the elevator", they don't mean grab that little steel bar inside and watch the doors shut, they actually mean to hold the doors.

9. Plaque is not always an award, it's often the reason you should brush your teeth.

10. Your eyes won't get stuck by simply rolling them, but they may get poked out by doing so.

Rescue On Aisle Three

I absolutely despise Walmart. It is always crowded and full of idiotic people doing idiotic things. If it wasn’t for the fact that my coffee is more than half the price there than at the grocery store, I’d never step into one. But me without coffee is like Joan Rivers without Botox – not going to happen. Needless to say, I try to make each trip as quick as possible.

Yesterday was an exception.

I had already grabbed the coffee and was heading to check out when I heard someone fussing. Glancing around, I caught sight of a lady giving a young boy a piece of her mind. I tried to ignore them, but the bitch was too loud. She was apparently pissed that the boy had been staring at her tits. She went on and on about his lack of manners (among other shit). Noticing the boy’s embarrassment and the lady’s lack of clothing, I couldn’t take it anymore.

I walked over to them, gave the guy a quick wink, and grabbed his arm affectionately. I asked what seemed to be the problem. The bitch explained the situation. When she was done, I explained that “my man” was just being a man. If she didn’t want guys checking out her tits, she needed to cover them up in the future. I also informed her that she could benefit from a bra with better support as her girls didn’t seem as perky as they could be. I then pulled “my man” away and proceeded to check out. The guy was so grateful that he paid for my coffee.

See, I'm not a total manhater.

Mailbox Mayhem

My mailbox has been hit by a car repeatedly for the last several weeks. I don’t know how many times I’ve had to straighten it back up and fill it in with more dirt. It got to the point that I was utterly pissed and although I knew who was doing it, I didn’t know how to prove it.

That was until yesterday.

Still fuming over having it hit again, I was cleaning out my pantry. I came across an expired jar of honey. A light bulb went off and I knew exactly what to do.

I immediately went outside and coated the box with all the glory gooiness. I then sat back and waited. It wasn’t but a few hours when I realized the box was leaning yet again. I grabbed my camera and marched my ass across the street. Just as I had taken the first picture, my neighbor opened the door and asked what the hell I was doing to which I responded getting proof.

He then approaches me looking as if he were about to bite my head off. I begin to explain myself:

"You see, I am sick and tired of having to fix my damn mailbox. I do have better things to do with my time (like plot my husband’s murder) so I had to take matters into my own hands. You see this here (I say as I am pointing to the big glob of honey on his truck), this proves you are the asshole that’s been driving me insane the last several weeks. I coated the box in honey and the proof is on your truck. May I suggest the next time you run into it, you fix it your damn self or I will turn this evidence over to the proper authorities."

I then marched my ass right back home, poured myself a cold beer, and began watching Melrose Place (don't judge me -- nothing else was on). I slept well knowing the honey didn’t actually go to waste and I wouldn’t have this problem again.

Senile Penile Products

Can someone please explain to me what in the hell is up with all the "make your penis larger" ads being played repeatedly over the radio stations? They make it sound like size is the only thing that matters and I can tell you, that is the biggest (no pun intended) crock of shit I've ever heard. I don't care if you had the biggest, thickest johnson in the world -- if you can't back it up with personality and charm -- fuck ya!

With that said, this week's golden cock award goes to the makers of all "penis products" (enlargement pills, Viagra, Cialis). These assholes deserve to be thrown in hell for what they have done. They've made the good men think size is the most important thing, thus causing them to act like complete assholes around women. And now the old perves have the opportunity to act like complete assholes too, hoping to get a little something-something. Ugh!

So to all the "penis players" out there -- I award you five golden cocks and hope you fuck off and die. I hope your dick shrivels up, falls off, and lands in a tub of acid. I then hope your balls develop gang green and need to be surgically removed in a hospital that doesn't use anesthesia. And to all the guys out there who think size is all that counts, get your head out your ass and realize women need more than a big dick.