Doing It The Old Way

I've always wondered about those women who marry men much, much older than themselves. I wondered what they could possibly get in return from a relationship that odd. I decided to find out for myself.

I posted an ad on Craigslist looking for a man at least double my age (for those of you nosy enough, that would be a sixty year old gent). After sorting through two-thirds of the shit responses, I finally found him. We talked on the phone a few times and finally set up a date. I had no idea what to expect.

The old fart took me out to dinner. He talked constantly about the state of the world today and how shitty the economy was. There were references to taxes and healthcare and I think I dozed off shortly thereafter. At the end of the evening, he took me back home, kissed my cheek, and bid farewell.

Now, this is what I learned: These women are obviously not in it for the sex as this man had absolutely no intention of attempting to get in my pants. These women are not in it for the conversation and companionship as this man could ramble on and on to a point that made you want to slice your wrists.

My thoughts were confirmed -- these women are in it for the money. The old guy bought me the most expensive meal I've ever eaten out, I drank wine I couldn't even pronounce that also came with its own separate bill, and I rode in a car that would be fit for Obama himself.

If it wasn't for the fact that sex is a necessity with me, I would seriously entertain the thought of keeping Mr. Old Guy around, but alas, I'll leave him at the assisted living facility that I found him.

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.

Calling All Perves

I hate perves. I hate men who cannot control their inner sleaze. You see them drooling over every woman that walks past – checking out each ass that rolls on by. Those men who flip through channels just hoping to catch a glimpse of some tits. Those men who cannot control the urge to rub on their balls constantly. These men drive me insane and I have begun calling them out.

I could no longer take it as I watched a man at a local auto parts store. He sat there for ten minutes drooling over a car magazine that had a few pictures of some chick with her ass hanging out. He even had the nerve to "adjust" himself a couple of times. I finally approached him, handed him a bottle clearly marked "lubricant" and told him to think of the fun he could have if he bought the magazine and took it home. He left shortly thereafter with nothing in his hand but his own ball juice.

Another incident was at the park nearby. As I was watching my children play, I noticed Mr. Sleaze sitting on the bench – all giddy over the women joggers and obviously pleased with the bouncing boobage (his head even bobbed as they ran past). I had brought two oranges to go with lunch, but thought they could be used for a better purpose. I took the two oranges and approached the dickhead. I handed them to him and told him if he squeezed them while watching the tits, it would heighten the pleasure immensely. Needless to say, he left with his tail between his legs and rather embarrassed he’d been called out.

So the point is this: Women know all men are perves, but we don’t want to see proof. Keep your inner sleaze hidden or you may run into a bitch like me one day.

Seriously Lacking

I'm not sure what's wrong with the women around here, but I for one am sick of it. I'm tired of tits and ass in my face everywhere I go. I'm tired of being bombarded with cleavage and ass cracks at every turn. I can no longer take having to turn my head to avoid seeing girly bits and have decided to start speaking up.

It started at a local superstore. While trying to find the proper nails for puncturing teen driver's tires, I see this lady bending down looking for something. After hearing my son giggling, I turned to be confronted with nothing but ass crack. The woman's pants were either two sizes too small or cut two inches too low. I finally approached her and whispered in her ear that she may want to pull her pants up or her shirt down because the sight isn't very pleasing.

The next incident happened at the grocery store. While searching for the perfect blueberries for the pie that I wanted to lace and bake (yes, another exlax surprise for my lovely neighbors) I was greeted with massive amounts of cleavage. I finally walked up to Miss Shit and told her she may need a new bra as it was obvious her current one wasn't supporting the twins properly.

The last episode was at a hobby store. As I was trying to find parts for my son's model rocket, I noticed a chick that was obviously lost. This bitch had on a mini skirt with her ass cheeks on parade and a shirt that looked like it belonged to her two year old and she just happened to feel like squeezing into it that morning. Her clear high heel shoes looked like something found at a strip club. I tried to keep my mouth shut, but that just wasn't going to happen. I finally approached her and told her she was lost and that the gentlemen's club was a few blocks down on the right.

All of these women were rightfully pissed at my remarks, but I will continue to call them out. If I have to be subjected to their lack of clothing, they shall be subjected to my blunt opinion – seems fair to me.

Three Men And A Lady

WWSD? Suzie would mind her own business and enjoy her dinner in peace.

I get so sick and tired of hearing how women bitch and complain. Men are the same damn way. I overheard a few of them talking in a restaurant and it wasn't much difference between their conversation and the way I carry on with my girlfriends. As I sat there eating my coconut shrimp and sipping my pina colada, I listened in on the man-fest.

I learned that guy #1 was upset in the lack of sex between him and his wife. He was asking the other dudes for advice which I'm praying he doesn't take. I'm not sure the wife will dig the offer of a threesome to spice things up, but hey, what the hell do I know? She might be into that sort of thing.

Guy #2 was having problems at work. He felt under appreciated and had just lost a big deal. He was thinking of career changes and one of the dudes offered "bartender" as a possible career choice. "Think of all the drunk chicks, dude."

Guy #3 was having women problems. He apparently couldn't get past three dates before they failed miserably. He was told to try Eharmony or an equivalent path.

Of course, me being the little Suzie that I am, figured I'd offer up my own advice. I got up, waltzed on over, and slid in the chair beside guy #2. I told the first guy to help his wife around the house more and to up the romantic gestures throughout the day. This way, she won't be so tired at the end of the day and will be more in the mood after receiving more affection. I told guy #2 that he had two choices -- he either needed to work harder and quit his bitching or find a new job. I reminded him of the current economy and how hard it is to find decent work. I informed guy #3 that his problem was probably due to his wandering eye. After watching him check the ass of every woman that walked by his table, I could see why no woman would hang around too long.

I then got up, walked back to my table, and ordered dessert. I left the restaurant that night not only knowing that I helped the lives of three strangers, but got guy #3's phone number as well (he actually left his business card on my table as he was leaving). If I do decide to go out with him, I'll bring my fork in case his eyes need readjusting.