The Bitch Is Back!

It is official -- I either need therapy in the worst way or I've become the ultimate bitchy man-hater. I'll let you decide:

I have a new hobby (no worries, I haven't given up the forking and burying of the poor deceased bodies of the ignorant). You see, I recently signed up for a dating service. After receiving some interest and a weekend of binge drinking to get my courage up, I decided to jump back into the dating pool. I didn't sign up to meet the love of my life, but to pass the time in a way in which I'm sure will send me straight to hell.

(Yes, this is what happens when a bitch gets bored.)

I begin by weeding out the potential good guys and stick with the clear-cut pieces of shit. We set up a date and the party is on! I begin as if I'm actually interested in what he has to say. I let him talk first to ensure I have a self-serving, so not deserving of any decent woman douchebag on my hands and then I kick him right in the balls (no, not literally). I point out all his flaws and all that his poor soul is lacking. I inform him of why he can't seem to find a good woman. I basically tell the tool he is worthless and send him crying back to mommy.

So far, I feel as if I'm succeeding in making it a little easier for the women out there. Sure, it may send me to hell, but the look on the guy's face is priceless and almost addictive. I'm sure I'll get bored with this new hobby at some point and find a new way to amuse myself, but for now, I'm just enjoying being a bitch.

Salvaged Solicitor

I hate solicitors (even more so than digging a garden during that time of month). Being as I live in the suburbs, I have to deal with my fair share. So when this guy shows up attempting to sell me an all-purpose cleaning product, I figured I’d have a little fun.

He went through his whole spiel of how great this product was. He showed me how well it cleaned concrete as he demonstrated on my walkway (I’ll admit that I was impressed as I had been trying to get that stain up for months). I asked if it cleaned rust and he said yes. I showed him the spot on my garage door and he wiped it away with ease. I asked him if it took care of lime stains and he told me yes. I led him inside and he cleaned my shower doors.

I finally told him that I was surely impressed, but needed to see more. I informed him that if I could use it as a laundry pre-treater, I’d be sold. He asks if I had some laundry to test it on and I handed him my son’s jeans (soiled from a football game the day before). He sprayed the cleaner, scrubbed a little, and showed me how well the product worked.

I then led him back outside, let him finish telling me why I should purchase his cleaner (especially now as they were running a buy one get one free promo), and simply offered this in return: Why should I buy your cleaner now? You’ve cleaned all the spots I had a problem with. I thanked him for his time, walked in, and shut the door behind me.

I’m guessing I’ll either never see him again or wake up to an egg covered house in the morning.

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)

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)!

Cold Beer - Colder Bitch

I went to the local sports bar to watch the Bengals-Steelers game yesterday. I had every intention of sitting alone at a table, sipping beer from the bottle, and cheering my boys on. I wore my OchoCinco jersey and jeans and had my "wish a motherfucker would" face on. I found a table and was prepared to enjoy my evening.

That wasn't going to happen.

I wasn't there ten minutes when a guy approached my table (wearing a Roethlisberger jersey to boot). He asked if I was alone to which I replied yes. He then asked if I wanted company to which I replied not really. He pulls out a seat and sits down anyway. He goes on to say I probably wouldn't want to be alone after we (the Bengals) lost and he was there to offer a shoulder to cry on. I was about to punch him dead in his damn nose when he offered to buy my drinks.

Sold.

The guy was cute, but the conversation was not. All he talked about was himself and how hard his life had been. Needless to say, when the game was over, I got up to leave. He said "it looks like I'm the one who needs a shoulder to cry on" (his team lost) to which I replied yup. As I was about to leave he made the comment but I bought you drinks (thinking this would make me stick around a while). I told him that I didn't ask him to and that I don't hang out with losers. I blew him a kiss and left.

I hate when ignorant assholes think just because they buy you a few drinks, you owe them something. I think next time, I'll offer to buy their drinks if they leave me the hell alone.

Decorated Dick

Dick picked the kids up for the weekend last night. All was fine until I put their bags in his truck. I noticed all his clothes and even his suitcase were in there as well. He had told me that he was staying at his parent's house on the river (which he claims to have done when he left before). I asked why were all his things still in the truck and he just laughed. I asked where he was taking the kids and he told me not to worry about it.

Oh no he didn't.

Needless to say, I wasn't going to let him leave without knowing where my kids were going. Dick ended up calling the cops and saying I was imprisoning him (he's such a pussy). The cops show up, get both sides of the story, tell me they believe his story of taking them to the river, and tell me how to conduct a welfare check on my kids if something didn't seem right. I kissed my children and off they went.

After Dick's truck was out of sight, the cop asked if I wanted to talk. Not knowing what to say, I just shrugged my shoulders. He motioned me to my porch steps where I took a seat. He asked how long I had been married, how long we've been having problems, among other bullshit. Still not realizing what was going on, I answered his questions. He goes on to state that good men are hard to find these days. He puts his hand on my thigh and tells me it's even harder for a woman with kids to find a decent man and as he inches his hand up, he states that there are some out there.

At this point, the cop is smiling like a kid with his hand in the cookie jar. I push his hand away and asked him what the hell was his problem? I told him it took me forever to get rid of one dick, what makes him think I want another? I then politely asked him to get the hell off my property before I have to shove his badge so far up his ass that he wouldn't be able to sit for a week. I then went inside, locked the door, grabbed a beer, and began my chick-flick-athon.

Moral of the story: A man with a badge is just a dick with decorations.

Neighborhood Crime Bitch

My neighborhood is usually quiet (with the exception of the bitch brigade a.k.a. the other mothers) so I was disturbed to learn we've been having some crime lately. Cars have been broken into and mailboxes have been vandalized. After having my own mailbox smashed twice, I figured it was time to do something. I've never been one to sit back and just take it.

I took a nice long nap yesterday, preparing for my all-nighter. I put the kids to bed, donned my neighborhood crime bitch attire (all black obviously), and hid myself behind some bushes and waited. My plan was flawed as I had absolutely nothing to do but sit and watch, so I was bored as hell. About 12:30 in the morning, I spotted three teenage punks sneaking down the streets. Sure enough, they were pushing over mailboxes again. I dialed 911 and waited. Just as they were about to approach my box, I jumped out of the bushes and said if you value your balls, I'd rethink touching that mailbox.

Stunned, they turned to look at me and just as they were about to run, the police car was pulling in. Being as they were underage, I'm sure they were just taken back to their parents. Hopefully this will end the crime spree and if not, I'll be armed with a paintball gun next time. What is it with kids these days?

She's A Maniac

It is official – I am in serious need of therapy. I am a mean and horrible person who continues to do mean and horrible things. I deserve to be thrown in a small room and suited with a straightjacket. Or not.

People piss me off and I can’t help but do something about it. Take for instance this weekend at the movies: All was well until two brats began to talk. They continued their conversation despite the shhh’s from others. I finally had enough and began throwing popcorn at them. I started throwing piece by piece and when that didn’t seem to work, I hurled a handful and successfully hit the back of their heads. It worked and they shut the hell up.

Then at the gas station, I was attempting to pump gas when I noticed a man staring me up and down. I asked if I could help him to which he responded why yes, yes you can. I then proceeded to grab the windshield washer wand thingie and walked over to his truck like I was going to clean his windows. As I approached the back glass, I noticed his truck was filthy. Perfect! I then scribbled these words on the filthy glass: I’m the world’s biggest dick. Wanna ride? He called me a few choice names, but didn’t look at me again.

Last but not least, my neighbor’s dog. This little dog jumps the fence several times a week. I’m am so fucking tired of having to toss his ass back over the fence. I tried to let him out (hoping he’d get lost), but he found his way back home. Yesterday, he did it again. After seeing him shit in my yard and knowing his owners are aware of the problem and were home at the time, but obviously didn’t care, I had enough. I threw the dog in the car, drove for several miles, and booted him out on the side of the road. Hopefully some nice family (far from where I live) will find him and keep him. Good riddance.

So yes, I’ll be checking myself in to the nearest mental facility, but only after I finish watching this documentary on serial killers.

Not So Hot Haters

There is nothing more amusing than watching a bunch of haters. Their jealousy shines through like nipples in a wet t-shirt contest. I'd like nothing more than to round them all up in one great big room, sprinkle them with gasoline, and throw a match right in the middle of them all. They piss me off to no end and I dealt with my fair share of them this past weekend.

Every year, we spend the Fourth of July weekend at the river. There's nothing like fishing and laying out in the sun to forget all your troubles. I had every intention of doing just that this past weekend, but of course, fat chance.

I had set my chair up along the beach and rubbed myself down with lotion. No sooner had I sat down and opened my book, I heard giggles and whispers. I look over and see two women chatting it up and looking my way. I listened a little harder while I pretended to pay them no mind and discovered they were talking about me. Their comments ranged from my big ass to my pale skin. I wanted peace and quiet, but was obviously not going to get it.

I finally had enough. I got up, grabbed a bucket, filled it with water, and marched my ass right on over to the pair. I stood directly in front of their chairs and threw the water on them. They looked at me as if I had lost my damn mind. I politely said that since they thought they were so hot, I figured I'd be neighborly and cool them off. Without giving them a chance to say anything, I turned around, marched back to my seat, and began reading my book in peace. The rest of my weekend was rather enjoyable (and yes, I could probably benefit from a little therapy).

Girls Rule, Boys Drool

WWSD? Suzie would talk to the children in a nice, polite way and ask them to behave.

Don't get me wrong, I love the fact that all the neighborhood kids want to play over at our house. What I don't like is that they are all boys and often end up picking on my daughter (who is not only the only girl, but the youngest as well). She often gets the short end of the stick and after hearing them torment her yesterday, I decided enough was enough.

They were playing kickball and nobody wanted the girl on their team. After hearing countless You take her. No you take her! I threw on my tennis shoes, marched my ass outside, and said Look, boys against girls. All the boys looked dumbfounded, but agreed. So my daughter and I took our places, ready to kick the shit out of the ball -- and that we did.

For thirty minutes, we beat the snot out of the guys. They couldn't keep up, could not get us out to save their lives, and were getting pretty pissed off. I couldn't help but laugh at their pitiful excuses for why they were losing to a couple of girls and listening to them constantly placing blame on each other. Finally, one of the boy's mom called for him to go home. As he was getting ready to leave, my daughter said Girls rule, boys drool! The little boy hung his head and did the walk of shame home.

I'm hoping those boys learned their lesson and if not, I think I'll suggest a friendly game of dodgeball next time -- complete with a lead filled ball.

Punk Ass Pansy

WWSD? Suzie would take the flowers in and display them in her prettiest vase.

I hate cowardly men. I can't stand it when a guy likes you, but is too scared to say anything about it. He hides behind anonymous flowers and cards in an ill attempt to woo me from afar. That pisses me off to no end. Just fucking tell me you've got the hots for me. I'll probably just shoot you down, but at least we'll both know where the hell we stand.

I've received flowers three times in the past week. They were left on my doorstep with a note and everything. At first, I thought they were from Dick and was going to just toss them in the trash, but curiosity got the better of me and I read the notes.

The first note said "These are not from Dick. I hope you have a wonderful day." The second note said "I cannot stop thinking about you." And the third read "I know what you are going through, but just know that I am here."

What the fuck? Some stranger leaves me flowers to wish me a wonderful day and to let me know he's here for me? Um, I don't think so. I don't even know who the fuck it is, so how is he here for me? This has to be the most cowardly attempt to pick a chick up that I've ever seen (either that or Dick is playing more games).

I've since posted a note on my door that has already received a few chuckles from the postman and UPS delivery guy. It reads: To the sorry son of a bitch that has been cowardly leaving flowers on my doorstep without letting me know who you are, fuck off. I have no desire to meet a man with such little backbone. I have a thought, why don't you take those flowers, shove them up your ass, and come back when you've grown some balls.

I hate guessing games and yes, I'm a bitch. Have a wonderful day.

Piss Me Off And You Can Call Me Bitch

WWSD? Suzie would have dismissed it as an accident and went on about her day.

We all know how much I hate grocery shopping and it's not only because of the pervy, old men. It seems as if my car is a magnet to anything that will cause dents and dings. I can't count the number of times I have come out of the store and was greeted with a note offering an apology sitting under my windshield wiper.

I went to the store this morning, grabbed my groceries as fast as possible, and headed out the door before I had another run-in with the old man. As I approached my car, I noticed something shiny. Upon closer inspection, I saw that someone had apparently opened their door into mine. I looked on the windshield for a note, but there was none. I glanced at the car next to mine and there it was -- my fucking paint on their fucking door.

I know accidents happen, but common courtesy is to leave a note saying you did so. If you aren't going to leave a note, don't keep your piece of shit parked by mine with the evidence clearly there. You are asking for a bitch slap -- which is just what I did.

I put my groceries in the trunk and then carefully maneuvered the cart to it's proper location -- all the way down the side of the offender's car and into the cart corral. I then grabbed a piece of paper from my purse and scribbled this note:

"I apologize profusely for the damage I did to your car. It seems I was so busy trying to figure out who could have opened their door into my car and not be bothered to leave a note that I hit yours with my cart, on purpose. Enjoy the rest of your day -- bitch."

I think I'm going to put an ad on craigslist for someone who would be willing to do my grocery shopping for me before I end up in jail or shot.

One More Time For Old Time's Sake

WWSD? Suzie would light the candles, dim the lights, and have some nice background music playing.

Me? I'm going to hell in a hand basket.

Dick came to pick up the kids last night. He had been texting me all day and hinting around as to some possible "things" we could do. He gets here and asks if we can talk. We proceed to the bedroom and shut the door. He says he misses me and wants to you know. I tell him to take the kids to his parent's house and meet me back at our house at eight.

He left, looking like he had just conquered the world.

Eight o'clock rolls around and he's right on time. He opens the door and is greeted with my fine ass (what? I can't think my own ass is fine?) fully dolled up and waiting patiently on the couch. It was all I could do to not burst into laughter while watching him watching me. He had no clue what was coming (a hint -- it wasn't him).

Things begin to get hot and heavy. For a brief second, I missed the good old days where this was actually pleasurable. Just as soon as it was all about to go down, I pushed him off, grabbed my robe, and asked him to leave. He of course, looked confused as hell and I simply said:

"I refuse to be just your sex toy. When you can get your head out your ass long enough to think about the kids and I, then I'll consider giving myself to you again. Until then, I'd rather have sex with Richard Simmons while listening to Sweating to the Oldies. Now if you don't mind, I have some rather meaningful shit to do."

I then locked myself in the bedroom until I heard him leave. God what an asshole! I'm hoping that wasn't his way of saying I'm sorry -- If so, it was pretty pathetic.

Unwise Old Man

WWSD? Suzie would ignore them and go on about her chore.

I hate grocery shopping. It has to be the worst chore ever (aside from scrubbing pissy toilet seats). It probably doesn't help that my local market tends to be the hangout for horny, old men. You know the kind -- they stare you up and down, casting you in their mental pornos while grabbing their crotch as if they've developed a sudden itch. Every once in a while, I guess the grabbing gets good to them and the utter stupid shit. Yesterday, I had enough.

They saw me as soon as I walked in. The hairy old bastard is the worst. He will stare at me like I would never notice. He does not care who sees him fondling his (lack of a) package. He is downright rude and I was flat out pissy (I was in the middle of making homemade mac and cheese when I realized I was out of milk). I knew this was going to get ugly.

As usual, looking like a duck with ducklings in tow, I dash down the aisle, grab the milk, and proceed to check out. The cashier rings my purchase, I pay, and I head for the door. Just as I reach the door, there went the comment -- Will you look at the ass on her.

Now keep in mind that my kids were with me and this comment was made loud enough for all in earshot to hear.

I completely lost it at this point. I did not want my kids to witness what I was about to do so I had them sit on the bench by the door (facing the opposite direction) and gave them my mobile phone to take pictures of the birds outside. I then walked over to the hairy bastard and told him that not only did I have an ass, I could act like one as well. I opened the milk, poured it down his pants, and for once this man was speechless.

Needless to say, we didn't have mac and cheese last night, but I feel better knowing the milk was used for a greater purpose.

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.

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.

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.

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).