Bag Lady Brawl

I know you’ve seen them – those women walking around with what looks like a damn suitcase draped over their shoulder as if they are on a backpacking journey from coast to coast. If you are anything like me, you’ve been hit several times while walking through the crowded malls by those same oversized bags. Can someone please tell me what in the hell is up with women and their huge purses?

What could you possibly carry that needed a bag that big? Maybe with it being around the holidays and the crime rates being up because of it, these women have packed their purses with bricks in order to ward off would-be attackers. One smash from their purse would send any robber running for the hills.

Perhaps my way of doing things has caught on and they have even upped the ante. Not only are they carrying forks in their purses, they are carrying a way to dispose of the body as well. Simply stab the fucker, stuff him in your bag, and drop the package into the nearest dumpster on your way out.

Or could it possibly be women today actually need that much shit to get through the day? I’m not sure the logic to carrying something so big and I doubt I ever will, but I do know this – if I’m ever hit by one again, I swear I will punch the lady in the face, shove her ass in the bag, and toss it in the restroom trash bin.

Damnit, I bruise easily and those bags hurt like hell!

U S of A-ssholes

Watching the news these days is pure torture. I’d rather be popping my man’s ass pimples than to sit and listen about how bad things are now and why things are the way they are. Everyone is pointing fingers to past presidents and placing the blame on anything and everything that could make an ounce of sense. No one seems to be getting the real picture.

It’s called karma, assholes.

Seriously, did you think we could just sail on over and rob people of the land they had been living without some sort of ass whipping? Do you think we could import innocent people on over to do the work we should have done without having to pay for it somehow? You really think we could have treated women as property and never have to hear about it again?

Doubtful.

I don’t care about past presidents and what they have done; this shit was bound to catch up with us sooner or later. You cannot do the idiotic things this country has done and expect no repercussion. So may I suggest you grab a hard hat, buckle your seatbelt, and enjoy the ride. It’ll be over – eventually.

Backseat Drivers

We’ve all experienced it – the pain in the ass of having someone bitch and complain about your driving from the backseat of your own damn car. Nothing pisses me off more than having to pay attention to not only the road, but also what the dumbass behind me is saying. I hate being told what I’m doing wrong while driving. It annoys me more than running off the road while trying to text my therapist.

I have devised a plan to deter those who criticize my driving ability. As soon as I begin to hear the moaning and groaning, I will simply pull the car over, look the offender dead in the face, and say you have been warned -- another word and I'll give you something to bitch about. I will then continue my journey and if another word is uttered, I will turn the journey into the ride from hell.

I will speed. I will weave in and out of traffic. I will tailgate. I will fail to use my turn signal as I pass along the shoulder. I will use my brakes harshly. I will drive so bad that the offending party will never want to ride with my ass again. Problem solved.

Backseat drivers deserve to be under your car instead of in it.

Suzie For Hire

WWSD? Suzie already has a job -- her job is in the home.

I need a job, bad. I have been hunting for a job for weeks now and nothing. Not a call back, not a kiss my ass, nothing. I'm starting to freak out a little bit. Dick canceled putting the house on the market (and I still have no idea why), so I'm still paying the hefty mortgage along with all the other bullshit. The money in the bank is slowly dwindling away.

I've thought about having a yard sale. Dick has tons of shit laying around here and I'm sure I could get a few bucks from quite a bit of it. Frankly, I'm sick of looking at all his shit anyway. I've thought about cleaning houses being as I love to clean, but keep imagining myself ending up in an old perve's house and having to repeat this scene. I've even thought about standing on a corner and seeing what comes my way (kidding, kind of).

I finally got a call back the other day. The company conducted an interview over the phone. I thought all went well and they said they'd call me back to set up a time to come to their office and fill out all the necessary paperwork. That was a couple of days ago and still -- nothing. I've tried to call them numerous times, but there's never an answer.

I guess I'll be hitting the trail again tomorrow. No point in waiting for something that may or may not happen. I think I'll don my short skirt and low-cut blouse, apply my makeup perfectly, and attempt to kick some ass tomorrow. Somebody better hire me or I may just have to go postal! If you happen to turn on the news and hear about the crazy woman bomber don't worry, it's just me.

Not Your Piece Of Meat

WWSD? Suzie would have said thank you, but no thank you.

I've been putting off clothes shopping for the longest time, but my kids decided a growth spurt was in order and the weather is staying warm. Unless I wanted to continue doing laundry every three days, we had no choice but to go shopping for summer clothes. All was well as my daughter was ooh-ing and ahh-ing over all things sparkly and girly. My son could not have cared less. All of a sudden, I felt hands grab my shoulders and I turn to see a man -- not just any man, but Dick's best friend from back in the day.

Of course he complimented me on such beautiful children (you would too if you've seen them) and asked the usual how have you been and followed that by what I dreaded the most -- how is Dick? I replied with a simple I wouldn't know and braced myself for the worse.

It was at this point the hair on the back of my neck stood up. It was obvious by this prick's body language that he was pleased to hear the news. He actually smiled in a way reminiscent of the big, bad wolf from the classic children's tale. He grabbed my hand, looked in my eyes, and said so I guess you'll be needing a new man?

Oh, no he didn't!

I quickly yanked my hand from his and looked him dead in the face. I (as calmly as possible) told him that no, I did not need a new man, but if he knew where I could get a low-priced lawnmower to run over all the assholes I've encountered lately I'd be extremely interested. I then turned and walked away.

I swear, the next time I go shopping, I'm putting a sticker on my ass that reads this piece of meat is not for sale so don't bother. What is it with some guys and why me? Perhaps another date with the devil is in order. Maybe I can sweet talk him into sending them all to hell.

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.

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!

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*

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!

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.

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.