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).