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.

Mother Facker

WWSD? Suzie would not let anything ruin a day that was set aside for her.

Dear old Dick left this past Thursday night and I haven't heard from him since. I have actually been enjoying the peace and quiet of his absence. Of course, today being Mother's Day, he had to show up. He wouldn't be Dick if he didn't.

I received a text asking if the kids were dressed as he wanted to take them out. I reminded him it was Mother's Day and I had my parents and brothers over for lunch and that he was welcome to see the kids this evening. Apparently, that wasn't good enough. Twenty minutes later, he shows up, knocks on the door, and walks right in. I politely ask him to step outside and begin to rip his ass apart.

How dare he leave and not bother letting his kids know he's okay? I haven't been able to answer the fifty plus questions they've had because I don't know where the jackass has been. How dare he come strolling in with enough drama to make a damn Lifetime movie when I just told him I had company and he was welcome to see the kids later? How dare he expect us to drop everything we're doing to appease him when he's the one that left us in the first damn place?

Needless to say, he tucked his tail between his legs and left. He later informed me that he had plans for this evening and wouldn't be able to pick up the kids (I'm now positive he never had any intention on doing so anyway). He has been repeatedly texting me and this is how I've answered: I've turned off my phone. The kids and I went to the store and bought massive amounts of junk food. We've rented three movies and will be spending the rest of the day pigging out and laughing.

The hell with him!

Witch Woman?

WWSD? Suzie would exchange pie recipes and set up play dates for the kids.

I absolutely hate going to my children's school. I’d rather be run over by a dump truck carrying senior citizen's disposed diapers. The women there are downright despicable! All they do is give you looks like you're plagued with shingles and talk behind your back in a voice that is just audible enough that you can hear what they are actually saying about you.

I used to think they were some kind of workers of the devil, but have come to realize that they are filled with envy and resentment. You see, these women are all pushing or have crossed forty. I am only thirty and still have my youthful charm. When I walk pass, all their husbands ooh and ahh, but how the hell is that my fault? I can't help that I was born beautiful and I can't help their husband's lust issues.

I've finally realized the best way to handle these women is by actually handling their men (not like that you perve). Just something as simple as telling him "It was nice seeing you last week." The man is too busy eyeing my boobage to realize he never saw me last week, but the woman – she is now wondering why her husband didn't tell her that he saw me last week and what he's trying to hide.

A simple, yet effective way to bitch-slap these women back to last week.