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.

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!

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.