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.

I Have Mail

I have been horrible at answering my "Suzie Q's" so I figured I'd knock them all out with one post. Here goes:

Q: I have to ask, does your husband know about your blog?
A: Yes. He actually read the first couple of posts. Since he's been gone, I doubt he's read any of it, but he does know it's here.

Q: I see you refer to your husband on BC and sometimes you say husband and sometimes you say your ex. Which is it?
A: I honestly don't know where we stand. He literally packed his bags and left one day. If you read my blog, you know as much as I do where I stand with him. I guess it depends on my mood as to what I refer to him as.

Q: You do a lot of mean things. How do you sleep at night?
A: Quite well, thank you.

Q: Are you as bitchy in real life?
A: I blog about my life. If you think I'm bitchy here, you would think I'm bitchy if you met me. I don't change who I am for the sake of the blog.

Q: When do you think you'll start dating again?
A: As soon as I find out where I stand with my ex, husband, Dick.

Q: How are your kids handling the situation?
A: They are holding up pretty well. I never bad-mouth their father to them and I know that helps. They are just as confused as I am as to what is going on, but we're keeping each other's spirits up.

Q: What happens to your blog if you and Dick do split?
A: I'll always be Suzie and will always have something to bitch about.

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.