Things Susan had forgotten about nine month olds:

They're naturally very charming
They have zero common sense. None.
Little chicklet teeth
They topple over if not supported
They're comfortable being sticky
They yank out earrings
Everything goes in their mouth
They don't travel light
They are happy with whatever plans you make
Poopy diapers
Things Susan had forgotten about three year olds:

They talk all the time
Sometimes you can trick them into doing what you want
Bedtimes require pre-planning
They have something to say every time you curse
Chicken nuggets
Bubbles get spilled immediately
You push them on the swing till your arms fall off and still have to push them some more
They want to help with everything
They open doors without knocking and peek behind shower curtains
Their conversations can be quite elaborate
They're nice to pick up and carry around


Susan took a quick run over to the library to pick up
this book which was being held for her since last week.
She arrived to find that it had already been returned to the shelf and taken out by another reader. She placed it on hold again then went to get some cocktail party music for her upcoming BIG birthday party.
A few weeks ago she found Pink Panther Penthouse Party and has been on a roll ever since. Today she selected six or seven CDs that looked promising including a compilation of James Bond soundtracks which was sitting right out in the open as if it were waiting for her.
While Susan was checking out she overheard one of the librarians provide some information to a mom with a stroller. Susan recalled what a large part the library played in her life when the kids were small including the time her toddler son spread his little frame across the library floor and drew a picture which helped lift Susan from a notable depression. Some day when Susan has more energy she'll tell you about it.
Anyway, the mom extended her conversation with the librarian beyond its expiration date with who really gives a crap stuff revealing her strung-out self to be desperate for grown up conversation. Poor thing. Susan saw that the mommy was also accompanied by a second-grader and a husband and wondered why she was boring a librarian when there was a perfectly serviceable husband to blather at? No matter, Susan took her CDs and left.
As Susan was exiting the parking spot she saw strung-out mommy pushing the stroller followed by the rest of her family. Susan sat with her foot on the break as Mommy walked directly in front of Susan's car without ever glancing over in Susan's direction.
Susan waited for them all to get sufficiently far away then drove off.


It's after 10:30 pm and Susan has a very un-tired three year old singing in her bed.
She doesn't want to go night night, she wants water.
She wants to tell Grandpa she loves him.
She wants to know what Susan's name is.

Susan is doing her best not to respond to the unbearably adorable three year old who is singing about mashed potatoes and putting her bracelets on the table so that she doesn't lose them and drinking as much water as will be necessary to wet the bed later on. Earlier Susan tried witholding the water but was driven into submission by tears.

The relationship is new so Susan doesn't have an arsenal of things that will get the three year old to submit to sleep. Susan's strategy is to type softly on the laptop with the lights off and classical music playing through the TV while Miss Three relaxes.

Miss Three yawned while she was humming
then she kissed her stuffed companion
then she asked do you have Fly Me To The Moon do you have Fly Me To The Moon do you have Fly Me To The Moon do you have Fly Me To The Moon?
then she heaved a big sigh
then she fell asleep and provided Susan with a blog post.


Forget about Sangria, Sangria is out, Susan needs RUM.
Rum and lime and mint and sugar and seltzer are the divine components which have been delivering Susan from a series of bad motherf*cking TWISTED moods.

Susan is aware that she's been relying more on drinking lately. In the name of keepin' it real she rolled on over to the the A A website to see how many questions she might answer yes to.
How do you think she did?

Every one was a big NO. Thank goodness because many of those questions were hardcore;
Need an eye-opener?
Having black-outs?
Calling in hung over?
Getting drunk when you don't mean to?

Who gets drunk when they don't mean to?

Anyway. Susan's glad there weren't any questions about her zealous observance of happy hour or spending money on liquor that's been earmarked for her family's food.


Susan's daughter saw a picture of Mick Jagger with his name in the caption underneath.

D: Who's that?

S: Mick Jagger.

D: His name is Mick?

S: Yes.

D: I thought it was McJagger.


Every time Susan uses the restroom she sends a little prayer of thanks to the person, or team of persons who invented plumbing. OMG, plumbing is so fantastic!

Imagine if we couldn't flush our bodily filth away?
It's too horrifying to even consider. Plumbing is the number one necessary component to any decent quality of life. Let's say we were all rich and beautiful and in love,
that would be pretty fantastic, right?
Now, what if we also had to live with our own pee and poop? Horrible!

Susan's almost gotten into fist fights with people who didn't pick up their dog poop from in front of her house, imagine if she had to run after people who didn't pick up their personal poop? She'd have to become one of those full contact fighters or risk getting her ass kicked every day and that's no good because Susan's a lover not a fighter.

Well, Susan's only a lover after her husband reminds her of her marital obligation, but you get her point.

Susan is lucky enough to have two bathrooms in her modest, architecturally bereft house. Two bathrooms means one is for her and one is for everyone else.
The one that's for everyone else has a wonderful vintage 1986 aesthetic; frosted glass and mirror shower doors, peeling flowered paper and big round lightbulbs sent into a mirrored medicine cabinet. She's got plans, but for now she just keeps it clean and stocked with nice smelling soap and plenty of reading material for those who won't just be in & out.

Thank you Romans or Greeks, thank you.


Not too long ago, like last Friday night, Susan pretended she was thirty and went out to a bar to hear a band.

For many years Susan was no stranger to bars and bands. No stranger. Her current status as a grown-up and positive influence to her children really doesn't allow for this sort of recreational activity. But, she doesn't miss it because she's able to get her drinking and loud music listening done at home.

A co-worker of Susan's little sister was the lead singer, the band was in Susan's age range, Beatles songs were in their repertoire and the evening was shaping up to be unremarkable. But, beggars can't be choosers and there would be Guinness on tap for one post-menopausal suburban beggar with a potty mouth and a big birthday coming up.

Little sister's childhood girlfriend, code name Hot Widow, met them in the parkinglot. Inside was m*therfucking LOUD, it was so loud that the bartender couldn't hear Susan even though she was screaming her drink order in his face. Eventually the band took a break and Susan got a chance to interact with her companions.
The crowd was mature. Was that Max Von Sydow in the back of the room? There were an abundance of nice boobs and bad hair. When a drunk grandmother dressed like Madonna tried to insinuate herself into the conversation Susan removed herself to get a second pint.

The band came back on, Susan withstood their racket until she couldn't tolerate another second and fled outside. Outside into the cool, quiet refuge of the night, under the illuminated Guinness On Draught sign. She wasn't alone, the bouncers and smokers were out as well as a highly stylized girl's motorcycle. It was zebra striped, very low slung and had long fringes hanging from the handlebars.
It was pretty. After a short time she got bored looking at the bike and walked across the street to buy a vanilla cigar at the gas station.

Susan stood outside smoking her cigar and signalled to her sister to join her. Little sister was out in a flash.
Things were much more lively for Susan then.
They shared the cigar and watched everything going on inside; the band screaming, Grammy Madonna bothering patrons with her drunk nonsense, a big unstable Lurch looking guy standing in Hot Widow's personal space blocking her view. What fun it was outside!
Eventually Max Von Sydow came out too. He got on his zebra striped motorcycle and rode off.

The band ceased their racket and the sisters went back in.
The band came back on and Susan went out.
She returned with beef lo mein and signalled to her sister to join her. Little sister was out in a flash.

The beef lo mein got Susan noticed. One gentleman inquired if she had beamed in from somewhere because the Chinese food seemed like it came from outerspace. Susan didn't want him to be afraid so she assured him that it only came from down the block.

This time when Susan was outside she saw a normal looking motorcycle on which rested a minimalist helmet with a HELMET LAWS SUCK sticker. Susan wondered about who owned the helmet and why helmet law sucked. Surely helmets only wanted to help people, not become the object of derision. Susan ate her lo mein, joked around with her sister and eventually the owner of the bike and helmet appeared. Paul. Susan asked Paul all her questions, learned all his answers and had a nice exchange of information. In the midst of their conversation Drunk Larry stumbled over and steered the sisters' attention his way with questions like are you as smart as you look? and have you always been pretty? Drunk Larry was funny in a charming and sad sort of way. Eventually it was time to leave so they rescued Hot Widow and went to the diner for some essential grease, starch, sugar and caffeine.


Susan attended a seminar one day this week instead of going to work.

Before she left, the husband handed Susan a modest number of bills for lunch money which she combined with what she had in her purse. She counted it then walked directly into the kitchen and made a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

Susan arrived at the seminar, eyeballed the complimentary breakfast bar, signed in then made the acquaintance of those sitting nearest to her; Raul, Kim and Virginia.
During the first break she went into the hall to get herself a cup of coffee and maybe something to eat. She picked up a plate, considered her choices and was poised over a muffin with the tongs when a uniformed gentleman stopped her. This was not Susan's food, it belonged to the other conference room. Holding her head a little higher than usual she returned to her seat and ate the peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

The lunchbreak came, Susan packed up her belongings and was headed toward her car when Raul, Kim and Virginia invited her to join them in the hotel's cafe. Susan was charmed by their offer and impulsively accepted knowing that she didn't have enough cash for a proper lunch.
What the hell, she had more than enough for coffee.

Susan read the menu in reverse, searching for the lowest number then following along until her lunch choice was revealed; Soup Du Jour for $5.
Alright! Susan would have minestrone soup with her coffee.
A mature twist to the liquid lunch.

The four acquaintances had a friendly lunch with plenty of interesting conversation. The bill came, Susan pulled out her bankroll and Kim started figuring out how much each person owed by dividing the bill into quarters.
Susan couldn't do a quarter of the bill, she could do exactly what she ordered + $2.75 for a tip.
Um, I have ten dollars.
Kim accepted Susan's money and recalculated the bill. Everyone was very nice and Susan spent the rest of the afternoon filling up with gas from her minestrone.


Susan got up early on Saturday morning to watch her son play lacrosse. The husband carried and set up a foldable chair so that Susan would have a comfortable place to sit. It was a lovely misty morning, the field was surrounded by pine trees and Susan couldn't imagine anywhere she'd rather be than sitting with a cup of coffee watching her boy (whichever one he was, they all looked alike) in the full flourish of his youth.
Simple pleasures surely are the best.

Then the parents showed up.

They were unassuming in appearance wearing jeans and windbreakers, bearing Snapple bottles. They came in twos and threes, greeted each other and then took their place along the edge of the field.

Susan would like to take this opportunity to mention how ferociously she has argued with the husband over his need to yell from the sidelines.
You're not the coach, why are you yelling?
The son backs her up, We can't hear you anyway, Dad.
A compromise was struck; If he feels he must yell then he is to position himself as far away from Susan as is practical, otherwise he is to completely refrain from yelling while she is in attendance.

The game started and the parents yelled.

They f*cking yelled like they were being overcharged at the butcher. They yelled at their kids, they yelled at the coach, they yelled at the referee, they all yelled at once. The women yelled like men and the men yelled like baboons.
Susan was horrified.

During periods of inactivity the parents chatted quietly, one scratched his private area in full view of anyone unlucky enough to be facing him. Another, aided by his spouse, gave incorrect directions to the field through his cell phone. Shortly thereafter the game was called because of lightning and Susan was returned to her calm universe.


Susie Booty Humps wants everyone to give themselves
a new RAP name this weekend. She and P Patty Trip are just gonna be kickin' it with their gangsta ass niggaz Furious Seanny F and Wicked LL Money.
Maybe they'll bake cookies.


Susan wakes up each morning a full on TWISTED b*tch. She puts on her TWISTED b*tch face and stomps around the house making her TWISTED b*tch comments about everything in her line of vision.
Was that light on all night?
Nobody fed the dog again?
How long is that pile of sh*t going to sit on the table?
Is that a wet towel on the floor?

It's the husband's function as her life partner to receive the full force of her anger. Well, not the full force, but certainly a large portion of it. Disclosing every last thought in her head would likely be de-motivational for the relationship. In the same way, she doesn't want to know every opinion the husband holds about her. It's enough that she's got to be in the same room with him during the periods that she can't stand him. Like now.
She particularly can't stand the sound of his voice.

She would love to make a list for her modest fan base of all the things she can't stand about the husband.
OMG, she'd love to! But she won't because everyone in a committed relationship knows what she's up against.
On Wednesday we're plodding along being a supportive spouse and by Thursday morning we've reached our saturation point. Critical mass.
Even someone as special and giving and wonderful as Susan is given to fits of miserable TWISTED spousal hatred.
However, we all know that hatred signifies one still cares.


Susan was temporarily drawn out of her tiresome depression over being broke by this
NY Magazine article about bed bugs.
Thanks guys, you're awesome!


Susan gets totally TWISTED anytime she's near people doing things she can't do;
Buying new clothes? Good for you
Going out to dinner? Fantastic
Planning a vacation? Go f*ck yourself

She can't enjoy her favorite fluffy sections of the newspaper anymore because she's only interested in articles about people living in poverty.
She's been having trouble regulating her bad moods and has to coordinate them with the husband so they don't have one at the same time.

This morning she stayed prone long past her alarm watching a silent movie because she didn't have the strength to throw her legs over the side of the bed and crawl toward the shower. She got to work an hour late, forgot her pocketbook, couldn't get her computer working till 4pm then came home to a broken window (Mom, I fell in that hole in the yard and my lacrosse ball popped up and broke the window) and not a drop of sangria left.
She can't take much more.