It's been established that IKEA sucks because they didn't give Susan bags last week. She had other issues, but the bags really bugged her. She wrote sucky IKEA an e-mail explaining the depth of her disgust and threatened to stay away until the bags came back. As the week wore on she realized that she wouldn't be able to stick to her plan of hatred and avoidance.

It started because Susan bought some really lovely dark chocolate for like,
a dollar. But, she didn't buy enough because she was afraid of what one dollar dark chocolate might taste like.
Now she needs more.
She also bought salmon and crab spread in toothpaste style tubes, but her friend George ate most of it.
She needs more.
She has to go back.


Susan and her little sister went to IKEA after work. Before you guys get all Oh, IKEA! Susan wants to know if you've been to IKEA lately? Well, then you know that they have NO BAGS!
That's correct. They have NO BAGS unless you'd like to purchase a reusable bag for a dollar. Susan doesn't want to purchase a reusable bag for a dollar. Susan wants IKEA to provide the basic requirement needed to complete their transaction; a m*therf*cking bag.
Susan does not want to gather her little kitcheny things and votive candles and lingonberry jelly jars in the folds of her clothing like an immigrant and schlep them out to the car, which is a whole other story. Once you get outside you can't take those horribly unwieldy rolling carts beyond the barriers to the parking lot. The poor slob of a customer has to leave the cart behind, run out to retrieve their car and hope no one has pinched their sh*t.
OMG, Susan hates IKEA now and she told them why here.


Susan spent day two gardening in the front yard. She learned a few things from day one so she put on her Burberry rain boots then made the entire family come out to assist.
The Burberry rain boots are really fantastic for slogging around in mud and dog sh*t but utilizing family labor is really fantastic for doing all the stuff that hurts Susan's back.

Susan's next door neighbor came over and traded some yellow buttercups for unearthed sea grass, her up the block neighbor contributed sunflower plants. Beetles and slugs hid in the grass, birds pulled worms out of the dirt and Susan let her family do all the hard work.
Cousin Lisa gave Susan a tree for her birthday which started a chain reaction of Susan digging up her front yard and moving plants around. Half got chucked into the compost bin.

Susan's not a gardener and she's definitely not into manual labor at all. Once a summer she'll drunk-weed the hydrangeas. Her only other involvement is thinking that somebody should do something about the yard. But today she used a shovel, a hatchet, a wheelbarrow and a pick axe like an old gold miner. Then she walked around in mud which served to grind dirt into her caloused feet.

Anyway, the place looks better.


Susan turned down a piece of cake this week.

She knows what you're thinking, but it was a really awful cake that her little sister picked out.

Imagine the worst cake in the world and what do you come up with?
White chocolate?
That's right.
And the inside?
Red velvet.

The white chocolate red velvet cake was so horrible that Susan couldn't even stand the smell of it and once this was discovered everyone took great delight in sticking their cake under Susan's nose.

Susan hates her family.


Susan had three large teenagers in the backseat of her car. One belonged to her and the other two were being driven three blocks. They whined like babies when she made them strap in.

I can't find the seat belts
Are there even any back here?

Susan assisted them by illuminating the inside of the car and waiting until they were securely fastened before she drove even one inch.

When she got home she took the opportunity to review with her son & daughter the minimum requirements she has for them as her children;

They must always wear their seat belts even when no one tells them to, even when they're in the back seat, even when their friends make fun of them.

She told them that they will doom her to a life of grief and agony if anything happens to them because they opted not to wear their seat belts. Even once.

We do wear our seat belts mom, all the time they said, their voices dripping with that special exasperation reserved just for Susan.


Susan's back to normal now. Her bad mood has blown over and everything is as it was.
She treated herself to a sparkly pair of flat shoes. Any time she has money she looks for flats. All year round. She loves heels but she loves flats too. Susan's got a big foot, not as big as her little sister's, but big enough.
The flats made it a good day.


There is no balance in Susan's life. None.
It's all workworkworkwork then she goes home and drinks. Or sleeps. Or screams at people to hang up wet towels.

Today was Susan's birthday and it was a real crappy one. She was in a foul mood left over from yesterday and couldn't even fake a smile. Of course, she didn't really try.

People in the know wished Susan a happy birthday, gave her cards,
a flowering plant, a cake. That sort of helped, but only a little.

Susan's mood improved when her friend Fire Ball showed up with her little offspring. They presented Susan with a wonderful arrangement of orange Gerbera daisies and palm fronds then Susan allowed the little offspring to charm her into fifteen minutes of relaxation.

Later at home Susan's little sister and all her nieces showed up with a birthday cake, Susan blew the candles out unenthusiastically.

She told her little sister the story of the previous m*therf*cking rotten day at Acme Sweatshop then her little sister shared her own unpleasant work stories.

It seems that Susan is not alone in her birthday misery, and that knowledge was the best present of all.


Susan had a really m*therf*cking rotten day at Acme Sweatshop, one that required blueberry pancakes for dinner. Plump, explosive blueberries in fluffy pancakes was the only thing she could think of as she stomped out of her office at the end of the day.

She purchased the blueberries on her way home along with some outrageously red, voluptuously ripe strawberries.
They were crazy ripe.

The strawberries got dipped directly into the sugar bowl as she mixed the pancake batter. She dipped, then bit, then dipped again, she didn't care. Be forewarned if you use the sugar at Susan's house.

Anyway, Susan's too tired to blog a proper ending and will conclude with; dinner was eaten with great enthusiasm by her children. The end.


Susan is jealous of people who have book clubs. Not only is it a way to force yourself to read a book, it's also something to do once a month.

Susan wanted to start a book club and inquired of her little sister if she knew any smart readers.
No James Patterson types, no one under 40, no aggressive talkers and no one who lived too far away.

Susan's little sister claimed not to know anyone who fit that criteria. Furthermore, she declined membership for herself claiming that she had no time to read an entire book.

You can't read a book in a month? Susan asked in an agitated manner and ultimately hounded her little sister into an exasperated acceptance.

Next she texted a neighborhood girlfriend while she daydreamed about what cocktails and little foody things she would serve at book club.

No thanks, I don't care for book clubs was the texted response.

Susan was out of people to invite.

So, Susan is the President of her Tiny Book Club and her little sister is Seargant at Arms. They'll enthusiastically accept any recommendations for something to read.


This was taken by the Art School Grad's little sister, The Photographer.