The holiday cat has been out of the bag for a few weeks already. Fake greenery and red bows were suspended from the ceiling of her local department store well before Thanksgiving, chopped down trees are for sale in formerly vacant lots and seasonal music has been heard coming out of car radios.
Susan already duked it out with the daughter over the tree, and lost.
Susan is resigned to Christmas.

Oh, and good riddance NaBloPoMo.



Susan's sick of NaBloPoMo.
She's sick of trying to poop a BLAHg post out of her head after 11:30 every night. She can't wait for December first.
Susan hates everything right now.



Susan missed the deadline for this post by forty minutes because she was making a cranberry orange cheesecake and watching 30 Rock, but she's still going to back date it because she's a NaBloPoMo cheater.



Susan hates when the weather f*cks around with her parents' travel arrangements and keeps them from getting to NY for Thanksgiving.
Susan's going to console herself by eating their dessert on Thursday.



Susan just saw the word mushrooms reduced to 'shrooms and was instantly filled with rage.


Sunday morning all of Susan's frustrations with her children let loose as she loudly and demonstratively admonished them for being the lazy, passive aggressive pricks that she raised them to be. Afterward she felt a better but it still didn't keep her from stomping around the house and starting in on the husband.

She got herself to relax by rolling some Asian meatballs.

The previous evening, Susan's little corner of the universe was reintroduced to winter temperatures complete with snow, not much, but still snow. After Susan's righteous hysterics, the daughter headed out to her figure drawing class in a little denim jacket and sockless feet tucked into her shoes but was blown back inside by a blast of arctic winds.

Susan's son, the high school wrestler, was dispatched out of her sight to clean the subterranean living space so that G-mama and Pippity Pop (the Old Folks) could sleep down there on Tuesday night.

After the meatballs, Susan prepped Slow Cooker Experiment Number Three  and dumped the mess into the slow cooker for the next eight hours.

With the yelling out of the way Susan settled in and spent the entire day in her PJs, it was very relaxing for her.

Food verdict: The slow cooker experiment lacked complexity, but Susan's stubborn so she's going to work on it. The family was split on the Asian meatballs but Susan didn't like them so that's that.


Today's BLAHg post was pinched from the awesome
Nick Holmes.



Susan's hairdresser, the one with the fig tree, had the audacity to be unavailable with when Susan's hair was in dire need of attention.

At a previous appointment Susan was sent home with two bottles of color and a bottle of peroxide so that she could do things herself, she tucked them away for a gray day.

Fast forward to right now.

Susan measured out the pungent chemicals using a shot glass and mixed them with a toothbrush. She didn't have gloves to protect her hands, so she used plastic bags from the supermarket.
She applied the color to her distinguished Mitt Romney temples and waited ten minutes then did the rest of her head. Thirty minutes later she said three Our Fathers in the shower, washed the color out and then checked the results in the mirror.

The color was perfect, she heaved a sigh of relief.

Until she took a closer look, Susan's temples were most definitely still gray. Not as gray as before her DIY dye job, but gray enough that she had to do them over.



Susan's second slow cooker experiment was crowned a failure when she managed to make stew.
The daughter remarked that Slow Cooker Experiment Number Two tasted like vinegar.

OMG, how Susan hates vinegar stew.



Susan hates when she has twelve minutes left till midnight and hasn't even begun to create the magic that is her daily obligatory BLAHg post.
After that she must put together the ingredients necessary for the slow cooker experiment she plans to feed her family Thursday night.
Susan hates slipping in just under the wire.



Susan has the misfortune of being exposed to the Katie Couric show most weekday afternoons.
Ugh, that poised, solicitous, fake b*tch puts on some dreadful show.
Susan hates the Katie Couric show.


Susan Doesn't HATE Anything Today

As previously disclosed, Susan is on the hunt to find three slow cooker meals which fit her simple criteria;
that they not make her gag.
She is happy to report that she's had her first success with a smoked sausage cassoulet.
While it was bubbling away on her counter she was positive she'd hate it.
She was stunned when it revealed itself to be all smoky deliciousness.
There is no hate in Susan's universe today!



After work on Friday Susan went immediately to the liquor store. They didn't have her favorite bottle of sangria, so she considered purchasing a box of sangria. A number of reputable people with whom she's acquainted have used boxed wine with no ill effect. She read the panel and discovered that her box of sangria would last six weeks.
She bought it.
Once home she stashed her box of sangria in the fridge and went on with her life.

Saturday night Susan felt like cooking so she set the laptop on the counter and pulled up this recipe. She poured herself a glass of boxed sangria, put on a pot of water, sauteed onion & garlic, cubed 5 cups of acorn squash, chopped five cups of kale, and knocked her glass sending the sangria up in the air and all over the kitchen.

Susan hates when she douses her crappy laptop with sticky liquor.



Susan hates FB.
She hates when people tell her they're FB friends with people they don't actually spend time with.
Susan hates when her little sister sez Look what I posted on FB and then shoves the screen in front of her face.
Susan hates all the fake bullsh*t people use to draw attention to themselves on FB.
The retardedly unnecessary LOL doesn't even get capitalized anymore, it's just lol.
And, OMG the exclamation points!!!!!!!!!
Susan hates FB.



Susan hates being unispired when she's committed to BLAHg every day this month.
Can this be her post? Twenty words?
She apologizes for being light on the hate today.



Susan hates when the underwire in her brassiere breaks free from the confines of its fabric prison and pokes her in the armpit. She enacts the flawed plan of pushing it back in place until she eventually pulls it out completely. Once gone she wonders why the underwire was even necessary. She doesn't have a Rosalind Russell physique, just little B-cups and they certainly don't require much to hold them in place.

Susan managed quite happily for a week or so without the underwire in her left cup until she got poked by the right cup. Based on her previous success she pulled out the remaining underwire and immediately figured out why it was necessary.

Without the structure underwire provides, Susan's brassiere is like a flaccid sack into which she throws two oranges.



Susan hates when she is sitting at a table in traffic court conferring with the town prosecutor about the questionable validity of her parking ticket and the husband interjects.

She watches the town prosecutor's face start to twist, which it wasn't doing while Susan was speaking, and admonishes the husband in front of everyone to 'Stop talking!' A few moments later she is forced to offer a follow-up reminder in the form of, 'OMG, I told you to stop talking!'

Sidebar: Susan's fine was reduced from $100 to $15.



It makes Susan uncomfortable when she hears grown ups say Yummy. She'd like the yummy-sayers to reconsider if that's the way they wish to portray themselves vocabularily.
What's wrong with Tasty? 
Or even Mmmm, this is good.
Scrumptious should never be an option, it's a ridiculous word and just as weak as yummy. Nom-nom too. No more nom-nom please.
Susan said please.



Susan's stove runs on propane and there's really no way to know when it's going to run out beyond having a general idea of how long the tanks last. But, if she doesn't pay attention to the last delivery she'll find herself in the middle of making dinner and the fuel craps out.

Ugh, Susan hates when the propane runs out on the weekend.

Susan asked her sister to borrow back the slow cooker that nobody uses because nobody likes stewy meats with soft vegetables all swimming together in a murky ooze.
But she doesn't care anymore, even though she'll have propane on Monday, she's determined to figure out three meals that she can make in that damned thing that taste good.



Susan hates being unable to move around with the painless flexibility that she enjoyed in previous decades. This was particularly evident after assisting her friend Sharon to hump a four hundred pound piece of office equipment to her storage unit. Susan bends with her knees, not with her back, just like her old man has been advising her to do since she was eighteen. Back then she ignored him, but now she embraces his wisdom because she's a worn out middle-ager.
Oh, and on Day Ten Susan gave in and turned on the heat.



Susan hates shaving her legs.
She does it because she's civilized, but regularly modifies how often and how far up she goes.
In cold weather she drops down to once a month.
And the once a month is optional.



Susan hates stick figure family decals, especially Disney families with the emasculated, mouse ears and shorts wearing dad. Why do women want to promote their men in this way? Unless the intent is to ridicule them, then Susan completely understands although she still doesn't endorse it.



Susan spent last night making multiple pairs of angel wings out of twelve gauge wire and tulle. They're good looking angel wings and pretty easy to do, but Susan's sick of them.
Susan hates angel wings now.



Susan hates a cold house but every fall she sees how far she can get into the season without turning on the heat. Most years she can make it through October and halfway into November if she's lucky.

Last evening was COLD. It was definitely time to turn on the heat but Susan was steadfast. Muttering, she put on a long sweater, buttoned it all the way up to her nose then pulled up the hood. The husband passed by, heard her complaining and threw his jacket on top of her.



Susan hates to see Daylight Saving time go and take with it the last precious hour of sunshine.
Susan's neighborhood was dark at 5:30 pm last night.
DARK at 5:30 pm.
She thinks this is bullsh*t.



Susan hates that she can't keep cilantro fresh for more than a day. OMG, she hates that so much!

She can't stand to waste it so when it's in the house she'll plan all her meals around the damned stuff; salsa, chili, tacos and corn bread then throw the haggard remains into soup stock. She also freezes it sometimes.
All this effort to keep from throwing out something that costs ninety nine cents at the Spanish grocer.

Day three of HATE, Susan bets you can't wait till day four, eh?



Susan started in about much she hates cute inspired bloggers who are so happy with their cute homes and inspired lifestyles and how they obviously have money or why else would they be so f*cking happy and be able to go places and do stuff. Anyway, Susan thinks she started to sound a little crazy and jealous so she switched topics.

Susan HATES that she can't listen to her favorite radio station online because the IT guy at work told her that it has let viruses into her computer. Why would her radio station even do that when it's all about making Susan happy?

She also HATES that her digital subscription to the NY Times ran out and she read through her remaining ten articles in ten minutes.



Susan had a brainstorm of an idea for this month's miserable endurance contest called NaBloPoMo, she's going to BLAHg about everything she hates.
Thirty one days of hate will be awesome.

She's starting with these two:
She doesn't even have a good reason why she hates their stupid faces, she just knows that she does.