Wild Bill and his daughter drove up from the mountains of N.C. in a gigantic Buick. It was purchased the week they left and it's the sort of car his parents would drive.
In fact, it looks exactly like the car they drive.
It's not a new car, but it's larger than some of the rooms in Susan's house and very comfortable. It has many switches to do things like move seats and regulate the temperature.
Of course such a wonderful car has an alarm system.
Just before 9 on Sunday morning Susan was standing at the kitchen window. She was able to be in that location at that time because she does not attend church. Not unless her little sister makes her go to hear Susan's niece sing like an angel. Like an angel!
Anyway, Susan was standing at the window when a car alarm went off. It took her no time at all to figure out that it was Wild Bill's car. She ran downstairs to inquire as to the whereabouts of his keys. They were in his pocket.
He stumbled up the steps & staggered outside like Frankenstein on four hours sleep and turned off the alarm. Susan was relieved that it wasn't any earlier,
her personal viewpoint is that no apologies are necessary at 9 am, even on Sunday.
Monday night was warm so Susan and her husband slept with all the windows open in their bedroom.
At 4 am Susan slowly became aware of a rhythmic beat. Oh no!
All at once she sprang up in a panic and ran to the living room to verify what she already knew. Luckily Wild Bill was right there sleeping on the couch, keys in his pocket.
He staggered outside to turn off the alarm and Susan went back to bed.
A half hour later Susan bolted upright from a sound sleep and ran like a crazy woman into the living room.
The f*cking alarm!
She twisted her brother's toe and opened the front door then stomped back to bed where she tossed and turned for the next 90 minutes until she fell asleep again.
6.30.2009
6.28.2009
Susan Eats Guacamole
When Susan was growing up people in her neighborhood didn't eat anything exotic like guacamole. She was probably in her thirties before she even knew what it was made out of. But, now one of the perks of summer is mixing together avocado and cilantro and tomatoes and garlic and lime juice and salt and cumin.
Did she forget anything?
She doesn't add onion, but wouldn't discriminate if someone put some in there & gave it to her to eat.
A year or two ago she'd smash up an avocado, add a packet of store bought spices and call it a day.
But, now she knows better. And she likes it chunky, not whipped like her little sister made it that one time.
Today Susan made some guacamole then ate more than her share. During the course of the afternoon her stomach expanded so much that she had to change into her stretchy pants.
Did she forget anything?
She doesn't add onion, but wouldn't discriminate if someone put some in there & gave it to her to eat.
A year or two ago she'd smash up an avocado, add a packet of store bought spices and call it a day.
But, now she knows better. And she likes it chunky, not whipped like her little sister made it that one time.
Today Susan made some guacamole then ate more than her share. During the course of the afternoon her stomach expanded so much that she had to change into her stretchy pants.
6.27.2009
Family Fun
Susan and her little sister have a brother named Wild Bill
and Wild Bill has a daughter.
Two days ago Wild Bill and his daughter drove from
Dueling Banjos, N.C. to Suburban Civilization, N.Y.
for an open-ended visit.
Wild Bill is a true middle child who remains faithful to many of the behaviors and activities he enjoyed growing up.
This makes for some lively debate between his sisters in his absence.
But, for a brief period all the siblings and parents were together to make fun of each other and eat Chinese food. Then the parents went home because they like to leave as much as they like to visit.
Susan's going to miss having this conversation with her mother;
'Your coffee is too strong, Susan.'
'No, it's not.'As much as she'll miss having this one with her father;
'You want some coffee, Pop?'
'Yes, please.'
and Wild Bill has a daughter.
Two days ago Wild Bill and his daughter drove from
Dueling Banjos, N.C. to Suburban Civilization, N.Y.
for an open-ended visit.
Wild Bill is a true middle child who remains faithful to many of the behaviors and activities he enjoyed growing up.
This makes for some lively debate between his sisters in his absence.
But, for a brief period all the siblings and parents were together to make fun of each other and eat Chinese food. Then the parents went home because they like to leave as much as they like to visit.
Susan's going to miss having this conversation with her mother;
'Your coffee is too strong, Susan.'
'No, it's not.'As much as she'll miss having this one with her father;
'You want some coffee, Pop?'
'Yes, please.'
6.24.2009
I Feel Badly
Susan has noticed that people say 'I feel badly' all the time, even smart people with good jobs. Jobs on TV.
When someone says that they feel badly, what they're really saying is that their mechanism for feeling has been compromised.
They're bad at feeling.
Sorry man, can't feel. I don't know, it's just bad.
These people might think that badly sounds smarter than plain old bad. If so, then Susan feels bad for them.
Strunk & White's 'Elements of Style' advises us not to 'dress words up by addling -ly to them, as though putting a hat on a horse.'
Susan agrees.
Susan would like to help steer people from using badly in an improper manner by asking them to consider that if one can feel badly can one also feel goodly?
When someone says that they feel badly, what they're really saying is that their mechanism for feeling has been compromised.
They're bad at feeling.
Sorry man, can't feel. I don't know, it's just bad.
These people might think that badly sounds smarter than plain old bad. If so, then Susan feels bad for them.
Strunk & White's 'Elements of Style' advises us not to 'dress words up by addling -ly to them, as though putting a hat on a horse.'
Susan agrees.
Susan would like to help steer people from using badly in an improper manner by asking them to consider that if one can feel badly can one also feel goodly?
6.21.2009
Ouch
Susan's parents drove up from the heat stroked wasteland of eastern-middle Florida to bunk with her family for a week. Susan's little sister had been hosting them for fifteen years and now it was Susan's turn.
She doesn't mind because you know, they raised her.
Anyway, they're pretty good guests.
They play cards with her kids, put up with the deaf, flatulent dog and pitch in with the chores, even the ones Susan doesn't want them to do.
Susan's old man washes the dishes by hand although Susan has explained that the dishes go in the dishwasher. This isn't an arbitrary rule, if the dishes start getting washed by hand then there won't be enough dishes to run the dishwasher and then they'll all have to get washed by hand. This is a scenario Susan avoids at all cost.
The last time Susan caught her father at the sink he was washing a lasagne pan and she gently reminded him to knock it off.
The next morning Susan was in the kitchen preparing to make a cup of coffee when she saw the lasagne pan.
She picked it up & walked toward the cabinet to put it away but she hit a wet spot. She slid across the floor and didn't stop until all 160 lbs of her, and the lasagne pan, crashed into the wall.
Susan's daughter was reading in the next room and surely heard the sound of the wall stopping her mother's trajectory, yet there was no inquiry. As Susan sat there, she reviewed whether she heard a bone snap. She did not. Eventually, the daughter came in and assisted Susan by taking the lasagne pan so that Susan could crawl across the floor, hoist herself up and make coffee.
She doesn't mind because you know, they raised her.
Anyway, they're pretty good guests.
They play cards with her kids, put up with the deaf, flatulent dog and pitch in with the chores, even the ones Susan doesn't want them to do.
Susan's old man washes the dishes by hand although Susan has explained that the dishes go in the dishwasher. This isn't an arbitrary rule, if the dishes start getting washed by hand then there won't be enough dishes to run the dishwasher and then they'll all have to get washed by hand. This is a scenario Susan avoids at all cost.
The last time Susan caught her father at the sink he was washing a lasagne pan and she gently reminded him to knock it off.
The next morning Susan was in the kitchen preparing to make a cup of coffee when she saw the lasagne pan.
She picked it up & walked toward the cabinet to put it away but she hit a wet spot. She slid across the floor and didn't stop until all 160 lbs of her, and the lasagne pan, crashed into the wall.
Susan's daughter was reading in the next room and surely heard the sound of the wall stopping her mother's trajectory, yet there was no inquiry. As Susan sat there, she reviewed whether she heard a bone snap. She did not. Eventually, the daughter came in and assisted Susan by taking the lasagne pan so that Susan could crawl across the floor, hoist herself up and make coffee.
Ogred Weary
Susan was thinking about Edward Gorey today.
He first caught her attention here when she was a young teenager and she's crossed paths with his artistic talents often enough since then. Last summer, while on a Cape Cod vacation with Cousin Lisa's family, Susan's husband made a wrong turn & they found themselves directly in front of Edward Gorey's House.
It's Edward Gorey's house!
Susan was both excited and accurate.
A quick hop out of the car to peek in windows and rattle door knobs revealed that it was now a museum which had closed for the day. Susan took note of the location and made a plan to return.
Susan's family had rented a cottage on the beach with Cousin Lisa's family for a week. However, Susan prefers to characterize it as a beachfront sh*t hole. It was too small to comfortably fit both families, the appliances appeared to be original prototypes and there wasn't so much as a fan to assist in moving the stifling air about.
Who knew Massachusetts got so hot?
Every morning thousands of tiny spiders could be found sleeping out on the deck after a full night of spinning webs & embedding themselves into everything in sight.
Susan could write volumes about how much she hated the sh*t hole, but she won't because she really just wants to write about Edward Gorey's house.
Susan and Cousin Lisa returned to the house two days later without kids or husbands. It was during this trip that Susan discovered that she has more confidence in maps than talking boxes giving directions.
Edward Gorey's house was old and creaky with a fresh coat of white paint. Mr. Gorey had been a collector of much and a particular pack ratter of books which Susan learned through the photographs on the walls and by talking to the docent. He kept so many books while he lived there that certain rooms were un-navigable. Even with much of the contents removed, Susan found there was plenty to look at and all of it was entertaining.
Cousin Lisa however, was not down with the whole musty house experience & retreated to the outside pretty quickly leaving Susan to poke around undisturbed.
Susan liked Mr. Gorey's tongue in cheekiness. She was especially fond of a hand sewn doll displayed on a windowsill with its head underneath a large rock, and another visible only as a set of legs sticking out from beneath a rug.
Before Susan left she rewarded herself with a few of Mr. Gorey's books, her favorite of which 'The Curious Sofa' made her laugh out loud as she read it, in his house.
He first caught her attention here when she was a young teenager and she's crossed paths with his artistic talents often enough since then. Last summer, while on a Cape Cod vacation with Cousin Lisa's family, Susan's husband made a wrong turn & they found themselves directly in front of Edward Gorey's House.
It's Edward Gorey's house!
Susan was both excited and accurate.
A quick hop out of the car to peek in windows and rattle door knobs revealed that it was now a museum which had closed for the day. Susan took note of the location and made a plan to return.
Susan's family had rented a cottage on the beach with Cousin Lisa's family for a week. However, Susan prefers to characterize it as a beachfront sh*t hole. It was too small to comfortably fit both families, the appliances appeared to be original prototypes and there wasn't so much as a fan to assist in moving the stifling air about.
Who knew Massachusetts got so hot?
Every morning thousands of tiny spiders could be found sleeping out on the deck after a full night of spinning webs & embedding themselves into everything in sight.
Susan could write volumes about how much she hated the sh*t hole, but she won't because she really just wants to write about Edward Gorey's house.
Susan and Cousin Lisa returned to the house two days later without kids or husbands. It was during this trip that Susan discovered that she has more confidence in maps than talking boxes giving directions.
Edward Gorey's house was old and creaky with a fresh coat of white paint. Mr. Gorey had been a collector of much and a particular pack ratter of books which Susan learned through the photographs on the walls and by talking to the docent. He kept so many books while he lived there that certain rooms were un-navigable. Even with much of the contents removed, Susan found there was plenty to look at and all of it was entertaining.
Cousin Lisa however, was not down with the whole musty house experience & retreated to the outside pretty quickly leaving Susan to poke around undisturbed.
Susan liked Mr. Gorey's tongue in cheekiness. She was especially fond of a hand sewn doll displayed on a windowsill with its head underneath a large rock, and another visible only as a set of legs sticking out from beneath a rug.
Before Susan left she rewarded herself with a few of Mr. Gorey's books, her favorite of which 'The Curious Sofa' made her laugh out loud as she read it, in his house.
6.18.2009
Procrastination
Susan's had the same Netflix movie sitting up on top of her television set for a ridiculously long time. She took it with her when she went here and that was months ago!
She has no clear recollection of what movie it is although she's sure it was an interesting choice.
Susan's had a pile of neatly folded clothing sitting on top of the dryer since last summer when she thought it might be a good idea to sell them on eBay. Susan doesn't understand how she's lived for such a long time without being able to use that space for the storage of any number of other things, like her current laundry.
Susan keeps piles of reading material at the ready just in case she finds herself with any time at all to read.
She's fond of keeping her favorite sections of the NY Times folded in quarters for upwards of two months or longer, until she gets around to them.
It's almost summer but Susan hasn't removed her winter coats from the hall closet yet. Neither has she gotten rid of the large plastic bin which holds gloves, ear muffs and woolly winter scarves. All she has to do is make one of her kids carry everything downstairs where there's adequate room for off-season storage.
In Susan's defense she has;
switched her winter/summer clothes and footwear
recycled a ton of magazines/newspapers
reorganized two closets
and generally managed to keep her house stocked with food & toilet paper
She has no clear recollection of what movie it is although she's sure it was an interesting choice.
Susan's had a pile of neatly folded clothing sitting on top of the dryer since last summer when she thought it might be a good idea to sell them on eBay. Susan doesn't understand how she's lived for such a long time without being able to use that space for the storage of any number of other things, like her current laundry.
Susan keeps piles of reading material at the ready just in case she finds herself with any time at all to read.
She's fond of keeping her favorite sections of the NY Times folded in quarters for upwards of two months or longer, until she gets around to them.
It's almost summer but Susan hasn't removed her winter coats from the hall closet yet. Neither has she gotten rid of the large plastic bin which holds gloves, ear muffs and woolly winter scarves. All she has to do is make one of her kids carry everything downstairs where there's adequate room for off-season storage.
In Susan's defense she has;
switched her winter/summer clothes and footwear
recycled a ton of magazines/newspapers
reorganized two closets
and generally managed to keep her house stocked with food & toilet paper
6.14.2009
Grrrrrrr !
Susan hates it when she bangs her shin into the hard plastic container in which she stores the elderly, deaf, flatulent dog's food. Particularly when she kicks it out of frustration and knocks everything all over the floor and onto the piles of laundry she's been throwing into the machine all night.
And, why is the husband in the room asking what she's doing as she's flinging dirty clothes and dog food all over the place?
He's obviously there to make her scream at him to
leave her alone and she'll take care of it, a few times,
and bang sh*t before stomping off to drag the wet/dry vac up the stairs from the basement.
She hates all of it, including catching the kids in the crossfire by yelling at them to clean their room
and go to bed
and vacuum the house
and brush their teeth.
The last thing she hates is the sore throat she gets when she's done.
And, why is the husband in the room asking what she's doing as she's flinging dirty clothes and dog food all over the place?
He's obviously there to make her scream at him to
leave her alone and she'll take care of it, a few times,
and bang sh*t before stomping off to drag the wet/dry vac up the stairs from the basement.
She hates all of it, including catching the kids in the crossfire by yelling at them to clean their room
and go to bed
and vacuum the house
and brush their teeth.
The last thing she hates is the sore throat she gets when she's done.
6.13.2009
Guess Who
Susan and her husband enjoyed an evening out at the home of one of her co-workers. They had fun talking and eating and drinking Polish beer.
Eventually they returned home to find an idling van partially blocking their drive way.
The husband tapped the horn.
The van moved up a bit.
The passenger door swung open and a leg came out, followed by another leg.
Shortly an entire disheveled female body came tumbling out backwards. Susan immediately became aware of a bit of extra flesh as the Disheveled Tumbler's skirt had ridden down far enough to expose some ass cleavage.
Can you guess whose ass Susan was looking at?
Sure you can.
Eventually they returned home to find an idling van partially blocking their drive way.
The husband tapped the horn.
The van moved up a bit.
The passenger door swung open and a leg came out, followed by another leg.
Shortly an entire disheveled female body came tumbling out backwards. Susan immediately became aware of a bit of extra flesh as the Disheveled Tumbler's skirt had ridden down far enough to expose some ass cleavage.
Can you guess whose ass Susan was looking at?
Sure you can.
6.10.2009
Susan Had A Stinky Birthday
Susan learned a few rotten things about herself on her stinky birthday.
Sure, she woke up to find an adorable hand made card from her sweet daughter.
And everybody was nice to her all day, even the folks who didn't know it was her birthday.
And, what could be better than ending up at her little sister's house for a cocktail and dinner and a funny card and a home baked cheesecake?
But somewhere in between all of that she got her
fat birthday ass kicked at work.
Susan spent the bulk of the day alternating between wanting to die of embarrassment and wanting to cry,
but since she couldn't decide, she did neither.
She did, however, get a stomach ache that still hasn't gone away and she enjoyed a bad night's sleep.
Anyway, Susan values introspection particularly when it's jump-started by having her nose rubbed in her own mess.
She can't wait till she's 50.
Sure, she woke up to find an adorable hand made card from her sweet daughter.
And everybody was nice to her all day, even the folks who didn't know it was her birthday.
And, what could be better than ending up at her little sister's house for a cocktail and dinner and a funny card and a home baked cheesecake?
But somewhere in between all of that she got her
fat birthday ass kicked at work.
Susan spent the bulk of the day alternating between wanting to die of embarrassment and wanting to cry,
but since she couldn't decide, she did neither.
She did, however, get a stomach ache that still hasn't gone away and she enjoyed a bad night's sleep.
Anyway, Susan values introspection particularly when it's jump-started by having her nose rubbed in her own mess.
She can't wait till she's 50.
6.07.2009
Saturday Night
Susan's birthday is imminent.
She's wanted nothing more in the way of celebration than to sit in a movie theatre with the husband's arm draped over her shoulder on a Saturday night.
Simple enough.
However, over the 13.4 years that they've been raising children it has been almost impossible to
(a) find a movie worth seeing and
(b) get out of the house to see it.
History has revealed that Susan will most likely detest what she watches but she has chosen to live in hope.
Susan had no argument with the price of the tickets.
Why bother? She may as well argue about the price of everything in the world. But Susan had a tremendous TWISTED response to the foul assortment of television commercials she was exposed to before the movie began.
Television commercials at the movies, Mary, mother of God!
Susan has taught her children that commercials are packaged lies used to manipulate money from hardworking people. She makes this point at every available opportunity drilling it into their soft, impressionable brains.
Susan complained bitterly and without restraint to the husband as each deplorable and unimaginative commercial assaulted her. In the past Susan has boo-ed the movie screen at the first whiff of a commercial, only to be boo-ed back by an audience of brainless zombies. She hopes they're happy to have gotten what they wanted.
Oh, she liked the movie.
She's wanted nothing more in the way of celebration than to sit in a movie theatre with the husband's arm draped over her shoulder on a Saturday night.
Simple enough.
However, over the 13.4 years that they've been raising children it has been almost impossible to
(a) find a movie worth seeing and
(b) get out of the house to see it.
History has revealed that Susan will most likely detest what she watches but she has chosen to live in hope.
Susan had no argument with the price of the tickets.
Why bother? She may as well argue about the price of everything in the world. But Susan had a tremendous TWISTED response to the foul assortment of television commercials she was exposed to before the movie began.
Television commercials at the movies, Mary, mother of God!
Susan has taught her children that commercials are packaged lies used to manipulate money from hardworking people. She makes this point at every available opportunity drilling it into their soft, impressionable brains.
Susan complained bitterly and without restraint to the husband as each deplorable and unimaginative commercial assaulted her. In the past Susan has boo-ed the movie screen at the first whiff of a commercial, only to be boo-ed back by an audience of brainless zombies. She hopes they're happy to have gotten what they wanted.
Oh, she liked the movie.
6.05.2009
A Lifetime of Stubble, Enjoy.
For weeks and weeks Susan's sweet little crybaby of a daughter had been requesting to shave her legs.
Each time she did Susan stuck one of her own legs up under her daughter's nose and screetched 'This is what they'll feel like if you shave them!'
The very popular 'I don't care!' was offered back.
Followed by, 'All the girls in my class shave them.'
Susan knew her days in control were numbered.
She reviewed the situation;
Shaving was inevitable. How long did she really think she could put her daughter off with summer just around the corner?
Susan is very sedentary, did she have the energy for a battle over leg hair?
Oy. Susan was talking herself into it.
The daughter had been wearing her brassiere.
Susan noticed but said nothing.
The daughter knew that Susan knew.
And Susan knew that the daughter knew she knew.
They had sort of an unspoken understanding and this is what ultimately tipped the leg-shaving scale in the daughter's direction.
Susan's daughter was on her way to the shower. Susan stopped her and handed over a well worn down razor. Susan retrieved her Trader Joe's Honey Mango shaving cream and handed that over too. Then she went off to sob into a load of laundry.
Each time she did Susan stuck one of her own legs up under her daughter's nose and screetched 'This is what they'll feel like if you shave them!'
The very popular 'I don't care!' was offered back.
Followed by, 'All the girls in my class shave them.'
Susan knew her days in control were numbered.
She reviewed the situation;
Shaving was inevitable. How long did she really think she could put her daughter off with summer just around the corner?
Susan is very sedentary, did she have the energy for a battle over leg hair?
Oy. Susan was talking herself into it.
The daughter had been wearing her brassiere.
Susan noticed but said nothing.
The daughter knew that Susan knew.
And Susan knew that the daughter knew she knew.
They had sort of an unspoken understanding and this is what ultimately tipped the leg-shaving scale in the daughter's direction.
Susan's daughter was on her way to the shower. Susan stopped her and handed over a well worn down razor. Susan retrieved her Trader Joe's Honey Mango shaving cream and handed that over too. Then she went off to sob into a load of laundry.
6.04.2009
Susan's Blog List
Is everyone checking out Susan's Blog List up there to the right? She hopes so because her blogging sisters need readers. And, who knows, maybe you'll fall in love a little, the way Susan has.
This one is sort of an exception, but it's written by the meanest girl in eleventh grade and Susan insists that you read it.
i am bossy kept Susan company during the last few months of her unemployment and hipped her to a whole new universe from the dining room table. Thanks, Bossy!
Dawn In Austin was next. Currently she's on her way to Greece via Abu Dhabi with the husband.
Cupcake Murphy, Vanessa and Sunny Side Up all have a big fan in Susan.
Best of Craigslist has a deceptive format which only makes it funnier.
Isle Dance is all ballsy adventurousness and led Susan to Veggie Wedgie.
Lost and Found in India is Susan's next reading project.
finslippy is brand new for Susan and bloody hilarious.
Mrs. G is an entire sisterhood rolled into one feminist hallucination.
And lastly, Susan would like to leave you with Sevedra and Stephanie.
Kisses, ladies!
This one is sort of an exception, but it's written by the meanest girl in eleventh grade and Susan insists that you read it.
i am bossy kept Susan company during the last few months of her unemployment and hipped her to a whole new universe from the dining room table. Thanks, Bossy!
Dawn In Austin was next. Currently she's on her way to Greece via Abu Dhabi with the husband.
Cupcake Murphy, Vanessa and Sunny Side Up all have a big fan in Susan.
Best of Craigslist has a deceptive format which only makes it funnier.
Isle Dance is all ballsy adventurousness and led Susan to Veggie Wedgie.
Lost and Found in India is Susan's next reading project.
finslippy is brand new for Susan and bloody hilarious.
Mrs. G is an entire sisterhood rolled into one feminist hallucination.
And lastly, Susan would like to leave you with Sevedra and Stephanie.
Kisses, ladies!
6.03.2009
Fuckleupagus is back
Things had been going well for Susan's son.
She kept him under the microscope by maintaining weekly contact with the bulk of his teachers (the reader will forgive her for being unconcerned with gym or Family Consumer Science), monitoring his assignments and eventually re-thinking her disciplinary strategy.
She gave him a few short term goals so that he could win back one of his precious electronics and as soon as he did all available attention was diverted away from his schoolwork.
Susan does a pretty good job keeping on top of all the grown up things she has to do, but she's not above getting sidetracked. It's the byproduct of a life filled with trying to do too many things at once. It doesn't help that advancing decrepitude has taken it's toll on her memory, like when she sticks her head in the fridge & has no recollection of what she's looking for or can't remember words like regulation and garbage can.
Middle School Progress Reports were mailed out last week.
Some of the son's grades were impressive, as is expected, but a smaller amount made Susan want to throw up.
She immediately reinstated his Fuckleupagus status, stripped him of every available liberty, even ones he never had then started with the threats. When Susan was finished jumping up & down and screaming her head hurt, she had a twitch and needed a big glass of orange juice. With vodka.
She kept him under the microscope by maintaining weekly contact with the bulk of his teachers (the reader will forgive her for being unconcerned with gym or Family Consumer Science), monitoring his assignments and eventually re-thinking her disciplinary strategy.
She gave him a few short term goals so that he could win back one of his precious electronics and as soon as he did all available attention was diverted away from his schoolwork.
Susan does a pretty good job keeping on top of all the grown up things she has to do, but she's not above getting sidetracked. It's the byproduct of a life filled with trying to do too many things at once. It doesn't help that advancing decrepitude has taken it's toll on her memory, like when she sticks her head in the fridge & has no recollection of what she's looking for or can't remember words like regulation and garbage can.
Middle School Progress Reports were mailed out last week.
Some of the son's grades were impressive, as is expected, but a smaller amount made Susan want to throw up.
She immediately reinstated his Fuckleupagus status, stripped him of every available liberty, even ones he never had then started with the threats. When Susan was finished jumping up & down and screaming her head hurt, she had a twitch and needed a big glass of orange juice. With vodka.
5.31.2009
A Little Drunks Story
Early Saturday evening Susan borrowed her little sister's membership card & set out with her children to the local discount warehouse to purchase $170 worth of olive oil, dog biscuits and Craisins. The husband was left in peace to watch his beloved Yankees from a favorite seat,
the chair in their bedroom. It's a nice set-up, the chair is close to the TV and next to the window, the ledge of which he uses as a perch for his cup of tea and whatever trash he produces while he sits there.
The view from the window looks diagonally across the street to the front of the Drunks' house.
Susan recalled that she had seen Mr. Drunk earlier in the afternoon, shirtless and slightly unsteady as he stood in the front yard surveying his newly varnished fence.
The husband soon became aware of a small commotion in the street. Apparently, Mr. Drunk had wedged himself into a child's Big Wheel. Susan doesn't understand how Mr. Drunk could fit himself into a Big Wheel, but this is what the husband told her, which was later corroborated by her next-door neighbor, so obviously this is possible. Anyway, Mr. Drunk rode the Big Wheel between his house and another house a few doors down the hill connecting them, which triggered a shouting match.
It's Susan's understanding that Mr. Drunk and the resident of the other house have a history of mutual aggitation, so it's natural that Mr. Drunk would wheel himself back home cursing and yelling.
The object of Mr. Drunks' adolescent tirade did not follow him up the hill, so Mr. Drunk stood alone in his yard spewing a sloppy soliloquoy of threatened ass-kickings.
At some point Mrs. Drunk came out to calm him down. This was a new role for Mrs. Drunk, she must have been a few cocktails behind her husband and therefore held on to some semblance of normal thought.
Susan's husband reports that Mr. and Mrs. Drunk continued yelling at each other for 20 minutes. Susan doesn't know how it ended because when the husband realized she was going to blog about it he stopped giving her information.
the chair in their bedroom. It's a nice set-up, the chair is close to the TV and next to the window, the ledge of which he uses as a perch for his cup of tea and whatever trash he produces while he sits there.
The view from the window looks diagonally across the street to the front of the Drunks' house.
Susan recalled that she had seen Mr. Drunk earlier in the afternoon, shirtless and slightly unsteady as he stood in the front yard surveying his newly varnished fence.
The husband soon became aware of a small commotion in the street. Apparently, Mr. Drunk had wedged himself into a child's Big Wheel. Susan doesn't understand how Mr. Drunk could fit himself into a Big Wheel, but this is what the husband told her, which was later corroborated by her next-door neighbor, so obviously this is possible. Anyway, Mr. Drunk rode the Big Wheel between his house and another house a few doors down the hill connecting them, which triggered a shouting match.
It's Susan's understanding that Mr. Drunk and the resident of the other house have a history of mutual aggitation, so it's natural that Mr. Drunk would wheel himself back home cursing and yelling.
The object of Mr. Drunks' adolescent tirade did not follow him up the hill, so Mr. Drunk stood alone in his yard spewing a sloppy soliloquoy of threatened ass-kickings.
At some point Mrs. Drunk came out to calm him down. This was a new role for Mrs. Drunk, she must have been a few cocktails behind her husband and therefore held on to some semblance of normal thought.
Susan's husband reports that Mr. and Mrs. Drunk continued yelling at each other for 20 minutes. Susan doesn't know how it ended because when the husband realized she was going to blog about it he stopped giving her information.
Blessed? Shut Up.
Blessed is the word that bugs Susan the most and unless Jesus is speaking she doesn't want to hear it.
Other things that bug her are;
modern baby names
the bagels in her neighborhood
TV news
when she breaks a tooth
the price of the NY Times
being interrupted
Drew Barrymore
LOL
wet laundry left in the machine long enough to be washed again
the bastardized American version of any foreign movie
political pontification
small dogs in shopping carts
Frank McCourt's books
To be continued...
Other things that bug her are;
modern baby names
the bagels in her neighborhood
TV news
when she breaks a tooth
the price of the NY Times
being interrupted
Drew Barrymore
LOL
wet laundry left in the machine long enough to be washed again
the bastardized American version of any foreign movie
political pontification
small dogs in shopping carts
Frank McCourt's books
To be continued...
5.30.2009
Susan Likes Kate Gosselin
She's not saying that K8 isn't a b*tch because she certainly appears to be one.
Susan likes K8 because she's not a fawning idiot like everyone else is on TV.
Susan likes K8 because she's real and frustrated and personally limited, and knows it.
She's scared of surprises & doesn't like the outdoors.
She gave vomiting children their own pails and set them up for naps on the floor in the laundry room.
She washed clothes based on which kid they belong to, not by color, for organizational purposes.
Susan likes that K8 drove the very pleasant Steve Thomas to say she was hard on the outside, like her oatmeal cookies.
Most of all Susan likes that K8 cracks the whip,
she's no cool mom.
Susan doesn't like cool moms.
Susan likes K8 because she's not a fawning idiot like everyone else is on TV.
Susan likes K8 because she's real and frustrated and personally limited, and knows it.
She's scared of surprises & doesn't like the outdoors.
She gave vomiting children their own pails and set them up for naps on the floor in the laundry room.
She washed clothes based on which kid they belong to, not by color, for organizational purposes.
Susan likes that K8 drove the very pleasant Steve Thomas to say she was hard on the outside, like her oatmeal cookies.
Most of all Susan likes that K8 cracks the whip,
she's no cool mom.
Susan doesn't like cool moms.
5.28.2009
Where's The F*cking Craisins?
Susan bakes to relax. She likes things in loaf pans because then she can take a slice with her for breakfast.
Susan's current favorite things to bake are cranberry orange bread, zucchini carrot bread and banana bread with Chinese 5 spice powder.
Lately she's been in the mood for soda bread,
it's moist & sweet with lots of raisins & caraway seeds. Susan ran out of caraway seeds around St. Patrick's Day for obvious reasons and hasn't been able to pick any up, particularly when they're $3.99 for a few teaspoons. Anyway, she eventually found caraway seeds for a price she could live with and was all set. Except for the flour, she only had whole wheat in the house. She would be making whole wheat soda bread.
Susan keeps a bag of Craisins in her cabinet because she likes the option of throwing them into her baked goods. There's always a bag up there. Sometimes her son finds them, or the husband and then it's not unusual for the entire bag to be eaten in one sitting. Susan has gone f*cking insane often enough when someone eats the last of something & doesn't include it on the shopping list,
it shouldn't be an issue any more. I mean, she's not asking for anything crazy, just write the sh*t down on the list. It's always in the same spot, centrally located, not hard to find.
And where's the bag of Craisins?
Susan went through her normal TWISTED hystrionics; shouting, slamming, cursing, slamming and cursing. When she was done she cut up some figs, or dates, Susan gets them confused. She threw them into the whole wheat flour and baked her soda bread.
It came out good.
Susan's current favorite things to bake are cranberry orange bread, zucchini carrot bread and banana bread with Chinese 5 spice powder.
Lately she's been in the mood for soda bread,
it's moist & sweet with lots of raisins & caraway seeds. Susan ran out of caraway seeds around St. Patrick's Day for obvious reasons and hasn't been able to pick any up, particularly when they're $3.99 for a few teaspoons. Anyway, she eventually found caraway seeds for a price she could live with and was all set. Except for the flour, she only had whole wheat in the house. She would be making whole wheat soda bread.
Susan keeps a bag of Craisins in her cabinet because she likes the option of throwing them into her baked goods. There's always a bag up there. Sometimes her son finds them, or the husband and then it's not unusual for the entire bag to be eaten in one sitting. Susan has gone f*cking insane often enough when someone eats the last of something & doesn't include it on the shopping list,
it shouldn't be an issue any more. I mean, she's not asking for anything crazy, just write the sh*t down on the list. It's always in the same spot, centrally located, not hard to find.
And where's the bag of Craisins?
Susan went through her normal TWISTED hystrionics; shouting, slamming, cursing, slamming and cursing. When she was done she cut up some figs, or dates, Susan gets them confused. She threw them into the whole wheat flour and baked her soda bread.
It came out good.
5.26.2009
Susan's A Weight Watcher Again
Susan is back in WW but she doesn't mind. She doesn't fight the process; the meetings, writing down what she eats, watching her portions. Susan draws the line at weighing her food though, that's a bit too much.
She eyeballs things.
Susan's on board with the whole healthy eating scene anyway, she just veers off course every once in a while. Like, from Thanksgiving to spring and all summer.
Susan is attending the same meeting she's been to in the past. Even with a whole new group of participants she's noticed an unusual pattern.
Oy, they're boring.
Now, Susan can sit and talk about food endlessly. No manner of food related conversation has ever bored her. Tonight, one girl told a painfully detailed story about how her husband speculated to a stranger purchasing a large brownie that it likely had many points. Everyone roared. Susan wondered if she were being watched from Heaven by Allen Funt.
No one who spoke had any thought for those who were listening. At one point two people were speaking at once, no one was listening and all was chaos.
The last time Susan joined WW she shared the weekly meetings with a thirty-something woman who talked oppressively. Susan cut her alot of slack because the the thirty-something woman baked 1 point treats for the group and gave out good recipes. However, a terrible thing happened; the thirty-something woman's husband died suddenly leaving her with two young children.
Everyone felt bad, including Susan. How could she not? Nonetheless, Susan enjoyed the silence for the short period of time that the thirty-something woman stayed home from the meetings. When she came back she was angry, sad and didn't bring treats.
Susan couldn't take it. Every time the WW widow began to talk Susan covered her ears and dove under her chair. This wasn't therapy, Susan had no obligation to listen to the person who was slowly driving her mad. Ultimately, the WW widow was responsible for chasing Susan away.
Susan ran fast and hard.
She eyeballs things.
Susan's on board with the whole healthy eating scene anyway, she just veers off course every once in a while. Like, from Thanksgiving to spring and all summer.
Susan is attending the same meeting she's been to in the past. Even with a whole new group of participants she's noticed an unusual pattern.
Oy, they're boring.
Now, Susan can sit and talk about food endlessly. No manner of food related conversation has ever bored her. Tonight, one girl told a painfully detailed story about how her husband speculated to a stranger purchasing a large brownie that it likely had many points. Everyone roared. Susan wondered if she were being watched from Heaven by Allen Funt.
No one who spoke had any thought for those who were listening. At one point two people were speaking at once, no one was listening and all was chaos.
The last time Susan joined WW she shared the weekly meetings with a thirty-something woman who talked oppressively. Susan cut her alot of slack because the the thirty-something woman baked 1 point treats for the group and gave out good recipes. However, a terrible thing happened; the thirty-something woman's husband died suddenly leaving her with two young children.
Everyone felt bad, including Susan. How could she not? Nonetheless, Susan enjoyed the silence for the short period of time that the thirty-something woman stayed home from the meetings. When she came back she was angry, sad and didn't bring treats.
Susan couldn't take it. Every time the WW widow began to talk Susan covered her ears and dove under her chair. This wasn't therapy, Susan had no obligation to listen to the person who was slowly driving her mad. Ultimately, the WW widow was responsible for chasing Susan away.
Susan ran fast and hard.
5.24.2009
West Side Story
Susan has already bored her family talking about West Side Story, so they can just skip right over this post if they want.
Susan is able to trace a few aspects of her personality back to their roots in her childhood. For example, Susan's parents used to drive their children down to D.C. during the steamy month of August to stand on long lines and be dragged through museums. The grown-up Susan loves museums and architecture and cities.
Loves them.
When Susan's mother wasn't screaming at Susan or breaking a wooden spoon across her ass, she would let Susan sit with her and watch the Million Dollar Movie on Sunday afternoons. The grown-up Susan loves old movies.
Loves them.
She also loves tragic movies, the sort that leave her with real grief for fake people.
When Susan was in Junior High she sat downstairs over the course of two nights to watch West Side Story.
She doesn't recall what attracted her to West Side Story, she just remembers that it took two evenings and left her devastated. Wrecked. Destroyed.
Susan walked around for weeks with a broken heart. She knew what tragedy was because she FELT it. Deeply, like a suburban thirteen year old.
Anyway, fast forward thirty five years. Susan is lying in bed late one night and finds West Side Story on the TV, three quarters of the way through. Susan hasn't watched it since that first time when it left her broken and crying in silence, praying not to be discovered.
(Sidebar: the grown-up Susan will still not cry in front of anyone unless it's completely unavoidable).
Susan was powerless to change the channel.
Tony had already killed Bernardo and was in Maria's room. The next scene found Tony in Maria's bed without his shirt on. Maria was draped fully clothed, cross intact, alongside him.
Susan knew what had just happened. Good for Maria!
Tony sings then Anita knocks on the door.
The lovers arrange to meet later that night and Tony jumps out the window. He's running down the street as Anita is let in and figures out what just happened.
Anita angrily sings to Maria about her choice in boyfriend and Maria sweetly sings back that she's in love and Anita should be able to relate, even though Anita's boyfriend was just killed by Maria's boyfriend.
Oy!
Guess who's lying in bed crying?
Susan is able to trace a few aspects of her personality back to their roots in her childhood. For example, Susan's parents used to drive their children down to D.C. during the steamy month of August to stand on long lines and be dragged through museums. The grown-up Susan loves museums and architecture and cities.
Loves them.
When Susan's mother wasn't screaming at Susan or breaking a wooden spoon across her ass, she would let Susan sit with her and watch the Million Dollar Movie on Sunday afternoons. The grown-up Susan loves old movies.
Loves them.
She also loves tragic movies, the sort that leave her with real grief for fake people.
When Susan was in Junior High she sat downstairs over the course of two nights to watch West Side Story.
She doesn't recall what attracted her to West Side Story, she just remembers that it took two evenings and left her devastated. Wrecked. Destroyed.
Susan walked around for weeks with a broken heart. She knew what tragedy was because she FELT it. Deeply, like a suburban thirteen year old.
Anyway, fast forward thirty five years. Susan is lying in bed late one night and finds West Side Story on the TV, three quarters of the way through. Susan hasn't watched it since that first time when it left her broken and crying in silence, praying not to be discovered.
(Sidebar: the grown-up Susan will still not cry in front of anyone unless it's completely unavoidable).
Susan was powerless to change the channel.
Tony had already killed Bernardo and was in Maria's room. The next scene found Tony in Maria's bed without his shirt on. Maria was draped fully clothed, cross intact, alongside him.
Susan knew what had just happened. Good for Maria!
Tony sings then Anita knocks on the door.
The lovers arrange to meet later that night and Tony jumps out the window. He's running down the street as Anita is let in and figures out what just happened.
Anita angrily sings to Maria about her choice in boyfriend and Maria sweetly sings back that she's in love and Anita should be able to relate, even though Anita's boyfriend was just killed by Maria's boyfriend.
Oy!
Guess who's lying in bed crying?
5.22.2009
The End Of A Long Week
How is it possible that as soon as Susan pours herself a glass of wine there's a dead fruit fly in it? There's not even any fruit in the house unless you count limes.
Susan removed the wee fly undeterred & continued as if it were still in flight.
Long ago Susan drank a whole collection of fruit flies in the bottom of a glass of sherry. She mistook them for some fruit pulp. It took a few sips to realize there's no pulp in sherry. But, that was back when she was more in the habit of drinking and a little slow-witted. Now she's right on top of the situation & aware of what's floating dead in her glass before she drinks it.
In her youth Susan had a few bad habits, but let's just stick to drinking and smoking tobacco for now.
Being Irish, Susan was in love with alcohol. She was also in love with cigarettes although that was more love-hate. Susan has alcoholism in her family and wanted to avoid that route so she entered into a drinking awareness partnership with her friend *the undertaker, who has a similar background. Together they helped eachother emerge intact. Then came motherhood for Susan and the cigarettes went out the window.
Nowadays Susan is happy with her reduced alcoholic intake, as long as she can still have some sort of intake. Susan never missed the cigarettes although she likes to smell the dirty smokers as they file back in from their break.
*Susan's friend used to be an undertaker now he does this.
Susan removed the wee fly undeterred & continued as if it were still in flight.
Long ago Susan drank a whole collection of fruit flies in the bottom of a glass of sherry. She mistook them for some fruit pulp. It took a few sips to realize there's no pulp in sherry. But, that was back when she was more in the habit of drinking and a little slow-witted. Now she's right on top of the situation & aware of what's floating dead in her glass before she drinks it.
In her youth Susan had a few bad habits, but let's just stick to drinking and smoking tobacco for now.
Being Irish, Susan was in love with alcohol. She was also in love with cigarettes although that was more love-hate. Susan has alcoholism in her family and wanted to avoid that route so she entered into a drinking awareness partnership with her friend *the undertaker, who has a similar background. Together they helped eachother emerge intact. Then came motherhood for Susan and the cigarettes went out the window.
Nowadays Susan is happy with her reduced alcoholic intake, as long as she can still have some sort of intake. Susan never missed the cigarettes although she likes to smell the dirty smokers as they file back in from their break.
*Susan's friend used to be an undertaker now he does this.
5.18.2009
Susan Has A Monkey On Her Back
And it looks like little bags of peanut M&Ms.
She's been hallucinating because sometimes her monkey looks like Hershey Kisses or teeny bars of chocolate with crispy rice inside, none of which she really likes but neither does she really care.
Susan was toying with this bad habit during her sabbatical from the working world. She used to have a problem back in the day, but thought she could handle it this time.
Poor sap.
Susan fell face first into back into the life around Xmas cookie season. Lately she's been scoring during regular business hours, it's easy to get strung out when the hard stuff is all around her.
Susan is going to reach out before it's too late, while she's still a size 12. She knows some people the next town over who can help.
Every Tuesday night at 7pm, up on the scale.
It's going to be tough but if she's lucky she'll lose a pound a week and be outta there in two months.
God help her.
She's been hallucinating because sometimes her monkey looks like Hershey Kisses or teeny bars of chocolate with crispy rice inside, none of which she really likes but neither does she really care.
Susan was toying with this bad habit during her sabbatical from the working world. She used to have a problem back in the day, but thought she could handle it this time.
Poor sap.
Susan fell face first into back into the life around Xmas cookie season. Lately she's been scoring during regular business hours, it's easy to get strung out when the hard stuff is all around her.
Susan is going to reach out before it's too late, while she's still a size 12. She knows some people the next town over who can help.
Every Tuesday night at 7pm, up on the scale.
It's going to be tough but if she's lucky she'll lose a pound a week and be outta there in two months.
God help her.
5.13.2009
More Sloppy Sisters
Over the last few days Susan has seen some appalling examples of fat ass peek-a-boo, nipple protrusion and boobage overspill.
Susan hopes that she doesn't offend anyone who might object to the term fat ass, she'd just like to make the point that this particular ass was truly fat.
As were the boobs. Neither was fat enough to attract attention on their own, not unless they were completely unrestrained beneath the most threadbare combination of
t-shirt and capri pants, held up by a worn-out elasticized waist band, of which the ability to function properly had been extremely compromised.
Susan could not take her eyes off the large woman,
sans brassiere and underpanties, who was removing something from the trunk of her car,
as her bosoms slapped against everything within reach,
and her pants slid so far south that Susan was actually looking at the top half of an ass in broad daylight outside her son's Tae Kwon Do school.
The nipple protrusion, in tandem with boobage overspill, was witnessed by Susan in the middle school auditorium. The perpetrator was a mature woman, one who should already know how to determine the fit of her brassiere or use a mirror to assess her outfit before she walked out the door.
Unfortunately for everyone she didn't and left the house with two sets of busoms and one gigantic set of nipples, which presumably had been drilling their way to fresh air for some time.
The final, and most egregious example of boobage overspill was provided by a perfectly lovely young woman,
adorably attired in jeans and clingy layered t-shirts.
There is no reason why the upper portion of her boobs should spill so far out over brassiere that they rival the amount of boobs contained within the brassiere. Be assured, Susan's not talking about cleavage here, she's talking about sloppy boobie muffin top.
Ladies, check yourselves. Check each other.
Don't let your girls travel sloppy.
Susan hopes that she doesn't offend anyone who might object to the term fat ass, she'd just like to make the point that this particular ass was truly fat.
As were the boobs. Neither was fat enough to attract attention on their own, not unless they were completely unrestrained beneath the most threadbare combination of
t-shirt and capri pants, held up by a worn-out elasticized waist band, of which the ability to function properly had been extremely compromised.
Susan could not take her eyes off the large woman,
sans brassiere and underpanties, who was removing something from the trunk of her car,
as her bosoms slapped against everything within reach,
and her pants slid so far south that Susan was actually looking at the top half of an ass in broad daylight outside her son's Tae Kwon Do school.
The nipple protrusion, in tandem with boobage overspill, was witnessed by Susan in the middle school auditorium. The perpetrator was a mature woman, one who should already know how to determine the fit of her brassiere or use a mirror to assess her outfit before she walked out the door.
Unfortunately for everyone she didn't and left the house with two sets of busoms and one gigantic set of nipples, which presumably had been drilling their way to fresh air for some time.
The final, and most egregious example of boobage overspill was provided by a perfectly lovely young woman,
adorably attired in jeans and clingy layered t-shirts.
There is no reason why the upper portion of her boobs should spill so far out over brassiere that they rival the amount of boobs contained within the brassiere. Be assured, Susan's not talking about cleavage here, she's talking about sloppy boobie muffin top.
Ladies, check yourselves. Check each other.
Don't let your girls travel sloppy.
5.11.2009
Save The Date!
Does anyone else hate these vile little things?
Susan doesn't need to be told, eons in advance, that she'll be getting an invitation to something she doesn't wish to attend.
Another wedding?
Spare her, Sweet Jesus!
Two smiling, hopeful, untested faces peeking out from within a refrigerator magnet imploring us to Save The Date!
As if.
The only thing Susan might be even remotely excited about is the cake.
Her childrens' dentist should send her a magnet, it takes six months to get an appointment.
New love.
Susan's husband is fond of saying that it turns to old hate.
It's a little pessimistic, she knows.
But funny, considering how happy he is being married to Susan.
Save The Date!
But don't let Susan find one of these things in your kitchen.
Susan doesn't need to be told, eons in advance, that she'll be getting an invitation to something she doesn't wish to attend.
Another wedding?
Spare her, Sweet Jesus!
Two smiling, hopeful, untested faces peeking out from within a refrigerator magnet imploring us to Save The Date!
As if.
The only thing Susan might be even remotely excited about is the cake.
Her childrens' dentist should send her a magnet, it takes six months to get an appointment.
New love.
Susan's husband is fond of saying that it turns to old hate.
It's a little pessimistic, she knows.
But funny, considering how happy he is being married to Susan.
Save The Date!
But don't let Susan find one of these things in your kitchen.
5.10.2009
Mother's Day
Susan spent a lovely Mother's Day with a number of her girl cousins at the New York Botanical Gardens,
located within the borough of her birth, The Bronx.
Susan's cousins are one of the great joys in her life.
They see each other quite regularly even while having to sit in a car for an hour or two to do so. They've been lucky with the two who married into the group and all enjoy a pleasant camaraderie although Susan will admit that she's not the first one to warm up to anyone new.
Anyway, the gardens.
Susan hates the tropics but loves all manner of palm trees and the conservatory at the gardens was filled with them;
towering palms and big leafy things.
There were beautiful, colorful, fragrant flowers, a few with very suggestive looking parts.
Impressively pointy succulents, some tall, some round but all BIG. And orchids everywhere.
Susan really liked the carnivorous plants and discovered a centipede trapped inside a pitcher plant.
The pitcher plant is sort of test tube shaped with a little lid, anything making their way in won't get out again
and may look forward to being digested.
Except for this little sonofab*tch.
Perhaps spurned on by the attention, he extricated himself, hit the floor and legged it out of there.
Very exciting stuff for a garden.
Afterwards everyone met back at Aunt Eileen's house where they sat in the late afternoon sun eating, drinking, telling stories, taking pictures and having fun.
located within the borough of her birth, The Bronx.
Susan's cousins are one of the great joys in her life.
They see each other quite regularly even while having to sit in a car for an hour or two to do so. They've been lucky with the two who married into the group and all enjoy a pleasant camaraderie although Susan will admit that she's not the first one to warm up to anyone new.
Anyway, the gardens.
Susan hates the tropics but loves all manner of palm trees and the conservatory at the gardens was filled with them;
towering palms and big leafy things.
There were beautiful, colorful, fragrant flowers, a few with very suggestive looking parts.
Impressively pointy succulents, some tall, some round but all BIG. And orchids everywhere.
Susan really liked the carnivorous plants and discovered a centipede trapped inside a pitcher plant.
The pitcher plant is sort of test tube shaped with a little lid, anything making their way in won't get out again
and may look forward to being digested.
Except for this little sonofab*tch.
Perhaps spurned on by the attention, he extricated himself, hit the floor and legged it out of there.
Very exciting stuff for a garden.
Afterwards everyone met back at Aunt Eileen's house where they sat in the late afternoon sun eating, drinking, telling stories, taking pictures and having fun.
5.02.2009
Sangria
Susan loves sangria.
She makes it exclusively with cheap red wine and whatever fruit she happens to have on the kitchen counter, except bananas.
She adds plenty of orange juice.
Her little sister prefers to use orange soda.
Lately Susan has been adding some homemade limoncello, which is essentially pure alcohol infused with lemon peels, and simple syrup. It adds a wonderful tarty sweetness. However, Susan's little sister commented that it made the sangria too strong. So, in went more orange juice.
Susan has a bottle of Portuguese firewater
which is totally undrinkable and when added to sangria,
it makes that undrinkable too.
She makes it exclusively with cheap red wine and whatever fruit she happens to have on the kitchen counter, except bananas.
She adds plenty of orange juice.
Her little sister prefers to use orange soda.
Lately Susan has been adding some homemade limoncello, which is essentially pure alcohol infused with lemon peels, and simple syrup. It adds a wonderful tarty sweetness. However, Susan's little sister commented that it made the sangria too strong. So, in went more orange juice.
Susan has a bottle of Portuguese firewater
which is totally undrinkable and when added to sangria,
it makes that undrinkable too.
5.01.2009
In The Dressing Room
Susan's daughter has been requesting new clothes for weeks. The weather is getting warmer and the kid is still wearing her winter clothes. Plus she's growing out of them. Last week, in an effort to buy a little time, Susan cut off some sleeves and turned a pair of jeans into capris, making nice hems and everything.
Eventually Susan could put her daughter off no longer and took her shopping after dinner.
Susan likes to shop with her daughter because she's a good kid, doesn't beg or act bratty, and is generally a pleasure to be around. Do you know why that is?
Because that's how Susan raised her.
Susan's daughter was extra modest in the dressing room trying to conceal the teeniest little beginnings of breasts. Susan is sure they weren't there last week.
Susan waited until the end of the evening to mention her observation. She took her daughter over to the juvenile underwear aisle looking for a 30A brassiere with just a whisper of padding.
The daughter was not happy but went along because Susan's will was too strong to resist.
Plus the daughter was tired.
Two brassieres were tried on as if they were made of sandpaper. However, when Susan asked if she could purchase one 'just in case you want to wear it later'
her daughter replied 'I don't know', which meant yes.
Susan bought her daughter her first brassiere and used the short drive home to discuss close mommy-daughter things even though her daughter's participation was minimal.
Eventually Susan could put her daughter off no longer and took her shopping after dinner.
Susan likes to shop with her daughter because she's a good kid, doesn't beg or act bratty, and is generally a pleasure to be around. Do you know why that is?
Because that's how Susan raised her.
Susan's daughter was extra modest in the dressing room trying to conceal the teeniest little beginnings of breasts. Susan is sure they weren't there last week.
Susan waited until the end of the evening to mention her observation. She took her daughter over to the juvenile underwear aisle looking for a 30A brassiere with just a whisper of padding.
The daughter was not happy but went along because Susan's will was too strong to resist.
Plus the daughter was tired.
Two brassieres were tried on as if they were made of sandpaper. However, when Susan asked if she could purchase one 'just in case you want to wear it later'
her daughter replied 'I don't know', which meant yes.
Susan bought her daughter her first brassiere and used the short drive home to discuss close mommy-daughter things even though her daughter's participation was minimal.
4.29.2009
The Drunks Were At It Again. Oy!
Susan was up very late last night reading.
She read without a care for the hour, or her bladder or what she would wear in the morning to her recently acquired job. She was happy to have only the quiet of a Tuesday night to keep her company.
Susan was comfortably situated near an open window in her living room when she became aware that Mrs. Drunk was out in the street. Mrs. Drunk sounded sloppy and stupid, which means she was speaking in her normal conversational tone.
Since Susan was not being directly addressed she was able to put aside the moderate disturbance caused by Mrs. Drunk and continue reading. Susan is able to tune out all sorts of background noises thanks to training provided by her children. Anything really loud like the sustained shrieks of a toddler or something heavy crashing down the stairs or a car alarm will be impossible to ignore and demand investigation. So, one can imagine how much attention two car alarms going off in the wee hours of a Wednesday morning would require.
Lots.
The first alarm went off directly in front of Susan's house. She expected the car's owner to fly on winged feet to quiet the ear splitting racket, but this didn't happen. Instead, the alarm of a second car began to clang and crash and roar. This made Susan hop up and walk outside where she observed someone resembling Mr. Drunk, illuminated by flashing headlights, dancing to the monstrous beat of the dual alarms.
Susan was joined outside by her husband. The two watched in quiet unison as each car was eventually rendered silent with the turn of a key. A 'sorry' was tossed in their direction and once again the street became just what it should be, quiet and dark.
Susan and the husband went inside, shut the door and went to bed.
She read without a care for the hour, or her bladder or what she would wear in the morning to her recently acquired job. She was happy to have only the quiet of a Tuesday night to keep her company.
Susan was comfortably situated near an open window in her living room when she became aware that Mrs. Drunk was out in the street. Mrs. Drunk sounded sloppy and stupid, which means she was speaking in her normal conversational tone.
Since Susan was not being directly addressed she was able to put aside the moderate disturbance caused by Mrs. Drunk and continue reading. Susan is able to tune out all sorts of background noises thanks to training provided by her children. Anything really loud like the sustained shrieks of a toddler or something heavy crashing down the stairs or a car alarm will be impossible to ignore and demand investigation. So, one can imagine how much attention two car alarms going off in the wee hours of a Wednesday morning would require.
Lots.
The first alarm went off directly in front of Susan's house. She expected the car's owner to fly on winged feet to quiet the ear splitting racket, but this didn't happen. Instead, the alarm of a second car began to clang and crash and roar. This made Susan hop up and walk outside where she observed someone resembling Mr. Drunk, illuminated by flashing headlights, dancing to the monstrous beat of the dual alarms.
Susan was joined outside by her husband. The two watched in quiet unison as each car was eventually rendered silent with the turn of a key. A 'sorry' was tossed in their direction and once again the street became just what it should be, quiet and dark.
Susan and the husband went inside, shut the door and went to bed.
4.28.2009
It's A Motion Sensor For Crissakes!
Susan takes the expressway when she drives home from work. Every day she encounters a line of cars backed up at the entrance ramp. They're all waiting for the traffic light thing to turn green. Susan is sure you've seen one, it has a red light which remains illuminated, and a green light. As each car rolls up to the traffic light thing it will turn from red to green allowing the car to proceed and Susan to inch a little closer to home. However, if the car does not roll far enough to trip the motion sensor the driver will just sit there staring at the red light while the top of Susan's head explodes.
Susan gets all twitchy just anticipating the entrance ramp, she doesn't need to wait until she gets there. She finds it difficult to believe that people don't understand that the traffic light thing employs a motion sensor.
Even after they sit there for forty or fifty minutes.
Her only hope is that their foot falls asleep and slips off the brake so they roll forward unintentionally.
Why is it even necessary to interfere with people merging onto the expressway? Merging is easy, just drive fast.
People need help backing up. Susan has a terrific and smart girlfriend who won't back up at all. Ever.
Help Susan's friend and stop screwing with Susan's drive home!
Susan gets all twitchy just anticipating the entrance ramp, she doesn't need to wait until she gets there. She finds it difficult to believe that people don't understand that the traffic light thing employs a motion sensor.
Even after they sit there for forty or fifty minutes.
Her only hope is that their foot falls asleep and slips off the brake so they roll forward unintentionally.
Why is it even necessary to interfere with people merging onto the expressway? Merging is easy, just drive fast.
People need help backing up. Susan has a terrific and smart girlfriend who won't back up at all. Ever.
Help Susan's friend and stop screwing with Susan's drive home!
4.26.2009
Lovely Spring
Susan lives with seasons.
Real seasons where everything is either blooming or dying or covered in snow waiting to bloom again. Sometimes a season comes early, or stays late, or seems to forget to come at all.
Currently, Susan's immediate area of the universe is experiencing the first warm weekend of spring.
Susan hasn't had to wear her winter coat for a while but neither has she been able to leave the house without some sort of protective outerwear. And maybe a scarf, which is mostly for decoration, but one does not wear scarves in warm weather is her point.
However, this weekend everything was transformed.
Windows were opened, wind chimes were hung, elderly mongrels were shampooed, patio furniture was scrubbed clean, sunscreen was busted out and the yard was turned from a giant toilet back to a restful retreat.
Oh, and a tick was removed from a middle school baseball player.
Susan had never seen a tick before because she doesn't go places where ticks are. And she doesn't check her children for them either. This particular tick was red and looked like a teeny little boiled crab.
The baseball player was a friend of Susan's son who showed up with the thing already embedded in him. He was very casual about the situation impressing Susan who was busy coordinating the tick extraction while trying not to hyperventilate.
Susan has read that ticks burrow into the skin and if one just yanks them out they will leave the submerged portion of themselves behind. That's no good. She has also read that if one places a heat source, such as a lighted cigarette, up to the tick it will reverse course and back the hell out of Dodge.
Susan has not had a pack of cigarettes in her house since that long ago day when she peed on a test strip and it made her pregnant. However, she and the husband like to smoke cigars periodically and he usually has one or two in the house.
The husband lit his cigar, took a few draws and held it close to the baseball player's skin, burning it ever so slightly. The tick began to move but met an untimely end when it succumbed to heat stroke. Susan removed it with a pair of needle nosed pliers. Even in death he hung on like a sonofab*tch.
Susan would like to say a few things about her son's friends;
That she has yet to meet one she hasn't liked. Well, there was one a few years ago that she wasn't too crazy about but he moved away.
That the son's friends are polite, helpful and very boyish. Susan has listened undetected while they've interacted and has always been happy with what she heard. Fortunately for them she doesn't care too much about conversational cursing.
Boys and warm breezes and lilacs just beginning to bloom,
is there anything better?
Real seasons where everything is either blooming or dying or covered in snow waiting to bloom again. Sometimes a season comes early, or stays late, or seems to forget to come at all.
Currently, Susan's immediate area of the universe is experiencing the first warm weekend of spring.
Susan hasn't had to wear her winter coat for a while but neither has she been able to leave the house without some sort of protective outerwear. And maybe a scarf, which is mostly for decoration, but one does not wear scarves in warm weather is her point.
However, this weekend everything was transformed.
Windows were opened, wind chimes were hung, elderly mongrels were shampooed, patio furniture was scrubbed clean, sunscreen was busted out and the yard was turned from a giant toilet back to a restful retreat.
Oh, and a tick was removed from a middle school baseball player.
Susan had never seen a tick before because she doesn't go places where ticks are. And she doesn't check her children for them either. This particular tick was red and looked like a teeny little boiled crab.
The baseball player was a friend of Susan's son who showed up with the thing already embedded in him. He was very casual about the situation impressing Susan who was busy coordinating the tick extraction while trying not to hyperventilate.
Susan has read that ticks burrow into the skin and if one just yanks them out they will leave the submerged portion of themselves behind. That's no good. She has also read that if one places a heat source, such as a lighted cigarette, up to the tick it will reverse course and back the hell out of Dodge.
Susan has not had a pack of cigarettes in her house since that long ago day when she peed on a test strip and it made her pregnant. However, she and the husband like to smoke cigars periodically and he usually has one or two in the house.
The husband lit his cigar, took a few draws and held it close to the baseball player's skin, burning it ever so slightly. The tick began to move but met an untimely end when it succumbed to heat stroke. Susan removed it with a pair of needle nosed pliers. Even in death he hung on like a sonofab*tch.
Susan would like to say a few things about her son's friends;
That she has yet to meet one she hasn't liked. Well, there was one a few years ago that she wasn't too crazy about but he moved away.
That the son's friends are polite, helpful and very boyish. Susan has listened undetected while they've interacted and has always been happy with what she heard. Fortunately for them she doesn't care too much about conversational cursing.
Boys and warm breezes and lilacs just beginning to bloom,
is there anything better?
4.24.2009
Bleach
The other evening Susan's daughter showed up for her goodnight kiss wearing bleach stained flannel pajama bottoms.
Susan is directly responsible for most of the laundry done in the house and the last time she saw those pajama bottoms they were fine.
The husband pitches in with laundry duties but that's usually when there are no more clean towels.
And the kids are complaining that they have no pants.
Or underwear.
Based on a series of previous laundry related episodes
the husband knows to remove Susan's clothing from anything he puts into the washing machine.
That was a hard won battle for Susan.
If you think she goes crazy when he hand washes the glassware, you can't imagine the level of hysteria unleashed in the house when she finds that he's washed, or dried, any of her clothing.
Mercy! It used to drain Susan of all her energy.
Susan takes great care with her clothing because most of it is either moderately expensive or very cheap and can't just be tossed into the machine all willy-nilly. Back during the dark days of the husband's laundry involvement Susan was able to open the dryer door and know immediately that it contained something it shouldn't.
Back to the pajama bottoms.
Susan pondered the bleach stain but decided to let it remain a household mystery because she was working on the computer and didn't have any mental space available at that moment.
The next day Susan was taking laundry out of the dryer.
A load of purple and red laundry, similar to the color of the pajama bottoms. She pulled out her daughter's purple shirt and found it had a large bleach stain.
Then a red shirt. Bleach.
Then two more purple shirts. Bleach, bleach.
She was getting woozy.
Susan removed one bleach stained carcass after another until she got to the thing she dreaded most; her own shirt.
Bleach.
Susan steadied herself as she surveyed the destruction lying at her feet. Not one item spared.
The husband was sitting quietly at the table watching the scene unfold and offered the following explanation;
That he undertook the consolidation of two open containers of bleach into one
directly over an open washing machine
which had recently completed it's cycle.
Susan maintained her composure. Her shirt had been destined for the Goodwill bag after one last washing,
there was no need to over react. Most of the other clothes belonged to her daughter and could be discarded quietly, a cover-up if you will.
Susan set upon this task quickly then moved on as if nothing had ever happened.
Susan is directly responsible for most of the laundry done in the house and the last time she saw those pajama bottoms they were fine.
The husband pitches in with laundry duties but that's usually when there are no more clean towels.
And the kids are complaining that they have no pants.
Or underwear.
Based on a series of previous laundry related episodes
the husband knows to remove Susan's clothing from anything he puts into the washing machine.
That was a hard won battle for Susan.
If you think she goes crazy when he hand washes the glassware, you can't imagine the level of hysteria unleashed in the house when she finds that he's washed, or dried, any of her clothing.
Mercy! It used to drain Susan of all her energy.
Susan takes great care with her clothing because most of it is either moderately expensive or very cheap and can't just be tossed into the machine all willy-nilly. Back during the dark days of the husband's laundry involvement Susan was able to open the dryer door and know immediately that it contained something it shouldn't.
Back to the pajama bottoms.
Susan pondered the bleach stain but decided to let it remain a household mystery because she was working on the computer and didn't have any mental space available at that moment.
The next day Susan was taking laundry out of the dryer.
A load of purple and red laundry, similar to the color of the pajama bottoms. She pulled out her daughter's purple shirt and found it had a large bleach stain.
Then a red shirt. Bleach.
Then two more purple shirts. Bleach, bleach.
She was getting woozy.
Susan removed one bleach stained carcass after another until she got to the thing she dreaded most; her own shirt.
Bleach.
Susan steadied herself as she surveyed the destruction lying at her feet. Not one item spared.
The husband was sitting quietly at the table watching the scene unfold and offered the following explanation;
That he undertook the consolidation of two open containers of bleach into one
directly over an open washing machine
which had recently completed it's cycle.
Susan maintained her composure. Her shirt had been destined for the Goodwill bag after one last washing,
there was no need to over react. Most of the other clothes belonged to her daughter and could be discarded quietly, a cover-up if you will.
Susan set upon this task quickly then moved on as if nothing had ever happened.
4.21.2009
Getting Ready For Menstruation
Susan has a deliciously sweet and delightful daughter, sometimes known as The Crybaby, who is going to get ambushed with a talk about menstruation.
Soon.
Susan took a run at this topic already & was met with a profound lack of enthusiasm. It's as if the daughter unplugged herself. All interaction stopped, the eyes dimmed, the body slumped slightly and then she started to drool. But, once the subject was changed she became reanimated; lights back on, motor humming, all functions restored.
Susan's own mother left her under-prepared for maturity.
A few pamphlets about menstruation were flung at her, then nothing else ever again.
No conversation about tampons, birth control, sex. Nothing. The End. Thanks for coming!
That's why Susan stayed a virgin till after menopause,
she didn't know what to do.
There was also a period of time when Susan thought she had to remover her tampon to pee.
How sad.
Anyway, Susan does not fear the embarrassing talk with her daughter. Susan does research. She confers with social workers. She makes an outline.
She knows that brevity is essential.
And a relaxed attitude.
Everything's good, it's only menstruation.
It's natural.
And beautiful.
Oy. Susan's already shovelling the propaganda.
Soon.
Susan took a run at this topic already & was met with a profound lack of enthusiasm. It's as if the daughter unplugged herself. All interaction stopped, the eyes dimmed, the body slumped slightly and then she started to drool. But, once the subject was changed she became reanimated; lights back on, motor humming, all functions restored.
Susan's own mother left her under-prepared for maturity.
A few pamphlets about menstruation were flung at her, then nothing else ever again.
No conversation about tampons, birth control, sex. Nothing. The End. Thanks for coming!
That's why Susan stayed a virgin till after menopause,
she didn't know what to do.
There was also a period of time when Susan thought she had to remover her tampon to pee.
How sad.
Anyway, Susan does not fear the embarrassing talk with her daughter. Susan does research. She confers with social workers. She makes an outline.
She knows that brevity is essential.
And a relaxed attitude.
Everything's good, it's only menstruation.
It's natural.
And beautiful.
Oy. Susan's already shovelling the propaganda.
4.18.2009
Susan Worked On Saturday
Say what?
She fell down and hit her head and said 'I'll work Saturday'
It was purely a one-time only, freak episode,
never to be repeated.
She wasn't even aware it was Saturday while she was at work. It was just another day until she got home
and then where the bloody hell did her Saturday go?
Everything got all lopsided; up was down, black was white,
left was right and Friday toppled over on to Sunday.
Susan doesn't work on Saturdays, she gets up when she wants because her alarm isn't even set. She enjoys a leisurely cup of coffee with the husband and reads the paper and goes to yard sales with her daughter then stops at the library before making pizza rolls for a bunch of her son's friends or cleaning up her yard or sitting in the sunshine or going to her little sister's house for dinner.
That's what Susan does on Saturdays, not drive to work under the ridiculous and fallacious idea that Saturday is just like any other day.
She fell down and hit her head and said 'I'll work Saturday'
It was purely a one-time only, freak episode,
never to be repeated.
She wasn't even aware it was Saturday while she was at work. It was just another day until she got home
and then where the bloody hell did her Saturday go?
Everything got all lopsided; up was down, black was white,
left was right and Friday toppled over on to Sunday.
Susan doesn't work on Saturdays, she gets up when she wants because her alarm isn't even set. She enjoys a leisurely cup of coffee with the husband and reads the paper and goes to yard sales with her daughter then stops at the library before making pizza rolls for a bunch of her son's friends or cleaning up her yard or sitting in the sunshine or going to her little sister's house for dinner.
That's what Susan does on Saturdays, not drive to work under the ridiculous and fallacious idea that Saturday is just like any other day.
4.16.2009
TWISTED Over Some Pajama Bottoms
Susan was sitting in a parking lot talking on the phone with her little sister when a van pulled into the spot next to hers. Out spilled three medium sized children and their mother, who appeared to be in the same age range as Susan, meaning not too young & not too old.
Mom was walking around in a condition similar to many other women observed by Susan. Beyond sloppy.
Starting at the top, Mom's hair was held back by a scrunchie. Not a crime, but it should be.
She was wearing what appeared to be her husband's sweat shirt. It was husband-shaped and husband-colored without an ounce of anything feminine discernible beneath. It made Mom square.
However, the next item was so offensive it made Susan have to write 300 bloody words about it just for some relief.
Pajama bottoms.
Susan understands that she can't go crazy over pajama bottoms and can live quite comfortably knowing they're contained to high schoolers or neighbors walking within the perimeter of their own yard. Susan doesn't understand how the high schoolers stay warm wearing pajama bottoms throughout the winter, but she's not their mother and they can do what they want.
However, when a grown woman appears in public with thread bare, faded, shrunken to the ankles, raggedy ass pajama bottoms Susan must speak up.
Not to the offending party of course, but in secret,
at home, to her modest fan base.
It was as if Mom had come directly from the sty,
clad in the clothes she fed the pigs in.
The condition of Mom's pajama bottoms were so deplorable they yelled, I don't care how I look anymore,
I really don't.
Susan doesn't understand this phenomenon prevalent among her forty-something suburban sisters.
Ladies, what up?
Mom was walking around in a condition similar to many other women observed by Susan. Beyond sloppy.
Starting at the top, Mom's hair was held back by a scrunchie. Not a crime, but it should be.
She was wearing what appeared to be her husband's sweat shirt. It was husband-shaped and husband-colored without an ounce of anything feminine discernible beneath. It made Mom square.
However, the next item was so offensive it made Susan have to write 300 bloody words about it just for some relief.
Pajama bottoms.
Susan understands that she can't go crazy over pajama bottoms and can live quite comfortably knowing they're contained to high schoolers or neighbors walking within the perimeter of their own yard. Susan doesn't understand how the high schoolers stay warm wearing pajama bottoms throughout the winter, but she's not their mother and they can do what they want.
However, when a grown woman appears in public with thread bare, faded, shrunken to the ankles, raggedy ass pajama bottoms Susan must speak up.
Not to the offending party of course, but in secret,
at home, to her modest fan base.
It was as if Mom had come directly from the sty,
clad in the clothes she fed the pigs in.
The condition of Mom's pajama bottoms were so deplorable they yelled, I don't care how I look anymore,
I really don't.
Susan doesn't understand this phenomenon prevalent among her forty-something suburban sisters.
Ladies, what up?
4.13.2009
Post Vomit
Susan has already established just how awful a night of wretched vomiting, followed by 24 hours of intermittent unconsciousness can be.
However, there are a few perks of the extreme upchuck, such as;
The middle of the night old movie.
When one has vomited all night, then slept all day,
one is bound to be up at odd hours the following night. And, if one is lucky in the way that Susan was, then perhaps a favorite old movie is playing from 2:15 to 4am.
Susan watched the moody and wonderful Rebecca,
Alfred Hitchcock's first Hollywood movie made in 1940.
This is not to be mistaken for his very first movie,
The 39 Steps, made five years earlier in Britain and another of Susan's favorites.
Susan doesn't like just any old thing, when she likes something there's a good reason.
The second perk of the extreme upchuck is;
Ginger Ale.
Lovely, bubbly, barely sweet, gingery ale.
There is nothing more divine to guzzle when one has been
purged of all natural hydration.
It's almost a reason in itself for getting sick.
The final perk is;
weight loss.
There was a ten pound difference between what Susan weighed last week on her doctor's scale and what she weighed on her little sister's bathroom scale the day after her convalescence.
Susan never trusted that bathroom scale, but chooses to believe it at her discretion.
However, there are a few perks of the extreme upchuck, such as;
The middle of the night old movie.
When one has vomited all night, then slept all day,
one is bound to be up at odd hours the following night. And, if one is lucky in the way that Susan was, then perhaps a favorite old movie is playing from 2:15 to 4am.
Susan watched the moody and wonderful Rebecca,
Alfred Hitchcock's first Hollywood movie made in 1940.
This is not to be mistaken for his very first movie,
The 39 Steps, made five years earlier in Britain and another of Susan's favorites.
Susan doesn't like just any old thing, when she likes something there's a good reason.
The second perk of the extreme upchuck is;
Ginger Ale.
Lovely, bubbly, barely sweet, gingery ale.
There is nothing more divine to guzzle when one has been
purged of all natural hydration.
It's almost a reason in itself for getting sick.
The final perk is;
weight loss.
There was a ten pound difference between what Susan weighed last week on her doctor's scale and what she weighed on her little sister's bathroom scale the day after her convalescence.
Susan never trusted that bathroom scale, but chooses to believe it at her discretion.
4.12.2009
Friday Night
Susan doesn't normally get sick.
She's very lucky.
Maybe she gets a cold, but that's it.
The last thing that kept her out of work was kidney stones
And that was like, six years ago.
And they really hurt.
Susan is not in the habit of taking medications other than Tylenol.
Maybe a Tums or two when she eats too many brownies at her little sister's house.
Even in her wild youth Susan didn't ingest anything that she won't be able to tell her medium sized children about.
When they're very mature.
Years from now.
Anyway.
Everything was perfectly fine up until 10pm on Friday night.
Susan's tummy got a little rumbly.
She took two Tums.
Her symptoms persisted.
She took two more Tums and went to bed not feeling well at all.
Some hours later she was awakened by the sickening realization that she was going to have to throw up.
Oy. Susan does not like to throw up.
Not one little bit.
But, she knows that once she does she'll feel better.
Generally.
Susan made the dreaded trek to her bathroom
and did a quick wipe-down of the toilet with disinfectant
before she began what she went there for.
Oy.
She knew she was not finished.
She went back to bed, hunched over and miserable,
to wait.
Sometime later she was awakened a second time by her stomach.
Only, there was very little to purge.
Her stomach didn't care.
A new symptom was added, one which Susan will not mention.
Susan endured this angry, painful process three more times until it seemed that she was throwing up her own organs.
She also had to clean up the bathroom each time.
Susan was truly alone in the universe.
Susan eventually collapsed in a shaking, sweaty heap and passed out.
The first thing she did went she crawled out of bed 24 hours later
was scrub her bathroom to within an inch of it's life.
With her green-cleaning cocktail of course.
(Susan would like the reader to know that previous post
occurred last year and represents an anomaly, not a standard)
She's very lucky.
Maybe she gets a cold, but that's it.
The last thing that kept her out of work was kidney stones
And that was like, six years ago.
And they really hurt.
Susan is not in the habit of taking medications other than Tylenol.
Maybe a Tums or two when she eats too many brownies at her little sister's house.
Even in her wild youth Susan didn't ingest anything that she won't be able to tell her medium sized children about.
When they're very mature.
Years from now.
Anyway.
Everything was perfectly fine up until 10pm on Friday night.
Susan's tummy got a little rumbly.
She took two Tums.
Her symptoms persisted.
She took two more Tums and went to bed not feeling well at all.
Some hours later she was awakened by the sickening realization that she was going to have to throw up.
Oy. Susan does not like to throw up.
Not one little bit.
But, she knows that once she does she'll feel better.
Generally.
Susan made the dreaded trek to her bathroom
and did a quick wipe-down of the toilet with disinfectant
before she began what she went there for.
Oy.
She knew she was not finished.
She went back to bed, hunched over and miserable,
to wait.
Sometime later she was awakened a second time by her stomach.
Only, there was very little to purge.
Her stomach didn't care.
A new symptom was added, one which Susan will not mention.
Susan endured this angry, painful process three more times until it seemed that she was throwing up her own organs.
She also had to clean up the bathroom each time.
Susan was truly alone in the universe.
Susan eventually collapsed in a shaking, sweaty heap and passed out.
The first thing she did went she crawled out of bed 24 hours later
was scrub her bathroom to within an inch of it's life.
With her green-cleaning cocktail of course.
(Susan would like the reader to know that previous post
occurred last year and represents an anomaly, not a standard)
4.10.2009
Lax Posting
Please forgive Susan's relaxed posting schedule.
You see, she's back to figuring out which shoes go with what outfit and does she own any stocking without holes?
Susan will get up to speed I'm sure, she just needs to fill a tupperware with leftovers for lunch,
charge her phone and, where is her name tag?
She's back to being organized and on time.
She keeps her car filled up with gasoline.
She has to hide her work snacks so the kids don't find them.
She makes her dental appointments for Saturdays now.
And, regardless of what's going on in her house,
she drives away from it at 8:20 every weekday morning.
You see, she's back to figuring out which shoes go with what outfit and does she own any stocking without holes?
Susan will get up to speed I'm sure, she just needs to fill a tupperware with leftovers for lunch,
charge her phone and, where is her name tag?
She's back to being organized and on time.
She keeps her car filled up with gasoline.
She has to hide her work snacks so the kids don't find them.
She makes her dental appointments for Saturdays now.
And, regardless of what's going on in her house,
she drives away from it at 8:20 every weekday morning.
4.06.2009
The Day Of Rest
Susan spent most of the day not speaking with the husband. Unfortunately, she couldn't entirely un-manacle herself from his company. But, not talking to him was satisfying enough.
The morning started out as every Sunday morning does, with the promise of reading the papers over coffee.
Is there no greater joy than that?
Of course there isn't.
Susan made the coffee and while it brewed a combination of factors sent her into a TWISTED spiral of angry frustration. It began with the dishwasher not effectively cleaning the dishes. Susan muttered to herself as she discovered that dish after cup after spoon needed to be rinsed off. Susan should not be rinsing anything, that's what the dishwasher is for. She began re-loading the machine and intercepted a wine glass that the husband had hand washed & left to dry.
Let's stop right here.
Susan and the husband have a history involving his hand washing of glassware.
The husband has been instructed repeatedly not to engage in any hand washing of any glassware because he consistently leaves behind any or all of the following;
fingerprints, grease smudges, soap residue, dried food and Chapstick lips.
Susan no longer delivers this request in a civilized manner, she goes immediately to berserk.
Susan picked the wine glass up and held it to the light,
as she does with all the glassware, and saw the telltale remnants of the husband's handiwork.
By this time the husband had entered the kitchen.
Susan pointed out, for the millionth time, that another wine glass had been washed dirty by himself.
Susan was hungry. Susan had dishes in her hands.
There were words coming out of the husband's mouth but who really gives a sh*t and just stop washing the f*cking glasses!
Susan made this request several times in close succession and increasing shrillness because the husband was trying to put forth his convoluted nonsense. However, when she heard him threaten to throw her wine glasses into the garbage her frustration reached critical mass.
Susan suggested that they can start throwing everything out right now and made her point by throwing a cereal bowl at him.
She didn't throw it at his stupid face, she threw it at his feet.
The rest of the morning & most of the afternoon was spent in arctic silence, even during their time as dinner guests in his sister's house.
The morning started out as every Sunday morning does, with the promise of reading the papers over coffee.
Is there no greater joy than that?
Of course there isn't.
Susan made the coffee and while it brewed a combination of factors sent her into a TWISTED spiral of angry frustration. It began with the dishwasher not effectively cleaning the dishes. Susan muttered to herself as she discovered that dish after cup after spoon needed to be rinsed off. Susan should not be rinsing anything, that's what the dishwasher is for. She began re-loading the machine and intercepted a wine glass that the husband had hand washed & left to dry.
Let's stop right here.
Susan and the husband have a history involving his hand washing of glassware.
The husband has been instructed repeatedly not to engage in any hand washing of any glassware because he consistently leaves behind any or all of the following;
fingerprints, grease smudges, soap residue, dried food and Chapstick lips.
Susan no longer delivers this request in a civilized manner, she goes immediately to berserk.
Susan picked the wine glass up and held it to the light,
as she does with all the glassware, and saw the telltale remnants of the husband's handiwork.
By this time the husband had entered the kitchen.
Susan pointed out, for the millionth time, that another wine glass had been washed dirty by himself.
Susan was hungry. Susan had dishes in her hands.
There were words coming out of the husband's mouth but who really gives a sh*t and just stop washing the f*cking glasses!
Susan made this request several times in close succession and increasing shrillness because the husband was trying to put forth his convoluted nonsense. However, when she heard him threaten to throw her wine glasses into the garbage her frustration reached critical mass.
Susan suggested that they can start throwing everything out right now and made her point by throwing a cereal bowl at him.
She didn't throw it at his stupid face, she threw it at his feet.
The rest of the morning & most of the afternoon was spent in arctic silence, even during their time as dinner guests in his sister's house.
4.05.2009
Susan's Mongrel Dog Is Sick: An Update
Most of the symptoms of the mongrel dog's digestive ailment have come & gone, save one;
her extreme flatulence.
Boxers are an eruptive breed to begin with. Imagine the aroma of burning rubber & dog poop dispersed as a gas in the middle of your living room.
The flatulent boxer often provides and audible warning,
a gentle hissing not unlike air escaping from a punctured bicycle tire. However, the last few days there is nothing gentle about the sound she emits.
It's loud, like a whoopee cushion.
Susan is not exaggerating, it sounds like a whoopee cushion.
Moments ago, sleeping soundly in her dog bed, she passed gas through her whoopee cushion.
And woke herself up.
her extreme flatulence.
Boxers are an eruptive breed to begin with. Imagine the aroma of burning rubber & dog poop dispersed as a gas in the middle of your living room.
The flatulent boxer often provides and audible warning,
a gentle hissing not unlike air escaping from a punctured bicycle tire. However, the last few days there is nothing gentle about the sound she emits.
It's loud, like a whoopee cushion.
Susan is not exaggerating, it sounds like a whoopee cushion.
Moments ago, sleeping soundly in her dog bed, she passed gas through her whoopee cushion.
And woke herself up.
4.04.2009
Your Invited To Look Stupid
Susan gets TWISTED in the worst way when she encounters poor punctuation. I mean, she gets totally f*cking crazy about this sh*t. Crazy!
Aren't the basics of punctuation taught in elementary school?
How is it that grown people who learned to speak and write English as their primary language don't know what apostrophes are used for?
If Susan has one apple and Jane gives her another then would Susan have two apple's?
No, she'd have two bloody apples!
Only if the apple owned something would it need an apostrophe.
Susan's TWISTED state extends to contractions, or the lack thereof, like the one she saw today printed on an invitation.
The very first word was a deplorable abomination, it read;
'Your invited to' blah, blah, blah.
Your.
Not you + are, which = you're.
Your.
Your invited to blah, blah, blah.
Doesn't anybody proof-read anything?
Particularly if they intend to mail it to everyone in their address book?
Holy crap, Batman. Susan needs a cocktail.
Aren't the basics of punctuation taught in elementary school?
How is it that grown people who learned to speak and write English as their primary language don't know what apostrophes are used for?
If Susan has one apple and Jane gives her another then would Susan have two apple's?
No, she'd have two bloody apples!
Only if the apple owned something would it need an apostrophe.
Susan's TWISTED state extends to contractions, or the lack thereof, like the one she saw today printed on an invitation.
The very first word was a deplorable abomination, it read;
'Your invited to' blah, blah, blah.
Your.
Not you + are, which = you're.
Your.
Your invited to blah, blah, blah.
Doesn't anybody proof-read anything?
Particularly if they intend to mail it to everyone in their address book?
Holy crap, Batman. Susan needs a cocktail.
4.03.2009
Susan's Mongrel Dog Is Sick
Under normal circumstances Susan's mongrel can be expected to be flatulent. This week she can also be expected to poop in the house, vomit and whimper all night long to be let out.
Mercy!
Being a boxer, Susan's mongrel really isn't a mongrel at all, Susan just uses this term to illustrate how ill mannered the boxer is.
The dog sleeps on the couch even though she's got a perfectly nice dog bed close to all the action.
She begs for food which exasperates Susan no end and she blames the husband for this appalling behavior.
No matter how shrill and hysterical Susan's complaints have been, he absolutely will not stop feeding that dog from the table!
She pees in the house whenever there's a lot of company.
She pees in the house even when there's not a lot of company.
She lies down in the middle of everything, blocking traffic patterns.
And she doesn't keep her toenails groomed. The racket that this dog makes walking around the house drowns out the television.
Oy.
The flatulent dog is getting close to the end of her expected lifespan. She limps a little and sits sidesaddle. She's deaf and can't be counted on to get her snout out of the garbage when yelled at.
However, one benefit of her advancing decrepitude is that she can no longer jump on Susan's bed and make holes in the bedding.
For two days the bathroom habits of the flatulent, deaf dog have been unpredictable.
Last night Susan and the husband were repeatedly roused from their beauty sleep in order to let her out to dirty the yard. And while she's out she takes the opportunity to walk the perimeter, smelling everything in sight and barking at nothing in particular.
Susan waits, as trained, at the door in her underwear with a cookie.
Mercy!
Being a boxer, Susan's mongrel really isn't a mongrel at all, Susan just uses this term to illustrate how ill mannered the boxer is.
The dog sleeps on the couch even though she's got a perfectly nice dog bed close to all the action.
She begs for food which exasperates Susan no end and she blames the husband for this appalling behavior.
No matter how shrill and hysterical Susan's complaints have been, he absolutely will not stop feeding that dog from the table!
She pees in the house whenever there's a lot of company.
She pees in the house even when there's not a lot of company.
She lies down in the middle of everything, blocking traffic patterns.
And she doesn't keep her toenails groomed. The racket that this dog makes walking around the house drowns out the television.
Oy.
The flatulent dog is getting close to the end of her expected lifespan. She limps a little and sits sidesaddle. She's deaf and can't be counted on to get her snout out of the garbage when yelled at.
However, one benefit of her advancing decrepitude is that she can no longer jump on Susan's bed and make holes in the bedding.
For two days the bathroom habits of the flatulent, deaf dog have been unpredictable.
Last night Susan and the husband were repeatedly roused from their beauty sleep in order to let her out to dirty the yard. And while she's out she takes the opportunity to walk the perimeter, smelling everything in sight and barking at nothing in particular.
Susan waits, as trained, at the door in her underwear with a cookie.
4.01.2009
Again With The Green Cleaning
Susan is spending her final week of unemployment running a few errands including getting a pre-employment physical while without medical coverage.
However, this morning finds Susan free to do as she pleases.
She began by dyeing her hair back to a close approximation of it's original color.
Then she went into the kitchen to make coffee before sitting down at the computer in blissful solitude. While waiting for the coffee to brew she decided to hand wash the cookie pan that had been sitting in the sink for two days.
If the reader will recall, Susan has experimented with green-cleaning by mixing varying portions of water to vinegar to baking soda & adding a small amount of natural plant-based liquid soap (she likes Seventh Generation which was on sale at the supermarket) and some tea tree oil. Susan likes the smell of tea tree oil and had such great success cleaning her bathroom with this combination that she mixed a green-cleaning cocktail for use in her kitchen.
Please take note that since the baking soda tended to clog up the spraying mechanism in her Home Depot spray bottle she now uses a recycled dish detergent squeeze bottle, which is much more effective.
Susan's cookie sheet was black from years of things spilling on it and burning. Added to that were the dinner remnants from two nights ago. Instead of using regular dish detergent Susan used her green scouring cocktail.
As Susan scrubbed, an unbelievable thing happened,
layer upon blackened layer evaporated.
You know, with some elbow grease.
Now, while Susan acknowledges that blackened cookie sheets pose no threat to anybody and are probably a silly thing to scrub spotlessly clean, Susan was fascinated. And being in the unemployed frame of mind, she saw nothing wrong with obsessively scouring her cookie sheet until her shoulders ached. Just to see how far she could get.
When the results began to slow down Susan threw some salt into the equation. This was only minimally effective and Susan took a break to drink her coffee.
She admired her work but knew she could do better.
She went back to scrubbing, giving up only when she could no longer lift her arms or unclench her fingers from around the sponge.
However, this morning finds Susan free to do as she pleases.
She began by dyeing her hair back to a close approximation of it's original color.
Then she went into the kitchen to make coffee before sitting down at the computer in blissful solitude. While waiting for the coffee to brew she decided to hand wash the cookie pan that had been sitting in the sink for two days.
If the reader will recall, Susan has experimented with green-cleaning by mixing varying portions of water to vinegar to baking soda & adding a small amount of natural plant-based liquid soap (she likes Seventh Generation which was on sale at the supermarket) and some tea tree oil. Susan likes the smell of tea tree oil and had such great success cleaning her bathroom with this combination that she mixed a green-cleaning cocktail for use in her kitchen.
Please take note that since the baking soda tended to clog up the spraying mechanism in her Home Depot spray bottle she now uses a recycled dish detergent squeeze bottle, which is much more effective.
Susan's cookie sheet was black from years of things spilling on it and burning. Added to that were the dinner remnants from two nights ago. Instead of using regular dish detergent Susan used her green scouring cocktail.
As Susan scrubbed, an unbelievable thing happened,
layer upon blackened layer evaporated.
You know, with some elbow grease.
Now, while Susan acknowledges that blackened cookie sheets pose no threat to anybody and are probably a silly thing to scrub spotlessly clean, Susan was fascinated. And being in the unemployed frame of mind, she saw nothing wrong with obsessively scouring her cookie sheet until her shoulders ached. Just to see how far she could get.
When the results began to slow down Susan threw some salt into the equation. This was only minimally effective and Susan took a break to drink her coffee.
She admired her work but knew she could do better.
She went back to scrubbing, giving up only when she could no longer lift her arms or unclench her fingers from around the sponge.
3.30.2009
The Filthy House
Susan's neighbor came over for a chat and Susan's house was FILTHY.
Not just messy. It was FILTHY, with nowhere to receive company comfortably.
Oy.
Susan doesn't mind if her house is just messy, that's the hallmark of a real person who has things to do. Susan's house today indicated that Susan doesn't give a sh*t.
As with most real houses, there are a few trouble spots. The table in the kitchen normally piled high with cookbooks, newspapers, magazines and a bowl of fruit is one. It doesn't even belong in the kitchen, it was brought upstairs sixteen months ago for a party & never left.
Before you even get to the kitchen you have to walk through the living room.
In order to keep the mongrel dog from sleeping on the couch all day, the last person to leave the house places something on the couch to impede access. It's always the same thing, a ladder back chair from the computer area which is very lightweight and does the job nicely.
When Susan comes home she takes the chair off.
However, not today.
Susan has a nice fireplace and a handsome fireplace screen which was given to her by the mother of the twins. Susan threaded Christmas lights through the screen and plugs them in everyday because she likes to see the pretty lights.
Not today.
Most days Susan has a fragrant candle lit on the mantel. Not today.
Every day Susan's daughter uses the decorative mirror in the living room to perfect her hair straightening and styling. There is a small table beneath the mirror which holds a large glass cylinder filled with stalks of forsythia. As a result of the daily styling regimen the forsythia is set on the floor and the table top becomes adorned with a straightening iron, bobby pins and maybe a glass of something Susan's daughter was drinking. It remains this way until Susan notices it. Susan hadn't noticed it yet this afternoon.
Susan forces herself to keep the dining room table tidy and clean. But, like the seashore another wave of mail, schoolwork, folders, grocery coupons and little Star Wars Lego men are going to wash over it any minute. And, although she likes to keep it clean enough to eat off, because that's where Susan's family eats, it's not always in that condition.
Like today.
But, that's where Susan and her neighbor sat, at one dirty table overlooking another, situated next to a disorganized and unkempt laundry alcove while the mongrel dog came and rubbed and sniffed, begging for attention without a shred of self restraint.
Not just messy. It was FILTHY, with nowhere to receive company comfortably.
Oy.
Susan doesn't mind if her house is just messy, that's the hallmark of a real person who has things to do. Susan's house today indicated that Susan doesn't give a sh*t.
As with most real houses, there are a few trouble spots. The table in the kitchen normally piled high with cookbooks, newspapers, magazines and a bowl of fruit is one. It doesn't even belong in the kitchen, it was brought upstairs sixteen months ago for a party & never left.
Before you even get to the kitchen you have to walk through the living room.
In order to keep the mongrel dog from sleeping on the couch all day, the last person to leave the house places something on the couch to impede access. It's always the same thing, a ladder back chair from the computer area which is very lightweight and does the job nicely.
When Susan comes home she takes the chair off.
However, not today.
Susan has a nice fireplace and a handsome fireplace screen which was given to her by the mother of the twins. Susan threaded Christmas lights through the screen and plugs them in everyday because she likes to see the pretty lights.
Not today.
Most days Susan has a fragrant candle lit on the mantel. Not today.
Every day Susan's daughter uses the decorative mirror in the living room to perfect her hair straightening and styling. There is a small table beneath the mirror which holds a large glass cylinder filled with stalks of forsythia. As a result of the daily styling regimen the forsythia is set on the floor and the table top becomes adorned with a straightening iron, bobby pins and maybe a glass of something Susan's daughter was drinking. It remains this way until Susan notices it. Susan hadn't noticed it yet this afternoon.
Susan forces herself to keep the dining room table tidy and clean. But, like the seashore another wave of mail, schoolwork, folders, grocery coupons and little Star Wars Lego men are going to wash over it any minute. And, although she likes to keep it clean enough to eat off, because that's where Susan's family eats, it's not always in that condition.
Like today.
But, that's where Susan and her neighbor sat, at one dirty table overlooking another, situated next to a disorganized and unkempt laundry alcove while the mongrel dog came and rubbed and sniffed, begging for attention without a shred of self restraint.
3.29.2009
Saturday, Midnight
As she was preparing to go to bed Susan noticed a car idling in front of her neighbors, the Drunk's house.
She believed the car had been there a while so she peered through the window to survey the situation. The car looked to be a patrol car. Susan turned off all the lights in order to remain undetected while she peered.
Indeed it was a patrol car. Susan couldn't see very well from that window so she repositioned herself in her son's room for a better look. Yes, now she could see. The policemen remained inside the car while Mr. & Mrs. Drunk stood alongside the window deep in conversation.
Were they being arrested? It seemed not.
Were they leaning on the patrol car? It seemed so.
Are you even allowed to lean on a patrol car?
Susan cracked open her son's window hoping to catch part of the conversation. Unfortunately, Susan's mongrel dog had followed her into the room. It was walking around with it's overgrown nails clicking on the wood floor, snuffling & snorting, making a racket. Susan chased the mongrel dog out of the room and turned her attention back to the Drunks.
She couldn't hear much. Mrs. Drunk mentioned her brother twice. She said something, quite conversationally, about 'when we lived there' but Susan couldn't hear the rest. Mr. Drunk was asked to confirm a telephone number. That's all Susan got.
It was a nipply March night, foggy and wet, but Mrs. Drunk was standing outside for an extended period of time in some sort of sleeveless shmatta talking with the officers, who never left their vehicle. Were they just chatting?
Wasn't she cold? The open window made Susan cold.
Don't police officers get out of their cars to shine lights into windows or investigate things?
Mrs. Drunk walked into the house leaving Mr. Drunk outside to finish his conversation.
Susan was perplexed by the whole situation.
Mr. Drunk went inside after a few more minutes. He closed the door.
The policemen drove away.
Susan went to bed.
She believed the car had been there a while so she peered through the window to survey the situation. The car looked to be a patrol car. Susan turned off all the lights in order to remain undetected while she peered.
Indeed it was a patrol car. Susan couldn't see very well from that window so she repositioned herself in her son's room for a better look. Yes, now she could see. The policemen remained inside the car while Mr. & Mrs. Drunk stood alongside the window deep in conversation.
Were they being arrested? It seemed not.
Were they leaning on the patrol car? It seemed so.
Are you even allowed to lean on a patrol car?
Susan cracked open her son's window hoping to catch part of the conversation. Unfortunately, Susan's mongrel dog had followed her into the room. It was walking around with it's overgrown nails clicking on the wood floor, snuffling & snorting, making a racket. Susan chased the mongrel dog out of the room and turned her attention back to the Drunks.
She couldn't hear much. Mrs. Drunk mentioned her brother twice. She said something, quite conversationally, about 'when we lived there' but Susan couldn't hear the rest. Mr. Drunk was asked to confirm a telephone number. That's all Susan got.
It was a nipply March night, foggy and wet, but Mrs. Drunk was standing outside for an extended period of time in some sort of sleeveless shmatta talking with the officers, who never left their vehicle. Were they just chatting?
Wasn't she cold? The open window made Susan cold.
Don't police officers get out of their cars to shine lights into windows or investigate things?
Mrs. Drunk walked into the house leaving Mr. Drunk outside to finish his conversation.
Susan was perplexed by the whole situation.
Mr. Drunk went inside after a few more minutes. He closed the door.
The policemen drove away.
Susan went to bed.
On The Run
Susan's hand-me-down van is currently uninspected. She's not going to explain why because who really cares and she's got her reasons.
The expired inspection sticker differs greatly in color from the inspection stickers of compliant vehicles, and therefore sticks out to anyone paying attention. Susan has managed to elude the police on more than one occasion. The fact that she parked in the criminal court parking lot for almost three weeks undetected by anyone in a position to give her a ticket is bloody lucky.
However, she finds herself scanning the horizon for patrol cars & making unplanned lefts or rights to stay out of their way. One close call came as she was in the left hand turning lane. A policeman drove past, eyeballed the inspection, then eyeballed Susan. He put his blinker on to turn around as Susan's lane got the green arrow. Heart pounding she stomped on the gas pedal and made the first available turn off the road then sat there till the coast was clear.
The other day Susan found herself driving right into a police roadblock. She was trapped like a rat!
She mentally adjusted to the situation and rolled her window down in preparation for the conversation the officers would want to have with her. She took note of where she could pull over. She leaned toward the window and looked at the officers. She was ready to be cute.
They waved her through.
Wait. What?
The officers waved her through.
Susan kept going and watched in her rear view mirror as the officers jumped on the car behind her to get it to stop for them.
Susan kept going.
The expired inspection sticker differs greatly in color from the inspection stickers of compliant vehicles, and therefore sticks out to anyone paying attention. Susan has managed to elude the police on more than one occasion. The fact that she parked in the criminal court parking lot for almost three weeks undetected by anyone in a position to give her a ticket is bloody lucky.
However, she finds herself scanning the horizon for patrol cars & making unplanned lefts or rights to stay out of their way. One close call came as she was in the left hand turning lane. A policeman drove past, eyeballed the inspection, then eyeballed Susan. He put his blinker on to turn around as Susan's lane got the green arrow. Heart pounding she stomped on the gas pedal and made the first available turn off the road then sat there till the coast was clear.
The other day Susan found herself driving right into a police roadblock. She was trapped like a rat!
She mentally adjusted to the situation and rolled her window down in preparation for the conversation the officers would want to have with her. She took note of where she could pull over. She leaned toward the window and looked at the officers. She was ready to be cute.
They waved her through.
Wait. What?
The officers waved her through.
Susan kept going and watched in her rear view mirror as the officers jumped on the car behind her to get it to stop for them.
Susan kept going.
3.28.2009
This Post Has Been Deleted By The Blogger
Susan stayed up quite late last night writing a post about something that disturbed her husband before he even read a word.
Oh, my!
The subject post was very long and funny and Susan didn't even write anything bad about anything.
The husband advised Susan to delete her hard work.
She complied, but would like it noted for the record that the husband is a bummer.
Oh, my!
The subject post was very long and funny and Susan didn't even write anything bad about anything.
The husband advised Susan to delete her hard work.
She complied, but would like it noted for the record that the husband is a bummer.
3.26.2009
3.25.2009
The $130 Pair Of Pants
Susan purchased an expensive pair of pants rather impulsively the other day. She was under the euphoria of job foreplay and was too woozy to make a solid purchasing decision. Although the pants were nice, they never would have made it out the door with her under normal circumstances. But, sometimes when one shops in a nice store, with proper dressing rooms and psychologically trained sales personnel, things just happen. Particularly when one comes directly from a promising job interview armed with a gift card.
The following day the pants went back.
In their place were purchased two tops because that's what Susan needs. She can wear the same pair of black pants for a month as long as she alternates everything else. Susan would like the reader to know that she also negotiated a 20% discount on one item and free shipping on the other.
Susan rocks.
When Susan returned home after a long morning of trying on all the clothes in the store twice, she expected to find a message on her answering machine from her prospective employer.
There was no freak-out when the message was not there.
Susan is a confident and mature woman, not a paranoid & isolated housefrau who believes that there is a plot to f*ck around with her. What employed stranger has the time to f*ck around with Susan anyway?
Susan kept her mind occupied by ironing everything in her closet.
She mended seams and polished jewelry.
She brutally re-assessed her clothing.
Susan started a bag for Goodwill.
Eventually Susan left the house to watch her son's wrestling team, eat pizza and interact with her family like a normal person.
The following day the pants went back.
In their place were purchased two tops because that's what Susan needs. She can wear the same pair of black pants for a month as long as she alternates everything else. Susan would like the reader to know that she also negotiated a 20% discount on one item and free shipping on the other.
Susan rocks.
When Susan returned home after a long morning of trying on all the clothes in the store twice, she expected to find a message on her answering machine from her prospective employer.
There was no freak-out when the message was not there.
Susan is a confident and mature woman, not a paranoid & isolated housefrau who believes that there is a plot to f*ck around with her. What employed stranger has the time to f*ck around with Susan anyway?
Susan kept her mind occupied by ironing everything in her closet.
She mended seams and polished jewelry.
She brutally re-assessed her clothing.
Susan started a bag for Goodwill.
Eventually Susan left the house to watch her son's wrestling team, eat pizza and interact with her family like a normal person.
3.24.2009
Susan Contemplates Her Unemployment
Lately Susan's unemployed ass could be found winding electrical tape around the pieces of her life hoping they'd hold together for one more day.
That notwithstanding, she has enjoyed large parts of her exile from the working world.
She spent the summer with her kids, then relished the solitude when they went back to school.
She liked the relaxed pace of not having to be anywhere.
It didn't matter if she ran out of clean clothes.
There was always time for whatever she wanted to do, as long as it didn't cost anything.
She learned how to cook curries and make chutney. She figured out she could replicate ricotta with tofu, lemon juice and dried oregano. She had an affair with blue cheese.
Susan had a couple of melt-downs; like when the COBRA benefits were cancelled or when her food budget could not accommodate paper towels.
Susan has been led to believe she'll be offered a job shortly. One with responsibilities and benefits and people to talk to. With a decent salary. A job Susan anticipates she'll actually like.
Susan celebrated this possibility with a $130 pair of pants.
Simmer down, she used a gift card.
That notwithstanding, she has enjoyed large parts of her exile from the working world.
She spent the summer with her kids, then relished the solitude when they went back to school.
She liked the relaxed pace of not having to be anywhere.
It didn't matter if she ran out of clean clothes.
There was always time for whatever she wanted to do, as long as it didn't cost anything.
She learned how to cook curries and make chutney. She figured out she could replicate ricotta with tofu, lemon juice and dried oregano. She had an affair with blue cheese.
Susan had a couple of melt-downs; like when the COBRA benefits were cancelled or when her food budget could not accommodate paper towels.
Susan has been led to believe she'll be offered a job shortly. One with responsibilities and benefits and people to talk to. With a decent salary. A job Susan anticipates she'll actually like.
Susan celebrated this possibility with a $130 pair of pants.
Simmer down, she used a gift card.
3.23.2009
North Carolina
Last month Susan had the pleasure of sitting in a car packed to capacity with her family and their suitcases before emerging twelve hours later in North Carolina. Susan and her family were visiting her elder step-daughter's family, which included two brand new baby boys! In addition, Susan's younger step-daughter would be joining them with her own toddling daughter. Everyone bunking in the same house.
Susan doesn't care for the term step-daughter because she really lucked out with these two. But, for the purpose of this post, it identifies the relationship. Susan and her step-daughters have spent many hundreds of hours together. However, they were divided into increments of 5 over the course of 15 years, not over one long weekend.
Susan's hosts spoiled her;
First, by the father of the twins who jumped up to make his step-mother-in-law coffee whenever she needed a hit. When he wasn't impressing her with his magic caffeine elixir he was pouring her another glass of sangria or a snifter of something delightful and intoxicating.
Then, by the mother of the twins who fetched Susan a blanket to chase away the chilly night air as they all sat outside drinking, smoking, chatting and laughing. She also indulged Susan in hunting down a local thrift shop (because Susan has a monkey on her back) and turned Susan on to a favorite cheap wine, a case of which she managed to stuff into her trunk on the way out of town.
Lastly, by two utterly adorable brothers, so charming and sweet, happy and bright, chubby and blue-eyed. Who could care about anything else when they're in the room?
Susan's younger step-daughter is no slouch herself;
she's got a toddler in tow, a bun in her oven, a full time job and still likes her husband. One of Susan's fave parts of the visit was being given 'Europeans', a kiss on each cheek, by the toddler.
Oh, and this particular step-daughter bought Susan some underpants.
Susan tried to be a good guest by cleaning up after herself, pitching in with household chores and reorganizing a few closets to her own specifications (because Susan's OCD travels with her).
After three days fish and house guests begin to stink so Susan folded herself, her family and their suitcases back into the car and made the grueling twelve hour trek home.
The End.
Susan doesn't care for the term step-daughter because she really lucked out with these two. But, for the purpose of this post, it identifies the relationship. Susan and her step-daughters have spent many hundreds of hours together. However, they were divided into increments of 5 over the course of 15 years, not over one long weekend.
Susan's hosts spoiled her;
First, by the father of the twins who jumped up to make his step-mother-in-law coffee whenever she needed a hit. When he wasn't impressing her with his magic caffeine elixir he was pouring her another glass of sangria or a snifter of something delightful and intoxicating.
Then, by the mother of the twins who fetched Susan a blanket to chase away the chilly night air as they all sat outside drinking, smoking, chatting and laughing. She also indulged Susan in hunting down a local thrift shop (because Susan has a monkey on her back) and turned Susan on to a favorite cheap wine, a case of which she managed to stuff into her trunk on the way out of town.
Lastly, by two utterly adorable brothers, so charming and sweet, happy and bright, chubby and blue-eyed. Who could care about anything else when they're in the room?
Susan's younger step-daughter is no slouch herself;
she's got a toddler in tow, a bun in her oven, a full time job and still likes her husband. One of Susan's fave parts of the visit was being given 'Europeans', a kiss on each cheek, by the toddler.
Oh, and this particular step-daughter bought Susan some underpants.
Susan tried to be a good guest by cleaning up after herself, pitching in with household chores and reorganizing a few closets to her own specifications (because Susan's OCD travels with her).
After three days fish and house guests begin to stink so Susan folded herself, her family and their suitcases back into the car and made the grueling twelve hour trek home.
The End.
3.22.2009
Apparently Susan's Nieces Were Right
Susan's little sister has a hot tub in which Susan has often found herself a guest. Little sister's hot tub is tucked away for privacy and open to the stars. And sometimes the rain or snow, which only adds to the wonderfulness of the experience. Susan has no need for vacations or chiropractors or psychiatrists when she can soak her bum and sip a glass of wine while she and little sister discuss life's events. Plus, Susan has no money for such extravagances.
A while back Susan's nieces K8 and Liz joined their mother and favorite aunt for a relaxing soak. The conversation soared and swirled over many topics, as it usually does, before pit-stopping at who reminds them of Aunt Sue.
All four have been enthusiastic fans of Project Runway and therefore very familiar with the associated hosts, judges & personalities. Susan was startled to learn that everyone (but she) overwhelmingly agreed that Tim Gunn reminded them of Susan.
Tim Gunn is a gay man, while Susan is nothing of the sort.
The conversation revealed opinions of warmth and respect for Tim Gunn, the alter-Susan. Very shortly she found herself not minding the comparison at all. In fact, Susan was quite happy to linked with a well regarded man of style and wit with a good vocabulary.
Tim Gunn, indeed.
Most recently, while Susan and her fellow jurors were spending time not talking about the thing which brought them all together, Susan remarked about the comparison to Tim Gunn. Immediately, almost in unison, three or four of the jurors exclaimed 'Yes, we can see that!'
A while back Susan's nieces K8 and Liz joined their mother and favorite aunt for a relaxing soak. The conversation soared and swirled over many topics, as it usually does, before pit-stopping at who reminds them of Aunt Sue.
All four have been enthusiastic fans of Project Runway and therefore very familiar with the associated hosts, judges & personalities. Susan was startled to learn that everyone (but she) overwhelmingly agreed that Tim Gunn reminded them of Susan.
Tim Gunn is a gay man, while Susan is nothing of the sort.
The conversation revealed opinions of warmth and respect for Tim Gunn, the alter-Susan. Very shortly she found herself not minding the comparison at all. In fact, Susan was quite happy to linked with a well regarded man of style and wit with a good vocabulary.
Tim Gunn, indeed.
Most recently, while Susan and her fellow jurors were spending time not talking about the thing which brought them all together, Susan remarked about the comparison to Tim Gunn. Immediately, almost in unison, three or four of the jurors exclaimed 'Yes, we can see that!'
3.21.2009
Adorable Cousin Alex
Last night found the majority of Susan's girl cousins together to watch a movie which Aunt Eileen had chosen for the occasion, Anatomy of A Murder
(Susan's review; it was long).
What a delightful surprise to find Cousin Alex home from college with her new short hair-do and smarty pants attitude.
Susan is a big fan of Cousin Alex because she is a creative, independent thinking young woman who sez things like 'I love to be in France for Bastille Day' as serious as death.
She is also adorably diminutive and when the conversation looped around to weight (a popular topic among this demographic) she said
'I never weigh myself. I don't understand why anyone would ever weigh themselves.'
Tre cute!
The movie was about to begin and Cousin Alex inquired, in an agitated manner, as to whether everyone was planning to talk through it. Susan and her little sister indicated that Cousin Alex could leave right then if this might be a problem. However, she did not take the bait and stuck it out, like everyone else, to the bitter end.
(Susan's review; it was long).
What a delightful surprise to find Cousin Alex home from college with her new short hair-do and smarty pants attitude.
Susan is a big fan of Cousin Alex because she is a creative, independent thinking young woman who sez things like 'I love to be in France for Bastille Day' as serious as death.
She is also adorably diminutive and when the conversation looped around to weight (a popular topic among this demographic) she said
'I never weigh myself. I don't understand why anyone would ever weigh themselves.'
Tre cute!
The movie was about to begin and Cousin Alex inquired, in an agitated manner, as to whether everyone was planning to talk through it. Susan and her little sister indicated that Cousin Alex could leave right then if this might be a problem. However, she did not take the bait and stuck it out, like everyone else, to the bitter end.
3.20.2009
Jury Duty, The Conclusion
Susan had the privilege of spending the better part of the last three weeks with twelve strangers as they sat in a courtroom and listened to two versions of the same story. The story was always interesting and often thrilling, informative, entertaining and scary.
Susan was most impressed with the open-mindedness, integrity and patience of her fellow jurors as they deliberated every point of every charge, even the ones with the obvious answers.
The group helped one another see varied points of view, listened with a willingness to hear and kept each member as equal as any other.
Susan's world was made a little more hopeful because of them.
Thanks guys.
Susan was most impressed with the open-mindedness, integrity and patience of her fellow jurors as they deliberated every point of every charge, even the ones with the obvious answers.
The group helped one another see varied points of view, listened with a willingness to hear and kept each member as equal as any other.
Susan's world was made a little more hopeful because of them.
Thanks guys.
3.19.2009
Eggplant
Susan's medium sized children are pretty good about eating their vegetables. This of course can be attributed to the manner in which Susan prepares and serves the vegetables.
Further supportive evidence of Susan's vegetable talents are often provided at the dinner table by unrelated children invited over to eat. Quite often the mothers of these children will remark how their child would never eat such a vegetable at home, making Susan feel superior.
And rightly so because we're talking about hardcore examples such as cauliflower, asparagus and broccoli rabe. Some of them may not be particularly happy about the broccoli rabe, but they eat it.
There's one vegetable that Susan & the husband love but, no matter what she does with it her children refuse to eat;
Eggplant.
Susan's children absolutely gag on the vile eggplant.
One of them even cries when she sees it on her plate, which is one reason (of many) why Susan likes to refer to this child as The Crybaby.
Susan was looking for the easy way out of dinner & wished to serve her family the eggplant left over from a weekend party. Susan's eggplant preparation was such that even Susan's eggplant-resistant little sister was won over. And she's a tough customer.
Nonetheless, Susan had a tougher job ahead of her getting The Crybaby to crack.
If she could weaken The Crybaby then her older brother Fuckleupagus would crumble.
But, how?
What would make The Crybaby voluntarily put eggplant into her mouth, chew it up then swallow it? Repeatedly? Until it was all gone?
Susan put her thinking cap on.
The habit in Susan's house is not to serve soda during the week. However, Susan had a premonition and held onto a bottle left over from the weekend party, everything else was poured down the sink.
Susan approached The Crybaby.
'What can I do to get you to eat some eggplant?'
The Crybaby looked at Susan, pondering the answer. Susan's heart was pounding.
'Money?' suggested Susan. The Crybaby's eyes widened.
In the end The Crybaby sold herself out for $4 and a glass of Sprite Zero.
The family sat down and enjoyed their dinner of leftover eggplant, salad and penne with sauce.
Susan swears she heard someone say 'That wasn't that bad, Mom.'
Further supportive evidence of Susan's vegetable talents are often provided at the dinner table by unrelated children invited over to eat. Quite often the mothers of these children will remark how their child would never eat such a vegetable at home, making Susan feel superior.
And rightly so because we're talking about hardcore examples such as cauliflower, asparagus and broccoli rabe. Some of them may not be particularly happy about the broccoli rabe, but they eat it.
There's one vegetable that Susan & the husband love but, no matter what she does with it her children refuse to eat;
Eggplant.
Susan's children absolutely gag on the vile eggplant.
One of them even cries when she sees it on her plate, which is one reason (of many) why Susan likes to refer to this child as The Crybaby.
Susan was looking for the easy way out of dinner & wished to serve her family the eggplant left over from a weekend party. Susan's eggplant preparation was such that even Susan's eggplant-resistant little sister was won over. And she's a tough customer.
Nonetheless, Susan had a tougher job ahead of her getting The Crybaby to crack.
If she could weaken The Crybaby then her older brother Fuckleupagus would crumble.
But, how?
What would make The Crybaby voluntarily put eggplant into her mouth, chew it up then swallow it? Repeatedly? Until it was all gone?
Susan put her thinking cap on.
The habit in Susan's house is not to serve soda during the week. However, Susan had a premonition and held onto a bottle left over from the weekend party, everything else was poured down the sink.
Susan approached The Crybaby.
'What can I do to get you to eat some eggplant?'
The Crybaby looked at Susan, pondering the answer. Susan's heart was pounding.
'Money?' suggested Susan. The Crybaby's eyes widened.
In the end The Crybaby sold herself out for $4 and a glass of Sprite Zero.
The family sat down and enjoyed their dinner of leftover eggplant, salad and penne with sauce.
Susan swears she heard someone say 'That wasn't that bad, Mom.'
3.18.2009
Burt's Bees Coconut Foot Cream
On her way to jury duty, as Susan was gathering up her belongings after walking through the metal detector, she became involved in a short conversation with the officer who x-rayed her bag.
Susan was complimented on smelling 'like the first breeze of summer.'
The officer told Susan that his wife loved the fragrance of coconut, and what was she wearing? So, Susan opened up her bag & pulled out the Burt's Bees tube to show the officer.
She explained that it's very greasy and one only needs to use a smidgen.
When he asked how effective it was on dry skin she unscrewed the cap and motioned for the officer to extend his hand.
Susan placed a pea sized amount on the back of the officer's hand and instructed him to really work it into the skin, which he did.
Now they both smelled like the first breeze of summer.
Susan had an extra bounce in her step as she walked away to join her fellow jurors.
Susan was complimented on smelling 'like the first breeze of summer.'
The officer told Susan that his wife loved the fragrance of coconut, and what was she wearing? So, Susan opened up her bag & pulled out the Burt's Bees tube to show the officer.
She explained that it's very greasy and one only needs to use a smidgen.
When he asked how effective it was on dry skin she unscrewed the cap and motioned for the officer to extend his hand.
Susan placed a pea sized amount on the back of the officer's hand and instructed him to really work it into the skin, which he did.
Now they both smelled like the first breeze of summer.
Susan had an extra bounce in her step as she walked away to join her fellow jurors.
3.17.2009
Lovely Day For A Guinness
Arthur Guinness was an Irish brewer and father of twenty one children, Sweet Jesus!
In 1759 he left his little brother in charge of the brewery & signed a 9,000 year lease on the abandoned St. James Gate brewery in Dublin which remains the blessed home of Guinness Stout to this day.
Stout is an ale. It began as a porter, which was a dark beer popular with the fellows who humped heavy objects all over town for a living. These guys needed a drink after a long day toiling away at their careers in cheap labor.
Guinness has many beneficial qualities. Aside from being a bloody fantastic brew it contains iron, antioxidants and only 125 calories per 12 ounces. A nurse friend of Susan's used to mix it with condensed milk and serve it to her elderly mother. If that isn't a proper testiment to the medicinal properties of a wee nip o' the Guinness, well then I don't know what is, Bejesus!
In 1759 he left his little brother in charge of the brewery & signed a 9,000 year lease on the abandoned St. James Gate brewery in Dublin which remains the blessed home of Guinness Stout to this day.
Stout is an ale. It began as a porter, which was a dark beer popular with the fellows who humped heavy objects all over town for a living. These guys needed a drink after a long day toiling away at their careers in cheap labor.
Guinness has many beneficial qualities. Aside from being a bloody fantastic brew it contains iron, antioxidants and only 125 calories per 12 ounces. A nurse friend of Susan's used to mix it with condensed milk and serve it to her elderly mother. If that isn't a proper testiment to the medicinal properties of a wee nip o' the Guinness, well then I don't know what is, Bejesus!
3.16.2009
Susan Green Cleans Her Tub
Susan likes standard caustic chemical cleaners as much as the next guy but decided, purely as an experiment due to the boredom of unemployment, to clean her filthy tub with vinegar and baking soda.
Susan did a small amount of research and settled upon the combination of 1/4 cup baking soda (as a scouring element) and 1/2 cup vinegar (cuts soap scum) which she administered with a scrubby sponge. Oh, how her shower gleamed! (After much rinsing). Susan was very happy with the result although she had to mix several batches.
Susan was very attracted to a recipe for a tub & tile spray which she felt may be more practical and convenient. But, she would have to purchase some tea tree oil.
Tea tree oil has many uses as she came to learn. It has antiseptic and anti-fungal properties and can be used both on the skin or in the toilet.
Susan mixed 1 and 2/3 cup of baking soda with 1/2 cup liquid soap into a spray bottle. She added 1/2 cup water, 2 tablespoons vinegar, a half teaspoon of tea tree oil & shook the crap out of it. Then she added more water when the baking soda appeared to be clogging the spray mechanism. However, again Susan's tub gleamed! (After minimal rinsing). And it smelled nice in a way that didn't make her cough up blood.
So, Susan took her spray bottle into the kitchen to try out on her eighties era counter top. She sprayed, scrubbed a little bit and wiped like the unemployed Stepford Wife she was, and at the conclusion her counter was clean! It even pulled Cousin Lisa in from the other room with it's magical natural mojo. Cousin Lisa is an organic gal & has a long list of things she can't tolerate such as aerosol, Splenda & old house smells. Cousin Lisa shared Susan's new enthusiasm for natural household cleaners and made it her business to go home with the recipe for Susan's green cleaning spray.
Susan did a small amount of research and settled upon the combination of 1/4 cup baking soda (as a scouring element) and 1/2 cup vinegar (cuts soap scum) which she administered with a scrubby sponge. Oh, how her shower gleamed! (After much rinsing). Susan was very happy with the result although she had to mix several batches.
Susan was very attracted to a recipe for a tub & tile spray which she felt may be more practical and convenient. But, she would have to purchase some tea tree oil.
Tea tree oil has many uses as she came to learn. It has antiseptic and anti-fungal properties and can be used both on the skin or in the toilet.
Susan mixed 1 and 2/3 cup of baking soda with 1/2 cup liquid soap into a spray bottle. She added 1/2 cup water, 2 tablespoons vinegar, a half teaspoon of tea tree oil & shook the crap out of it. Then she added more water when the baking soda appeared to be clogging the spray mechanism. However, again Susan's tub gleamed! (After minimal rinsing). And it smelled nice in a way that didn't make her cough up blood.
So, Susan took her spray bottle into the kitchen to try out on her eighties era counter top. She sprayed, scrubbed a little bit and wiped like the unemployed Stepford Wife she was, and at the conclusion her counter was clean! It even pulled Cousin Lisa in from the other room with it's magical natural mojo. Cousin Lisa is an organic gal & has a long list of things she can't tolerate such as aerosol, Splenda & old house smells. Cousin Lisa shared Susan's new enthusiasm for natural household cleaners and made it her business to go home with the recipe for Susan's green cleaning spray.
3.15.2009
Susan And Grace Meet At The Movies
Susan's childhood friend Grace invited Susan to be her guest at the movies. Susan and Grace are in the habit of going to the movies when one of them has some extra money. They even have a favorite movie theatre and like to take advantage of unadvertised savings when they pay for one movie then sneak into a second. Needless to say anyone who would do something as ethically murky as this would probably also smuggle in their own snacks and alcohol.
However, on this particular outing Susan and Grace were living large and wished to purchase a cappuccino & some biscotti to enjoy during the second movie. Unfortunately, and to their absolute horror, there was no milk available for the cappuccino. Grace, always the better student, spied a can of whipped cream and instructed the server to use the the contents in lieu of steamed milk. The childhood friends looked on as each cup was completely filled with whipped cream. They waited while the coffee brewed. And, as if seeing the Gates of Heaven, they watched the coffee being poured over the whipped cream before being delivered unto their trembling hands.
Let it be known far and wide, that from this day forward Susan and Grace very much prefer to drink their coffee from a cup filled with whipped cream.
However, on this particular outing Susan and Grace were living large and wished to purchase a cappuccino & some biscotti to enjoy during the second movie. Unfortunately, and to their absolute horror, there was no milk available for the cappuccino. Grace, always the better student, spied a can of whipped cream and instructed the server to use the the contents in lieu of steamed milk. The childhood friends looked on as each cup was completely filled with whipped cream. They waited while the coffee brewed. And, as if seeing the Gates of Heaven, they watched the coffee being poured over the whipped cream before being delivered unto their trembling hands.
Let it be known far and wide, that from this day forward Susan and Grace very much prefer to drink their coffee from a cup filled with whipped cream.
3.14.2009
Susan Likes Jury Duty
Susan is currently seated on a jury somewhere within the democratic society in which she is privileged to live, but she can't talk about it.
What she can say is that the right side of the judge's face twitches when he gets angry, that nobody in court looks anywhere but straight ahead or at the lawyers and court room lighting makes even the pretty court stenographer look bad.
Additionally, Susan has picked up a few tips for anyone who may find themselves in the witness box;
Confine all answers to either yes or no unless instructed to describe something.
Do not make clucking noises into the microphone during a sidebar.
Do not yawn into the microphone at any time.
Do not incorporate personal comments about the absurdity of the question into your answer.
Do not start a conversation with anyone in the viewing gallery.
And, if the judge threatens you with contempt of court, believe him.
Susan likes her fellow jurors. Mostly. She even baked for them last week. However, Susan's Little Sister has said that you don't know how stoopid people can be until you have to deliberate with them. This comment was based on Little Sister's personal experience and not jealousy because Susan is seated on an interesting case or because Susan likes joking with the officers who make her empty her pockets & x-ray her bag or because Susan holds the next twenty five years to life of another human being in her hands.
More on this as it develops.
Rather, after it concludes.
What she can say is that the right side of the judge's face twitches when he gets angry, that nobody in court looks anywhere but straight ahead or at the lawyers and court room lighting makes even the pretty court stenographer look bad.
Additionally, Susan has picked up a few tips for anyone who may find themselves in the witness box;
Confine all answers to either yes or no unless instructed to describe something.
Do not make clucking noises into the microphone during a sidebar.
Do not yawn into the microphone at any time.
Do not incorporate personal comments about the absurdity of the question into your answer.
Do not start a conversation with anyone in the viewing gallery.
And, if the judge threatens you with contempt of court, believe him.
Susan likes her fellow jurors. Mostly. She even baked for them last week. However, Susan's Little Sister has said that you don't know how stoopid people can be until you have to deliberate with them. This comment was based on Little Sister's personal experience and not jealousy because Susan is seated on an interesting case or because Susan likes joking with the officers who make her empty her pockets & x-ray her bag or because Susan holds the next twenty five years to life of another human being in her hands.
More on this as it develops.
Rather, after it concludes.
3.10.2009
A Lady Walks Into A Bar With A Pig Under Her Arm
This joke required two telephone calls to Susan's old man because it's his joke and she's retarded.
A lady walks into a bar with a pig under her arm. The bartender looks up and sez 'Where'd you get that dog?' The lady sez 'That's not a dog, it's a pig.' The bartender sez 'I'm talking to the pig.'
A lady walks into a bar with a pig under her arm. The bartender looks up and sez 'Where'd you get that dog?' The lady sez 'That's not a dog, it's a pig.' The bartender sez 'I'm talking to the pig.'
3.09.2009
Haiku
My son thinks he can
Fool his unemployed mother
With middle school lies
No homework again
What a nice teacher you have
I'll give her a call
When I was a kid
Teachers took perverse pleasure
Assigning homework
Please bring me the phone
But don't wander off because
I'm not done with you
Fool his unemployed mother
With middle school lies
No homework again
What a nice teacher you have
I'll give her a call
When I was a kid
Teachers took perverse pleasure
Assigning homework
Please bring me the phone
But don't wander off because
I'm not done with you
Parental Failure
Susan appears to be failing in a specific parental responsibility; to motivate one of her medium-sized children to complete his homework. Perhaps the term homework is misleading, let's add social studies projects, English test reviews and Italian worksheets just to be safe.
For purposes of identification and until the child in question decides to pull his head out of his arse, he will be known as Fuckleupagus.
Fuckleupagus has many exemplary qualities but we're not going to talk about any of them right now.
Fuckleupagus dooms himself to failure, which Susan guesses is pretty standard behavior for someone of his demographic. The lies of Fuckleupagus are riddled with facial tics, are poorly constructed and unravel easily. Sometimes he seems woozy with panic when caught, and other times he appears completely unconcerned. This inconsistency is certainly a puzzlement for Susan.
The electronic recreational privileges of Fuckleupagus have been replaced with enforced reading and early bedtimes. This has resulted in minimal effectiveness so Susan has added jumping up & down and screaming for variety. Susan has also tried calmly questioning her Fuckleupagus because there's obviously something wrong with his f*cking brain and did he wish to see a doctor?
Susan has always found the discipline of her children to be a tricky area. Her own mother ruled by the back of her hand and Susan's children should thank their lucky stars that Susan has not chosen to follow that example.
Although she'd like to, yes she would.
For purposes of identification and until the child in question decides to pull his head out of his arse, he will be known as Fuckleupagus.
Fuckleupagus has many exemplary qualities but we're not going to talk about any of them right now.
Fuckleupagus dooms himself to failure, which Susan guesses is pretty standard behavior for someone of his demographic. The lies of Fuckleupagus are riddled with facial tics, are poorly constructed and unravel easily. Sometimes he seems woozy with panic when caught, and other times he appears completely unconcerned. This inconsistency is certainly a puzzlement for Susan.
The electronic recreational privileges of Fuckleupagus have been replaced with enforced reading and early bedtimes. This has resulted in minimal effectiveness so Susan has added jumping up & down and screaming for variety. Susan has also tried calmly questioning her Fuckleupagus because there's obviously something wrong with his f*cking brain and did he wish to see a doctor?
Susan has always found the discipline of her children to be a tricky area. Her own mother ruled by the back of her hand and Susan's children should thank their lucky stars that Susan has not chosen to follow that example.
Although she'd like to, yes she would.
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