Til death do us fart part

Wow. Time flies when you're having fun. It also flies when you've been married to Stewart Alexis for NINE WHOLE YEARS.

Who'd have thunk it way back in 1984 when we looked like this?

Stew, you've made every second of the last 9 years more interesting, emotional, hilarious, stronger, fascinating, challenging, unbelievable, fun and meaningful. Totally worth it. Thanks for sticking with me. Thanks for sticking with us. Happy Anniversary!

Seriously.

Dear Old People,

Leggings are meant to be worn UNDERNEATH something. They are not meant to be worn as pants. They are also not meant for OLD PEOPLE, but that's a whole nother blog.

I'm just sayin',
Suzie

The thought only counts like 50%

I hate to be Debbie Downer or Pouty Patty during a time of cheer, but I have received some pretty lame Christmas presents over the years. It's likely you have too. I decided that I'd honor those gifts (and their givers) in a little list. Now you don't feel so alone and hopeless for getting socks and a fruitcake. We're all in this together.

Gift: A half-used bottle of roll-on perfume
Giver: My Great-Aunt Jewell
A half empty bottle is one thing, but the fact that it was rolled on another person's skin is quite another thing.

Gift: The Superman Superheroes Children's Cookbook
Giver: My Great-Aunt Jewell (are you noticing a pattern?)
Actually a really fun cookbook for kids, except that in the first paragraph of the introduction, I learned that eating too much food is what makes you fat. Up until then (at age 11) I seriously had no idea that overeating caused obesity. I totally could have lived my life in ignorant bliss if Aunt Jewell and Superman hadn't schooled me on that fact of life.

Gift: A box of bubble wrap
Giver: My Mother, Leanna
I actually think this was a really creative gift (I LOVE BUBBLE WRAP), it's just that when you unwrap a giant box on Christmas morning you expect there to be something in there besides packaging material.

Gift: A microwave potato chip maker
Giver: My Husband, Stewart
Because it's much more economical to spend 3 hours cutting potato slices and ending up with twelve soggy chips than to go to the Kwik-E-Mart and pick up a bag of Lay's for 99 cents.

Gift: A microwave radiation detector
Giver: Again, My Husband, Stewart
Nothing says "Happy Birthday Baby Jesus" like the threat of a defective household appliance.

This year, I hope you get everything you ever wanted for Christmas. And I hope that my husband doesn't buy 75% of my gifts from the As Seen on TV store. If you need to vent about the awful presents that you've experienced - comment below!

As Always,
Stewzie

Silent Night

Last night, Stew returned from his week long hunting trip in Indiana. How we ever went months on end without seeing each other...I'm glad that whole stage of our lives is over with. I mean, one whole week of me being responsible for Austin's morning meal and then having to take out the trash twice (which actually only got done once) left me longing for Stew to come home and do his man chores.

For clarification, I'm responsible for the woman work - you know, cooking delicious stuff, making sure the house doesn't smell like dirty socks, cleaning Stew's tiny beard hairs from between the faucet handles, DVR-ing the current episodes of Steven Seagal: Lawman for my husband's viewing pleasure, etc.

So, in honor of my true love's return, I want to share with you a little prose I came up with. Don't worry, I won't quit my day job.

An Ode to Snoring - by Suzie Alexis

It's something no writer could compose

The symphony that plays out through your nose

Night after night I hear it blow

Pillow in hand, to the living room I go

Oh, how I'd rather a quiet bed

I guess I'll settle for the sofa instead

-The End-


Welcome back home, Stew. Austin and I missed you. And your snoring. Loud, noisy snoring.

O'er the fields we go

Spoiler alert:

If you haven't received our Christmas card in the mail yet, please avert your eyes for the remainder of this blog post. I just couldn't wait to share it.

The AWESOME photos and card design were created by my AWESOME brother, Tim. You can check his other stuff out at www.tjmohrphoto.com. I can't wait 'til he edits and posts the rest of our photo shoot pics on there. That's a hint, Timbo.

Meet my Father

So this one time at band camp...

This little gem was taken when Phil was practicing with the Southern Rebels Drum & Bugle Corps. Back in 1911...or whenever it was when he was that young. I don't know. I didn't inherit his stellar math skills.

But I obviously inherited his keen sense of fashion. As my pal Karlee would say - he's wearing an abundance of Twenty. Look it up.

Unbeweaveable

Oh Lawdy. Shorty done dropped her weave up in the EZ-Serve pawkin lot. Shoo, now she gone have to get her hurr did again...

I think I've confused eBay...

Hi Suzannah Alexis,
Here are some items you might like:



Ed Hardy Men's & Women's Black Rhinestone T-shirts



I'm Kind of A Big Deal Women's and Men's T-Shirt




Disney High School Musical Flashlight


Act Fast — limited quantities.

Copyright 2009 eBay Inc. All rights reserved.
Designated trademarks and brands are the property of their respective owners.
eBay and the eBay logo are trademarks of eBay Inc.

...Hopefully it's not because I look like a Guidette who enjoys karaoke-ing to teenage pop music while searching for things in the dark. Who is also kind of a big deal...

...Maybe it's cause the only item I've purchased from eBay this year is a rainbow-striped Smirnoff Ice sweatband for my bowling team. (Hi Alley Oops!) Whoever has the worst score after the 3rd frame has to wear it. Let me tell you, it's been a great incentive to knock down some pins....but likely a source of confusion for eBay's marketing department.

Either way, I'd like to thank eBay for completely missing the mark on my "preferences" and simultaneously giving me a complex that complete strangers think I'm a cheesy dresser with lame taste in music. And flashlights. Who, despite all of this, still thinks she IS KIND OF A BIG DEAL.

Seriously.

Did nobody down at the pharmaceutical company say the name of this medication out loud before they settled on it? It sounds like some Kim Kardashian-esque badonkadonk euphemism.



They should probably get J-Lo as their celebrity spokesperson. "Hi, I'm Jennifer Lopez, and I use AcipHex..."

The Austin Chronicles - Part 1

This is the first installment in a 10 (million) part series I like to call "The Austin Chronicles." If you're scratching your head wondering who Austin is, well then you haven't seen this or this. In a nutshell, Austin is our 8-year-old Chocolate Lab, who eats Irish Spring soap, thinks my 5'x7' zebra rug is his personal blankie, and is just an all-around hoot. Especially if hoots weigh more than the average teenager and cost you more in medical bills than the average budget of a major metropolitan city.

The Austin Chronicles, though numbered for easy reference (who ever said Stewzie doesn't care about the blog-readers?), will not necessarily be in any chronological order. I figure, if Austin is unpredictable, so too should be his chronicles. This series will likely include:

1.) That time he broke his leg and it cost us our life savings BEFORE we had pet insurance.
2.) That time he cut the tip of his tail and left a trail of high velocity blood spatter across the entire U.S. of A. and didn't stop bleeding for SIX months.
3.) That time he got a chunk of wood lodged in his soft palate.
4.) That time he ate the baseboards off our walls, the hair dye in my purse, the only roll of film from Stewzie's first Thanksgiving and Christmas, bubble gum lips, and a wallet IN ONE DAY.
5.) The time he kinda-sorta broke-dislocated his tail.
6.) The time he ate a whole platter of blackened redfish in 10 seconds.
7.) The time he escaped from the backyard and caused his normally fully-clothed mama to run up and down our old neighborhood in her PANTIES searching for him. Oh, and our old neighborhood was located 10 feet from a major highway and directly across the street from the largest Baptist church in the city and it just happened to be Sunday at noon.
8.) The time he committed grand larceny of the neighbor dog's frisbee.
9.) The time he found a sea turtle in our suburban back yard.
10.)The time he fell in a pool 3 times in a row, not realizing it was there. Oh, and he is TERRIFIED of water. You read that correctly. A LABRADOR RETRIEVER. TERRIFIED OF WATER.

So, here goes Part 1...

The Brillo Pad

A few years back, I got home from work one day, and like the good wife that I am, I set out to clean the bathroom. Step one was cleaning the bathtub. I got out a fresh, new Brillo Pad, and then the phone rang. I set the Brillo Pad down on the tub and walked into the living room to answer the phone. Wrong number, it turns out. So I go back into the bathroom, and am greeted by my little brown helper, who has blue soap powder all over his little brown snout and lining his little puppy lips. And there is no trace of said Brillo Pad, save for a tiny shard of steel wool lying at his feet. I opened his jaws as wide as a Hungry Hungry Hippo, and see a streak of blue going all the way down his little puppy throat. I then uttered the strangest sentence of my life. "My dog ate the Brillo Pad."

I frantically called our Vet, but remember, I had just gotten home from work. Which means it's about 5:30, and the regular Vet closes at 5:00. So I call the Emergency Vet. They don't open til 6:00. Of course. Whoever left a one hour span of Vetlessness between regular Vet hours and Emergency Vet hours has obviously never owned an Austin. Anyway, after about 72 desperate voicemails left by yours truly, they called me back. I explained the whole thing to the skeptical receptionist, who informed me that I could try to make the dog throw up by feeding him peroxide, but then the B.P. might get lodged in his esophagus and choke him. I vetoed that option. Even though choking him did sound tempting. But we're talking about the same dog that used to lick the hot pepper "don't chew the furniture" spray like it was coffee table seasoning. I doubted peroxide would affect his iron belly negatively. Our other option was to let him try to digest and poop out the B.P., but since it is literally made of tiny strands of sharp metal, I vetoed that option, fearing canine colon surgery might be in our future. And if anyone in our household is going to have colon surgery, it's not going to be an animal. Or me. So Stew and I loaded up Black Betty and drove our little Austin Ambulance down to the Emergency Vet.

They put us in a tiny exam room and lined about 95% of the floor with newspaper, you know, for the REGURGITATION. The doc then explained that the solution to our little "issue" would be to give the dog a couple vials of this powder stuff that gets put in the dog's eyes, which then causes their central nervous system to freak out and make them nauseated, and then puke up the "foreign object." He assured us that 2 of these vials usually do the trick. If not, you wait 10 minutes and then give 'em 2 more vials. Never has it taken more than 6 vials. TEN vials later, my pup starts drooling and stumbling and we're all "Oooh, he's about to vomit," and he makes his way over to the only corner of the room that's not lined with newspaper (of course) and with a giant heave-ho, ralphs up.....a MUSHROOM SLICE. Not a Brillo Pad. But a slice of friggin' fungi. The Vet shoots me a cynical glance and I'm all "I swear to you, He really did swallow a Brillo Pad. And no, I don't have a clue where he found a slice of mushroom to consume." So 2 more vials (for a total of TWELVE) and the dog finally yaks up the piece de' resistance - a whole, intact Brillo Pad. I'm assuming that B.P. soap is not toxic, because in no way were his stomach acids tinted blue, so he must have digested that part without a hitch.

Just shy of $300 later, we were on our way home with a furry brown stomach that was as empty as our wallet. Luckily, we were wise enough to enroll our little health hazard in a pet insurance plan a couple years earlier, and they reimbursed us almost 2/3 of the bill. Much easier to swallow, pun intended.

Moral of the story is to never clean your bathroom. Or just have your dog's jaw wired shut. Either or.

TWELVENEAUX !

That's all I have to say about that.

The Next Buddy D

The latest in unintelligible Saints language:

Unfortunately Fortunate

If you're like me (or anyone else who hasn't been living under a rock for the past 29+ years) you've undoubtedly had one or 300 annoying experiences not unlike the one I'm about to mention.

Stew and I were heading back yesterday from a quickie weekend road trip to Willis, TX . We spent a good 3 1/2 hours buying some things everything at the Houston Ikea, so once we made it as far as Beaumont, TX, we were dying for some grub. Where else do you stop for food on a 6 hour road trip other than the culinary wonder that is Jack in the Box? So we waited for what seemed like FOREVER in line to order our grease-laden burger combos, whining the whole time about how friggin' long it was taking and "How hard is it to slather mayo on a friggin' bun and slap it together haphazardly and half-wrap it in some paper and throw it in a paper bag and dump the friggin' french fries upside down and toss the whole mess at us through the drive-up window?" And "Seriously, your fast food restaurant is out of COKE? That's like the Vatican being out of holy water!"

That being said, honestly, the whole inconvenience took us about 2-3 minutes longer than it should have and then we headed back to I-10 East. When we got about a mile from the Rayne, LA exit, we came upon the most horrific accident I've ever seen. A Ford F250 headed westbound had crossed the median, hit an 18-wheeler, spun out and flipped about 15 feet in the air, landed on a Ford Ranger that was travelling eastbound and then flipped some more and landed about 10 feet off the right lane on the eastbound side. We arrived no more than 2-3 minutes after this had taken place. Before the cops and firetrucks and ambulances. Before they discovered that the F250 driver was ejected from his truck, dragged underneath another vehicle and killed. Before they discovered that the driver of the Ranger had been crushed by the F250 and killed. Before the victims were cleared off the ground and put in body bags. Before they searched the roadside for missing body parts.

The wreckage was everywhere. Debris and personal belongings blanketed a good 300 yards of the road. A single boot was lying 3 feet in front of us. Another shoe was underneath a car tire ahead. We were the first vehicle stopped behind the caution tape and were parked there for the 3 hour delay while the place was swarmed with cops and paramedics and firemen. We had a front row view of the whole thing. It was graphic and tragic to see. Had we been 2-3 minutes earlier we would have barely seen that F250 as it landed on top of us. The Ranger that was crushed by the F250 was unrecognizable. The F250's cab was crumpled like paper. The roof was opened up like a Chinese takeout container.

Next time you experience frustration at that incompetent fast food worker, or that moron that cuts you off and makes you catch the red light...realize that maybe God puts them in your path for a reason. 2-3 minutes could make all the difference.

Spanxgiving

Oh yeah, you read that right. And yes, I totally am thankful for Spanx. If only they would make a pair that included a trap door so you could pee without becoming an amateur Cirque du Soleil contortionist while trying to hike them back up into position in a cramped bathroom stall. TMI? Good, that's what I was aiming for.

Other stuff for which I am thankful:

My Folks who love me 110% (and not because I'm the one who will eventually choose their nursing home).

My Broseph and Brotherford B. Hayes who are far more musically and artistically talented than I could ever hope to be.

My Abbey Sunshine who eased my fear of young children and is always excited to see me despite the fact that I fed her limes as a baby just to see the awkward faces she made in reaction to the sourness.

My Puppy McMuffin who regretfully knows more about me than anyone, and hasn't yet reported me to PETA for making him wear fake boobs for Halloween.

My In-Laws and Extended Family - for not being those crazy people who I can't stand spending time with and instead being those crazy people I LOVE spending time with.

My Friends who will let me snot on their shoulders when I'm sad, then make fun of me for it later.

My Husband who puts the "ew" in Stewzie, who I fall in love with more every day, who still can't figure out how to separate whites and darks, who makes phenomenal chocolate chip cookies and even shares one or two with me, and who has seen me at my best and my worst, but always loves me like I've never been better.

Decongested

So, for the past, I don't know, LOTS OF DAYS, I've been suffering from a little known strain of the influenza virus known as the WHINE FLU. Actually, you could say Stew is the one truly suffering.

During my week-long Nyquil-induced haze, I've done the following:

1. Dyed my hair auburn.
2. Purchased a Sam's Club membership and 3 pound container of Feta cheese.
3. Worn a Suzie-sized indentation in my sofa.
4. Cleared out my whole library of DVR recordings, including Top Chef, Project Runway, Biography of Freddie Mercury, and 16 consecutive "To Catch a Predator" episodes.
5. Cried because the bacon soap I tried to purchase as a stocking stuffer for Stew was out of stock.

Clearly Nyquil makes me insane. Which is one of the perks of being sick. Insanity now comes with an excuse.

Sorry for the lack of a Questionnaire Friday! posting. And thanks for all the positive feedback on this here blog-o-mine.

Sanity will return soon. Maybe.

Phlegm is a funny word

Hey kids. Have you ever snoughed? It's when your head is so jacked up on Nyquil that it tries to cough and sneeze simultaniously. It's also what I've been doing all day.

Also, I'm pretty sure I just coughed up Osama bin Laden. So that's where he's been hiding this whole time.

Do me a favor and don't tell Homeland Security I've been harboring a bearded terrorist in my lungs. And fix me some chicken noodle soup.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

As if I needed another reason to be in love with Stew's family

Here's a transcript (by memory) of a voicemail I received a few days ago from Stew's Aunt Ruthie (Hi Aunt Ruthie!):



"Hey Suzie, so I'm sitting here in my car stuck behind a train. It's next to a cow pasture so I rolled down my window and started mooing at them really loud and one actually turned around and started walking toward me. I figure there's a good story in there for your blog."



Yes, Aunt Ruthie, and an udderly hilarious story at that.

Questionnaire Friday!

Where is your Father?
Alphebetizing his extensive collection of tiny hotel shampoo bottles, shower caps, and emergency sewing kits. Then later making an Excel spreadsheet for inventory purposes. (Hi Dad!)

What is the closest orange object to you?
I have an economy-sized box of orange ear plugs on my desk...

Did you cry because Michael Jackson died?
YeeHee...and I dried my tears with a single sequined glove...YeeHee...

What does your 9th message on your phone say?
Our defense has scored 2 more touchdowns than the Browns' offense this year. Who Dat!

Look to your left. What's there?
Everything I own in a box to the left...

How long does it take you to fall asleep?
I'm sorry, what was the question? I must have just nodded off for a second...

What other language do you want to be fluent in?
This one.

Do you crack your neck often?
I can't get out of bed in the morning until I crack my neck, back, elbows, wrists, fingers, ankles, toes and hips. I sound like an arthritic bowl of Rice Krispies...

What's your current favorite commercial?
This one.

Name something you think is pointless?
A guy with no hands...

Did you have a weird dream last night?
I was on a cruise ship that resembled my Granny's living room and somebody kidnapped my dog and held him in a Ford Explorer and he (Austin) was calling out my name but the kidnapper shut him up by feeding him potatoes au gratin and then I got off the ship and was at someone's cabin on the bayou and I went swimming in the crystal clear bayou water and a 40 foot wave came and almost killed me and then I was in a cave and there was a porta potty and I had to pee so I went in and someone had thrown up fruity pebbles all over it and I was angry then I was back in my Granny's living room cruise ship and I put on sweatpants and then Stew woke me up at 4:00 a.m. to kiss me goodbye before he went hunting. So, to answer your question - nope, just an average, run of the mill dream for me...

Should guys wear pink?
They certainly should. It gives me something to ridicule. And then we can go to lunch and get mani-pedis. And gossip about Justin Timberlake.

Seriously.

These photos were taken on a roof we repaired after Hurricane Katrina.

They obviously needed HEEP. Or is it HLEP? In spelling, I assume.

Freedom is Never Free

A little over 8 years ago, a young wife sat in a hotel room crying and holding her husband tight. It was early fall in 2001, and the United States was starting to send troops to Iraq. The young couple was still in shock about what had taken place in their country a few weeks earlier, and now they were smacked in the face with the reality of it all. They tried to focus on anything else - the 9/11 tribute concert on television, the home cooked meal she had brought for them to eat on paper plates, the bleak Seattle weather - anything but what the next 48 hours might bring.

The young husband was sequestered in this bare-bones hotel room on McChord Air Force Base in Tacoma, Washington. Those in charge wanted their crew to be ready at a moment's notice, and the hotel provided them that guarantee. Just blocks from the young couple's home, the hotel was the staging area for the next troops to be called to fight in that mysterious, far-away country. Several young men and women were restricted to those desolate rooms for 2 days. 48 hours. 2,880 minutes. Minutes that would be spent thinking, dreading and praying. Waiting for the call. The call that would put their immediate futures in a whirlwind of unknown. That call would send them to war.

The young wife tried to comfort herself in each hour that passed. Each hour gone meant one hour gained with the love of her life. Her husband tried to reassure her that his role in the whole thing was small. He was not a soldier. Not a gun-carrying fighter. Not going to the front line. Not going anywhere near the front line. Likely to be thousands of miles away from the front line. Maybe a different country than the front line. All she could think was that New York City, The Pentagon, and a remote field in Pennsylvania were also in a country far from the front line.

Those 2 days spent waiting were excruciating. When they were over, when there was no more threat of the young husband going to war, the young couple felt set free from that immediate nightmare. This couple is truly fortunate.

Many people don't have that luxury. Some had none to hold them tight. Some got the call. Some bravely went to war and came home. Many gave the ultimate gift to our country - their lives. All of them, even the young husband, are tied together forever by one thing. They are all Veterans. They have all put their lives on the line to protect me, you, our families, our friends, complete strangers. We owe them more than I can express, yet they do their jobs without complaint. They are not the ones who start wars. They are the ones who selflessly obey whatever orders they are given. They are our heroes (and she-roes). We need their strength and commitment. They deserve honor and respect and recognition.

Today is just one of 365 days each year that we should thank our Veterans. It is because of them that you have the freedom to do so.

I feel so strongly about this because I was that young wife. Stewart was that young husband. And we are together and safe today because of what our Veterans have sacrificed.

"It is easy to take freedom for granted, when you have never had it taken from you." ~Author unknown

No, We will NOT Love You Long Time.

Austin Gone Wild - He'll use any excuse to put on a slutty little outfit for Halloween. That one is such a little vixen. Sometimes I just can't control him. But tempting him with a large piece of deer jerky and SIT. SIT. SIT!!! usually helps.


Toxic Chinese Drywall - After parading around dowtown and hearing "Memoirs of a Geisha?" "Are you supposed to be someone from Kill Bill?" I realized this year's costume was better suited to a costume party...or even a class action lawsuit. But I still say this was the best idea ever, even if people couldn't understand that 1) I have large FLESH WOUNDS. 2) I'm CHINESE. 3) I'm wearing a RUSTY PIECE OF SHEETROCK with a TOXIC WARNING symbol and MANUFACTURED IN CHINA label on it. I even had sheetrock tape and mud on the sides for authenticity. It's in the details, people! I dressed like a diseased Asian lunatic and lugged around a slab of construction material ON PURPOSE. Simple math leads you to TOXIC CHINESE DRYWALL. I'm pretty sure my biggest mistake was in assuming that people on Bourbon Street would be interested in doing simple math on Halloween...

Questionnaire Friday!

1. What is your middle name?
Leigh. The igh is silent.

2. How big is your bed?
Queen size. Unless Stew is in it with me. Then it’s “see how far we can push Suzie over into the tiny sliver of a corner without falling off” size.

3. What are the last 4 digits in your cell phone number?
8916…It’s significant, in a cheesy way.

4. Do you want children?
We plan to adopt a 17-year-old Asian computer whiz. When he hits 18 and invents a multi-billion dollar computer program, let’s hope it’s payday for Mama and Papa. Remember who adopted you, Chung!

5. Hair color?
Some of them are blonde. Some brown. Some prematurely gray. Some are a weird mishmash of colors only achieved through years of highlighting. My head is a kaleidoscope of hues, if you will.

6. Favorite Season?
Of the four: Football, Hunting, Crawfish and Hurricane…why the heck can’t Football and Hurricane coincide? Stupid global warming.

7. Piercings?
Would it lessen my street cred if I admitted I still have my belly button piercing from 1999? What can I say, my midsection likes bling.

8. Are you missing someone?
Now that you mention it, no.

9. Do you have a tattoo?
I’m thinking about “Yeah You Right” in Olde English font right above the white shrimp boot tat on my lower back.

10. Are you hiding something from someone right now?
Only the dismembered torso of that hitchhiker I picked up last week. I like my men like I like my coffee. Ground up and in the freezer.

11. Are you 18?
Actually 29. But good guess. I’m flattered.

12. What is the wallpaper on your cellphone?
It used to be a photo of my niece Abbey (Road), but then I left a full bottle of Nexxus Shine Serum in my purse and it leaked all over my phone and distorted the whole screen with oily hair product. So just picture that picture twisted up inside a lava lamp. With unbelievable body and silkyness.


13. What are you afraid of?
Seagulls. Porcelain dolls. The Artist formerly known as Prince. Clown faces. Flocks of birds flying over my head. My reoccurring nightmare in which I think I’m still in college and I’m taking like 200 hours and I’M SO OVERWHELMED that I wake up rocking back and forth in a corner with Stew standing over me scratching his head wondering why I’m mumbling “I thought I was done, Please tell me it’s over.” Cellulite. Flocks of seagulls flying over my head. Unibrows. Taking a huge gulp of milk before reading that it expired 2 weeks ago.

14. What are your nicknames?
The obvious: Stewzie, Suzie (real name = Suzannah)
The often-used: Suze, SuSu, Suze-bear, Babydoll (by Stew)
The old school: Shaniqua Ebony Xavier
The awesome: Suz-a-palooza

15. What is your dad's middle name?
Leonard. That name sounds like it wears a pocket protector and thick glasses. (Hi Dad!)

16. What do you sleep in?
Beds, couches, snuggies, the corner, tents, hotels, cars, recliners, campers, sleeping bags, coffins…

17. Favorite TV commercial?
It’s a tie between this and this.

18. What were you doing before filling out this questionnaire?
Wriggling my arms out of the straightjacket.

Nappy McNapperson

On a recent day off from work - due to yours truly feeling a bit under the weather - I did what any red-blooded American would do. I took a NAP. Why the NAP in caps? Because NAPPING is one of the many (few) talents I possess. So it deserves some respect.

I had fancy new (clean!) 400 thread count white sheets on the bed. The NAPPING conditions were perfect, aside from the backhoes, excavators and concrete trucks parading in my front yard to build a new driveway for the neighbor who had her house raised because it NEVER flooded. NAPPING through noise, luckily, is not so much of a challenge for me.

Which reminds me of a story Stew likes to tell about the time he was awoken out of a deep slumber to the sound of a squirrel who had fallen inside our bedroom wall. Said squirrel (who will now be referred to as Richard) was scratching his little squirrel heart out in an attempt to make his way back to the comfort of our attic. Richard was making quite a little squirrel ruckus, and Stew did the only logical thing to do when Richard is stuck in your wall at 3:00 a.m. He grabbed the trusty Maglite and commenced to beating the crap outta the sheetrock. For a solid 2 hours. Because apparently squirrels respond well to that. Guess who slept through the whole thing? If an elephant strapped on a tuba and played Yankee Doodle Dandee while marching across my mattress, guess who would sleep through the whole thing?

Where was I? Right. NAPTIME. So I snuggle myself up and conk out. And I wake up to 100 lbs. of fuzzy brown puppy snores. His back right foot is tucked under my armpit and his fat meatball head is upside down between my shins. My right arm is pretzeled between his left leg and tail. Pause for a moment and visualize a human and Chocolate lab conjoined twin. And we can't be separated cause of the proximity of vital organs. So Snugglebritches looks up and says to me "uurrghmmfff," and then stretches his limbs so far that his toes and my sinuses become fast friends. Then we both drift back off to Lala Land. Me dreaming about how lucky I am that he chose Stew's side of the clean white sheets, and Sleepy McGee dreaming about bacon and well, bacon.

Point is, sometimes dogs eat your Irish Spring soap and drool toilet water all over your the kitchen floor you just mopped. Other times, they know just what you need to feel better on a sick day.

Christmas afternoon nap - 2008

Recommended Potassium Intake

If I eat all the leftover Banana Runts from Halloween, is it equal to a daily serving of fruit?

Halloween pictures coming soon...

Questionnaire Friday!

1. Where were you 3 hours ago?
I was in the shower. The blue one. Singing loudly. Show tunes. Jazz Hands!

2. Who are you in love with?
Stewart Sir Alexander von Sexypants Alexis. And also the other love of my life, Austin Whisker Biscuits Alexis.

3. Have you ever eaten a crayon?
Can’t say that I have. But if I did, it would surely be wrapped in bacon.

4. Is there anything pink within 10 feet of you?
There is my previous post about the pink bunny suit. Does that count? Because it’s VERY pink.

5. When is the last time you went to the mall?
Right after I over-applied black eyeliner, threw on my skull and crossbones hoodie, painted my nails onyx, and had my mom drop me off so I could meet my other emo friends at Hot Topic.

6. Are you wearing socks right now?
Neither socks nor shoes. At work. Hang on, OSHA is on the other line.

7. Do you have a car worth over $2,000?
That’s debatable. Black Betty is worth diamonds and gold to me. Kelley Blue Book disagrees. Just over 2 grand for trade-in value. Close to 3 grand for private party value.

8. When was the last time you drove out of town?
I went to our hunting camp in Miz-sippi about a month ago. But technically Stew drove. Cause of me having a tiny woman brain and all.

9. Have you been to the movies in the last 5 days?
Ugh, no. And I’m dying to see Saw 6. Cause now after spending a good 10 hours of my life watching Saws 1-5, I figure I’m emotionally and financially invested.

10. Are you hot?
Not right now. Thanks to the cool front reported by Bob Breck. And his hair. His glossy, silvery, Lloyd Christmas hair. Take a moment of silence, please.

11. What was the last thing you had to drink?
An iced grande dark roast with skim milk and one Sweet-n-Low. Not because I’m pretentious though. Because you have to speak Barista slang in order for them to get your stupid coffee order right. Plus, we were out of Folgers at the office.

12. What are you wearing right now?
The same outfit as in question 5. Because my mom is picking me up in the mini van later. She better give me my allowance so I can get some Sbarro at the food court.

13. Do you wash your car or let the car wash do it?
I usually let the rain wash it. But I highly recommend taking your neurotic dog along in the back seat when you go thru the car wash. It’s a hoot.

14. Last food that you ate?
A bacon wrapped crayon.

15. Where were you last week at this time?
I was in the shower. The blue one. Rapping to Snoop Dogg. One, two, three and to the Fo.

16. Have you bought any clothing items in the last week?
Don’t worry Stew, no pink bunny suits. Yet.

17. When is the last time you ran?
While walking the dog 2 days ago. He pooped on someone’s driveway and we needed to make ourselves scarce. Fast.

18. What's the last sporting event you watched?
Saints vs. Dolphins. Black and Gold Superbowl, baybee! Life’s a Brees!

19. What is your favorite animal?
A mutilated Dolphin. See above. Almost as much as a decapitated Falcon. See Monday.

20. Your dream vacation?
Ideally, early retirement. If we’re being honest.

21. Last person's house you were in?
My own. And it smells like dried Bambi carcass. Because Stew is currently making deer jerky in the dehydrator.

22. Worst injury you've ever had?
That one time Stew play-tackled me and I fell into our entertainment center (which, at that time was composed of cinder blocks and plywood, because we’re classy like that) and I sliced my elbow open and gallons of blood squirted all over the city of University Place, WA (Hi Washington friends!) and I couldn’t lift my arm for weeks and I still have a scar and I made Stew feel really bad about it for oh, 8 years now? Don’t worry, he made sure I didn’t dent the cinder blocks.

23. Have you been in love?
Well, I do love Stew. And Austin. And lamp.

24. What makes you laugh?
When my dog burps. When my mom refers to M.C. Hammer as McHammer. Christopher Walken. And this website: http://www.peopleofwalmart.com/

25. What is your secret weapon to lure in the opposite sex?
Duct tape and death threats. With a confident smile.

Pink Nightmare

RUN, don't walk to your nearest Target for the ultimate Christmas gift. To quote Ralphie's dad, "It looks like a deranged Easter Bunny."




That sound you hear is Austin breathing a sigh of relief that this doesn't come in dog size XXL. It's also the sound of Stew praying to sweet Baby Jesus in the manger that his wife doesn't get any bright ideas for stocking stuffers.

I couldn't find this on Target's website. It's likely they're too ashamed to admit that they've stooped to this level. If you're interested, it retails for $24.99. A small price to pay to humiliate your favorite loved one this holiday season.

Side Note:

WooHoo! Looks like I now have TEN, count 'em, TEN official followers.

If you read this blog and haven't yet been made an official Stewzie-ite (even if I don't know you), (but would like to), sign up and let me know you care. Cause I'm pathetic like that.

Hugs and Kisses,

Suzie

Sleep Deprivation

Him: What's up, babe?

Me: Ugh, I didn't get to take a single nap today or yesterday.

Him: Maybe you should file a complaint with the Department of Weekends.

This is the official kickoff to what will now be referred to as QUESTIONNAIRE FRIDAYS!

Why, you ask? Because I can. Plus, it gives me something to do besides work. Tedious, tedious work. Too much working involved in work, don't you think?


What are your middle names?
Mine = Leigh. His = Sir Alexander von Sexypants

Who is the oldest?
He gets the privilege of being older than me from March 16th – May 3rd. It is during this time that I tease him mercilessly about wearing Depends and breaking a hip. Somebody needs a Medic-Alert bracelet!

Did you grow up in the same city?
Mostly. He hails from the sprawling metropolis of Metairie and I spent my youth representing Da Ridge (by the river).

How long have you been together?
Good grief, this answer makes me feel as old as he is during the dates mentioned above, but here goes. We “officially” started dating on July 3rd, 1998. So according to my stellar math skills….uh…carry the 1…a little over 11 years.

Whose siblings do you see the most?
Probably mine. Mostly because they are in the same age range as us. Nothing to do with how awesome my siblings are…I mean, have you met my brothers? (hi Jeremy! and Tim!) His are pretty awesome too…just in a much younger way.

Do you have any children together?
You had to go there, didn’t you, Mr. Evil Questionnaire. Did my mom tell you to ask this one? No kids. Just a dog. That’s a big JUST. And a big DOG.

Do you have any pets?
Why yes we do. Austin. Chocolate Lab to the Stars. If you’re lucky, there will be much a-blogging about my neurotic little Puppy McPupperson in the future.

Did you go to the same school?
Same preschool, Kindergarten, and 1st grade, yes. It’s actually where we met. Same 2nd – 9th grades, no. Same 10th – 12th grades, yes.

Who is the most sensitive?
Did I tell you about that one time I gave him a knuckle sandwich because he told me those jeans did, in fact, make my butt look big? Well, that never happened. Let this serve as a warning from Mrs. Sensitivity.

Where do you eat out most as a couple?
Probably his Granny’s house. Her meatballs and spaghetti could heal the lame and cause the blind man to see.

Where is the furthest you two have traveled together as a couple?
There was that Spring Break we spent in the jungles of Africa. We taught baby chimpanzees to read and make sustainable clothing from all the leftover banana peels. It makes you feel good to see a monkey wearing a banana scarf and reading Curious George to his grandkids. We truly made a difference.

Who has the worst temper?
Here we go with the emotions again. He wouldn’t hurt a fly. I however, would lure all the homeless, desperate flies in by promising them all the free poop in the world to feast on. Then I would commence to swatting them all in one fell swoop.

Who does the cooking?
I mostly do. Sometimes it only involves defrosting and microwaving but I’M TOO TIRED TOO COOK TONIGHT. Pizza is what’s for dinner. Unless we have something to grill. Then the responsibilities are split between him and George Foreman. Don’t even get me started on who is and isn’t allowed to bake the chocolate chip cookies. He has threatened many a time to taking out a restraining order against me for daring to come near his precious Pillsburys.

Who's more social?
It’s a toss-up. I need more me (napping) time.

Who is the neat freak?
The neighbors.

Who is more stubborn?
I say him, but he would probably stubbornly disagree. With a lot of stubbornness in his voice.

Who hogs the bed?
I’m pretty sure my limbs sprout out new, multiple limbs during the night. I have no control over these foreign limbs. I blame them for all the kicking, elbowing and cover stealing.

Who wakes up earlier?
He does. I tend to play the “keep hitting the snooze button until it’s an hour later and the exasperated alarm has given up on me and now we’re late for work” game.

Where was your first date?
We never really had a first date. But on the day we started dating we went to the Spillway and he gave me a pair of his pants to wear because of all the mosquitoes. Who needs romance when there is a threat of contracting the West Nile virus? Not me. That sealed the deal.

Where was your first kiss?
On a baseball field at my company’s cabbage ball tournament. That, my friends, was indeed romantic.

Who has the bigger family?
I think I have a smaller family in order to keep track of his enormous one. He often asks me “Whose kid is that again?” It’s your brother, Stewart.

Do you get flowers often?
Sometimes when I’m at Home Depot picking up some plumbing fixtures and tile grout, I browse the outdoor section and pick up an annual or two.

How long did it take for it to get serious?
After a lifetime of knowing each other, we only dated for 3 ½ months before he asked me to be his bride.

Who eats more?
I’ll go with him. Because if I eat more he’ll say my butt looks big in those jeans. And we all know how that turns out.

Who sings better?
You don’t have to ask me twice to channel Janis Joplin and belt out a spot on performance of Bobby McGee on karaoke night. But he is the master of coming up with random lyrics around the house. Behold the wonderous composition of Stewart Mozart Alexis: Suzie Q, I love you, Now I’m gonna go take a poo. Next stop: The GRAMMY AWARDS.

Who does the laundry?
It’s a shared task. But lawd help me if he puts his whites in the dark basket one more time…

Who’s better with the computer?
He probably cares more. He enjoys de-fragging.

Who drives when you are together?
Paw Paw does. Cause of me having a tiny woman brain and all.

Who picks where you go to dinner?
I’m the dinner-picker. I like to venture into new territories, food-wise.

Who eats more sweets?
Sweetie has the sweet tooth. I’m known to gnaw on a pork chop for dessert.

Who wears the pants in the relationship?
He wears the pants. I pick out which ones.

P.S. I couldn't live without him.

Seriously.

As I was searching for the microwave instructions on my Lean Cuisine frozen pizza, I noticed this little gem from the manufacturer: "Please refrigerate or discard any unused portion."

And I was planning on keeping the unused portions in between my sofa cushions in case I ever got the munchies while watching Top Chef reruns.

Next thing you know they'll tell me I shouldn't store the milk underneath my bed next to the shotgun or that it's unsafe to wash the dishes in the leftover giblet gravy from last Thanksgiving.

Playing Dress-Up

Good news. I've secured Halloween 2009 costume #2. And since I'm a bit of a (shameless) costume connoisseur, I guarantee it will not disappoint. For disclaimer purposes, the management of this blog would like to state that this is in no way a money-back guarantee.

So, in honor of the most incredible holiday (aside from Mardi Gras, and of course Groundhog Day), I've put together a compilation here of Stewzie costumes from the past few years.

Oh, the Halloween ideas that spew from my imagination like liquid hot MAGMA from a volcano. Or raw sewage from that one time your septic system malfunctioned. You decide.

Girls, Girls, Girls...

Why is it that some chicks refer to their friends as "my girlfriend?"

Can't we all just agree to save the word "girlfriend" to refer to someone you're dating?

Because it's obvious that your friend is a girl, but now you've just confused me as to which team you're batting for.

I mean really, unless your girl friend is unfortunate-looking enough that I might confuse her for a dude, such terminology is completely unnecessary. And although I do occasionally dabble in the unnecessary (see: my blog), calling your girl friend a girlfriend is pretty much redundant pretty much.

New Orleans spelling lesson

Him: "Babe, does VooDoo have 2 o's and 2 o's?"

Me: "You mean 4 o's?"

Him: "Whatever. Just cause you know how to spell everything."

Me: "I think what we have here is less of a spelling issue and more of a math issue."

Seriously.

Correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't that the DEFINITION of serial murderer?

It has to start somewhere. I guess...

Well. Here it goes. My attempt at chronicling my thoughts and life experiences in an attempt to entertain the masses. Or the 3 people who might accidentally stumble upon this blog. Or at least myself. Occasionally.

If I had a dollar for every time someone said to me, "Suzie, you need to be a writer," I'd have at least 12 dollars. And maybe some change. In no way does having a blog give me the distinguished title of "Writer," nor do I want to be considered as such. I just hope this little old blog here will in some way give me a creative outlet (yes, my writing will be mostly creative and exaggerated with very little fact thrown in, but if you know me that comes as no surprise), and do so without requiring me to keep up with nagging little deadlines. Real writers have deadlines. Deadlines give me instant anxiety.

Suggestions are welcome. And needed. The last thing I want (other than flocks of seagulls circling my head while Prince dances and sings in the background while holding a porcelain doll collection) is a boring blog. Only boring people have boring blogs, and if all my suggestions are from you, I can in turn blame the boringness on you.

Keep coming back. I promise my logic will make sense eventually.