Oh, Susie.
Last night after knocking my alarm clock over on the way to bed, thus turning on the radio loudly, and hitting it while whispering “Shut up” repeatedly, I invented a new sitcom that I think everyone will enjoy based on my life entitled Susie Fuckup.
This morning, said alarm woke me up with static since apparently I messed up the station when I was hitting it. Violence isn’t the answer I guess (wrong, it totally is). Naturally, my first thought this morning was “God dammit, Susie Fuckup”.
That’s a tagline if ever there was one.
Too often ladies in sitcoms fall into traps. They are looking for a boyfriend, or if they have one, they’re belittling him. Or they’re chasing after children/husbands. What about those of us real life Susie Fuckups who don’t have time for or give a shit about any of this stuff? I have a simple goal every day: let’s get through this without killing myself. Either accidentally through some ridiculous mishap, or intentionally because the world becomes too much once and for all.
There is so much potential here. Susie Fuckup tries to cook a simple stovetop meal, inexplicably burns a nearby oven mitt. Susie Fuckup gets dressed, somehow takes chunk out of her thumb with her own fingernail. Susie Fuckup runs into her car’s rearview mirror, leaves bruise on arm that has coworkers concerned she’s being smacked around at home. All things that have really happened to me, I mean Susie Fuckup.
It’s a conflict as old as time. Susie just wants to get home to watch the hockey game. Will a legion of gawking suburbanites driving slooooowly through downtown foil her plans? Will she be in line behind the chatty guy at the liquor store? If she does get home in time, will her team be terrible? (spoiler alert: yes)
So, if you, like me, are not as much worried about “having it all” and more worried about “somehow getting out of your house every day without disaster”, friends, Susie Fuckup is here for you.
