Top six things I’ve learned in the last five days

1. Popping out a painfully dry, cloudy contact lens while driving is a virtually surefire way to lose the lens. And doing it while simultaneously turning the AC on full blast guarantees you’ll do the rest of your errands half blind. Until of course you stop, spend ten minutes combing every inch of the filthy floor, finally, unbelievably find the folded, hairy, crumb covered lens, suck it back to life and pop it back in your eye.

2. I am not a germaphobe. Obviously.

3. “Ride on carts have a single rider rule for a reason, ma’am!” Ok, ok. But I’m still not doing the dumb speed limit.

4. Tearing out a clump of hair and a couple of eyelashes during a therapy session devoted to your trichotillomania (a.k.a. compulsive hair pulling) will result in your therapist making you wear a hand puppet for the full fifty-five minutes. Specifically a bumble bee hand puppet. It was cute, but it clashed with my outfit.

5. “I have a hard on!” is eleven year-old boy speak for “My heart is racing!” and no reason to drive off the road. Unless of course you’ve lost a contact lens or been forced to leave an accessory you’ve grown (begrudgingly) fond of at the shrink’s so other budding baldies can use it.

6. The water running up your thigh in the shower is a stinkbug.

And on my side of the bed, no less.

This is what happens when the puppy you got when you should’ve gotten a lobotomy is addicted to your sweet, sick husband.

Thanks to the miracle of the modern pain patch and a five milligram Oxycodone kicker, your husband is so soundly asleep he has no idea his favorite Golden Retriever, who just happens to be splattered in cow manure, has snuggled in next to him. You’d think the smell would wake him up. Or the fact that the dog’s also a smidge soggy. But no. The man’s out cold. (And if he has noticed, somewhere deep in his subconscious, he probably thinks it’s a really ripe, post workout me. Marvelous.)

I’d like to say that this wouldn’t be so bad if the damn hound wasn’t on my side of the bed, that I could deal with it if he were laying on my husband’s side, or frankly, on my husband. But I can’t.

I have rules about who and what I’ll share my bed with. My kids. A good book. My iPod. The phone. And of course, Rip Van Winkle here. Notice though that I didn’t include the dog.

And the dog knows it.

That’s why he’s not in this picture. He heard me coming, thought “Shit! It’s the one with the yellow head!” and took off running.

Only then did my husband wake up.

What’s with the camera?” he asked.

I was trying to catch Tug in the act,” I replied, pointing to the filthy spot where the dog had been laying.

Eyes closed, he flings his arm out and pats his hand around, blindly, on the bed. “Tug’s not here.”

He was. Look at the dirt.”

He groans, lifts himself up on one elbow and looks, then looks at me and rolls his eyes. “That could’ve been from the kids,” he says, flopping down onto his nice, clean pillow. “Really Susan, you have to stop blaming stuff on Tug.”

You think it’s too late for me to get that lobotomy?

Welcome to my new site!

So what do you think? Pretty snazzy huh? I loved my old site (thank you, Scott and Shannon!), and my old blog (thank you, Courtney!), but with a new book coming out and the re-launch of my copy writing business, I thought it was a good time to mix things up a bit.

I also thought if my new site and blog were done in WordPress (and not something scary like Illustrator) I’d be able to “change pages” and “add posts,” “insert links” and “activate a widget” without divine intervention. Or having to adopt a graphic designer.

Yeah, right. My technical skills are rivaled only by my “talent” for farming.

Free broken fence board! Get yer FREE broken fence board here!

But still, I’m trying, exploring my cool dashboard*, and considering actually publishing this post. On purpose.

Apologies for the gibberish that went out yesterday. I hope it won’t happen again but, well, it will.

My digital ineptitude aside, how cute is the cover of 500 Acres and No Place to Hide? The sequel to Confessions of a Counterfeit Farm Girl comes out next summer and as soon as I have an exact date, as well as book signing details, I’ll post it here…

Under “Appearances.”

And “Blog.”

And probably someplace it doesn’t belong. Like the code that keeps this entire template together**.

But enough about me. How are you? I love hearing from you. Thank you for your emails, notes on Facebook, and Tweets. Thank you for all your prayers and well wishes for my husband. He’s too skinny but — one year since his diagnosis with pancreatic cancer — he’s still here, thank God. As handsome and addicted to Tug (our insane, and insanely filthy, Golden Retriever) as ever.

I need to go now and hose down the crazy hound, but before I end this post, summon my courage to actually hit “publish” and then smack myself in the head for forgetting to say this, let me simply say:

Thank you to…

Kimberly Petro at Joslyn Place Photography for all of the terrific photos of me on this site and the back of my new book cover.
Ashley Gray and Charla Malone at Salon Emage for working miracles on my hair and makeup for the aforementioned photos.
My sister in law, Nancy McCorkindale, for outfitting me right down to my gorgeous Louboutins for the shoot.


Lisa Orban, my cousin, soul sister, and world’s best PR person for getting me sooo many interviews.
Trisha Clark for encouraging me to re-launch my copy writing business and being my best friend and best client ever.
Casey and Cuyler for learning to cook while I finished the first draft of 500 Acres (during edits I’m sure they’ll learn to do laundry, too).
My mom for coming to help (and giving the kids cooking lessons).
Stu for loving me, listening, and talking me in off the ledge way too frequently.

More to come. Now subscribe, leave a comment, and come back soon!

*A terrifying menu that can only spell doom for Suzy’s pretty web site if Suzy touches it.
**Help me, immensely talented and infinitely patient, Leanne Wildermuth, you’re my only hope!