Whosiemawhatsit

What would Crissy’s Penis Week be if we didn’t cover all the fun little euphemisms we have for it? I don’t really know either, but it wouldn’t be a very good Crissy’s Penis Week now would it?

Okay, so here goes and I didn’t cheat by going online to look them up, but I was tempted, very tempted:

First we have dirty, dirty ones:
Cock
(seriously, that’s all I can think of for dirty ones. You never hear a porn actress say “I want to suck your wee-wee.” It’s always “cock” this and “cock” that. Right?)

Ones that are also people’s names:
Johnson
Peter
I once had a college professor named Peter Johnson
Willie
Dick
Woody
Long Duck Dong (a high five to the first person to guess what movie that’s from)
Big Lebowski
Bob Johnson
Dick Weiner is the Dean of Arts and Sciences at the college where my husband works: 

Dick Weiner
 (he’s actually a VERY nice guy with a real bummer of a name.)

Baby words:
Pee-pee
Wee-wee
Dingle
Winkie

Food:
Banana
Weiner
Noodle
Peanut butter (is what my brother called it when he was little because he couldn’t pronounce penis. Once he zipped his peanut butter into his footie pj’s There’s Something About Mary style. Poor little guy.)
Peanut
Frank and beans
Kielbasa
Summer sausage

Things found at the Home Depot:
Rod
Package
Apparatus
Tool
Unit
Fuck Stick
Blue Steel
Knob
Junk
Prod

Stuff I think people I know made up:
Schletz- I’ve only heard my mom say this one so I think she made it up. I’m not sure.
El Tutubo- That one’s Bren’s.

From the animal kingdom:
Trouser Snake
Monkey
Chicken
Anaconda
Jake the one eyed snake
Cock-a-saurus

Ones I don’t understand the origins of:
Tally whacker
Schlong- What is that? Jewish? And is it related in any way to schlamiel or schlamazel?
Wanker

Disgusting ones that make we want to play for the other team:
The Bolonga Pony
Custard Chucker
Yogurt Shooter
Beef Bus

* notice they’re all food related. You’ll never catch me with a can of whipped cream in my bed. ‘Nuff said.

Ones that sound painful:
Pecker
Prick
Ramrod
Pile driver

The stuff from which legends are made:
Hammer of Thor
Sword
Pocket Rocket
Action Jackson
Captain Winkie
Biggus Dickus
The Bald Avenger

….and I’m spent!

Tell me which ones I’m missing. There’s like, a million!

Fancy on the Outside

I’m delivering on my promise that this week would be all about the boys.

So it’s Penis Week!!!!

Ta-da!

So yesterday’s post got me thinking a lot about gender and gender roles and gender differences and yes, penises, so naturally the song Everybody’s Fancy came into my head.

Here, for those of you who didn’t live in Mr. Roger’s neighborhood:

Some are fancy on the outside.
Some are fancy on the inside.
Everybody’s fancy.
Everybody’s fine.
Your body’s fancy and so is mine.

Boys are boys from the beginning.
Girls are girls right from the start.
Everybody’s fancy.
Everybody’s fine.
Your body’s fancy and so is mine.

Girls grow up to be the mommies.
Boys grow up be the daddies.
Everybody’s fancy.
Everybody’s fine.
Your body’s fancy and so is mine.

I think you’re a special person
And I like your ins and outsides.
Everbody’s fancy.
Everybody’s fine.
Your body’s fancy and so is mine.

And I’m feeling pretty special and fancy and fine about being a girl and I don’t have an ounce of penis envy, but how can I really say that since I only have experience with my own set up and I know nothing about what it’s like to fancy on the outside?

So I thought I’d give it a whirl and I tried this thing on.

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Just so you know this is NOT USED. It was a gift with purchase for some other pervy thing we bought. It’s revolting and scary and I almost threw it out, but then I thought I better keep it because it’s also funny.

The first thing I tried doing was the dishes, which I’ve done in costume before, but not like this.

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It got in the way a lot and I couldn’t really get close to the sink and hot water splashed on it which would have been painful if it had been a real peanut. I guess I understand why you guys don’t like to do dishes. It’s just plain dangerous.

I got it stuck in doors a couple of times.

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Does that ever happen to you? Ouch!

I committed a terrible party foul when I knocked my husband’s drink over.

Oops. My bad, yo.

Imagining what it’s like to pee was interesting as Mister kept telling me I was aiming it too high and that I was going to pee all over the back of the toilet and that my grip on the thing was totally wrong.

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So I gave up on peeing and tried folding some laundry instead. But that was a disaster.

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Where is the other towel?

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Oh! there it is!

And I always wondered why boys are always touching it.

Like, what’s the big deal? I have boobs, but I’m not always touching them.

But I get it now because I couldn’t keep my hands off the darn thing!

It demanded my constant attention and I was obsessed with it. As soon as I put it on, I had this mysterious urge to stick it in things.

To tell you the truth, I’m feeling rather pleased with my experiment and I think you boys will appreciate that a woman finally tried to understand what it’s like to be a man instead of bitching because you don’t know how tough we ladies have it.

I have to admit I’m really glad I’m fancy on the inside because I just don’t know how guys walk around with those things.

Don’t Eff With the Effer!

We stayed home most of the weekend and it was very nice except for the huge fight I had with Mister.

It wasn’t even about anything sexy or interesting like his deep and abiding love for black tar heroine, his gambling debts, his penchant for Asian hookers, or even his inability to close cabinet doors after he opens them.

No, no.

It was about procrastination and replacement windows.

When we bought our house in August last year, the lead inspector told us that it was “hot” for lead in all of the windows. The house is 80 years old and it has it’s original six panes over clear bottom with the antique wavy glass in them. They’re very prettyful, but they leak cold air and poison our child with lead dust.

It makes me hysterical.

The good news is that our state has a program where we can have a lead abatement team come and replace the windows and they give us an interest free loan that isn’t due until the house is sold. I keep bugging Mister to get on it before Girlfriend gets poisoned and catches the retardation but he doesn’t listen to me because he’s the worst procrastinator ever, and also because I about have to strap one on and deal with him man to “man.” Otherwise he’ll try to tell me that I can’t even operate my bread machine properly so of course I don’t understand lead poisoning, replacement windows, and state loan programs.

And so we got into a big fight over the windows issue in front of Girlfriend. I know. You shouldn’t fight in front of your kids. Call Family Services. Ask for Linda. Tell her I said “hi.” (she’s my mom)

To make things worse I have a hard time arguing without saying “fuck” eleventy hundred times. I don’t want to swear in front of Girlfriend because she repeats things I say at random playback at the worst possible moments. I just know she’ll jump up at storytime and yell “Damn! You motherfuckers know how to tell a story! Can we do the fucking craft now?”

Without a penis and my beloved fuck word it made for a very frustrating argument that went nowhere and I had no choice but to chuck stuff at his head respectfully disagree.

Clearly, in order to prevent such a thing from happening in the future, Girlfriend will have to learn to cover her ears, and I’m going to have to come to the table prepared for a sword fight.

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High Maintenance

This post is dedicated to my bff Rachel who adopted a cat this week, and who sells me Mary Kay at half price.

To my complete surprise it has turned out to be It Sucks to be a Girl Week here at Crissy’s.

We’ve covered lots and lots of lady business and I feel we’ve bonded, don’t you?

And the boys will forgive us for making them all kerfuffle-y because we talked about our

PERIODS!

I’m sure of it.

Right boys?

Yesterday we talked about poop, and everyone knows poop is “boy stuff” so that post was for them and it made them happy I think. And there’s something very special at the end of this post for them too.

Ok, ummm…let’s see. What else sucks about being a girl?

so many things…so ma-

Oh, I know!

Products!

What would Crissy’s It Sucks to be a Girl Week be without a discussion on the products it takes for me to look even half way acceptable to society? Compare my list to my husband’s and it becomes rather clear why he has time to do stuff like learn how to edit videos and I don’t.

These go in my hair every day:

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And then several times a year I go for highlights that cost $50 million dollars per visit. This is very important as I don’t know what my real hair color is because I haven’t seen it since the early 90’s. It might be blonde, but I don’t want to find out it’s not so let’s just say I’m a Natural Blonde. Mmm-kay?

This is what goes in Mr.’s hair:

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And he spends only $18 a month for a haircut.

And I brush my teeth and floss and use whitestrips every day.

Today I went to the dentist to have my teeth cleaned because nobody likes a toothless girl except maybe people who live in trailers, but we don’t live in one and we don’t want to so I floss my teeth and see my dentist like every good girl with a dental plan should.

My husband brushed his teeth once (I’m hoping) and did not floss and would never bother with whitestrips. Ever.

These are the things that go on my face in the mornings only.

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So that’s a total of 21 things that I use on my head alone in the morning. There’s a whole other mess that goes on at night and I’d show you but you don’t care.

Yesterday I went to the dermatologist to have my face lazered and then burned with acid. It was a lovely experience and after the redness and the blotchyness and the flaking and the shinyness and the peeling and the burning go away I’m sure I’ll look days younger!

This is what Mr. puts on his face:

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His total is 5. He uses 5 things in the morning and that’s not even every morning because he cannot be bothered to bathe that often. He can’t even be bothered to put on underpants, but that’s a whole ‘nuther topic for a different day.

I’ll stop here because I know the boys are dying to see what their surprise is. I guess I just needed a little girl time this week and I know it has been so very, very difficult for the boys. I think their pretty heads might explode if I go into a discussion of the virtues of Shea butter and Mary Kay Mint Bliss foot lotion.

Don’t worry fellas. Next week is all about you and we’ll drink beers and hang around in our underwear and talk about guns and bombs and nailing chicks and stuff.

Here,

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Have some boobies.

Going to the Bathroom Problems

I think I mentioned to you at least a couple of times before that I use the men’s room when I’m at work.

The Ladies room is shared by 40 of my closest co-workers, but the men’s room is used by only 2 or 3 men and one teenage boy.

By virtue of it’s under use, the men’s room is the clear winner because while most of the “ladies” manage very nicely to be clean and not gross, some of them? Let’s just say they’re part of the reason why I’d rather sit in boy pee-pee than risk it in the Ladies room.

The first thing that I notice when I go in is the lighting. It’s absolutely atrocious. I always look like a fucking blown out crack whore in that mirror. It’s an imperfection magnifier and I can see every zit, every wrinkle, and ever damn freckle on my face in that mother. There’s also a hand mirror available just in case looking at my face in the wall mirror isn’t enough, I can use it to see if my lady business looks blown out too.

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And look at all those smelly lotions and sprays. You’d think people would use them after they’ve had an, ahem, issue?

But no.

Sometimes I walk in there and the joint is rank and I’m tempted to just get on the PA system and say: “Attention library employees. If something is tearing the ass out of you and you’re going to blow it up in the Ladies room, for the love of God woman, USE THE SPRAY so I don’t feel like I’ve just stepped into your rotting colon. Thank you.”

I’m sure the patrons won’t mind one bit because really, it’s a public service announcement.

And usually, when there’s been an issue in there, there’s also a Hershey highway swirly left in the bowl just in case anyone had any doubts as to what just went down.

How could the person not have noticed this and just flushed again? On the very, very, rare occasion that I have an issue at work, I always check.

Don’t you?

For the love of Jesus, it’s just common decency!

And speaking of spraying and smelling, there’s this automatic air freshener thing that goes off at random intervals. So I’m in there and then PSSSSSSSTTTTT!!! It lets out a poof of “air freshner” that smells like shit and Summer Melon (whateverthefuckthatis) and scares the hell out of me and I almost fall off the toilet because I think I’m under attack. Lynne thinks it’s trying to tell her something because it goes off every time she walks in, but I think Candid Camera is behind it somehow. You might think Crissy’s just a wee bit paranoid but you’re laughing, right? Well, so would America.

Just sayin.

Here’s a nice magnet for amoebic dysentery decorative touch.

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And in case no one has ever washed her hands before we have this helpful sign to guide us:

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Every time I read it I’m tempted to add one they forgot:

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And then there’s the people who try to walk in on me when I’m peeing. No one knocks, they just try to bust in. I don’t know about you, but that makes the pee crawl right back up to where it came from and then I can’t go because I have what’s called a “shy bladder.” Or maybe it’s just because I don’t want people coming in and sitting on my lap when I’m trying to go tinkle.

And speaking of people just walking in, I’m afraid of what I might walk in on because the door doesn’t always lock properly. You have to fiddle with the knob a little and there isn’t always time.

Let’s just say I walk in on Edgar (but his real name is Carl. No it isn’t). He’s like 100 feet tall, bald as a bastard and a Republican. He’s our accountant and so we are very nice to him because he prepares our paychecks. I think he’s a nice guy, and he never yells at me for forgetting to do a time sheet which I always do because I don’t need to work for money and it embarrasses me every time they try to pay me, but he’s ok if not a little strange and I figure it must be because he’s really a Transvestite. And I’m scared that one day I’m going to walk into the Ladies room and find him putting on lipstick and sticking tampons in his ass and nobody wants to see that.

Am I right?

So, seriously.

Any one of you would use the men’s room too.

Especially those of you who are men. You don’t know how good you’ve got it boys.

And for the fatty report:

exercise: 30 minutes with Baron Baptiste Core Power Yoga for Abs + 10 minutes scrubbing out baby swimming pool where my arms hurt and I was sweaty so I’m counting it= 40 minutes, Calories 1480, alcohol units,

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Oy.