Forever 34

I’m going to try and make this post funny or at least mildly amusing but I can’t make any promises as my fiber intake yesterday was, ahem, ambitious and today I’m having some issues.

When you’re old like I am now you have to pay attention to your colon but you should never eat Kashi Good Friends with strawberries for breakfast, Corn and spinach salad for lunch, watermelon, plums, peaches, and All Bran crackers for snack, and then lentil burgers with spinach for dinner all in the same day.

’nuff said.

So on my birthday Girlfriend and I went to the mall with my Victoria’s Secret gift card that was already burning a hole in my purse. I was able to find a few things but nothing that one could call a “set” because finding a matching bra and panty in the correct size during the Semi- Annual Sale is as likely to happen as that whole Virgin Birth story.

She was just giving that shit out to all the fellas.

You know that right?

And after that I went to Forever 21 for a little 34th birthday punishment fun.

One must never go into Forever 21 on her 34th birthday because really one is too old to shop there.

My daughter is closer in age to the store manager than I am.

Like, totally.

And I stood out like a whore at bible study with my stroller complete with preschooler stuffing her face with shut up and let mama shop bribe cookies.

And I felt like a giant momtard because there were some things I couldn’t identify as a shirt or a dress or as a dress or a skirt and I just put those things back immediately because those teenage salespeople are such bitches you can’t ask them for shit and you know I’d be the asshat to buy a shirt, thinking it was a dress, and walk around with my new non- matching VS Signature Cotton panties hanging out, right?

Or I’d buy an outfit thinking I was the shiznit (is that what the kids are saying? I have no idea) and end up looking like this:

Or like my Great Aunt Esther:

It was intimidating as hell.

But one good thing that happened there was that I had my best shopping moment ever with my daughter and this is going to make all you childless ladies out there want to have a little girl in the worst way.

When I held up a dress and asked Girlfriend if she liked it, she put her finger to her chin, considered her answer carefully, and said “yes I do, but do you have the shoes to go with it?”

I’m not going to lie to you Internet.

There were tears of joy as everything I’ve ever wanted in my whole life was given to me in that one moment.

I have a mini-me.

It’s about damn time.

So I finish my shopping and after being sufficiently ignored at the cash register by the little salescunts and then finally noticed and informed in the snottiest way possible of the store’s fucked up return policy, I went home with this dress in green,

These jangly bangle bracelets

And these earrings that make such a satisfying tinkly sound when I turn my head that my neck hurts now from making them go and so I cannot wear them again until I get my neck brace off.

A Video In Which I Smear Jam on my Buns

Good Morning Internet!

Thank you so much for all your birthday wishes and e-cards and mail mail cards and everything yesterday.

I’m pretty tired this morning from snorting coke off hooker’s thighs opening presents so I’ll fill you in on all the super sexy details later and leave you with this video.

It’s a secret family recipe so don’t go fucking telling everyone.

OH! I almost forgot!

I’m over at Chris’s today talking about some crap that happened recently at The Stop & Shop so come see me.

It’s still my birthday so you have to do what I say.

Do it.


The Big 3-4

It’s my birthday today.

“Happy Birthday Crissy”

Thanks Internet.

So on my wish list this year is this:


I know I look like an idiot in this picture, but it’s not about me.

It’s all about the pimpin’ ride.

It’s the Electra Hawaii Custom edition but I would name her Circe.

God I want that bike. I don’t ride bikes, but that’s not the point. I would if I had THAT bike.

And I’d like it with a basket on the front for Alice and a trailer in the back for Girlfriend because I have to separate them or else they fight.


And also I would like handlebar streamers.

And one of those little metal license plates that says MILF on it.

And flowers on the basket please.

And Mister was going to get it for me because he’s sweet like that but I said “no.”

When you turn 34 you have to act like a grown up. I don’t know who the asshat is who made that rule but when I find him I’m going to shove his balls up his nose.

And its because we have a house and we have responsibilities and things that we need must come before things that we want and so I got one of these:

Because the one we had came free with the house and was of the same vintage as the one your mom got in 1984 and it was like a miracle box out of Star Trek or something and everyone suddenly became obsessed with popcorn and s’mores. It was probably emitting some sort of gammaalphabetasex rays and turning any of our future children into three headed fire monsters and so it was time to ditch the sucker.

As sexy, sexy, sexy as that is Mister balanced it off nicely with one of these:

and I’m going to settle for these instead of the bike

only I’d like them in the violet/amethyst combination because purple’s my favorite color.

Did you know that?

You should be writing this down.


And my friend Valerie sent me two cards, one email and one mail mail. In one of them she pointed out that we’ve known each other for 20 years. I don’t know how that’s even possible but you can’t lie to math so wow we really are old.

And maybe dinner out at this place.

And today will be a nice birthday I think.

Oh and I might ask my neighbor Michelle to go get stinking drunk on Margaritas see Sex and the City with me over the weekend.

And also I will at some point need to get naked and roll around in chocolate cake.

Maybe I’ll ask Michelle to do that too.

She likes cake.

And no I will not get it on video so don’t even ask.


So yeah.

Please leave all your happy birthday wishes and gifts in the space provided below and don’t be all mad at me if I don’t comment on your blog today because it’s my birthday and its all about me and not you.

Crissy & the Very Bad Day

We had the worst night on Monday.

When I got home from work, Mister was very angry because Alice had gone through the kitchen trash again even though we keep it in a cabinet and even though I give her a tummy yummy to keep her busy when we’re not home.

And then he went upstairs to find that she had also carpet bombed Girlfriend’s room, which never happens.


I’m serious. This dog is a saint.

And she was obviously fucked up on something because she was panting and shaking and looking at her bum like it was some sort of entity she didn’t recognize because that’s what she does when she has The Farting.

So we figured she must have eaten the empty bag of cocaine coffee filter from the trash and that she has a cocaine Starbucks buzz like you read about. But we weren’t too concerned because we thought it would wear off and she’d be fine.

But no.

Around midnight, Alice was very much not. fine. and was sitting on my head and panting with her whole body so I got out of bed to seek advice from the Internet to weigh her chances of surviving the night sans medical attention as opposed to putting on a bra and driving 45 minutes to pay out the ass at the 24 hour doggie emergency room when she hurled and had explosive swamp ass simultaneously on my foot (!) and all over the only room in the house that still has wall to wall carpeting.

Why do dogs always pick the carpeting?

It was so violent that it scared her so she ran around the room spraying evil from both ends.

It was a lovely experience really and exactly what I wanted to be doing at midnight.

So I snapped on my rubber gloves and cleaned up the mess with some bleach and paper towels and oh my it was a smell that dare not speak it’s name.

And you know I wasn’t going to let Mister sleep without being informed of current events in the computer room.

So I woke him up and he brought Alice outside while I cleaned and then joined them outside to wait out the storm. She seemed a little better after running around the yard and doing her thang so we all went back to bed and fell asleep.

And then our drunken friend called to tell us George Carlin died.

Yes, thank you but he’ll still be dead tomorrow so…yeah you’re a douche.

So we went back to sleep for maybe an hour when Girlfriend falls out of her bed and screams her head off demanding Tinker bell band aids and medicine for the pain which were totally unnecessary because she landed on her feet when she “fell” about a foot and a half to the floor.


We’re nothing without high drama around here.

That’s just how we roll.

And then she demanded to sleep in our bed and knee and elbow us all night.

And then we were out of coffee in the morning.

I was so groggy in the shower that when I went to put shampoo in my hair I missed and put it in my left eye instead. As if that wasn’t irritation enough, when I was soaping up my bath poofy I splashed body wash into the same damned eye so I walked around all day with a stingy red crack whore eye.

It’s a look I sport quite often actually.

Once out of the shower I noticed that the house still smelled of last night’s doggie pukeapalooza and upon investigation discovered more issues under my nightstand. And under my bed. And in my closet.

Having finally cleaned up what I thought was the last of the shit or barf or whateverthefuck it was I head downstairs to make breakfast and I find what?

More shitbarf.

On the couch.

Freaking. Sweet.

So I cleaned that up too and headed off to bring Girlfriend to her 3 year doctor’s checkup. She did great and didn’t tell the doctor to fuck off even once and I even overheard the doctor say to her nurse “kids like her are the reason I went into this field. She just made my day. She’s just adorable.”

I’ve never been more proud.

And then we left with our prescription for a lead screening blood test but apparently our stop off at the potty was enough to make me forget that the blood lab is downstairs and upon exiting the potty I marched us right back up to the window at the pediatrician’s office and presented them with the slip for the blood lab.

The receptionist was very polite and didn’t really judge me much and directed me downstairs.

“Oh, right. I knew that. How stupid of me…”

Jesus Kristen!

So we got through the blood lab and Girlfriend received 2 stickers and a giraffe band aid for being so brave and I got nothing even though I cried twice and almost passed out.

Once I got out to the car I realized I didn’t have my sunglasses.

So I went back to the pediatrician’s office with my crack eye still stinging like a motherfucker to see if anyone had turned them in.

The receptionist who clearly has prior experience working with the retarded, the infirmed, and the drug addicted just looked at me, patted her head, and said “do they look like the ones on your head?”


So we made a couple of quick stops and came home with a special treat for lunch for both Girlfriend and for mommy for being brave at the blood lab and found out that the entire house smells like a diarrhea swimming pool.

It’s funny how you don’t notice a stench until you’ve been away from it for a while.

It’s also funny how when you’re totally focused on your child you don’t notice that your eye is fucked up.

Upon investigation in the mirror I noticed that my still stingy crack eye had apparently leaked yucky goo that I must have wiped across my face inadvertently and it had dried on in a lovely cumshotesque pattern down my cheek.

I’ll be expecting that call from both the ASPCA and Child Services any moment now…

Crissy:Comic Edition

On Monday morning I opened my email to find this:

strip 1

it continues:

strip 2

It’s from stoogepie just in case you missed it, and it made me feel all special and stuff that he made this for me because most of the time I’m lucky if people shit in a bag and give it to me for a present but this is certainly not shit in a bag.

It’s genius.

I’ve never looked so good in yellow and it’s probably the only time my picture will ever appear on the side of a building since nobody in Schmuckytown will be putting one up.


I have only one complaint though. He got my boobies totally wrong. They’re much larger in real life, but whatever. We’ve never actually met in person and so I guess it’s pretty good for his first try.

He told me he didn’t want me to pimp his blog but I have poor listening skills or whatever and so I did it anyway.

Now go see him and give the boy some love.

DO IT!!!


Suck A Fat Dick Newswankers

I’m hurt Internet.

If you were me, would this go up your ass sideways and then backwards and then do a twist and swirly and a few karate kicks?

I’m a Saylesville woman. Not a hero. Not a even a god damned Good Samaritan.

When I picture a Saylesville woman I picture this:

Not this:

Sorry. Wrong picture.

Wait a second.

Okay, not…



And it turns out that Officer Dreamy McHot isn’t his real name after all.

I could have sworn that’s what it said on his badge.


It was also on the channel 12 news and that story is even more infuriating than the stupid newspaper article because it made



All they said was that there was a commendation ceremony (!) held on Saturday for the fireman who “spotted a boy struggling in the water and bravely swam out to save him.”


Is the fireman psychic?

Did a little birdie tell him there was a problem in the pond?


Fuck. no.


We tried to get the news story on video but of course at the crucial moment the fucking shit fuck camera asshole would not work.

Needless to say, I’m outraged Internet.

I wish it was on the channel 10 news instead of the stupid crappy channel 12 news because channel 10′s Frank Coletta woulnd’t do me like that and put the story on without interviewing the Saylesville woman who made the call in the first place.


He’s nice.

And btw, he’d never call me a Saylesville woman.

He’d call me by my proper name.

The Queen of Fucking Everything.

And he’d include the Fucking part too.

Because he’s cool like that.

And accurate.

And you know what else really puts a fly in my ointment? Everyone is calling the fireman a “hero” and giving him medals and plaques and shit and he was just doing his job. It’s his fucking job to fucking save people. Is this what happens to you guys when you do your job because if it is, I need to speak to my boss. She never gives me stuff when I catalog a book correctly without being asked (even though it’s a rare event).

I just don’t think we should go tossing the word hero about so carelessly like we do.

I’ll shut up about all this now, but just so you know, next time I hear someone drowning in the pond?

Fuck ‘em.

I’m going to let the psychic fire department handle it from now on.

I don’t even know why they have a phone.

Fine. I’ll Worship Myself Then.

Well, it’s been over a week since I became the greatest thing since sliced bread and saved a boy from drowning and still there’s nothing.

No parade,


No flowers,


No news story,


Not even a mention in the weekly Police Blotter. Whatever that is.

No Queen of Fucking Everything,


No paparazzi chasing me and asking me personal questions about myself,


so I must say I’m disappointed in this town.

Apparently Schmuckytown USA is really Town Who Doesn’t Give a Rat’s Ass When People Almost Die in a Pond and Hot Mommy Bloggers Rescue Them Town.

But that’s okay.

Don’t cry for me Internet.

Well, okay. If you insist but it’s not necessary. Much.

(Yes it is.


DO IT!!!)

I’m not hurt because I know what a good thing I did and that’s what really matters. Anything else is just gravy. I just wish I had known that they weren’t planning anything because I’ve been sitting in my window waiting for them for over a week now and my butt is stuck to the window sill just like that lady on the news who was stuck to her toilet for two years and I’m going to have to get it removed and I wonder if my call to 911 for that will get me a date with Officer Dreamy McHot the attention I so richly deserve.

So yeah.

Acts of extreme heroism and bravery?

Not so much around here.


Classy, Sassy, Assy, I Can’t Come Up With a Title For This

So there’s this blogger, right?

And I really liked his blog.

I thought it was pretty funny and so I blogrolled him and he blogrolled me and I started reading and commenting and it was all kissy-kissy, nicey-nicey until I commented on a post he wrote about his birthday.

In it he wrote stuff about running around naked in his back yard and shooting porn films in his basement and some other stuff I can’t remember because it was a couple of months ago but anycrap ( I totally swiped that from Kiala. Thanks Kiala!), people wrote comments about crotchless panties and nakedness and whatnot so I wished him a happy birthday and said that since pubes turn gray when you get old I’m going to shave from now on so I never have to have that horrifying moment of finding my first gray pube.

That’s all I said, and then he emails me with this to say about my comment:

“It was the catalyst for me to make a few changes in the blog, my own habits, etc. I’m going to leave this comment out, just so I don’t rekindle the whole deal. It’ll save me some other headaches.”

That’s a direct quote from the email. I kept it because when the world starts making sense to me I read it and then the world stops making sense and everything is all screwed up again.

And then he put all comments into moderation, took down his blogroll, and put his blog on hiatus.

I’m not even kidding you.

I was all hurt and embarrassed and felt like a big loser but then I realized Hey! I’m not the asshole. He’s the asshole!

I mean he was all polite and stuff in the email, but puh. leeze. In light of what other people were saying my comment was not inappropriate and he didn’t delete anyone else’s. Just. mine. So the only way I can make sense of this is that the “whole deal” and the “headaches” he’s talking about are not all about him because he’s a guy and he’s down with pussy jokes and bad language. They all are.

I think it’s his wife.

The dude is

Pussy. Whipped.

And I think that’s gotta be the problem here because on other people’s blogs he makes comments about masturbation and he uses naughty words and he frequents blogs that are like mine. You know, vulgar and inappropriate. So my theory is that the Mrs. caught him spanking it to some porn

and decided to put the clamp down on all his Internet activities.

It’s probably that and he’s just a total asshole and a hypocrite.

I considered blogging about this when it happened but I decided to take the high road and just email gossip about it to all my blog friends because “be classy, not sassy” is my motto and also because it wasn’t worth starting a blog war even though I’d totally win because my blog is bigger than his.

But I’m blogging it today because I got an email from another blogger who is just the sweetest person in the world mostly because she called me her blog hero and she was a little hurt and embarrassed because he did it to her too. Make me feel weird, that’s fine, but he messed with one of my peeps and now I’m pissed. He said he deleted her comment due to “inappropriateness” because she made mention of her down belows.

What does this dude have against the girl parts?

And shouldn’t he warn people that he’s totally fucking lame? (actually, his blog title does sort of come right out and say that…)

I mean seriously. If you don’t want people to be inappropriate on your blog you shouldn’t write stuff that is going to inspire inappropriate comments.

Just sayin.

It makes me want to tell you all to go to his blog and holler PUSSYCUNTCOOTERTITS at him.

But I’m not going to tell you who it is but if you email me I totally will because I have class coming out of my ass.

Crissyspage Sucks!

I need help from the Internet.

I have a problem and it’s been bothering me for a long time now and I thought I could handle it on my own but it turns out I can’t.

I think the name Crissy’s Page is really, really, fucking stupid.

I’ve always thought so but I didn’t care too much because I never thought anyone would read the blog anyway so whatever. I put zero thought into the name so when I started this thing where it said blog name or whatever I just typed Crissy’s Page in just as you would type the word “test” or “suck my ass” to make sure something works.

But now that a lot more people besides Rachel and Lynne and my mom are reading I feel rather embarrassed about it.

I mean seriously.

Crissy’s Page?




Makes me look like a jackass.

The whole blog name angst started one day when I was having a conversation with Surviving Myself about blogging and then I said I hated the name of my blog and he said something to the effect of “thank god you said that because when I first saw it I thought seriously, that’s all she could come up with?’ and so we set out to find a new name and I bounced a few off him but nothing stuck.

And then I asked Rachel for her help because her blog name, Get Your Freak On is fucking great and she’s great at naming things but all we came up with was the “I’m sort of a big deal” tag line and also Atomic Blonde which Lynne liked too and that’s the best we have so far.

But I think we can do better because all of you on my blogroll and some of you who aren’t on there but I love anyway have great blog names.

Great ones!

I wish I had a neat little list to give you and you can just choose one, but I can’t even get that far. I’m having such issues and so I need you to use your creativity for good instead of evil and help me you guys. And there’s something in it for you because I know how this world works don’t you worry. You have until next Tuesday to either email me: or put your suggested name in the comments section of this post. I will set up a way for people to vote on the names that I like for the following week and then the winner will get a T-shirt with the name on it. Either that or some underpants or something. Or maybe I’ll pay to have it tattooed on your ass. I haven’t decided yet.

And I don’t just want the other bloggers to help out. Nay nay, I’m also talking to you non-bloggers who are so sweet to read and comment, and also to you lurkers who never comment but I know you’re there people so don’t think you’re getting away with something because


And please put some fucking clothes on, okay?

Maybe if you win a T-shirt you can wear it instead of nothing like you usually do.

God, I hope people participate in this because if they don’t I’m going to feel like a giant