Archive for July, 2008

5:45 am: Wake up. Go downstairs to make coffee.

6:20 am: Write hilarious blog post.

6:40 am: Begin 1 hour power yoga with Bryan Kest and his well endowed lemmings

7:00 am: Get ass kicked by Bryan Kest and his well endowed lemmings.

7:40 am: End 1 hour power yoga with Bryan Kest and his well endowed lemmings.

8:00 am: Run out of body wash. Hop out of shower to get more from closet. Nearly die in slipping accident due to puddling on tile floor.

8:20 am: Apply lip gloss. Look in mirror. Not lipgloss. Mascara.

8:25.5 am: Makeup application and hairstyle complete. Remarkably and frighteningly similar to this look which is all the rage this summer:

At least I got something right.

8:35am: Baby falls off chair while eating breakfast. Chair lands on her pinkie toe.

8:40 am: Pack lunches with 29 lbs of screaming hot mess on hip.

9:10 am: Arrive at work. Nothing happens.

9:40 am: Go to Ladies room and realize my underneaths are visible through my skirt. Very. Note to self: Purple underneaths are not acceptable when wearing white cotton skirt. Even when skirt has purple polka dots on it. Polka dots are not camouflage for poor undergarment decisions.

10:00 am: Attempt to put money scraped from bottom of fucking huge new purse in “coffee club” tin. Put it in “Munch Box” instead.

Forced to purchase Smart Food and Life Savers.

10:05 am: Smart Food does not make you smart. It is also a poor substitute for coffee. Ditto for the Life Savers, which I had high hopes for.

10:20 am: Need. Fucking. Coffee.

10:30 am: Chug co-worker’s Diet Coke while she’s in the john.

10:30.5 am: No I didn’t.

11:00 am:Finish online grocery order complete with coupons and sale items only to get to the end and click on exit instead of save and checkout. I never waste library time doing personal business.

11:00.5 am: Say “FUCK!” audibly just as Library director walks by. Director looks at me and keeps on trucking. She doesn’t bother to ask anymore.

11:30 am: Begin online search for a flask to put Scotch in. It’s more chic than a Nalgene bottle.

11:40 am: Crawl under my desk with jar of chocolates and stay there, like Gollem with his precious.

The resemblance is remarkable.

It’s safe under there Internet.

If you try to get me out I’ll bite your leg.

So that whole bird fiasco from last week happened like an hour before we had a couple of friends come over for a dinner party. I was all scared the smell would travel through the house and concentrate itself in the dining room.

Wouldn’t that be a nice way to impress some folks?

“My Crissy, the wine does go well with the chicken. Is that a hint of evil I smell?”

“Why yes it is! Satan wiped his ass on our house!”

But luckily it disappeared rather quickly with a can of Raid and a butt load of bleach. So our house smelled like an exterminator’s swimming pool instead.

Great.

But better than death and assholes, right?

So I thought about cancelling our dinner party for all of like 2.5 seconds, how much longer are we going to grieve for the little guys–we have to move on at some point, and decided to go ahead with the plan.

Everyone had lots of fun, and I’d show you pictures but really if you get all excited when I show up looking SEXY! one day then I know you cannot handle it.

It was that kind of a party.

Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!

No it wasn’t.

You still can’t handle it though.

Anyway, I sort of love to have dinner parties. We do this really fun thing we call Pot of Crap™ with our neighbors. Michele makes some crap (only last night she weaseled out and ordered a pizza. Hi Michele!), I make some crap, and I bring it over to their house and we all eat some crap together.

It’s fun and we dirty her dishes and not mine.

I mean it’s win/win, really.

I use a lot of Weight Watchers recipes. They’re all very, very, good but for some reason they sometimes make Mister throw up in his mouth a little bit.

Last night I made this:

It’s Moo Shu Tofu.

But when I told Mister about it he was less than happy. I think he said something like “What the fuck is Moo Shu Tofu? Oh come on! Do I have to eat it too? What’s Michele making?”

It’s vegan, it’s Weight Watchers, it looks like a plate of vomit next to Michele’s pizza, but what’s not to love?

I don’t get it.

Boys are fussy.

So I was at the store the other day purchasing some swimmie noodles

for Girlfreind to practice her swimming with and the line was just stoopid long until finally a teenage boy opened another register, looked directly at me, and said “I can take you over here.” I said “great!” and started to go over there and then this cunt bag behind me ran ahead of me and cut me in his line. She actually ran to beat me.

It really burns my butt when people do this.

Listen up Miracle Ear,

HE WAS TALKING TO ME!

Now I understand that most people have the intelligence and sense of decency of a giraffe, no that’s not true, a giraffe has more, but seriously? I shouldn’t have to put up with it.

If you’re too ignorant to know it’s wrong to cut people in line you shouldn’t be allowed out in public. Just stay home in your Pjs and order from QVC.

The. End.

What part of “I’ll take YOU over here, nice blonde lady purchasing two swimmy noodles AND NOT YOU, dumb bitch purchasing spagetti sauce, Massengill, and tough actin’ Tinactin foot cream” did this downsy wad not understand?

She’s lucky I didn’t bludgeon her to death with those swimmy noodles. It would have been very difficult to do, because they’re like sooo soft and pliable, but I was that. mad.

But next time it happens, and we all know sure as shit that it will, I’m going to say something.

I’m putting my foot down.

I’m taking a stand.

I’m going Animal Planet on motherfuckers.

I don’t even care because nobody, NOBODY! is going to do that to me again!

CRISSY IS SAYING NO THANK YOU TO THE ASSHOLES OF AMERICA!!

I bet Dee Snider hates assholes too. I bet he’s thinking about them right now.

Crissy takes a small bow and exits, stage left, with Twisted Sister’s We’re Not Gonna Take It playing in the background along with the uproarious applause of tens of other people who read her blog and also hate assholes.

Audio clip: Adobe Flash Player (version 9 or above) is required to play this audio clip. Download the latest version here. You also need to have JavaScript enabled in your browser.

Once upon a time there was a Mommy Bird and a Daddy Bird who thought it would be lovely to lay thier eggs in the air conditioner vent outside Girlfriend’s room at Crissy’s house.

At first, the Crissys were delighted with their new neighbors, even though they were a little noisy and woke girlfriend up in the morning with all their incessant tweeting. “It’s just like in Snow White!” said Crissy as the birds flew from her shoulder to fashion a beautiful princess dress for her out of sticks and things they found in the yard.

And then one day Daddy Bird went out to find some juicy food for Mommy Bird and her two Baby Birds when a terrible, terrible rain storm came and SPLAT! either that or THUD! We don’t know, no one heard him fall, we just know he died because this is what Crissy found on the ground.

Well, actually, Alice found it first, but whatever.

RIP Daddy Bird.

Mommy Bird, having no idea of the fate that had befallen Daddy Bird, told the Baby Birds what a no good rotten dirty bird Daddy Bird is and said he’s probably out drinking at the Fancy Feathers strip club with his stupid friends, these guys,

and probably wouldn’t be coming home until he was good and hammered and all out of bird seed monies.

When she heard on Twitter that there was another terrible storm coming, she had no choice but to leave the nest to go pick up a bottle of wine from Tweet and Swallow’s Package Store and a DVD from Nestflix. But she left too late and the storm hit and SPLAT (or THUD) she went on the front walk of Crissy’s house.

And then on Friday, Crissy walked into Girlfriend’s room to find that it smelled like Satan’s Asshole.  At first,  Crissy thought it was most likely the Dark Lord finally coming to claim her as his bride, but then she remembered that if Mommy Bird and Daddy Bird were both gone, there was no one left to feed and care for Baby Birds. Upon investigation, Crissy found that indeed one baby had met an unfortnate end as well and was dangling thusly from Girlfriend’s window:

The poor creature’s leg was caught.

And when Mister removed the air conditioner to reveal what was left of the nest he found that the other baby, tragically, was also deceased.

The gruesome mess is gone now and the Crissys are trying to recover from the loss of their dear little friends.

And Crissy is just mad because the birds never did finish the twigs and stuff princess dress they were making for her.

So????

Huh?

HUH???

You love it, right?

The picture could be better, but it was all we had time for last night because we were so busy drinking our asses off.

That’s real wine in that there glass.

We’ll do a new one.

Thanks for all the input yesterday.

Maybe I’m extra sensitive because of all the anxiety and depression I mentioned in my post, but I have to admit that some of you hurt my feelings a little bit. I was surprised at what Prudence McPrudes some of you can be.

I hope you guys realize I was not intending to keep it like that.

Right?

I thought I made that clear, but I guess not.

I’m a whore in real life but I don’t play one on my blog. Much.

Annnnyhooters,

I’ve got a mad on this morning because some douchewad stole our trash can on trash day yesterday. We bought 2 really nice ones (trash cans are expensive!) because we want our house to look prettyful even when there’s a heap of rotting, stinking garbage out in front of it and some fucktard, some thieving ass monkey, some dumb bunny, some loser, some fucktard, oh wait I already used that one, some buttmuch, some mother fucking cock knocker stole it!

I bet it’s that Born Again Christian guy across the street. They’re always trouble.

Next time the Jehovah boys come over I’m going to send them over to his place.

I think it would be great fun to watch the Jesus Freak and the Jehovah Freak throw down.

And you know what else is making me mad? Those asshat trash collectors abused our shiny new recycling bins and now they look like shit because they empty them and just fling them into the street or the driveway.

They don’t even care!

Do you think if I put a sign, “please be gentle with these bins,” that they would start placing them onto the ground like they’re tiny baby puppies instead of throwing them around like last night’s hooker?

Do you think so?

And to make matters even more infuriating, they won’t take the smashed bins. They’re recyclable, right, so I put the old smashy ones into the new shiny ones and they pick them up and separate them and throw all of them on the ground without taking the ones that I’m trying to throw away!

I guess I need a sign for that too!

I mean these people are just stoopid!

I think I shall write a strongly worded letter to Mr. Bill Trashfaceington, Schmuckytown’s Public Works Douche-in-Charge, and tell him about my concerns regarding his employee’s blatant disregard for the welfare of our recycling bins.

I bet that will get some results!

The Queen of Fucking Everything likes to Do Things and Make Things Happen.

Just as soon as this hangover goes away…

Oooof.

It was just too orange-y before.

Right?

I’ve been ready for a change for a while now and I contacted Delicious Design Studio because everyone and their blogger seems to use her services. And she was lovely and her quote was reasonable, and she’s even following me on Twitter now (QOFECrissy, follow me!), but with all the stuff we need for the house I just couldn’t justify spending the money on redecorating because I prefer not freezing my tits off this winter to a pimpin’ blog.

I know. My priorities are fucked.

And so I asked my husband to help me come up with a new theme. I had one I loved and it was very chic and very Studio 54, that’s still chic right? Disco?

I have no idea.

But the fucker wouldn’t work in Explorer. So shit. I couldn’t use it and I went to bed. Mister, however, kept working and this is what happens when you leave a boy in charge of things. You get a theme called DARKSEX.

I think it’s too sexy for a humor blog.

You think I’m funny don’t you?

Don’ t You?

I mean I rarely talk about sex and if I do it’s because we’re not having any so my blog shouldn’t look like porn.

Right?

I don’t know.

I’m thinking a little less “come fuck me” and a little more “everyone can suck it.”

How about something more regal?

I should be wearing a tiara!

Maybe we’ll just change the background picture.

Or the entire thing.

Maybe just a picture of my ass.

I’m fairly certain I already know how the votes are going to line up. Boys vote for sexy, girls vote for tiara, but we need to find a way to amalgamate (whoa Nelly! That’s a mighty big word there little lady!) the two.

I feel like I’ve been in a real funk lately and I’m a little depressed and stressed and anxious and So. Not. Funny.

Maybe a new look will help me get my mojo back.

You could also send me cash…

I’m bored Internet.

Bored, bored, bored.

I need a hobby.

At first the blog was a hobby but now it’s like a second job. Not that I’m gonna quit or anything like that so don’t reach for that box of tissues just yet.

I just…I don’t know. I need something to do.

I thought about knitting, but I’ve tried that and it always comes out looking like I did it with my feet. Same thing with gift wrapping. I know it’s not a hobby, per se, but I’m just all feet when it comes to doing anything like that that requires…what’s the word…

Skill.

Or coordination. Or both.

I mean you’ve seen my dancing, right?

See?

I just don’t have the patience for that kind of stuff that requires taking time to learn and do things properly.

There was the time I tried shaving fun and interesting animal shapes into my pubes and I was actually very talented at it until there was an unfortunate incident and I damn near lost a labia.

Important safety tip: Baby oil is slippery.

Creating Pubeanimals is not for amateurs.

I tried shoplifting as a hobby for a while but that’s risky. There could be jail time involved if I get sloppy and I’m pretty sloppy most of the time so it’s bound to happen. I cannot go to jail. I’d be exactly like Private Benjamin. Only I’d be in jail and not the military.

And you know I’d wind up being some Diesel Dyke’s girlfriend on the first day, right? I’m too pretty to go to jail!

Although I wouldn’t mind shanking a bitch…

hmmm….

No. Shanking bitches is not a hobby. It’s more like a lifestyle choice.

What about Drunk Driving?

No. Same problem as shoplifting and shanking bitches.

THE LAW.

They’re always making things difficult.

I don’t want a conventional hobby like Fly Fishing, which I think has something to do with the porn industry but I’m not certain, or Macramé Pot Holder Making or Chinese Aphrodisiac Cooking.

I want something that has pizazz!

Like, I don’t know. Pole Dancing? That could actually lead to some monetary gain at some point too. You know, if I get good and don’t drop myself on my melon.

It’s soft and it bruises easily.

Anything that involves injury or the potential risk of injury even if it’s just a paper cut or a flesh wound is right out.

Also, anything having to do with fire or flames is right out too. I’m highly flammable so Candle Making or Fire Eating are both a no go.

So I’m going to be thinking of this but in the meantime I’m open to any suggestions you might have.

Oh, and it can’t have anything to do with being out of doors and in nature. They have bugs at nature and I don’t like bugs.

PS: My husband stole my blog post for today because he’s a douchewad. So go see him and yell “Thieving Ass Monkey” at him. He’ll love that.

PSS: Also I’m at Nilsa’s talking about how drunk I was at my wedding. COME AND SEE ME. I’m mad at you guys who didn’t come to see me on Monday when I guest posted. That’s fine. I know who my friends are.

I know you guys were all awake last night pacing the floors and popping xanax and worrying about the outcome of the big day so I won’t keep you waiting any longer.

And the winning scenario is….

Scenario A!!!!

Ya- ta-da-da!

Miracles happen people and I’m here to testify!

She didn’t cry when I left, she wasn’t sassy or fresh with the teachers, she didn’t shank a bitch, and she didn’t kick or punch anyone. Not even once! And neither did I!

I guess a half bottle of Klonopin really is enough to sooth a savage preschooler.

Silly me. I didn’t think it would be enough.

And I didn’t even have one single sip of that martini I brought with me.

The teacher said she was very good and had fun. I know this mostly because I asked her several times out of disbelief and she had the same answer every time.

Impressive.

And when I got there to pick her up she just looked at me and said “hi mommy!” and kept on playing. She didn’t want to leave and thank jeebus I had a surprise waiting for her in the car or she never would have come with me.

It was this book that I bought for her:

If you haven’t read it yet you should, really. It’s one of her favorites.

So yeah.

My daughter is the Princess of Fucking Everything.

This post is short today and I’d say sorry but you’re probably all totally psyched that you don’t have this whole long bladidy-blah and la, la, la post to read.

You’re welcome.

Oh! Wait! I won a t-shirt from Dingo:

For this caption:

Everything’s going my way, Internet!

It scares me.

So today’s the big day!
I have to drop Girlfriend off at school for the first time.
I tried all weekend to convince her that this shit is bananas and it’s gonna blow her mind it’s so fun, but she remains unconvinced saying “I’m gonna throw the teachers in the trash can! I don’t wanna go to school!”

Fuck.

Me.

As you can imagine, my anxiety is through the roof.

It’s 6:30 am and I haven’t yet brought her over to the school so I can’t tell you how it worked out even though by the time most of you are reading this the deed will have been done.

But for Rachel and Lynne and a few others who read in the morning, here are couple of scenarios that I imagine are possible.

Scenario A:

She takes one look at the place, tells me to get lost, and behaves like a total angel to everyone. This is about as likely as me being able to remember that I’ve left the keys in the door after I’ve unlocked it, but a girl can have dreams can’t she? Sure she can, Internet…Sure she can.

Scenario B:

She cries and screams and begs me to stay thereby breaking my heart into a gazillion little pieces and sending me to work in tears. It’s the one most likely to happen but apparently it’s normal and in fact, when I called the school to get some tips on how to make this an easier transition for her, the very nice woman on the phone said to me “on the first day of school there’s a lot of kicking and screaming. And the kids are upset too.”

Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!!!

So perhaps I won’t be the only mommy who’s carrying a martini, straight up and dirty, in her insulated travel mug feeling a little apprehensive today.

Scenario C:

We get there, she sees the kids and takes off to play. I leave, and as soon as a teacher tries to interact with her, she swears at her and gnashes her terrible teeth and shows her terrible claws. Girlfriend does not like strangers and everyone knows there’s no scarier beast alive than the preschool teacher. You cannot trust anyone who smells of minty craft paste and Fig Newtons.

Either that or she’ll punk off one of the other kids.

I tried to sweeten the deal by telling her that she can go to McDonald’s for a Happy Meal afterward. So far that’s the only thing about today that she wants any part of at all.

Valuable Crissy parenting tip: Keep McDonald’s in your back pocket as a very, very special treat and only take it out when the circumstances are dire and you need a really, really, good bribe.

So yeah. I guess I’m leaving you with a cliffhanger.

Come back tomorrow to find out what happened at Preschool Summer Camp today.

Dun, dun, daaaaaa….

Ps: I’m over at Oh! How Lovely! telling a funny story about my old dog Tashi. Come see!

PSS: I almost won Dingo’s caption contest! I might be the winner of either a t-shirt or a Cd! Woot! Woot!

I’m worried.

That’s really nothing new.

Your Crissy worries herself to death. Actually, to drink, but whatever.

Today I am worried because:

I have eleventy million things going on right now and I’m really, really stressed out. I don’t know how I am going to do it all.

We have a billion things that need to be done to this house to get it ready for winter and we have zero billion monies with which to do them.

I’m really very upset because Girlfriend starts preschool summer camp on Monday and it’s the first time she’s ever been left with strangers and so I’m freaking the fuck out and every time I think about it I start to fucking cry.

My daughter has been very aggressive with her bff Alena and yesterday she threw a ball at her face and gave her a bloody nose. I’m beside myself with worry about whether Girlfriend’s evil behavior is because she’s actually a little fire-monster or if she’s acting out for some reason or if she’s really that under socialized that she thinks it’s cool to beat on her friends. And what will happen to her in preschool?

I have four parties to go to this weekend and I don’t know how I’m going to get through it all because I’m so tired I’m slurring my words and that’s without vodka.

I have to work on Saturday which pisses me off to no end. People should never be forced to work on Saturdays. It’s just cruel!

Will my husband ever put the toilet paper on right? He does it under. UNDER! Can you imagine? It goes OVER! Anything else is just sheer lunacy.

I’d really like to get laid but by the time I get to bed I just pass out. Clitoris be damned.

I’m too busy/tired to even rub one out.

I swear if I see a neighbor out of doors I’m going to wind up running out there and humping his leg in the middle of the afternoon because Mister is still at work. Which neighbor, it matters not. I’ll even take the big guy. I bet his leg would feel like fluffy pillows…

And if those Jehovah boys come to my door again today I’m going to make men out of them for sure.

I don’t know Internet.

I need some sex and I need about six of these and I’ll be right as rain, an expression I do not understand:

I’ll be home all day Internet.

Bring it.

Bring it all.