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.


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&#153 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,


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!


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.

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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.




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.


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.


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…