It was just too orange-y before.


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.


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…


Or coordination. Or both.

I mean you’ve seen my dancing, right?


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…


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.


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.


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!”



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.