I’m posting in the middle of the day today so try not to freak out.

So I get to work today and The Lunchist (remember The Lunchist from the beginning of December when somebody squished her sandwich and she freaked out and I wrote a blog post that was supposed to be funny but then the blog turned into a lynch mob full of people’s latent office aggressions and we threatened to set poor Lunchist on fire and I had to stop the angry pitchfork wielding mob because Lunchist is actually my friend and I was only kidding? Say “friend” just like Ricki’s mom from Better Off Dead because that’s how I’m saying it in my head. Frrriend. Frrriend.) was standing in the breakroom, agog, because somebody threw her lunch, uneaten, in the trashcan. This is very bad because a short time ago, somebody ATE The Lunchist’s sandwich and she found the baggie with little turkey and lettuce remnants in the trash.

The only thing we can figure is that somebody wants to kill The Lunchist and is sending her a very passive aggressive message by destroying her innocent little diet-friendly sandwiches. Passive aggressive, that is, until the day The Lunchist turns up dead! because some crazed vigilante librarian has it out for her.

OR!

This person has something against those Arnold Sandwich Thins things and this is just a random act of sandwich violence against the Arnold things and it has nothing to do with The Lunchist at all.

At this point, we just don’t know. There’s no clear evidence on anything just yet.

Dun-dun-dunnnn.

I have to go now because we are very busy cross-referencing schedules and break times to try and figure out who this crazy lunatic must be. It’s always the normal people you have to worry about and the problem with this place is that they’re ALL normal people!

Huhuhuhuhu. They give me the willies.

So I think we’re going to need to get Columbo on this ASAP. If anyone has Peter Falk’s phone number could you please give him the 411 and then send him over here right away? We’re also going to need the whole forensics team to come down with him.

OMG, and BONES! Get BONES over here! And make sure Boreanaz is with her.

Huhuhuhuhu. He gives me the willies, too.

IN MY PANTS!

Welcome to my Anxiety Disorder. Pull up a chair and put 911 on speed dial.

I tried Turbo Jamming it the other day.

It wasn’t pretty, even though I’ve Turbo Jammed it with The Bronchieties a couple of times already.

About half way through the hour, I got out of breath. Now, any normal person would be like “well, duh! You’ve been jumping and punching and kicking for 30 minutes. You should be out of breath, fucktard!” But not me, Queefies. My anxiety over having The Bronchieties made me think I was having some kind of massive lung attack and I thought I was going to die and I worked myself up into such a tizzy that I had a full blown panic attack. It was the first one in about 6 years.

But I kept on Turbo Jamming anyway, all the while I was certain that I was dying of a lung attack and my interior monologue went a little something like this:
What if I pass out? Who is going to take care of Homeslice and Girlfriend? Will Girlfriend think to call 911? Will she remember to do that? Maybe I should go over that with her right now. Or should I run across the street and give them to Michele? No. I can’t leave the house looking like this! I have to wash my hair. I look dirty and I’m all sweaty from the heart attack I’m having. I don’t want to go in the ambulance with dirty hair. I have to find a way to wash my hair before I pass out, but what if I pass out in the shower and drown in the water? Oh my god ohmygodohmygooooodddd!

And so it went until I finally decided that looking good when dying was more important than getting my cardio in before slipping into a lung attack coma and so I took a shower and did my breathing exercises and felt better even though Homeslice sat on the floor and screamed her assicals off the entire time and the phone kept ringing and Girlfriend had locked herself in a room with Alice (which is extremely bad news if Girlfriend wants to keep her face, fyi) But I’ve been in that odd twilight phase you get after an attack like that and it kinda sucks.

I think the steroid nasal spray they gave me for my Sinusitisis fucked me up a little bit. I stopped taking it a couple of days ago, and I’ve felt totally weird since. The worst part is that I think it messed with Homeslice, too. I told that lady doctor I was nursing! GAH! INCOMPETENCE!

Take her away!

The story that’s not actually a story except it TOTALLY is one! But not in the sense that you think I said it is. Only it’s completely true mostly. I’ve even confused myself at this point.

On Tuesday morning at around 5-ish, Mister followed me into the bathroom while reading his blackberry, and he’s all “you wanna hear something totally fucked up?” So I’m all “of course!” because I love fucked up stories, even at 5 am when I have to pee. Who doesn’t? And he proceeds to tell me that he saw a facebook update from a friend of his named…we’ll call her Monica, who expressed some trepidation about trying something new, and one of the comments was from a guy named…we’ll call him…Playa. And Playa said to Monica that she’ll do fine and not to worry and Mister recognized Playa’s picture as one of our neighbors (who we all always sensed was a little bit of a douche but never had any proof) and sent Monica a message asking her how she knows Playa.

Well.

Monica was all “oh, I dated Playa for a month about half a year ago. He’s a nice guy.”

And so the reason why this is a story at all is because Playa happens to be married with two little ones and about a half a year ago, Playa’s wife was miserably, hugely pregnant with Homeslice’s little friend, HomegirlAcrosstheWay.

YES.

And so Mister is all “Oh SNAP! I see you, Playa!”

To make it a little worse for Playa’s poor wife, who is a pretty nice person, Monica is a Hottie McHotterson and Playa’s poor wife was so uncomfortably pregnant at the time (or she had just given birth) when this all took place it just makes it worse somehow. Douche-ier or whatever.

So now we know something very naugh-tee about one of our neighbors and it gets kinda good for me and Jesus is totally hooking my shit up because he always has a new BMW (license plate says “NO EGO” I know, right? My. ass.) and what does Crissy want more than anything in the whole wide history of forever and a day?

That’s RIGHT!

And so I think I might ask to borrow it sometime because YES.

PS: It’s a TWM day, so go check it out: My Brand Of Feminism Includes Chivalry

MOTHERFUCKER! There. That’s better.

Have you guys ever had the urge to just stand up at your desk and just shout “MOTHERFUCKER!” for no reason at all other than to just do it?  Maybe because it would feel kind of good to just let the crazy out a little bit?

This is why I’m just a little bit jealous of people with Tourette’s Syndrome.  They get to just walk down the street and sneer something like “PISSFACE!” at somebody and there isn’t shit anyone can do about it.

Lucky bastards. 

It must feel good sometimes to just come out with it, you know. I’m sure having Tourette’s Syndrome pretty much sucks ass 90% of the time, but that 10% when it doesn’t must be pretty freaking sweet.

I don’t know where I’ve been lately.  I was sick and now I’m a little better even though I’ms till coughing up lung chewies and can’t taste or smell anything yet.

My brain is just tired still.

I’ve got some juicy, juicy, JUICY gossip but I can’t tell you guys about it and that’s frustrating me a little bit. I’ll probably tell you about it tomorrow after I’ve had a chance to twist it enough so you get the story without getting the story so I don’t get in trouble and get banned from my neighborhood. Not that getting banned from my neighborhood would necessarily be a bad thing, but if I can’t get to my house, I can’t write this blog so you know.

You don’t want that to happen. Probably.

Anyhoodles, I’ll be back tomorrow to tell you A story without telling you THE story.

Or something like that.

I’m confused. My head hurts.

Multiple Dysfunction

Is that even how you spell dysfunction? Imagine being so disfunctional that you cannot even spell dyisfunction?

That would be me.

So I’ve been sick for three weeks and I finally went to the doctor yesterday. I’ve got The Bronchitis, The Sinusitis and an ear infection, whatever kind of itis that is, I know not.

And I had to have one of those fog machine breathing treatments right there at the office because the doctor thought I might have The P-newmonia, but I don’t. Just the bronchieties and the other stuff. Don’t forget the other stuff. The other stuff is very important too. She looked at my throat, frowned, and said “you poor thing. That looks like it hurts.” And then I was like “uh-huh” in my most pathetic Bill Cosby kid’s voice and she gave me all sorts of drugs to fix all the dysfunctions and I wish to hell she had sent a nurse home with me because the chances of like, going to bed to recover are not good, Queefies.

As it is, I had to do the breathing treatment bouncing up and down with Homeslice on my hip because she was getting fussy because she was getting hungry because we had to wait so long to be seen.

Motherhood is a motherfucking cock in the ass sometimes.

I bet nobody’s ever said that about motherhood before, so you read it here first.

Motherhoood: A Motherfucking Cock in the Ass.

I’ve had a pap smear with her sitting on my chest. I’ve had my teeth cleaned while rocking the car seat with one hand. Mister freaks out when he has to take the kids with him to get a haircut.

I need a nanny. Maybe I can convince Mrs. Fancypants’ nanny to come over to the dark side and work for me instead. I will call her “Karen” instead of calling her “THE NANNY” and I won’t even make her sleep under the stairs.

I’m a better person than Mrs. Fancypants, obviously.

Anyway, have I ever told you guys that I’m scared of drugs? Well, I am and now I have an inhaler and I haven’t used it yet because I’m scared of it. I’m scared of my nasal spray too.

I took it all out of their boxes and I keep looking at them and I can’t. I just can’t do it. Somebody needs to come and hold my hand so I can take my medicine like a big girl.

I should probably go now. Homeslice is chewing on Alice’s dog chewie and I have to work up the strength to stop her.

WHAT?
She won’t choke.
Probably.

There’s a leak in the boiler room

I’d sell your heart to the junkman baby
For a buck, for a buck
If you’re looking for someone
To pull you out of that ditch
You’re out of luck, you’re out of luck

The ship is sinking
The ship is sinking
The ship is sinking
There’s leak, there’s leak,
In the boiler room
The poor, the lame, the blind
Who are the ones that we kept in charge?
Killers, thieves, and lawyers

God’s away, God’s away,
God’s away on Business. Business.
God’s away, God’s away,
God’s away on Business. Business.

Digging up the dead with
A shovel and a pick
It’s a job, it’s a job
Bloody moon rising with
A plague and a flood
Join the mob, join the mob
It’s all over, it’s all over, it’s all over
There’s a leak, there’s a leak,
In the boiler room
The poor, the lame, the blind
Who are the ones that we kept in charge?
Killers, thieves, and lawyers
God’s away, God’s away, God’s away
On Business. Business.
God’s away, God’s away,
On Business. Business.

Goddamn there’s always such
A big temptation
To be good, To be good
There’s always free cheddar in
A mousetrap, baby
It’s a deal, it’s a deal
God’s away, God’s away, God’s away
On Business. Business.
God’s away, God’s away, God’s away
On Business. Business.
I narrow my eyes like a coin slot baby,
Let her ring, let her ring
God’s away, God’s away,
God’s away on Business.
Business…

And those are the lyrics to Girlfriend’s favorite song.  It’s by Tom Waits.  I’d like to thank my father-in-law for playing it for her and singing it to her.  He thinks he’s hilarious, you know.  She busted out with that one when she was about 2 1/2 and we were at Target standing in an aisle with two elderly nuns.

EDIT BY THE PIMP: here’s the song…

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.

She was all “God’s away, God’s away, God’s away on business!”

Luckily, I think they were deaf so it’s completely fine.

I love random playback of inappropriateness at inappropriate times though, don’t you?

The song is going through my head because this morning, we do, in fact, have a leak in the boiler room and I have to survive the morning with no water because we had to shut it off so as not to flood the house.  My father-in-law, being the great dad that he is, will be coming over this afternoon to help Mister fix the broken water pipe and will without a doubt, be singing in chorus with Girlfriend about a leak in the boiler room the entire time. I need to brush up on the lyrics so I can join in.

Also, any work people reading this, it’s my official calling in.  I won’t be at work tonight because somebody has to watch the kids while they fix the leak.  Don’t any of you say you can’t phone it in on your blog because I totally just did.

Suck it, bitches.

And Homeslice was awake all night with teething pain and the Monkey Pig Typhoid Cold Flu.  I might take her to the doctor’s.  I’m debating.  And I was feeling much better after my Monkey Pig Typhoid Cold Flu but I’m getting re-sick.  My hair hurts again and I have a sore throat.  I blame Homeslice and all her snots.

There’s baby snots in my hair right now, fyi.  I just had it blonded, too.  It looks awesome even with the snot.

And I got Lady Days finally and it’s beastly.

It’s pretty much Armageddon here as far as I’m concerned.

So I will spend the morning baking 32 festive green mini cupcakes for Girlfriend’s St. Patrick’s day thing at school with no water for clean ups.

Sa-weet!

So yes.

The universe woke me up with great big “HAPPY MONDAY, FUCKFACE!”

PS: I don’t know why the formatting is all shaquaed up there.  It’s the least of my problems today.

PSS: I don’t mean this to be complain-y.  I’m just sharing with you what it’s like to be Queen.  It ain’t all glamor and midget porn, you know.

The only thing funnier than midget porn is midget ZOMBIE porn

So the other night, Mister calls me at work to run a few porn titles by me because porn titles always make me laugh, even when I’m at work and feeling like death, it warms the cockles of my heart like nothing else can.

And then he came across midget porn. I don’t know why I was so surprised by it. Midgets are people too, right? They get their little freaks on just like everybody else, I imagine, but the very idea of it was funny until he came to the next one–Midget Zombie Porn.

And so of course I HAD TO see it because who wouldn’t want to see Midget Zombie Porn?  Nobody wouldn’t want to see it, that’s who.

He also downloaded the plain old midget porn too, just for shits and giggles, and all of it was awesome in it’s bizarre glory. It had these two escaped prisoner boy midgets dressed in prison uniforms and handcuffs who supposedly broke into a house to hide from the police.  In that house lived a hot Latina woman who was a lettuce farmer.

Right?
But wait, it gets better.

There was some sort of silly banter and the prisoner midgets said they haven’t touched a woman in 10 years and so the lettuce farmer starts stripping her clothes off and the midgets (who appear to have normal size dicks, btw) double team her on a bed covered in heads of lettuce. And the farmer was rubbing the lettuce all over her boobs and everyone had smooshed green lettuce streaks all over them.

It was hilarious, but also a little bit gross because of my food and sex issues, and I will never look at a head of iceberg quite the same way again.

But as if that wasn’t bizarre enough, the Midget Zombie Porn was even better.  It starts off with a confused slut ( I dare you find porn that doesn’t have any confused sluts in it.  The gauntlet has been thrown down.  Go forth and seek it, my friends), wandering around what looked like fairgrounds or some sort of antique car show or used car lot or something and she was all alone and stumbly when out of nowhere, a midget zombie starts following her. 

OH NO!!!

Run confused slut! RUUUNNNNN lest you be accosted by a tiny zombie in a size 2T sweatsuit and halloween makeup!

And she runs into some messy office-type building, screaming and kicking at the little zombie dude until he pins her to the couch and what do we have here?

Suddenly she goes from sucky actress to blow job maven and then there was anal and she was all “fuck me with your mini-dick” and it was just about the most hilarious thing I’ve ever seen. 

So yes.  Midget Zombie Porn.

Highly recommend it.

I want you guys to tell me about the weirdest porn you’ve ever seen because I’m totally turning this into a TWM post and wouldn’t you like to see your weird porn stories published over there? I would.

Also, I must have more weird porn in my life!

I used to be much more muchie. I have lost my muchiness.

I took a pregnancy test last night.

Don’t worry.  It was negative, just like it had to be because of the whole vasectomy thing plus I always make my lovers wear a condom shhhh don’t tell Mister but I’m having an affair with Alexander Skarsgard and he wants to marry me you know but I said no because he’s too Nordic-looking and he doesn’t know how to fix the computer and also he pees sitting down and I’m not sure what to make of that.

But I had to take the test because when your Lady Days are late by two weeks and you’ve been bloated like the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man and you gained 4 lbs out of nowhere and you feel like shit and WHY DOES EVERYBODY HAVE TO TOUCH ME WHY?

You have to take a test just to rule out the possibility that some Magical Supersperm jumped the gap.

And I was obsessed with it and what I would do if there really was some Magical Supersperm and WHY IS EVERYONE TALKING ABOUT HAVING BABIES AND ABORTIONS AND HAVING BABIES ALL OF A SUDDEN?  It’s like they KNOW.  And I even started having Phantom Baby Syndrome where I was nauseous (I cannot spell nauseous and diarrhea.  I have a hard time with those.  Spelling them is about as sucktacular as having them.) and having cravings for pasta.

I have eaten a crapload of pasta recently (which explains the 4lb weight gain perhaps?) but I couldn’t taste it, and so the craving never went away which leads us to complaint du jour #2.

I’ve had a cold for two weeks.  I got better for like, a day, but then Mister got it and then Girlfriend and then those motherfuckers re-infected me because NOBODY IN THIS HOUSE CAN MANAGE TO COVER THEIR MOUTHS WHEN THEY SPEW THEIR ROTTEN, FESTERING GERMS.

Or, Mister brought home something else entirely. Like, maybe instead of this one being The Monkey Plague like the last  one, it’s The Monkey Pig Typhoid Cold Flu.

Everything hurts you guys.  Even my hair hurts, and so I haven’t brushed it in two days.  I look remarkably like Helena Bonham Carter right now but not in a cute way, you guys.  And I can’t taste anything, but that doesn’t stop me from eating pasta and chocolate cake.  Any reasonable person would be eating celery and rice cakes right now, but not me. No sir.  I turn celery into CAKE!

I’m trying my hardest to turn that 4 lbs of Phantom Baby weight into a pure, unadulterated, honest- to- Jesus  FAT. ASS.

And I feel flat and sort of homicidal and so. not. funny. or even mildly interesting as proven by the above post.

I hope to get my muchiness back soon though.  Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to blow my nose and then change a diaper and then find some more chocolate cake.

There’s a lot going on here today.

PS: It’s a Toy with Me day today!  I don’t suck over there like I do here.  I promise.

I Need To Get Me Some Gays