Archive for May, 2010

I’ve been working hard this week, you guys. Yesterday I gave myself a pedicure, washed and hung out two loads of laundry, and folded three loads, emptied and re-loaded the dishwasher, picked up toys, packed lunches, made dinner, washed my kitchen floor, emptied trash cans, watered all my outside plants, and then brought the girls to work with me at noon so I could get an early start before Mister came to pick them up so I could work until 8.

I’m fucking tired. In fact, my tired has tired on it.

So while I was at work, the girls were fine and they were pretty quiet and everything except for the time when Girlfriend said “douchebag” and my friend Celina and I both gasped at the same time and it embarrassed her and she dove under my desk and cried very loudly.

I had to beg her to come out. She’s usually the language police, but not this time.

Girlfriend, not Celina.

But that wasn’t the weird thing that happened.

The weird thing happened when Homeslice pooped her diaper and I realized that I didn’t have a spare with me, so I grabbed a diaper wipe and decided to reach into the back and pull the poop out because the kid freaking stank. Stunk? Stinked? She smelled.

And so I waited until nobody was around and I made my move. I dug into the back of her diaper and I pulled out the poop, wiping her bum as I went and just as I was pulling my hand out of the diaper, who walks though but the director on her way out to lunch.

She’s pretty cool about allowing us to bring our kids in every so often, for a short time as long as they’re quiet and don’t make a mess,and there I was standing there in a field of puzzle pieces and mashed cheerios with a hand full of diaper shit while she cooed at Homeslice and talked to Girlfriend all about her birthday.

It felt like forever, you guys. I don’t think she noticed that I had a hand full of shit, but what if she had?

I don’t really have an ending to this story.

How not to talk dirty in bed

*this post is like, 15 posts in one, so if you want to read it in pieces that would be perfectly fine*

So we did it Queefies.

The great big gigantic patio/deck project is all done.  Mister is pretty much a super hero and as usual, he built the whole thing with his dick. He’s got a few small abrasions on it, but that’s just because patio bricks are kind of rough. I mean seriously, he’s not THAT strong. Let’s not be nuts here.

I helped, of course.  I hauled wheelbarrows full of gravel and sand and brick.  I’m so proud of myself though you guys because I must have moved a ton or more of gravel and about a ton of brick and like, an assload (that’s a standard measurement, right?  Assload?) of sand and I didn’t get tired and I’m not sore and I didn’t even cry.  I thank my girl Jillian for all of that ass kicking. Also, it’s because I’m fucking awesome.

And then after that whole project was done, I planted a mimosa, an oak, a dogwood, and two hydrangeas.  And then the Richard and Micheles came over and I got totally absolutely undeniably hammered from just two glasses of wine, but that didn’t stop me from having more wine and then after that some tequila and then I felt horrible mommy guilt for putting Homeslice to bed in a dirty dress with sand in her diaper, but it turned out okay because she woke up and I got her into some proper pjs and wiped her down with a washcloth.  So I didn’t have to wake up at 3am and beat myself up over it. Instead, I woke up at 3 am and felt guilty for worrying about it so much and for burdening everyone with my mommy neurosis.

I fucking rule.

Anyhoodles, that was our weekend.  We worked like dogs.

OMG!!! I didn’t tell you guys!
The dog officer came and took Maudette’s puppy away!

The dog officer came and took Maudette’s puppy away!

I was standing there washing dishes and watching the little fuckface dig holes in my new mulch, when the van pulled up. And I was all “take the dog! take the dog!” and the dog officer got out and lured him over to her. She saw me in the window and asked who he belonged to, and when I motioned in Earl and Maudette’s direction, she nodded and said “this little guy is coming with me” and it was just like one of those moments when Mr. Wilson catches Dennis doing something naughty and he’s thrilled to pieces. And then I was all “TEQUILA ATTACKED ALICE!” and then I ran into the house because I didn’t want to get caught talking to the dog officer because remember I’m scared of Earl and Maudette and Tequila and the puppy.

They got him back, and I nearly ran over the puppy who was running around in the middle of the street on my way home from work last night, so clearly they’re not afeared of the dog officer and/or are slow learners and/or they don’t give a shit.

She wears too much mascara, the dog officer does.

So the yard is ready for the Birthday Extravaganza on Saturday.  It’s already way out of  hand.  There’s a lot of people coming.  Like, a lot.  So you can probably come too.  I won’t notice because there will be so fucking many people.

Here’s a picture of me getting bombalooed on my new patio:

And today is Girlfriend’s birthday!!!!

She’s 5! 

*sniffle*

I took Girlfriend and Homeslice shopping for some birthday party supplies yesterday. Girlfriend decided on a horse theme, so we bought horse cups and plates and napkins, etc. That shit gets more expensive every year. And then I bent over for a nice eleven millionty dollar ass raping on the party favors–little bandannas to tie together and use as favor bags for a bean bag horse, a decorate the horse with stickers thingy, and a horse finger puppet, and then we went to Target to buy dog food, cat food, panty liners, and a squirt bottle.

We get in the slightly creepy cashier’s line (I go so often I’m practically dating the slightly creepy cashier) and Girlfriend likes to put the stuff on the conveyor belt, so she does and when she gets to the panty liners, she’s goes “mama, what’s these for?” And I didn’t know what to say and the slightly creepy cashier blushed a little bit and then she goes “OH! I KNOW! IT’S FOR WHEN YOU POOP YOUR PANTS SO YOU WON’T GET POOP ON YOUR PANTIES!”

Oh dear God.

Dear, dear, dear God.

Behind us in line were a bunch of massage school students in their scrubs picking up sodas between classes. They heard that one loud and clear.

I have to find a new Target because everyone there now thinks I shit myself.

This is what I get for plotting to put Vagisil in random people’s carriages. That damn karma again! GAH!

Thank goodness it’s a Toy with Me day today because this mommy blogger’s kids are preventing her from mommy blogging today.

Fucking selfish children, I tell you.

At this very moment, Homeslice is bucking and screaming in her high chair and actually moving it across the room, and Girlfriend is whining because her waffles aren’t warm enough. She likes them warm, but not too warm, you know.

So yes.

I have to go stop the screaming and the bucking and the whining.

Where did I put that bottle of Xanax?

Now go read about The Vagina Gentrification Project

I totally forgot to tell you guys that the other day, after taking Homeslice and Girlfriend to the Children’s Museum of Providence, I came out to the parking lot to find that some asshat had parked sooooofuckingclose to me that I think they must have had to climb out of the passenger’s side to get out because no human being could fit in between there, except me. I could fit, but only because I was determined to punish them, so I held my breath and tippy toed in between so that I could reach the driver’s side door handle and put my gum under it. I considered doing the old standby door slam, but the car was a total ghetto whip. That wouldn’t have been enough punishment for them. Actually, it wouldn’t have been any punishment at all. So, I had to break out the big guns–the one reserved only for *very special assholes* and I put my gum under the door handle. I slammed my door into theirs just for good measure but it was weak. It was too close and I couldn’t get enough momentum.

And then today I almost, ALMOST, punched some bitch out because instead of oh, I don’t know, holding the door for me when I was obviously struggling to get the stroller through, she FUCKING SLID IN BETWEEN THE STROLLER AND THE DOOR AND STEPPED OVER THE STROLLER TO GET OUT WHILE I WAS IN THE MIDDLE OF THE DOORWAY WITH THE WHEELS CAUGHT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! She like, jumped over us instead of even just waiting for me to get through!

I was so fucking pissed you guys! So. Pissed. And I know I’ve got The PMS, but still. I think I’d be pissed anyway because people just fucking suck. I would have decked the bitch, but I was still struggling to get the stroller through the door.

I wanted to be like “HEY! COME BACK HERE SO I CAN KICK YOU IN THE UGLY FACE!”

But then I remembered that I now keep a can of pepper spray in the stroller…

No. I didn’t spray her, Queefies, but I could have and next time I will because Mister still hasn’t rigged up that flame thrower I wanted mounted to the stroller wheels.

That’s a perfectly good reason to pepper spray people, right? Just because they’re assholes?

I think so. In fact, I think they should list that on the package.

Pepper spray is good for stopping:
viscous animals
homicidal maniacs
criminals
cases of epic jackassery
rapists
assholes

Tiffany!

This is genius! to send to her friend.

So, Congrats Tiffany!  Email me your email and I’ll email you the $25 gift card after the Noble Works Cards people email it to me!

Runners up who get absolutely nothing besides a special mention from the Queen are…

CortGirl with this one because she has a new baby and she pretty much hates everyone right now.   I think I need to order a case of them to keep in my car to hand out to people.

Kate!  With this one because I like wine.

The Other Melissa with this one because I feel like that’s me.

CuppyCakes picked this one that I totally love!  I feel like that’s me, too.  Especially after the card The Other Melissa picked out.

Melissa’s family sounds awesome and I want somebody to make me a cake that says “here’s your fucking cake” on it.  I love the card she picked out, too.  Seriously, somebody needs to send me that cake.  My birthday is in almost a month.  Make that shit happen.

And so yes.  You guys are awesome for participating!  Don’t let it ruin your Monday if I didn’t mention your card here!  I loved them all, but Homeslice just woke up and I have to run.  Blame her.  She’s a Monday ruiner for sure.

So I chaperoned a field trip at Girfriend’s school yesterday. It was a beautiful day to be outside with a gazillion little kids with snotty allergies and Homeslice on my back in the backpack. The EPCs kept to themselves, which was very thoughtful of them, and we had a really nice time.

Until.

There was an incident.

You see, Girlfriend has very recently become rather sweet on a boy named Jack (swoon). We saw Jack on Mother’s Day at the garden shop, and ever since then, she’s been crazy for the boy.  She even put together a bag of all her dinosaur movies to give to him as a present because she knows he likes dinosaurs.

She’s got it bad, you guys.

And he has a baby brother just about Homeslice’s age.  Here’s a picture of her with little Spanky (that is not his real name).  They’ll be in the same class when the time comes, and so maybe I’ll have two girls in love with the Jack family.

But Homeslice already has a suitor:

His name is William.  He’s in love with Homeslice because “she likes (him) and she doesn’t talk.”

He’s a nice little boy and I think Homeslice is picking up what he’s putting down.  She’s playing it cool, but I see her glancing in his direction.  He usually has cake when it happens, but cake is the way to my heart, so clearly the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

“Gee is that some cake?  And who is that handsome fellow holding the cake?  I wonder if he’d be interested in giving me his cake…”

That sort of thing.

But Jack is a nice little boy, too.  He was very nice to his baby brother at the flower store, and yesterday he was all over Homeslice (this could get complicated.  William, this is your official heads up.  You’ve got competition from an older man.)

Girlfriend’s teacher tells me that Girlfriend gave my father-in-law a hard time leaving school on Tuesday because it would leave Jack alone in the playground with that whore,  JULIE.

You see Queefies, Girlfriend is involved in a love triangle because Julie likes Jack, too.

I may or may not have given Julie the fruit punch with ex-lax in it.

May or may not have.

While Jack was sitting in the grass playing with Homeslice, Girlfriend came over and sat next to him and said “you know, Jack.  I’m falling in love with you.  I’m going to marry you.”

Jack avoided eye contact, scratched the back of his neck, squinted, and ran away.  And Girlfriend chased him.  And Julie saw that Girlfriend was chasing Jack and so she started chasing Girlfriend.  Jack zigged and they zagged and they wound up smacking into each other and bonking heads, leaving both girls crying in a pile on the ground.  Poor little Jack didn’t know who to comfort first, and so he ran back and forth between them, rubbing their backs and wiping their tears while the girls competed for who could let out the most pathetic cry.

Jack eventually gave up and came to play with Homeslice.

That’s right, Queefies.

Homeslice got game.

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So I’ve got another bug up my ass, Queefies. It was the car, and then the puppy, and before all that it was the windows, and now it’s chickens.

That’s right, she said chickens.

Back around Easter time I saw a thing on Martha Stewart all about chickens and raising chickens and she does it so it must mean it’s classy, right?

But she had all these really fancy looking ones and Girlfriend and I were riveted and now WE WANT CHICKENS! We’re mostly vegetarians around here, and we get a lot of our protein from eggs, and I’m not terribly happy to learn how chickens are treated, even under the best of circumstances, so I’d rather know my eggs came from happy chickens who go for regular manis and pedis and feather fluffings and whatnot. I’m not ever going to eat the chickens, but I will share the eggs with family and friends and feel superior and smug every time I pass the egg section at the Super Stop & Shop’s.

And the beautiful part of this is that we have the perfect spot. You see Queefies, our garage has two levels because it used to be a carriage house. The upper level is where the carriage would go, and the lower level is where the horsies lived. And there’s a small yard down there that looks very much like it belongs to Earl and Maudette.

We could keep the chickens down there, and people will think they belong to them and the Crissys will avoid the stigma of being the assholes with the fucking rooster, while at the same time, having a rooster to piss off Maudette’s hangovers!

The rooster wouldn’t bother me any. Our neighbors growing up had one. It just appeared in their yard one day and wouldn’t leave, so they took care of it. It followed their dog around wherever it went. It was hysterical.

So yes. I want to get chickens. Not right now, I’ve got my hands full right now, but soon.

Chickens.

As you know I’ve been eBaying a little bit for the cherubs and I got to thinking.

“Crissy, you should see if there’s something for YOU on eBay!” And then I was all ” Like, OMG! You’re so smart!”

I’m always shopping for Homeslice and Girlfriend and never for myself. Their stuff is just so cute and shopping for myself is really frustrating because of that whole being stuck in that gray area between 17 and 71 and also I have no money so it’s just more fun to make them look cute.  If I could, I would be an Anthropologie girl.  God, I love that stuff.

(note to Queefies: My birthday is coming up. You guys should chip and get me a gift card to Anthropologie.  I think  about $20,000 should do it.)

So I’ve been Anthropologieing on eBay.  I got a totally awesome skirt the other day and I’d show you but I can’t get the fucking picture.  Trust me it’s gorgeous and I’m thrilled with it.

But can I ask you something?

What is wrong with people?

In my search for fabulousness, I came across a whole lot of dysfunction.  Below are just a few of the pictures I found in my search for “Anthropologie Dress.”

I haave the longest arms EEEVERRRR!

Say that in Oprah’s voice because that’s how I hear it in my head when I say it. I’m so distracted by the arms I can’t remember what the dress looks like. Seriously, I have to keep going back to look and I get distracted every time.  Also the flip-flops are annoying.

And please, don’t get your tired friend to model the most unflattering dress ever made.

She’s not helping you sell that shit. And is it me or is it skeevie to see people wearing the stuff?  I don’t want your pits on my potential new dress, k?

Um, speaking of skeevie…

This dress is on the floor laying on top of an ugly old sleeping bag next to some shoe polish, some dude’s boots, a pizza box, and a bottle cap.  It has zero bids.

Shocking.

Rotate the fucking picture, ASSHAT!

You managed to take the picture, create an eBay account and upload the picture, but you couldn’t figure out how to rotate it?  And put your foot down. You don’t look kicky and cute. You’re a moron.

And who stands like this?

WHO?  I think the poor girl has broken her back!  What would Tyra say?

So yes.  Fucking people.

PS: Toy with Me today! It’s up… Men And Sex Toys – Double Standard?

PSS: Don’t forget my contest to win a $25 gift card!