Archive for September, 2010

I’m sorry I have neglected you Queefies this morning! I was out having breakfast over at this place with The Rabbi! I had a feta and spinach egg white omelet (is that how you spell that? It doesn’t look right.) with a side of toast and some home fries and water. It was pretty good! Sadly, Homeslice was with me and you know how that goes. As soon as I wouldn’t let her send pictures messages to people on my cell phone, she lost her shiznat and we had to leave.

But it was nice to go out with a friend, and it’s kind of ironic that I did that today of all days because my Toy with Me post is about how I’m going to start a new dating website for people who are looking for friends.

So you should go and read it! Sometimes I Just Need A Friend and WHY DO YOU GUYS HAVE TO LIVE IN MY COMPUTER???

I would love to stay and chat but I have a raging headache from my Starbuck’s problem. Fucking evil, those Starbuck’s people. Evil as sin!

This is a picture of Homeslice, being adorable:

She’s been sick a lot lately.  First she had that hand, foot, and mouth disease.  Then she had a different cold for a week, and she’s got six teeth coming in all at the same time, and on Friday, I was changing her diaper and noticed a lymph node popped out in her groin/diaper area.  Of course, any normal person would look at it, shrug, and go, “that’s weird. I’ll keep an eye on it” and put the diaper on and continue with her day, but not me, Queefies.

Oh, no, no, no.

My first and immediate thought was  OH MY GOD THE BABY HAS CANCER!!!!  THE LYMPHATIC CANCER!!!!  CALL THE DOCTOR!!!  WE NEED TO START CHEMO IMMEDIATELY!!!!

So I called the doctor and was all “THE BABY HAS CANCER! WE’RE COMING THERE RIGHT NOW!!” and within an hour we were in front of her doctor who said the lymph node felt healthy and it wasn’t hurting her and the skin over it wasn’t red.  If those things are all present, then it’s time to lose it.

But not now.  It’s not time to start chemo just yet.

So now you guys know.  Don’t freak out until after the doctor tells you it’s okay to freak out. Although, any good doctor won’t tell you to freak out. I’m still freaking out though.  Every time I change her diaper I inspect it to make sure it isn’t getting bigger or redder or sensitive. Of course, because I keep touching it it keeps getting redder…

I can’t blame my anxiety disorder entirely though.  I blame Starbuck’s.  I bought some Starbucks ground coffee at the grocery store and for the last week I’ve been drinking it I’m nauseous, I have back and neck tension, and I’ve been clenching my teeth so hard my teeth are loose.  I finally figured out it’s the coffee.

I’m a slow learner.

Next time I call the doctor in a blind panic, I’m going to start off with “you have to forgive me.  I’ve been drinking Starbuck’s again and…”

Except I stopped drinking it and now I’m a massive caffeine addict. I’m having headaches because I got used to the fucking EVIL Starbucks.

Let’s see….what else?

Kindergarten is going well and Girlfriend is more prepared for it than I ever gave her credit for.  She read 8 words all on her own last night, and she told me the other day that there was a fat kid on the bus who was being teased, and so she turned into a wolf (she loves watching Mister play Zelda Twilight Princess) and howled and chased them away and went to sit with the kid.  I am so proud of her for doing that because she thought it was the right thing to do, so she did it.  I get all teary every time I picture her launching into Zelda Princess Wolf Thingy mode and defending the downtrodden.

That is MY baby, right there.  Fuck you.

I mean, she’s practically Mother Teresa, only she looks much less like Golem.

And here she is with her Girl Posse at an ice cream party:

They’re a good looking bunch of girls, right? That’s little Lauren on the left and then Alena, Maya, and of course Girlfriend. I don’t really know that other blond kid at the end with the crocs on, but she seems aright. She’s a very polite child. She never put that Target bag down though. I only caught a glimpse of her mother outside of her minivan. It looks like she wears way, way, too much eye makeup. Maybe that’s what was in the Target bag–her mother’s makeup drawer contents. Perhaps she was hoping the ice cream party would turn into an intervention when her mom came to pick her up.

But I can’t really say because I only caught a quick look at her.  Maybe it was just a shadow on her face instead of a super dramatic smoky eye paired with mom shorts and an LL Bean tee shirt. I’ll keep you posted on the whore makeup situation if I see the mother again.

Annnnddd Wanda the dog is still in “we’ll see” status.  The rescue people are bringing her over here on Thursday to meet Big Pussy and Alice.  We still don’t know if she’ll like Big Pussy and we don’t know if she sheds too much and we don’t know if Alice wants to be her sister.  I’m trying to curb my enthusiasm until after we’ve met her.  I’m going to feel like a massive asshole if we have to reject her.  I hope I can find the strength to say no if she’s not right for us, and not cave in because I feel guilty.

So yes.  That’s all I have for you at the moment.

I need more Ask Girlfriend questions.  I have only two or three and that doesn’t make a good video.  We need more, so ASK GIRLFRIEND! Remember–only non drug/hooker/gambling questions.

Happy Fall, Queefies!

I love fall, but with every new season comes the need for…duh. duh. duuuuuunnnnn

New clothes.

You know how I hate shopping for clothes, right? You should click on that.  It’s from way back when I was fun.

But I had to totally douche my wardrobe the other day after crying and tossing shit over my head and swearing.  I wound up with two trash bags full of stuff to throw away and another one full of shoes and sweaters and pants and shirts and other crap to donate to Saver’s. I pretty much had nothing left but a couple of pairs of jeans and some not too horrible shirts. I’ve been buying stuff for the kids and I forget to buy stuff for myself and so now all my stuff is just ratty.

Actually, that’s not completely true. Shopping for me sucks and every time I start, I get frustrated and go “I wonder what they’ve got for kids! Lemme check realquick” and then the kids wind up with something wonderful and cute and my shit just gets older and tireder.

People think I’m the Third World Refugee Nanny.

So lately I’ve been shopping and forcing myself to stay on task and not go to the kid’s department. I’ve brought home a few things to try on because fucking forget trying shit on at the store with a 15 month-old. It’s all grab and go for me right now. And I’ve promptly brought it all right back. I bought a bunch of shit online from Gap but their clothes are as exciting as a bag of white sweat socks. I now have some very sassy long-sleeved Favorite Tees in white, navy, and charcoal! YAY!

Are we asleep yet?

I got some sweaters too, but this stuff is all just staples. None of it is pretty, and none of it is making me feel fierce.  I guess right now I’m just settling for not homeless?

If I could, I would totally try to rock some super feminine bohemian thing because that’s the stuff I gravitate toward, but whenever I actually try to coordinate something like that, I look like I’m wearing a Gypsy Halloween costume. Also, where do you find stuff like that? Stuff I can actually afford. They ain’t got that shit over at Gap, I can tell you that much.

I’ve also been trying to find some fabulous patterned tights with maybe some flowers on them or a non-dorky paisley (can paisley ever be non-dorky? I say yes) to wear with a denim mini skirt and my Dansko Sallys or something and NOT STRIPES and NOT FISHNET and NOT NEON, but they don’t exist.

I totally HATE the 80′s bullshit right now. I do not want a shirt with a guitar on it. I’m all fucking set.

And forget about shoes. I have not seen one single pair of shoes that I would want to wear in a long, long time. I went to DSW and out of that whole sea of freakin’ shoes, there was ONE pair I liked and they didn’t have my size.

Are we getting a feel for why I dress like an old fishwife now?

Yeah.

So where do you guys shop? I need you to send me where you find stuff that is non-hideous and non-Third World Refugee Nanny or you may used the form provided below to share your own wardrobe drama.

Please and thank you.

PS:  In stark contrast to the commenter last week at Toy with Me who clutched her pearls at my use of the term “cum dumpster,” yesterday someone called me a prude.  A PRUDE!  ME!!!!  Can you even imagine?  To that I say, “Mon. Dieu.” and also “Ah-HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! That’s some funny stuff right there.”  I want so much to go over there and defend myself, but I will not lower myself to the level of the trolls.  I will’nt.  But I soooo want to. Have I ever admitted to you guys how hard it is to come up with stuff to write about every week, and to be criticized for I say and for revealing intimate details of my sex life it…well, you know.  Aunt Becky is also a prude, fyi.   This person clearly does not understand the mighty awesome Internettian power Aunt Becky and I wield.  Well, mostly her, but me a little bit too.  We could hurt people with our words if we so chose!

but we didn’t know about the bondage until just recently.

I don’t know what it is with me and the gays lately. I think I’m still waiting for my gay bff to come walking into my life. Maybe I’m trying to attract attention.

Or maybe I just want a new best friend.

Like, maybe this one:

Her name is Wanda and our application to adopt her has been approved! Sadly, the rescue group is horribly, horribly, slow in answering questions and responding to emails, so I still don’t know anything about her. It takes them a week to reply to an email. 7 days! I thought they wanted to find homes for these dogs. I had to email them to find out she was actually pending adoption for US! I’m confused. This thing has been in the works for almost three weeks and I still have no clue what’s up with this dog and I’m frustrated because I hate not knowing and just hanging like this. I don’t know whether to shit or go collar shopping.

And then I found this one who is the sweetest thing, but a little smaller than I wanted:

I might apply to adopt her, but if Wanda works out, I don’t want to put something in the works with Minnie and then back out of it. That seems mean.

And just so people know, I am NOT replacing Alice. Why would I ever do that? I adore her. She’s the only one in this house who doesn’t give me any shit. She’s a friend who never disappoints me and she is always glad to see me. Overjoyed, actually. I want more of that. More joy. More love. More best friends. More dog bodies splayed out on my kitchen floor when I’m cooking.

My mother will shit her pants and then die three times when she finds this out and so I haven’t told her, and if any one of you spills the beans, so help me Jeebus I will totally ban you from this blog.

I don’t know how to do that, but I will figure it out and then you’re screwed, buddy.

Of course, she can just come right over here and read about it on her own, which is actually pretty likely and so mom, if you’re reading this please, please, please, don’t shit on this. It’s the happiest and most excited I’ve been in a long, long, time. And it’s your fault for raising a crazy dog lady.

The end.

PS: Toy with Me today! I forgot what it’s about…oh wait…I remember now: Girl on Girl Action Isn’t For Me. WHAT IS WITH ME WITH THE GAY???

So this past weekend we went to a party which was sort of like a big meet-up for all Mister’s camera friends, who are affectionately referred to as “Camera Gays” around our house.

Here’s a picture of just about everyone at the big gay camera party:

They are not to be confused with the Woodland Gays though. The Woodland Gays are totally different because they’re creepy and they live in the woods. The Camera Gays, while sometimes found in the woods, are not creepy (mostly), they’re just obsessed with their cameras.

Everyone was walking around with these very fancy and impressive looking pieces of equipment in their hands, and every once in a while, someone would fondle the camera a little bit, snap a picture, show it off, and move on. Come to think of it, it was almost like a bunch of gay guys with their little dogs on a sunny Saturday morning at the dog park, except the cameras weren’t wearing sweaters that coordinate with their owner’s sweater (usually).

The Camera Gays love to talk about their pet-cameras and they’re all like “wanna see my camera? Oh, I’d like to touch your camera, I want to zoom your lens, oh, that’s a nice lens, can I screw your lens into my camera and push the button and take a picture, oh, yes, that’s very nice, do you like my dynamic range? Isn’t that nice, and what about my soft box? Don’t you wish you had a soft box like mine and look at all my flashy flashes and my wide angles! Would you like to touch my memory stick? What’s that you say? You want to take a macro of my what…?”

And it went on like that as the Camera Gays fondled each other’s cameras (which we all know are symbolic of their penises) and it was sort of weird for me because everyone knew who I was and has read this here blog, and not only did they know who I was, but they knew everything about me and have even seen me in my underwears!

It was bizarre, so naturally my first instinct was to ask for some wine immediately and some jackass, some joker, some smartypants, some cad, gave me non-alcoholic wine! But don’t worry Queefies! I sniffed it right out and insisted someone bring me something worth drinking, because either that was grape juice or I’ve got a tolerance like a motherfucker. Or, both are true.

Anyway, I’m a little disappointed because what with all those Camera Gays at the party, nary a one took my picture unless you count this one with my big, giant mouth open because if I’m not drinking a glass of wine

I’m usually stuffing my face because OH MY GOD THERE’S TOO MANY PEOPLE! EAT THESE MAGIC DORITOS AND DISAPPEAR, CRISSY!!!!

Are we feeling my highlights?

You can’t count this one because Mister is in it and it does not showcase the Many Faces of Crissy:

And Girlfriend and Homeslice were there too, and Girlfriend thought it would be fun to beat all the foreign people in the ass with a bat.

▶

And so she did. Repeatedly.  For longer than it was cute. I guess she has a penchant for New Zealand accents.

The end.

PS: Have you ever watched your kid doing something and thought to yourself “somebody should stop that kid from doing that thing she’s doing” and then you realized that YOU are the one who should stop that kid and it’s just like “aw, crap.  Can’t someone else do it for once?”

PSS: It’s a Toy with Me day today!  I’ll get you that link in about 5 hours when the Canadians wake up.  My Mom, My Brother, And The Fishcunt

PSSS: For the rest of the pics, please go see Ben’s post! (He’s a really good photographer too. Go buy a print from him!) <<<Mister totally wrote that, but that doesn’t mean anything.  I think he’s having a bromance with Ben. They’re always admiring each other’s stuff if you know what I mean.

OMG. Remember that time I wanted to be exactly like Erykah Badu?

So the other day my good friend MsDarkstar forwarded me an email from someone who owns a private membership sex hotel and is looking to employ me as a once a month blog writer.

YAY!

Woot! Woot!

But not so much with the yay and woot-woot because when I spoke with him on the phone he said I’m “too white” and that his audience is young, urban, upscale and mainly black–think Kanye West drinking Hennessey and blaming it on the ah-ah-ah-alcohol.

See? That’s all I know about young, urban, upscale, black folks–they blame it on the ah-ah-ah-alcohol. Actually, so do I, so maybe we are more alike my friends than we are unalike? (what poem is that from? High five to the Queefie who gets it without Googling).

Clearly, I’m in over my head with my skinny white ass.

Did Eminem ever fret so? I think not. He’s not from Rhode Island: Home of the White People.

But before giving up, I’m going to give it a whirl because I have managed to fool some people on the Interwebz into thinking I’m pretty and funny and interesting, so maybe I can fool people into thinking I’m young, urban, upscale, and black, too.

Maybe I am *that good* of a writer. This has yet to be tested.

Just in case though, I emailed my only black friend to see if maybe she’d just want the job instead and even she was like “I still say things like get jiggy with it and what up? I can’t do it! Totally not up my alley.” Okay, so if my hot black friend who lives in a city isn’t comfortable, how will I ever pull this off?

So, at the suggestion of a white friend who has a black friend (are you still with me?), I bought a bottle of Hennessey, “cause’ dat’s wass hood” and spent the whole weekend pretending to be P-Diddy.

Other than having a pretty dope collection of new designer sunglasses and several children by different Babymamas, I’m still no blacker than I was, and so I’m still fucked.

The trouble is, aside from my one black friend, I don’t actually know any black people. I grew up in and still live in a part of the country where there really aren’t any black folks around. They’re like, a novelty around here. In fact, when I was telling Lynne about this gig, she looked out to the lobby of the library and was like “OMG! THERE’S A BLACK PERSON IN THE LOBBY RIGHT NOW!! YOU WANT ME TO SEE IF HE’LL BE YOUR FRIEND?” I said “no” because there was no guarantee that he was the right type of black person I need to help me find my voice for this particular gig.

And that was the last black person that either I or anyone else I know has seen in days and now I’ve got a raging Hennessey hangover and nothing written for my Thursday deadline.

Maybe the Queefies can help me. What sort of topics would Kanye West be interested in reading about with regard to having sex in private membership sex hotels? Think Toy with Me only Kanye West is writing it and not me. Or Beyonce, except I’m a much better dancer than she is.

GO! Mama needs a new car and it ain’t gonna buy itself!

Yesterday I was waiting at the bus stop with Girlfriend when a woman in an SUV pulled up to the stop sign next to me and said “KRISTEN!! How are you? It’s me, Shyanna!” And I recognized her a little bit and then she said “You’re Kristen Smith, right?”

No.

I’m not, and when I told her I was not Kristen Smith I could see the disappointment on her face. God, I felt like a loser, but I can’t say I really blame the woman because that Kristen Smith and I look a lot alike and from what I remember, she was friends with Shyanna in high school. People got us confused a lot because we looked alike and had similar names (her last name isn’t really Smith, you guys), but you know what makes this story worth telling you?

Kristen Smith is the Kristen who wound up marrying The Panty Sniffer!!!

RIGHT???

Just when I think that crap isn’t going to come back, it does!

So yesterday was interesting because I was sitting at my kitchen counter minding my own business when my brother came in.

Somehow, as he sat down next to me, he woke up the computer and what popped onto the screen but some Ass Porn Mister left up on the desktop. Without missing a beat, my brother picked up the bottle of Wood Glue that Mister left on the counter right next to the computer and said, “you never told me Ken had trouble with his wood!  It’s because he’s using the wrong thing!  This will never work! You want it less sticky! What a dumbass.”

And then we laughed and talked about how our parents are wet blankets and are always trying to ruin our lives with their “advice” and their “concerns” and then he told me my dad was in the hospital for chest pain.

RIGHT?

Like, when were you gonna tell me that, fuck face?  And so I called Papa to get the story and he didn’t know anything yet, and I’m just picturing my dad walking into the ER, having driven himself there because everyone knows that’s what you do when you think you’re having a heart attack is go for a drive, about 100 lbs overweight eating a bacon sandwich with a ruby red face and well? It’s amazing they didn’t just bust out the crash cart right there at the registration desk. He’s never had a heart attack before and that is surprising what with his short temper and his love of all things meat.  Or ice cream. Or chips.  Or cookies.  Or anything that Tastes Good.

But he didn’t have a heart attack, you guys.  It’s a pulmonary embolism.  A really big one. And he has The p-newmonia too. He’s going to be in the hospital all week and when I called him, he was cranky as ever. He’s going to be fine. If he has the strength to complain that he’s going to be out of work for a week, he has the strength to not have a heart attack or a stroke, depending on if the clot dislodges and where it goes if it does.  So that’s my story about my dad almost dying but not quite yet so hold your condolences. I’ll keep you posted.

Let’s see…what else?

Oh, Girlfriend did a classy move. She decided to make friends with that little Twattington who gave her a hard time on the bus last week. They’re best friends now. I stayed up all night trying to figure out how to handle the situation and she knew the whole time exactly what to do. I guess I’m doing a decent enough job with this whole parenting thing. Who knew?

And Homeslice just woke up, so I gotta run.

It’s a Toy with Me day!

The Permanipplelipilis

Love you guys!

So it’s going well. 

Girlfriend got on the bus without a fuss and had a wonderful day.  Her favorite part was the bus ride because she says she’s “fallen in love with the bus monitor” (I am totally screwed) and her least favorite part was when a kid licked her Good Luck Bear necklace.

HE LICKED HER NECKLACE!

Horrified, Girlfriend asked if she could use the bathroom and pretended that she was peeing and said she went into the stall and made a “psssssssssssss” noise, flushed the toilet, came out, went to the sink and while washing her hands, washed her Good Luck Bear necklace.

I love that she made a “psssssssssssss” noise for authenticity.

Here’s the obligatory first day of school picture.

I’m not sure what’s going on with the headband situation here:

And then yesterday as we were walking home from the bus, some guy was standing on his doorstep with his first grader huddled into his leg and he says “Excuse me.  My daughter has something to say to you” and then his kid tells me that “she was saying Maya’s name.”  Okay…AND…?  But that’s all I could get.  I guess she was accusing Girlfriend of being mean.  Because she said a kid’s name. At least that’s what I could piece together from calling other parents of kids who were on the bus with them. Poor Girlfriend had no idea why she was in trouble. I think little miss first grade needs to put her big girl panties on and I fully intend to tell her so at the bus stop this morning.  I practiced my speech all night.  Probably I won’t use the word “fishcunt” though.  I might save that for the next time she has a problem with my Girlfriend.  Also, it might be possible that the bottle of Chardonnay I drank last night made me think calling a first grader a fishcunt would be totally appropriate.

So yes. Your Crissy is officially the mother of a kindergartner and it’s not so bad as I thought.  Life is way, way easier having only one kid to deal with and so I don’t miss her as much as I thought I would.  I hate saying that, because I do miss her a lot, but just…you know…I miss her in a different way.

Here’s the part where I give you permission to do the “told ya, told ya, told ya so” dance.

I hate it when the Internet is right.

Did I tell you guys I want another dog?  I do.  I’ve wanted another dog for about three years now and back when we were deciding to have Homeslice, it was between her and a Labradoodle.  Anyone who’s been reading for a while knows this.  And I haven’t stopped wanting another dog since then, but lately I’ve been really, really wanting one.

Maybe it’s my kindergarten separation anxiety coming through? Maybe because it’s fun to think about? Maybe it’s because I love dogs and I always have.  And so does Girlfriend.  And so does Alice.  And so does Homeslice.  The only one around here who does not want another dog is Mister (and maybe Big Pussy). He’s always going on about having enough to take care of as it is and blah, blah, blah…He’s boring.

I dog sat for two weeks this summer and to be honest, taking care of two dogs was no big whoop. I liked having a bigger dog around the house because I felt safer. Alice is just a little ankle biter and nobody is scared of her. So, I’m looking for a medium sized, non-shedding, housebroken, neutered, adult dog with good manners who likes dogs, cats, little children, and folding laundry.  And when I find it, Mister will probably say “no,” but a girl can keep dreaming, right? I can also just get the dog and hide it, and when Mister comes home and finds a dead would-be predator and all the laundry folded, I can bust out the dog and be like “HA!”

Today, perhaps even as you are reading this, I will be putting Girlfriend on the bus headed for kindergarten, trying desperately not to cry until it rolls away. I don’t know where I’m going to pull the strength from, but I have to find it so I don’t freak her out.

I have issues with the bus, Queefies.

I’m quite certain that somehow there is a black hole that exists between the bus and the classroom that sucks unsuspecting kindergartners in, never to be seen again and unlike some people, I actually want to see my kindergartner again.

There’s also a black hole in the ventilation system at the mall, you know. I never look up when I’m in a big mall because it reminds me to be scared that I’m going to be sucked into the vents and then POOF! Bye, bye, Crissy.

Shut up.

It could totally happen.

Maybe all those people you hear about on the news who go missing at the mall are alive somewhere in the ductwork over Banana Republic.

I don’t really think Girlfriend is going to get sucked into a black hole. Don’t worry. It just seems totally weird and really bad mommyish to just put my baby on a bus and not see her again until much later in the afternoon and just assume she’s fine.

Like, isn’t somebody going to call me to let me know how she’s doing?

Like, can’t I call the school to check on her?

Like, can’t I stand outside the classroom window and tap on the glass and wave “hi” to her?

No. I cannot. I don’t want to be that asshole even though I really, really want to be that asshole.

And so Homeslice, whom Girlfriend calls “The Little Bother,” and I, who she calls “Fuss About,” will walk her to her bus stop and put her on the bus. Hopefully, she will get on it without one of her diva style incidents she’s so famous for, and then we will go home and figure out what we’re going to do without her stealing toys and making messes all over the house. Perhaps we’ll even have time to write our blog and wouldn’t that be something?

Maybe I will find my sense of humor again now that I’m not spending my days refereeing fights, denying eleventy million requests for a “treat” and re-capping markers?

I’m trying to look at all the positives here.

I bought her a Good Luck bear necklace to wear today.  She’s wicked into Care Bears. When I give it to her I’m going to tell her that when she feels nervous or scared, just touch her necklace and Good Luck bear will surround her with luck.  She has a good imagination.  It might work.

And my sweet, wonderful friend Ms.Darkstar made her some special First Day of School perfume!  It’s in solid form, like lip balm, and she sent three scents–Blueberry, which is Girlfriend’s favorite, Honey Rose, which is my favorite, and an amazing Berry Peach.  You guys need to get some of this stuff because it’s not loaded with chemical crap and you’re not gonna get body rot from it. There’s seriously only like 5 ingredients and they’re all stuff I recognize, so I have no problem putting it on my kid.  She feels so grown up to have her very own perfume!  It’s really cute.

So yes.  If it’s about 9:00 when you’re reading this, say a little prayer for your Crissy that she can manage to hold the water works until Girlfriend gets on the bus.

And it’s a Toy with Me day today!  I’ll get you that link in a sec.

HERE IT IS:

Dating For Ugly People