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. 

No Title

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