Black Swan? Really?

So I went to see Black Swan with The Rabbi last night.  It was okay.  I like the ballerina stuff and the costumes and makeup were gorgeous, and I’ve always secretly wanted a pair of toe shoes of my very own, so seeing those made me very happy, but the ending?

Really?

The Rabbi and I both burst out laughing at the last line because the ending was just so piss poor.  It was so stupid we couldn’t help ourselves.

I know we were supposed to be moved? Or something?

Now, granted, I had just consumed an El Presidente Margarita at Chili’s and she had a DIY Bourbon and chocolate ice cream milk shake (DIY means you order a plain drink and pour booze from your flask into it under the table, fyi) (I must get a flask) and so maybe we were feeling a little silly.

Or maybe the movie was a little cheesy and we didn’t understand what all the hype was about.

I like to think we are budding movie critics and I can see us like a drunken Siskel & Ebert sitting up there in the balcony passing judgment and flasks of bourbon.

That will be us.

PS: I drove her manual transmission car home because she made me do it and it was EASY, leading me to believe that Mister’s car is a dickhead.

Do you guys know what happens when you have ten brain tumors?

People give you stuff!

It’s true!

Since I found out about my not not tumors, I have been showered with gifts (okay, only three, but three is still more than zero which is what I was getting before)!

Mister bought me an MP3 player which I have yet to figure out. As soon as I conquer driving his mean machine of a car, I’m totally going to figure that sucker out and then I’ll be cool like everybody else from 2005. It’s a really basic and cheap one called “Sansaclip.” Is that the stupidest name ever or what? It’s not sexy like an iPod or anything and it’s clear it’s not even trying to be. Seriously. They could have called it…”the cheapest MP3 player ever” and it would have been better. “Sansaclip.”

Bloody hell.

It’s almost as stupid as naming your blog “Crissy’s Page.”

Seriously though, I think I could have come up with a better name for it than “Sansaclip.” I would make a brilliant marketer because I know when somebody is giving something a totally fucked up name. Like, what about this dust rag I saw at Marshall’s the other day:

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Your Monday eyes are not fooling you, Queefies. Someone has named a dust rag “FANNY.”

Maybe I’m not like most people, actually, we know I’m not, but I don’t like the idea of dusting my dining room table with a Fanny.

Marketing people, CALL ME!

And then my friend, The Other Kristin who is watching Homeslice at this very moment (holla!), brought me a bottle of wine with this card she made on it:

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“so i totally stopped by walgreens and the bastards did not carry congrats on your 10 non cancerous tumors cards. i know… the nerve right? so i made one for you, but i suck at writing poetry, so this is it. this is all you get. no cute little limerick or rhyme or whatever, just a picture of what i think the inside of your head might look like.

oh and mike thinks you should name them. he is willing to help you out if you don’t know what to name them. he was thinking dopey, happy, sneezy, bashful, grumpy, sleepy, and doc. or that maybe you can name them after jon and kate’s kids.”

She said she wished I had been there to see the look on the guy’s face when she asked him to attach that card to the wrapped wine bottle. She said she was all “what? She’s not gonna die!”

And then The Melissa Lion knitted me this awesome kitty hat because I had found one on Etsy and I wanted it but it was too expensive, so she made me one!!!

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Isn’t it a miracle???

How people like, knit things, is beyond me, but here it is, on my head and I can’t wait to wear it to work. I wear a hat and scarf all day at work because I get cold. I also drink hot water because there’s only so much tea you can drink and I can’t fathom putting anything cold in my body.

Does anybody else do that? Drink hot water or is that just a brain tumor thing?

Mister now has a request for Melissa. He would like her to knit him this hat:

Anyway, if you don’t have any brain tumors, I highly recommend getting some because people just start giving you stuff.

SEX ADVENTURES on Facebook and how I totally ruined my chances for one by being indecent

A few days ago, I got a friend request on Facebook from a stranger.  This is not a noteworthy event, I know, but check out his profile picture:

Um.  Yeah.  That kinda makes it noteworthy.

And his philosophy is:  Sex.

That’s it.

Sex.

And all his “friends” are either young girls or pictures of lacy thongs.

He is so barking up the wrong tree with me it’s not even funny!  Think again, buddy!

Doesn’t he know he’s talking to a frigid 36 year-old librarian with a brain full of tumors and a constant period?  He’d probably be pretty interested in the lactation though.  That’s pretty awesome if you’re a sickie.

Anyway, it got interesting after I ignored the request and got a message from him that said:

Jim Anderson January 20 at 8:58am Report
hi will u add me ?
And I’m thinking, “shit. Now I have to deal with him.”  So I’m all,
Kristen Lynne Gilbert January 20 at 9:35am
Who are you, Jim? Tell me about yourself. I’m a little protective of my facebook as it is my personal account.
Jim Anderson January 20 at 10:20am Report
i am 38 years old 180 cm 77kg green eyes brown hair married actor i like sex very much and i’m not shy of saying that looking 4 sex adventures all over the globe coz i travel a lot
Oooooo SEX ADVENTURES!!!! I thought… ” GOODY!  I’ve been praying this day would come!”
And so I’m just like,
Kristen Lynne Gilbert January 20 at 11:42am
I have no sex adventures for you. How does your wife feel about your sex adventures?
And poor Jim was offended and he dumped me!
Jim Anderson January 20 at 12:31pm Report
no need for this moral lecture anyway my fetish is to have sex with decent ladies but like this u turned me off
Wow you guys.  I really fucked up.  I haven’t been dumped this hard since, well, you know.  I could have had SEX ADVENTURES but Jim only wants to have his sex adventures with “decent ladies” who have sex with random strangers  who friend them on Facebook and don’t care that he’s married.
I could have had Sex Adventures with an International Man of Mystery, but I’m not a decent enough lady.
I think I need to change my profile picture because maybe this one of my nursing boobies is attracting the wrong kind of friends or whatever.
Or, maybe I should keep it to see if I can catch me some more blog fodder.

Okay, so guess what?

We (I) are (am) officially looking to replace old Sasha Saab with a new (ish) one!  And in preparation for that, I have been practicing (okay, we went out for half an hour) driving a manual transmission because I will not let it beat me, people.

I will drive a manual transmission and it will be fine and I will DOMINATE THE ROAD.

And so I did it.  I drove the scary WRX up and down hills and I speeded all over and everything and all it took was a little Xanax to get me to stop panicking.  I only stalled like, three or four times which for me is a really big deal as every attempt I’ve made at this has been a total disaster.

You all remember this, right?

Yeah.

(if you haven’t seen that video, you really need to so you can appreciate fully the depths of my driving dysfunction)

But this time, with a little 0.5 mg of Xanax, I’m smiling and driving and having fun!

I am driving Mister’s car!  I’m doing it and I’m not panicking!

And the children are unafraid!

Homeslice was perfectly at ease with her Hello Kitty purse in her lap (which we take everywhere with us–”BAG? BAG? Eh! Eh! Eh!), and Girlfriend didn’t complain even once that “mommy is making it bumpy!”

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She did have a few concerns when a lot of smoke filled the cabin after I stopped on (and tried to start up) a particularly steep hill. She complained that it “smells like dog shit.”  I’m very proud that my daughter has inherited my potty mouth. Maybe someday she’ll be a famous blogger just like her mother.

On second inspection of this picture though, it appears that she’s shamelessly trying to suffocate a horse in a plastic bag. Perhaps she’ll be a famous serial killer instead.

Only time will tell, Queefies.

So we haven’t bought anything yet, but we’re looking at one of these babies which I fully intend to plaster with hippy bourgeois bohemian bumper stickers about not eating animals and marriage equality and having abortions and stuff like that. It’s the only way I can drive a station wagon and live with myself. I have to embrace smug middle class hippyness because otherwise it’s just a station wagon and I’m admitting I’m a mother with a bunch of kids and a dog that’s too big to fit in something sassier and cuter and I’m not sexy anymore.

I think I want one in blue or silver though.  I will never own another black car.  They look like crap all the time.

So that’s the news.  We are officially looking for a car, meanwhile putting a car payment aside for a couple of months to make sure it’s comfortable for us and that I can continue to purchase food and heat and diapers with wild abandon like I’ve been doing.

In other words, I am very excited and I cannot wait to get into my new(ish) car and crank up the volume and drive the shit out of that thing all the way to Whole Foods!

It’s not not a tooma.

I’ve just come back from the doctor.  I don’t have just one brain tumor.

I have 10 of them.

I have 10 brain tumors.

The good news is that they are very small and benign and they’re not going to treat them, but just keep an eye on them.  They’re called “microadenomas” and aside from causing annoying symptoms like the boob juice and maybe the sudden and intense bout with anxiety and the weird periods, they are not cause for alarm.

Except now I totally intend to use them as an excuse for any number of behaviors, like, “I couldn’t do the dishes!  I have 10 brain tumors!” or “I cannot WORK, I have 10 brain tumors.”  or ” I cannot give you a blow job, I have 10 brain tumors!”

So now we need to think of a new superhero name for me.  I’m thinking Adenoma Woman or Super Tumor Lady or something much cooler than something someone with a brain full of tumors can come up with.

I don’t know.

Suggestions are welcome below.

Your Queen is going to live and if I may be honest here, I think I’m pretty badass because when I go, I go BIG.  I don’t just get a brain tumor.  I get 10.

Top THAT, bitches.

PS: In celebration, I went across the street and bought a pair of very nice and very expensive boots I’ve been lusting after for a long time.  Also, I sense a HUGE hangover in my future.  Like, tomorrow morning at this time, I should be barely functional.

Dear Target, I’ll Kill You TWICE!

So yesterday I went into Target to return some stuff Girlfriend got for Christmas that was either too big for her to wear or had too many little pieces for me to pick up off the floor. They took the toys back without a problem, but the little yoga pants and the sweater were handed, nay, shoved back to me as if they were made of dog shit. The woman was all fucking kinds of snotty and said “ma’am, I cannot take these things back in such poor condition.” And I’m all “What do you mean? The tags are all on. These things have not been worn!” And she was all “We cannot put these things out on the floor like this. They’re COVERED in hair.”

Okay. First of all, there was probably a total of four Pig Pussy furs on the little yoga pants and ONE white poupon of lint on the sweater. Nothing was in “poor condition” and I certainly hadn’t wiped my ass with the stuff like she was implying I had. She didn’t even fold it, she just balled it up and shoved it at me.

So then I was all “so all I have to do is go home and lint roll this stuff and you’ll take it back?” And she was all huffy and was like “If you want.”

I left because there were about ten other Target customers in line behind me patiently awaiting their snotty attitude and their dog shit handsies backsies. Mister told me I should have put up a fuss, but I didn’t want to be rude to the other people. I didn’t want to be THAT Target customer and have everyone hate me. I’ve had enough haters lately, thankyouverymuch.

I took my list of stuff I needed from there and left the store WITHOUT BUYING ANYTHING!

That will teach them! I could have dropped $100 in there easily, but I did not because they’re dicks and I hate Target now.

I’ve been meaning to break up with that place for a long time and now I’ve had enough!

WE’RE THROUGH, TARGET! DO YOU HEAR ME? All. FUCKING. DONE.

Now that I don’t shop there anymore, I might be able to afford to buy myself a fancy car and I will drive by the store and shout rudeness at Target and they will probably cry because they miss me but I will just turn up the radio on my fancy car stereo and not give two shits.

Somebody Smells

I wish I could tell you I have some health related updates and answers for you guys, but I don’t.

I still have swollen lymph nodes and I even have a few new ones, I still have boob juice, and I still have double periods. Is that everything? I think that’s everything. Sometimes I forget all the stuff and remember there was another thing in my pile of ailments.

Oh, right. There is now a lump on my thyroid that my OBGYN said is another lymph node. She’s testing for all kinds of stuff now too. I get that bloodwork back on the 18th.

I went for an MRI on the 30th to see about the toomah.

It was okay—the MRI, not the toomah. I don’t know about the toomah yet. I only started crying when they showed me the cage they were going to put over my face before sliding me into the machine. I thought “Open MRI” meant like, you know, OPEN? But no. It doesn’t. It means the sides of the thing are open so you don’t go into a tunnel, but you are still enclosed very closely AROUND YOUR HEAD. Had I known there would be a cage put over my head I never would have shown up for that thing conscious. Instead I popped a Xanax and went about my way, Mister at my side and a guided relaxation CD in my hand.

I bumped into the glass on the receptionist’s window because it was so clean I couldn’t see it. I felt like a Major Asshole. Then I handed her my credit card instead of my insurance card and I only filled out one of the three forms she asked me to do. I handed in INCOMPLETE WORK!

She must have thought I was a moron, so, to cover it up, I told her I took a Xanax. I don’t know if that helped my case or just made me look like a bigger douche.

And then I got into the MRI machine room thing and saw the cage they were going to put on my head and I lost it a little bit. But the guy was really nice and very soothing and he helped me through the whole thing. I couldn’t hear my CD though because the machine was so loud. It kind of sucked being injected with dye with the cage thing still on my head. I don’t like needles.

I hate them, actually. I hate them even more when there’s a thing holding my head still and I can’t see what’s going on.

But I survived it, you guys. I survived it. Mister held my hand the whole time and it took about 30 minutes. I got to see my brain afterward. I’m no doctor, but it looked okay to me. I won’t find out if my actual doctor agrees until the 11th. I guess the good news is that there is a brain in there. We wondered about that, so that’s a relief. Mister made jokes to the MRI guy like “I’ve been trying to figure out what’s going on inside my wife’s head for years!” because he’s fucking funny.

I’m just glad he didn’t try to bring his camera because I’d rather not have pictures of me wearing a Hannibal Lector mask and a blue hospital gown. He thinks I’m a bitch for interfering with his art. I just think we can stop at that picture he posted of my placenta and have that be enough of enough.

Other than that scary MRI bullshit, we had a good Christmas which I was able to actually enjoy thanks to the Lexapro starting to work, and a wonderful New Year’s Eve. THE Melissa Lion came with Fancyhats and Archie and stayed the night. We ate absolute crap food almost continuously for like, 10 hours, and drank way too much champagne. Basically we did all the stuff you’re supposed to do on New Year’s Eve except we were all wearing pajamas and didn’t give a shit about our hair. We had a wonderful time together and I’m really sad that they don’t live near us. We would hang with them all the time and Melissa would never hurt me or abandon me. I know she wouldn’t. Girlfriend and Archie totally hit it off and didn’t have one single argument. That’s pretty remarkable because just between you and me, Girlfriend has attitude. But Archie has the same type of attitude. It’s like they were made for each other!

The Melissa Lions didn’t even notice that for breakfast on New Year’s Day I totally bought pre-made fruit salad and then I had Mister cut it up smaller because they always do huge chunks (seriously whose mouth is that big? Are they making it for a yeti?) and then I had him dump it into a bowl and made it look like we made it ourselves when really, no such thing had occurred.

Sshhhhhh!

So, in summary, I’m not dead yet, we had a really great holiday season and I faked a fruit salad and fed it to The Melissa Lions.

The end.

PS: The title to this post has absolutely nothing to do with anything except that Mister said it while on the phone with me last night and I thought it was funny, so there you have it. That’s the funniest thing about this whole post other than me bumping into the receptionist window and telling everyone I came across that I took a Xanax.

PSS: Today is a Toy with Me day. It’s one of my last as I just found out that they are changing their format back to doing only toy reviews, so enjoy it while it’s here. I’ll link you up when that becomes available.

PSSS: Why My Vagina Is Steaming

Precut cheese has made my life easier

Have you guys bought the Cracker Barrel cracker cuts cheese yet?  Do you know how much easier my life has become since I stopped being such a hippy and started buying some “convenience products?” It is so much easier, you guys.

Both Girlfriend and Homeslice live on cheese and crackers and quite frankly, my stress level needs to go down so instead of trying to cheap out and buy the other kind of cheese, you know, the kind you have to stand there cutting yourself like an asshole, I started letting them do it for me and I don’t mind paying them either. Basically, I’m saving someone’s job by letting them cut the cheese for me.

That’s right, I said “cut the cheese.”

My life is easier now, plus I’m basically a hero and am keeping the people over at Cracker Barrel in their jobs and NOT contributing to unemployment statistics.

You can all line up to kiss my ring now.

You’re welcome, Cracker Barrel people. Also Stop & Shop people because I buy my fruit salad pre-made now too.

Also, Lexapro helps.

I used to care about buying convenience products, but now I take a pill for that.