Archive for the 'Babymamadrama' Category

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…

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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.

Quick update on the Karma situation:

Yesterday the basement flooded, Homeslice was a crankasaurus, Mister was in a shitty mood, Girlfriend followed me around demanding cookies, a show we bought tickets to was switched to a different performer–no refunds (fucking Ticketmaster cunts), Big Pussy ate my new favorite plant that I bought at the flower show and barfed it all over my dining room table, Alice fished a coffee filter out of my compost bucket and ran around with a diarrhea coffee buzz like you read about, BUT it was raining like a sonofabitch so she refused to go out which means she had diarrhea anyone? anyone? all over the house, AND I came down with a cold and a wicked sore throat. I can take anything, but a sore throat really pisses me off.

So yes. The universe pretty much shat on my head.

Don’t kill ladybugs. Roger that.

Yesterday after reading that my “ladybugs” were actually some sort of Beetle impostering as ladybugs, Girlfriend and I went on a killing spree.  Each armed with a library book( I KNOW IT!), we went into the bathroom and opened up a can whoop ass on the beetles.

We were like, all Matrix-y and shit, and we were spinning around and doing ninja flips and gettin’ all crazy, and we were pretty bad ass, laughing all the way and making splooshy sound effects and high fiving each other until all the beetles were dead, dead, dead.

Hahahahahahaha!

And I enjoyed it a little too much, and I blame Girlfriend because she thought it was hysterical, which made massacring tens of ladybug beetle things AWESOME! Hahahahaha! and we totally bonded and then I realized something.

Karma is a bitchface.

It’s always making anything fun a wicked pain in the assical.  Murdering bugs, annoying as they may be, makes for very bad karma.  I mean,what would Buddha say?

I do not think he would be pleased with Girlfriend and me.

Mister tells me that my source of information on the whole beetle/ladybug thing was bad and that ladybugs come in all different shades of orange/red and if he’s right, I have just gleefully killed what are arguably the most adorable bugs in the entire entomological world.

What happens to you when you smoosh good luck ladybugs with a library book?

This can’t be good, Queefies.

So now I’m scared that something really bad is going to happen, and I keep going back to this show I was watching on Monday night. I don’t know what show it was because I don’t really pay attention to show names, but it was one of those police shows–OMG! Greg from Darma & Greg was in it– and it was about a guy who started shooting people who looked like his wife. After he shot his first person, he got a high from it, and then he got addicted to shooting people and he couldn’t stop, and he just wanted to do it more and more and it became like, an obsession.

I didn’t see the whole thing, but I think he murdered his family probably.

I’m scared that this is going to happen to me now. I’m going to start killing bugs like, all the time, and then before you know it, BAM!

I’m a killing machine.

I already share a name with a serial killer, so it’s like I am one already!

And you’re getting a twofer today because it’s TOY WITH ME Wednesday!

Breastfeed my husband? Hell no!

OMG, you guys. Remember this bitch from a post I wrote last year?

So yesterday Crissy drops Girlfriend off at The Sandbox Preschool and there’s this bitchmom with a baby in a carrier and Girlfreind goes over, stands on her tippy toes to peek into the carrier and says “Oh your baby is soooo cute!” and the bitchmom whips the carrier away and says “Don’t put your face near her face! She’s had two colds already this year!” And girlfriend sort of just looked like…”huh?” And Crissy was present for the whole exchange and can say with 100% certainty that Girlfriend’s face did not come anywhere near bitchmom’s baby’s face and so WHAT THE FUCK WAS HER FUCKING PROBLEM?

Crissy thinks that would have fixed her wagon quite handily.

Well.

Speaking of wagons, guess what she rolled up in yesterday?
YES.
MY Volvo wagon.
It’s new. And shiny. And i’m jealous.
And she’s about 6 months pregnant with baby #3 (somebody’s been making her husband vewy, vewy, hap-py!) and she’s totally not an EPC.
She’s something else entirely.
She’s a…Mrs. Fancypants.
A Mrs. Fancypants, dear Queefies, is perhaps the antithesis of the EPC because unlike an EPC, Mrs. Fancypants has a J-O-B and no SUV. She drives an Audi or a Volvo or a BMW instead because she’s very refined, you know. She’d never be caught dead in a pair of sweatpants with JUICY written in sparkles across the ass.
She’s always very put together and looking lovely for work in her outfits from Ann Taylor. There are three of them at Girlfriend’s school. There’s this one who is apparently very good at giving Hummers (I should probably ask her how many she had to give to get the Volvo), a TV reporter, and one who makes wedding cakes. Fancy ones.
They teeter through the ice and snow in stiletto bitch boots every morning looking just as perfect as perfect gets, and I’m not sure how I feel about them as a group. But I know how I feel about this particular Mrs. Fancypants.
I don’t think I like her very much and here’s why:

#1. That incident last year with the baby in the car seat really stuck in my craw.

b) I kind of liked her last winter. I told her she looked hot in her boots, and then she was pretty nice to me when I was pregnant. She always asked how I was feeling. That was nice. It’s probably just because she herself wanted to be in my condition (dear lord, WHY?)

#6) And then a couple of weeks ago, I heard her talking about being pregnant and starting to show, and the woman she was talking to (who, btw, is neither an EPC nor a Mrs. Fancypants. She’s a Breeder.), declared that she should be well into her 6th pregnancy(!!!) by now and that there must be something wrong. I threw up a little bit in my mouth when I heard that.

f) Yesterday I walked in behind her. She had a stranger with her, and she introduced this stranger as anyone? anyone?

“THE NEW NANNY”

And she said it super-loud so everyone would hear her. The NEW NANNY looked like she wanted to crawl under a table. I would never introduce someone that way, would you? I’d probably say something like “this is our friend Karen. She’s going to be helping out and taking Girlfriend to school from now on.”

I think that was really bitchy of Mrs. Fancypants.

And that, dear Queefies is why I do not like her. She has my car and now she has my nanny and she doesn’t even respect her. Also, her hair is always perfect and she can walk on ice, 6 months pregnant wearing stiletto boots.

What is there to like about this woman?

Absolutely nothing.

PS: Today is a Toy With Me day! Mister got flashed at the hairdresser a couple of weeks ago! WTF? Sluttery At The Salon
Happy hump day! (I really hate it when people say that.)

This morning I had some sort of lunatic idea that we’d go do our Target run BEFORE school.

I know.

SHENANIGANS!

TOMFOOLERY!

I don’t know what I was thinking.

I actually could have made it, but it would have been rushed, and I kind of like to take my time at Target.  I like it sort of slow and thorough, like a good lover. So I’m actually writing a blog post instead of sitting here eating cookies until it’s time to leave.   I ate two before I realized I needed to find something else to do.

Homeslice is actually occupied right now.

Cheerios have changed my life, you guys.  For realz.

I’m going to go make Sexy Time with Target after I drop Girlfriend off at school.

Maybe that’s why we don’t have that Volvo.  I do Sexy Time with Target too much.   Maybe I’ll have to start my campaign soon.  Mister will be getting The Hummers  so I can get The Volvo.  My question is how many Hummers do you guys think it takes to equal a Volvo?

I don’t want to get screwed in this deal.

HAHAHAHAHAHA!

See what I did there?  Screwed? Sexy Time?  Hummers?

That’s why I’m the Queen.

Anyhoodle, I checked my facebook this morning and some nice person (you know who you are) has informed me that DOOSH IS GETTING HER OWN HGTV SHOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I so, so, so need to have The Crissy Show.

Please leave your comments containing outrage and incredulousness below.  Try to include the words “Dooce sucks” if you can.  It’s awesome for my stats.  Doocebags apparently have nothing better to do than sit around googling “Dooce sucks” and then insulting the blogger who dared utter it.

I like to play this game every once in a while and then see my statistics spike up for a couple of days.

Aaaaannnnndddd we’re done here.  Cheerios, while wonderful, sadly don’t contain a sedative.  (mental note to self: write to the Cheerios people and suggest frosting Cheerios with Valium.  This is brilliant. This will get me on Oprah for sure, proving that Doosh isn’t so special after all.  I’m specialer.  Like, way.)

Wow! A MONDAY post? This shit hasn’t happened in like, a long time but good news you guys! Homeslice has discovered finger food. This means we are at the point where I can toss a handfull of Cheerios at her and have fucking quiet for like, five minutes.

Ahhhhh…bliss.

We had a super productive weekend as Mister made a bookcase for Homeslice, and it’s fucking adorable, and then he re-caulked our shower and waxed the shower doors so he wouldn’t have to hear me bitch about cleaning them for a couple of weeks.

You’re about dying from excitement right now, aren’t you?

I know, I know. This is why I’m the QOFE and you’re not. You suck a little bit. Sorry.

And Homeslice worked really hard on her crawling all weekend, but I’m sorry to report that instead of going forward she just goes backward and gets really pissed that the thing she was crawling for keeps getting further away and so she crawls backward and cries. Either that or she’s just like, “fuck it” and tries to get up and walk by getting into a downward dog position and then falling on her face when she tries to stand.

It’s…a process.

And then Girlfriend gets involved and tries to help which only pisses her off more. And then Alice comes over and frenches her and well, the poor thing.

And perhaps the biggest news is that we signed Girlfriend up for public Kindergarten:

I look like somebody’s mother, right?

It was a little bit sad, and I’m a little nervous about the public school thing. The publicness frightens me. Homeslice was totally unconcerned. She thought I was being silly, so she took a nap.

She’s not very supportive.

The kinks aren’t totally worked out with the new theme and everything, and so I’m going to stop writing now because it’s pissing me off. It keeps eating my words. Anyway, Happy Monday Queefies! May you ride to work on the back of a unicorn that smells of roses and shits rainbows and ice cream because what else would a unicorn shit?

So here it is. Mister worked really hard on this new theme, and we struggled with the colors. We’re (I’m) not totally sure we (I) love them like this, so that might change at some point. But he didn’t pimp slap me when I kept saying the colors weren’t right, so tell him his balls are pretty and touch him on his bum a little. He likes those things (even if you have to lie about the balls part because let’s face it. Balls aren’t cute).

Today Homeslice and I will have adventures on the East Side of Providence over at Monica’s, and then at Whole Foods. All the fancy stuff is on the East Side of Providence, you know.  And then tonight, we all go across the street for our weekly Pot of Crap dinner with the Richard and Micheles. I’m making pizza, it’s very exciting.

Try to control yourself.

I’m just concerned about the drive over to the East Side because I’m like 85% sure we’re going to die in a car crash. Just this past week, I’ve been run into the ditch THREE times by 2 asshats who were texting and came over the yellow line and nearly hit us head-on, and one stupidcuntbitchasshat who decided to drift into my lane without even looking when I was right next to her. Yes.  I was trying to pass her because she was doing 45 in the fast lane on the highway with her head resting on her driver’s side window.  What the fuck, woman?  She could have killed Girlfriend and me!  Homeslice was on the other side. She probably would have been okay.  But when I beeped the horn at her, she didn’t even notice.  She didn’t even take her head off her window.

So, I’ve decided that my next car will be one of these:

Sexy, right?  That’s actually the sexiest picture I could find. It’s not the BMW,but you know what?  At least we won’t all die in this car because some fucktard was texting his girlfriend.   And you see where the fog lights are mounted right there on the front?  I’m going to take those out and have Mister Macgyver some kind of flame thrower arrangement so that when somebody tries to kill us, I can burn them.  He’s totally brilliant at ghetto rigs.  He can do it.  Once he figures it out, he can do your car too.  It’s up to us to teach them, you know.

SOLIDARITY BROTHERS AND SISTERS!

btw, this is my official announcement to Mister that he’s buying me a Volvo.  He doesn’t know yet.  He’s going to be Very Excited.

Like, $45,000 exciteds.

PS: We don’t actually have $45,000 for a new car.  I’m just feeling like a rich lady because I made $130 selling my stuff on eBay last week, so clearly we can afford a new car.

PSS: I’m not good at math.

PSSS: That’s why I think I might have to bust out my feminine wiles for this one.  It’s going to take some convincing.

PSSSS: By feminine wiles I mean promises of blow jobs and steak every Friday night.

PSSSSS: I’d watch the comments section if I were you.  Just sayin.’

PSSSSSS: If you don’t help support my cause, I will totally ban you from this blog.

Maybe I can write a blog post tomorrow.  Or later.  Or something.

I tried for like an hour to write one but it was full of suckage.  I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but I find it hard to be cute on the Internet while Homeslice is all up in my grill and pulling out fistfulls of my hair and Girlfriend keeps interrupting me to say things like “mom, mommy, mama, ma, momma, momma, mommy, ma, ma, ma, mommy,mama,mom.”

What I’m trying to say is they’re  evil little children and they don’t care about my blog.

I find this unimaginable.

And so I wonder if either Mary Poppins or Nanny McPhee would be willing to sort of, you know, come down here and kick some ass.  I mean seriously, how awesome would it be if Nanny McPhee showed up at my door in about five minutes with her mole and her cane and her awesome. I’d totally make out with her.

Yes I would.

Bad news, you guys.

Mister hacked the Wii and now we have every game imaginable, and the Wii is plugged into a very large TV in front of a very comfortable couch in the basement next to a fridge full of beer and a bar. All we’re missing is a microwave to heat up nacho cheese sauce and it’s every man’s fantasyland.

I go to bed alone.

I wake up alone.

I find myself shouting things down the basement stairs like “DO YOU KNOW WHAT TIME IT IS????” And I hear things shouted back at me like “YOU’RE NOT MY MOTHER!”

And then yesterday I came downstairs in the morning to find that while I was at work the night before, Mister had a little Wii party in the basement and didn’t so much as lift a dish to put it in the dishwasher, and the house was in chaos, and Girlfriend had apparently eaten Fruity Snacks (all natural of course but it’s still not really fruit despite what Mister thinks) for dinner and Homeslice probably ate her socks because I still can’t find them.  And in Girlfriend’s room, I found Hello Kitty wearing a pair of Homeslice’s pants with a hole cut into the back so her tail could come out

I kind of knew something was up when I came home that night because he was all nice to me.  And I was like “why are you being so nice to me?” and he was like “I can’t be nice to my wife?  I love you!” And I’m all “what did you do?”  And he’s all “NOTHING! I SWEAR! JEEZUS!!!”

Uh-huh.

I went BULLSHIT when I found the evidence.

And so I put the Wiimotes in my purse and brought them to work with me.

Yes I did.

And you know what you guys?  I came home to the gentle hum of the dishwasher running and Girlfriend’s room all picked up and the books and all the toys put away and the children happy and bathed and pajama-ed and nobody had a hole in the back of their pants.

There was no discussion as to the whereabouts of the Wiimotes because he knew.

The End.

PS: Girlfriend is an amazing liar.  I’m totally bringing her with me next time I tried to return used/worn things to Macy’s.  You should have seen her innocent little face when she told me that the pants were like that when she found them and that maybe Homeslice cut that hole herself.  She actually almost convinced me before I came to my senses and had to call bullshit on her.  Don’t get me wrong, Queefs.  Homeslice is pretty smart.  She says “hi” and “Alice” and “mama” and she can wave bye-bye at people and she almost does the “SO BIG ” thing, but as far as I know, she cannot use scissors.  I mean seriously, she just figured out how mirrors work.

Wow.

That was a busy weekend.

So Mister’s  snippy snippy went fine on Friday.  Thank you all for your well wishes.  It warmed his heart as his balls froze to death under a pile of frozen peas.  I was feeling a little sad about it, to be honest.  I’m not going to have any babies anymore.  Sigh.  But then Homeslice starts bitching and pulling my hair and I am very comforted that I won’t be having any more babies.  Hoo. Fucking. Ray!

And Mister is maybe a little sad that he didn’t have a son to pass on his family name, but I told him not to worry.  Maybe one of the girls will be a lezbeefriend and she’ll adopt some little Chinese babies with her life partner and the family name will not die with him.  It will just become Chinese instead.

(This cannot leave this blog, but between you and me, my money’s on Homeslice.  I mean look at her!

She’s diesel!  And she’s a little, shall we say, overly enthusiastic, about the boobages.  I’m just saying.)

And so right after Mister got home from his appointment, I went to a party because I’m a very caring wife like that and I know you’ve all been waiting for the final count on the theme sweaters and I am very sad and disappointed to tell you that there was only ONE and it wasn’t even that hideous.  What a bummer.  And there was nary a candy cane turtle neck to be seen.  What is wrong with these people?  There were, however, a large number of red sweaters and snow flake pins, so it wasn’t a total loss. I got a really awesome coffee cup that said “Do you have a library card, cause I’d like to check you out.” on it.  It’s pretty awesome, obviously, and so that nobody would Yankee Swap me for it, I rubbed it on my bum.

I like to think that I always bring a touch of class with me wherever I go.  This was no exception.

And then yesterday we did our Christmas tree.  It looks lovely, but can I ask you guys something?  Do you always picture events like these in a glowy, Hallmarkish scene only to get to the tree place and freeze your ass off while dragging a kid who keeps whining “I’m hungry. Can we get donuts?” every five seconds because she knows Home Depot has donuts (assholes), and when she’s not asking for treats, she’s bitching that she’s cold because she left her hat and gloves in the car, and you just want to kill yourself?  And then when you finally get the fucker home and set up in the stand, people wind up fighting and acting like jerks and you end up decorating the tree all by yourself while fantasizing that the Goblin King came and took them all away?

Or is it just me?

Anywho, that’s my weekend update.  It was fucking fascinating, I know.

PS: I got a shipment of wonderful home made bath stuff that I ordered from the lovely Ms. Darkstar.  She sent me some as a present after I had Homeslice and the stuff is just marvy. I bought some as Christmas presents.  She makes awesome lip balm too.  The orange mango (I’m too lazy to get up and go check on the name) one smells just a like an orange Chuckle.  Serioulsy, you need to order some stuff for the people on your list who, ahem, need to smell better.  She’ll hook your shit up.