Archive for the 'Bow to Your Queen Bitches' Category

So yesterday Toy with Me emailed me to tell me that I’ve been selected as a finalist in the 2010 BlogHer Voices of the Year humor category for that story I wrote about selling my panties on Craigslist.

Well.

I don’t follow BlogHer too much because I don’t have time to follow anything anymore, not even my own blog.  I don’t know much about the conference because I don’t have $300 for a ticket, never mind leaving my family for a few days to stay in a hotel room with a stranger who may or may not be a total cuntwad.

That is so not my scene.

But everyone is so, so, so into it.  Every summer the Internets are abuzz with excitement over BlogHer, so maybe I should be too?

I wouldn’t have even known I was nominated for anything if Toy with Me hadn’t told me about it. And now I sort of want to go just to see what all the fuss is about, but the tickets are sold out, of course, and have been for months now. Even if I could afford one, I still couldn’t get one. So I contacted them yesterday (I had to sign up for an account so I could do that) and told them it’s me, THE QUEEN OF EVERYTHING (except BlogHer tickets) and I said they need to send me a ticket so I can come accept my award and give my big speech and everything and do you know what they told me?

Either I can try to buy a ticket from someone who doesn’t want theirs anymore, or I can take this one volunteer spot that just opened up. In other words, I’d have to work for two days to earn my ticket.

Can I ask you something, Queefies?

Did Kate Winslet have to volunteer at the Academy Awards?

Did we see her selling popcorn in the lobby or handing out paper towels in the ladies room?

Nay, nay.

We did not!

SO WHY DOES THE QUEEN HAVE TO WORK FOR HER TICKET?

I’m calling SHENANIGANS! on that and so in protest, I’m not going.  Instead, I’m sending Kathy Griffin  to accept the award on my behalf.  They can just show my picture on the screen and that’ll be fine.  And if there’s some stroke of incredible fucktardery on BlogHer’s behalf and I am robbed of my Humor Voice of the Year title, she’ll stand up, chuck double birds at all of BlogHer and tell everyone to suck her dick, just like I would do if I were there.

I’m just going to have to be happy with that because I just don’t have the time, money, or the energy for anything else.

PS: Our friend Dingo is also a finalist. Go hug her,slap her on the ass, and shout “WELL DONE!  WOOF! WOOF! WOOF!” at her.  She’ll like that.

Since Sunday, our computer died so thoroughly that even Mister cannot resurrect it (I’m at work right now, fyi), I have had Lady Days for approximately 8 days, Mister and I were both stung by bees, I have a weird monkey flu that makes my throat/chest/tummy/lower back area so tight and painful I can barely breathe, plus I have a fever that makes me snuggle under my blankets on a 90 degree day with no air conditioning.

And now today, I have an itchy rash where my bee sting was, Mister’s bee stung foot is all Frankensteinish and swollen but the dude at Urgent Care said there’s not much he can do about it, I’m still sick and now my ear and throat hurt, Girlfriend has a fever, AND MOTHERFUCKING FRANK ATE MY FUCKING VEGETABLE GARDEN.

The little jerk was actually in there when I went to dump my compost into the bin this morning and I was all “GET OUT!” and the bold motherfucker just stood up in his back legs, looked at me, and kept eating my broccoli!
Can.
You.
Imagine?
And so again I hissed “Fuck! Off! FRANK!” and off he did not fuck! He just stood there looking at me like “yeah? What are you gonna do about it, lady?”

So you know what I did about it, you guys?

That’s right!

I SHOOK A STICK AT HIM!

He finally scurried away and I was able to survey the damage he did to the tender vegetables I have been nursing from seed since MARCH!

He took all my broccoli, cauliflower, basil, cilantro, romaine lettuce, and sunflowers.

And all I can think about is how badly I want some orange nail polish.

Sorry.  I’m not dead.  I’m…I don’t know what I am, actually, but I’m at least alive enough to tell you about an awesomesauce contest I’m having!

Because of this picture:

the people over at Vajazzling.com have sent me 5 DIY VAJAZZLING KITS!!!! to give away to you fine people!  I am sorry, however, to report that none of them say “JUICY” on them.  But there are star bursts and butterflies and some sort of supernova thing and WHO DOESN’T WANT A SUPERNOVA on her twidget?

Nobody doesn’t want a supernova on her twidget, that’s who. It’s just like, whoa. Impressive.

Also, I don’t understand why these things are just for girls, so I’m opening this contest up to the fellas, because fuck it.  We need all the participants we can get, amiright?

Vajazzling: not just for pussies anymore.  It’s for dicks now too. You heard it here first.

So, what you have to do to win one of these fine DIY Vajazzling kits is write a wonderful Haiku about Vajazzling. It can be funny, or touching, or sweet, or emo or whatever. I don’t care. I just have to think it’s deserving of recognition. Just remember that I’m educated in the ways of the poem, so no pressure but I know what I’m looking at. I guess the boys can write about Manjazzling because it doesn’t make sense for them to write about Vajazzling when they’re really going to Manjazzle, right? Unless they’re trying to win the kit for a lady friend. Then they can write about Vajazzling and it’s okay.

Are you still with me?

So do yourself a solid and sit down with your pencil and your paper and write me a Vajazzling/Manjazzling Haiku and hopefully, by this time next week, your crotch will be a hell of a lot sparklier because right now, if we’re all being honest here, it’s not that pretty.

You have one week. Winners announced next Wednesday! And don’t worry. You have almost zero competition because the Internet has all but dried up and died.

HAIKU!
Or a limerick!
I just decided you can do that too.
Haiku or Limerick, or both if you want.
You choose.

GO!

PS: It’s a Toy with Me day! Sex Toy Parties–Lessons in Humiliation

I’m 36.

I feel every single last second of 36 this morning, Queefies. Pole dancing class kicked the ever lovin’ shit out of me. I’m bruised and battered and I feel like I’ve been gang raped from gripping the pole so close to my crotchals and then sliding down it.

It’s the sliding that does it, you know.

And the gripping.

So, for my birthday today, the first thing I would like is to not feel gang raped.

The second thing I would like is this bike:

The picture is too big for the page but fuck it, it’s my birthday.  Anyway, it’s the Electra Karma 3i.  It’ s totally badass and I don’t ride bikes but I don’t care.  I would ride this bike until the wheels fell off.  And my crotchals won’t even hurt from the seat because pole dancing class will toughen me up really good!

I ask for a variation of the same bike every year and every year Mister acts like he’s going to buy it for me, but he doesn’t.  He’s such a crybaby about the mortgage.  It bores me.

Little does he know, I can go and dump that same amount of money at Target in a single afternoon and come home with baby diapers and hair conditioner and more short sleeved v-neck tee shirts than you can shake a stick at.

That’s a funny expression isn’t it?

I don’t think I’ve ever shaken a stick at anything.

Waiting for me right now is a bag from Victoria’s Secret, which is a gift for Mister and not really for me at all.  I haven’t opened it yet, but I’m pretty sure there’s no bike in there.

I’ve gotta run now, Queefies.  I have to go open my new thong underpants  now.

PS: I don’t really like thongs because  HAVING A STRING UP YOUR ASS ALL DAY IS NOT COMFORTABLE.  I’m 36 now and so it’s okay to stop pretending thongs don’t suck.  I feel so incredibly liberated having admitted that to the Queefies I think I’ll say it again!

I SHAKE A STICK AT THONG UNDERPANTS!!!

I’m sure I’ve shattered some fantasies, whatever.  I’m in my late thirties now.  I can do that and not even care.

PSS: for my birthday, Girlfriend says she’ll do what I ask her to do the first time I ask.  That’s pretty much the most awesome present ever!

I went out for dinner with Michele last night you guys.

It was the first time I had any kind of food I did not plan, shop for, and prepare myself in weeks and it was glorious, although we could tell Amy Our Waitress was disappointed in us because we had a couple of salads and some waters with lemon. Her face totally fell when she realized she was waiting on two lame ass pussies instead of a couple of gals goin’ out for a calorie fest,  Cosmos, and casual sex with moderately attractive younger men.

I don’t know what she was thinking because we were both wearing cardigans.

Also, it was Ruby Tuesday’s. If I’m going to go out and carry on, I’m not going to do it at Ruby Tuesday’s. I only go there for those fucking delicious croutons and that pasta salad they have with the peas in it. I love that pasta salad.

We did manage to redeem ourselves with Amy Our Waitress when we ordered chocolate cake (one piece to share, of course) and two decaf coffees.

I know, I know. ROCK ON!

And after that decadent dining experience we went to the Grand Opening of a Saver’s!

Shut up.

I’m almost 36 years old. This is my idea of a good time. Don’t ruin it.

And that, my dear, dear Queefies, is where I found Sad Jesus on VELVET!

NOW you’re jealous.

*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 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

Hey Queefies!

The shoppings went very well yesterday.  I didn’t know this, but my brother is a raging hormone.  He got the shoe store girl’s phone number.  It was…an experience to sort of have to stand back with Homeslice in the stroller while he worked his man-whore magic on the salesgirls of  Schmuckytown.  One girl asked if we were his wife and baby.  After I swallowed the throw up in my mouth, I said we were his sister and niece after he answered her with a question: “does that turn you on?”

Oy.  I was so embarrassed.  My lady friends almost never do stuff like that.

Anyway, we decided that he’s going with college boy prep with a little skater thrown in for edgy-ness.  And by “we” I mean the royal we because he wanted to go punk and I was all,”no.”  The skater stuff  was a compromise between the punk and the prep.  I had my hands full because the boy had no idea what he was doing.  I pulled out a pair of elastic-waisted grandpa shorts and he was like “I’ll try ‘em, whatever, you say,yo ”

And then I went through his closet and pulled out all the hideous.  He had PLEATED FRONT PANTS in there, you guys.  I took out all the polyester, including the bowling shirt with the blue flames on it and made him pinkie promise that he’d only be wearing natural fibers from now on. He had a black silk shirt and pants set that reminded me of The Velvet Fog episode of Seinfeld.  We had a fight over the leather shirt.  He insists it’s a “natural fiber” and therefore should be allowed to keep it.  I might have to go in there when he’s not home and take it.  Either that or I’m going to call my fantasy gay, Carson Kressley, to come and tell him what’s what.  Have you ever seen him straighten somebody out?  It’s a beautiful thing.

And then we went to the fridge and I pulled out the fucking Wonder bread and beat him with it.

So yes.  He’s a work in progress but we got a good start, at least.

And now there’s a ton of shit for you guys to go read!

I wrote another toy review and did a video with Mister:  We-vibe  II review.

And there’s a contest to win one here!!!  We-vibe II contest! I’d be proud-er than proud if one of my Queefies won it!

And I have a post going up today, too.  I’ll get you that link when I have it.

UPDATE: here it is! My Husband Posted Pictures Of Me On A Porn Site. I Liked It.

I’m kind of feeling a video caper coming on and I’m trying to decide what it’s going to be.

The other day I was giggling to myself because I was thinking I would do a video of me tossing random shit into people’s carts at Target.  Like, I could get one of those little hand basket things and fill it with condoms and tampons and douche and hemorrhoid cream and pregnancy tests and Gas-X and just go around the store tossing the stuff into unwitting people’s carriages.

I think it would be a hoot.

I would need to bring Lynne with me though, because you can’t do something like that and not about pee your pants laughing. Not that it wouldn’t be fun with Mister but you know, Lynne was there when the brilliant idea was conceived, so she should be there when it’s born.

I’d have to learn how to control my laughter which is something I’m not really good at. I laugh at all the wrong moments, usually.

Funerals are hilarious. You can’t take me to those. I’m an embarrassing and inappropriate date.

That’s why we wussed out on the whoopee cushion thing, you know. Remember we were going to go into the Stop & Shop with a whoopee cushion and Mister was just going to stand next to people with it hidden under his arm and squeeze it to get their reactions?

We actually showed up to do it, but we were laughing so hard in the parking lot, we couldn’t pull it off:

So, I have to work on that because you cannot be a right and proper Vagisil planter in people’s carriages if you’re going to give it away with laughter and giggling.

If I can pull it off, that will take care of the Other People of the World because I mostly don’t like people and I want to hurt them.

And I know what to do about Earl and Maudette and Tequila now. It’s better than nematodes.

Mister sent me this thing on Facebook about a guy who, to get back at his asshole-y neighbor, put an ad on Craigslist and gave her address and said she wanted to pleasure as many men as possible before she left for work in the morning. And so all these dudes like, showed up at her house at all hours in the early morning looking for blow jobs and shit.

Bwahahahahahahahaha!

How awesome is that?

All we need is that Chris Hansen from Dateline to sit in her living room and ask people what the hell they’re doing, and it’s made for TV hilarity.

This goes way beyond ordering pizzas and sending dildos in the mail to your neighbor’s house. I mean, if I did that to Earl and Maudette, they’d probably be thrilled! “Well, lookie here, Maudette! Somebody sent us a pizza! It doesn’t have anchovies, but it came with a free dildo! Woo-hoo!”

I thought I might place the Craigslist ad for Tequila and not Maudette. I’d say something like “Big white girl likes to bite and have her collar yanked. Enjoys public defecation and stranger crotch sniffing. Can lick own pussy. Will pee on command.”

Actually, now that I think about it, they’d probably be able to roll with some pervs from Criaigslist coming over. “Tequila! Fella here says he’s wants to see you…”

They may even be the pervs from Craigslist.

I’m actually really scared of all three of them.

PS: I’m not at Toy with Me today so if you go there, don’t expect to find me! I’m there on Friday this week. I don’t know why other than the fact that the admins are going on vacation. I hope the Queefs will still come even though it’s a Friday and I know Fridays are pretty light.

This post is full of announcements, just fyi.

First:

Check this out, y’all! My bestickered crotch is featured on vajazzling.com!

Me and Jennifer Love Hewett are bffs now, so I win!

Suck on that, bitches.

Also, Homeslice is crawling now.

I couldn’t wait until she could crawl, but now I sort of want her to cut it out.  It’s like, “You GO little ninja!” and then it’s like “GIT BACK IN YER CAGE OR I’LL GIT THE HOSE!”

A couple of days ago, I was loading the dishwasher and when I turned around, she had a mouth full of dog food.  At least it was Iambs, right?  Because I’d never feed my baby any of that Purina shit.  Only premium dog food for my kid!

And she ate a ladybug off the bathroom floor while I watched in soapy horror from behind the shower doors.  I froze up and did the whole slow motion nnnnnnnooooooooooooo!!!!! thing but it was too late.

So now HER karma is fucked, too.

Basically, everyone in our house is totally in trouble with Buddha now.  Except Mister.  He’s managed to somehow keep his karma clean.

I’m making him drive us everywhere and carry us all down the stairs until Buddha is done ass raping me.

Let’s see…what else do I want to tell you guys?

I think I might have The PMS so I win again!

Now I get to try that Diva Cup thing!  I’m pumped!  Are you pumped? Because I am or whatever.

I actually went to a Gap that was still withing a 20 minute radius of my house, I mapquested it, it was 19 minutes drive so I was good with it, and when I got there, I grabbed a saleslady and asked her to explain the sizing chart.  And

surprise, surprise, she couldn’t make sense of it! So then she helped me carry all the pants to the dressing room because a person with a malformed and disproportionate body like mine cannot carry so many pants, and  just as I suspected, it turns out that I am not a size 16/00.

Ah-HA!

I win!

Oh, and I forgot to tell you guys about how my sugar thing went.  When I said I was going off sugar, I meant refined sugar, like the shit you find in cookies and candy and crap and well?

It worked.  I’m off the sugar, but now I just drink more. I win again!

And for the most exciting news of all, I won this purse on eBay:

Ain’t she pretty?

The winning of this purse may just be the first sign that Buddha is all set now.  Here’s hoping.  I haven’t killed a ladybug in a while.  I even lovingly scoop them out of the sink when I brush my teeth so as not to spit on them.

Annnndddd I think I’m done here, but today is a Toy With Me day, so YOU WIN!

HA!

My Friend’s Husband is a Dildo Nazi