Archive for the 'Crissy Drives Like the Wind' Category

*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*

On Tuesday morning at around 5-ish, Mister followed me into the bathroom while reading his blackberry, and he’s all “you wanna hear something totally fucked up?” So I’m all “of course!” because I love fucked up stories, even at 5 am when I have to pee. Who doesn’t? And he proceeds to tell me that he saw a facebook update from a friend of his named…we’ll call her Monica, who expressed some trepidation about trying something new, and one of the comments was from a guy named…we’ll call him…Playa. And Playa said to Monica that she’ll do fine and not to worry and Mister recognized Playa’s picture as one of our neighbors (who we all always sensed was a little bit of a douche but never had any proof) and sent Monica a message asking her how she knows Playa.

Well.

Monica was all “oh, I dated Playa for a month about half a year ago. He’s a nice guy.”

And so the reason why this is a story at all is because Playa happens to be married with two little ones and about a half a year ago, Playa’s wife was miserably, hugely pregnant with Homeslice’s little friend, HomegirlAcrosstheWay.

YES.

And so Mister is all “Oh SNAP! I see you, Playa!”

To make it a little worse for Playa’s poor wife, who is a pretty nice person, Monica is a Hottie McHotterson and Playa’s poor wife was so uncomfortably pregnant at the time (or she had just given birth) when this all took place it just makes it worse somehow. Douche-ier or whatever.

So now we know something very naugh-tee about one of our neighbors and it gets kinda good for me and Jesus is totally hooking my shit up because he always has a new BMW (license plate says “NO EGO” I know, right? My. ass.) and what does Crissy want more than anything in the whole wide history of forever and a day?

That’s RIGHT!

And so I think I might ask to borrow it sometime because YES.

PS: It’s a TWM day, so go check it out: My Brand Of Feminism Includes Chivalry

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.)

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.

Oh haiiiii! Sorry about yesterday. I totally flaked–thought it was Sunday.

Not really.

I didn’t. I knew it was Monday, but Homeslice didn’t give a rat’s ass about your needs and I tried to explain to her about being Hottest Mommy Blogger and how it’s exactly like being President Obama except way more important, and if she doesn’t let me write to the Queefies there might be a Major Incident, but no matter how I tried to convince her that you needed me more, she wasn’t having it people.

Selfish.

And so I didn’t post.

I’m wicked, wicked, wicked sorry.

STOP YELLING I SAID SORRY SHUT UP.

And then last night I was just sort of toodling around on Mister’s Flickr page (working in a library is hard, you guys) when I came across this:

which I did not know existed and I can only assume he made it while he should have been out purchasing a new car for me (now my old car has a stitch coming out of the seat and it’s probably very dangerous to drive it like that) with the hundreds of millions of monies (from the gambling) (and the prostitution ring) (and the cocaine) I know he has stashed somewheres.

(You’re holding out on me, Mister. I know it. You. Mother. Fucker.)

and so that is why he has yet to receive a hand job.

Sorry, but a dishwasher just isn’t good enough, especially since it was purchased with MY MONEY that I MADE by writing words on the Internet.

So yes.

That was my weekend.

How was yours, since it’s Tuesday and we’re all just focused on surviving until Friday around 5 ish now?

PS: I almost forgot to tell you about how I went shopping at Forever 21 for a dress to wear for my dinner with MELISSA LIIIOOOONNNNN (say that just like Oprah does it. Go, LIII-OOOO-NNNN!!!! and then blow your nose with a $20 bill.) next week and I found something very cute, but I’ll probaby get my period because I always get my period on/around Thanksgivingtimes, it’s part of my gift, and I’ll have to wear a berka instead of my cute dinner dress but that’s okay. Melissa understands and also I think she likes Berkanians. That’s what you call the people from Berkaland right?

PSS: I hope you appreciate the amount of effort it took to write a blog post this morning.  I mean seriously, where’s my handjob?

Remember this picture from yesterday Queefies?

And the Very Serious Faces we’re wearing?

Well, it ain’t because we’re mentally preparing for Ikea.

It’s because we’re fighting.

Because that’s what we do in the car.

We fight.

And it’s not that we’re having a disagreement about money or Sexy Time or the raising of the little childrens or the gambling or the Chinese hookers or the blow (okay, well sometimes it’s the hookers, but only because they leave glitter all over his clothes it’s a bitch to get out) (Seriously, it’s all over the washing machine.) (It’s a mess!).

(I’m going through a parentheses phase, yes?)

We fight because I think Mister drives like shit, and he disagrees, but quite honestly, I don’t understand how he can think he’s a good driver when he’s passing people at eleventy hundred miles per hour on the right hand side, waiting until the last possible second to get over and then having to force his way in, and refusing to let other cars get in front of him even if it means getting into an accident because whatever you do, don’t let that motherfucker in, bro.

You da man, Mister.

You da man.

Me: HOLY SHIT DUDE!

Mister: What?

Me: I don’t want to get there dead!

Mister: …?

Me:  You’re driving like an asshole.  Do that when your children aren’t in the car, would you? DON’T YOU LOVE THEM????

Mister: Mind your own business.

Me: I’m sorry.  Dying in the car is my business.

Mister: One of these days, I’m gonna turn your seat around, I swear to God.

Me: One of these days, I’m gonna just start taking a separate car and when people ask why we never show up together, I’m gonna tell them it’s because you’re always at the ASIAN MASSAGE.

Mister: I’m sure everyone will believe you.

Me: I’m sure they will.  You look like the type.  By the way, you have glitter on your cheek.

Mister: Whatever.

(wipes cheek self-consciously)

Me: Seriously!  Cut it out!  You’re gonna kill us!

Mister: Actually,  I’m hoping it’ll just be you.

Girlfriend: Will you two just shut up? I can’t hear the radio! Daddy, slow down, Mommy BE QUIET!

Mister: FINE!

Me: FINE.

And then if we’re lucky, we get there before I have an anxiety induced seizure, but you know what is sooooo annoying? Just to make my head explode, he drives the rest of the way veeeerrrrryyyy ssssssslllllooooowwwlllyyyy and I can’t say shit to him because I just yelled at him for going too fast.

It makes me stabby.

Someday there’s going to be a situation, Queefs.

Mark my words.

Morning Queefies!

How was your weekend?

Ours was busy, thanks for asking, and we did many, many shopping things because for some reason, I woke up on Saturday morning and I looked at Mister and said “I feel like bleeding money all weekend long.” And so that is what we did.

We drove up and down and speeded all over:

And I was going to tell you how I went grocery shopping at The Super Wal-Mart and how afterwards, I felt dirtier than if I had blown my grandpa (Ew! Ew! Ew! I hate it when I think things that even acid to the brain cannot erase the mental image.  But it’s worth a try.)  And I know I’m supposed to be boycotting Wal-Mart because that’s what suburban middle class people are supposed to do because Wal-Mart is an evil empire and everything BUT THE PRICES ON ORGANICS ARE UNBELIEVABLE.

Middle class smugacity be damned, Queefs.

And so I went there.  And I bought food.  And then the braintrust cashiers touched Homeslice right on her face and hands!  I whipped my hand sanitizer out and gave her a bath with it right in front of them because the hell were they thinking?

You don’t touch people’s babies.  Especially not my baby because she’s more specialer than all other babies (even yours).

Next time, I’m just going to punch people in the neck when they reach for her.

This seems like a reasonable course of action to me.

And then we went to a few other places, but the most important place was IKEA.

Jealous?

Check out our craptacular toy area in this before picture:

It’s a fucking disaster.

But then we went to Ikea and then we spent the whole day organizing the room, or  Orgnizator Rumm or whatever and so then Look!

Sanford and Son:

Fabular Rumjlung:

And the rug is called “Lusy” and so we had to buy it.

The End.

PS: This post has absolutely nothing to do with that Daily Style section I was telling you about.  I’ve been getting hundreds of emails from people who make shit and want me to pimp it for them (okay, only about 5, but that’s still a lot) but trust me you guys.  You do not want your shit to be featured anywhere near my Daily Style section because when I say “style” I mean hideous atrocities.

PSS: One guy who contacted me makes “art” by putting paint on naked chicks and then smooshing their bodies up against some paper and then he steps away and goes “Look what I made!”  He was very nice and flattering to me and even said that I make the world a better place, which is of course the god’s honest truth, and color me flattered then mash my ass against a canvas, but really? I’m not as into naked chick ass art as you might think.  Surprising, I know.

So yesterday Crissy dropped Girlfriend off at camp where she made puppets while Crissy ran errands and took Homeslice to the doctor.

And so Crissy’s first stop was to run into Target to pick up a prescription for Mister and so she lugged the 35 pound car seat all the way through the store to discover the pharmacy doesn’t open until ten.

Oh.

And so she moved on to the gas station where she pulled up to the only available pump only to discover that the premium gasoline that Sasha insists on having or else she sputters and gags is out of order, forcing Crissy to wait in line at another pump. Tick. Tock.

(Crissy just saw an ad on the TV for some new Saabs and they’re a great deal and so right now Crissy is making a formal request to Mister in front of the Queefs to buy her a new Saab and so HELP CONVINCE HIM QUEEFIES! Crissy loves Sasha but she’s old and her clock is broken and every time that ad comes on TV she comments to Mister about what a good deal it is and he’s not getting the hint.)

She finally makes it to the doctor’s with about two minutes to spare, she gets in line to check in and when she finally gets the window and gives the lady her information she finds out that Homeslice has been kicked off Mister’s insurance.

Oh.

And so the lady called Mister’s insurance company and they wouldn’t talk to her and said that Crissy had to call and so Crissy called with only one bar remaining on her cell phone only for them to tell her they couldn’t tell her anything and she had to call Mister’s Human Resource Department and kick some ass over there and so she called Mister and told him to call them and he did and they said they sent everything the insurance company wanted. And so then Crissy called the insurance company back and they said they didn’t get the stuff and that Crissy should have Human Resources call them all the while Crissy is waiting for her phone to die which adds to the stress of course and so she finally got pissed off in front of God and everyone in the waiting room and shouted “are you telling me that I cannot take my child to the doctor because somebody somewhere dropped the ball? Is that what you’re saying to me right now?” And the lady said to just take Homeslice to the doctor and that Human Resources would have to sort it out.

Crissy was pissed. off.

But she didn’t cry and she didn’t say FUCK even one time because she is a model of composure and self-restraint with the grace of a gazelle as evidenced in the photos from yesterday.

And so Crissy and Homeslice finally went into the exam room and Homeslice weighs 13.6 lbs and she’s 24 inches long and everyone was commenting about Crissy’s boobies and how nice they feed Homeslice and Crissy waited and waited for the doctor and then it happened.

Homeslice had an epic diaper blow out and the yellow baby shit flowed out of the top, sides, and back of the diaper and all over Crissy in her adorable new purple dress. And Crissy got that dress from Marshall’s and it was very expensive but because in addition to being a Model of Composure and Self-restraint with the Grace of a gazelle, Crissy is a Frugal Shopper and found the dress on clearance and it’s a crying shame it was shat upon so casually by Homeslice who obviously does not appreciate fine clothing.

And there Crissy was in the exam room, covered in shit. And Homeslice was covered in shit. And the exam table was covered in shit. And the clean up was just about the most stressful thing ever because the more Crissy tried to clean it up, the more it just smeared all over the place and Crissy was trying to hurry because if the doctor came in and saw the mess, she’d probably leave and wait for it to be cleaned up and it would probably be another forever before she came back.

And then to make it wicked fun, Homeslice barfed up.

Crissy finally got cleaned up but the smell of that diaper and Crissy’s dress was, well, not so good.

And it turns out Crissy needn’t have hurried because it took the doctor another hour before she came in and so that makes a grand total of three hours spent at the doctor’s office and Crissy was late picking Girlfriend up at summer camp which means that she didn’t have time to change her shitty dress AND she looked like mother of the year picking her kid up late but she couldn’t call to warn them because the cell phone was dead.

And Crissy still had to go back to Target to get Mister’s medicine so she had to with a shitty dress and then when she got home Girlfriend and Homeslice were begging for food and so to make a long story slightly less long, Crissy wore the shitty dress for the better part of the day yesterday and so she thinks Mister should buy her a new car.

Oh Queefies.

Tomorrow is Crissy’s 35th birthday and she’s all in a kerfuffle over it and it’s not that she’s going to BE IN HER MID THIRTIES HOLY SHIT that is bothering her.

She’s got a case of Birthday Anxiety because if something shitty is going to happen, it’s going to happen on Crissy’s birthday because it’s usually the day when people closest to Crissy decide to act like total assholes and treat Crissy like trash.

And so every year, Crissy’s birthday rolls around and Crissy becomes more and more anxious as the day approaches until she’s a total mess on the actual day because she’s waiting for the other shoe to drop or the cake to explode in her face or something and she tells herself that everyone is acting weird around her because they’re planning a big, wonderful surprise for her but it never happens and it turns out the people are just assholes being their assholian selves.

It’s also Dead Grandma Helen’s birthday and it makes Crissy sad that she’s not alive anymore because Crissy’s family always had a party for Crissy and Grandma Helen and now they don’t.  Note to the Queefies: Don’t be born on the same day as somebody who might die before you.

Does Crissy sound depressed to you?

Crissy thinks so.

Maybe it’s the THREE WEEKS STRAIGHT OF RAIN AND 65 DEGREE TEMPS that has Crissy all bummed out.

But don’t worry about Crissy.  There are fun plans for tomorrow night and  Crissy is looking forward to having dinner with Rich and Michele and hopefully Mister will be able to make it because of course he has to work late and maybe he won’t be there.

But it will be fun no matter what because Crissy plans to drown in copious amounts of alcohol and maybe be Party Asshole which will make Rich and Michele laugh and that will make Crissy laugh too.

Also, Crissy’s step-mom said she’d buy her this for her birthday:

Crissy got a microwave last year and a fridge this year and if this keeps up, she’ll have a whole new kitchen by the time she’s 40!

YES!!!!

And Crissy’s mom and her mother-in-law are paying for her two pairs of glasses so that’s really nice too.

As for Mister, Crissy does not think she’s getting a present because the trip to the vet with Alice pretty much ate up all the money he had budgeted for a present and so for her birthday Mister gave Crissy the gift of not having to clean up bloody diarrhea.

Awesome.

But you know what?  That is a pretty sweet gift when Crissy thinks of it because it keeps on giving every time Alice goes potty outside and not on the antique grandmother dining room rug.

But if he could, Crissy would tell Mister to buy this stuff Mister would bestow the following gifts upon Crissy:

A shopping trip here and here.

And Crissy still wants that bike from last year.

And she needs to get her hair did because seriously?

Crissy is not really blond and it is becoming rather apparent that Crissy’s real hair color is more like that of a field mouse without all the glitz and glamor of actually being fieldmousian.

Shhhhhhhh! Tell nobody.

And of course on the list every damn time and nobody has gotten it for her yet is this:

Seriously people.  They’re not getting any cheaper.

Crissy would totally keep going with this because her list of needs and wants is pretty much endless as befitting the Queen of Fucking Everything but Homeslice is crying and it means only one thing.

Crissy has to go.

Do you know what Crissy wants now?

She wants this:

It’s fuckin’ mad sick, yo.

It’s Edward’s Volvo S60R and

huhuhuhuhhhuuuuu that vampire has fine taste in automobiles and Crissy wants. She does not care if Edward comes with it or not but on second thought maybe it would be nice because he would have to teach her how to drive it and let her touch his penis by accident on purpose whilst reaching for the “stick” because despite her best efforts last year, she still does not know how to drive one of those.

Do you Queefs remember that last year Crissy wanted a black BMW in the worst way, and if you clicked on the link you would know that, but then she saw this car instead and now she wants it instead of the BMW because who wouldn’t?

It’s way better.

And Crissy would do all sorts of Fancy Driving in it just like Edward. Stop sign? Meh. If Crissy speeds through a stop sign so fast you can’t see her it is not wrong.

It’s AWESOME.

And let’s just see how the Escalade Pajama Cunts do trying to park their big fat hogs in front of the school when Crissy gets her new Volvo. Crissy doesn’t think she’ll have any more trouble with those bitches because her new Volvo can do stuff that their giant truck things cannot like pop a wheelie and peel out and take that spot right from them before they even know what happened!

Put a quarter in your ass ’cause you played yourself, bitch.

That’s Crissy’s parking spot now.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!

Crissy’s old mom Saab can’t do that, you know. Crissy tried it and now Mister has to get her a new wheel or transmission or fly wheel or whatever but Crissy says to him not to bother because she’s getting Edward’s car instead.

In a two door please because fuck the dumb shit.

Crissy is made for speed and two extra doors will only slow her down.

Just as soon as Girlfriend and Taco are out of their car seats, Crissy is getting one.

It’s going to be so sweet you guys.