Shhhhh!

Lynne and I are going on a stakeout. We spent all day planning it yesterday.

This is what we’re wearing:

Except we got so excited planning it, we forgot why we were going on a stakeout. I doesn’t really matter though because just getting a chance to wear some pretty kick ass outfits is justification in and of itself as far as I’m concerned. And we can hide in the bushes and then, at that critical moment, we can jump out and shout “AH-HA!!!”

That’d be cool.

Also, we’ll bring snacks like Ring-Dings and Twinkies so we have them in case we get hungry because if you leave a stakeout to go do drive through you could miss the thing you’re staking out and then you’re fucked.

Maybe we’ll just pick some random person’s house and just go hide in their bushes. It would be a shame to waste our outfits and delicious snackfoods.

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

Oh!

I’m trying to find a babysitter for Homeslice for one day a week and it’s harder than it seems, you guys.

Remember the scene from Mrs.Doubtfire where Daniel calls Miranda and does all the voices to scare the shit out of her?

That’s EXACTLY what it’s like!

They’re all either

Too religious: One lady gave me her entire religious history and then was just like, “oh, and I love children!” I can’t have her turning Homeslice into a CATHOLIC. “Ev-ry sperm is sa-cred, ev-ry sperm is great, if a sperm is wa-st-ed, God gets quite i-rate” is not my favorite nursery rhyme.  NEXT!

Too illiterate:  If you don’t know the diff. between your and you’re then ur not smart enough to take care of my kid.  Is it too much to ask for some basic literacy skills?  Yes.  Yes it is.

Too young and stupid:  Your profile pic should not be of you making SEXYFACE with your cleavage hanging out. Save that shit for MySpace, kay sweetie? I cannot stress this enough.  Also, see above re: your/you’re.

Too foreign:  You know how I feel about  foreign people, right? Too much yucky white guilt when I have to shout en espanol at my nanny. No GRACIAS!

So maybe I won’t be getting a NEW NANNY like Mrs. Fancypants after all.

I found the perfect lady on a babysitter finder website thingy.  She’s 58, has 10 grandchildren, has been foster mother to 14 kids and won Foster Mother of the Year in 2007. I want her! But she’s not getting back to me because obviously she’s also a cunt. I spent $30 to get her email address, the least she could do is tell me to fuck off so I can stop fantasizing about Mrs. Doubtfire babysitting my kid.

HOLY SHIT!

THAT’S WHO WE CAN STAKEOUT!

And we can jump out of the bushes at her and hold up Homeslice and shout “why don’t you want to take care of my baby??”

Wait.

I just remembered who we’re really staking out. We’re supposed to stakeout the Facilities Manager over at Schmuckytown Pubic. She’s got men coming and going all day long and we think she’s running a whorehouse out of the basement. She’s such the type, too.

Homeslice pretty much says “cup” for everything and so Mister thinks we should have taught her “smurf” because it can describe anything and it wouldn’t make people look around for cup when what she really wants is something else entirely. It happens a lot. It’s kind of a problem.  Especially when the closest cup contains vodka and you give it to her before you realize.

It only happened twice, SHUT UP SHE’S FINE.

At least with “smurf” it could mean anything and we can keep guessing until we get it right and perhaps not alcohol poison her.

Also, I’ve been trying to sell some baby crap forfuckingever and nobody wants it, so I posted this ad on Craigslist and the only people emailing me are people saying I’m funny and that they’re sorry they don’t want my crap. The least they could do is flag it for “Best Of” because if I can’t sell my baby crap, I could at least become famous on Craigslist. (That was a hint, people. Go forth and do.)

Aaaannnddd it’s a TOY WITH ME DAY! It’s about smurfy smurfs smurfing. Enjoy!

Why is love and sex for the disabled such a taboo subject?

I love these little talks we have because I always sort of assume that everyone had the same kind of childhood and we ALL had lunchboxes and we ALL brought lunch to school.

But some of us were “buyers” as we called it at our school, and ate the provided school lunch. I was always jealous of those kids because my lunchbox was full of crap like whole wheat bread and apples and milk. My mom has always been a vegetarian, and as such, she had no clue how to make any sandwich other than cheese or PB&J. I remember requesting a bologna sandwich like everyone else had, and she made it, but she put butter on it. And my mom doesn’t fuck around with butter. When she puts butter on something, she puts some motherfucking butter on it. Like, at least 1/4 inch or more.

Butter and bologna on whole wheat is an abomination. Everyone (except my mom) knows that bologna should be eaten on Wonder bread with trailer park mustard and a side of chips to be washed down with a coke.

Anything else is just stupid.

And in all my years of elementary school, nobody would trade a pack of Ring Dings or a bag of Doritos for a fucking pear. I was always totally stuck with my bullshit healthy lunch. I used to beg my mom to let me buy lunch when they had pizza or tater tots because those things were always kick ass and they came with a nice big spoonful of floppy salad dripping in oily Italian dressing. I loved the floppy salad and the pizza that looked like an old lady’s finger underneath the cheese.

I know I don’t have to say it, but tater tots are The Food of the Gods. I like them medium brown with mayo and a ton of salt because I’m a dirty girl. Slightly undercooked ones have to have ketchup though.

Everyone is totally craving tater tots right now, right?

Sorry.

But for all my complaints about the contents of my lunchbox, I have to thank my mom. Because of her, I have some good eating habits (and a raging butter addiction) and my lunchbox still has many of the same bullshit healthy things in it to this day. It’s a tradition of Torture by Whole Wheat I fully intend to pass down to my daughters. Also, packing lunches is a pain in the ass. It takes forever to pack a healthy lunch and so I have to say thanks for taking the time to do that, mommy!

When I do Girlfriend’s lunches, I’m not buying anything in a convenience package because we have to be green so we can be smug. I spent $26 on 3 little stainless steel lunch containers because I’m better than you. I also have pretty patterned cloth napkins I bought at Saver’s because I’m really, really better than you.

See?

Tradition of smugness.

But just so you don’t have to go kill yourself because your virtue pales so in comparison to mine, just know that right now, Homeslice is eating a box of Nerds that she got for herself out of the bag of candy Mister keeps by the bed for his midnight pothead munchie festivals and managed to open it by herself. I’m too busy blogging to stop her, so there. I’m not that much better than everyone. I let my kids eat Nerds for breakfast (it happened yesterday too).

It’s a TWM day!

I’m Not In The Mood For Sexy Time

Yesterday Mister took the day out of work so we could go to this annual party thrown by an Internet Service Provider for all the tech nerds and their families from all the colleges across RI. It’s at the beach, kids are super-welcome (they even provide kid food and a variety of beach toys for them to keep), they feed us an amazing dinner (steak and swordfish with grilled vegetables and roasted potatoes and clam cakes and chowder), and THEY HAVE FREE WINE. All the wine you can drink. And beer. They have beer too. And lemonade and juice boxes and iced tea and water and soda.

This party is kind of the highlight of our summer every year because it’s completely awesome. obvi. They always invite Save the Bay to entertain the kids on the beach, too. Girlfriend loves this part of the party because they drag a huge net through the water and catch a bunch of little sea creatures to put in buckets to look at and learn about and then they bread them and fry em up!

No, they don’t. They take them back to headquarters and perform bizarre “experiments.”

And while Girlfriend was enjoying Save the Bay, I gave Homeslice some Goldfish crackers in her new yellow beach bucket. They were a little bit sandy, but still edible, and this guy came over to me to inform me that there was sand on the baby’s crackers because I guess I don’t look smart enough to notice that on my own, and I was like, “that’s because this is a beach. There’s sand everywhere. Even in my crotch.” And his eyes got really wide like I had just grabbed his junk or something, and he looked at me like “you crazy lady!” and then went to tell his wife what I said. She was all “oh my god! EW!”

I find my entertainment where I can, Queefies. Save the Bay just isn’t that interesting after the 5th year in a row.

But there’s a back story about the guy. I don’t usually just say stuff like that to total strangers. Often. His name is Hugh, and the first time I met him, I called him a “smartass” to his face and avoided talking to him the rest of the party. He’s one of these people who gives you a hard time when you talk to them. Like, everything out of his mouth is some sort of smartypants thing, and you leave the conversation feeling irritated as hell. Nobody Mister works with really likes him and you know what they call him? “F-Hugh.” He doesn’t actually work with Mister though. He’s some kind of contractor. Nobody knows how he’s relevant, but there he is anyway, drinking free lemonade and being a dick.

I saw his shoes on the beach and I totally would have buried them in the sand but his wife was right there with her pig tails and her weird posture. I needed more wine to pull off a semi-lame caper like that.

Let’s see, what else?

I saw the guy who told me that the next time he saw me, I’d have two kids and I was all “no way, Jose! I’m not having another kid!” and then yeah. Two kids, just like he said. Homeslice is totally his fault.

I talked to a very nice deaf lady who ironically could hear me but I couldn’t hear her. I did a lot of nodding and agreeing and she probably thought I was nuts but being odd is sort off my default so it was fine.

I got an unsolicited compliment on my new shoes, which I purchased because Melissa Lion said they’re comfortable and they are! Plus, men dig them and women think they’re cute. You need a pair.

Dansko people, you fucking owe me.

So yes. That was my day yesterday.

BEACH + FOOD+WINE= A LIFE (and a god damned hangover)

I have to go now, people. Homeslice and Henry have gotten into the cat food. They appear to be eating it. I’m not sure what that’s about.

Apparently, the lovers have had a falling out because Frank was in the garden, Alice’s garden, where she enjoys a delicious salad buffet herself, and he was there gankin’ her vittles and so she BIT THE BASTARD! He jumped up in the air and bit her back but she still got in a couple of more bites before the little garden fucker ran under the fence.

It was glorious, and he didn’t even break the skin.

GO ALICE!!!!!!!!

Does anyone have a Rottweiler I can borrow to finish him off? I figure it’s not really killing if your borrowed dog does it. That’s completely fine with Buddha, right?

Anyways, I’m looking for a killing machine to borrow for a day or two. You can email me if you have one.

And now I shall announce the winners of the Vajazzle Haiku/Limerick contest!

Ya-ta-da-da!!!!

They are in no particular order as they were equally fabulous:

Axe:
There was a young lady named Gidget
Who put sparkles all over her twidget.
There was so much dazzle
When she did her Vajazzle
That she blinded a horney young midget!

Melissa:
I yearn for a twidget that gleams
Shiny crotch would fulfill hubby’s dreams
Save money on blow
Escalade cunts won’t know
That my FUPA’s much more than it seems!

Plain. Bare. So boring.
Vagazzle! Shine like Cullen.
Happy Pants for all

Christian:
On manjazzling…

The dentist looked at me odd
I thought to myself “Oh god,
how do I explain
the reason for my pain
is I chipped my tooth on his rod?”

Bat Cave Twidget:
There is a girl from New York
Who all day long wanted to pork
But three years it had been without carnal sin
So please Vajazzle this dork.

Yeah, that’s the best I got. Even I can smell the desperation

The Problem Child:
If you want to vajazzle your stuff
A waxing, to lessen the muff
Might well be in order
Else ‘jazzling might border
On just a bit more than enough.

Y’all need to email me with your info so I can mail you the sparkly bits.

But really, it was hard to choose because everyone did a wonderful job and I’m really, very proud of you all for giving it a try. Writing is hard, yo. That’s why they pay me the big bucks.

wait.

PS: Toy with Me today! It’s all about how I don’t understand Casual Sex. Because I don’t.

****** Fuck Buddies & Booty Calls ******

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.

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.

Yesterday, in our hungover stupor, we noticed that Homeslice had climbed into the laundry basket.  It was so adorable, and while we were standing there going “look how cute!”  the basket flipped over and she landed right on her face.

Not. cute.

And there was blood and crying and drama and now she has a super fat lip.

And a pediatrician appointment this morning.

There’s a bruise on her leg I cannot explain, she’s got scratches all over her from scratching her itchy eczema, and she had a slight fever last night before bed.

Basically, Homeslice is a hot mess and it looks like we keep her in a bramble patch down by the river.

Also, it’s Girlfriend’s last day of preschool today.  I can’t really think about it without crying, and I have pictures from graduation that I can’t show you yet but I will just as soon as they become available.

For now, I have to go do workouts before these bitches wake the fuck up and demand I take care of them, which I’m not that good at as it turns out.

I gained 5lbs last week!  You have to work pretty hard to gain 5 lbs in a week.

Woot! Woot! I RULE!

So, um,  haiii!

I forgot I had a blog because I’ve had my head up my ass.

I know you’ve been dying to see/hear all about The Birthday Extravaganza, and so here is my back yard full of people gettin’ a little bit tipsy:

Well, I was tipsy anyway.  I didn’t really notice if anybody else was because when you’re tipsy, you don’t give a shit.

And here I am serving cake(s). I made them myself from a boxed mix and so they weren’t dense or flat or lopsided or condemned or anything except that when I lit the candles on Girlfriend’s horse cake, I accidentally I lit the plastic horse’s head on fire and so Mister came flying from across the room yelling “the horse is on fire! the horse is on fire!”

You should never do that Queefies or else you could have a stampede much like this one.

Horse sounds a lot like House.  People could get confused.  It could end in tragedy.

Other than that I didn’t see the big deal about the flaming horse because it just looked like it was a candle instead of a plastic toy I bought over at the Dollar Depot, but whatever.

He worries when I’m around fire.

Anyway, me cutting cakes.  That plant looking thing that William is about to stuff his face into is really dirt dessert.  It’s cute and I served it with a garden shovel because I’m extraordinarily creative.

Some women are drippin’ with diamonds, some women are drippin in pearls, lu-cky me, lu-cky me, look at what I’m drippin’ with, LITTLE GIRLS! (and two boys)

Here’s Girlfriend’s posse.

And the next day we took Homeslice for her first carousel ride:

This is Girlfriend on her first ride:

Do they look alike?  I can’t really tell except sometimes I forget their names and sometimes I call one of them Alice.  I only thought it was my grandmother that did that.  I hope I don’t turn into her.  Toward the end there, she got naked a lot and wandered around the house like that.  She looked like a peach with nipples.

I hope that doesn’t happen to me.

Remember how I don’t like things that spin too fast like my washing machine or pinwheels or any kind of spinny thing?

Do I need to remind you of The Storyland Turtle Ride Incident of 2008?

I didn’t think so.

Well I went on the carousel and I was glad I was there to comfort Homeslice because she was afeared of it because as it turns out, the Slater Park carousel is too fast for babies.

I had to comfort her the whole ride.  I almost threw up from the strain of it, but I stayed strong for my daughter because I’m an excellent mother.

And the next day we loaded the cherubs up into the wagon and took them to what turned out to be the lamest parade in the history of lame parades.  And that’s saying something Queefies because parades are pretty lame by virtue of their very existence.  But it’s what you do when you have kids and there’s a parade going through your neighborhood.  You pack trail mix and fish crackers and water and you sit there on the side of the street with all the other assholes and you pay $8 for a Hello Kitty balloon that winds up stuck in a tree approximately .05 minutes after you purchased it and so you spend the rest of the parade listening to The Crying.

This guy was the coolest thing about the parade.

I know.  I also got to shake hands with  the mayor of Providence.  He said Homeslice is gorgeous and he should know because he’s A GAY and everyone knows they know all about beauty.

Homeslice was so bored she fell asleep.  Of course, she’s not sleeping in this picture, but just imagine that her eyes are closed and there you go.

That kid in the background looks pissed, right?  That’s because it was her Hello Kitty balloon that got caught in the tree.  I bet you thought it was Girlfriend’s but I fooled you.  I was smart and I went to Target and bought flags and pinwheels from the dollar bins and handed them out to Girlfriend, Homeslice, and Alena at the parade because I’m smarter than many parade goers.

And this was me last Memorial day weekend, also taken at the carousel:

Remember that bullshit?  I almost exploded, I swear to Jesus.

And that brings us very nicely into TODAY is Homeslice’s birthday!!!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY HOMESLICE!!!

Can you guys believe it’s been a year since I talked and talked to you about my cervix?  Don’t you miss that?

OMG and today is a Toy with Me day! Dangerous Places to have The Sex

This post is overwhelming.  I need a nap.

So I’ve got another bug up my ass, Queefies. It was the car, and then the puppy, and before all that it was the windows, and now it’s chickens.

That’s right, she said chickens.

Back around Easter time I saw a thing on Martha Stewart all about chickens and raising chickens and she does it so it must mean it’s classy, right?

But she had all these really fancy looking ones and Girlfriend and I were riveted and now WE WANT CHICKENS! We’re mostly vegetarians around here, and we get a lot of our protein from eggs, and I’m not terribly happy to learn how chickens are treated, even under the best of circumstances, so I’d rather know my eggs came from happy chickens who go for regular manis and pedis and feather fluffings and whatnot. I’m not ever going to eat the chickens, but I will share the eggs with family and friends and feel superior and smug every time I pass the egg section at the Super Stop & Shop’s.

And the beautiful part of this is that we have the perfect spot. You see Queefies, our garage has two levels because it used to be a carriage house. The upper level is where the carriage would go, and the lower level is where the horsies lived. And there’s a small yard down there that looks very much like it belongs to Earl and Maudette.

We could keep the chickens down there, and people will think they belong to them and the Crissys will avoid the stigma of being the assholes with the fucking rooster, while at the same time, having a rooster to piss off Maudette’s hangovers!

The rooster wouldn’t bother me any. Our neighbors growing up had one. It just appeared in their yard one day and wouldn’t leave, so they took care of it. It followed their dog around wherever it went. It was hysterical.

So yes. I want to get chickens. Not right now, I’ve got my hands full right now, but soon.

Chickens.

So, the bunny is cute.  I guess.

Girlfriend named it Elliot, even though we don’t know if it’s a girl or a boy yet, so I WIN and thank god because calling the vet to make an appointment for Sparkle Sparkle Butterfly Sparkle would have made me sound like a total jackass.

I don’t know if Elliot is going to be a permanent member of the family yet, but I have to tell you guys it’s awfully cute to see him scamper around the house, playing with the kid’s toys and hiding under Girlfriend’s blocks.  She seems to have litter box trained herself and doesn’t poop all over my house.  He does, however, shit in Alice’s bed.  I have to figure out a way to convince him that that’s not such a good idea because Alice is still unconvinced that the bunny isn’t food.  I can’t say I blame Alice for being a little annoyed with Elliot.  I almost never enjoy people who shit in my bed.

So that’s my update on the bunny situation for you.  I have to go hose Homeslice off now.  She’s painted herself in mango.