Archive for the 'Whatcha Eatin'?' Category

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.

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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.

What if we try to trade Girlfriend the bunny for something else like…a dog.  Dogs are way less work than bunnies and I don’t have to defend a dog against a cat, a dog, an infant, and a five-year-old, and she’d probably take the trade and I can’t deal with the heartbreak when we have to give the bunny away and she’s going to cry to death and holy shit I have a ton of crap to do this morning before work somebody kill me. Why are so many people suddenly following me on Twitter?  I wonder what’s going on.  I’m always the last to know.  I have to hang clothes out on the line somehow and how does one gain three pounds overnight?  Another dog wouldn’t be bad and Alice would have company but it has to be a smallish non-shedding housebroken dog who likes cats, dogs, babies and kids.  What are the chances of finding all of that in one dog? Not too good. A puppy would be better but I can’t handle a puppy right now.  I already clean up shit from the cat and the dog and the baby and wipe Girlfriend’s ass and I’ll bring it up to Mister and see what he thinks.  Work is going to be boring tonight HOLY SHIT WHY IS MY MOUTH BURNING?

Toy with Me today!  Wild Things: Animals are Pretty Kinky.

So my friend Jessica, who is a pastry genius (seriously, she along with my other friend Valerie sent me a chocolate balsamic cheesecake for my birthday last year and it was to die for. You can check out Jessica’s goodies here) said that what I needed to do was to pipe some frosting around the outside edge of the bottom cake layer to make like a frosting wall thingy so that when I frosted the top, it would hold the splooshy stuff in.

WHY DIDN’T THE DIRECTIONS SAY TO MAKE A FROSTING WALL THINGY, JESSICA?

This is excellent news because Mister’s real birthday is this coming Sunday and so I get another chance to fuck it up in some other way. I’m very excited, so be sure to look for another fascinating cake update next week.

I might not do lemon buttercream layer cake this time though. I might do something daring like…an unfrosted vanilla sheet cake. Maybe I’ll let Girlfriend toss a few sprinkles on there to make it fancy.

Aaaaaand let’s see…Princess Twattington is up to her old tricks but I avoided the whole mess and ate at my desk like I said I would. Also, I may or may not be coming down with a cold and so I may or may not have licked the rim of her coffee cup.

Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t.

Maybe I should be win an award for being the most passive aggressive person ever.

Oh, and I’m probably going to be fired pretty soon because I write about work sometimes, and I didn’t know this until a couple of people emailed me about it, but this here little blog has been written about in a real book about libraries and librarians:

It’s getting a lot of buzz and I even saw an interview with the author on Salon.com, and there’s a copy of it sitting on my boss’s desk right now, so yeah. It’s only a matter of time. I’m on page 64 in the section about poop.

I’m very proud, obviously.

And in other, more dangerous news, I think my Fed Ex guy hates me. Or my mail. Or me AND my mail because yesterday I got a package that I ordered eons ago and it was kind of fucked up. It was in a new box with a filthy scrap of the old box taped onto it. It was so damaged that you couldn’t even read my address anymore, but somebody knew where it was going because it got to me. Somebody purposely beat the hell out of my box of baby clothes from Kohl’s in an attempt to send me a warning.

I’m next probably.

This is why I prefer UPS. The delivery guy’s knees look cute in the summer uniform and nobody that cute would ever kick a mommy librarian blogger’s ass.

PS: Remember that scene from The Jerk? “It’s these CANS! HE HATES THESE CANS!!”

PSS: We have a new pet! My dad and stepmother got Girlfriend a baby bunny without my permission! Yay! (makes a gun with her hand, shoots herself in the head) Let me introduce to you the newest member of the Crissy family, Sally the Baby Bunny:

Stop laughing at me, you motherfuckers.

PSSS: It’s a Toy with Me day today. It’s all about Japanese toilet rituals because it is. Flush Your Husband Down the Toilet!

This title has absolutely nothing to do with the post.  I just felt like saying that because I have an overwhelming feeling that someone somewhere is trying to cheat me.

You know who you are, Victoria’s Secret Catalog Returns Department.

Today marks the beginning of  the most stressful weekend I’ve had since Christmas, as we have the big Easter Dog and Pony and Bunny extravaganza happening at our house.  Everyone is coming, so for all you stalkers, make sure you bring an extra memory stick for your camera because there will be plenty of photo ops over here.  We’re exactly like the Kennedys, you know.  We even have sail boats and large sunglasses and drinking problems.

So today we dye eggs, make cupcakes, and get three loaves of bread started.  Tommorrow we do the cookings and the cleanings and also go to  a 1st birthday party for Homeslice’s little friend, baby Elizabeth.

But at least we got the Easter pictures done last week:

And then there’s of course the obligatory “Pissed off Girlfriend” picture:

Have a crappy Easter, fuckface.

So I get to work today and The Lunchist (remember The Lunchist from the beginning of December when somebody squished her sandwich and she freaked out and I wrote a blog post that was supposed to be funny but then the blog turned into a lynch mob full of people’s latent office aggressions and we threatened to set poor Lunchist on fire and I had to stop the angry pitchfork wielding mob because Lunchist is actually my friend and I was only kidding? Say “friend” just like Ricki’s mom from Better Off Dead because that’s how I’m saying it in my head. Frrriend. Frrriend.) was standing in the breakroom, agog, because somebody threw her lunch, uneaten, in the trashcan. This is very bad because a short time ago, somebody ATE The Lunchist’s sandwich and she found the baggie with little turkey and lettuce remnants in the trash.

The only thing we can figure is that somebody wants to kill The Lunchist and is sending her a very passive aggressive message by destroying her innocent little diet-friendly sandwiches. Passive aggressive, that is, until the day The Lunchist turns up dead! because some crazed vigilante librarian has it out for her.

OR!

This person has something against those Arnold Sandwich Thins things and this is just a random act of sandwich violence against the Arnold things and it has nothing to do with The Lunchist at all.

At this point, we just don’t know. There’s no clear evidence on anything just yet.

Dun-dun-dunnnn.

I have to go now because we are very busy cross-referencing schedules and break times to try and figure out who this crazy lunatic must be. It’s always the normal people you have to worry about and the problem with this place is that they’re ALL normal people!

Huhuhuhuhu. They give me the willies.

So I think we’re going to need to get Columbo on this ASAP. If anyone has Peter Falk’s phone number could you please give him the 411 and then send him over here right away? We’re also going to need the whole forensics team to come down with him.

OMG, and BONES! Get BONES over here! And make sure Boreanaz is with her.

Huhuhuhuhu. He gives me the willies, too.

IN MY PANTS!

So the other night, Mister calls me at work to run a few porn titles by me because porn titles always make me laugh, even when I’m at work and feeling like death, it warms the cockles of my heart like nothing else can.

And then he came across midget porn. I don’t know why I was so surprised by it. Midgets are people too, right? They get their little freaks on just like everybody else, I imagine, but the very idea of it was funny until he came to the next one–Midget Zombie Porn.

And so of course I HAD TO see it because who wouldn’t want to see Midget Zombie Porn?  Nobody wouldn’t want to see it, that’s who.

He also downloaded the plain old midget porn too, just for shits and giggles, and all of it was awesome in it’s bizarre glory. It had these two escaped prisoner boy midgets dressed in prison uniforms and handcuffs who supposedly broke into a house to hide from the police.  In that house lived a hot Latina woman who was a lettuce farmer.

Right? But wait, it gets better.

There was some sort of silly banter and the prisoner midgets said they haven’t touched a woman in 10 years and so the lettuce farmer starts stripping her clothes off and the midgets (who appear to have normal size dicks, btw) double team her on a bed covered in heads of lettuce. And the farmer was rubbing the lettuce all over her boobs and everyone had smooshed green lettuce streaks all over them.

It was hilarious, but also a little bit gross because of my food and sex issues, and I will never look at a head of iceberg quite the same way again.

But as if that wasn’t bizarre enough, the Midget Zombie Porn was even better.  It starts off with a confused slut ( I dare you find porn that doesn’t have any confused sluts in it.  The gauntlet has been thrown down.  Go forth and seek it, my friends), wandering around what looked like fairgrounds or some sort of antique car show or used car lot or something and she was all alone and stumbly when out of nowhere, a midget zombie starts following her. 

OH NO!!!

Run confused slut! RUUUNNNNN lest you be accosted by a tiny zombie in a size 2T sweatsuit and halloween makeup!

And she runs into some messy office-type building, screaming and kicking at the little zombie dude until he pins her to the couch and what do we have here?

Suddenly she goes from sucky actress to blow job maven and then there was anal and she was all “fuck me with your mini-dick” and it was just about the most hilarious thing I’ve ever seen. 

So yes.  Midget Zombie Porn.

Highly recommend it.

I want you guys to tell me about the weirdest porn you’ve ever seen because I’m totally turning this into a TWM post and wouldn’t you like to see your weird porn stories published over there? I would.

Also, I must have more weird porn in my life!

I took a pregnancy test last night.

Don’t worry.  It was negative, just like it had to be because of the whole vasectomy thing plus I always make my lovers wear a condom shhhh don’t tell Mister but I’m having an affair with Alexander Skarsgard and he wants to marry me you know but I said no because he’s too Nordic-looking and he doesn’t know how to fix the computer and also he pees sitting down and I’m not sure what to make of that.

But I had to take the test because when your Lady Days are late by two weeks and you’ve been bloated like the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man and you gained 4 lbs out of nowhere and you feel like shit and WHY DOES EVERYBODY HAVE TO TOUCH ME WHY?

You have to take a test just to rule out the possibility that some Magical Supersperm jumped the gap.

And I was obsessed with it and what I would do if there really was some Magical Supersperm and WHY IS EVERYONE TALKING ABOUT HAVING BABIES AND ABORTIONS AND HAVING BABIES ALL OF A SUDDEN?  It’s like they KNOW.  And I even started having Phantom Baby Syndrome where I was nauseous (I cannot spell nauseous and diarrhea.  I have a hard time with those.  Spelling them is about as sucktacular as having them.) and having cravings for pasta.

I have eaten a crapload of pasta recently (which explains the 4lb weight gain perhaps?) but I couldn’t taste it, and so the craving never went away which leads us to complaint du jour #2.

I’ve had a cold for two weeks.  I got better for like, a day, but then Mister got it and then Girlfriend and then those motherfuckers re-infected me because NOBODY IN THIS HOUSE CAN MANAGE TO COVER THEIR MOUTHS WHEN THEY SPEW THEIR ROTTEN, FESTERING GERMS.

Or, Mister brought home something else entirely. Like, maybe instead of this one being The Monkey Plague like the last  one, it’s The Monkey Pig Typhoid Cold Flu.

Everything hurts you guys.  Even my hair hurts, and so I haven’t brushed it in two days.  I look remarkably like Helena Bonham Carter right now but not in a cute way, you guys.  And I can’t taste anything, but that doesn’t stop me from eating pasta and chocolate cake.  Any reasonable person would be eating celery and rice cakes right now, but not me. No sir.  I turn celery into CAKE!

I’m trying my hardest to turn that 4 lbs of Phantom Baby weight into a pure, unadulterated, honest- to- Jesus  FAT. ASS.

And I feel flat and sort of homicidal and so. not. funny. or even mildly interesting as proven by the above post.

I hope to get my muchiness back soon though.  Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to blow my nose and then change a diaper and then find some more chocolate cake.

There’s a lot going on here today.

PS: It’s a Toy with Me day today!  I don’t suck over there like I do here.  I promise.

I Need To Get Me Some Gays