Crissy

Alice + Frank: A Love Story

So I let Alice out for her morning pee pee and who’s in the yard but this guy:

No, it’s not another Jehovah Witness. It’s Frank.

And if you’re not familiar with Frank, click here.

After that do try to keep up with us here, people.

Despite Mister’s best efforts to pee all over the yard in an attempt to scare Frank away, the varmint remains undeterred. In fact, I think Frank is a peeaphile because he’s still coming by for snacks every day.

He got my mint.

And my chives.

The little sonofabitch.

And Alice knows full well that we’re mad at Frank and so what does she do?

Chase him?

Bark at him and tell him “GO HOME FRANK!”?

Nay, nay.

She walks right up to him and ESKIMO KISSES HIM!!!! (is it still okay to say Eskimo Kissing? I know sitting Indian Style is now criss cross applesauce, so is it Eskimo American Kissing, or do we call it something else? Nosy nosy canoodle? Help me.)

Why not just let him fuck you Alice? And then you two can live happily ever after in a nest down by the pond and raise your little family of mint eating Schnauzerchuck babies.

I mean seriously!

I just paid $40 to have her hair cut yesterday, and she has a vet appointment on Friday at which I will be forced, again, to defend her when the vet tells me she’s “overweight” and I will have to cover her ears to protect her against his insensitive remarks and insist that she’s just fluffy!  and then choke the vet until he concurs and also it will be expensive. You’d think the least she could do is refrain from flirting with garden eating woodland creatures.

Where is the love?  Where is the gratitude Internet?

When there’s no respect for The QOFE, I turn into a cranky pants.

Just sayin’.

Hi-Ho, Freak Show!

Yesterday morning I was hanging around the house having a Boo Radley moment when the fucking door bell rings.

I open the door with a pants-less Girlfriend (who had just peed her panties) on my hip and who stands before me but two pubescent Jehovah Witnesses. They’re dressed in suits from Salvation Army and carrying equally sad looking brief cases full of “information” or as I call it “throw that shit in the recycle bin.” The tall one’s voice cracked as he says “good morning ma’am. Are you busy?”

“YES! I am!” I said and threw the door closed.

Fucking hooligans.

Had I been feeling better I would have invited them in so I could tell them how great birthday parties are and that some families get to keep daddy and mommy’s paychecks instead of handing them over to the church, or the temple, or the hall, or whatever they call it, but I was sick so whatever. Fuck them.

“Why are the Jehovahs sending their children to you? Don’t they know you’re Satan’s whore and can turn their boys into fire monsters without any effort at all? ”

I’m glad you asked.

They used to visit our old house and my stoopy husband would actually spend time talking to them. They came once a week at least and caught us in various states of wrong.

I once answered the door in my underwear holding a soaking wet and shaking Alice (long story, but I’ll give you the short version; I was giving her a bath).

Once I had my shirt half off with a 5 month old Girlfriend sucking from my boobie.

Mister answered in his underpants while holding a cast iron frying pan.

I dropped an f-bomb on them.

One day I opened the door to find a couple who looked exactly like Mister and me except I did not like her bag and so I said “Um, holy shit! The only thing is I would never carry that purse. So, yeah. No thanks.”

I told them we were devoted Catholics.

When that didn’t work, I told them we enjoy sacrificing kittens to the Dark Lord in our living room.

But nothing phases these fucking people!

They’ll take anybody!

I begged Mister to let me tell them to fuck off, but he wouldn’t and so off they did not fuck.

In fact, he enjoyed their company so much that when we moved, and this is unfuckingbelievable, he GAVE THEM OUR NEW ADDRESS AND INVITED THEM TO STOP BY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

He Did!

And I went coo-coo for coco puffs when he told me what he had done and I think my head actually did a full 360 and the baby, who was only two at the time, said her longest sentence yet: “Daddy, I’m scared of Mommy.”

And every time they come I’m reminded of that scene from Poltergeist when this dude

comes up the front path singing “God is in his holy tem-ple.”

Remember that?

They seem so nice and then just when you trust them BAM!

No birthdays for you!

I’m up on Back Fence PDX today too. Sorry for all the reading. NO I”M NOT! Go read it people. You’ve got an opportunity to worship me some more today, you lucky sons of bitches.

What the Fuck is Wrong with People? Version 2.0

For today I had a lovely little video planned for you wherein Girlfriend and I made vegan chocolate raspberry cookies for her friend Alena’s birthday, but then I woke up to find a hater on my blog again.

Apparently my rantyness yesterday about crosswalks and my ignorance of crosswalk law, ruffled the feathers of this dude who wrote,

I certainly understand your frustration. The thing is, you said…”you have to STOP when a pedestrian enters the crosswalk.” But that is not true entirely. A pedestrian cannot enter the crosswalk until it is safe to cross. Once it is safe to cross and you start to cross you have the right of way. If there is a pedestrian crosswalk signal you only have the right of way when it says you do.

So no, they don’t have to stop just because you walk out into the crosswalk, you have to wait until it is safe before you try.

It’s a common mistake, you are not alone. But if you are going to rant, you might want to get the law straight first.

cheers

And so I called him a condescending prick.

And then this morning this was there and I don’t know why I’m putting all this here because you could go to the comments section from yesterday’s post and read it all yourselves but anyway, here:

Hmmmm, if information offends you…I guess. I just would have guessed from the tone of what you write you could handle bluntness. You call people “cunt” just for not saying hello. Get over yourself.

Okay SERIOUSLY?

And I’m not writing this so you guys will go over there to fuck him up because

A. He doesn’t deserve the traffic and the attention. There are 550 of you coming here, that’s right playas I see you!, every day and I’m not willing to share you with people who don’t play nice and worship the Queen.
B. His blog is the most self important bunch of bizzaro crap I’ve ever seen. There’s nothing to even comment on.
C. This isn’t really even about him and his stupid comment. I’m just using it as an example.

There’s a bigger picture here.

Last week we had this lady:

Wow. I thought I’d see what one of the “hottest mommy bloggers” was writing about. I guess I am officially shocked at the extreme irreverence. I’m not bible-thumping or anything - but I don’t get it. This is funny? This is intelligent? This is just plain sad.

I’m not really sure what shocked her the most, the Jesus watching porn thing, or that Jesus pooper scoops his own lawn and doesn’t make St. Francis of Assisi do it instead, but it doesn’t matter because I actually was happy that someone finally took offense to something. It’s about damn time. I write some pretty offensive shit. So I said:

denise- I love you!!! THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR COMING!!!! Without people like you, being irreverent just wouldn’t be nearly so much fun. Come back again and bring your friends!

And then after that Chris, Rachel, stoogepie, Kiala, Dingo, Megkathleen, Melissa, and Jesse, and if you did it too and I forgot I’m sorry, all went and kicked her ass for the unprovoked assault. She apologized because she realized it’s rude to attack people on their own blogs.

Now I really don’t mind an opposing opinion. That’s fine by me. It’s the way that people handle things that bothers me. A few months ago, poor Kiala was brutally attacked after she made a JOKE on Twitter. It was awful and I felt terrible for her.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’m nervous about the world. Everyone is so angry and looking for someone to shit on. Maybe it’s because they feel so shit on themselves?

I have no idea, but I’m wondering if anyone has a sense of humor anymore.

Except for you good people, I’m thinking there are a lot of folks out there who don’t.

I’m scared, Internet.

Hold me.

What the Fuck is Wrong with People?

Yesterday was my unpaid domestic labor day, which means that I don’t report to a job I actually get paid for.

Weeee!

And so I did my chores and errands and took Girlfriend for a walk to my Grandfather’s house to go and use the pool. Usually it’s a really pleasant walk because there are some beautiful old houses in my neighborhood and I love nothing more than trying to look inside to see if there’s anyone naked in there how it’s decorated. On the way there we passed another pedestrian and I said “good afternoon” and the fucking woman didn’t say “good afternoon” back. She just looked at me and decided not to!
Fine.
Be a cunt.
I don’t care.

And then about a minute later, I reached the crosswalk I had to use to get to Papa’s house. It’s a busy street, but around here, and I don’t know if this is a universal law or whatever because I was totally drunk the day we covered that in driver’s ed, you have to STOP when a pedestrian enters the crosswalk.

So I stood there for fucking ever IN THE CROSSWALK, with the baby stroller and the dog and it was just like
zoom…

zoom…

zoom…

As car after car totally ignored the stroller in the crosswalk. And we were hanging out there in danger of being hit until a woman I have seen at the park a few times before stopped for me and waited very patiently as we stood in the middle of the crosswalk in front of her car as cars coming the opposite direction still kept zooming past.

Nobody stopped.

Nobody even slowed down.

I finally got across because there were no other cars coming. She yelled out her window “I can’t believe no one stopped for you!” And I was like “I know it!” and that was that.

Internet, I would like to know WHAT THE FUCK IS THE MATTER WITH PEOPLE???

Do I need to show a little more leg next time I want to cross the street?

Seriously.

It’s always like this around here. My mother is blind and uses a cane so it’s pretty damn obvious that she can’t see but when she tries to cross the street, people honk and YELL AT HER! They don’t stop, they don’t slow down, they abuse her. And my step mom fell while walking her dog and nobody stopped to help her. She was on the ground for 20 minutes crying for help and people just slowed down to stare at her. A 90 year old woman finally noticed her and came out of her house to help her. And nobody stops to let little old ladies cross the street except me. I always stop for the grannies. It’s called being decent.

So here’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to install one of these in my car

And any time I see some crazy fucktard douchebag asshat I’m gonna burn the motherfucker.

HA, HA, HA, HA, HA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Any other ideas?

I’m on a fucking crusade bitches.

Crissyshack

Crissy: 0
Woodland Creature:10

Remember when I dug my flower beds and I was all excited about it and I couldn’t wait for my sunflowers and my sweet peas to come up all sunshiny and wholesome and stuff?

Yes?

Well some little furry woodland buttmunch has destroyed all my sunshine and my wholesome.

Meet Frank.

This isn’t really him. It’s his cousin Albert. I couldn’t get a picture of Frank because he says he looks fat in pictures.

Whatev.

Everybody looks fat in pictures. That’s why God made airbrushes and anorexia.

When I first saw Frank I thought “awwwww…he’s so cute!” And I talked baby talk at him and then I gave him his name.

But this weekend when I went out to my garden that I lovingly water every day, I found that Frank the Garden Gansta, otherwise known as Woodchuckus Douchebagus from the Latin meaning motherfucker who’s goin’ down, had stripped the leaves off my sunflowers and mangled my sweet peas.

Do you know how much Girlfriend and I love to walk right out into the garden and enjoy a nutritious a sweet pea?

We like it a lot and a lot.

That’s why I’m not gonna lie to you Internet. I cried a little bit when I had to pull out all the stuff he killed .

I transplanted some cosmos to the bare spot seeing as he left that alone in another section of the garden, but by the end of the day he had eaten that too.

So now your Crissy is feeling angry and resentful and a little bit like Frank’s bitch.

In fact, while I was pulling the Cosmos stems out of the ground I think I heard him on the other side of the fence giggling in his little Woodchuck voice, saying “who’s your daddy now garden lady? Say my name! Say It!”

I out and out refuse to be a Woodchuck’s bitch Internet.

My grandfather, who is my garden guru,

wants me kick it old school and just put a cap in his ass, but I’m not old school. I’m sort of like middle school and so I cannot shoot Frank.

Also my shotgun was siezed by the po-po is in the shop.

So help me Internet.

Does anyone speak Woodland Creature language?

How do you tell a Woodchuck to fuck off?