What Happens When I’m Not Home…

Sigh.

My dreams of having a maidlaundressnanny have been crushed, guys.  HippieMom SuperNanny has left us.  The halcyon days are over.

Her husband got a fancy new job and they had to move away.  Far, far away and so I no longer have her at the house, doing battle against the filth and the dishes and the laundry.

Our new childcare arrangements are so complicated we had to make a spreadsheet, but we’re making a go of it and not replacing her because there is no replacement for HippieMom SuperNanny.

We cannot bear the thought of even trying.

It’s only been one day and the house is already falling to crap.

Queefies, how is it possible that I can vacuum and wash the floors on Monday night and by Tuesday evening, even though nobody has been in the house all day, the place is a total fucking shitshow?

I have one theory, and one theory only.

It’s THIS:

Alice and Vivian have all the dogs in the neighborhood over for a dog party and the recalcitrant shitbirds ham it up in my kitchen!

I leave in the morning, and the two of them start barking out the windows, exactly like how it takes place on 101 Dalmations when the puppies go missing, and the next thing you know, they all come over here.  Tequila brings beer (ironically, she doesn’t like hard liquor), Henry‘s got da Chronic, and Talus brings the hos.

The end.

The Litter Critters

Well.

Remember my last post about Big Pussy crapping in the fireplace?  How could you forget?  It was very memorable.  Especially for me because it’s still happening.

I thought he was sick because when a cat starts doing Things That Are Inappropriate, they’re usually sick.  Big Pussy is about 14 years old now, so you know.  I figured he’s going senile or whatever.  I check his box frequently and have found either nothing at all  in there or a large amount of wet.  And I thought to myself:  “Jesus this is a lot! Maybe the kids peed in here!  NAH!”

And then I got this text from Ehpa:

Yes.

It seems as though her lovely daughter, Xanax, and her son, HulkSmash! have confessed that along with Homeslice and Girlfriend they have created for themselves an Alternate Facility in which to do their business because children today are lazy jackwagons and would rather piss in a cat box than climb a flight of stairs to relieve themselves!

I KNOW!!!! What the fuckingfuck?

I don’t know for sure, but I suspect that this was Girlfriend’s brainchild.

Here’s how I imagine  it went down:

While the grown ups were drinking wine and making penis jokes having adult conversation , the children were in the Porn Basement (which we totally gentrified, btw) watching Netflix and playing the Whee (emphasis on the WH), when Girlfriend decided she had to go potties.

Not wanting to  give up her spot on the couch for too long, she decided to pee in the cat box–just for funzies.  Xanax, HulkSmash!, and Homeslice immediately saw the genius in this idea and decided that this was pretty much the Best! Idea! Ever! and did it too.

Now, some of you may be surprised that I would be so certain that my own child would do such a thing, but you know me.  I’m a realist.  I am perfectly aware that Girlfriend has some, ahem, eccentricities that do not preclude her from doing a thing like this.

The next suspected little genius is HulkSmash!.  This is also the sort of thing he would dream up.  I believe that Xanax and Homeslice are mere followers.

Of course, Girlfriend and HulkSmash! would each throw the other under the bus in a heartbeat, so questioning them will be a lesson in futility.

Here’s my plan:

Say nothing, set up a camera and watch.  Eventually they’ll do it again and when they do, I don’t know what.

Except this is not what I did at all.

I questioned Homeslice and Girlfriend instead.

Girlfriend denies any and all involvement and totally blamed HulkSmash!, just as I suspected.  Homeslice had no idea what I was talking about, and when I said “who pee-peed in the kitty box?” she replied “Benny did!”

So, I believe she is innocent.  Xanax confessed to doing it only half way but continuing upstairs in the proper potty.

Girlfriend is NOT a fan of me blogging about this and says, and I quote:  “you will NOT write about this on your blog, mom!  I WILL NOT BE A LAUGHING STOCK!” Leading me to believe that she is indeed involved in the shenanigans.

The point is, Benny is perhaps not the asshole cat we thought he was.  Instead I have asshole children.

The End.

 

There I was, minding my own business when I noticed there was a dick in my mulch. This is not a euphemism for anything, I swear.

So the other day I was getting out of my car after work and when I opened the door, I was hit in the face by a powerful smell.

It smelled like a swimming pool full of semen, you guys.

I’m not talking about that delicate whiff of it you get in the spring time when the cum trees are in bloom. It was more like what it must be like to be on the “catching” end in a Japanese Bukkake film.

As I walked into the house, I made a mental note to tell Hippymom Supernanny that if she’s going to be filming porn in my driveway while the kids are napping, she needs to hose down a little better because seriously?

I mean, what she does during her break time is her business, but mop up woman, for the love of god!

But I forgot to mention it to her and thank goodness I did because the next day I noticed this sticking out of the mulchy area that frames the driveway:

Oh, hello! And, EW! Whatthefuck?

As I got closer I realized this was where the smell was coming from.

There is a penis mushroom that smells like Japanese Bukkake porn growing in my yard.

So I yelled to Mister “THERE’S A DICK IN OUR YARD!” and he ran outside with his camera and took that picture for the Queefies because who would believe that The Crissys have penises growing out of the ground at their house?

Actually, if you know us, this is completely believable, but anyway.

I felt very protective of our penis mushroom because I was afraid that the guy across the street, Captain Underpants, had a blog and that he would see it and he would post about it on his blog first. But then I realized that was silly because Captain Underpants only cares about swearing “fuckingcocksucker!” at his car and shoveling snow in his undershorts. Oh and he wears his soccer gear just for shits, even when there’s no game.  So, I’m pretty sure I’m the first one in our neighborhood to blog about this.  Also, I’m not sure Captain Underpants is what you’d call a reader never mind a mushroom identifier and certainly probably not a writer.

I’m just being paranoid, but can you blame me?  Penis mushrooms are very special.

And it looks really nice next to the statue of Mister.

And of course we looked it up.

We are truly blessed to have such a marvelous thing in our yard.

Thank you, Satan.

OMG you guys! Soooo many changes!

I’m not dead yet!  I swear you guys!

I’ve been very busy doing some very BIG things!

I don’t work at the library anymore.  I quit.

I quit because I GOT A FANCY LADY JOB!!!!!

Yes!  I did!

It’s my second week as a real, full time fancy copywriter and social media maven at a web development, PR, advertising and marketing company.  I work for my friend Gina who is so much fancier than your friend Gina I can’t even tell you.

Can you believe this shit?  It’s dreams coming true here, people.  DREAMS COMING TRUE.

And we had to hire a babysitter for Homeslice and guess what?

SHE DOES THE DISHES AND THE LAUNDRY AND OMG SHE DUSTED!

I have a maidlaundressnanny.

I just need a whore and all my dreams will have come true. All of them.

This  sure beats the Great Brain Tumor Crisis of Early 2011, I can tell you that much.

So yes.  I am a real writer with a real job and stuff now.  I kind of miss the library, but it’s more the people than the job.  That job was boring as hell.  Now I’m really busy all day and I get to wear cute clothes instead of the dingy corduroy pants I bought at Saver’s that I wore to the library. The people at my new job are super nice and everyone is so helpful and its totally okay to say “motherfucker” so obviously I fit right in.

Basically, I’m on cloud nine these days and I have to go now because I need some more fancy lady clothes and I have to buy them online because I’m sooooo busy being Queen.

I love you, Queefies!

OMG and PS:  I’m up on the Toy With Me’s talking about my vibrators again:

Je Joue Gi-Ki. Gumby For Your G-spot!

SEX ADVENTURES on Facebook and how I totally ruined my chances for one by being indecent

A few days ago, I got a friend request on Facebook from a stranger.  This is not a noteworthy event, I know, but check out his profile picture:

Um.  Yeah.  That kinda makes it noteworthy.

And his philosophy is:  Sex.

That’s it.

Sex.

And all his “friends” are either young girls or pictures of lacy thongs.

He is so barking up the wrong tree with me it’s not even funny!  Think again, buddy!

Doesn’t he know he’s talking to a frigid 36 year-old librarian with a brain full of tumors and a constant period?  He’d probably be pretty interested in the lactation though.  That’s pretty awesome if you’re a sickie.

Anyway, it got interesting after I ignored the request and got a message from him that said:

Jim Anderson January 20 at 8:58am Report
hi will u add me ?
And I’m thinking, “shit. Now I have to deal with him.”  So I’m all,
Kristen Lynne Gilbert January 20 at 9:35am
Who are you, Jim? Tell me about yourself. I’m a little protective of my facebook as it is my personal account.
Jim Anderson January 20 at 10:20am Report
i am 38 years old 180 cm 77kg green eyes brown hair married actor i like sex very much and i’m not shy of saying that looking 4 sex adventures all over the globe coz i travel a lot
Oooooo SEX ADVENTURES!!!! I thought… ” GOODY!  I’ve been praying this day would come!”
And so I’m just like,
Kristen Lynne Gilbert January 20 at 11:42am
I have no sex adventures for you. How does your wife feel about your sex adventures?
And poor Jim was offended and he dumped me!
Jim Anderson January 20 at 12:31pm Report
no need for this moral lecture anyway my fetish is to have sex with decent ladies but like this u turned me off
Wow you guys.  I really fucked up.  I haven’t been dumped this hard since, well, you know.  I could have had SEX ADVENTURES but Jim only wants to have his sex adventures with “decent ladies” who have sex with random strangers  who friend them on Facebook and don’t care that he’s married.
I could have had Sex Adventures with an International Man of Mystery, but I’m not a decent enough lady.
I think I need to change my profile picture because maybe this one of my nursing boobies is attracting the wrong kind of friends or whatever.
Or, maybe I should keep it to see if I can catch me some more blog fodder.

It’s not not a tooma.

I’ve just come back from the doctor.  I don’t have just one brain tumor.

I have 10 of them.

I have 10 brain tumors.

The good news is that they are very small and benign and they’re not going to treat them, but just keep an eye on them.  They’re called “microadenomas” and aside from causing annoying symptoms like the boob juice and maybe the sudden and intense bout with anxiety and the weird periods, they are not cause for alarm.

Except now I totally intend to use them as an excuse for any number of behaviors, like, “I couldn’t do the dishes!  I have 10 brain tumors!” or “I cannot WORK, I have 10 brain tumors.”  or ” I cannot give you a blow job, I have 10 brain tumors!”

So now we need to think of a new superhero name for me.  I’m thinking Adenoma Woman or Super Tumor Lady or something much cooler than something someone with a brain full of tumors can come up with.

I don’t know.

Suggestions are welcome below.

Your Queen is going to live and if I may be honest here, I think I’m pretty badass because when I go, I go BIG.  I don’t just get a brain tumor.  I get 10.

Top THAT, bitches.

PS: In celebration, I went across the street and bought a pair of very nice and very expensive boots I’ve been lusting after for a long time.  Also, I sense a HUGE hangover in my future.  Like, tomorrow morning at this time, I should be barely functional.

Dear Target, I’ll Kill You TWICE!

So yesterday I went into Target to return some stuff Girlfriend got for Christmas that was either too big for her to wear or had too many little pieces for me to pick up off the floor. They took the toys back without a problem, but the little yoga pants and the sweater were handed, nay, shoved back to me as if they were made of dog shit. The woman was all fucking kinds of snotty and said “ma’am, I cannot take these things back in such poor condition.” And I’m all “What do you mean? The tags are all on. These things have not been worn!” And she was all “We cannot put these things out on the floor like this. They’re COVERED in hair.”

Okay. First of all, there was probably a total of four Pig Pussy furs on the little yoga pants and ONE white poupon of lint on the sweater. Nothing was in “poor condition” and I certainly hadn’t wiped my ass with the stuff like she was implying I had. She didn’t even fold it, she just balled it up and shoved it at me.

So then I was all “so all I have to do is go home and lint roll this stuff and you’ll take it back?” And she was all huffy and was like “If you want.”

I left because there were about ten other Target customers in line behind me patiently awaiting their snotty attitude and their dog shit handsies backsies. Mister told me I should have put up a fuss, but I didn’t want to be rude to the other people. I didn’t want to be THAT Target customer and have everyone hate me. I’ve had enough haters lately, thankyouverymuch.

I took my list of stuff I needed from there and left the store WITHOUT BUYING ANYTHING!

That will teach them! I could have dropped $100 in there easily, but I did not because they’re dicks and I hate Target now.

I’ve been meaning to break up with that place for a long time and now I’ve had enough!

WE’RE THROUGH, TARGET! DO YOU HEAR ME? All. FUCKING. DONE.

Now that I don’t shop there anymore, I might be able to afford to buy myself a fancy car and I will drive by the store and shout rudeness at Target and they will probably cry because they miss me but I will just turn up the radio on my fancy car stereo and not give two shits.

Somebody Smells

I wish I could tell you I have some health related updates and answers for you guys, but I don’t.

I still have swollen lymph nodes and I even have a few new ones, I still have boob juice, and I still have double periods. Is that everything? I think that’s everything. Sometimes I forget all the stuff and remember there was another thing in my pile of ailments.

Oh, right. There is now a lump on my thyroid that my OBGYN said is another lymph node. She’s testing for all kinds of stuff now too. I get that bloodwork back on the 18th.

I went for an MRI on the 30th to see about the toomah.

It was okay—the MRI, not the toomah. I don’t know about the toomah yet. I only started crying when they showed me the cage they were going to put over my face before sliding me into the machine. I thought “Open MRI” meant like, you know, OPEN? But no. It doesn’t. It means the sides of the thing are open so you don’t go into a tunnel, but you are still enclosed very closely AROUND YOUR HEAD. Had I known there would be a cage put over my head I never would have shown up for that thing conscious. Instead I popped a Xanax and went about my way, Mister at my side and a guided relaxation CD in my hand.

I bumped into the glass on the receptionist’s window because it was so clean I couldn’t see it. I felt like a Major Asshole. Then I handed her my credit card instead of my insurance card and I only filled out one of the three forms she asked me to do. I handed in INCOMPLETE WORK!

She must have thought I was a moron, so, to cover it up, I told her I took a Xanax. I don’t know if that helped my case or just made me look like a bigger douche.

And then I got into the MRI machine room thing and saw the cage they were going to put on my head and I lost it a little bit. But the guy was really nice and very soothing and he helped me through the whole thing. I couldn’t hear my CD though because the machine was so loud. It kind of sucked being injected with dye with the cage thing still on my head. I don’t like needles.

I hate them, actually. I hate them even more when there’s a thing holding my head still and I can’t see what’s going on.

But I survived it, you guys. I survived it. Mister held my hand the whole time and it took about 30 minutes. I got to see my brain afterward. I’m no doctor, but it looked okay to me. I won’t find out if my actual doctor agrees until the 11th. I guess the good news is that there is a brain in there. We wondered about that, so that’s a relief. Mister made jokes to the MRI guy like “I’ve been trying to figure out what’s going on inside my wife’s head for years!” because he’s fucking funny.

I’m just glad he didn’t try to bring his camera because I’d rather not have pictures of me wearing a Hannibal Lector mask and a blue hospital gown. He thinks I’m a bitch for interfering with his art. I just think we can stop at that picture he posted of my placenta and have that be enough of enough.

Other than that scary MRI bullshit, we had a good Christmas which I was able to actually enjoy thanks to the Lexapro starting to work, and a wonderful New Year’s Eve. THE Melissa Lion came with Fancyhats and Archie and stayed the night. We ate absolute crap food almost continuously for like, 10 hours, and drank way too much champagne. Basically we did all the stuff you’re supposed to do on New Year’s Eve except we were all wearing pajamas and didn’t give a shit about our hair. We had a wonderful time together and I’m really sad that they don’t live near us. We would hang with them all the time and Melissa would never hurt me or abandon me. I know she wouldn’t. Girlfriend and Archie totally hit it off and didn’t have one single argument. That’s pretty remarkable because just between you and me, Girlfriend has attitude. But Archie has the same type of attitude. It’s like they were made for each other!

The Melissa Lions didn’t even notice that for breakfast on New Year’s Day I totally bought pre-made fruit salad and then I had Mister cut it up smaller because they always do huge chunks (seriously whose mouth is that big? Are they making it for a yeti?) and then I had him dump it into a bowl and made it look like we made it ourselves when really, no such thing had occurred.

Sshhhhhh!

So, in summary, I’m not dead yet, we had a really great holiday season and I faked a fruit salad and fed it to The Melissa Lions.

The end.

PS: The title to this post has absolutely nothing to do with anything except that Mister said it while on the phone with me last night and I thought it was funny, so there you have it. That’s the funniest thing about this whole post other than me bumping into the receptionist window and telling everyone I came across that I took a Xanax.

PSS: Today is a Toy with Me day. It’s one of my last as I just found out that they are changing their format back to doing only toy reviews, so enjoy it while it’s here. I’ll link you up when that becomes available.

PSSS: Why My Vagina Is Steaming

My, my, mymymy.

So there I was admiring the artwork in the waiting room of Dr. Jan Penkala, Wookie Doctor Extraordinaire, and wondering what yard sale he got that shit from.

There’s a clown picture apparently painted by a fifth grader, a HUGE photo portrait of somebody’s baby girl that is undoubtedly meant to be the focal point of the room, a sketch of an old fashioned baby carriage, and a pastel elephant holding an umbrella.

These babyish things are punctuated by the long shelf full of birth control brochures. Are we decorating a gynecologist’s office or a nursery here? Make up your mind, Wookie man. You can’t have your birth control AND your babies. Come on now.

I wondered how many times I studied that clown picture while sitting in that waiting area, feeling really nervous because I knew I wasn’t getting out of there without taking my pants off and being violated first.

So I waited and waited. Waitwaitwaitwaitwait and then finally I hear my favorite nurse, the one who calls me “honey” and makes me feel safe, say “Kristen?”

It was finally my time to go into the back where the magic happens. I thought I’d be seeing the good doctor any minute, but there I was, naked from bottoms down with my paper skirt on, waiting some more. I studied the charts detailing ovulation and pregnancy and read the warning label on the light they use to light up the ol’ love tunnel. I tried not to look at the cart full of scary looking gynecological accoutrements. Once I’d looked at everything except that, there was nothing more to look at in the exam room, so I started looking at myself.

I found a little ingrown hair on my pubical area and of course, I picked at it.

Instantly, there was a knock on the door and in walked Dr. Jan Penkala, Wookie Doctor Extraordinaire. As soon as he pulled back my paper skirt, he exclaimed “oh WOW! Have you been operating on yourself here, dear?” And at first I didn’t know what he was talking about but then I realized.

The ingrown hair was bleeding.

Oh, jeezus. He told me to take it easy on myself and kept checking to see if I had stopped bleeding yet.

What we can learn from this experience Queefies is that if there is a way for me to add extra humiliation to an already humiliating experience, I will find it instinctively.

God, Crissy! Seriously!

The rest of the exam went well and the shadow he saw on the ultrasound was nothing, and even though I have a thicker than average uterus, he’s not going to treat me with any hormones. He wants to see more consistently irregular bleeding first. He’s very conservative, so that’s good.

I guess I shouldn’t be too embarrassed though. The man has seen me shit out a baby, so really my pride flew out the window 17 months ago.

But still.

UGH! Rookie mistake.

Also, it’s Wednesday!

Americans Suck At Flirting