So yesterday Crissy drops Girlfriend off at The Sandbox Preschool and there’s this bitchmom with a baby in a carrier and Girlfreind goes over, stands on her tippy toes to peek into the carrier and says “Oh your baby is soooo cute!” and the bitchmom whips the carrier away and says “Don’t put your face near her face! She’s had two colds already this year!” And girlfriend sort of just looked like…”huh?” And Crissy was present for the whole exchange and can say with 100% certainty that Girlfriend’s face did not come anywhere near bitchmom’s baby’s face and so WHAT THE FUCK WAS HER FUCKING PROBLEM?

And Crissy almost said “and you don’t think YOUR OWN PRESCHOOLER might have given her baby sister those colds?”

Nay, nay.

It must have been OTHER PEOPLE’S FILTHY CHILDREN.

And Crissy was so mad that she was very, very tempted to grab girlfriend and ram the mommy down in the street with her car thusly:

Crissy thinks that would have fixed her wagon quite handily.

And yesterday was Picture Day and this woman’s kid was wearing some sort of sweatsuit dress type of thing with lace sewed onto it. It was fugly and Crissy is wondering what kind of asshole does that to a little child on picture day?

There is something on the news that has been disturbing the crap out of Crissy and it’s very, very, important.

In fact, it is the most important and pressing issue on television right now and it had Crissy awake last night just a tossin’ and a turnin’ wondering what the hell she’s going to do about it if it happens because as your queen it is her job to protect her Queefs even though Crissy fully realizes that the title of QOFE is really just an honorary position and lacks any real authority beyond commanding people to make her Martinis and kiss her tiara and such.

And no.

Crissy is not talking about these assclowns being elected:

Crissy has a whole ‘nuther plan worked out if that happens. It goes something like this:

RUN!!!!!

If we all go together, Canada will have to take us.

Ahem. Anyway.

Crissy is talking about ALIENS.

And not this kind:

Crissy is talking about this kind:

And they may or may not look exactly like this, but don’t be foolish Queefs.

They’re fucking coming.

Crissy knows this because she sees reports about it on the tee-vee and everyone knows that the news people don’t lie. And it wasn’t some cornhole farmer saying “yep. I seen em’ come right there outta the sky and I says to myself ‘what in tarnation is that thang?’”

It was a British Person who said it. And he was wearing a tie.

Crissy trusts anyone with a British accent who is wearing a tie because they are smart. And the Brits sent some fighter planes to go check out the weird blinky lights and they honestly say they cannot identify what they saw, but it was something unusual.

See?

They’re coming.

And nobody is talking about it and it’s almost like nobody cares and because of that Crissy thinks she should be President.

Obama doesn’t say shit about what he plans to do about the Aliens when they come to enslave us and put probes in our butts.

We’re on our own Queefs!

And as my running mate I’m going to choose Duchovny.

Crissy has always had a thing for Duchovny.

And the winner of the Blogger’s Choice Awards for Hottest Mommy Blogger is…

CRISSY!!!!!

Woot! Woot!

Crissy didn’t have a speech prepared or anything!

Ahem.

First, Crissy would like to thank her daughter, Girlfriend, without whom she never would have qualified for the category in the first place:

Thanks Girlfriend! Mommy loves you and is sorry that now that we’re super famous and stuff you’ll have to hide from the paparazzi scum even more than before.

Crissy would like to thank Mister for getting her pregnant with Girlfriend in the first place:

Thanks for slippin’ one past the goalie Mister!

Crissy would like to thank her mom for teaching her that a well placed f-bomb is all a girl needs to get ahead in this world:

Thanks Mommy! You were right! As usual…

And of course Crissy has to thank her dear, dear friend, her Champion, her knight in shining armor, the man she is leaving her husband for just as soon as he tells her his real name, STOOGEPIE!

We will make the most gorgeous little comic babies together!

And mostly, Crissy would like to thank her loyal readers for voting for her. She had to beg, and Stoogie had to coerce, but YOU DID IT!!!!!

You made Crissy the true Queen of Fucking Everything!

This is a victory for us all.

You now have the Queen’s permission to leave work, proceed to the nearest bar, and get stinking drunk.

Do it in the name of the Queen.

So yesterday didn’t seem like such a bad day for visiting Crissy and I’m glad you all went over to check her out at Arjewtino’s place. You’re so sweet to do that and Crissy hopes she didn’t sound snotty when she said she had trouble with her blog because of all the traffic coming to it. Crissy did not mean to sound snotty, she was just trying to explain why the Queefs couldn’t visit. If you read yesterday’s post you know Crissy is in no position to act snotty.

And if that wasn’t enough for you, here’s more Crissy humiliation for your reading pleasure.

It’s about Gym Class.

Gym class was the bane of Crissy’s existence since first grade when that dullard of a gym teacher, Mr. Kinniberg, tried to make her wear sneakers with her skirt and tights. What kind of an asshole wears sneakers with tights?

Right?

RIGHT?

And so began Crissy’s long history of sitting out during gym class.

You see the problem is Queefs that Crissy is not what you would call coordinated.

I know what you’re thinking: This can’t possibly be true.

You’ve seen Crissy’s Wonderful Dancing…

But it is true, and it made gym class utter torture except for those glorious six weeks in high school when they’d make us do Square Dancing.

Everyone sucked at that and it really leveled the playing field. Or the dance floor or whatever.

In 7th grade, Crissy was late for class and so ran across the gym floor to get to the locker room while everyone was already lined up for attendance, and Crissy slipped in her pink ballet flats and slid on her stomach head first into the locker room door. Legs akimbo, books everywhere.

In 8th grade Crissy and her friend Jennifer got detention for laughing when the gym teacher, his arms loaded with basketballs, fell through a swinging door and onto the gymnasium floor in a cacophony of bouncing balls. He made Jennifer and Crissy stand against the wall while he berated them in front of everyone.

During flag football, Crissy stood as far away from the action as possible and if the ball came anywhere near her, she’d run away from it. Crissy was always the last one picked for the team. In fact, nobody picked her. The teacher assigned her to a team and everyone on it would just be like “oh, man! Nuh-uh! Do we have to? Awcomeon!”

In 9th grade she got hit in the head with a field hockey stick, passed out on the field when she saw the blood run into her eye, and woke up with the gym teacher, the nurse, and her dad (did Crissy mention that her dad taught at her high school?) standing over her with worried looks on their faces. Crissy had to be taken to the hospital for stitches. They got the school nurse and a teacher’s aide to help Crissy change into her regular clothes to go to the hospital. You should have seen how lovely the blood looked all stuck in Crissy’s heavily sprayed 80’s hair. It was lovely.

But in light of all that, one of Crissy’s favorite gym class moments had to be when we were playing volleyball and the ball bounced straight off the side of Crissy’s head, then off her friend Stacy’s fist, and then back into Crissy’s tummy which knocked the wind out of her and landed Crissy flat on her ass.

And yes, it was co-ed volleyball.

The boys saw everything.

And the whole class just stood there snickering as Crissy got up and ran to the locker room and proceeded to cry it out old school with the snot running down her mouth and chin and the uncontrollable sobbing and all of that fancy stuff.

And Miss Teabag, the same-sex-oriented P.E. teacher, followed her into the bathroom and tried very hard to coax poor humiliated Crissy back out onto the field or the rink or the pit or whatever but Crissy wasn’t having it.

Much to Crissy’s surprise she was very understanding and left Crissy the fuck alone. One of the popular jock girls, Amy Eisenberg, even went up to Crissy after class and said “you know, not everybody is good at everything. I’m sorry that happened to you.”

And that meant the world to Crissy that she said that. But Crissy was still humiliated and vowed to miss every gym class from then on.

And she did a decent job of it and even tried this one out on ol’ Miss Teabag:

“I have a phobia involving anything that involves balls flying at my face.”

But she just smiled, clapped Crissy on the shoulder, and said “go get changed.”

Crissy was rummaging through her brain archives just the other day and she found this story about how when back in the day, way before Mister and Girlfriend, she used to tool around the East Side of Providence with her friend Suzi and drink way, way, too much at the bars and then kiss boys they hardly knew.

And Crissy thought it would be the perfect time to share this little gem with her Queefs since our delightful Ben, from No Ordinary Rollercoaster, is having a little drinking story contest in an effort to raise awareness of the harmful effects of binge drinking.

Crissy doesn’t know what that even means, but apparently drinking until you puke your guts out of the window of a moving car on the highway is a bad thing. Crissy sort of always thought that was the goal because nothing takes your mind off your troubles better than hurling at 75 mph.

Or getting pulled over by the Po-Po like in Crissy’s story for today…

Ahem.

Once upon a time Crissy and her friend Suzi were dating two boys, Alex and Adam, who were just fresh out of parentally enforced drug and alcohol rehab and so naturally to celebrate the boys completing their programs we all met at Crissy’s boyfriend Adam’s house to drink our asses off. From what Crissy hears, Adam turned out to be gay and went on to become a lion tamer in the circus, but that’s a story for another time.

Anywho…Crissy and Suzi drank and drank and had lots of fun talking smack to a statue of Nefertiti at Adam’s house and acting like silly girls and then Suzi realized that she forgot Alex’s Congratulations on Getting Out of Rehab gift at her apartment and also she forgot to feed Skylar, her cat, so Crissy and Suzi got into Suzi’s cute little black BMW and drove back to Suzi’s to pick up the gift and feed the kitty.

Crissy and Suzi made it safely to the apartment and in a continued bout of sillyness and giggles decided to sample a little cat food themselves.

It was Meow Mix.

And if any of you Queefs are ever tempted to eat Meow Mix, Crissy would caution you against it. It’s very tuna-y, it sticks in your molars something fierce, and also it doesn’t go well with vodka sodas.

Maybe a nice light white wine would have been better but what did we know? We were young and foolish.

And so we fed the cat and grabbed the gift and stumbed back down the stairs and into the car to go back to Adam’s fancy East Side mansion.

So there we were in the car around midnight, smoking cigarettes and loudly singing the Beastie Boy’s No Sleep Till’ Brooklyn with all the windows and the sun roof open, Meow Mix still stuck in our teeth and unbeknownst to us, we were doing 55 in a 25 going the wrong way down swanky Blackstone Boulevard.

And then, oddly enough, the police were behind us pulling us over which we thought was just about the funniest. thing. ever. and Crissy is not afraid to tell you that we were not worried about getting in trouble with the police because we were two of the hottest little blondies you’ve ever seen and here we were in a BMW in a richy-rich neighborhood in the middle of the night being very, very naughty indeed.

What could we possibly be up to that the police would be concerned about?

And do you know why the officer pulled us over? It wasn’t the speeding the wrong way down a one way street. It wasn’t the blasting stereo. It wasn’t even that we smelled like a distillery.

There was a headlight out and the officer wanted us to know. And when he asked Suzi to put on the high beams to see if those lights were out too–or maybe Crissy was driving? Things start to get a little fuzzy at this point in the story, the windshield wipers went on instead.

Woopsie Ossifer!

Anyway, the officer was very understanding about the headlight and everything and let us go on our way without even a mention of the one way thing or the 30 mph over the speed limit thing or the drunk thing and we went back to Adam’s house and laughed about it all and had a toast to the Pigs and then at some point went home and passed out.

Crissy and Suzi woke up together at Suzi’s apartment in Suzi’s bed, both of us terminally hungover, and um, well, we were wet.

As it turns out, Crissy had wet both the bed and Suzi.

Ever pee in somebody’s bed?

It’s awkward as ass.