Archive for the 'You're gonna shit when I tell you!' Category

So we’re going to start with the thing that’s bothering me the most and work our way down to the mildly irritating and/or totally stupid.

First up we have Homeslice’s lymph nodes in her little groin area.  The one that was swollen over a month ago is still swollen and now there’s another one right next to it that keeps getting bigger although it’s still smaller than the other one.  And then sometimes they seem to be almost gone, and then sometimes they swell back up again.  I’m hysterical. I think I’m going to bring her back to the doctor because my anxiety disorder is pretty much demanding a blood test at this point even though she’s acting perfectly fine and healthy and has no fever and the swellings don’t hurt her at all and the original one hasn’t gotten any bigger than it was since it first appeared.  But then I think maybe I won’t have her tested because  I’m really scared of the blood test BECAUSE WHAT IF SHE’S REALLY SICK?

I need to know but I’m really afraid to find out.

And I’m giving up on the dog adoption situation.    I had an appointment with a guy last night and he was supposed to bring 2 dogs for us to meet, but then it was just one dog and then he changed the time and THEN HE DIDN’T SHOW UP OR BOTHER TO CALL TO TELL ME HE WASN’T COMING OR ANSWER HIS PHONE.

This is a totally different organization than the other one that blew me off like this FIVE TIMES.  They still haven’t returned my call after blowing me off the fifth time.  It’s been two weeks.

I guess doing this to people and not respecting their time and the fact that adopting a pet is an EMOTIONAL thing and telling someone they will get to meet a potential new family member and then not even having enough respect for them to tell them you need to re-schedule and instead just letting them clear an entire day or a whole weekend and then completely blowing them off like they don’t matter is the way to run a dog rescue.

They’re always whining about how hard it is to be volunteers and that they have lives, you know, and that people need to be patient and blah, blah, blah, WHAT ABOUT ME?  AM I NOT A PERSON TOO?  I also have a life and I’m trying to do the right thing by adopting a homeless animal, but I’m getting treated like shit by these people.

I don’t understand.

I’ve learned a lot about people through this experience and it’s not good news, you guys.  It’s not good news at all.

So, I’m giving up because I can’t deal with the disappointment and heartbreak anymore.

And moving back to Saturday night having gone to bed late after our Zombie Prom, I woke up at 3 in the morning feeling sticky and wet to discover that Alice had thrown up in our bed, under the blankets, and that I had been sleeping in it.  At first I only noticed that I had slid my foot into something, so I checked it out and it was a HUGE pile of super-chunky something.  I didn’t know what the hell it was, so I got out of bed to take a look and determined that it was  some sort of really putrid contents from something (ass? stomach?) and so I limped into the bathroom to wash my foot off and re-group a little bit.

Mister got up to scrape what he determined to be vomit off the bed when I noticed that my back felt cold and wet, too.  I had barf chunks stuck all over my shirt and I had left a trail of them behind me on the way to the bathroom.  I had to take a complete shower and rinse the chunks out of my pajamas while Mister stripped the bed.

It took two trips to get all our bedding down to the basement washing machine, Alice following me the whole way and throwing up more little piles of goodness as we went.

It was…very special.

I never got back to sleep after that, so  I basically got about 3 hours in before all the specialness was discovered.

That was the second night of sleep deprivation because on Friday night, we went to my friend Gina’s annual Halloween party and when we got home, Homeslice was wide awake and hanging out with the babysitter.  She never went back to sleep for more than ten minutes at a time.

That was also a Very Special Evening.

We won best couple’s costume at Gina’s party though, so that was something good riding on the shitwagon that was our weekend.

(huge version here)

So yesterday I was out in front of the house admiring the orange pumpkin lantern Halloween decorations Mister was busy putting up when some Ass Monkey came flying down our street in his Maxima.

And I had Homeslice by the hand and she was struggling to get away and Girlfriend was skipping down the sidewalk and Ass Monkey totally saw us but didn’t slow down in the least, so I yelled “SLOW DOWN” at him and do you know what he said to me?

He said “FUCK YOU!!”

HE DID!!!

The nerve, right?  I mean, here I am, Queen of Fucking Everything walking down the street with the two Princesses of Fucking Everything, and this reject from Planet Douchewagon in his used Maxima (why is it that 20-something year old boys in Maximas think they’re the fucking shit? What is up with that? I means seriously, it’s a fucking Maxima.  Get yourself a Lamborghini and we’ll talk about who’s the shit, okay sweet pea?  Until then, put your fucking baseball cap on straight and get over yourself.) has the balls to yell “FUCK YOU” to me.

Well.

Mon! Dieu!

I’ve got a plan for the next Maxima Ass Monkey who dares try to break the sound barrier on my street.  I’m going to get a big bucket of baby dolls from the dollar store and every time a Maxima Ass Monkey comes by, I’m going to throw the baby doll at him.  Did I mention the baby doll will first be filled with dog crap? It’ll be Tequila’s dog crap too because there’s plenty of that around my house.

I just get really fired up when these young guys (and sometimes girls) speed around with no regard for what could happen.  What if Homeslice managed to wriggle out of my grasp?  What if Girlfriend tripped and fell into the street? He would have creamed her, and I would have had to make it my personal mission to make sure his life was a living hell forever. I’d make sure he wound up in a tiny jail cell with a big huge guy with a large penis and a thing for little Ass Monkeys.

So yes, I am officially the kind of woman who shouts “SLOW DOWN” at young dudes driving by my house.  Any further suggestions for how I can help them make good choices would be welcome in the space provided below.  The police around here don’t care about our speeding problem, so it’s basically Martial Law at this point.

but we didn’t know about the bondage until just recently.

I don’t know what it is with me and the gays lately. I think I’m still waiting for my gay bff to come walking into my life. Maybe I’m trying to attract attention.

Or maybe I just want a new best friend.

Like, maybe this one:

Her name is Wanda and our application to adopt her has been approved! Sadly, the rescue group is horribly, horribly, slow in answering questions and responding to emails, so I still don’t know anything about her. It takes them a week to reply to an email. 7 days! I thought they wanted to find homes for these dogs. I had to email them to find out she was actually pending adoption for US! I’m confused. This thing has been in the works for almost three weeks and I still have no clue what’s up with this dog and I’m frustrated because I hate not knowing and just hanging like this. I don’t know whether to shit or go collar shopping.

And then I found this one who is the sweetest thing, but a little smaller than I wanted:

I might apply to adopt her, but if Wanda works out, I don’t want to put something in the works with Minnie and then back out of it. That seems mean.

And just so people know, I am NOT replacing Alice. Why would I ever do that? I adore her. She’s the only one in this house who doesn’t give me any shit. She’s a friend who never disappoints me and she is always glad to see me. Overjoyed, actually. I want more of that. More joy. More love. More best friends. More dog bodies splayed out on my kitchen floor when I’m cooking.

My mother will shit her pants and then die three times when she finds this out and so I haven’t told her, and if any one of you spills the beans, so help me Jeebus I will totally ban you from this blog.

I don’t know how to do that, but I will figure it out and then you’re screwed, buddy.

Of course, she can just come right over here and read about it on her own, which is actually pretty likely and so mom, if you’re reading this please, please, please, don’t shit on this. It’s the happiest and most excited I’ve been in a long, long, time. And it’s your fault for raising a crazy dog lady.

The end.

PS: Toy with Me today! I forgot what it’s about…oh wait…I remember now: Girl on Girl Action Isn’t For Me. WHAT IS WITH ME WITH THE GAY???

So this past weekend we went to a party which was sort of like a big meet-up for all Mister’s camera friends, who are affectionately referred to as “Camera Gays” around our house.

Here’s a picture of just about everyone at the big gay camera party:

They are not to be confused with the Woodland Gays though. The Woodland Gays are totally different because they’re creepy and they live in the woods. The Camera Gays, while sometimes found in the woods, are not creepy (mostly), they’re just obsessed with their cameras.

Everyone was walking around with these very fancy and impressive looking pieces of equipment in their hands, and every once in a while, someone would fondle the camera a little bit, snap a picture, show it off, and move on. Come to think of it, it was almost like a bunch of gay guys with their little dogs on a sunny Saturday morning at the dog park, except the cameras weren’t wearing sweaters that coordinate with their owner’s sweater (usually).

The Camera Gays love to talk about their pet-cameras and they’re all like “wanna see my camera? Oh, I’d like to touch your camera, I want to zoom your lens, oh, that’s a nice lens, can I screw your lens into my camera and push the button and take a picture, oh, yes, that’s very nice, do you like my dynamic range? Isn’t that nice, and what about my soft box? Don’t you wish you had a soft box like mine and look at all my flashy flashes and my wide angles! Would you like to touch my memory stick? What’s that you say? You want to take a macro of my what…?”

And it went on like that as the Camera Gays fondled each other’s cameras (which we all know are symbolic of their penises) and it was sort of weird for me because everyone knew who I was and has read this here blog, and not only did they know who I was, but they knew everything about me and have even seen me in my underwears!

It was bizarre, so naturally my first instinct was to ask for some wine immediately and some jackass, some joker, some smartypants, some cad, gave me non-alcoholic wine! But don’t worry Queefies! I sniffed it right out and insisted someone bring me something worth drinking, because either that was grape juice or I’ve got a tolerance like a motherfucker. Or, both are true.

Anyway, I’m a little disappointed because what with all those Camera Gays at the party, nary a one took my picture unless you count this one with my big, giant mouth open because if I’m not drinking a glass of wine

I’m usually stuffing my face because OH MY GOD THERE’S TOO MANY PEOPLE! EAT THESE MAGIC DORITOS AND DISAPPEAR, CRISSY!!!!

Are we feeling my highlights?

You can’t count this one because Mister is in it and it does not showcase the Many Faces of Crissy:

And Girlfriend and Homeslice were there too, and Girlfriend thought it would be fun to beat all the foreign people in the ass with a bat.

And so she did. Repeatedly.  For longer than it was cute. I guess she has a penchant for New Zealand accents.

The end.

PS: Have you ever watched your kid doing something and thought to yourself “somebody should stop that kid from doing that thing she’s doing” and then you realized that YOU are the one who should stop that kid and it’s just like “aw, crap.  Can’t someone else do it for once?”

PSS: It’s a Toy with Me day today!  I’ll get you that link in about 5 hours when the Canadians wake up.  My Mom, My Brother, And The Fishcunt

PSSS: For the rest of the pics, please go see Ben’s post! (He’s a really good photographer too. Go buy a print from him!) <<<Mister totally wrote that, but that doesn’t mean anything.  I think he’s having a bromance with Ben. They’re always admiring each other’s stuff if you know what I mean.

So yesterday was interesting because I was sitting at my kitchen counter minding my own business when my brother came in.

Somehow, as he sat down next to me, he woke up the computer and what popped onto the screen but some Ass Porn Mister left up on the desktop. Without missing a beat, my brother picked up the bottle of Wood Glue that Mister left on the counter right next to the computer and said, “you never told me Ken had trouble with his wood!  It’s because he’s using the wrong thing!  This will never work! You want it less sticky! What a dumbass.”

And then we laughed and talked about how our parents are wet blankets and are always trying to ruin our lives with their “advice” and their “concerns” and then he told me my dad was in the hospital for chest pain.

RIGHT?

Like, when were you gonna tell me that, fuck face?  And so I called Papa to get the story and he didn’t know anything yet, and I’m just picturing my dad walking into the ER, having driven himself there because everyone knows that’s what you do when you think you’re having a heart attack is go for a drive, about 100 lbs overweight eating a bacon sandwich with a ruby red face and well? It’s amazing they didn’t just bust out the crash cart right there at the registration desk. He’s never had a heart attack before and that is surprising what with his short temper and his love of all things meat.  Or ice cream. Or chips.  Or cookies.  Or anything that Tastes Good.

But he didn’t have a heart attack, you guys.  It’s a pulmonary embolism.  A really big one. And he has The p-newmonia too. He’s going to be in the hospital all week and when I called him, he was cranky as ever. He’s going to be fine. If he has the strength to complain that he’s going to be out of work for a week, he has the strength to not have a heart attack or a stroke, depending on if the clot dislodges and where it goes if it does.  So that’s my story about my dad almost dying but not quite yet so hold your condolences. I’ll keep you posted.

Let’s see…what else?

Oh, Girlfriend did a classy move. She decided to make friends with that little Twattington who gave her a hard time on the bus last week. They’re best friends now. I stayed up all night trying to figure out how to handle the situation and she knew the whole time exactly what to do. I guess I’m doing a decent enough job with this whole parenting thing. Who knew?

And Homeslice just woke up, so I gotta run.

It’s a Toy with Me day!

The Permanipplelipilis

Love you guys!

Wake up at 5.
5:15: Suck down horrible tasting coffee before giving up 1/2 way through despite desperate need for caffination because it tastes that bad. It was like someone jerked off in my coffee. Fuck you, Dunkin Donuts.  FUCK. YOU.
5:58 have two minutes to put on work out clothes, brush teeth, and check email. Computer crashes. Skip email. Put on work out gear and get ready to do Brazil Butt Lift for toned,tight, and high bum bum guaranteed!
6:02: Pick up toys from work out area. Cannot find Brazil Butt Lift DVD.
6:07: Locate Brazil Butt Lift DVD, put into player, DVD does not work.
6:07.5: Chuck piece of shit Brazil Butt Lift DVD across the room.
6:09: Sit on the floor and cry.
6:15: Settle for Turbo Jam instead, begin workout.
6:30: Mister leaving for work, hands Homeslice over to me.
6:55: Have paused Turbo Jam approximately 7 times to pull Homeslice off couch, dining room chairs, kitchen chairs, and train table, wipe Girlfriend’s ass, get her a pre-breakfast snack, and find “cup.”
7:15: Head upstairs for shower. Drag Homeslice kicking and screaming into the bathroom with selection of toys which she ignores in favor of standing with both hands on shower doors while screaming.
7:30: Dry off, get dressed in mis matched skirt and tee shirt from giant pile of laundry still waiting to be put away since motherfucking Saturday, change Homeslice’s poopy diaper while she writhes, twists, screams, and kicks at my face with shit on her heel. Brush Girlfriend’s hair while she screams bloody murder and Homeslice climbs up my leg, also screaming.
7:45: Homeslice finds horrible coffee left on my nightstand and dumps it all down her dress, my comforter, my bedskirt, and the floor.
7:47: Change Homeslice’s dress, mop floor, strip bed.
7:49 Discover that while I was cleaning the coffee mess, Homeslice has opened a bag of cotton balls and shred them all over the place. There’s also one in her mouth.
7:55: Girlfriend, for some reason, has taken off all her clothes and gotten back into what is left of my bed. I now have to fight her to get her to put them back on.
7:57: While fighting with Girlfriend, Homeslice finds the 1/2 full beer Mister left on his nightstand and dumps it into a basket of library books.
8:00: Wipe down and fan out library books.
8:20: Prepare and serve breakfast. It actually goes okay.
9:30: Go back upstairs to gather laundry. Pick up basket, carry down to first landing. Back up stairs, carry Homeslice down to landing. Pick up basket, carry to next landing. Go back up, carry Homeslice, repeat three more times until laundry is finally at washer in basement
9:55: Clean cat box, find that he’s eaten a good length of satin ribbon, gather Mister’s dirty dishes and empty beer cans from basement, collect Girlfriend’s shoes, get laundry out of washer.
10:15: Repeat stairs procedure and head out to clothes line to hang clothes out. Pull Homeslice off deck stairs approximately 897 times, give or take. Stop her from eating chalk. Stop her from walking through Alice’s Meadow Muffin Mine Field.
10:50: Go out to the garden to pick 8 million cherry tomatoes. Put 8 million cherry tomatoes into large silver bowl, while stopping to pull one out of Homeslice’s mouth about every other tomato.
11:00: Homeslice trips and falls into the bowl of 8 million cherry tomatoes, spilling the entire thing and sending them rolling all over the garden.
11:30: Re-collect tomatoes with Girlfriend’s help. Bring tomatoes in to sink to wash, open under sink cabinet to throw away paper towel and bottle of cleaning solution tumbles out of cabinet, onto floor and spills everywhere. Cleaning solution not safe for hardwoods. Douse floor with water while keeping Homeslice at bay with foot. Fail miserably, must now bathe Homeslice to get cleaning solution off her hands and arms and legs after she splashed in it.
12:13: Blogging about my morning which has been pretty typical actually while Homeslice, after a busy morning attempting suicide, is asleep in her organic freeze dried bananas. Girlfriend is having croutons and pickles for lunch and I’m totally understanding why those moms in the 1950’s were shit faced by 1:00.

The other day I was exercising while the two Princesses of Fucking Everything enjoyed their dress ups and their play kitchen. It was sooooo cute watching them together until Girlfriend swiped the Hello Kitty purse Homeslice had been filling with toy cutlery right out of her hands.

Well!

Homeslice let out a bear-like growl, picked up a plastic toy knife, and shanked her sister!

Girlfriend will think twice before gankin’ her sister’s bag again, I can tell you that. I did nothing to intervene because Homeslice had the situation well in hand, clearly.

I’m probably a better mother than you because I firmly believe that children should try to settle conflicts themselves–even if bitches have to get cut.

She’s also been going out and gettin’ crunk and eating cake till 7pm.

She’s going to be the first 14 month-old in Juvee. We’re very proud, obviously.

So yesterday I was at work and I went to Flickr so I could change my desktop background to a picture of Girlfriend and Homeslice that Mister took on Monday, and what do I find but a picture of me in my bikini top.

and I looked at the comments and it seems that Mister, my husband, added it to the group “SMALL SAGGY BOOBS.”

Yes, he did.

As I understand it, it was at the suggestion of one of his Flickr buddies.

And, as you would expect,the pictures in that group are not very pretty boob pictures. They’re random and sad with a few stunning misfits here and there, but mostly saggy boobs. Here. Go check it out if you want.

What makes this really painful for me, Queefies, is that after the glory and the splendor of the nursing boobs from last year I am left with, yes, small and saggy boobs and Mister knows this is hard for me because boobs are one of the first things people notice on a woman. When you go from a 34 D voluptuous lady to a 34 A 12 year-old boy it sucks pretty hard core.

When I saw that I had been elected to the itty bitty titty committee I started crying at my desk and I felt like everyone was laughing at me. I wonder how Mister would like it if I started a group called “I have a micropenis” and put all pictures of him in it. Knowing him, he probably wouldn’t care, but that’s all I have to compare it to, so there you go.

And he doesn’t think he did anything wrong at all and that I’m being really sensitive and he says the pictures in that group are all nice pictures and the group is owned by a German guy and so there’s something lost in translation and “SMALL SAGGY BOOBS” isn’t really what it looks like, but I still think adding my picture to something under that title, no matter what the content, is a crappy and insensitive thing to do.

Is anyone German? What’s this say? durch.-hängende wackelnde Busen

I put it into Babelfish and it said something about hanging boobs. Still not pretty.

And so I’m pretty sad to have my most insecure thoughts about my body confirmed by the publicness and my husband, so I’m thinking about putting a Paypal thingy on my sidebar so people can donate money to FUCK THE OIL SPILL, BUY CRISSY SOME TITS so people stop calling my boobs small and saggy.

The End.

PS: If Mister thinks he’s going to see my small and saggies any time soon, he can take his micropenis and get lost.
PSS: He doesn’t really have a micropenis, but if he did, I wouldn’t put a picture of it on the Internet so everyone could laugh at him.
PSSS: Actually, I would just so he knows how it feels.
PSSSS: It’s a Toy with Me day today! It’s about Major Faux Pas In The Boudouir. Apropos, no?
PSSSSS: The next Ask Girlfriend is coming up and this time it’s on video! Get your questions in!

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 ******