Crissy

Masturbation is not a Hobby.

I’m bored Internet.

Bored, bored, bored.

I need a hobby.

At first the blog was a hobby but now it’s like a second job. Not that I’m gonna quit or anything like that so don’t reach for that box of tissues just yet.

I just…I don’t know. I need something to do.

I thought about knitting, but I’ve tried that and it always comes out looking like I did it with my feet. Same thing with gift wrapping. I know it’s not a hobby, per se, but I’m just all feet when it comes to doing anything like that that requires…what’s the word…

Skill.

Or coordination. Or both.

I mean you’ve seen my dancing, right?

See?

I just don’t have the patience for that kind of stuff that requires taking time to learn and do things properly.

There was the time I tried shaving fun and interesting animal shapes into my pubes and I was actually very talented at it until there was an unfortunate incident and I damn near lost a labia.

Important safety tip: Baby oil is slippery.

Creating Pubeanimals is not for amateurs.

I tried shoplifting as a hobby for a while but that’s risky. There could be jail time involved if I get sloppy and I’m pretty sloppy most of the time so it’s bound to happen. I cannot go to jail. I’d be exactly like Private Benjamin. Only I’d be in jail and not the military.

And you know I’d wind up being some Diesel Dyke’s girlfriend on the first day, right? I’m too pretty to go to jail!

Although I wouldn’t mind shanking a bitch…

hmmm….

No. Shanking bitches is not a hobby. It’s more like a lifestyle choice.

What about Drunk Driving?

No. Same problem as shoplifting and shanking bitches.

THE LAW.

They’re always making things difficult.

I don’t want a conventional hobby like Fly Fishing, which I think has something to do with the porn industry but I’m not certain, or Macramé Pot Holder Making or Chinese Aphrodisiac Cooking.

I want something that has pizazz!

Like, I don’t know. Pole Dancing? That could actually lead to some monetary gain at some point too. You know, if I get good and don’t drop myself on my melon.

It’s soft and it bruises easily.

Anything that involves injury or the potential risk of injury even if it’s just a paper cut or a flesh wound is right out.

Also, anything having to do with fire or flames is right out too. I’m highly flammable so Candle Making or Fire Eating are both a no go.

So I’m going to be thinking of this but in the meantime I’m open to any suggestions you might have.

Oh, and it can’t have anything to do with being out of doors and in nature. They have bugs at nature and I don’t like bugs.

PS: My husband stole my blog post for today because he’s a douchewad. So go see him and yell “Thieving Ass Monkey” at him. He’ll love that.

PSS: Also I’m at Nilsa’s talking about how drunk I was at my wedding. COME AND SEE ME. I’m mad at you guys who didn’t come to see me on Monday when I guest posted. That’s fine. I know who my friends are.

Are You There Vodka? It’s Me, Crissy.

I’m worried.

That’s really nothing new.

Your Crissy worries herself to death. Actually, to drink, but whatever.

Today I am worried because:

I have eleventy million things going on right now and I’m really, really stressed out. I don’t know how I am going to do it all.

We have a billion things that need to be done to this house to get it ready for winter and we have zero billion monies with which to do them.

I’m really very upset because Girlfriend starts preschool summer camp on Monday and it’s the first time she’s ever been left with strangers and so I’m freaking the fuck out and every time I think about it I start to fucking cry.

My daughter has been very aggressive with her bff Alena and yesterday she threw a ball at her face and gave her a bloody nose. I’m beside myself with worry about whether Girlfriend’s evil behavior is because she’s actually a little fire-monster or if she’s acting out for some reason or if she’s really that under socialized that she thinks it’s cool to beat on her friends. And what will happen to her in preschool?

I have four parties to go to this weekend and I don’t know how I’m going to get through it all because I’m so tired I’m slurring my words and that’s without vodka.

I have to work on Saturday which pisses me off to no end. People should never be forced to work on Saturdays. It’s just cruel!

Will my husband ever put the toilet paper on right? He does it under. UNDER! Can you imagine? It goes OVER! Anything else is just sheer lunacy.

I’d really like to get laid but by the time I get to bed I just pass out. Clitoris be damned.

I’m too busy/tired to even rub one out.

I swear if I see a neighbor out of doors I’m going to wind up running out there and humping his leg in the middle of the afternoon because Mister is still at work. Which neighbor, it matters not. I’ll even take the big guy. I bet his leg would feel like fluffy pillows…

And if those Jehovah boys come to my door again today I’m going to make men out of them for sure.

I don’t know Internet.

I need some sex and I need about six of these and I’ll be right as rain, an expression I do not understand:

I’ll be home all day Internet.

Bring it.

Bring it all.

Slippery Dick and Baby Beluga

As if my Fourth of July wasn’t fascinating enough for you, on Sunday we went to the Mystic Aquarium to celebrate Girlfriend’s bff Elena’s birthday. Elena is the neighbor’s adorable daughter and her third birthday is today. Happy Birthday Elena!

Girlfriend and I had a lot of fun shopping for her gifts and we wound up getting her these,

which I wish they made in mommy size because I really want them. BAD. Normally I would object to grown women wearing any sort of Disney character clothing because nothing says “I have the mentality of a preschooler” like wearing Winnie the Poo across your tits, but I can make an exception in this case.

We got her a bunch of other stuff too and I’d tell you about it, but you don’t care.

And after she opened her gifts, we went off to the aquarium to see the baby Beluga Whale and some other floaty things. Girlfriend fell head over heels in love with the turtles so I think we have to get her one. Does anyone have a turtle? Are they gross?

And we saw one of these

which can easily become one of these

if not paid proper attention to.

And so then I touched the neighbor’s bum while his wife held Girlfriend up to see the fishies

because it seemed like the neighborly thing to do and he seemed to like it and so I think we’ll be very good friends and we already smoke crack together and now there’s some bum touching and it’s all very, very nice and very, very friendly-like.

But Crissy fears it won’t last long. As soon as they realize that every undignified moment of their lives since we moved into the neighborhood has somehow involved the Crissys, they’ll move. And that will make me sad because there’s nothing better than touching the neighbor’s bum.

Oh, and crap! I almost forgot that maybe I’m going to win Surviving Myself’s story contest Next Monday and them I’m up on Back Fence PDX Next Wednesday writing about how the Catholics fucked me up, and then I’m guest blogging for the lovely Miss Nilsa toward the end of the month. I’ll remind you when the time comes so don’t worry about penciling it into your calendars and picking out the perfect outfits just yet.

So, yeah. I’m so popular I can hardly stand it.

Happy Tuesday n’ shit.

And There Was A Parade

On Friday Girlfriend and I found ourselves on a parade float.

It wasn’t a Queen of Fucking Everything celebration and worship parade, per se, but it was close and I had hoped to have a video for you but Mister is a retarded ass monkey forgetful husband and left the video recording camera at home. I’m saddened by this because in still pictures you cannot hear the crowd cheering for me and shouting things like “God save the Queen!” and “Nice ass!” and also “throw candy over here!” which is one I’ve never heard before, but I’m sure it meant something nice and worshipful.

You’ll use your imagination though won’t you Internet, and imagine the cheering crowds?

Hear them?

Catch the Reading Bug at the Queen of Fucking Everything’s Library was the theme for the float and Girlfriend and her friends Ryland and Nathaniel were dressed as adorable little bumble bees.

That’s the lady I call my “boss” riding in front of me and the library “director” in the back. I find it makes people feel good when I call them things like boss and director, and officer.

Girlfriend and I thoroughly enjoyed seeing all the people who came out to worship us celebrate Independence Day.

And the paparazzi chased us down again and tried to interview us, but Girlfriend was unwilling to speak to them and shouted “NO!” at the man with the microphone and then she threw candy in his face.

That’s right, Girlfriend.

We don’t grant interviews to paparazzi scum.

And then after that we went to a party and had a lovely time drinking jello shots and eating cookies at my friend Stacy’s house and Girlfriend got bombalooed on Capri Suns and had to be carried home.

What did you do this weekend?

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?