Welcome to day 2 of Crissy Wants Week!

Woot! Woot!

We could do this forever because as Mister I am sure will tell you, Crissy is an endless bag of need and want and whine, whine, whine.

And what does Crissy want now?

DANCING LESSONS!

Because I’m a wonderful dancer but I think my raw talent needs to be honed and disciplined just a little bit.

The neighbor Michele and I just signed the girls up for a tap/jazz dance class and well, I’m feeling a little jealous.

I mean look ad teh widdle shoozies she gets to wear!

I’m totally taking that silly little bow off though. It’s just gratuitous.

And when we brought the girls to be fit for their dancing shoes Crissy got a little nostalgic for the days when she was just a wee little Crissy and spent Saturday mornings in tap and ballet classes.

She just loved her tap shoes and she would flap-tap-tap on the kitchen floor until her mother’s ears bled.

Good times…

And so I tell my friend Lynne that I want to take tap lessons and she tells me tap is gay.

Well, that’s sort of the point. I get to tap my heart out and be Crissy of the Dance AND possibly meet a nice gay. How fun would that be? Tons of fun, Queefs. Tons. But here’s what stuck in my craw. Lynne takes Jazzercize for Jehovah’s sake! I’m talking the kind with Jazz hands and the whole shebang. That’s gayer, I think.

And so it started the following cacophony of eecards.

And then she came out of her office and handed me this:

And now we can’t decide what is gayest. Tap, Jazzercise, having an argument via eecards, or holding a Gay-Off at the library.

You be the judge QUEEFS.

We place it in your capable hands.

Loser must go with the winner to her respective class.

It’s the new blond.

I’m very serious about my new hair. Tell me you love it or I’ll cut you. SAY IT!

I color it with mostly natural Tresstisse with just a little bit of methamphetamine mixed in.

There’s no fan blowing my hair to make it all light and flowy like this. That’s what the meth is for!

Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!

Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

I could do this all day…

Eat your fucking heart out Carrot Top.

I’m ba-ack.

I’m feeling a little better but keep all your get well cards and emails coming. I could take a turn for the worse and then you’ll feel like an asshole for not sending anything while I was still alive to read it.

Jesus I fucking hate being sick.

And while I lay dying and in between times when I had to rub one out because of my smutty new book I had some time to think, Internettians.

I have decided that what I really, really need more than anything is a House Bitch.

Two of my favorite blog friends, Miss Kiala and Miss Melissa, have newly acquired interns and I want one too.

Only what I need is more like a House Bitch than an intern. I think in the olden days they called them Scullery Maids and they had to do all the stuff nobody else wanted to do like clean the toilets and give the Master a blow job.

But I don’t think I’d require my House Bitch to do things like that.

At least not to start with.

And I don’t think I would make him/her grocery shop or wipe my bottom because I sort of enjoy those things. Particularly the bottom wiping.

(Did I mention all the anal penetration in my smutty book?)

And the grocery store is good too. Because of well, you know, my Vinnie. I caught him calling an old lady “doll” the other day, but I’m going to overlook it. He was just being nice so she wouldn’t tell the manager he sliced her cheese too thin again.
Right?
He’s not giving that shit out to all the ladies…
Is he?

I hope not because “do not flirt with a dude who fucks old chicks” is my motto.

I think I’d have my House Bitch do things that I find unpleasant. Like, load and unload the dishwasher, clean the kitty box, and get the stains out of Mister’s underpants. Not that he has any, mind you, but if he did, that’s what my Bitch would do. But he doesn’t wear underpants so it would probably never come up. Also I think my Bitch would have to do my work job for me too. Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve just sat in the break room looking at People magazine?

Fucking ages.

The job will of course be clothing optional but only if the person is cute. Applicants must be a hot 19 year old boy over the age of 18 I think because there are sometimes adult language and situations at Crissy’s house… hmmm…what else? There’s no actual pay check, per se, but the glamor and the chance to be near the QOFE is way better than money.

Everyone knows that.

So I’m going to write up the job description and post it on Craigslist because that’s where I’ll get the highest quality applicants, I’m sure, and I’ve already typed up a few interview questions.

Check it:

• Do you smoke?
• If yes, what do you smoke, how much did you score, and is your supply reliable?
• How do you feel about Moo Shu Tofu? Answer loudly and use hand gestures as my vegan diet has left me too weak to hear.
• How many drinks could Crissy’s Bitch mix if a Crissy’s Bitch could mix drinks?
• Do you carry bar tending equipment on you at all times?
• On mornings I’m too tired to do it myself, would you be willing to work out for me while I eat the pancakes you made for me from scratch and watch you from my couch? I promise to make helpful suggestions such as “lift your leg higher” and “could you move your ass over to the left for me dear, you’re blocking my view of that annoying yet strangely attractive Denise Austin.”
• Are you willing to undergo extensive medical testing for the sole purpose of obtaining pain pills or anti-anxiety medication for Crissy because her cunt doctor doesn’t believe that her menstrual cramps are severe enough to require liquid Percocet?
• How do you feel about spankings?

a. Thank you ma’am, may I have another?

b. Ow! Whatareyoudoing!?!

This is my first time interviewing someone, so could you guys help me think of a few more questions please?

Also you have to go see me at Mom in Real Life’s today.

I’m a hoot!

Storyland was a blast y’all!

Look how excited we were to be there after driving for eleventy hundred thousand million hours!

And the kids were happy too!

It was a very nice time, really and we were all very, very glad we went. But your Crissy has a little secret to tell you Internettians:

I do not do roller coaster or any other amusement type rides where I’m might shit myself and die.

I am not a trooper.

Take the Turtle ride for example. It’s like one of those teacup rides that spin out of control whilst traveling at breakneck speed in a rotating wave-like motion?

Yeah.

Nooooooo.

Against my better judgment, I figured what the hell? After all, these things are meant for Preschoolers!

But not. for. Crissy.

Ahem.

Here are the neighbors enjoying themselves and being like all normal people on an amusement park ride:

Awww…so normal…

Here’s me having a pre-turtle anxiety attack:

And here’s me screaming my fucking head off:

And here is my preschooler:

Enjoying it!

Lucky for me, someone else made them stop the ride. Either that or they heard Crissy screaming and stopped it for fear someone had become entangled and was having their face ripped off in the machine. Whatever, but I took that as my queue to get the fuck off the spinning turtle of death and stand on the sidelines doing this instead:

It was good and only made me a little dizzy instead of a lot dizzy. Plus I was able to get video of my family and our friends not screaming.

And I did not shit myself, throw up, or die.

Amazing.

And for the remainder of our two day trip I stuck to rides I knew I could handle.

Like this:

And this:

And we saw Cinderella’s castle, aka Mine:

Where I finally caught her sitting in my chair and I just rolled up and whacked her upside her head and said “get out of my chair!” And Cinderella was all “roger that” and so she gathered up her skirts and moved and I didn’t have to shank the bitch.

And the peoples at Storyland said “All Hail! The Queen of Fucking Everything!” and they were very sweet to me.

And the children practically took care of each other the whole time so it was very relaxing.

We only had to lock them in the pumpkin thing for like a couple of hours and that was it.

What?

They loved it!

So yeah. That was my “vacation.”

PS: I want to send a shout out to stoogepie and Mom in Real Life for their fantastic guest posts! Thank you guys!

PSS: If you want to see more fascinating pictures go to my stupid husband’s photo blog.

Oy.

I think I’m gaining weight because I’ve plateaued with my yoga. Even though I work out plenty, it’s not really doing any good anymore and I am not yet ready to face the truth about the correlation between my boozing and the increasing size of my ass.

So on Sunday, out of desperation, I did this tape:

Remember this bad boy?

Back in the 80’s it was like totally radical!

It’s the only one of my old tapes that I kept because it’s just too awesome to throw away. My mom and I worshiped at the altar of big hair and shiny leotards every morning.

But to be honest with you Internet, the tape just didn’t do it for me because

#1 It’s really fucking stupid
#2 I can’t understand why Jane’s hair doesn’t move even as she’s grapevineing and chicken turning like a motherfucker. I find it distracting.
#3 I think this would be more challenging:

After I finished the tape I felt really blue balled and so I did the yoga. That makes 100 minutes spent working out.

Woot! Woot!

See my halo?

So I typed my exercise total for the day into Weight Watchers and it was only worth a measly 3 points. THAT’S IT! If you don’t do weight watchers you don’t know this but 3 points ain’t shit.

And then yesterday I decided I would become A Person Who Runs. I would like to tell you that your Crissy ran like the wind! But if I did it would be a mistruth and “lie just a little bit, but not too much” is my motto.

I ran for 10 minutes because you have to start somewhere and it was only like a mile and change because I thought I might throw up and die. I set small goals for myself along the way like “don’t collapse before you reach the stop sign up ahead” or “wait till you get to that BMW and you can throw up in the window” or “catch up to the teenage girl doing the walk of shame home in some dude’s boxer shorts and gasp tramp! at her as you run by.”

The goal setting was a complete success as it got me home without quitting like a big pussy. But you know something Internet? Running sucked.

I am Not A Person Who Runs.

So I ordered some videos from the library and they haven’t come in yet, but I think what we’re going to do is I’m going to show you how I’m doing and you are going to tell me if you think it’s working for me or not.

This is the first workout I think I’ll try:

That’s right Internet. It’s sexy time.

Wait for it…