Archive for the 'The Fur Kids' Category

So we’ve had the bunny for almost a week now.

I’m sure there are more pictures of it than this, but Mister hasn’t uploaded them to Flickr yet.

We don’t know if it’s a girl or a boy.  We thought it was a girl, but Michele knows all about bunnies and she gave it a good look and said “we may have some boyness happening here.  Jury’s still out” and so it might be a boy bunny and not a Sally bunny at all.

I want to name it Elliot, Linus, or Tobias or Fabian.  Mister wants to name it Wayne, and  Girlfriend wants to name it Sparkle Sparkle Butterfly Sparkle.  Clearly, she thinks the bunny is a total twink and that’s fine with me because this is probably the closest I’ll ever come to having a sparkly boy bff.

Boy bunnies are kind of effeminate when you think about it anyway.  Richard thinks the hyper-sexual behavior of bunnies is just overcompensation for their inherent fluffy twinkishness.

We tackle all the important issues at our dinner parties, obviously.

Maybe we’ll name it all three names–Elliot Sparkle Sparkle Butterfly Sparkle Wayne.

Or something.

Cleaning the cage for the first time was a circus.  There was poop and hay and wood shaving stuff all over the floor, the bunny was hopping and pooping all over the place while Alice followed it around, flipping it’s butt in the air trying to get a good sniff, while Girlfriend chased them around hopping like a bunny and barking like a dog.

I totally lost track of Homeslice, but at least I remembered to close the gates on the stairs so the only danger left for her was coming across bunny poop and eating it which is exactly what happened.

Once I got the bunny back in the cage, I went looking for her and she had just popped a poop in her mouth and I was all “what are you chewing?” and she giggled at me and donchaknow, it was bunny shit.

Nice.

I am The Mother of the Year.  What you’ve heard is true.

PS: It was Mister’s birthday yesterday. On Friday I made an angel food cake that came out wonderfully, but everyone knows that’s not real cake. And then yesterday his sister made a cake from scratch and it came out perfectly.  I’m packing my bags as we speak.  I wonder if Julianne Moore is waiting for me on the other side…?

So my friend Jessica, who is a pastry genius (seriously, she along with my other friend Valerie sent me a chocolate balsamic cheesecake for my birthday last year and it was to die for. You can check out Jessica’s goodies here) said that what I needed to do was to pipe some frosting around the outside edge of the bottom cake layer to make like a frosting wall thingy so that when I frosted the top, it would hold the splooshy stuff in.

WHY DIDN’T THE DIRECTIONS SAY TO MAKE A FROSTING WALL THINGY, JESSICA?

This is excellent news because Mister’s real birthday is this coming Sunday and so I get another chance to fuck it up in some other way. I’m very excited, so be sure to look for another fascinating cake update next week.

I might not do lemon buttercream layer cake this time though. I might do something daring like…an unfrosted vanilla sheet cake. Maybe I’ll let Girlfriend toss a few sprinkles on there to make it fancy.

Aaaaaand let’s see…Princess Twattington is up to her old tricks but I avoided the whole mess and ate at my desk like I said I would. Also, I may or may not be coming down with a cold and so I may or may not have licked the rim of her coffee cup.

Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t.

Maybe I should be win an award for being the most passive aggressive person ever.

Oh, and I’m probably going to be fired pretty soon because I write about work sometimes, and I didn’t know this until a couple of people emailed me about it, but this here little blog has been written about in a real book about libraries and librarians:

It’s getting a lot of buzz and I even saw an interview with the author on Salon.com, and there’s a copy of it sitting on my boss’s desk right now, so yeah. It’s only a matter of time. I’m on page 64 in the section about poop.

I’m very proud, obviously.

And in other, more dangerous news, I think my Fed Ex guy hates me. Or my mail. Or me AND my mail because yesterday I got a package that I ordered eons ago and it was kind of fucked up. It was in a new box with a filthy scrap of the old box taped onto it. It was so damaged that you couldn’t even read my address anymore, but somebody knew where it was going because it got to me. Somebody purposely beat the hell out of my box of baby clothes from Kohl’s in an attempt to send me a warning.

I’m next probably.

This is why I prefer UPS. The delivery guy’s knees look cute in the summer uniform and nobody that cute would ever kick a mommy librarian blogger’s ass.

PS: Remember that scene from The Jerk? “It’s these CANS! HE HATES THESE CANS!!”

PSS: We have a new pet! My dad and stepmother got Girlfriend a baby bunny without my permission! Yay! (makes a gun with her hand, shoots herself in the head) Let me introduce to you the newest member of the Crissy family, Sally the Baby Bunny:

Stop laughing at me, you motherfuckers.

PSSS: It’s a Toy with Me day today. It’s all about Japanese toilet rituals because it is. Flush Your Husband Down the Toilet!

Quick update on the Karma situation:

Yesterday the basement flooded, Homeslice was a crankasaurus, Mister was in a shitty mood, Girlfriend followed me around demanding cookies, a show we bought tickets to was switched to a different performer–no refunds (fucking Ticketmaster cunts), Big Pussy ate my new favorite plant that I bought at the flower show and barfed it all over my dining room table, Alice fished a coffee filter out of my compost bucket and ran around with a diarrhea coffee buzz like you read about, BUT it was raining like a sonofabitch so she refused to go out which means she had diarrhea anyone? anyone? all over the house, AND I came down with a cold and a wicked sore throat. I can take anything, but a sore throat really pisses me off.

So yes. The universe pretty much shat on my head.

Don’t kill ladybugs. Roger that.

So on Tuesday morning I came downstairs after behaving on Monday night like it was a Saturday night (are you following this?) and drinking way, way, too much wine during Pot of Crap Dinner That Didn’t Actually Involve Eating any Crap Until We Were All Drunk And Cleaned Out My Snack Cabinet with The Micheles to find this:

Fabular Rumm was not totally trashed by the little children

which was a tremendous relief to me because there’s nothing worse than spending an hour on your hands and knees picking Barbie shoes and sticky bits of lollipop out of the rug.  Fuck that.

What disturbed me, Queefies, is this little gift left for me by Big Pussy, who we will refer to from now on  as ”Crap Bag”

What.

An.

Asshole.

And he thought he was being helpful by motivating me to get off my ass and post my first DAILY STYLE photo.  Ya-ta-da-da!!!!  There it was.

(See?  I told you guys you didn’t want the stuff you make anywhere near my deadvomitmouse pictures.)

And so I called Mister because when there’s a dead mouse in the middle of your living room and you have a hangover, you’re going to need some support.

Me: Benny killed a mouse, ate it, and barfed it on the rug.

Mister: Yeah?  You gonna clean it up?

Me: NO WAY!

Mister: You can’t let it sit there all day.  Clean it up.

Me: Can’t you come home and do it?

Mister: You want me to come home from work to clean up a dead mouse?

Me: Oh my god THANK YOU!!!! YES!!! HURRY!!!

Mister:  I don’t think so.  Get some rubber gloves and some paper towels and pick it up.

Me: No.

Mister: I have to go.  Deal with it.

Me: HOW CAN YOU DO THIS TO ME????  YOU DON’T LOVE ME!!!!

But it was too late.  He had already hung up on me.

Clearly, Mister is not very supportive of me during Times of Crisis and if you can, please remind me to write that down on my divorce papers right after “chronic masturbator” and “steals my clothes.”

So I did what anyone in my situation would do.

I left the house and went to Target.

And I shopped up and down and all over and then when I had bought all there was to buy, I had to go home and face the deadvomitmouse.

Dun-dun-duuuuuhhhhhh…

So I went into the dining room and looked at the mouse from a safe distance and tried formulate a plan for how to remove it without having to enter the room or touch it and coming up blank I called every friend I could think might be home and nobody was (thanks a lot. Cunts), and so then I really had to face deadvomitmouse.

ALONE.

Dun-dun-duuuuuhhhhhh(version 2.0)….

So I got Homeslice all situated in her exersaucer

That’s an exersaucer for you uninitiated people.  I don’t know if I spelled it right.  I don’t care if I spelled it right because I’m really just excited I remembered what it’s called.  I usually just call it “the thing.”

And I put on Mister’s gigantic rubber gloves because I’ll be damned if I use mine on something that gross and I got out the paper towels and my salad tongs and a Wal-Mart bag and I put on my sunglasses ( I don’t know why but I felt I needed eye protection) and I wrapped a scarf around my mouth and nose in case the mouse had really died of The Black Death and not by Crap Bag at all and I went into the living room.

And I put the paper towels on top of the mouse and started to reach for it with the tongs but then I got grossed out and I shrieked and jumped away and called Mister back.

Me: I can’t believe you’re making me do this.

Mister: STOP CALLING ME!

And then he hung up on me A SECOND TIME!!!!

I can’t believe it either!

So after a lot more shrieking and jumping around my living room going “ew!ew!ew!ew!” I finally managed to do the deed with no help from anyone and without even throwing up.

But I’ll tell you what.  I’ll remember this, Mister and Crap Bag.

Next time either of you want a little pussy petting you can fucking forget it.

Let Crissy ask you something, Queefies.

Is it just Crissy or does this thing scare the piss out of you?

Right?

Imagine that little fucker falling out of a tree at you! Crissy would lose her mind.

It’s called an Aye-Aye and it’s from Madagascar and look at his little hands!

That’s so not right!

The babies are sort of cute,

But baby things usually are cute.

Even baby gila monsters are kind of cute in a get that freaky looking thing the hell away from me sort of  way.

But Crissy thinks God is and always was a really big pot head, and when he created the Aye-Aye he must have been smoking some particularly good KB with um, St. Francis, and was all “Hahahahahahaha! Yo check this out, mang! Hahahahahahahaha! This is some fuckin’ sick shit right here! Folks gonna be all scared of this thing and like, run away from it and shit! Hahahahahaha!” And St. Francis was all “God, you know what? You one crazy muthafucka!”

And then they went to White Castle.

The end.

Happy Monday Queefies!!

Crissy’s weekend was soooo bizzy, bizzy, bizzy and fun she hardly knows where to start!

First, Crissy went to a place called Spring Lake and it was $3.00 to get into the most charming little beach evah!

Whilst there, Crissy consumed an ice cream novelty.

It was delicious.

And there they have this cute little arcade full of antique games that still work sort of.  Crissy liked this one because it reminded her of her house:

And it does so because evidence is mounting that Crissy’s house has ghosties in it.  The other day, Mister and Crissy pulled up in the driveway and got out of the car and heard the most supernatural sound.  It was sort of like a gurgle and a shriek all at once only it was not Alice or Big Pussy and Crissy would say it was a death rattle coming from Guilt Fish but everyone knows Guilt Fish don’t  do death rattles so it wasn’t him.

Girlfriend heard it too and is convinced it came from a monster in the basement but Crissy thinks that’s silly because clearly it’s the ghost of David.

David, dear Queefies, is the guy who used to live in the Crissy’s house who died in the house after a long battle with The Cancer about five years ago this August, and a couple of weeks ago a visiting nurse showed up at the door looking to take care of him.

WTF?

Creepy.

And then yesterday Mister went to pick up his brand new Versace sunglasses that took forever to come in because they are so special and what was on the counter but the nose piece and a tiny screw just sitting there very neatly as if  they had been removed by someone or something or DAVID.

New stuff like that doesn’t just fall apart.  You have to take it apart.

RIGHT?

And last night while Crissy was up with Homeslice, she heard someone on the stairs which is an unmistakable sound and it wasn’t Crissy’s imagination because Alice heard it too and even got off the bed to go and investigate and Big Pussy was on Crissy’s pillow so it wasn’t him and it wasn’t Guilt Fish coming back from the dead to haunt Crissy because everyone knows Guilt Fish don’t just climb out of toilets and walk up the stairs so it wasn’t him either.

It was DAVID.

And somebody keeps making Crissy’s bathroom scale read all sorts of funny numbers that Crissy does not recognize and so that must be David too.

The more Crissy thinks about it, the more Crissy thinks David is responsible for all sorts of things that are all shaquaed around the house and Girlfriend swears it’s not her who leaves Barbies and little hair accessories all over the place and Crissy is starting to believe her because you never know Queefies. Maybe David liked playing Barbie dress ups.

Mister keeps telling Crissy to stop talking about David because he thinks she’ll summon him or some such nonsense and Crissy tells him he’s clearly insane because DAVID IS ALREADY HERE!

And this is very exciting to Crissy because it means that if it keeps up she’ll be able to call Ghost Hunters and they’ll come with their funny beeping machines and their Rhode Island accents and check Crissy’s shit out for her and tell her if it’s David or if it’s just her oil burnah or her gahbage disposal making all the fuss.

Crissy will keep you posted and you Queefs should probably start watching Ghost Hunters because it’s an awesome show and it will totally give you the heebie jeebies and do you think that David and Crissy’s Grandmother Helen watch Crissy and Mister make Sexy Time?

Crissy swears she can hear people giggling in the corner…

After a sudden and mysterious illness, there has been a tragedy in Crissy’s immediate family. 

The Rainbow colored Betta fish Crissy and Mister bought for Girlfriend because they felt guilty for having another baby and ruining the sweet only child gig she had going has passed on to the Great Fish Bowl in the Sky. Crissy thinks it died because Mister kept insisting it didn’t need to be fed EVERY day and Mister insists it died because Crissy changed its water too abruptly. The truth is Queefies, that whatever the cause, The Guilt Fish is dead.

DEAD! DEAD! DEAD!

R.I.P. Guilt Fish

Sniffle.

Guess what you guys?

It’s gonna fuckin’ rain today!

SURPRISE!

There are only so many coloring projects Girlfriend can do and there are only so many closets Crissy can clean out and so the sun needs to make an appearance or else there’s gonna be trouble up in this bitch.

Seriously.

So yesterday the adorable and very loyal Queef Marie, inquired about Frank and Crissy thinks she’s psychic because Crissy had planned on writing about Frank today because he’s really done it this time, you guys.

Did Crissy mention that she planted all her garden stuff from seed back in March because Crissy doesn’t fuck around with no tomatoes from the Home Depot.  She makes her own tomatoes and shit.

Crissy is hardcore.

And Crissy is about to get a little bit more hardcore because Frank the Woodland Douchebag Asshole has eaten his last motherfucking flower.  Remember how last year he ate Crissy’s zinnias and some other stuff that she planted from her Papa’s generations old seeds?  And remember how he waited until they bloomed to eat them?

You do?

You guys hang on Crissy’s every word, don’t you?

Well last year Crissy and Mister were driving through Newport when Crissy saw the most gorgeous orange poppies

and Crissy fell in love with them and she said that she wanted to try planting them this year and so she did and you know where this is going don’t you?

FUCKING FRANK.

He waited until they bloomed and then he destroyed every last one of them.  Crissy planted an entire section of her garden with poppies and now there’s nothing left and she would have taken a picture of the devastation but she was so sad and weepy that she just ripped out the dead stems before she could get a photo.  It’s just as well because the photo would have been crummy because Crissy could barely see through her tears to take a picture.  It happened a week ago but Crissy is still bitter and maybe a little bit obsessed about it and Mister is tired of hearing her say “my poppies! That asshole!” just out of nowhere at random times throughout the day.

It’s like Frank is tapped into some sort of psychic thread into Crissy’s brain and he knows what Crissy’s favorite is and he just goes for that because the poppies are the only thing he touched.

Well, he did take a nibble of the mint but that’s probably because poppies give woodchucks The Halitosis.

Everyone knows that.

But he’s Satan’s Woodland Creature, Queefs.

And remember how Crissy’s Papa advised her to get all gangsta on Frank and shoot the motherfucker and Crissy is paraphrasing a little bit here but she thinks Papa’s exact words were “just get your shotgun out and shoot him.  That’s what I do, and then I run like heck into the house because I don’t want the policeman to catch me.”

Isn’t Papa just adorable?

And remember how Crissy was all ” I can’t shoot Frank!  That’s not humane!”

Not. Any. More.

There’s gonna be bloodshed the likes of which will make the Janjaweed look like a bunch of little pussies.

Do you guys think that tile is graphic enough?

Crissy isn’t sure but you have to check this bullshit the fuck out.

It’s 4 am at Crissy’s house and Crissy has been up all night and not even with Homeslice. It was Alice who was clinging to Crissy’s leg and hyper-panting all night only to get up while Crissy was feeding Homeslice to follow Mister downstairs to go outside when she had explosive bloody diarrhea all down the stairs and it was loud you guys and there was a lot of it and when it was all over Crissy was just like “dooooood” and Mister was all “This is so fucking retarded” and then he went to get the paper towels.

And Crissy was just glad it wasn’t on her 1,000 thread count sheets or her favorite duvet from Ikea because her motto is “don’t sleep in a bed full of shit” (sorry bed shitting Queefs, but shitting the bed is just icky) and so that is the good news but the bad news is that Mister had to clean it up all by himself because Crissy was feeding Homeslice but don’t worry. Crissy paid for her comment she made to Mister about being “real sorry (she) couldn’t help clean up the mess, but somebody’s got to feed the hungry baby or she might just starve to death” because at that instant Homeslice barfed all down Crissy’s chestal area.

And Mister actually had the nerve to laugh at Crissy and he went “ha,ha” just like that at her.

What a dick.

And so that is what happened at Crissy’s house at 4 this morning and before any of you Queefs go getting jealous that your life isn’t as fun and glamorous as Crissy’s and that your house doesn’t smell like Satan’s colon just know that at this moment Alice is on Crissy’s bed licking her bloody diarrhea asshole and Crissy is waiting for the Vet’s office to open so she can report to them about Alice’s poopy stomach and Crissy’s asshole already hurts because you know this means Alice needs expensive tests and procedures which Crissy cannot afford because her maternity leave is not paid and if Crissy has to go back to work after only 3 weeks because the motherfucking dog had a dietary indiscretion and ate a fucking diaper or diaper shit or a diaper wipe or some fucking thing and now needs expensive surgery to remove it Crissy is going to be pissed.

Like, epic kind of pissed.

Is it really only Wednesday?

Ugh.

Crissy is not pleased.

Just like Crissy was not pleased the other day when she got home to find that somebody had forgotten to lock up the kitchen trash can and Crissy came home to a hot mess very much like this one:

And Alice also likes to help mommy clean the kitty box and so under the dining room table she had saved a few little nuggets of joy for later because when eating kitty box chewies you must always do it in the dining room on Crissy’s great grandmother’s custom made antique rug and you must always leave some behind because it’s not polite to finish everything on your plate. Or rug, as the case may be.

Everybody knows that.

But that’s not all there was Queefies!

Oh, no no.

We’re just getting started!

There was also the compost bin that she dragged out from the trash cabinet, chewed off the lid, and spread corn silk and banana peel and coffee grinds and egg shells all over the place.

But these things that Alice did were not so bad because Big Pussy had an even better surprise for your poor, tired, belly heavy Crissy to come home to after a long day at work.

You see, Crissy is starting to think that that cabinet must be a gateway to Satan’s fire-y asshole because inside of it there is evidence that the Crissys have a mouse and this evidence is mostly in the form of, anyone? anyone? mouse shit.  And when Crissy discovered that she wrote on her message board to “KILL THE RAT!!!” nice and big so Mister would see it and, you know, kill it.  

Well, Big Pussy can read, apparently, because that’s just what he did.

He killed it.

He killed it good, you guys.

Crissy doesn’t like to think that the mouse got hurt but it’s better that Big Pussy did it instead of Mister doing it because at least when Big Pussy does it, it’s nature’s way.

And he ate half of it which of course he barfed up in a bloody and furry mass on great grandma’s rug right next to the kitty box chewies, the corn silk, the banana peels, the coffee grinds, and the egg shells.

“But Crissy, what happened to the other half of the mouse?”

Well Queefs, evidently he’s trying to get ready for bikini season just like everyone else and so in addition to being bulimic, he also practices portion control and so he left the mouse’s lower half right with the rest of the mess. There were these little legs and a tail sticking up out of the pile of disgusting.

And do you know what Crissy did?

She picked up her keys and her purse and her Girlfriend and turned around and left the house because really?

Fuck that.

And she briefly considered burning the house down because that seemed easier than cleaning up the mess(es) but she was too tired to look for the kerosene (just out of curiosity, is that the best thing to use? Crissy has no idea because believe it or not, arson is one thing she’s never done. Give her time.) so she went to Target instead because that’s what Crissy does when she’s upset.