Archive for the 'Toy With Me On Wednesdays' Category

I wish I could tell you I have some health related updates and answers for you guys, but I don’t.

I still have swollen lymph nodes and I even have a few new ones, I still have boob juice, and I still have double periods. Is that everything? I think that’s everything. Sometimes I forget all the stuff and remember there was another thing in my pile of ailments.

Oh, right. There is now a lump on my thyroid that my OBGYN said is another lymph node. She’s testing for all kinds of stuff now too. I get that bloodwork back on the 18th.

I went for an MRI on the 30th to see about the toomah.

It was okay—the MRI, not the toomah. I don’t know about the toomah yet. I only started crying when they showed me the cage they were going to put over my face before sliding me into the machine. I thought “Open MRI” meant like, you know, OPEN? But no. It doesn’t. It means the sides of the thing are open so you don’t go into a tunnel, but you are still enclosed very closely AROUND YOUR HEAD. Had I known there would be a cage put over my head I never would have shown up for that thing conscious. Instead I popped a Xanax and went about my way, Mister at my side and a guided relaxation CD in my hand.

I bumped into the glass on the receptionist’s window because it was so clean I couldn’t see it. I felt like a Major Asshole. Then I handed her my credit card instead of my insurance card and I only filled out one of the three forms she asked me to do. I handed in INCOMPLETE WORK!

She must have thought I was a moron, so, to cover it up, I told her I took a Xanax. I don’t know if that helped my case or just made me look like a bigger douche.

And then I got into the MRI machine room thing and saw the cage they were going to put on my head and I lost it a little bit. But the guy was really nice and very soothing and he helped me through the whole thing. I couldn’t hear my CD though because the machine was so loud. It kind of sucked being injected with dye with the cage thing still on my head. I don’t like needles.

I hate them, actually. I hate them even more when there’s a thing holding my head still and I can’t see what’s going on.

But I survived it, you guys. I survived it. Mister held my hand the whole time and it took about 30 minutes. I got to see my brain afterward. I’m no doctor, but it looked okay to me. I won’t find out if my actual doctor agrees until the 11th. I guess the good news is that there is a brain in there. We wondered about that, so that’s a relief. Mister made jokes to the MRI guy like “I’ve been trying to figure out what’s going on inside my wife’s head for years!” because he’s fucking funny.

I’m just glad he didn’t try to bring his camera because I’d rather not have pictures of me wearing a Hannibal Lector mask and a blue hospital gown. He thinks I’m a bitch for interfering with his art. I just think we can stop at that picture he posted of my placenta and have that be enough of enough.

Other than that scary MRI bullshit, we had a good Christmas which I was able to actually enjoy thanks to the Lexapro starting to work, and a wonderful New Year’s Eve. THE Melissa Lion came with Fancyhats and Archie and stayed the night. We ate absolute crap food almost continuously for like, 10 hours, and drank way too much champagne. Basically we did all the stuff you’re supposed to do on New Year’s Eve except we were all wearing pajamas and didn’t give a shit about our hair. We had a wonderful time together and I’m really sad that they don’t live near us. We would hang with them all the time and Melissa would never hurt me or abandon me. I know she wouldn’t. Girlfriend and Archie totally hit it off and didn’t have one single argument. That’s pretty remarkable because just between you and me, Girlfriend has attitude. But Archie has the same type of attitude. It’s like they were made for each other!

The Melissa Lions didn’t even notice that for breakfast on New Year’s Day I totally bought pre-made fruit salad and then I had Mister cut it up smaller because they always do huge chunks (seriously whose mouth is that big? Are they making it for a yeti?) and then I had him dump it into a bowl and made it look like we made it ourselves when really, no such thing had occurred.

Sshhhhhh!

So, in summary, I’m not dead yet, we had a really great holiday season and I faked a fruit salad and fed it to The Melissa Lions.

The end.

PS: The title to this post has absolutely nothing to do with anything except that Mister said it while on the phone with me last night and I thought it was funny, so there you have it. That’s the funniest thing about this whole post other than me bumping into the receptionist window and telling everyone I came across that I took a Xanax.

PSS: Today is a Toy with Me day. It’s one of my last as I just found out that they are changing their format back to doing only toy reviews, so enjoy it while it’s here. I’ll link you up when that becomes available.

PSSS: Why My Vagina Is Steaming

Come see me at the Toy with Mes.
THE CUDDLE PARTY PHENOMENON

Are those public bathroom toilet seats as yucky as you think?

The Dreaded Public Restroom

It’s an impromptu Toy with Me day!!!

It’s about all my slutty Halloween costumes.

DRESSING LIKE A SLUT FOR HALLOWEEN

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!

Shhhhh!

Lynne and I are going on a stakeout. We spent all day planning it yesterday.

This is what we’re wearing:

Except we got so excited planning it, we forgot why we were going on a stakeout. I doesn’t really matter though because just getting a chance to wear some pretty kick ass outfits is justification in and of itself as far as I’m concerned. And we can hide in the bushes and then, at that critical moment, we can jump out and shout “AH-HA!!!”

That’d be cool.

Also, we’ll bring snacks like Ring-Dings and Twinkies so we have them in case we get hungry because if you leave a stakeout to go do drive through you could miss the thing you’re staking out and then you’re fucked.

Maybe we’ll just pick some random person’s house and just go hide in their bushes. It would be a shame to waste our outfits and delicious snackfoods.

Let’s see…what else did I want to tell you guys?

Oh!

I’m trying to find a babysitter for Homeslice for one day a week and it’s harder than it seems, you guys.

Remember the scene from Mrs.Doubtfire where Daniel calls Miranda and does all the voices to scare the shit out of her?

That’s EXACTLY what it’s like!

They’re all either

Too religious: One lady gave me her entire religious history and then was just like, “oh, and I love children!” I can’t have her turning Homeslice into a CATHOLIC. “Ev-ry sperm is sa-cred, ev-ry sperm is great, if a sperm is wa-st-ed, God gets quite i-rate” is not my favorite nursery rhyme.  NEXT!

Too illiterate:  If you don’t know the diff. between your and you’re then ur not smart enough to take care of my kid.  Is it too much to ask for some basic literacy skills?  Yes.  Yes it is.

Too young and stupid:  Your profile pic should not be of you making SEXYFACE with your cleavage hanging out. Save that shit for MySpace, kay sweetie? I cannot stress this enough.  Also, see above re: your/you’re.

Too foreign:  You know how I feel about  foreign people, right? Too much yucky white guilt when I have to shout en espanol at my nanny. No GRACIAS!

So maybe I won’t be getting a NEW NANNY like Mrs. Fancypants after all.

I found the perfect lady on a babysitter finder website thingy.  She’s 58, has 10 grandchildren, has been foster mother to 14 kids and won Foster Mother of the Year in 2007. I want her! But she’s not getting back to me because obviously she’s also a cunt. I spent $30 to get her email address, the least she could do is tell me to fuck off so I can stop fantasizing about Mrs. Doubtfire babysitting my kid.

HOLY SHIT!

THAT’S WHO WE CAN STAKEOUT!

And we can jump out of the bushes at her and hold up Homeslice and shout “why don’t you want to take care of my baby??”

Wait.

I just remembered who we’re really staking out. We’re supposed to stakeout the Facilities Manager over at Schmuckytown Pubic. She’s got men coming and going all day long and we think she’s running a whorehouse out of the basement. She’s such the type, too.

Homeslice pretty much says “cup” for everything and so Mister thinks we should have taught her “smurf” because it can describe anything and it wouldn’t make people look around for cup when what she really wants is something else entirely. It happens a lot. It’s kind of a problem.  Especially when the closest cup contains vodka and you give it to her before you realize.

It only happened twice, SHUT UP SHE’S FINE.

At least with “smurf” it could mean anything and we can keep guessing until we get it right and perhaps not alcohol poison her.

Also, I’ve been trying to sell some baby crap forfuckingever and nobody wants it, so I posted this ad on Craigslist and the only people emailing me are people saying I’m funny and that they’re sorry they don’t want my crap. The least they could do is flag it for “Best Of” because if I can’t sell my baby crap, I could at least become famous on Craigslist. (That was a hint, people. Go forth and do.)

Aaaannnddd it’s a TOY WITH ME DAY! It’s about smurfy smurfs smurfing. Enjoy!

Why is love and sex for the disabled such a taboo subject?

Ugh!  What a weekend we had, Queefies!

Yes, I realize it’s Wednesday and I’m only just now getting around to posting a post, but it takes me a long time to recover from my weekends because they’re so damned intense.

Like, I’ve been sick for about a week now, right?  But we had a yard sale on Saturday because I totally kick ass. 

We sold a ton of crap, and then we went to a dinner party and then woke up the next morning and went to Ikea to blow our yard sale wad on Ikea Craapp because the yard sale made lots of room and I could actually find stuff without having a mental breakdown and we just can’t have that!

I have to be pissed off most of the time or I’m just not myself.

Can I ask you something about the shopping carts at Ikea?

Are they fucking kidding?

You can just be tootling along admiring the Tysts and the Omtyckts and all of a sudden your cart has decided to take a hard left and there isn’t shit you can do about it!  You just have to pray you don’t run into a display full of Svalkas.

Seriously, you have to have a strong core to pilot one of those motherfuckers. And my core is not that strong right now despite all the ab crunching coughing I’ve been doing, so you can imagine all the broken Svalkas I left in my wake.

I haven’t been able to exercise on account of my lungs nearly exploding every time I go up my stairs. It’s been 6 days. I might get stabby if I don’t get my endorphin fix pretty soon. Plus, I feel all flobbery and I’ve already lost all of my muscles. I’m basically obese now. Except somehow I lost five pounds by not working out, which makes no sense, but there you have it.

NEW WEIGHT LOSS TIP: COUGH YOUR ASS OFF.

Unless Mister re-calibrated our scale because he’s sick of hearing me scream “THAT. IS. IT!!!! I am NEVER EATING AGAIN unless it’s x-lax and diet coke!” That is a total possibility that I had not thought of until just now.

NEW WEIGHT LOSS TIP 2.0: RE-CALIBRATE YOUR SCALE

I’m actually scared to exercise because my arm got tired holding my hair dryer yesterday. I had to sit down and rest in the middle of drying my hair. Every time I laugh or try to talk, I cough up a lung chewie.

That’s not too good. I might go to urgent care for antibiotics and an inhaler I won’t use.

This is making Jillian weep right now, I know it. I miss her and she misses me, but what can I do? I’ve caught Death of Cold (and possibly even Monkey Lung) (don’t Google “lung disease.” You’ll scare yourself shitless). (Monkey Lung is wicked scary. You do not want to get Monkey Lung.) (Mostly because I made it up and it would be totally fucked if you caught a pretend disease)

Anyway, I feel like shit, we had a yard sale, went to Ikea, and I made up a disease.

The End.

PS: It’s a Toy with Me today! Let’s Talk About Food and The Sex!
PSS: Tomorrow is Ask Girlfriend day, so make sure you get your questions in!

Remember how Lynne and I had an eecards fight about the gayness of Jazzercise vs tap class, and then she challenged me to a gay-off?

Well, I finally went to her Jazzercise class because Pole Dancing is over now, thank Jesus, and you know what?

It’s completely gay and I love it because gay is fun. I grapevined and chassed, arabesqued and some other stuff I forgot the name of, but it was fun and I may have caught a little bit of The Gay because I wanted to touch Lynne’s sweaty bum the whole time.

And after class, the teacher said I “looked great out there” and can I just tell you how good that felt? Because I got nary a word of encouragement from the pole dancing teacher, and I’m the kind of student who will bust her head open just for a “well done! Excellent head busting open!” because I’m a nerd like that.   When I don’t get my teacher approval, I’m a sad kitten.

(Do yourself a solid and never, ever search Google images for “sad kitten.” You’ll want to kill yourself. Twice.)

Anyway, during our last class, and this is totally my fault because I’m an asshole for moisturizing before class which is the #1 thing you DO NOT do before pole dancing class, she kept looking back and saying “after 6 weeks of class you SHOULD BE ABLE TO DO THIS!” and I wanted to shout ” But I CAN! I CAN DO IT!” but I didn’t.  I was too embarrassed to admit that I broke rule #1  and that I was just too slippery to do any of the moves.  Every time I tried to jump up and hold myself on the pole, I’d just go “ssssssswwwwwwwwwwwweeeee” right down.

That pole is ruined forever now.

It’s been Crissy’d.

It’s forever going to be known as “the bad pole” because I don’t think they’ll ever get the lotion off of it. I thought of switching poles, but I didn’t want to ruin all of them, so I chose to sort of stand there and look like a dink  and not get the teacher’s approval I so desperately wanted.

But then Jazzercise Lady gave me the thumbs up and I was happy.

So I’m going to take Jazzercise classes, I think.

I still want tap shoes so badly it hurts, you guys.

Tap shoes.

Swoon.

Lynne won’t go to tap class with me because she say’s it’s stupid.  Maybe I can go with Girlfriend.  She doesn’t think it’s stupid.

Oh wait.

Yes she does.

I don’t care what anybody says.  Tap is cool.  There were almost fisticuffs yesterday at work between Lynne and me because she just won’t admit that tap is completely awesome.

I fully intend to prove how wrong she is as soon as I find an adult beginner’s tap class which is very difficult to do for some reason.  It must be that the Awesomeness Of Tap is intimidating for some people.

PS: This week on the Toy with Mes I have a bunch of random news/wtf? products for you! Random Awesome Stuff in My Inbox

PSS: Starting tomorrow,  we will test out a little idea I had.  Girlfriend is going to have an advice column called “Ask Girlfriend” where you write to her with your non-drug/gambling/hooker problems, and she gives you her advice.  I don’t know if this will work or not, but we’ll give it a whirl.  I just need your questions or this bus ain’t goin’ nowhere.

crissy@crissyspage.com