What to Expect When You’re Expecting


No, I am not pregnant, conclusion jumpers.

Hey there.

It’s been a while since I’ve posted anything as our friend Brittany so eloquently pointed out.

That’s because it’s true what they say: “you can’t have it all.”

You cannot.

Full time job, two kids, three dogs (one you have not met yet but will super soon), house, yard, pool, garden, goldfish, dishes, cooking, packing lunches, doing laundry, cleaning just so the place doesn’t get condemned, picking up toys, consuming alarming amounts of vodka/wine/Citrucel, exercising so I don’t go insane, applying multiple anti-aging products, etc. takes a shitload of time.

And well?

Even though I have missed this blog and all of you good people, I have not been able to carve out the time to keep it all up. I’m sure you understand, and I’m sure many of you are in the same position: life is overwhelming as all fuck and it seems to just pick up speed every day.

That being said, and I know I’ve said this before, but I am coming back.

I’m not sure how often but I’m going to promise at least two posts per week. I have a list of great ideas. All will be executed. This, I promise to you all and to myself as I have to get back in touch with the person who used to come to the blog and laugh at how absurd life is. Right now, I see absurd and take a Xanax and go cry in my car.

This is totally unacceptable behavior.

Life is too short not to share what’s stupid and absurd and laugh about it with your friends. I need my friends back.

I need you guys.

So here I am, coming back and making a promise that I will be here for you, and I know you will be here for me. Let’s laugh at shit again because life is fucking funny. It’s absurd. And we all have the same struggles. That’s why we come to this blog.

I speak for us all: the ugly, the victorious, the hilarious assholes we have to deal with in the world and the dog pee on the floor you just mopped mere moments ago.

This is the good stuff. This is life.

If we don’t all get together and laugh, well, then we’ll all pop Xanies and go cry in the car.

I am back and you are back and we will have lots of fun together.

So, whilst you wait for the next post, which may come again really soon, take a look around at the new place and tell me what you think. A few new categories will be added, the look is different, which I owe all to the lovely Ms.Brittany (aka Mediacrisis). She’s been goading me into this and finally took matters into her own hands and took over the old blog, made it mobile friendly and gave it a new look. Many thanks to her and also hopes for an occasional blog contribution because she is all sortsa awesome.

Things may change here and there as I have time for tweaks, but for now this is what it is. I hope you like it and I hope you come back. I miss our old gang. You all meant more to me than you ever imagined.

Love and many kisses to you (some with tongue and some without depending on how well we know one another)


This is my solemn vow.


You Better Not Pout, You Better Not Cry

You better watch out, I’m tellin’ you why…


It’s Christmas portrait time, Queefies.

It’s one of the most stressful days of the year for Crissy and Mister because omg kids.  If you’ve ever tried to take a portrait of your kids with their shiny happy little faces you know it’s a total fucking shitshow.

We decorate the tree, light the fireplace, set up the camera and the lights, get them into their matching Christmas dresses (purchased weeks in advance in preparation), comb their hair and get them in front of the camera to pretend that we are a functional family.

There’s bribery of the M&M persuasion and when that doesn’t work there’s threats of taking away television and when that doesn’t work Christmas gets cancelled like fifteen times.

Then comes the begging: “Please just smile.  This is not for US, this is for your family!  Auntie Cya and Marcy and Dips and Pop-Pop and Popa and Grammie and Uncle Billy and the people who love you want to have nice pictures of you!  DON’T YOU LOVE AUNTIE CYA? Smile for Auntie Cya! Come on, come on, sit here and smile…good!  good!  YAY!  Happy Kids! AW FUCK! THE DOG’S ASS IS IN THE FUCKING FRAME! GET THE FUCKING DOG OUT OF HERE!”

And then we try again and again and it goes similarly and it’s exactly like herding 147 profoundly retarded cats.

I start sounding like Bill Cosby:  “Come here. Come here. Come Here. Here! Here! Here! Here! Heeeeeerrrreeeeeeeee!!!!”

“Sit down. Sit down. Sit down. Sitsitsitsitsitsitsit.”


Brain. Damage.

And I look like Jeffrey’s mother:


This is because Girlfriend knows she’s in a position of power over both of us, so she fucks with us.  She splays her legs out, she crosses her eyes, she sticks out her tongue, she does whatever she can think of to ruin the shot.

She finds it tremendously rewarding to see Mister and me go to Crazytown.

Now, one might question why we do this year after year if it’s such a disaster.

Because if we didn’t, we wouldn’t get pictures like this:


Have yourself a crappy little Christmas.

What Happens When I’m Not Home…


My dreams of having a maidlaundressnanny have been crushed, guys.  HippieMom SuperNanny has left us.  The halcyon days are over.

Her husband got a fancy new job and they had to move away.  Far, far away and so I no longer have her at the house, doing battle against the filth and the dishes and the laundry.

Our new childcare arrangements are so complicated we had to make a spreadsheet, but we’re making a go of it and not replacing her because there is no replacement for HippieMom SuperNanny.

We cannot bear the thought of even trying.

It’s only been one day and the house is already falling to crap.

Queefies, how is it possible that I can vacuum and wash the floors on Monday night and by Tuesday evening, even though nobody has been in the house all day, the place is a total fucking shitshow?

I have one theory, and one theory only.

It’s THIS:

Alice and Vivian have all the dogs in the neighborhood over for a dog party and the recalcitrant shitbirds ham it up in my kitchen!

I leave in the morning, and the two of them start barking out the windows, exactly like how it takes place on 101 Dalmations when the puppies go missing, and the next thing you know, they all come over here.  Tequila brings beer (ironically, she doesn’t like hard liquor), Henry‘s got da Chronic, and Talus brings the hos.

The end.

The Twat Ring

Are you guys following me on Pinterest?


The fuck is wrong with you?

You should be following me because everything I pin is the most awesome stuff the Internet has to offer. Obvi.

Right now, I’m on a quest for the perfect ring to replace my stolen wedding set. Remember that? It was terrible, and I’m still traumatized and pretty angry that some low-life scum sucking douchebag thought she had the right to help herself to our family heirlooms.

Our family is not a sentimental one at all, but one thing we do get attached to is jewelry. We really get into handing things like that down.

So, there’s a lot of pressure on this replacement ring to be ultra special and something that generations will enjoy. My plan is to have my heirloom ring re-created with some diamonds my mother gave me that belonged to my Great Grandmother.

I’ve decided to replace my wedding set with either a diamond wedding band, or just a diamond cocktail ring. I don’t feel the need to have a traditional wedding set because who says I have to?

Nobody. So long as there’s something on that finger, I’m good with it. There are so many beautiful things out there, I don’t want to limit myself to wedding sets.

I only like vintage stuff. All the new stuff I’ve seen isn’t doing it for me–there’s too many little doo-das all over the place.

So, I fell in love with this:

And I thought about it and thought about it and wanted it soooo badly.

I finally broke down and had it shipped to a local store, hoping that I could just get over it and that I wouldn’t like it when I tried it on. It’s about four sizes too big, but I liked it. It’s very unique and the quality is absolutely exquisite. It was so white and clear I couldn’t get over it. It was almost disturbing how white the diamonds were. I thought everyone would love it, so I posted a picture of it on Facebook.

A few people liked it, but most didn’t!


And then somebody said it looks like a twat.

Does it look like a twat to you, Queefies?

I think it looks like leaves, but now all I see is vagina when I look at it.

I don’t want a vagina on my finger, you guys!

So, the ring is pretty much ruined for me now and the search continues. Those of you who are easily distracted by anything sparkly can help me because I’m always pinning stuff to my Treasure Bath board on Pinterest. You guys can help me find the perfect heirloom ring for Homeslice and Girlfriend that hopefully does not look like a twat.

(If you think this is just a desperate ploy to get more followers on Pinterest, you are absolutely right.)

Crissy Disappears From the Internet, Returns Like a Year Later Really Pissed that Her Page Ranking Has Slipped.

Once the Queen, always the Queen.

Or so I thought.

Crissy Moran porn star is still better than me, as is that stupid doll from 1968.

Don’t even get me started on the antique store.

We cannot have this. We cannot be #6 on Google, you guys.


So, yes.

I’M BACK.  I’d like to say that I’m also new and improved, but we all know that’s bullshit.  I’m 38 and I’m tired.

I’d love to say there are so many changes and fun things to tell you about, but that’s also bullshit.  Everything is almost exactly the same as it was except there are no longer dicks growing in our mulch.  I know you’re all sad to hear about that and you were hoping for fresh pictures of that after staring at the same blog post for an eternity.

I’ve gotten letters about that dick-in-the-mulch post.

Not all of them were favorable, Queefies.

Some people were actually becoming tired of looking at that picture, unbelievable as it may seem.

Anyway, you don’t have to look at it any more, persnickety Queefies.

is three (!) now and Girlfriend is seven


so maybe I can have a little head space to share with you.


As I write this I’ve had to stop eleven millionty times (twice) to clean up spilled mac and cheese (I called the dogs over and they cleaned it up) and wiped an ass (I told Homeslice to do it herself.  It did not go well and I had to clean the walls and the toilet seat, the sink area…and her hair.).

It’s been nearly impossible to write a post and I’ve tried, Queefies.

Somebody said I should write a made up story about where I’ve been all this time, but you know.  I’ve been on Facebook.

And pictures of my ass have been on Flickr.

I wonder who put THOSE there…

Anyway, I’m looking forward to Homeslice going to preschool because I’m going to have a different perspective on it all.  Last time, with Girlfriend, I had the perspective of a humble Library Lady.

Now, I’m a Mrs. Fancypants with a Fancy Lady job from which, to everyone’s surprise, I have not yet been fired  from for saying “motherfucker.”

I know they’re still scared every time they bring me in front of a client.  They have every motherfucking right to be, you guys.

I wonder, will I find the Escalade Pajama Cunts as irksome as I had last time?  Having a nanny myself, will I  judge the Mrs. Fancypants’ as harshly as I had before when someone loudly introduces their “NEW NANNY?”

Will I look down on the stay-at-home mothers?

Will I offer them Xanax?

These questions and more will be answered shortly.

This post is just a warm up.

We’re going to get a new look over here soon too.  I’m going to pay someone in marijuana cigarettes to make it look nice.  I don’t know who yet, so I’m looking for some volunteers.  Apply below.

Oh! Did I tell you guys we don’t use money anymore?

We pay people in marijuana cigarettes, now.

I guess that’s new…