Archive for the 'About nothing, really' Category

Do you guys remember how I have this remarkable talent for getting my period like, every two weeks sometimes and I call it My Superpower? (that post was written back when I had a sense of humor. You should read it.)

Well, it’s been happening on and off for years and October was a particularly interesting month because I had My Superpower at the beginning of the month and it was normal and perfectly on time and everything and then I got it again in the middle of the month and it didn’t quite go away completely and so I called the doctor and they brought me in for an ultrasound.

Well, my doctor called me at work which made all the blood leave my head and I started crying because I’m always healthy and OH MY GOD MY DOCTOR IS CALLING ME AT WORK I HAVE THE CANCER!!!!

The good news is that my very small fibroids didn’t get any bigger and my ultrasound “looks good overall,” but the lining of my lovely uterus is too thick.   And he wouldn’t tell me what that might mean, but he wants to see me.  But he can’t do an exam until next week because I have My Superpower again, which I’m actually due for and it’s right on time.  Except I just had it.

I have to wait a whole week thinking I might have The Cancer.

So of course I Google “thick uterine lining” and what comes up first  but UTERINE CANCER.

The blood left my head again  and that’s all I needed to see because here’s where what my first grade teacher called “a wonderful imagination” fucks me and I immediately start picturing my funeral.

And then I put Mister on it and as it turns out it might be something as simple as a hormone imbalance and I’m wondering why my doctor couldn’t have just said that so I don’t spend the next week shitting myself and looking at my kids and tearing up because I might not live to see them grow up.

That would be crazy, right?  I don’t have The Cancer, right you guys?

Everyone gets Female Problems sometimes, don’t they?

Except men.  They don’t have trouble with their periods.  Usually.

I’m freaking out and I hope that in like a month from now we all look back on this and laugh and say “remember you had a couple of weird periods and you totally freaked out and you thought you had The Cancer, Crissy?”

Hahahahahahahaha!

That was so silly.

Tell me about your Female Problems and about how you did not die from them, Queefies.

Just when we thought we were pretty much the classiest bunch of assholes on the Interwebz, we are not, Queefies.

We have been outclassed by this young lady who is clearly a very, very, big fan of mine:

Which one of you guys did that?

WHOSE  FANNY ARE WE LOOKING AT HERE?

I’m touched, really.  I mean, I know you love me, but to express your love and devotion to the QOFE in such a way just…it warms the cockles, really.

I’m overwhelmed.

Thank you, anonymous Queef.

Kisses,

Crissy

PS: Why haven’t any of you other guys done this yet?

DO YOU NOT LOVE ME?  I’m beginning to question your devotion at this point.  Say it loud, say it proud, “I’M A QUEEF!” or at least have it tattooed on your bum.  It’s the least you could do after all the years of entertainment I have provided you.

So we’re going to start with the thing that’s bothering me the most and work our way down to the mildly irritating and/or totally stupid.

First up we have Homeslice’s lymph nodes in her little groin area.  The one that was swollen over a month ago is still swollen and now there’s another one right next to it that keeps getting bigger although it’s still smaller than the other one.  And then sometimes they seem to be almost gone, and then sometimes they swell back up again.  I’m hysterical. I think I’m going to bring her back to the doctor because my anxiety disorder is pretty much demanding a blood test at this point even though she’s acting perfectly fine and healthy and has no fever and the swellings don’t hurt her at all and the original one hasn’t gotten any bigger than it was since it first appeared.  But then I think maybe I won’t have her tested because  I’m really scared of the blood test BECAUSE WHAT IF SHE’S REALLY SICK?

I need to know but I’m really afraid to find out.

And I’m giving up on the dog adoption situation.    I had an appointment with a guy last night and he was supposed to bring 2 dogs for us to meet, but then it was just one dog and then he changed the time and THEN HE DIDN’T SHOW UP OR BOTHER TO CALL TO TELL ME HE WASN’T COMING OR ANSWER HIS PHONE.

This is a totally different organization than the other one that blew me off like this FIVE TIMES.  They still haven’t returned my call after blowing me off the fifth time.  It’s been two weeks.

I guess doing this to people and not respecting their time and the fact that adopting a pet is an EMOTIONAL thing and telling someone they will get to meet a potential new family member and then not even having enough respect for them to tell them you need to re-schedule and instead just letting them clear an entire day or a whole weekend and then completely blowing them off like they don’t matter is the way to run a dog rescue.

They’re always whining about how hard it is to be volunteers and that they have lives, you know, and that people need to be patient and blah, blah, blah, WHAT ABOUT ME?  AM I NOT A PERSON TOO?  I also have a life and I’m trying to do the right thing by adopting a homeless animal, but I’m getting treated like shit by these people.

I don’t understand.

I’ve learned a lot about people through this experience and it’s not good news, you guys.  It’s not good news at all.

So, I’m giving up because I can’t deal with the disappointment and heartbreak anymore.

And moving back to Saturday night having gone to bed late after our Zombie Prom, I woke up at 3 in the morning feeling sticky and wet to discover that Alice had thrown up in our bed, under the blankets, and that I had been sleeping in it.  At first I only noticed that I had slid my foot into something, so I checked it out and it was a HUGE pile of super-chunky something.  I didn’t know what the hell it was, so I got out of bed to take a look and determined that it was  some sort of really putrid contents from something (ass? stomach?) and so I limped into the bathroom to wash my foot off and re-group a little bit.

Mister got up to scrape what he determined to be vomit off the bed when I noticed that my back felt cold and wet, too.  I had barf chunks stuck all over my shirt and I had left a trail of them behind me on the way to the bathroom.  I had to take a complete shower and rinse the chunks out of my pajamas while Mister stripped the bed.

It took two trips to get all our bedding down to the basement washing machine, Alice following me the whole way and throwing up more little piles of goodness as we went.

It was…very special.

I never got back to sleep after that, so  I basically got about 3 hours in before all the specialness was discovered.

That was the second night of sleep deprivation because on Friday night, we went to my friend Gina’s annual Halloween party and when we got home, Homeslice was wide awake and hanging out with the babysitter.  She never went back to sleep for more than ten minutes at a time.

That was also a Very Special Evening.

We won best couple’s costume at Gina’s party though, so that was something good riding on the shitwagon that was our weekend.

(huge version here)

Hey Queefies!

Happy Tuesday!

If you ask me, Tuesday is just Monday’s older, whore sister.  Nothing is better on Tuesday.  Nothing at all.  It’s really not that much closer to Friday and so it still blows monkeys.

I do not like.

Wednesday is kind of a douchewagon and Thursday is like, moderately annoying. Friday is okay. We order take-out on Friday. I can deal with Friday.

But despite it being Tuesday, I am actually in a pretty decent mood today.  I am as surprised by this as you are.  I was driving to work and “Beast of Burden” came on the radio and I was suddenly aware that I didn’t want to kill anyone. I think I might really like that song.

It would have been ultra luxurious to have listened to it on non-blown speakers, but we can’t have everything, can we?

So. What else?

I spent a little time working on my Zombie Prom Halloween costume on Sunday. It’s an orange prom dress with a red and orange floofy tulle skirt. I splashed blood all over it and some mud and some chalk-y gray water. It looks like hell. And Mister fixed the garage door wearing a tuxedo he found at Savers. Everyone must think we’re nuts. I had blood spattered clothing hanging on the line to dry, and Mister was walking around like Lurch.

We’re the balls, pretty much.

We’re having a party on Saturday and everyone is coming. We even hired babysitters to run the kid’s party in the porn basement. You can come too, if you want. I’ll be the one across the street hiding under Michele’s bed. You’ll see my bloody orange tulle skirt sticking out because lots of people give me The Anxiety. Even when I know them all.

What are you going to be for Halloween? What are you bringing to my party?

And…

The Wanda dog people blew me off for the fifth time, so I think I’m all done there after 8 weeks of trying to get this one dog. I found a Giant Schnauzer that we might want and we might meet her this weekend if the guy I’m supposed to call for an appointment ever answers his damned phone.

Does anyone have any experience with Giant Schnauzers? My research tells me they’re kind of assholey. I don’t want/need an 80 lb assholey dog. Maybe this is the non-assholey variety of Giant Schnauzer?

We’re thinking of getting a new car! FOR ME!!!!!!! Because I’ve only been asking for one for 8 billionty years. I think we should wait until after Christmas though because a car payment plus Christmas means I’d have to sell an awful lot of panties.

And finally, there’s somebody I’d like you to meet. Some of you might know her as Bat Cave Twidget. She’s been around a little bit here and there and she’s a funny lady. She’s a friend of a friend who I now like more than the original friend (just kidding, Valerie!)

You need to go read her blog because she’s a crazy dog lady, and she’s been helping me figure out my way through the rescue dog thing and also, I kind of made her start a blog and so now I need to bring her some Queefs.

God. Could I BE any more boring today? Seriously. What the hell?

Go read Bat Cave Twidget. The story about her birthdays will make you want to hug her.

It’s a Toy with Me day!

Check this shit out: My Husband Wants to Have a Threesome! And guess who I have all picked out. It’s someone you all know and love and would gladly fight me for, but you have to go read to find out who it is.

Also, I wrote some words yesterday. You will find them below.

Ladies and Gentlequeefs, I present to you, True Mud

(only people who are obsessed with True Blood will enjoy this. The rest of you can go back to watching Antiques Roadshow or whatever the fuck you watch instead of The Most Awesomest Show Ever).

I lol’ed when Bill walked in superfast! And did you catch Lafayette and Andy and I swear the cow is Tara. Right? Because poor Tara is a cow. I laugh every time Tara has something fucked up happen and her lip quivers. Like, how funny was it when she was trying to escape from Russel Edgington’s house and the werewolf got her? Ugh! Good stuff.

Anyway, Monday sucks. I’m going to try to come back later and write more words on the Internet to entertain you and make your Monday less suicidal.

I’m sorry I have neglected you Queefies this morning! I was out having breakfast over at this place with The Rabbi! I had a feta and spinach egg white omelet (is that how you spell that? It doesn’t look right.) with a side of toast and some home fries and water. It was pretty good! Sadly, Homeslice was with me and you know how that goes. As soon as I wouldn’t let her send pictures messages to people on my cell phone, she lost her shiznat and we had to leave.

But it was nice to go out with a friend, and it’s kind of ironic that I did that today of all days because my Toy with Me post is about how I’m going to start a new dating website for people who are looking for friends.

So you should go and read it! Sometimes I Just Need A Friend and WHY DO YOU GUYS HAVE TO LIVE IN MY COMPUTER???

I would love to stay and chat but I have a raging headache from my Starbuck’s problem. Fucking evil, those Starbuck’s people. Evil as sin!

This is a picture of Homeslice, being adorable:

She’s been sick a lot lately.  First she had that hand, foot, and mouth disease.  Then she had a different cold for a week, and she’s got six teeth coming in all at the same time, and on Friday, I was changing her diaper and noticed a lymph node popped out in her groin/diaper area.  Of course, any normal person would look at it, shrug, and go, “that’s weird. I’ll keep an eye on it” and put the diaper on and continue with her day, but not me, Queefies.

Oh, no, no, no.

My first and immediate thought was  OH MY GOD THE BABY HAS CANCER!!!!  THE LYMPHATIC CANCER!!!!  CALL THE DOCTOR!!!  WE NEED TO START CHEMO IMMEDIATELY!!!!

So I called the doctor and was all “THE BABY HAS CANCER! WE’RE COMING THERE RIGHT NOW!!” and within an hour we were in front of her doctor who said the lymph node felt healthy and it wasn’t hurting her and the skin over it wasn’t red.  If those things are all present, then it’s time to lose it.

But not now.  It’s not time to start chemo just yet.

So now you guys know.  Don’t freak out until after the doctor tells you it’s okay to freak out. Although, any good doctor won’t tell you to freak out. I’m still freaking out though.  Every time I change her diaper I inspect it to make sure it isn’t getting bigger or redder or sensitive. Of course, because I keep touching it it keeps getting redder…

I can’t blame my anxiety disorder entirely though.  I blame Starbuck’s.  I bought some Starbucks ground coffee at the grocery store and for the last week I’ve been drinking it I’m nauseous, I have back and neck tension, and I’ve been clenching my teeth so hard my teeth are loose.  I finally figured out it’s the coffee.

I’m a slow learner.

Next time I call the doctor in a blind panic, I’m going to start off with “you have to forgive me.  I’ve been drinking Starbuck’s again and…”

Except I stopped drinking it and now I’m a massive caffeine addict. I’m having headaches because I got used to the fucking EVIL Starbucks.

Let’s see….what else?

Kindergarten is going well and Girlfriend is more prepared for it than I ever gave her credit for.  She read 8 words all on her own last night, and she told me the other day that there was a fat kid on the bus who was being teased, and so she turned into a wolf (she loves watching Mister play Zelda Twilight Princess) and howled and chased them away and went to sit with the kid.  I am so proud of her for doing that because she thought it was the right thing to do, so she did it.  I get all teary every time I picture her launching into Zelda Princess Wolf Thingy mode and defending the downtrodden.

That is MY baby, right there.  Fuck you.

I mean, she’s practically Mother Teresa, only she looks much less like Golem.

And here she is with her Girl Posse at an ice cream party:

They’re a good looking bunch of girls, right? That’s little Lauren on the left and then Alena, Maya, and of course Girlfriend. I don’t really know that other blond kid at the end with the crocs on, but she seems aright. She’s a very polite child. She never put that Target bag down though. I only caught a glimpse of her mother outside of her minivan. It looks like she wears way, way, too much eye makeup. Maybe that’s what was in the Target bag–her mother’s makeup drawer contents. Perhaps she was hoping the ice cream party would turn into an intervention when her mom came to pick her up.

But I can’t really say because I only caught a quick look at her.  Maybe it was just a shadow on her face instead of a super dramatic smoky eye paired with mom shorts and an LL Bean tee shirt. I’ll keep you posted on the whore makeup situation if I see the mother again.

Annnnddd Wanda the dog is still in “we’ll see” status.  The rescue people are bringing her over here on Thursday to meet Big Pussy and Alice.  We still don’t know if she’ll like Big Pussy and we don’t know if she sheds too much and we don’t know if Alice wants to be her sister.  I’m trying to curb my enthusiasm until after we’ve met her.  I’m going to feel like a massive asshole if we have to reject her.  I hope I can find the strength to say no if she’s not right for us, and not cave in because I feel guilty.

So yes.  That’s all I have for you at the moment.

I need more Ask Girlfriend questions.  I have only two or three and that doesn’t make a good video.  We need more, so ASK GIRLFRIEND! Remember–only non drug/hooker/gambling questions.

OMG. Remember that time I wanted to be exactly like Erykah Badu?

So the other day my good friend MsDarkstar forwarded me an email from someone who owns a private membership sex hotel and is looking to employ me as a once a month blog writer.

YAY!

Woot! Woot!

But not so much with the yay and woot-woot because when I spoke with him on the phone he said I’m “too white” and that his audience is young, urban, upscale and mainly black–think Kanye West drinking Hennessey and blaming it on the ah-ah-ah-alcohol.

See? That’s all I know about young, urban, upscale, black folks–they blame it on the ah-ah-ah-alcohol. Actually, so do I, so maybe we are more alike my friends than we are unalike? (what poem is that from? High five to the Queefie who gets it without Googling).

Clearly, I’m in over my head with my skinny white ass.

Did Eminem ever fret so? I think not. He’s not from Rhode Island: Home of the White People.

But before giving up, I’m going to give it a whirl because I have managed to fool some people on the Interwebz into thinking I’m pretty and funny and interesting, so maybe I can fool people into thinking I’m young, urban, upscale, and black, too.

Maybe I am *that good* of a writer. This has yet to be tested.

Just in case though, I emailed my only black friend to see if maybe she’d just want the job instead and even she was like “I still say things like get jiggy with it and what up? I can’t do it! Totally not up my alley.” Okay, so if my hot black friend who lives in a city isn’t comfortable, how will I ever pull this off?

So, at the suggestion of a white friend who has a black friend (are you still with me?), I bought a bottle of Hennessey, “cause’ dat’s wass hood” and spent the whole weekend pretending to be P-Diddy.

Other than having a pretty dope collection of new designer sunglasses and several children by different Babymamas, I’m still no blacker than I was, and so I’m still fucked.

The trouble is, aside from my one black friend, I don’t actually know any black people. I grew up in and still live in a part of the country where there really aren’t any black folks around. They’re like, a novelty around here. In fact, when I was telling Lynne about this gig, she looked out to the lobby of the library and was like “OMG! THERE’S A BLACK PERSON IN THE LOBBY RIGHT NOW!! YOU WANT ME TO SEE IF HE’LL BE YOUR FRIEND?” I said “no” because there was no guarantee that he was the right type of black person I need to help me find my voice for this particular gig.

And that was the last black person that either I or anyone else I know has seen in days and now I’ve got a raging Hennessey hangover and nothing written for my Thursday deadline.

Maybe the Queefies can help me. What sort of topics would Kanye West be interested in reading about with regard to having sex in private membership sex hotels? Think Toy with Me only Kanye West is writing it and not me. Or Beyonce, except I’m a much better dancer than she is.

GO! Mama needs a new car and it ain’t gonna buy itself!

Yesterday I was waiting at the bus stop with Girlfriend when a woman in an SUV pulled up to the stop sign next to me and said “KRISTEN!! How are you? It’s me, Shyanna!” And I recognized her a little bit and then she said “You’re Kristen Smith, right?”

No.

I’m not, and when I told her I was not Kristen Smith I could see the disappointment on her face. God, I felt like a loser, but I can’t say I really blame the woman because that Kristen Smith and I look a lot alike and from what I remember, she was friends with Shyanna in high school. People got us confused a lot because we looked alike and had similar names (her last name isn’t really Smith, you guys), but you know what makes this story worth telling you?

Kristen Smith is the Kristen who wound up marrying The Panty Sniffer!!!

RIGHT???

Just when I think that crap isn’t going to come back, it does!