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…

So the other day I was getting out of my car after work and when I opened the door, I was hit in the face by a powerful smell.

It smelled like a swimming pool full of semen, you guys.

I’m not talking about that delicate whiff of it you get in the spring time when the cum trees are in bloom. It was more like what it must be like to be on the “catching” end in a Japanese Bukkake film.

As I walked into the house, I made a mental note to tell Hippymom Supernanny that if she’s going to be filming porn in my driveway while the kids are napping, she needs to hose down a little better because seriously?

I mean, what she does during her break time is her business, but mop up woman, for the love of god!

But I forgot to mention it to her and thank goodness I did because the next day I noticed this sticking out of the mulchy area that frames the driveway:

Oh, hello! And, EW! Whatthefuck?

As I got closer I realized this was where the smell was coming from.

There is a penis mushroom that smells like Japanese Bukkake porn growing in my yard.

So I yelled to Mister “THERE’S A DICK IN OUR YARD!” and he ran outside with his camera and took that picture for the Queefies because who would believe that The Crissys have penises growing out of the ground at their house?

Actually, if you know us, this is completely believable, but anyway.

I felt very protective of our penis mushroom because I was afraid that the guy across the street, Captain Underpants, had a blog and that he would see it and he would post about it on his blog first. But then I realized that was silly because Captain Underpants only cares about swearing “fuckingcocksucker!” at his car and shoveling snow in his undershorts. Oh and he wears his soccer gear just for shits, even when there’s no game.  So, I’m pretty sure I’m the first one in our neighborhood to blog about this.  Also, I’m not sure Captain Underpants is what you’d call a reader never mind a mushroom identifier and certainly probably not a writer.

I’m just being paranoid, but can you blame me?  Penis mushrooms are very special.

And it looks really nice next to the statue of Mister.

And of course we looked it up.

We are truly blessed to have such a marvelous thing in our yard.

Thank you, Satan.


It’s been a while, I know, but I finally have a chance to say “sup?” to the Queefies!  I’ve been trying to do this for ages.

So, we went on our annual vacation to Beautiful Newport RI and during my first time on the beach with my super cute new bathing suit from Land’s End, I flashed everyone when I mistakenly thought the weight of the skirt bottom was an actual skirt and proceeded to take it off.

Mister took a picture of it and promised to photoshop my bum so you couldn’t see it but he didn’t do a good enough job so I’m not showing you my bum picture. Sorry. But I’d like to thank Mister for letting me do it so he could get a picture first.  I’d love to say that it happened only once, but that would be a lie. It happened again the next day at the pool.

That bathing suit has been relegated to “private use only.”

Vacation was lovely until on Wednesday we were going out to celebrate my birthday when I went to put on my jewelry and IT WAS GONE!! I tore through our room and it was just not there anywhere!!!

The hotel maid took my wedding rings and my great grandmother’s diamond ring.


It’s a huge loss for me and it’s been several weeks now, but it still feels like it just happened. I feel like I’ve lost my great grandmother all over again. I was close with her, you know.  She left me her favorite piece of jewelry.  I feel like I’ve let her down because I failed to protect it. I was looking forward to passing that ring on to Girlfriend or Homeslice one day, and now I can’t.

And we called the police and we went to pawn shops and emailed pictures of my stuff all over the place.  I’ve been checking craigslist and we’ve reported it to insurance which only covers a small amount, but at least it’s something.

That maid is guilty as sin. She was the only one who could have entered our room, and she admitted that my rings must have fallen off the bathroom sink and into the pile of towels on the floor. The police never said the rings had been left on the sink… how odd that she knew that, right Queefies? Of course they searched the hotel laundry room.  Guess what?  NO RINGS.

She also admits to having left our room door open!

Who leaves a room door open???


Last I heard, she still has a job.  The stupid Long Wharf Resort offered us a free dinner and a new vacation.  Well, whoopty frickin’ doo! That totally makes everything better.  They can suck it because it’s been a while now and nobody has called us to work out a way to make things right like they said they would, so here I am on the Internet using my big mouth to tell you DO NOT VACATION AT WYNDHAM RESORTS BECAUSE THEY WILL STEAL YOUR STUFF AND TRY TO DISTRACT YOU WITH A STEAK!! I never, ever want to go there again.

The Newport police have been able to do NOTHING.  She even had a warrant out for her arrest at the time of the theft, but they can’t charge her with stealing my rings because they can’t put them in her possession.  The detective said that the evidence in hand is circumstantial and would be shot full of alternate theories by a defense attorney.

Suddenly, I’m a HUGE believer in waterboarding…

This criminal is out there with these things that mean so much to me and I just can’t get over it. I keep picturing my great grandmother’s ring being sold for peanuts, dismantled for the diamonds, and melted down for the platinum.

My mother gave me her wedding rings to wear (thanks, mommy!!) and they’re pretty, but they’re just not mine. I miss the feeling of heaviness my rings had.

Being robbed is the worst feeling ever.  It’s so much worse than realizing you’ve just taken your pants off at the beach.  I look at those pictures up there and I see I still have my stuff, and now I don’t anymore. Mister bought me a new watch to replace the cheap Target one the maid took. It was exactly the same one I had, and when I opened the box, I burst into tears because it felt like it belonged to me in another lifetime. It was like having my things back, but not.

There’s just something missing.  And I feel naked all the time…

If any of you have any other ideas for things we can do to try to get my stuff back, send your Crissy a message.  Or if you know a witch that can spin a badass curse, I could totally go supernatural on some motherfuckers right now. CALL ME!

Hey, Queefies.

I’m thinking about getting a tattoo only I don’t know what it’s going to be or where I want to put it.

I think it should prolly go somewhere that’s easily hideable, so when I’m wicked old and stuff I don’t make the nursing home staff throw up every time they have to change my bum.

Like, nothing would be worse at that point than to have like a big tramp stamp that says “JUICY” on it.

That would be an unfortunate and ironic mistake, I think.

I thought about getting it on the back of my neck so I can hide it or show it off according to my whim.  That’s where it might end up, but  I don’t really like tattoos.  They look really great on other people, but I’m not sure I’m A Person Who Gets Tattoos, ya know?

Like, am I that girl?

Next thing you know, I’m getting my clit pierced and hanging around with dudes name “Bug” and “Razor.”

That’s what happens to girls who get tattoos isn’t it?

Seriously though.  What business do I have getting a tattoo at 37?

I must just want one now because I work with The Young People and most of them are tattooed.  I want to be Fancy Lady Who Works With The Young People And Gets Tattoos or some such nonsense now.

OMG!  Speaking of people who think they’re fancy but they’re really not, have you been watching Real Housewives of New Jersey?

WHAT IS UP WITH THAT?  Every last one of those people is a disgusting pig.

What’s wrong with that one girl’s hairline?  It’s half way down her face! Or is that just a really unfortunate eyebrow situation? If I were her, I’d totally buy myself a new hairline with all that money.  Instead, she buys stupid looking shit to put in her kids’ hair.  Why does she do that?  I think it’s because they got her hairline, but she’s not fooling me, Queefies!

You can’t make up for bad genetics with ugly barrettes, moron.

Just like you can’t fix stupid, you can’t fix cave woman hair.

That’s what I always say.

I’d better be careful though because these people are like animals. For all I know, Lady Guido Hair is going to come and tear my extensions out of my head if I had any but I don’t SO TAKE THAT LADY GUIDO HAIR!

I win.

Anyway, who gets a tattoo at 37?   I do.  (Possibly)

Should the Queen deface the Royal Bodkin?

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Did I tell you guys that Girlfriend, aka Madame Royale, goes to acting class? She loves it because she gets to be a diva and people don’t send her to the naughty step for it. They actually encourage her diva-ness there!

Here is a video of her performing a song she wrote. The lady with the camera is her acting teacher and I don’t know who the dude with the guitar is, but he’s kinda cute.

PS: I didn’t say “motherfucker” at the meeting! I didn’t even say “crap” or “hell” so there were no fire trucks at all coming out of my mouth! But then again, I purposely didn’t talk very much just in case there was one waiting there, but still. It didn’t happen so, Hi-Five! Great success! I was not Fancy Lady Meeting Asshole.