Archive for the 'Go sell crazy somewhere else!' Category

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)

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So I went to see Black Swan with The Rabbi last night.  It was okay.  I like the ballerina stuff and the costumes and makeup were gorgeous, and I’ve always secretly wanted a pair of toe shoes of my very own, so seeing those made me very happy, but the ending?

Really?

The Rabbi and I both burst out laughing at the last line because the ending was just so piss poor.  It was so stupid we couldn’t help ourselves.

I know we were supposed to be moved? Or something?

Now, granted, I had just consumed an El Presidente Margarita at Chili’s and she had a DIY Bourbon and chocolate ice cream milk shake (DIY means you order a plain drink and pour booze from your flask into it under the table, fyi) (I must get a flask) and so maybe we were feeling a little silly.

Or maybe the movie was a little cheesy and we didn’t understand what all the hype was about.

I like to think we are budding movie critics and I can see us like a drunken Siskel & Ebert sitting up there in the balcony passing judgment and flasks of bourbon.

That will be us.

PS: I drove her manual transmission car home because she made me do it and it was EASY, leading me to believe that Mister’s car is a dickhead.

A few days ago, I got a friend request on Facebook from a stranger.  This is not a noteworthy event, I know, but check out his profile picture:

Um.  Yeah.  That kinda makes it noteworthy.

And his philosophy is:  Sex.

That’s it.

Sex.

And all his “friends” are either young girls or pictures of lacy thongs.

He is so barking up the wrong tree with me it’s not even funny!  Think again, buddy!

Doesn’t he know he’s talking to a frigid 36 year-old librarian with a brain full of tumors and a constant period?  He’d probably be pretty interested in the lactation though.  That’s pretty awesome if you’re a sickie.

Anyway, it got interesting after I ignored the request and got a message from him that said:

I’ve just come back from the doctor.  I don’t have just one brain tumor.

I have 10 of them.

I have 10 brain tumors.

The good news is that they are very small and benign and they’re not going to treat them, but just keep an eye on them.  They’re called “microadenomas” and aside from causing annoying symptoms like the boob juice and maybe the sudden and intense bout with anxiety and the weird periods, they are not cause for alarm.

Except now I totally intend to use them as an excuse for any number of behaviors, like, “I couldn’t do the dishes!  I have 10 brain tumors!” or “I cannot WORK, I have 10 brain tumors.”  or ” I cannot give you a blow job, I have 10 brain tumors!”

So now we need to think of a new superhero name for me.  I’m thinking Adenoma Woman or Super Tumor Lady or something much cooler than something someone with a brain full of tumors can come up with.

I don’t know.

Suggestions are welcome below.

Your Queen is going to live and if I may be honest here, I think I’m pretty badass because when I go, I go BIG.  I don’t just get a brain tumor.  I get 10.

Top THAT, bitches.

PS: In celebration, I went across the street and bought a pair of very nice and very expensive boots I’ve been lusting after for a long time.  Also, I sense a HUGE hangover in my future.  Like, tomorrow morning at this time, I should be barely functional.

So yesterday I went into Target to return some stuff Girlfriend got for Christmas that was either too big for her to wear or had too many little pieces for me to pick up off the floor. They took the toys back without a problem, but the little yoga pants and the sweater were handed, nay, shoved back to me as if they were made of dog shit. The woman was all fucking kinds of snotty and said “ma’am, I cannot take these things back in such poor condition.” And I’m all “What do you mean? The tags are all on. These things have not been worn!” And she was all “We cannot put these things out on the floor like this. They’re COVERED in hair.”

Okay. First of all, there was probably a total of four Pig Pussy furs on the little yoga pants and ONE white poupon of lint on the sweater. Nothing was in “poor condition” and I certainly hadn’t wiped my ass with the stuff like she was implying I had. She didn’t even fold it, she just balled it up and shoved it at me.

So then I was all “so all I have to do is go home and lint roll this stuff and you’ll take it back?” And she was all huffy and was like “If you want.”

I left because there were about ten other Target customers in line behind me patiently awaiting their snotty attitude and their dog shit handsies backsies. Mister told me I should have put up a fuss, but I didn’t want to be rude to the other people. I didn’t want to be THAT Target customer and have everyone hate me. I’ve had enough haters lately, thankyouverymuch.

I took my list of stuff I needed from there and left the store WITHOUT BUYING ANYTHING!

That will teach them! I could have dropped $100 in there easily, but I did not because they’re dicks and I hate Target now.

I’ve been meaning to break up with that place for a long time and now I’ve had enough!

WE’RE THROUGH, TARGET! DO YOU HEAR ME? All. FUCKING. DONE.

Now that I don’t shop there anymore, I might be able to afford to buy myself a fancy car and I will drive by the store and shout rudeness at Target and they will probably cry because they miss me but I will just turn up the radio on my fancy car stereo and not give two shits.

So today is an epic suckfest, you guys. I wouldn’t ordinarily tell you about it but someone on facebook requested a blog post about my Monday, and so here it goes.

Homeslice is acting kind of tired and quiet and of course her lymph nodes are popped back out again and so of course I’m insane over that. She didn’t even cry when I left her with The Other Kristin (a friend who babysits her on Mondays so I can go to work early, heretofore unbeknownst to you, but now beknownst) this morning. That’s unusual, you guys. Usually she cries “mama! maaaammmaaa!” just for that extra layer of mommy guilt as I’m leaving.

She’s got a nervous mother and will probably wind up in a doctor’s office soon. I wouldn’t worry too much, but you know.

It’s kind of my thing.

So there’s that, and I finally broke down and went to the doctor for a cough I’ve had for two weeks–lung chewies and everything.  Turns out it’s The Bronchitis again, and I had to do a breathing treatment and that was really fun. At least this time, Homeslice was at Kristin’s house and I didn’t have to do the breathing treatment smoke machine thing while bouncing her on my hip and keeping her out of the cabinets. That would have been a layer of awesome I don’t think I’m ready for.

And now I’m on antibiotics, so that’s that.

Oh, and on my way in between leaving Homeslice and the Urgent Care, my cell phone went down, so I had to drive to work to tell them I’d be late instead of just calling. That was a pain in the ass. I grabbed the first person I saw and told them I would be in later. Luckily, she was an administratorial type so I guess that was like a total SCORE!

Then later today, I’ll go to the wookie doctor to talk about my lady business problems and have a very special, extra thorough lady exam to make sure that “shadow” the good doctor saw on one of my ultrasound pictures really is just a shadow. He’s probably going to reach all the way up to my throat. I wouldn’t be surprised if I somehow wind up married to my wookie doctor by the end of the day.

I’m still a little freaked out about my lady business. My mother always had lady problems and she suffered a lot and went through some scary stuff throughout my childhood. I just hope I don’t have her genetics. I hope I got my dad’s uterus instead of my mom’s.

Fingers crossed.

And all of this on a work day and I have to make up the time I missed at work while I was playing around at the doctor’s office(s). That’s what I’m doing now. I’m getting in a couple of hours at work in between doctor appointments.

I’m just looking forward to surviving the day at this point.

So that, my friends, is my Monday.

YOU?

What kind of suckfest you got goin’ on? Or, are you a lucky asshole who is having a pretty decent day?

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.

So yesterday I was out in front of the house admiring the orange pumpkin lantern Halloween decorations Mister was busy putting up when some Ass Monkey came flying down our street in his Maxima.

And I had Homeslice by the hand and she was struggling to get away and Girlfriend was skipping down the sidewalk and Ass Monkey totally saw us but didn’t slow down in the least, so I yelled “SLOW DOWN” at him and do you know what he said to me?

He said “FUCK YOU!!”

HE DID!!!

The nerve, right?  I mean, here I am, Queen of Fucking Everything walking down the street with the two Princesses of Fucking Everything, and this reject from Planet Douchewagon in his used Maxima (why is it that 20-something year old boys in Maximas think they’re the fucking shit? What is up with that? I means seriously, it’s a fucking Maxima.  Get yourself a Lamborghini and we’ll talk about who’s the shit, okay sweet pea?  Until then, put your fucking baseball cap on straight and get over yourself.) has the balls to yell “FUCK YOU” to me.

Well.

Mon! Dieu!

I’ve got a plan for the next Maxima Ass Monkey who dares try to break the sound barrier on my street.  I’m going to get a big bucket of baby dolls from the dollar store and every time a Maxima Ass Monkey comes by, I’m going to throw the baby doll at him.  Did I mention the baby doll will first be filled with dog crap? It’ll be Tequila’s dog crap too because there’s plenty of that around my house.

I just get really fired up when these young guys (and sometimes girls) speed around with no regard for what could happen.  What if Homeslice managed to wriggle out of my grasp?  What if Girlfriend tripped and fell into the street? He would have creamed her, and I would have had to make it my personal mission to make sure his life was a living hell forever. I’d make sure he wound up in a tiny jail cell with a big huge guy with a large penis and a thing for little Ass Monkeys.

So yes, I am officially the kind of woman who shouts “SLOW DOWN” at young dudes driving by my house.  Any further suggestions for how I can help them make good choices would be welcome in the space provided below.  The police around here don’t care about our speeding problem, so it’s basically Martial Law at this point.

Happy Fall, Queefies!

I love fall, but with every new season comes the need for…duh. duh. duuuuuunnnnn

New clothes.

You know how I hate shopping for clothes, right? You should click on that.  It’s from way back when I was fun.

But I had to totally douche my wardrobe the other day after crying and tossing shit over my head and swearing.  I wound up with two trash bags full of stuff to throw away and another one full of shoes and sweaters and pants and shirts and other crap to donate to Saver’s. I pretty much had nothing left but a couple of pairs of jeans and some not too horrible shirts. I’ve been buying stuff for the kids and I forget to buy stuff for myself and so now all my stuff is just ratty.

Actually, that’s not completely true. Shopping for me sucks and every time I start, I get frustrated and go “I wonder what they’ve got for kids! Lemme check realquick” and then the kids wind up with something wonderful and cute and my shit just gets older and tireder.

People think I’m the Third World Refugee Nanny.

So lately I’ve been shopping and forcing myself to stay on task and not go to the kid’s department. I’ve brought home a few things to try on because fucking forget trying shit on at the store with a 15 month-old. It’s all grab and go for me right now. And I’ve promptly brought it all right back. I bought a bunch of shit online from Gap but their clothes are as exciting as a bag of white sweat socks. I now have some very sassy long-sleeved Favorite Tees in white, navy, and charcoal! YAY!

Are we asleep yet?

I got some sweaters too, but this stuff is all just staples. None of it is pretty, and none of it is making me feel fierce.  I guess right now I’m just settling for not homeless?

If I could, I would totally try to rock some super feminine bohemian thing because that’s the stuff I gravitate toward, but whenever I actually try to coordinate something like that, I look like I’m wearing a Gypsy Halloween costume. Also, where do you find stuff like that? Stuff I can actually afford. They ain’t got that shit over at Gap, I can tell you that much.

I’ve also been trying to find some fabulous patterned tights with maybe some flowers on them or a non-dorky paisley (can paisley ever be non-dorky? I say yes) to wear with a denim mini skirt and my Dansko Sallys or something and NOT STRIPES and NOT FISHNET and NOT NEON, but they don’t exist.

I totally HATE the 80’s bullshit right now. I do not want a shirt with a guitar on it. I’m all fucking set.

And forget about shoes. I have not seen one single pair of shoes that I would want to wear in a long, long time. I went to DSW and out of that whole sea of freakin’ shoes, there was ONE pair I liked and they didn’t have my size.

Are we getting a feel for why I dress like an old fishwife now?

Yeah.

So where do you guys shop? I need you to send me where you find stuff that is non-hideous and non-Third World Refugee Nanny or you may used the form provided below to share your own wardrobe drama.

Please and thank you.

PS:  In stark contrast to the commenter last week at Toy with Me who clutched her pearls at my use of the term “cum dumpster,” yesterday someone called me a prude.  A PRUDE!  ME!!!!  Can you even imagine?  To that I say, “Mon. Dieu.” and also “Ah-HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! That’s some funny stuff right there.”  I want so much to go over there and defend myself, but I will not lower myself to the level of the trolls.  I will’nt.  But I soooo want to. Have I ever admitted to you guys how hard it is to come up with stuff to write about every week, and to be criticized for I say and for revealing intimate details of my sex life it…well, you know.  Aunt Becky is also a prude, fyi.   This person clearly does not understand the mighty awesome Internettian power Aunt Becky and I wield.  Well, mostly her, but me a little bit too.  We could hurt people with our words if we so chose!