You Better Not Pout, You Better Not Cry

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

DADDY IS TRYING TO TAKE A MOTHERFUCKINGPICTURE AND IF YOU DON’T CUT THE SHIT THERE’S GOING TO BE NO CHRISTMAS THIS YEAR I MEAN IT!

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.”

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Brain. Damage.

And I look like Jeffrey’s mother:

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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:

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Have yourself a crappy little Christmas.

Crissy makes a video!

Tomorrow, you guys are gonna get a treat!

We made a video at work just for funzies and I’m gonna share it with you because it’s about my glamorous life as a Mrs. Fancypants.

Plus, you get to see Crissy, plus her work environment, plus her co-workers, plus you get to laugh because I’m ridiculous and that’s why you come here.

Wait for it…

 

The Litter Critters

Well.

Remember my last post about Big Pussy crapping in the fireplace?  How could you forget?  It was very memorable.  Especially for me because it’s still happening.

I thought he was sick because when a cat starts doing Things That Are Inappropriate, they’re usually sick.  Big Pussy is about 14 years old now, so you know.  I figured he’s going senile or whatever.  I check his box frequently and have found either nothing at all  in there or a large amount of wet.  And I thought to myself:  “Jesus this is a lot! Maybe the kids peed in here!  NAH!”

And then I got this text from Ehpa:

Yes.

It seems as though her lovely daughter, Xanax, and her son, HulkSmash! have confessed that along with Homeslice and Girlfriend they have created for themselves an Alternate Facility in which to do their business because children today are lazy jackwagons and would rather piss in a cat box than climb a flight of stairs to relieve themselves!

I KNOW!!!! What the fuckingfuck?

I don’t know for sure, but I suspect that this was Girlfriend’s brainchild.

Here’s how I imagine  it went down:

While the grown ups were drinking wine and making penis jokes having adult conversation , the children were in the Porn Basement (which we totally gentrified, btw) watching Netflix and playing the Whee (emphasis on the WH), when Girlfriend decided she had to go potties.

Not wanting to  give up her spot on the couch for too long, she decided to pee in the cat box–just for funzies.  Xanax, HulkSmash!, and Homeslice immediately saw the genius in this idea and decided that this was pretty much the Best! Idea! Ever! and did it too.

Now, some of you may be surprised that I would be so certain that my own child would do such a thing, but you know me.  I’m a realist.  I am perfectly aware that Girlfriend has some, ahem, eccentricities that do not preclude her from doing a thing like this.

The next suspected little genius is HulkSmash!.  This is also the sort of thing he would dream up.  I believe that Xanax and Homeslice are mere followers.

Of course, Girlfriend and HulkSmash! would each throw the other under the bus in a heartbeat, so questioning them will be a lesson in futility.

Here’s my plan:

Say nothing, set up a camera and watch.  Eventually they’ll do it again and when they do, I don’t know what.

Except this is not what I did at all.

I questioned Homeslice and Girlfriend instead.

Girlfriend denies any and all involvement and totally blamed HulkSmash!, just as I suspected.  Homeslice had no idea what I was talking about, and when I said “who pee-peed in the kitty box?” she replied “Benny did!”

So, I believe she is innocent.  Xanax confessed to doing it only half way but continuing upstairs in the proper potty.

Girlfriend is NOT a fan of me blogging about this and says, and I quote:  “you will NOT write about this on your blog, mom!  I WILL NOT BE A LAUGHING STOCK!” Leading me to believe that she is indeed involved in the shenanigans.

The point is, Benny is perhaps not the asshole cat we thought he was.  Instead I have asshole children.

The End.

 

Yo! Who’s the Bitch with the Tats? My original title had an f-bomb in it, but I thought better of it because I’m mature now.

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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