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

Do you hate it when the only facebook updates people give are to let you know they’re out having a life and how fun it is?

What the fuck is that?

Like, don’t they have anything else going on in their lives other than vacations and fabulous dinners out with friends?  Don’t these people ever get pissed they have to do the dishes or…or get hemorrhoids?

I wanna see what’s really going on with my “friends,” not what they want everyone to think their life is like.

It ain’t all Margaritas and beaches and the. most. amazing. sushi! all the fucking time.

I want something truly interesting to happen to them because eventually the sushi is gonna give them The Diarrhea and then what will they have to say?

Absolutely nothing because their lives are nothing but awesome all the time, or so they would have us believe.

Like, wouldn’t it be more fun to read about how they got bloody ‘roids on the beach, and how the blood attracted sharks who ate their legs off  but left their assholes (because  sharks know that if you eat hemorrhoids, you get them), and so now they have a spilled Margarita,  hemorrhoids, and no legs.

That’s the story I wanna hear!

I think I’m going to start leaving updates like that in hopes it will inspire the “ahhhh. surf and sand.  It doesn’t get any better that this!” people to cut the shit.

And if you think I’m jealous of those people, you’re totally wrong.  I’ve already done my self-exploration on that one.  They’re just obnoxious and it makes me stabby to think that they think these updates are interesting to anyone other than themselves.

Oh, and those “pics to come later” that they promised?  I’m not exactly sitting on my computer waiting anxiously for them to post,  so they can take their time on that one.  I might look at them once they’re up, but it’s only to check to see if there’s a tampon string hanging out of the bathing suit.

Have any of you Queefies been truly interested in the details of someone else’s vacation?  Be honest.  I can’t be alone here.

PS: It is not lost on me that I post a myriad of updates on the latest happenings of my children, but they are way, way cuter than your umbrella drink vacation.

Remember how Lynne and I had an eecards fight about the gayness of Jazzercise vs tap class, and then she challenged me to a gay-off?

Well, I finally went to her Jazzercise class because Pole Dancing is over now, thank Jesus, and you know what?

It’s completely gay and I love it because gay is fun. I grapevined and chassed, arabesqued and some other stuff I forgot the name of, but it was fun and I may have caught a little bit of The Gay because I wanted to touch Lynne’s sweaty bum the whole time.

And after class, the teacher said I “looked great out there” and can I just tell you how good that felt? Because I got nary a word of encouragement from the pole dancing teacher, and I’m the kind of student who will bust her head open just for a “well done! Excellent head busting open!” because I’m a nerd like that.   When I don’t get my teacher approval, I’m a sad kitten.

(Do yourself a solid and never, ever search Google images for “sad kitten.” You’ll want to kill yourself. Twice.)

Anyway, during our last class, and this is totally my fault because I’m an asshole for moisturizing before class which is the #1 thing you DO NOT do before pole dancing class, she kept looking back and saying “after 6 weeks of class you SHOULD BE ABLE TO DO THIS!” and I wanted to shout ” But I CAN! I CAN DO IT!” but I didn’t.  I was too embarrassed to admit that I broke rule #1  and that I was just too slippery to do any of the moves.  Every time I tried to jump up and hold myself on the pole, I’d just go “ssssssswwwwwwwwwwwweeeee” right down.

That pole is ruined forever now.

It’s been Crissy’d.

It’s forever going to be known as “the bad pole” because I don’t think they’ll ever get the lotion off of it. I thought of switching poles, but I didn’t want to ruin all of them, so I chose to sort of stand there and look like a dink  and not get the teacher’s approval I so desperately wanted.

But then Jazzercise Lady gave me the thumbs up and I was happy.

So I’m going to take Jazzercise classes, I think.

I still want tap shoes so badly it hurts, you guys.

Tap shoes.

Swoon.

Lynne won’t go to tap class with me because she say’s it’s stupid.  Maybe I can go with Girlfriend.  She doesn’t think it’s stupid.

Oh wait.

Yes she does.

I don’t care what anybody says.  Tap is cool.  There were almost fisticuffs yesterday at work between Lynne and me because she just won’t admit that tap is completely awesome.

I fully intend to prove how wrong she is as soon as I find an adult beginner’s tap class which is very difficult to do for some reason.  It must be that the Awesomeness Of Tap is intimidating for some people.

PS: This week on the Toy with Mes I have a bunch of random news/wtf? products for you! Random Awesome Stuff in My Inbox

PSS: Starting tomorrow,  we will test out a little idea I had.  Girlfriend is going to have an advice column called “Ask Girlfriend” where you write to her with your non-drug/gambling/hooker problems, and she gives you her advice.  I don’t know if this will work or not, but we’ll give it a whirl.  I just need your questions or this bus ain’t goin’ nowhere.

crissy@crissyspage.com

Yesterday Mister took the day out of work so we could go to this annual party thrown by an Internet Service Provider for all the tech nerds and their families from all the colleges across RI. It’s at the beach, kids are super-welcome (they even provide kid food and a variety of beach toys for them to keep), they feed us an amazing dinner (steak and swordfish with grilled vegetables and roasted potatoes and clam cakes and chowder), and THEY HAVE FREE WINE. All the wine you can drink. And beer. They have beer too. And lemonade and juice boxes and iced tea and water and soda.

This party is kind of the highlight of our summer every year because it’s completely awesome. obvi. They always invite Save the Bay to entertain the kids on the beach, too. Girlfriend loves this part of the party because they drag a huge net through the water and catch a bunch of little sea creatures to put in buckets to look at and learn about and then they bread them and fry em up!

No, they don’t. They take them back to headquarters and perform bizarre “experiments.”

And while Girlfriend was enjoying Save the Bay, I gave Homeslice some Goldfish crackers in her new yellow beach bucket. They were a little bit sandy, but still edible, and this guy came over to me to inform me that there was sand on the baby’s crackers because I guess I don’t look smart enough to notice that on my own, and I was like, “that’s because this is a beach. There’s sand everywhere. Even in my crotch.” And his eyes got really wide like I had just grabbed his junk or something, and he looked at me like “you crazy lady!” and then went to tell his wife what I said. She was all “oh my god! EW!”

I find my entertainment where I can, Queefies. Save the Bay just isn’t that interesting after the 5th year in a row.

But there’s a back story about the guy. I don’t usually just say stuff like that to total strangers. Often. His name is Hugh, and the first time I met him, I called him a “smartass” to his face and avoided talking to him the rest of the party. He’s one of these people who gives you a hard time when you talk to them. Like, everything out of his mouth is some sort of smartypants thing, and you leave the conversation feeling irritated as hell. Nobody Mister works with really likes him and you know what they call him? “F-Hugh.” He doesn’t actually work with Mister though. He’s some kind of contractor. Nobody knows how he’s relevant, but there he is anyway, drinking free lemonade and being a dick.

I saw his shoes on the beach and I totally would have buried them in the sand but his wife was right there with her pig tails and her weird posture. I needed more wine to pull off a semi-lame caper like that.

Let’s see, what else?

I saw the guy who told me that the next time he saw me, I’d have two kids and I was all “no way, Jose! I’m not having another kid!” and then yeah. Two kids, just like he said. Homeslice is totally his fault.

I talked to a very nice deaf lady who ironically could hear me but I couldn’t hear her. I did a lot of nodding and agreeing and she probably thought I was nuts but being odd is sort off my default so it was fine.

I got an unsolicited compliment on my new shoes, which I purchased because Melissa Lion said they’re comfortable and they are! Plus, men dig them and women think they’re cute. You need a pair.

Dansko people, you fucking owe me.

So yes. That was my day yesterday.

BEACH + FOOD+WINE= A LIFE (and a god damned hangover)

I have to go now, people. Homeslice and Henry have gotten into the cat food. They appear to be eating it. I’m not sure what that’s about.

So did I ever tell you guys about how this one time I found myself at a Public Enemy concert with my friend Suzi?

That’s us at the beach together rockin’ some coordinating bikinis and matching scrunchies just a couple of weeks before the concert. We were two of the littlest Miss Blondies you ever did see and so you can imagine how we fit in with the Public Enemy crowd in the early 90’s, right?

Mmm-hmm.

To get ready for the concert, we put on our new outfits from Gap, straightened our hair with her clothes iron, and debated whether or not pearls (I shit you not) would be cute with our outfits or if they were too much for Public Enemy and we decided that pearls are never a mistake so we went with it.

Pearls.  To Public Enemy.  We sure did.

How we wound up there in the first place is sort of interesting, actually.  Our boyfriends at the time were two spoiled trashy little East Side rich-boy types who thought they were players. They were walking past the Providence Biltmore Hotel when they saw Public Enemy going in and they totally spazzed and were all like “HOLY SHIT IT’S PUBLIC!! ENEMY!!” and so Public Enemy gave them tickets to the show instead of shooting them.

I think they were just waiting for later to shoot them.

So there we were, four preppy white kids in spiffy Gap and Ralph Lauren outfits, two of us wearing pearls for chrissakes, in a sea of black people who were wearing all black clothing and sort of all moving together to the music and saying all the words. They were fired up, you guys. It was a pretty extraordinary thing to witness, actually, except for the two Miss Blondies who were massively drunk on Mind Erasers humping one another and shouting “FIGHT THE POWER!!!” in the middle of that dark sea of oneness.

We were having a marvelous time, but accidentally making a mockery of the whole thing, I guess.  One nice lady came over and said something like “y’all are crazy.  You’re gonna get killed!”  And then we looked up and our dates sort of had a circle of guys around them, kind of like they were also gonna get killed too. It was as if nobody cared or even knew that we were personally invited to the concert by the performers themselves! WTF, you guys? I thought we were cool. Before I knew it, my boyfriend had me over his shoulder and Suzi was over her boyfriend’s shoulder and we were out on the street after waving “bye-bye” to the bouncers who patted us down on the way in.

I think we were probably there a total of 15 minutes. We went back to the East Side where we drank Amstel Light and had lovely dinner at a bar called Amsterdam and I threw up calamari in Suzi’s BMW.

The End.

So there it is. That’s my Public Enemy story.

And on the Toy with Mes I have for you My First Pole Dancing Class = Hilarity

Ya-ta-da-da!!!!!!!!!! I’ve been dying to tell you guys that I’m a pole dancer now!

So we bought this swingset for Homeslice and Girlfriend, right?

And it took us a long time to find just the right one for just the right price with just the right quality and we were very excited to show the picture to Girlfriend and what does she say, Queefies?

“It doesn’t have a lot of stuff to do.”

Um, excuse me?

There’s a playhouse with a fucking veranda, three swings, a rock wall,  a picnic table, a sandbox, and a slide.  It’s nicer than our house, really.

Maybe Mister and I will live out there instead because apparently, she wants Disney out in the yard and anything less is unacceptable.

Clearly,  Girlfriend is spoiled to death, so to toughen her up a bit, we’re not going to put mulch under the swingset/palace.  We’re gonna put rocks like we had when we were kids.  My swingset was made of metal and it had a couple of swings and some monkey bars and a trapeze and that was it. It was not made out of some nice non-splintery cedar with rounded edges.  There was no playhouse, picnic table, veranda, etc.,  and if we went too high on the swings, the back would come out of the ground and we spent entire afternoons trying to get the whole thing to flip over.  I think my brother actually did once.  I can’t remember.  And instead of this “playground grade mulch” we had rocks to land on and if you fell off the monkey bars because you were clowning around like a dumbass, you got fucking hurt and it was your own fault for being stupid and you learned not to be a dumbass anymore.

Kids today are soft.

And so we spent half a billionty monies on a swingset that we want more than Girlfriend does.  Homeslice is pretty excited about it, but she’s only just recently discovered how much fun a ball is, so you know.  She’s easily impressed at this point.

And it’s a Toy with Me day today!

Come find out why I’m wearing these ridiculous socks!  Surra de Bunda–Punched by an Ass

I went out for dinner with Michele last night you guys.

It was the first time I had any kind of food I did not plan, shop for, and prepare myself in weeks and it was glorious, although we could tell Amy Our Waitress was disappointed in us because we had a couple of salads and some waters with lemon. Her face totally fell when she realized she was waiting on two lame ass pussies instead of a couple of gals goin’ out for a calorie fest,  Cosmos, and casual sex with moderately attractive younger men.

I don’t know what she was thinking because we were both wearing cardigans.

Also, it was Ruby Tuesday’s. If I’m going to go out and carry on, I’m not going to do it at Ruby Tuesday’s. I only go there for those fucking delicious croutons and that pasta salad they have with the peas in it. I love that pasta salad.

We did manage to redeem ourselves with Amy Our Waitress when we ordered chocolate cake (one piece to share, of course) and two decaf coffees.

I know, I know. ROCK ON!

And after that decadent dining experience we went to the Grand Opening of a Saver’s!

Shut up.

I’m almost 36 years old. This is my idea of a good time. Don’t ruin it.

And that, my dear, dear Queefies, is where I found Sad Jesus on VELVET!

NOW you’re jealous.

Today we’re talking about Girlfriend’s graduation.

But first you have to look at this picture of Homeslice on her birthday:

“das right bitches.  I’s eatin’ some cake. Whachu doin’?”

And then Saturday was the graduation and it was at 10am at the Schmuckytown Pubic Library and it rained which meant that it would be inside.  Here is the sweaty line of sweaty people. See if you can pick out the EPCs–sort of like Where’s Waldo? only with Escalade Pajama Cunts instead of you know, Waldo.

But I’m getting ahead of myself here because before we got there, there was all kinds of kerfuffles because I am the one in our family who has to get everyone clean, dressed, fed, packed, and ready to go and Mister kind of just wanders around like there’s nothing going on and he doesn’t know what he’s wearing and he doesn’t know we’re leaving or what time the thing is even though I told him 55 times per minute and he’s polishing camera lenses and having a sip of juice and I’m apoplectic (Holla Melissa Lion!) and sitting in the car with the kids and he’s still in the house looking for whateverthefuckhelooksfor and it’s 9:36 and we still have to pick up my mom and one day I’m going to have a stroke trying to get out of the house on time.

But we got there eventually and waited in that there line you saw.

Do you guys remember how Girlfriend felt about dance class?

Well, how do we think she felt about being paraded around in front of all those people in that great big line up there?

Yeah.

That Guy on the Left looks like he’s getting ready to punch her in the face, “Hulk, ANGRY!” Seriously, his face is doing something weird there, like he’s about to morph into something wicked fucked up.

And she wanted me to save her but her teacher put her in a headlock kept her walking the line:

I didn’t save her because she has to learn how to not be such a pussy, amiright?

Girlfriend needs to sack up and deal.

No.

And yes, but no.

She had a big dance number to perform and she had to at least try to get over The Pussyitis.

Or, you know, not.

They were supposed to be doing We Go Together from Grease, but no.

They just…no.

A couple of them did a few little things toward the end there, but for the most part they all just stood there like they had just downed a bunch of Quaaludes.

Nobody says Quaalude anymore. I’m bringin’ it back. You heard me.

And it was just as well because I kept having emotions and I sort of lost it when they sang When a Child is Born in sign language. It was fucking beautiful, okay? And then again when they did a little ballet scarf dance thing to Time to Say Goodbye.

Right? Are you kidding me?

Fucking Satan would have lost his shit, I’m telling you. Even That Guy on the Left was a little misty. I totally caught him “HULK, sad.”

But now I have an official Graduate of Preschool.

That’s the school principal, Mrs. Jeannie. Girlfriend adores her, but I still had to go up with her to get her diploma because she was so not going up there by herself even after a pep talk from her teachers. She was just like, “fuck that noise, you bitches are crazy.” But she didn’t say that.

And we just found out that they passed a vote for all day kindergarten this fall. I’m the only person I know who’s not overjoyed.

SHE’S JUST A BABY DON’T TAKE MY BABY!

I’m not ready for Kindergarten, Queefies.

PS: Today is a Toy with Me day. In a rare serious moment, I’m telling a story of trauma that I’ve never told you guys before. You should come and read it: Catcalling–Creepy or a Compliment?

*this post is like, 15 posts in one, so if you want to read it in pieces that would be perfectly fine*

So we did it Queefies.

The great big gigantic patio/deck project is all done.  Mister is pretty much a super hero and as usual, he built the whole thing with his dick. He’s got a few small abrasions on it, but that’s just because patio bricks are kind of rough. I mean seriously, he’s not THAT strong. Let’s not be nuts here.

I helped, of course.  I hauled wheelbarrows full of gravel and sand and brick.  I’m so proud of myself though you guys because I must have moved a ton or more of gravel and about a ton of brick and like, an assload (that’s a standard measurement, right?  Assload?) of sand and I didn’t get tired and I’m not sore and I didn’t even cry.  I thank my girl Jillian for all of that ass kicking. Also, it’s because I’m fucking awesome.

And then after that whole project was done, I planted a mimosa, an oak, a dogwood, and two hydrangeas.  And then the Richard and Micheles came over and I got totally absolutely undeniably hammered from just two glasses of wine, but that didn’t stop me from having more wine and then after that some tequila and then I felt horrible mommy guilt for putting Homeslice to bed in a dirty dress with sand in her diaper, but it turned out okay because she woke up and I got her into some proper pjs and wiped her down with a washcloth.  So I didn’t have to wake up at 3am and beat myself up over it. Instead, I woke up at 3 am and felt guilty for worrying about it so much and for burdening everyone with my mommy neurosis.

I fucking rule.

Anyhoodles, that was our weekend.  We worked like dogs.

OMG!!! I didn’t tell you guys!
The dog officer came and took Maudette’s puppy away!

The dog officer came and took Maudette’s puppy away!

I was standing there washing dishes and watching the little fuckface dig holes in my new mulch, when the van pulled up. And I was all “take the dog! take the dog!” and the dog officer got out and lured him over to her. She saw me in the window and asked who he belonged to, and when I motioned in Earl and Maudette’s direction, she nodded and said “this little guy is coming with me” and it was just like one of those moments when Mr. Wilson catches Dennis doing something naughty and he’s thrilled to pieces. And then I was all “TEQUILA ATTACKED ALICE!” and then I ran into the house because I didn’t want to get caught talking to the dog officer because remember I’m scared of Earl and Maudette and Tequila and the puppy.

They got him back, and I nearly ran over the puppy who was running around in the middle of the street on my way home from work last night, so clearly they’re not afeared of the dog officer and/or are slow learners and/or they don’t give a shit.

She wears too much mascara, the dog officer does.

So the yard is ready for the Birthday Extravaganza on Saturday.  It’s already way out of  hand.  There’s a lot of people coming.  Like, a lot.  So you can probably come too.  I won’t notice because there will be so fucking many people.

Here’s a picture of me getting bombalooed on my new patio:

And today is Girlfriend’s birthday!!!!

She’s 5! 

*sniffle*

I totally forgot to tell you guys that the other day, after taking Homeslice and Girlfriend to the Children’s Museum of Providence, I came out to the parking lot to find that some asshat had parked sooooofuckingclose to me that I think they must have had to climb out of the passenger’s side to get out because no human being could fit in between there, except me. I could fit, but only because I was determined to punish them, so I held my breath and tippy toed in between so that I could reach the driver’s side door handle and put my gum under it. I considered doing the old standby door slam, but the car was a total ghetto whip. That wouldn’t have been enough punishment for them. Actually, it wouldn’t have been any punishment at all. So, I had to break out the big guns–the one reserved only for *very special assholes* and I put my gum under the door handle. I slammed my door into theirs just for good measure but it was weak. It was too close and I couldn’t get enough momentum.

And then today I almost, ALMOST, punched some bitch out because instead of oh, I don’t know, holding the door for me when I was obviously struggling to get the stroller through, she FUCKING SLID IN BETWEEN THE STROLLER AND THE DOOR AND STEPPED OVER THE STROLLER TO GET OUT WHILE I WAS IN THE MIDDLE OF THE DOORWAY WITH THE WHEELS CAUGHT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! She like, jumped over us instead of even just waiting for me to get through!

I was so fucking pissed you guys! So. Pissed. And I know I’ve got The PMS, but still. I think I’d be pissed anyway because people just fucking suck. I would have decked the bitch, but I was still struggling to get the stroller through the door.

I wanted to be like “HEY! COME BACK HERE SO I CAN KICK YOU IN THE UGLY FACE!”

But then I remembered that I now keep a can of pepper spray in the stroller…

No. I didn’t spray her, Queefies, but I could have and next time I will because Mister still hasn’t rigged up that flame thrower I wanted mounted to the stroller wheels.

That’s a perfectly good reason to pepper spray people, right? Just because they’re assholes?

I think so. In fact, I think they should list that on the package.

Pepper spray is good for stopping:
viscous animals
homicidal maniacs
criminals
cases of epic jackassery
rapists
assholes

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So I’ve got another bug up my ass, Queefies. It was the car, and then the puppy, and before all that it was the windows, and now it’s chickens.

That’s right, she said chickens.

Back around Easter time I saw a thing on Martha Stewart all about chickens and raising chickens and she does it so it must mean it’s classy, right?

But she had all these really fancy looking ones and Girlfriend and I were riveted and now WE WANT CHICKENS! We’re mostly vegetarians around here, and we get a lot of our protein from eggs, and I’m not terribly happy to learn how chickens are treated, even under the best of circumstances, so I’d rather know my eggs came from happy chickens who go for regular manis and pedis and feather fluffings and whatnot. I’m not ever going to eat the chickens, but I will share the eggs with family and friends and feel superior and smug every time I pass the egg section at the Super Stop & Shop’s.

And the beautiful part of this is that we have the perfect spot. You see Queefies, our garage has two levels because it used to be a carriage house. The upper level is where the carriage would go, and the lower level is where the horsies lived. And there’s a small yard down there that looks very much like it belongs to Earl and Maudette.

We could keep the chickens down there, and people will think they belong to them and the Crissys will avoid the stigma of being the assholes with the fucking rooster, while at the same time, having a rooster to piss off Maudette’s hangovers!

The rooster wouldn’t bother me any. Our neighbors growing up had one. It just appeared in their yard one day and wouldn’t leave, so they took care of it. It followed their dog around wherever it went. It was hysterical.

So yes. I want to get chickens. Not right now, I’ve got my hands full right now, but soon.

Chickens.