The other day at work I got to meet Edward and Jacob and stupid annoying Bella!

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They stopped by Schmuckytown Pubic because they knew that’s where I’d be.

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Edward was very friendly and he kept telling me he really, really wanted to make out with me but he was afraid I’d hurt him because he heard I’m a pole dancer now and everyone knows they’re fucking badass (you see those bruises on my leg?  That’s how tough I am now.  I’m practically Chuck Norris), and I promised him I’d be gentle, but he remained steadfast in his decision and just stood there making his sexyface.

And then stupid Bella started gettin’ all up in my grill cuz I was touching her man on his naughtypenis and so I kicked her in the face

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and moved on to her other man, Jacob.

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He’s pretty cute, I think.

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He’s more muscle-y than Edward, but I’m still on Team Edward and not so much Team Jacob mostly because vampires make me look tanned and werewolves do not.

See?

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I’m downright exotic.

But even though I touched Edward on his naughtypenis and he was all “I’m in love with you, Crissy!  Bella is an idiot!” I did stop because I honestly cannot understand why anyone would prefer Twilight to True Blood/Southern Vampire Mysteries (unless you’re in 6th grade and your parents won’t let you watch True Blood and then maybe I understand).

I think Eric and I make a better couple.  I’ll take a 1,000 year old Viking GOD who owns a BAR over some silly high school boy and his Volvo any day.

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(Note to Bill Compton: You can have Sookie.  I got this.)

Today we’re talking about Girlfriend’s graduation.

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

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“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.

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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?

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

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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:

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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.

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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.

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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?

I’ve been working hard this week, you guys. Yesterday I gave myself a pedicure, washed and hung out two loads of laundry, and folded three loads, emptied and re-loaded the dishwasher, picked up toys, packed lunches, made dinner, washed my kitchen floor, emptied trash cans, watered all my outside plants, and then brought the girls to work with me at noon so I could get an early start before Mister came to pick them up so I could work until 8.

I’m fucking tired. In fact, my tired has tired on it.

So while I was at work, the girls were fine and they were pretty quiet and everything except for the time when Girlfriend said “douchebag” and my friend Celina and I both gasped at the same time and it embarrassed her and she dove under my desk and cried very loudly.

I had to beg her to come out. She’s usually the language police, but not this time.

Girlfriend, not Celina.

But that wasn’t the weird thing that happened.

The weird thing happened when Homeslice pooped her diaper and I realized that I didn’t have a spare with me, so I grabbed a diaper wipe and decided to reach into the back and pull the poop out because the kid freaking stank. Stunk? Stinked? She smelled.

And so I waited until nobody was around and I made my move. I dug into the back of her diaper and I pulled out the poop, wiping her bum as I went and just as I was pulling my hand out of the diaper, who walks though but the director on her way out to lunch.

She’s pretty cool about allowing us to bring our kids in every so often, for a short time as long as they’re quiet and don’t make a mess,and there I was standing there in a field of puzzle pieces and mashed cheerios with a hand full of diaper shit while she cooed at Homeslice and talked to Girlfriend all about her birthday.

It felt like forever, you guys. I don’t think she noticed that I had a hand full of shit, but what if she had?

I don’t really have an ending to this story.

So my friend Jessica, who is a pastry genius (seriously, she along with my other friend Valerie sent me a chocolate balsamic cheesecake for my birthday last year and it was to die for. You can check out Jessica’s goodies here) said that what I needed to do was to pipe some frosting around the outside edge of the bottom cake layer to make like a frosting wall thingy so that when I frosted the top, it would hold the splooshy stuff in.

WHY DIDN’T THE DIRECTIONS SAY TO MAKE A FROSTING WALL THINGY, JESSICA?

This is excellent news because Mister’s real birthday is this coming Sunday and so I get another chance to fuck it up in some other way. I’m very excited, so be sure to look for another fascinating cake update next week.

I might not do lemon buttercream layer cake this time though. I might do something daring like…an unfrosted vanilla sheet cake. Maybe I’ll let Girlfriend toss a few sprinkles on there to make it fancy.

Aaaaaand let’s see…Princess Twattington is up to her old tricks but I avoided the whole mess and ate at my desk like I said I would. Also, I may or may not be coming down with a cold and so I may or may not have licked the rim of her coffee cup.

Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t.

Maybe I should be win an award for being the most passive aggressive person ever.

Oh, and I’m probably going to be fired pretty soon because I write about work sometimes, and I didn’t know this until a couple of people emailed me about it, but this here little blog has been written about in a real book about libraries and librarians:

It’s getting a lot of buzz and I even saw an interview with the author on Salon.com, and there’s a copy of it sitting on my boss’s desk right now, so yeah. It’s only a matter of time. I’m on page 64 in the section about poop.

I’m very proud, obviously.

And in other, more dangerous news, I think my Fed Ex guy hates me. Or my mail. Or me AND my mail because yesterday I got a package that I ordered eons ago and it was kind of fucked up. It was in a new box with a filthy scrap of the old box taped onto it. It was so damaged that you couldn’t even read my address anymore, but somebody knew where it was going because it got to me. Somebody purposely beat the hell out of my box of baby clothes from Kohl’s in an attempt to send me a warning.

I’m next probably.

This is why I prefer UPS. The delivery guy’s knees look cute in the summer uniform and nobody that cute would ever kick a mommy librarian blogger’s ass.

PS: Remember that scene from The Jerk? “It’s these CANS! HE HATES THESE CANS!!”

PSS: We have a new pet! My dad and stepmother got Girlfriend a baby bunny without my permission! Yay! (makes a gun with her hand, shoots herself in the head) Let me introduce to you the newest member of the Crissy family, Sally the Baby Bunny:
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Stop laughing at me, you motherfuckers.

PSSS: It’s a Toy with Me day today. It’s all about Japanese toilet rituals because it is. Flush Your Husband Down the Toilet!

First, I should probably address the concerned Queefie emails I’ve been getting about the flooding here.  The Crissys have emerged unscathed, thanks for asking.  Our basement is dry, our street is dry, we’re dry. Getting to work is harder for both me and Mister though because our normal routes are flooded, and so it takes us each like 20 minutes instead of 10 to get to work.  OH, THE HARDSHIP!  I haven’t been able to see my Vinny over at the deli because the Stop & Shop is underwater.  That’s okay though because absence makes the heart grow fonder and that was a ghetto Stop & Shop anyway.  They didn’t really even have an organic section.

I know.  WTF?

Ghetto.

But enough about boring stuff like states of emergency and disasters because apparently, the lunchroom at work has it out for both  me and The Lunchist. I’m having issues in there too.

I eat dinner at my desk now because there’s this annoying person who likes to take her dinner break at the same time as I do.  We’ll call her Princess Twattington because that is not her name. She’s all of 16 or 17 and is but a lowly library page who puts the books back on the shelves.  That’s right Queefies, librarians have people for that. Contrary to popular belief, they don’t do it themselves.  Library pages are also the people who have to clean the poopie off the books when somebody decides to make a whole ‘nuther kind of deposit in the book drop.  I pray Miss Twattington is on duty the next time it happens because the experience will be good for her.

Anyway, Miss Twattington has a little bit of a problem understanding lunch room etiquette.  For example, if I am such an asshole as to get to the lunch room first and put my humble little frozen Amy’s dinner in the microwave, and she  happens to walk in and find the microwave is taken for the moment, she stands in front of it with her dinner in her hand and taps her little toe waiting for the thing to beep, and as soon as it does, she punches the button to open the door and shouts “WHOSE DINNER IS THIS?”  in her most annoyed princess voice and she takes the dinner out and throws it on the counter.  You can forget about checking to see if your dinner is hot enough because Miss Twattington already has her stuff in the microwave before you can even get over there.

She doesn’t do this to only me. She pulled my boss’s dinner out and put it in front of her on the table.  My boss is not a woman to be trifled with.  I’m surprised she let Miss Twattington keep her face, to be honest.

While other people may be able to tolerate Miss Twattington’s behavior, I have a hard time with it and I’ve come pretty close to punching her dead in the face because that precious 30 minutes in the lunch room is quite often the only peace and quiet I get all week.  It’s the only time I have to sit with a People magazine or an InStyle or a Pottery Barn catalog or whatever and just eat my sad little dinner without having to get up a hundred times to cater to some kids.  And then I come to work and I have to deal with this crap from somebody else’s kid?

I call bullshit on that.

And before you think I’m overreacting, there’s more.

There are 5 other chairs at the table and she chooses the one RIGHTNEXTOME and practically sits in my lap. I’ve tried spreading my stuff out so she’d choose another chair, but NO.  She totally invades my space and puts her stuff down ON TOP OF my stuff and then, and this is the most annoying thing for me, she chews like a cow and loudly smacks her lips and BELCHES while she eats.

I do not like to have my space invaded and I do not like eating noises, Queefies.

Just ask Mister.  If people get too close to me, I move.  If people are gross when they eat,  I’ll take my dinner and eat it somewhere else because it makes me want to stab them in the eye with a fork.

And then if I’m at the sink washing my dishes, she literally puts her hands in front of me and starts washing her dishes as if I wasn’t already there!

And sadly for Miss Twattington, the lunchroom is not the only place where her etiquette skills are lacking.  I’ve had to jump out of her path so she wouldn’t slam into me because she was clearly not planning on going around me.   She’s twice my size.  It would hurt if she slammed into me.  I’ve been looking at books on a cart and she’s literally stepped in front of me and taken them away!  She has pushed some of my co-workers out of her way, and when an office door is closed, she just opens it without knocking and walks on in.

Pretty much everyone is annoyed by her rude behavior, and I have been elected to be the one who puts Princess Twattington in her place, but I don’t think I’m going to.

I think I’m going to wait for the girls in her college dorm to do it.  They’ll be far more cruel and punishing than I could ever be and so for now, I’m going to eat at my desk and avoid contact with her because really?

I’ve got my own princesses to discipline.  Speaking of, Girlfriend just shoved poor little Homeslice over and made her do a faceplant into a hardcover book she was looking at.

I’ve got to go kick some ass.