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.”

Brain. Damage.

And I look like Jeffrey’s mother:

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:

Have yourself a crappy little Christmas.

After years of loyal service, we have retired Sasha.

Girlfriend is totally beside herself because Sasha is a part of our family.

She drove both Girlfriend and Homeslice home from the hospital.

She rescued Vivian.

She kept us safe.

And now, she’s just sitting in the garage, waiting to be driven, longing to feel the wind in her hair once again. Mister and I cannot bear the thought of selling her, but at the same time, we don’t need her anymore. I feel like Henry VIII, tossing aside Catherine of Aragon for Anne Boleyn.

But unlike Henry VIII, I actually feel bad for my douchery. Sasha has always been good and loyal and virtuous. She’s just old now and not very thrilling anymore. It happens to the best of us, right, Queefies?

Remember when Crissy begged and begged Mister for a new car because  all she wanted in the whole wide world was to drive the shit out of some hot little number even though it scared the hell out of her?   Remember the day Mister tried to teach her and it did not go so well, Queefies?

Good times.

But then remember how after a little practice, she got better and felt not quite so scared?

And then years went by and Mister finally let Crissy get her Dream Machine. Crissy made a list of ALL the things she wanted, and after looking for almost two years, we found Anne Boleyn.

Except her name is Roxanne.

(I have no idea why all our car pictures are in parking lots.  That’s Mister’s department.)

She’s exceptionally fast and nimble.

She’s what they call “a six banger” or something. I told Mister “my new car is a six banger” and he looked at me like I’m a crazypants, but I think it’s because he’s just jealous because I’m fancy now and he doesn’t know what to do with that.

But it’s been a rough month, Queefies. Roxanne and I have been driving everywhere and my commute to work is a pressure cooker.  It’s constant stop and go traffic and everyone is in a hugefuckinghurry.  It only takes a second to recover from a stall, but my fellow commuters are the worst kind of assholes and they start with their horn bullshit straight away.

I’m actually quite brilliant at creeping along at 15mph in 1st gear constantly stopping and starting without stalling (that much).

Needless to say, I had to get a refill on my Xanies just for the ride to work.  But now  I’m finally able to drive Roxanne without panic attacks and pulling over to cry and hyperventilate.

YAY CRISSY!

And poor Mister has been very patient with my obsessive need to keep driving so I can get better. We do not have one of those relationships where the girl is allowed to drive,  so this is clearly killing him.  It’s killing me a little bit too because he gets all bent out of shape when I hit curbs, but they’re the same curbs I’ve been hitting all along so he can just shut it.  I’ve been driving like this for 22 years and I’ve never had a problem. Some curbs are just begging to be hit, amiright?

Anyway, we haven’t had a car payment in about 13 years and so having to pay for a car is new.  I’m considering party bingo or selling “special brownies” to Girlfriend’s Brownie Troop.

We all know how selling my panties went, so I won’t be doing that shit again.

Anyway, so far Roxanne has been worth all the pain.

Zoom zoom, Queefies.

.

My dreams of having a maidlaundressnanny have been crushed, guys.  HippieMom SuperNanny has left us.  The halcyon days are over.

Her husband got a fancy new job and they had to move away.  Far, far away and so I no longer have her at the house, doing battle against the filth and the dishes and the laundry.

Our new childcare arrangements are so complicated we had to make a spreadsheet, but we’re making a go of it and not replacing her because there is no replacement for HippieMom SuperNanny.

We cannot bear the thought of even trying.

It’s only been one day and the house is already falling to crap.

Queefies, how is it possible that I can vacuum and wash the floors on Monday night and by Tuesday evening, even though nobody has been in the house all day, the place is a total fucking shitshow?

I have one theory, and one theory only.

It’s THIS:

Alice and Vivian have all the dogs in the neighborhood over for a dog party and the recalcitrant shitbirds ham it up in my kitchen!

I leave in the morning, and the two of them start barking out the windows, exactly like how it takes place on 101 Dalmations when the puppies go missing, and the next thing you know, they all come over here.  Tequila brings beer (ironically, she doesn’t like hard liquor), Henry‘s got da Chronic, and Talus brings the hos.

The end.

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…

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.

Who does that???

There’s ashy footprints all over my house.

Somebody should complain.

This place is a shithole.

PS: Vodka with Lavender Kombucha isn’t half bad, AND you get to poop.  But not in the fireplace.

Alas, Mister put his foot down.

I have a plant named “Ladypants” and a sweater I call “Sunday Girl.”  So, naturally when Ehpa adopted a doggie, I had to get involved because that’s what I do.  I get involved.

You guys remember when Crissy got  Vivian and I couldn’t decide what to name her and soI had to ask the Queefies about it?

Well, you guys get to help Crissy name Ehpa’s new baby boy.  Ehpa gets to have final say, of course  (I suppose) since its her dog or whatever.

Isn’t he marvelous??

He’s HUGE–kind of like a horse or The Imperial Walker.

He’s very sweet and calm and gentle and of course everyone is madly in love with him.

So, name this poor dude because his track name, Cal, isn’t totally working for Crissy.

Ehpa has narrowed it down to these names for you to vote on.

PS: Other suggestions are also welcome in the space provided below.

PSS:  I’m dead against naming him Milo, but that’s up the Ehpa and the Queefies to decide.  *SIGH*

Have a splendid day, Queefies!!

There’s another post coming soon!

NO?

The fuck is wrong with you?

You should be following me because everything I pin is the most awesome stuff the Internet has to offer. Obvi.

Right now, I’m on a quest for the perfect ring to replace my stolen wedding set. Remember that? It was terrible, and I’m still traumatized and pretty angry that some low-life scum sucking douchebag thought she had the right to help herself to our family heirlooms.

Our family is not a sentimental one at all, but one thing we do get attached to is jewelry. We really get into handing things like that down.

So, there’s a lot of pressure on this replacement ring to be ultra special and something that generations will enjoy. My plan is to have my heirloom ring re-created with some diamonds my mother gave me that belonged to my Great Grandmother.

I’ve decided to replace my wedding set with either a diamond wedding band, or just a diamond cocktail ring. I don’t feel the need to have a traditional wedding set because who says I have to?

Nobody. So long as there’s something on that finger, I’m good with it. There are so many beautiful things out there, I don’t want to limit myself to wedding sets.

I only like vintage stuff. All the new stuff I’ve seen isn’t doing it for me–there’s too many little doo-das all over the place.

So, I fell in love with this:

And I thought about it and thought about it and wanted it soooo badly.

I finally broke down and had it shipped to a local store, hoping that I could just get over it and that I wouldn’t like it when I tried it on. It’s about four sizes too big, but I liked it. It’s very unique and the quality is absolutely exquisite. It was so white and clear I couldn’t get over it. It was almost disturbing how white the diamonds were. I thought everyone would love it, so I posted a picture of it on Facebook.

A few people liked it, but most didn’t!

WHAT?

And then somebody said it looks like a twat.

Does it look like a twat to you, Queefies?

I think it looks like leaves, but now all I see is vagina when I look at it.

I don’t want a vagina on my finger, you guys!

So, the ring is pretty much ruined for me now and the search continues. Those of you who are easily distracted by anything sparkly can help me because I’m always pinning stuff to my Treasure Bath board on Pinterest. You guys can help me find the perfect heirloom ring for Homeslice and Girlfriend that hopefully does not look like a twat.

(If you think this is just a desperate ploy to get more followers on Pinterest, you are absolutely right.)

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.

THE QUEEN MUST RULE AGAIN!

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.

Homeslice

is three (!) now and Girlfriend is seven

so maybe I can have a little head space to share with you.

MAYBE.

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…