tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-88378652024-03-23T11:03:59.681-07:00It's Not Me, It's You"So take your diamond bland shaped tears, and maybe I'll see you in 20 years and I will always wear your ring, you know the one that turned my finger green." - At the Drive-InCrystalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17383214103702764400noreply@blogger.comBlogger893125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8837865.post-22134553981460513822019-09-11T14:12:00.002-07:002019-09-13T09:32:03.560-07:00Breaking News: I Have No Self Controljk....that's not news at all.<br />
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It kinda feels like my brain is taking a warm bubble bath right now....in the rip of a space-time continuum that is made up of macaroni and cheese, velcro sounds and SOCIAL MEDIA, BITCHES! I am back in the world of the living. I am feeling a little excited, but mostly very lame. And this actually happened a couple of weeks ago, but I have been too busy mindlessly scrolling to even write about it.<br />
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In other news, I got a text today from one of those number neighbor people. You know, like, when someone with the same number as you, but one number off texts and is like, "we are number neighbors!" I didn't respond, but look what a couple of other number neighbor people responded with. Brutal. I love my neighborhood.<br />
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<br />Crystalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17383214103702764400noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8837865.post-43735974032809558962019-09-09T09:56:00.000-07:002019-09-09T09:56:19.748-07:00Day ?? What day is it even...I'm falling apartGot in a fight with my 8 year old daughter about how to pronounce the word "Furniture." She won. I'll be calling it "FRUNinture" from here on out to avoid having any more fights about how to pronounce the word fruniture. <br />
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Parenting laziness level: 100Crystalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17383214103702764400noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8837865.post-1704247310586443142019-08-22T05:38:00.002-07:002019-08-22T05:38:24.995-07:00Day 5Almost got eaten by an elevator.Crystalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17383214103702764400noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8837865.post-27951641957548991252019-08-19T08:42:00.003-07:002019-08-19T08:42:56.667-07:00Anna Should Take a Social Media Break<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Anna is 8.<br />
Anna Tik Toks.<br />
Anna asked me how to spell "Brother" the other day.<br />
Not sure she knows what brother means in this context.<br />
Anna should probably have a social media break too.<br />
Unless she can find a generous 8-figure brother (that's her type).Crystalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17383214103702764400noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8837865.post-28862539708586535272019-08-15T10:22:00.001-07:002019-08-15T10:22:11.657-07:00Day 3Forgot to unplug my Twitter.<br />
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YESSSSSSCrystalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17383214103702764400noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8837865.post-16141448906996008812019-08-15T10:16:00.002-07:002019-08-20T05:55:51.065-07:00Day 2We are going to Day 2. Day 1 was spent blankly staring at and clicking on the fb and IG icons on my phone, only to have them ask for a login and remind me that I am no longer connected to the world of the living. GRIM AF, YOU GUYS.<br />
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Day 2 I decided I was gonna prank call some mfs. The first one went off beautifully. It went like this:</div>
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Person: Hello</div>
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Me: Knock Knock</div>
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Person: Who's there?</div>
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Me: To</div>
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Person: To Who?</div>
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Me: Actually, it's "To Whom"</div>
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and then I laughed pretty much uncontrollably in their ear, slammed the phone down and rubbed my hands together. OOOOOOOO I got them so good. </div>
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I immediately got a text: Did you just call me?</div>
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Ugh. </div>
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Since my favorite joke went so smoothly the first time, I decided to do it again, but this time target someone who I have never spoken with on the phone. Her name is Danielle and I work out with her. We also work for the same company so tracking down her number was pretty easy. She has also called me a shitbag a couple of times so I figured she'd be a good one. It went like this:</div>
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Danielle: Hello</div>
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Me: Knock knock</div>
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Danielle: Huh?</div>
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Me: Kock knock</div>
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Danielle: Who's there?</div>
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Me: To</div>
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Danielle: TO???</div>
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Me: Yes, to.</div>
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Danielle: TO???</div>
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Me: Ugh. Do you know how a knock knock joke works?? Knock Knock</div>
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Danielle: Ugh. Who's there?</div>
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Me: To</div>
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Danielle (obviously irritated): TO. TO WHO?</div>
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Me: Actually it's "To Whom"</div>
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Danielle: TO WHOM??? TO. WHOM?? WHAT. WHAT THE FUCK.</div>
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And then I hung up. It did not go smoothly. At all. I'm probably going to get reported to HR.</div>
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But maybe she wouldn't recognize my voice, right? I mean, she's pretty much only heard me cackling and grunting at work outs so there is, like, no way she is going to know that was me.</div>
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I showed up at bootcamp that night and while I was walking up, still 30' from me, she yelled out, "HEY SHITBAG! Did you call me today???"</div>
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I hate my voice.</div>
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UPDATE: I made it to fb, y'all. Without even being on fb, y'all.<br />
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Crystalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17383214103702764400noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8837865.post-49907992121250253952019-08-15T10:00:00.001-07:002019-08-15T10:00:56.760-07:00Social Media, ByeI deactivated my Facebook and Instagram accounts the other day because I was spending too much time distracting myself with them when I was supposed to be working, driving, doing my kid's kindergarten homework for him, making sarcastic remarks to my husband about his cooking/laundry/sexual prowess, inspecting my dog's tumor/my aerolae/fruit that has been in the fridge for more than 6 months, ETC.<br />
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and Oh My God, I am BORED AF now.<br />
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Part of this is good, see, because it is making me realize that I have been being sucked into a mindless tunnel with walls decorated in dumb memes and pictures of people's lives that are soooooo----->ooooo much better than mine. Part of it is bad, see, because now I have to come up with other shit to distract myself with...because I am certainly not emotionally ready to handle all of the stuff I mentioned doing in the first paragraph.<br />
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AND LOOK WHAT I FOUND, Y'ALL! A blog nobody reads anymore.<br />
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So I am going to document my social media break here so that I can remember what slumming it is like when I inevitably log back onto fb/IG in a couple of weeks (or, more realistically, in an hour or so).<br />
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<br />Crystalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17383214103702764400noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8837865.post-8950199133380130692019-05-15T11:30:00.000-07:002019-09-13T09:31:36.504-07:00You like that, mat? I have been working out for awhile now and my fitness mat is terribly funky. It's dirty and falling apart and kind of smells like salty feet. So I got a new mat the other day. I was VERY excited about it. I went down on it to do push ups and said, "Hi, sexy mat. We are going to get so dirty together." and then I pretended to make out with it because my friend was next to me. I kept on saying rude shit to it throughout the workout like, and such as, "You like that, mat? There's more where that came from" and "You smell so good, mat, it's making me crazy" and "I'm sweating so bad. Sorry, mat." etc.<br />
Well, later that evening, I got a friend request from a guy. I went to look at his pictures and realized he was the guy on the other side of me at the work out. His name is Matt. So........does this mean we are dating now?Crystalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17383214103702764400noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8837865.post-52223002337634791232016-02-11T04:43:00.001-08:002016-02-11T14:28:20.906-08:00I'm Making Friends, Guys!!!<br />
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Last night I was up until midnight making motherfucking Valentines to send with my 2 year old to give to his 2 year old classmates who really couldn't give a crap about a superhero lollipop...all of that hand-cramping love (horrible tedious masks and capes) will just be an obstacle impeding their fat little clumsy hands from getting to the sugar. Whatever. Here's a picture. Ok, I am kinda proud of that shit considering that last year I just bought some pre-made choo choo train ones and addressed them all to "My Friend."<br />
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Speaking of friends, I made a new one recently. Her name is Kelly. We met at a book club and quickly decided we were going to ditch those other dicks so we could talk about laser hair removal and her crush on/my horrible fear of Robert Stack. Not really, they were all lovely, but somehow we are now the only two members in the book club. Whatever. I TAKE THAT AS A COMPLIMENT.<br />
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I am not great at making friends. Example #1. I tried for 15 minutes to get my kid to say the word backhoe to my neighbor because it sounds exactly like he's saying butthole while she tried to subtly find chores for her daughter to do out of the room...far, far away from the 37 year old woman who thinks the word butthole is hilarious. It is. Example #2. Same neighbor was asking if I'd seen Neighbor 3's two cats. "Oh my GOD!" I exclaim! "I think [Neighbor 4] shot them today!" and then followed it with "hahahaha." I laugh when I am uncomfortable.<br />
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So Kelly and I took our children to a place around here where the kids can participate in various science experiments. We imagined walking in, sitting in chairs and discussing puffy areolae/puffy pubic bones and how Keith Morrison kinda reminds me of my grandmother in a really good way, while our kids hung out with professional scientists who learned them some science. Nope. We quickly discovered that WE were supposed to be the professionals and follow instructions in a notebook at various stations. So we decide to make some kind of slime out of glue, water and borax. It looked exactly like white slime. It got everywhere I went into sad-clown-trying-to-cheer-kid-up mode and, with exaggerated movements, turned to Kelly, threw some of it onto my chest and face and pretending to be in college and call out to a gentleman leaving my house, "wait! where are you going? can i get your number?" Then I started laughing which quickly turned into sobs.<br />
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So instead of a relaxing time sitting on our behinds talking about the existence of Bigfoot and how MTV Jenna's ass makes me feel bad about myself, I spent an exhausting hour reading manuals and realizing that my dreams of becoming smart would never happen. Kelly seemed to have her shit together enough to figure out how to work both the fog machine and a microscope without the assistance of a kindergartner.<br />
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There was also some mom-on-mom crime that occurred only a couple of hours later. We handled it. That mom won't be tattling on anyone else's kids for a long time.<br />
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Friends!<br />
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<br />Crystalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17383214103702764400noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8837865.post-33581183923072299082015-02-16T10:17:00.003-08:002015-02-16T10:17:28.264-08:00feelin crappy<br />
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I'm feeling really shitty lately. I haven't felt this shitty since I saved a goose foot from a hunting trip when I was eight and kept it in my jewelry box with the spinning ballerina and then brought it to show and tell three weeks later and it started stinking up the classroom and my teacher made me throw it away in front of everyone.<br />
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Crystalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17383214103702764400noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8837865.post-57102198863843419632012-10-15T18:58:00.001-07:002012-10-15T18:58:19.696-07:00Conversation in the bathroom at a dive bar in my hometownMe: (to myself) This stall won't lock<br />
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Stranger: (from the other stall) You got to pull up on that shit!<br />
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Me: Ok, it worked. Thanks!<br />
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Stranger: It ain't like it gon prevent nobody from bustin in and whippin yo ass!<br />
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Me: (peeing) well, I sure hope that won't happen. That could get messy.<br />
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Stranger: Guh! If somebody start whoopin yo ass when you on a turlet, your piss and shit will stop.<br />
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Me: why would anyone want to beat me up when I am on the toilet?<br />
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Stranger: Guh! I just got out the pin-tin-churry. That shit happen!<br />
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Me: (coming out of the stall to wash my hands next to her) I don't think I would be able to fight back.<br />
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Stranger: (incredulous) YOU A PUSSY?<br />
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Me: Kind of.<br />
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Stranger: No. You got to defend yo-self! If somebody bust that do' open and start whoppin yo ass, you just gon let em beat yo ass? While you shittin???<br />
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Me: I just want people to like me.<br />
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Stranger: Dumb ass white girl. I ain't got time for this shit.<br />
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aaaaaand scene.<br />
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Crystalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17383214103702764400noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8837865.post-67822380286160943952012-10-08T10:43:00.002-07:002012-10-08T10:43:10.349-07:00The one where you come hang out at my house with my high school friends and we spend the whole time talking about people and teachers you don't knowI was browsing facebook the other night and found this posted: <br />
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Calling all past Drill Team members. Oct 12th will be the 25th anniversary of its start. Sheila wants past members to come out to the WHS football game to reunite and possibly do the fight song on the field. Let Julie know who all can make it out. No inappropriate dancing! We are LADIES! <br />
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I am not one of those people who thinks high school was the best time of my life. I was a drama nerd and a misfit and served a short stints in band, in the color guard and on the drill team.<br />
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When I read that post on facebook, my immediate thought was hell no. I haven't seen these people in 15 years and most of the memories I have had to do with me being grounded whether it be by my parents or by the school. Then the comments started rolling in and I started remembering the good times. Also, the times that were not good at the time, but since the statute of limitations has passed, have become amusing.<br />
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I was a horrible person to Sheila, the Director. I honestly feel terrible about it now. She wanted so badly for all of us to be ladies and shake the typical whore core connotation that goes along with dance teams. She picked songs for us to dance to like the Flintstones theme and Smoke on the Water, but we got to pick our stretching music which was, almost always something by the Beastie Boys or radio edits of NWA. Of course, the stretching would sometimes turn into a competition for who could get their ass to pop the most or who could stick their boobs out the farthest. Ms. Shiela would shake her fingers ferociously and threaten demerits and we would be like, "What?? WE'RE STRETCHING! GOD!" Eye roll. <em><span style="font-size: x-small;">"what? we are stretching our eyes. god....</span></em>"<br />
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During practice, me and a few of my pastiest friends would hang out in the back of the gym and learn how to dirty dance from this black girl named Patricia. She taught us how to do The Granny (one hand on hip, one hand on knee, hump air violently) and the The Dog (both hands on bleacher or bumper or ground if necessary, bend knees, hump air violently). Sheila busted me doing the dog in the stands during one of our home games and I got grounded for the next two games which was so lame. However, I could not shake the feeling of pride and street cred oozing from my pores as the black girl on the drill team screamed, "Go white girl!" It was worth it.<br />
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During Friday night football games, we got third quarter off and had to be back promptly for fourth. I was habitually late either from smoking cigarettes, stuffing my face with nachos or stuffing my face with some loser (retrospectively) in the parking lot. I kept my hymen til college and was a professional tease, but I REALLY liked kissing. One time I came back late, my french braid amess and my giant red bow askew, holding the hand of some undesireable and Ms. Sheila pulled me to the side and said we were not allowed to hold hands with boys while in uniform. This meant no kissing! This meant no sneaking out to the parking lot to hop on some dudes tailgate and swig from his bottle of Goldschlager while he unsuccessfully tried to finger me through my orange-hued dance tights! She was single-handedly ruining my life! This was BULLSHIT! So I quit my senior year. <br />
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Now that I am older, I am remembering this with fondness instead of that crawl-under-a-rock feeling I had about it once I graduated and realized what a little slut bag hellion I was. So now I think I am going to go to that game on Friday night. Sheila will probably shit her pants as soon as she sees my face, but I will only do the dog when her back is to me. If I have learned one thing over all these years, it is how not to get caught. I'm looking forward to meeting up with these girls I had shennanigans with and seeing what kind of women they've become. And hopefully, Ryan will turn down his tailgate for me!!<br />
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Crystalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17383214103702764400noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8837865.post-28851358219112018772012-09-20T11:48:00.002-07:002019-08-23T11:12:41.526-07:00Triflin'Lately, I have been feeling pretty overwhelmed at work. In order to alleviate some of that, I have turned to screwing with people.<br />
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I have a friend at work who is currently on vacation. I had to go to his location for a meeting. His door was locked so I texted him that I needed to use it for a meeting and got permission to gain access from security. For some reason, he trusts me. What a dummy. Once in, me and three of my work friends spent an hour and this is the finished product:<br />
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He gets back from vacation tomorrow. Fortunately, I will be driving to Fort Worth tomorrow. Unfortunately, I am starting to feel guilty that nobody will be there to help clean it up...especially since we wrapped his pens individually.<br />
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<br />Crystalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17383214103702764400noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8837865.post-28153672958961713042012-08-24T21:24:00.001-07:002019-08-22T05:44:31.414-07:00We'll see...<br />
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I went to a training class where I had to simulate working on a drive in a shop. Of course, I am the only girl in a room with ten dudes. So it is another guy's turn and he was at the front of the room about to begin when he said he needed earplugs. I'm nothing if not annoyingly helpful. I thought I had a plastic package of earplugs in my pocket so I said "here!" reached in my pants and pulled out a Carefree maxi pad. <br />
He said, "I don't think that will fit in my ear."<br />
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<br />
I just realized I said I reached in my pants. For clarification purposes, I reached in the pocket of my pants.<br />
<br />
I got a fancy app in hopes that maybe I will blog more. I need to do something with my time instead of checking Facebook/WWF/my areolae for stray hairs/obsessing whether I have West Nile Virus and/or SARS and/or cantaloupe induced salmonella.<br />
Ok, I just have to say that this autocorrect on my iPhone is seriously screwing with me. When I wrote cantaloupe, it thought I meant "can't elope" and it reminded me of when Mr. Belding thought Screech and Lisa were going to get married and he said, "Screech! You can't elope!" to which Screech responded, "Don't call me a cantaloupe, you melon head!". HAHAHA<br />
Still pisses me off though. Autocorrect, not the amount of Saved by the Bell and Full House quotes I know by heart.<br />
<br />
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhoneCrystalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17383214103702764400noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8837865.post-36608054432707188672011-12-28T20:59:00.000-08:002011-12-28T22:04:15.601-08:00Yo baby pop yeah youI haven't been blogging because I have been busy with a kid. And <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">facebook</span>. And <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error">Pinterest</span>. And drinking wine in all my spare time....including now. However, I am feeling like blabbing tonight and it is too late to call people on a school night and everyone is asleep so I can't perfect my chair routine to <em>"Freeze Frame"</em> lest I wake someone up and they want a bottle of milk or sex. So I will take it out on my poor laptop who is all, "I thought you were on vacation!" Never gets a break, this one.<br /><br />Something that happened recently: I got fake eyelashes. I was getting my nails done and the lady who always asks if I want my lip waxed even though I don't have a mustache said, "oh, honey, you wan eyelash. only 80 dollar." and I was like, "what? i wan eyelash?" and after a few minutes of broken E<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error">nglish</span> and frustrated nodding on my part, I was laying down with tape over my bottom lids getting eyelashes individually glued on for an hour and a half. Having your bottom eyelids taped down for that long is scary as shit. You can't open your eyes and sometimes the lady doing the whole thing gets up to DO <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error">SOMEONE'S</span> NAILS without telling you and you can hear her in the background criticizing someone <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-error">else's</span> mustache. When I was finally done and she gave me the mirror, I was in shock. I looked like <a href="http://portal.nifty.com/2006/11/23/c/2.htm">this</a>. I could hardly open my eyes and she gave me some bull about how I will get used to it and how I look very pretty. I have braided them and taped them to my eyebrows. Also, the whole "if i can't see you, you can't see me" rule does not apply. I found myself deliberately not making eye contact with people in hopes that they wouldn't notice the hungry spider <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-error">vaginas</span> peering off my face, but no such luck. Folks were like, "WHOA! Did you get fake eyelashes?" So, the moral of the story is, when you're having a bad day, it could always be worse. You could have made the decision to spend $80 getting false eyelashes put on and they look ridiculous and you have to walk around with that shit superglued to your face for 3-6 weeks. <br /><br />What else...<br /><br />My profession allows me to visit many different oil field locations in places like East Texas. Sometimes, when I get to talking to these good <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-error">ol'</span> boys, my grammar may slip a little. I may even say things like, "<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_7" class="blsp-spelling-error">Whoooo</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_8" class="blsp-spelling-error">doggie</span>, them some hot coveralls" or something like that. I think it has to do with me feeling like I am back at home and I usually get a warm reception from the guys at rigs. So one day when I was at work, a cowboy actually told me my grammar was atrocious. He asked me if I even went to school. Now, I pride myself on knowing how to use proper grammar. That was the only class I ever aced in school. However, I tend to use creative license in every day speak and on my blog (gimmie a break I am drinking). Kind of like when I refused to name my kid Gladys or Hillis because I didn't want to put people in the position of using the<em> s'</em> or the<em> s's</em>. God forbid someone give me a homemade sign to hang in her room that said "Gladys's Toys". I couldn't live with it. Even though that may be the correct usage, who really knows? That is something I am not comfortable with and I am not going to subject my child to years of scrutiny when she is referring to her posessions.<br />ANYWAY, so this guy told me my grammar was atrocious and I have since set out to prove to him that my grammar is, in fact, amazing. He wound up friending me on our office instant messenger and I am finding it stressful. I am using complete sentences and expressing my feelings in actual words instead of emoticons or phrases like "i b chillin. what u doin?". Do you guys know how hard it is to end a sentence without a preposition??? So I have found myself using "with which" a lot. What makes me sound like a bigger douchebag? I finally broke down and told him the pressure he was putting me under (the pressure in which he was putting me?) and he didn't even know what a preposition was!!!!!!! fml.<br /><br />So yeah, I have a kid. She just turned 1 last week and she is awesome. I am going to leave you with a music video she made to LMFAO's "Sexy and I Know It" because I have become one of those parents that forces people to stare at her kid. Yep.<br /><br />Blogger won't let me embed it for some reason, so <a href="http://youtu.be/6Vu2Ca_o5KM">here is a link </a>to the video. Warning: She has passion in her pants and she ain't afraid to show it.Crystalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17383214103702764400noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8837865.post-8703496331144491852011-06-16T11:08:00.000-07:002011-06-16T11:40:58.078-07:00Don't Make Me Cut A BitchAmber, over at <a href="http://everybodysworkingfortheweekend.blogspot.com/">Everybody's Working for the Weekend</a>, recently mentioned on her facebook page that she is hormonal and started crying when her pet bird bit a hole in her shirt. One of her friends commented, "When I was pregnant with Ally and Kelly Clarkson won American Idol I cried so hard and so long that I had to sleep in the next day and go to work late...and I had never watched AI until that night."<br /><br />The point is, when you're pregnant, you really turn into another person. My opinion is that you're not allowed to drink or smoke weed or eat a bunch of sushi or whatever you normally do to cope...that, in addition to the fact that none of your clothes fit, you're experiencing fun things like baby elbows in your ribs, boob/crotch sweat and involuntary farting at work. All of that sucks so it is completely normal for your fat-ankled camel's back to be broken by several straws a day.<br /><br />That reminded me of a time when I was 8 months pregnant. I had just finished teaching a class and I was tired and trying to get home. So I rounded a corner and there was a vehicle stuck in a ditch with a tow truck hooked up to it blocking the entire roadway. About 200 feet in front of them was another tow truck partially blocking the road and the lady tow truck driver was outside watching. I needed to turn around, but the only way I could do it was to pull into the driveway on the other side of the that tow truck and back up that way. There was still plenty of room between her and the ditched vehicle so I started to go and the lady tow truck driver flipped her shit. She started screaming at me and calling me stupid and at one point, she was like, "What the fuck are you doing???!" At that point, I decided it would be a good idea to put my truck in park and get out and start waddling over to her throwing my hands in the air and I think I said something like, "What are you going to to about it, bitch?" [Ed. note: this is kind of embarrassing for me to admit. I wish I was that gangster on a regular basis. Please keep in mind that if someone looks at me sideways, I make it my mission to either get them to like me by buying them things or showing them my boobs.] So she, obviously scared that a severly pregnant lady was about to attack her, screamed back, "You need to turn around, bitch!" so I started waddling faster because I will be dammed if she gets the best of me. I did not stand in front of a classroom for 6 hours and pee my pants a little bit every hour to deal with this crap. I was just about to go thug on her when I heard "BEEWOOOOP!" and turned my head to the left where a cop was sitting in his patrol car watching the whole thing. I had never even seen him in my blind rage. He didn't even get out of his car. He turned his speaker on and said, "Come on, ladies, get it together. Ma'am, get back in your car" and then he proceeded to give me directions on how to get my truck out of the area all via the loud speaker. He wasn't about to get out of his patrol car and enter into the danger that was a pregnant lady in a waddling rage. He wasn't ready for this jelly. Crystal Street Cred = 10.<br /><br />After I got back into my car, I called my husband so we could talk smack about the lady tow truck driver together and he would make me feel better about the whole situation and we would giggle and then he would massage my feet when I got home because I'd had such a hard day. HAHAHAHA @ my silly expectations. I actually wound up getting an earful about how I need to be careful with his unborn child and blahblahblahsomeotherirrationalbullshitblahblahblah and I wound up hanging up on him and crying the whole way home.<br /><br />Lessons to be learned: Lady tow truck drivers suck and men should always just smile and agree with whatever their wife says...especially if she is pregnant.Crystalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17383214103702764400noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8837865.post-66553390461388030582011-06-09T10:45:00.000-07:002011-06-09T10:56:36.991-07:00Bamail!I was going through some old emails and ran across this awesome one from my friend, Ba:<br /><br />Hey, what do you think of my new goal: I bet a friend at work that I could say the word "bitch"<br />but have it last at least eleven full syllables. One syllable, of course, is the standard. Two syllables is f-cking child's play; every two-bit white-bread investment banker downtown says "beeyotch." Three syllables is elementary school crap: ever heard of "bee-eye-itch-nitch"? Of course you have. Even four syllables is ridiculously unchallenging: "bizz-nitch-ess-es" (this is singular; plural is "bizznitchesseses").<br /><br />Anyway, I challenged myself to eleven got-damned syllables. This is a pretty tall order because I once tried nine syllables, and, with my entire firm watching, I crashed and burned. The medics and EMTs that were on hand had to use their fire extinguishers on me because at syllable number seven, I became engulfed in flames (but I was wearing an Evel Knievel-type white jump suit and a helmet). I was laid up in a hospital for about two weeks.Crystalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17383214103702764400noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8837865.post-40844710604682858702011-04-25T10:15:00.001-07:002011-04-25T10:40:27.583-07:00So yeah....<div>I have avoided blogging for awhile. I was refusing to have a mommy blog...not that mommy blogs are a bad thing, but it is kind of weird to go from writing about mcribs and my husband's undescended third nut to cradle cap and stories about how I rushed my daughter to the doctor because I thought she had measles, but she only got bitten by an ant. I thought I'd have plenty of things to discuss besides the baby, but my entire life is babybabybaby. I frikkin LOVE the kid, by the way. She is, by far, the coolest person I have ever met in my entire life and she doesn't even talk! That's probably one of the reasons I like her so much - she lets me do all the talking.<br /><br /></div><br /><div>However, I am trying to put off work so I decided screw it, I am going to blog. I will ease into it with labor. I got induced; 24 hours later I was pushing; 2 hours after that, the doctor decided that my hips were too small and I had to have an emergency c-section. I, of course, started freaking out and crying and then they gave me some drugs and I talked to the doctor about lord knows what while she was elbow deep in my guts. Literally. That is not a sexual euphamism. I was freezing. Probably because my insides were strewn about the OR. I thought about screaming "FREEEEDOM". Ha I am hilarious. So then, she sewed me up (7 layers of stitches!) , sent the baby off to the nursery with Ryan and wheeled me off to recovery. While in recovery, and still quite loopy, I had the same nurse that I'd had during the day and I noticed she had a mole on her chin. Only, I didn't know it was a mole and I said, "HEEEEEY! When did you get your face pierced???" to which she replied, "What?" and I said, "YOUR FACE! IT IS PIERCED!" and she looked at me crazy and then I said, "I'm sorry. I'm all fucked up." Then Ryan made it back to me at which point I said, "Hey! Aren't you glad our baby isn't black!?" and he told me to be quiet because there was a black family on the other side of the curtain. So then I felt the need to explain that the reason I said that was because I did not have sex with a black man, therefore, my baby turned out white and not black. Not that I would mind having sex with a black man, but I am married to Ryan who is white. Ugh. Shut up, Crystal.<br /></div><br /><div>Right up to the second I heard her cry, I was completely baffled why someone would go through this more than once. Why do people have more than one child on purpose??? Now I know.<br /></div><br /><div>So then a bunch of stuff happened that you probably don't want to know about and I got the kid home and got no sleep. She sleeps great, but I was in anxious mom mode and was constantly checking on her to make sure she was breathing.<br /><br /></div><br /><div>She is pretty perfect though and is now sleeping 11-12 hours a night and rarely cries unless something is wrong. I am completely smitten.</div><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxBsyvKdlVTaLeDuEiMLyAcESWpPzbLyRDuuwPiozNNvhTCBkaHw7OlRVsU8islSmP90QvyGiLObIaEFP3Ylr9q0mUhFNPXu6TIViwvsl2_Npy2rKYhnFfcH6Cm7fx24a7cgYi5Q/s1600/anna+close+up+3.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5599576603130956338" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 180px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxBsyvKdlVTaLeDuEiMLyAcESWpPzbLyRDuuwPiozNNvhTCBkaHw7OlRVsU8islSmP90QvyGiLObIaEFP3Ylr9q0mUhFNPXu6TIViwvsl2_Npy2rKYhnFfcH6Cm7fx24a7cgYi5Q/s320/anna+close+up+3.JPG" border="0" /></a>Crystalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17383214103702764400noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8837865.post-90882620169256056722010-11-18T10:17:00.001-08:002010-11-18T10:56:12.464-08:00The McRib is back. There is officially nothing to be upset about now.The McRib is back y'all!! It couldn't have come at a better time either because I don't care about my weight right now.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA7rlepIxqeduNFqmu0xo2P8M60ZEuspStOpx5pF_0eAkWUnF_kF-xnmMGcWD4Oyfmg2Lne1m-vHIkJ-3Upx3R9J8-pAqOe1Jq6qP-qyzoGaBr_MN2Cv13tRJkefRdmvNi5o1eLQ/s1600/mcrib.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5540956860790276418" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 291px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA7rlepIxqeduNFqmu0xo2P8M60ZEuspStOpx5pF_0eAkWUnF_kF-xnmMGcWD4Oyfmg2Lne1m-vHIkJ-3Upx3R9J8-pAqOe1Jq6qP-qyzoGaBr_MN2Cv13tRJkefRdmvNi5o1eLQ/s320/mcrib.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br />I have had two conversations today regarding this, both with men, both who said something to the effect of, "Real bbq is better" and since I haven't blogged in forever, I figured it was worth mentioning.<br /><br />I have to admit that real bbq does rock my world. However, sometimes it is nice to slum it. It is kind of like sex. Sure, I prefer intelligent, clean cut, classy, professional men, but come on...sometimes it is nice to knock it out with some idiot west Texas <a href="http://cache1.asset-cache.net/xc/200365861-001.jpg?v=1&c=IWSAsset&k=2&d=6C4008C0FD9EB5A51550B15F2160E35F4A99A21E36F06A16E97C31B865AB2E2200123AA3B5A18ED0">roughneck</a> who uses poor grammar like "we was" and "i ain't" and smells like sweat and tequila shots. As long as no one sees me.<br /><br />For the record, I have never been with a roughneck before, but I imagine it would be shockingly similar to eating a McRib...in my truck in the back of a dark parking lot shoving it into my face as quickly as possible.<br /><br />I'm hungry.<br /><br />In other news, I weigh a lot and I waddle and sound like Isaac Hayes when I talk. This is a picture of my foot:<br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCJgX1Unsdduwsw_qoQIf1FXK6Qf2FcZLG4lEDac1CjsihxnTOgRGKV9gL75zMzbRK7O08tMWKBc-lrlSd2o2Av0A35EskJggcEhy0ikjiH_FqKo8e32PfYgW-aFNsopeL0pJSrQ/s1600/after3.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5540961654687824322" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCJgX1Unsdduwsw_qoQIf1FXK6Qf2FcZLG4lEDac1CjsihxnTOgRGKV9gL75zMzbRK7O08tMWKBc-lrlSd2o2Av0A35EskJggcEhy0ikjiH_FqKo8e32PfYgW-aFNsopeL0pJSrQ/s320/after3.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />And <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtKC6DSvWxmcO-__R2tOIYjlqRVkpli5I7CIGYXtvIJhoh7yeKTTK-eyvyWV34ihq9cydbXDpDKsdxe6YqtH6CmUe4GylQ67lGLY8BA4VZ082yFkvdsMfErhgQhyXJ4vrAC-Liuw/s1600-h/pedi.jpg">this</a> is how my foot used to look. Yeah. Just so you know and are aware.Crystalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17383214103702764400noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8837865.post-6933248509212240882010-08-12T14:43:00.000-07:002010-08-12T15:34:00.111-07:00Ricki Lake was naked and screamingRyan and I Netflixed <a href="http://www.thebusinessofbeingborn.com/">The Business of Being Born </a>which was made, I suppose, in order to encourage women to give birth at home in their bathtub or squatting on the kitchen floor. Usually, I am very easy to persuade and pretty much just go along with whatever someone tells me to do. I also don't have many opinions that aren't based solely on the beliefs of others. That's what makes me so affable. I also have some sort of paralyzing fear relating to me being judged by the granolas. For example, I will probably be one of those people who puts a cloth diaper on over a disposable one when I go to the store and just tell everyone my child was born with a fatty butt. There are people like that, right? So I went into this movie thinking that I was going to come out on the other side insisting we hire a doula and invest in a living room sized baby pool.<br /><br />So let me tell you something. And you listen good. Ricki Lake is in a bathtub naked and moaning in pain and I actually watched her child come out of her vagina. My first thought was, <em>this woman needs a bigger bathtub</em> and my second thought was <em>are my boobs going to do that?</em> and my third thought was <em>OH MY GOD</em>.<br /><br />I am pretty sure I went into some type of traumatic shock at this point in the film and spent the rest of it with my mouth open and blinking very hard every 3 seconds.<br /><br />Ok, so then after Ricki has her baby in a college kid's dorm room bathtub, we were introduced to a screaming woman who had her kid while squatting on the kitchen floor. When he started crowning, you could visibly see the mental stress on the vagina's face. It was shaking. It reminded me of how when my ex-boyfriend used to try to pick me up all manly like when we were washing dishes and his mouth would go into some type of trapezoid shape and his veins would pop out his forehead and he would shake all over like he was about to burst. (Not sexy, guys. If your girlfriend weighs too much, just skip that part.) Anyway, it was like the vagina was all "I am about to lose my shit guys. Seriously. I am doing my best here if you could work with me, I'd really like to keep some kind of poise in this situation" and then all at once WHAM the vagina spat the kid out on the floor like a wad of chaw. Not even kidding you, friends. This happened. And I was immediately like, "GET THAT FUCKING GIRL TO A HOSPITAL RIGHT NOW!" <br /><br />Needless to say, this movie did not do a good job of convincing me that I should opt out of going to a hospital or taking drugs (LOL@ that ridiculous thought). In your face, hippies! Also, one of my friends had 36 stitches in her stuff. The End.Crystalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17383214103702764400noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8837865.post-45998569257445049702010-07-20T14:44:00.000-07:002010-07-20T15:13:24.341-07:00BlehHey dude.<br /><br />I haven't blogged in awhile because I am pregnant and boring. I never realized how much time I spent drunk blogging/talking/thinking until I wasn't allowed to be drunk anymore. These are the only thoughts that run through my head now: <br /><br />"..............." <br />"!" and <br />"chicken nugget"<br /><br />and that is about it. Also, I don't want to be one of those people who only talks about being pregnant and then only talks about the baby and then all of the sudden, I wake up and I am one of those moms who publicly criticizes other women for feeding their children hot dogs and pop tarts (LOSERS). Of course, the time it takes to talk smack about other moms, I will undoubtedly need a babysitter and I will just hire the television. My mom says if anyone gives me a hard time about the way I am raising this kid, I should just say this: "Fuck you"<br /><br />My mom is pretty awersome.<br /><br />Wanna see my gut? <br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOum2nTiI2fy_6Rj3MGAQkO69xJ5brqNQwkgUkkQljeB-5Q-KDh43VtJQiV0Ig9M9yOGpgaCdqYQldPVL2KUQ3wsl_F6so05Xi2sTilQjFa7WITDPC9xLGINei1Hsxds7b6mGZnA/s1600/July+5th.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 244px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOum2nTiI2fy_6Rj3MGAQkO69xJ5brqNQwkgUkkQljeB-5Q-KDh43VtJQiV0Ig9M9yOGpgaCdqYQldPVL2KUQ3wsl_F6so05Xi2sTilQjFa7WITDPC9xLGINei1Hsxds7b6mGZnA/s320/July+5th.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496110195096641874" /></a><br />15 weeks - That is an A3 wife beater. My kid gon be punk rock. Or an emotional mess who paints his fingernails black and cries too much.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSmbHyYzQsp5sD_9nYjtfEporegtrKIAhrhxqMcjFDzj8K0CmnoPVvaPeLmY8qOxFpasrsjFkayLFDo3ZTjlcyIkM4SUNrzUoSqbVuw6LiGVlflCu1phrnd69UpzaMuCr_p_HTTw/s1600/July+15th+17+wks.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSmbHyYzQsp5sD_9nYjtfEporegtrKIAhrhxqMcjFDzj8K0CmnoPVvaPeLmY8qOxFpasrsjFkayLFDo3ZTjlcyIkM4SUNrzUoSqbVuw6LiGVlflCu1phrnd69UpzaMuCr_p_HTTw/s200/July+15th+17+wks.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496110448921598626" /></a><br />17 weeks - I am tired of just looking like I am chubby. I either want to look normal or pregnant. I am sick of this inbetween life stages thing. <br /><br />I can't button my pants now...and even when I can, I wind up unbuttoning them by lunch. It makes my usual stealthy stranger groping slightly awkward.<br /><br />Also, I got married! Whoohoo! I will show you some pictures later. I was really worried about fitting in my dress. This was the first choice:<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0632ICklM8uy2NuTQ_o7dVIfF3_s_jvkvC6V4t8h5rrMpcxuxq1Yhy8BMB5V18zGtuPqOXp5fjDM_zbRm_dqmz0JH2BTS5ybt6HCy60pMxg-GXIxLTAwgvMpT3mF3HiAi1WF_DA/s1600/DRESS1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0632ICklM8uy2NuTQ_o7dVIfF3_s_jvkvC6V4t8h5rrMpcxuxq1Yhy8BMB5V18zGtuPqOXp5fjDM_zbRm_dqmz0JH2BTS5ybt6HCy60pMxg-GXIxLTAwgvMpT3mF3HiAi1WF_DA/s200/DRESS1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496112107096163250" /></a><br />This picture was taken 5 months ago.<br /><br />So the dress came in 3 weeks before the wedding! I was really concerned about fitting in that dress and for good reason. It looked pretty gross on me and once it zipped up, I could barely breathe because my boobs kicked my lungs out the way. So I got a new dress. This is the dress at the fitting two weeks before the wedding:<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqVrKrp4eTXeUsQ7vf3D2af-x16u7c46dCggrgpNCkNHarwYfhBz72hvtY7Rr8b9W1ebgy9-LkVAZzYJ6PRpN24EUsdseM7354pjlfEs3BBKNFcEC5LK72NsWBazYPu-DNq5XV0A/s1600/IMG00065-20100623-1530.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqVrKrp4eTXeUsQ7vf3D2af-x16u7c46dCggrgpNCkNHarwYfhBz72hvtY7Rr8b9W1ebgy9-LkVAZzYJ6PRpN24EUsdseM7354pjlfEs3BBKNFcEC5LK72NsWBazYPu-DNq5XV0A/s200/IMG00065-20100623-1530.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496113819208488098" /></a><br /><br />In two weeks that dress also looked different on me. I will post pictures later, but be sure you don't have any children in the room. They may either start crying or become ravenously hungry. <br /><br />Ok, since I am boring, you guys also get a picture of Stephanie's new ass tattoo.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_v6fH4p4Z_OuLvd3-B9EMgzReGpDqtWMabejI2BSj46-ZlreTp4YN3PpkauOibo99GrnIc38EgoYZtsaj3J7p8dTeh1JkTXFRegY9s7xofK0UIblWcEUMac_pyrwNgugd_FdU4w/s1600/golden+girls.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 256px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_v6fH4p4Z_OuLvd3-B9EMgzReGpDqtWMabejI2BSj46-ZlreTp4YN3PpkauOibo99GrnIc38EgoYZtsaj3J7p8dTeh1JkTXFRegY9s7xofK0UIblWcEUMac_pyrwNgugd_FdU4w/s320/golden+girls.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496114752174312418" /></a><br /><br />RIP Rue McClanahanCrystalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17383214103702764400noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8837865.post-27539775324241924812010-06-08T10:38:00.000-07:002010-06-08T10:46:35.822-07:00BREAKING NEWS!!!!I pooped twice in 24 hours. It was amazing. I don't know if you know this, but pooping becomes a luxury when you're pregnant. Enjoy it now ladies. It is like sweet freedom. I'll never take it for granted again.<br /><br />In other news, my brother will be marrying us (just so he can say he married his sister) and he plans on using a fart machine cleverly taped to the bottom of my great grandma's walker. He thinks he is clever, but he is really just being redundant. <br /><br />Also, my dad emailed me today asking if, instead of the wedding march, if he could walk me down the aisle to the tune, "Assault on Preceint 13". All I remember from that movie is some little girl getting shot by an ice cream truck. The ice cream truck didn't shoot her. She was just standing next to it.<br /><br />Ryan has named the baby Cheeto Elizabeth.<br /><br />I don't often ask for prayers, guys, but if you could mention me to God at some point, I'd really appreciate it.Crystalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17383214103702764400noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8837865.post-46603198271165118762010-05-27T08:40:00.000-07:002010-05-27T09:08:11.928-07:00aaaaaand THAT happened!It is time for a frank discussion, yo. <br /><br />One time, one of my friends got a brand new desk. It came unassembled so she dragged it into her home office and assembled it there. When it was time to move the desk to another room, she realized the desk was too large to make it out of the door. So she had rip her door frames off in order to get it out.<br /><br />That is basically what is happening to my body right now except by desk I mean baby and by door frame, I mean my fragile taint.<br /><br />What had happened was....<br /><br />I have been on the pill for 12 years. Also, I am 31 years old so I figured my eggs were like some type of geriatric eggs and only came out of their home once a year to check the mail. So I missed a few pills when I was traveling. <br /><br />And then Ryan took me golfing in his <a href="http://pitsphotos.blogspot.com/2010/05/other-woman.html">new golf cart </a>and we drank some beer. And before I knew it, we were washing dishes on the 4th hole. I should have known! He does his best work on the golf course! <br /><br />I found out on a Monday and freaked out. What is my dad going to say??? He is going to know that I actually do it!! Not only that, but he is probably going to know that at some point I said the words that gave permission to have STUFF released into my special purpose. I broke out in hives. My dad was cool about it though. It's kind of a family tradition.<br /><br />Ryan and I initially had our wedding date set for August 28th. However, I did not want to be dragging my fat ankles down the aisle so we changed the wedding date to June 26th. Hopefully, I will be able to fit in my dress still. I am 10 weeks today. We shall see. <br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxoV7HQ3oyd-5RXv9vHwEkWVNrl7v7JyzwRnYj7TiB9StnPTNszXL3EtqSRFH93QUfxXWMMmXN1AAr51f7Axked2ECxA9zFLdSguzPaTfhsAquHrJSvzFXUJzWMn6_MGO6ppLZSg/s1600/Baby.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 222px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxoV7HQ3oyd-5RXv9vHwEkWVNrl7v7JyzwRnYj7TiB9StnPTNszXL3EtqSRFH93QUfxXWMMmXN1AAr51f7Axked2ECxA9zFLdSguzPaTfhsAquHrJSvzFXUJzWMn6_MGO6ppLZSg/s320/Baby.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5475979849341901938" /></a>Crystalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17383214103702764400noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8837865.post-73097922599401027702010-04-06T14:09:00.000-07:002010-04-06T14:14:57.972-07:00Awkward Conversations from Easter WeekendIn the living room with Ryan and his parents.<br /><br />Ryan's Mom: Hey! Remember when that doctor came to your gym class when you were thirteen and gave everyone physicals? He said your testicles hadn't dropped yet and was concerned that you needed surgery.<br /><br />Ryan: Didn't happen.<br /><br />Ryan's Mom: Yes, it did. I remember because we thought we were going to have to pay for surgery. Maybe just one didn't drop?<br /><br />Ryan: No, Mom! It was that I have a third nut! <br /><br />Crystal: It is ok that you were a late bloomer. I love you anyway.<br /><br />Ryan's Mom: A third nut?? No, that wasn't it.<br /><br />Ryan: Yes, it was! I still have a third nut! Ask Crystal! She knows!<br /><br />Crystal: :-/<br /><br /><br />The next day in the car again with his parents. I sent Ryan a text message.<br /><br />Crystal: You haven't texted me back.<br /><br />Ryan: So?<br /><br />Crystal: Ugh. I texted you something sweet and you won't even respond to it?<br /><br />Ryan: I can say whatever it is back to you. I am sitting right here.<br /><br />Crystal: Fine. Do it, then.<br /><br />Ryan: Ok. You're sexy too and I want to bone too.<br /><br />Crystal: :-/Crystalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17383214103702764400noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8837865.post-82690603407689462412010-03-08T22:22:00.000-08:002010-03-08T22:38:28.326-08:00Sharing is Caring<p><a href="http://www.khou.com/home/Texas-AG-warns-parents-about-chatroulettecom-86979447.html">Texas AG warns parents about chatroulette.com<br /></a>by khou.com staff<br />Posted on March 8, 2010 at 4:57 PM****** </p><br /><p><br />AUSTIN, Texas—The Texas Attorney General’s Office is warning parents about a new online danger.</p><br /><p><br />It’s called chatroulette.com, and it allows users to have live video chats with random people.<br />When undercover officers used the site, nearly half of the randomly selected users exposed themselves and conducted sexually explicit acts on camera.</p><br /><p><br />The site requires users to be 16 years of age or older, but the rule is not clearly enforced.</p><br />KHOU had a news report on this website. The more the newscaster talked, the more I was all "WAIT! I need to find a pen!!!" (see sentence #3 above). Especially after they showed screen shots of the people who participate: An old man dressed as some type of leopard kitty cat and a tubby Asian dude wearing a bra similar to one I had when I was 16.<br /><br />I think you know where I will be for the next few days.<br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZLM-XR8bvbeRee_aLAYpVYMBP-D6SUF2QSCmURZLkJq8RHLbO3bMx49aGdtpmauZEGP-6hZC0MGzCi-oCf9Iechc4Lz7-JcA8m6YnWIrPzSq5w-15aJS1oYkqnf2Xud9q0VKCmw/s1600-h/what.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446519694862905618" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 143px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 113px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZLM-XR8bvbeRee_aLAYpVYMBP-D6SUF2QSCmURZLkJq8RHLbO3bMx49aGdtpmauZEGP-6hZC0MGzCi-oCf9Iechc4Lz7-JcA8m6YnWIrPzSq5w-15aJS1oYkqnf2Xud9q0VKCmw/s320/what.jpg" border="0" /></a>Crystalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17383214103702764400noreply@blogger.com6