Wednesday, July 9, 2008


*I have composed this post over a three day period. I would venture to say it sucks.
But that might just be because I hate myself.

Wow so many things have happened the last few days inside my thoughthole.
(Scientific term for brain)

Mostly I thought about old people. I like when they drive Hybrids. I like when they hold hands. I like when they hobble a little. I like to sit next to them on the bus because they are small. Like birds.

I also have been freaking out about having feelings. Things are making me cry. Things that don't merit crying.
Psyyyychooooo. (This is the part where you say that and roll your eyes and walk away really slowly from the computer and look back over your shoulder and grimace a little)

On a lighter note, there is a guy here right now in my apt installing an intercom. Its awes. It is this precious little wall phone in my room, I feel like I just got a teen line put in.
Not a big deal to anyone who lives outside of Chinatown, but the fact that people can now BUZZ ME like "oh hey Kris I'm here" is amazing.
(no bullshit, most of the time the only person who comes regularly is the tiny gold toothed Mexican pizza boy)(ps he is my soulmate)

It is going to change my life. I have always loved this apartment in a way that borders on vulgar, I sort of wish my apartment was a transformer so it could morph into a man I could make love to and cook breakfast for.
Side note: Why is it that all the men who do not DESERVE breakfast made for them say things like, "So, you gonna make me breakfast? Hahahahahahaha."
I'm not laughing. I don't care if you're great in bed, you don't get that shit unless you assume the title of KRISSY'S BOYFRIEND.
Which is something they are not willing to go for.
Anyway, you better be perfect at straddling the line between "professional cuddler" and "guy who gives me enough personal breathing space" to get meals in the morning.
You also beter be perfect at straddling, period.
Get real.

Why am I talking about this.

I want to talk about the fact that I talk about nothing.
Whenever I do something very fun or interesting or memorable, I come back and post this...

"I just went to ______ it was epic I will blog about it later."

Yeah and that never ever happens.
I think I am overwhelmed by the pressure I put on myself to relay happiness I feel to others.
Because I am a black heart wench and a fucking killjoy.
Also I would rather talk about shit that is miniscule in the grand scheme than anything else, truly.
How Virginia Woolf of me.

For your viewing pleasure, too little, much too late; my women, my life, my locations on this particular seaboard from this particular season.

First week in May my niece Kayla Lily Miller turned one.
She is obviously the cutest kid you've ever seen hands down. I am also the sexiest bitch aunt to ever exist. Yet next to my buxom/insane/magical auntie Linda, I am a god damn puppy dog. I carry on after her in the tradition of being a total fucking whackjob of a female. We definitely share blood. Sometimes the twinkle in her eye looks like actual mischief realized. Shes a fucking Dickens character. Calamity Linda.

Actually that trip to ATL was just a few days before the glorious debacle that was NIGHT OF 1000 STEVIES.
How many times did I say I would post something on that?
Basically for those of you who are not loser hippie disco adoring gypsy gold dust women, NOTS is an evening of old haggard skanks dressed like Stevie Nicks. Equally old and haggard trannies perform Stevie/Fleetwood songs and everyone twirls and gets shitty drunk. So summed up, best event ever in New York City. Since the beginning of time. Thats the long and short of it.

This was my best friend for the night.
He she was about as old as father time.
He she smelled uncannily like wet dog food.
He she began our conversation by asking if my hair was real, and when I revealed it in fact WAS. he she stroked it and smiled with such pure joy I wanted to hold he she forever in my arms.
I remembered his her name at one point but its been too long now so I feel like a total bitch.
But thats life whats in a name anyway.
We talked a lot about strap ons and homosexual interactions. You know, getting to know you topics.

This hot bitch basically emceed the show.
How many hours did she practice that facial expression in her sea shell/scarf adorned bathroom vanity? Many. So many.

Livvy was taking photos up by the stage for a while and I went over to hang with her. She said to me, "Oh my god Elton John is here." In a dead serious tone.
This is who she was referring to.
Did Olivia out-funny Krissy for the night? At that moment, I was sweating with the fear that she very well might.

Are you wondering yet what it is about me that these beasts love?
I am too a little.
I am such a fucking transsexual at heart I think they can just smell that shit.

Oh really DJ?
You want to throw on a little mashup of Hollerback Girl and Edge of Seventeen?
Get right to it, because my crotch is on fire just thinking about it.
Also, Tinkerbell is a fucking giant in Stevie Nicksland.

Just a couple more of my best friends, nbd.
If posing is an art then these bitches should be hanging above a nightstand in a motel room.

The only thing anyone needs to know about NOTS is that I was at home. At Highline Ballroom. With trannies. And washed up Jersey moms wearing crushed velvet and too many bangle bracelets. I met a few of my matches.

PS my favorite performer doused himself in red wine and bit oranges open and humped everything in sight. And stripped. And appeared to cry. Take me home.

Outside he revealed to me that he thinks small women like me are sort of hot even though he loves to put wieners in his mouth?
Um. Obvs.
I probably giggled.

Later on down the road this spraaang, we all went out to a commune type spot upstate NY. Pretty good. If at all possible, please turn on Animal Collectives "Peacebone" while viewing the following:

Party in your brain.

Because you're free if you wanna know.

Liv shot me drunk and boy undie adored in a weird guest room while a hippie jew tried to sleep up in the eaves.

How did I get into the rafters? Will. Thats how.

And booze.


While we danced and screamed into the darkness surrounding, a mushroom eating Corinne and her lover boy Butch crept up from across the road wiedling kitchen knives.
They had a great time scratching at the side of an old green hippie bus in an attempt to instill fear in our hearts that murder was imminent.
Denise was the butch dyke superhero who proudly proclaimed, "Whatever its nothing I'm not scared. Psht."
I'm telling you they change people.
Stephanie became relaxed.
Denise became ballsy.
Corinne became an asshole.
OK fine so it doesn't change everyone, just some people.

I don't know what to say about that trip except Stephanie and I have realized in hindsight that one of the greatest things about mini getaways is the travel.

Throw some Ds on that bitch.


You're never too old or too cool for MASH and MadLibs.

Chiara does shit like this regulary.
Hey guys its time for pictures in the car!
Chiara, seriously, stop.
OK yeah stop getting in front of other peoples faces.
That expression? I can live without it.
Oh my god I hate you.
No? Not stopping?
OK great.

I want to write up a contract to my girlfriends demanding that we stay pals forever and that we all die simultaneously so I don't have to be bored in the afterlife.
If anyone has a lawyer with experience in that kind of paperwork, have them call me.

Upstate trip... I feel like I had so much to say about it but its over now.

Jersey? Many trips. Some are boring. Some are not. One in particular was the BALLS. THE. BALLS.

Steph and Lucy were fuckin Pumped.

Mumsy set us up with an obscene amount of food for one of our beach weekends recently.
We barbequed and played cards. For once, playing cards did not result in nudity (not directly) but it did mean a lot of shouting which is one of my favorite things. Liv as per usual herded us into the backyard once we were good and drunk to get our shirts off.
She doesn't have to do a whole lot of convincing.
I want to say right now, I am sorry to anyone who did not want their boobs shown on my blog.
If need be I will remove the pictures.
Just know I will also make fun of you behind your back for being a square.
Love you.

I know the whole covered face thing has been done.
But fuck off, these came out fantastic if you ask me.

Who we will always be.
Hammock babies.

We crawled out of bed in the morning to go to the beach.
I lie.
I jumped out of bed like a cokeface and ran into the room where Liv and Denise were sleeping. Then I bothered them until they got up and put bathing suits on.
Then I demanded that Stephanie and Chiara and Corinne do the same. Then I won the game of life for the day.

Sandy Hook.
The beach.
Not my stripper alias.
But a good one, now that I think about it.

Krissy, why are there really only pictures of you on your blog?
I thought you supposedly hated yourself?

True assholes, I do.
But Liv only really emails me pictures of myself, never anyone else.
Take it up with her shes the boss.

I just smelled pepperoni pizza in my mind.
OK its gone.

Also I just got news via Garbage Man/ Male Model Adrian.
He has just blogged my blog.
The world just imploded.
Blog is the new god.
Anyway there it is.

Wait OK so we went to the beach it was fun blah blah me and Chiara saw a super hot Asian lesbian with the cutest baby ever and an ugly white girlfriend. She was so sporty and gross. They were also with a big 40 year old fat bitch who we assume is their other adopted child. They have big hearts!

Whatever we were supes tyty from the beach, we had no energy but we were expected out in Ortley Beach an hour south.
So we played snuggles in the couch for a few hours and ate snacks and watched Sixteen Candles AKA the best movie ever.
I love Jake Ryan.

Liv comes downstairs after blackberrying the shit out of her shit like, "UGH. WHEN. ARE WE GOING??"
She had yet to say anything before that about what time we were going. Sidenote: It is her friend Jess we were going to stay with.
This is one of the reasons Olivia Jane is hilarious.

We drive down, I debate whether I can feesably drink again, and I obviously decide, yes, I can.
So we play cards and listen to Madonnas Immaculate Collection, The Doors, and the Allman Brothers.
And a summer oldies mix. Gotta have that.

This is what we ended up finding upstairs.
Jess' beach house is. Stuck in time.
It was glorious.

Maudular and Jess.
Playing cards is the new blowing lines.
East Coast for life.
Hey lets go to Harrahs and gamble a lil bit I like ta play the slots.

Tbones can be seen here drinking.
After enough of this, her alter ego Jan showed up.
Jan ends every sentence with the word bitch.
Example: What? You wanna go get cigarettes? Not takin' my car, bitch.
That particular example I have taken verbatum from Denises mouth.
Denise. Does not. Have. A. Car.
She also demanded that she go to bed topless and said Stephanie was only able to open a stubborn closet door by using her "southern magic"
These moments are close to my heart.

By that point Lucy was like Fuck you bitches. I hate you.

When Stephanie drinks she is Tiff.
Tiff is a total 80s shampoo commercial actress.

Get up out of your red vinyl snake skin seat.
Because you are too drunk to sit still.
OK great.

I really wish I had a photo of Corinne as her alter ego Terry.
Terry wears a fanny pack always and jogging gear for all occasions.
Also a visor because its fucking sunny at the shore.
She also smokes while she power walks cause fuck that, shes Terry.
The above described outfit, we were able to find upstairs.
This is what dreams are made of.
Night went on forever. And ever.

Waking up is hard to do.

Somehow we made it to the beach again after all that where Stephanie was attacked by an umbrella which pierced her just below the eye. Then we buried her in the sand to make her feel better.
Then we ate pasta salad and fruit.
Then Denise went to the house to be hungover in the dark.

Ah wait, we also did brunch which was awesome.

Some old hag told Corinne she looked like Lucille Ball and she got super pissed off. I don't really get whats so bad about it.

Some weirdos were there. The Elmo character rubbed that little girls head for about 5 minutes.
The little girl was hypnotized. It was otherworldly.

We collectively looked like trouble making teens.

Livvy looked like a nice young lady actually.

Why am I still fucking blogging?
This is absurd and I get it, no one cares other than 5 of you in the universe.
Its all so self righteous.

In closing, my friends are better than yours.

This is awkward.

The end.

1 comment:

tell me what's happening. said...

i never saw elton john. i would've flipped out. also. love this blog. it was so satisfying.