Grab a cocktail, sit back, relax, and enjoy the riveting stories of the Jack Ass coworker, thankless job, pathetic attempts at dating, and other equally riveting musings.
Ever read one of those books that you just can’t quite put down and then when you do you end up having nightmares then you swear that you won’t finish reading it but when you get home you pick up the book because you want to know what happens and then the whole cycle repeats itself and you end up with horrible bags under your eyes and nightmares and you tell yourself that you hate living alone because if there was someone in the house you wouldn’t have such nightmares and you have to sleep with the lights on but you still have nightmares? That’s what Dennis Lehane’s Shutter Island is doing to me.
While I was tossing and turning at 2:00 am last night I swore up and down that I was going to stop reading the book and that I’d just wait to find out what happened when the movie came out. BUT THEN I realized that I think I cracked one of the clues in the book and I’m pretty sure that I know the twist so I want to keep reading it. God damn it.
Damn. Good. Book.
There is a point to all of this, I swear. The point is that today’s JTT is going to play one of the marshals in the movie. Mark Ruffalo, who I used to hate, but seems to get hotter with age.
Yes, Mark, I will do you – but let’s leave the lights on because I might have flashbacks of Shutter Island and end up with nightmares.
“It just amazes me how many stupid whores are running around in this country. We lead the world in stupid whores per capita. I don’t know why President Obama doesn’t talk about it more.”
As children, we are regaled with stories about magical lands, mystical creatures, and fairies with special powers. There’s Tinkerbell who flies around and sprinkles people with fairy dust so they can fly. We hear about the tooth fairy who leaves money under our pillows when we lose our teeth. Which if you think about it, is pretty jacked up. What the hell does she do with all those teeth? Then there’s my favorite kind of fairy, the ones like Claude who gay up the world and bring joy to my life.
But there are two fairies that no one tells you about, the worst kinds of fairies. Evil devil fairies that make one’s life miserable.
Yesterday, I was visited by one of those fairies: the Vomit Fairy. Her visit coincided with my efforts to drink the world on Saturday night when I went out with Boom Boom and friends. This was a surprise visit, an unplanned one. Frankly, I didn’t think I had sucked down enough booze to spend all day yesterday wanting to die – apparently I was wrong.
The morning started off with a massive headache. I figured that a little water and some breakfast would make things better. I was sorely mistaken. Boom Boom, Staunch Republican and I headed off to brunch. While there, we heard from one of our girlfriends that came out with us on Saturday night. She informed us that she had to ask her ride to pull over on the way home so she could vomit all over the place. We laughed and laughed. Mocking other people’s hangovers beckons the Vomit Fairy. 15 minutes later I was puking…in the restaurant bathroom.
Klassy, I know.
I then proceeded to spend the rest of the day praying to the baby Jesus (which is pretty impressive since I’m an athiest) that he put me out of my misery and strike me dead before I had to vomit again. The thought of getting out of bed and throwing myself out the window did occur to me, the only problem was that getting out of bed would have made me puke some more.
I’m pleased to announce that the Vomit Fairy has now left, and hopefully, will not be back anytime soon. Unfortunately, next week I’ll be getting a visit from the other bitch fairy: the Period Fairy.
My dad is a douche bag. A big old dirty douche bag. He pretty much walked out the door when my sister and I were little. We could always rely on his unreliability. He would come and go out of our lives. He’d go through phases when he was consistent with keeping in touch, then the next second he’d pretty much drop off the face of the earth.
Growing up with that type of relationship was painful. I grew up wondering why I wasn’t enough and what I might to differently to make him love me and want to stick around. Unhealthy, I know, but this is what happens to kids from broken homes.
Enough of the sentimental stuff, let’s focus on his douche baggery.
Every year, he and my evil step monster put together this shitty ass family calendar for all of the relatives. Every year, the second that my sister and I receive the calendar, we call each other, laugh hysterically at how stupid it is, and then throw it away.
This year, in prep for the making of the annual shit calendar, he sent out an email to the entire family requesting that we all double-check our birthdays, and add in any missing information. Oh, dad, you’re so special. I, being interested in the inheritance that is rightfully mine the kind and loving daughter that I am, immediately responded.
Hi, dad! I have 2 updates for you. First, the kid’s name is Damien, not Daniel, and his middle name is Beelzebub. Second, brother-in-law’s middle name is Sucker, and his birthday is on DD/MM/YY. Have a good one!
Really, dad? You don’t know your only grandson’s name? Really? It should not have come as a shock since earlier in the year he had booked airline tickets for Darryl and Lillian instead of Damien and Lucy(fer).
It seemed like a good idea this morning. As I stood in front of the mirror and admired my outfit, I was convinced that everything matched. Nice pants, cute top, great sweater, cute flats. The outfit was an A+.
2o minutes later as I was walking into the office building I caught my reflection in the glass doors.
What the fuck was I thinking?
Separately, the pieces look good. Together, it kind of looks like I got dressed in the dark. Olive green pants, brown flats, and brown top. That part looks good. What kills the entire thing is the brown cardigan I’m wearing. The brown cardigan with giant pink flowers. Why on earth did I think these pink flowers would look nice with these olive pants?
If anyone asks, I’m going to tell them that 3 year old Lucy(fer) picked out the outfit and I love her too much to say no.
Sad news. Very sad news. I have been informed that as of the end of December there will be no more “The Catherinette Chronicles.” This means that the extra income I was making that was being used exclusively on booze will go away.
WAH!!
How will I afford all that boozy goodness? Does this mean extra wristies behind the dumpster at the local Safeway?
Blah, blah, I know it’s a day late but EXCUSE ME! I have a life to lead, at least that’s what I like to tell myself. There was no JTT yesterday because I was very busy hanging out with some bitches in NYC yesterday.
This week’s post is dedicated to Boom Boom and to South Philly Fasionista who suggested this dude for JTT. I want to make it perfectly clear here that in no way, shape or form want to see this man naked, but Boom Boom and SPF saw him live and in person and said he was hotter than sin.
Ladies and germs, Mr. Steve Ward from Vh1’s “Tough Love.”
I was going to have Jon Stewart as this week’s pick since we went to see “The Daily Show” yesterday, but they said it was too predictable. So instead you have this douche nozzle who likes to try to make more girls more dateable. Hmm…maybe I need to go on Season 3 of Tough Love…
The holidays are about putting on as much weight as possible and blaming it all on the sugary delights that are available this time of year. I have a weakness for anything that is candy cane flavored. Last week I managed to eat a half a box of Trader Joe’s Candy Cane Joe-Joe’s in a span of about 37 seconds. Those were the happiest 37 seconds of my life, even beating out the backseat adventures with Pistols at Dawn.
You can imagine my delight when I went down to the cafeteria this afternoon and saw a homemade “Chocolate Candy Cane Cookie”. Picture this, 2 big chocolate cookies with a ton of candy cane frosting in-between.
Here’s the problem, there’s nothing in this cookie that tastes like candy canes or chocolate. Instead, it just tastes like brown butter cookies with butter frosting that has flecks of candy cane all over it.
Damn you, baker in the cafeteria. You have fooled me! You’re like all of those guys that I date that look good on the outside but then turn out to be something entirely different on the inside. I just want a candy cane flavored dude and end up having to talk about my feelings with someone that’s emotionally retarded.
