Catherinette: Cock Blocker Extraordinaire!

1 Jul

Cock blockers. Let’s talk about them. How much we hate them. Remember going to a bar in college, making nice to some hot cutie, knowing that your privates were gonna rub up all against them, and then your dreams being shattered by a friend who would ruin it all? Yeah. Me too. 

And remember the time when your friend who had cock blocked you had made a romantic connection and you decided it was time for pay back and you went ahead and became that cock blocker? Yeah. Me too. 

I’ll do you one better. Remember the time when my secret boyfriend told me he was going to the beach and I told him not to get pregnant? Yeah. So does he. Apparently it’s been on his mind so much that he decided not to go to the beach. Why? Because he said I had jinxed him. 

Me: You’re welcome! Or I’m sorry. 

Him: You’re awful. 


Him: No. Not any time. 

I’ve decided to randomly stop by his desk and remind him to make smart choices. Thereby ensuring no one night stands for him. 


Sometimes I think I’m Garfield

29 Jun

I read the comics as a child.  What kid wasn’t into it?  Remember those days when Sunday papers had the big color comics spread.  I clearly remember running outside, leaving a paper trail of the stupid business and world news sections on the floor, and whipping open the comics section to find out the latest shenanigans that Calvin & Hobbs, Brunhilda, Mother Goose, and sometimes even Marmaduke were up to.

Then there was Garfield.  You remember him, right?  The overweight orange tabby cat who sassed his owner, harassed his fellow pet-roommate (Odie), and ate just about anything they put in front of him?  Then at some points – for some ungodly reason – they made a movie about him starring Jennifer Love Hewitt.  No shock that it was a total bomb.  No es bueno.

While I didn’t necessarily rush to read Garfield,  I could appreciate his wit, his laziness, his torture of Odie.  He was a bit of a dick really.  I mean, really, if you think about it, he was a prick.  I’d venture to say that he was the original grumpy cat. As I’ve grown into an adult, I reflect on how right Garfield was about how absolutely wretched Mondays are.

There is no greater evil on this Earth than a Monday morning.  Without a doubt I will wake up angry, bitter, sad, and frustrated – all at the same time.  This morning, for instance, the first think I said out loud was, “Fuck this,” as soon as the alarm went off.  Do you have any idea how sad it is to wake up alone in your house and have the first words out of your mouth – essentially spoken to the empty house – be “fuck this”?  That’s not cute.  Not cute.  I picture the day when one day some man is laying next to me on a Monday morning, the alarm goes off, and he wakes up to me saying, “Fuck this”.  What will he do?

I’m getting ahead of myself.  The likelihood of that happening is slim to none, especially if we consider my track record for sleeping ALONE every night for the last zillion billion years.

How’d we get on this topic?  Mondays, right…

Earlier this year I started watching Game of Thrones.  The further I got into it, and the more that King Joffrey (the most vile human being ever) was featured in the show, it became clear to me that Monday’s are to the world what King Joffrey is to Game of Thrones.  He is as ugly on the outside as he is on the inside.

Those of you who have seen the show know exactly what this means.  For those of you who don’t watch it, you should – and then you’ll see that I’m totes right.

Preach, sister!

28 Jun

How often do you find yourself losing sight of who you are when you’re in a relationship?  So as my girlfriend stays with her douche bag boyfriend, and as I keep writing to you about it, I’m intrigued to see the comments that you, my friendly and faithful readers, post.

Have spent the weekend thinking a lot about this one, that misschief101 posted:

There is something though about women who sacrifice to be in relationships. More often than not, it leads to a couple staying together long term or forever. I’ve been reading your blog for years, and always miss the hell out of your lighthearted and funny take on shitty things when you disappear. When it comes to relationships, I’ve have very similar experiences. I’m starting to think this: Men are at their best when they are in a supportive relationship. Even if it means they are the best asshole, best womanizer, best CEO of whatever, best abuser, A good hearted man will thrive with a supportive woman. A woman works the other way. She starts to give herself away, give herself away, stop thinking as an individual altogether, give up on so much of what she loved (excluding the man). The relationships will be her ultimate goal. That’s when two people stay together. The woman compromises the hell out of herself. I have seen it in my best friends, and it pisses me off, but its a choice I suppose, I feel like I am hoping for a rare gem of a man, who knows the balance between making me feel safe and secure in a relationship whilst letting me be happy to change my own tyres, paint my own house, earn my own money, and just carry on being independent old sarcastic me. Who knows if this kind of diamond even exists.

Man did this stick with me!  I get it.  And in some way, I agree with it – but not 100%.  I have male friends who have also found themselves giving up who they are in a relationship.  No one should have to do that.

Look, we all know that I am in no way a relationship expert – which would partially explain why I’m still single.  BUT I think we can all agree that in a healthy relationships, both people should be bringing out the best in one another, and no one should feel like their losing who they are.  Not ever.

Now get out there and start being the best you that you can be…while I sit on my couch and eat my ice cream.

Dragging out the inevitable

24 Jun

So guess freaking what?  GUESS WHAT?  You know how I told you about the douche bag that my girlfriend was dating?  Yeah, well, here’s an update…

So I caught up with her today for the first time in about a week.  I was SURE that after the big fucking fight they had last week that she would have told him to pack up his shit and get the fuck out.  Nay.  She did not.


Instead she told him that she would lose some weight so that he could want to be with her.

The things we do for relationships.  Why do we turn in our self worth, our pride, our self respect for someone who doesn’t deserve it?  What makes us think that it’s better to be less of who we are to please someone who doesn’t want what we have to offer?

I feel like we’re sold a false bill of goods.  We’re led to believe that being with someone – anyone – is better than being alone.  And in some warped way we begin to believe that we need to alter who we are, give up a bit of ourselves, comprise things that we believe, just so that we don’t end up alone.  That it’s better to be with someone who we aren’t and be with someone, than to be who we are and be alone.

You know what I have to say about that?  I say fuck that shit.

We should be reminding people who love people who love you for who you are, not for who they want you to be.  Compromise?  Sure.  Yes, do it.  But don’t compromise who you are – don’t ever do that.

Not ever.

You are better off on your own as your best self than with someone who doesn’t like who you truly are.

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22 Jun

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Make Smart Choices

11 Jun

Well, well, well.  Guess who decided to finally show up at my desk yesterday?  Mr. ex secret boyfriend.  Casually sauntered up as if he hadn’t been completely ignoring me for WEEKS!!

Too late, bucko!  This ship has sailed!

(no it hasn’t)

As we were catching up he mentioned he was heading to the shore for a long weekend.  That’s pretty much code for “I’m going to go get wasted and bang any girl with a pulse.”  At least it was when I was his age.  Only I wasn’t banging girls.  Actually, I never did that.  I lived at the beach one summer – or actually for three weeks because I hated it so much and my roommate was whoring it up with several married men and I couldn’t take it so I left.

But anyway…

I told him not to get pregnant and he looked so confused.  He said, “Um.  That’s not how it works.”  And I said, “Dude, you’re going to the shore.  If it’s going to happen, it’ll be there.”

  • Him: Good point
  • Me: I know.  Anyone could get pregnant down there.
  • Him: I have faith that if I’ve gone this long without getting anyone pregnant that I’ve figured out how it works and I’ll be fine.
  • Me: And that’s exactly when it will happen – just when you think you’re safe.
  • Him.  Damn it.  You might be right.  If that happens I’m going to come over here and yell at you.  Probably with a baby in my arms.
  • Me: Aw.  The baby would be so cute.
  • Him: I’m leaving.
  • Me: (yelling after him) MAKE SMART CHOICES!

See what I did there?  See?  If he bangs a girl now I’ll be in his head.  He’ll have to think of me when he’s inserting his peen in some girl’s vajeen.  He won’t be able to help himself. It’s practically like we’re boning, only with a surrogate vagina.

Let the church bells ring

7 Jun

The sun is shining, the breeze is blowing through the open windows, I can hear the church bells ringing, the neighbors’ kids yelling “and you wonder why you don’t have friends!”, then a quick “SLAP” as the older brother hits his sister, and finally a very whiny, “MOM!!” as she runs off to tattle on him.  Summer is here, friends.  It’s warm enough for short sleeves – but not so hot that you immediately start sweating off all your make-up and begin cursing the world.  It’s the perfect day for sitting outside, enjoying some sangria with friends, and watching cute dudes roll by.  Or perhaps you’re enjoying that umbrella drink on the beach while you pretend you don’t hate your body and wonder if every person who walks past you is trying to count the dimples on your thighs.



I know you’re wondering what I’ve been doing with this perfect Sunday weather.  I’m glad you asked.  I’ve been sitting at my dining room table ALL day doing one of two things: studying for a test I will no doubt FAIL on Tuesday, and getting sucked into the void of Pinterest as I think through how to decorate my new pad.

I’ll finally have the kitchen I’ve always wanted, complete with a wine fridge.  WINE FRIDGE! Yes.  It’s happening.  It. Is. Happening!

Moving sucks balls though.  It sucks.  I’m somewhat tempted to just set my current place on fire and start over in the new place.  That way I don’t have to worry about what to take with me.  And I’ll finally stop stressing out about what the hell I’m going to do with this antique marble top dresser I’ve had since I was 15.  I no want it.  I NO WANT IT!!  It’s too nice to throw away, and too heavy to put in my car and take somewhere.

Antique dealer?  Craigslist?  Me not know. Perhaps Craigslist is a good idea.

Or perhaps it’s not.  Perhaps I’ll end up on an episode of Dateline after my dead body is found in the flooded basement.  It could happen.  And with my luck it won’t even be Josh Mankiewitz or Keith Morrison telling my story.  Instead it’ll be that one blond woman who’s face looks like it’s fucking frozen, Andrea Canning.  Maybe I’ll just pass on Craigslist because I will haunt a bitch if my story gets told by her.

Perhaps the time has finally come to get up from the table, wash my face, brush the rats’ nest that is my hair, and venture outside to enjoy the beautiful day.

Right after I finish picking out the new area rug for my new bedroom…


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