Archive | November, 2012

High or Low, They’re Still Standards

13 Nov

Sure I dated someone who had horse teeth.  And maybe I made out with a dude who had a girlfriend (but his body was AMAZING and he was 9 years younger).  And yes, there was even a dude with a lot of back hair who sweat a lot and was dumber than a box of rocks.  But I have standards.  They may be low, but I’ve still got them.

No matter how old, or lonely, or desperate I get, I will never ever ever EVER ever EVER ever ever date any of the following:

  • Men who own jorts (jean shorts)
  • Men who wear hunting gear as a fashion statement
  • Anyone who looks like he belongs on “Jersey Shore”
  • Dudes with Fu-manchu mustaches
  • Dudes with any mustaches (even if it’s Movember)
  • Men who look like they squeezed themselves into a size smedium (that’s small/medium) t-shirt when they need an XL
  • Dudes who take shirtless pictures of themselves in the bathroom mirror at work (3D doesn’t count.  We were already dating when he started doing that)
  • Anyone who has a sick obsession with cats, Star Trek, or Valerie Bertinelli

I’d rather be single forever than deal with any of those dudes.

 

It runs in the family

11 Nov

There are certain things that are genetic.  In my family, we’re part idiot on my dad’s side of the family.  Somewhere in our genes there is also amazing coolness and badassness (I made that word up.  You’re welcome).

My cousin, Suzy Cream Cheese, is one of the coolest badasses I have ever met. Our dads are brothers, and they are both idiots.  My mom and dad divorced when we were pretty young.  For some reason, when that happened, the family just kind of lost touch.  I have vague memories of my cousins from when I was little.  Fast forward 20+ years and two of my three cousins find me on Facebook.  They are awesome.  I feel robbed by our dads that they didn’t try harder to keep us all together.  Why?  Because they were idiots.  It would have been so incredibly AWESOME to grow up together.  Can only imagine the kind of trouble we would have gotten into.

Now when we hang out it’s kind of funny when we tell people we’re cousins.  Why?  Because I’m half Mexican and she’s half Chinese.  A taco and and an eggroll.  People seem so confused when we tell them we’re related.  They kind of stare for a minute and then announce, “Oh yes!  I see the resemblance!”  I believe they see our combined awesomeness.

As shitty as our dads are, she has turned into such an great mom.  She’s got a super cool husband, and three great kids.  And I’m not just saying that because we’re family.  You’ve heard me talk plenty of shit about my own niece and nephew.  You know I tell it like it is.

There’s no one who can parent teenagers like she can.  When I grow up and have a family – assuming my eggs don’t die before that happens – I want to be just like her.  One time, when her daughter wrote with permanent marker on an antique desk they inherited, Suzy Cream Cheese wrote “hi” on her daughter’s forehead with the same pen and posted it on Facebook.

But she really topped herself with this post in which she tagged her daughter:

Moms: don’t like your teen girl traipsing around in subzero weather wearing teeny summer tanks? Box up those summer clothes! Don’t like your teen girl sassing you when you’re asking her reasonable questions? Confiscate the phone and schedule her to miss after-school activities in order to do chores. Don’t like nagging and nagging teen girls to clear out rotting food, dirty laundry, etc from their bedrooms? Visit bedrooms with large trash bags and clear it all out. All.

Teen girls: don’t like listening to moms? All of the above happens. Try to untag this or unfriend mom? Halloween dance at school will take place without you.

Love,
Mama

This makes me want to run out and get pregnant just so I can do the same thing to my own kids.

Time to dust off your vagina!

7 Nov

It’s a typical hump day for me. One that involves zero humping. There is a little something special on the books today. Peeing in a cup followed by a finger in the ass.

I know what you’re thinking, “Catherinette finally found a boyfriend.” Not quite. Not even close. No, my friends, it’s that time of year again: The time where I’m molested by a doctor while she judges me for having no sex life.

Sure, sure, at least Vangelina Jolie will get some attention. But it’s not quite the type of attention she’s interested. Trust me when I tell you that whenever you hear, “you’re going to feel some pressure,” that you’re going to feel like you’re about to be ripped on two. Not a good feeling when the doc had half her hand shoved up inside you while pressing down on your stomach with the other hand and asking you about the weather.  Just wait until you have someone’s freaking fist wedged up inside you while they talk about current events.  Go ahead and try to keep a straight face and let me know how that goes for you.

I did something new this time, I made the doctor laugh – and it wasn’t when she saw what gravity had done to my breasts.  No, no.  It goes a little something like this.

  • Dr.: Are you sexually active.
  • Me: No.  Not currently. [insert sad trombone music]

She doubled over laughing.  Further proving I am awesome and dispelling my personality is what keeping the men away.  Clearly it’s my body.  And those boobs that have decided they want to be closer to the floor.

Other than that whole fisting thing when they check your ovaries, going to the OB/GYN is relatively painless – and totally not hot.  Back when I was dating Mr. Big X, he would get really excited when it was time for my annual.  He had it in his mind that it was essentially a lesbian encounter and the doctor would end up propositioning me while my legs were up in the stirrups.  He was disappointed every time I came home and informed him that it didn’t happen.  Then he’d have me give him the blow by blow details of what happened.

Perhaps I should have taken home some examples of the shit they put inside you to test you for diseases.  Like these little numbers:

You’re looking at the cervical brush and broom. Or what Jersey Belle describes as the “Vaginal Swiffer”.  Guessing that bringing those suckers home probably would have killed the mood.

Then again, maybe he would have wanted to play “doctor”.

Freak.

ZING!

6 Nov

If you’ve been reading this blog for any length of time you should realize by now that I amuse myself so much.  It’s true, I don’t think anyone laughs at my jokes as much as I do.  If I had my own show on Comedy Central, I’d be my number one fan.

This morning at work I was hanging out with two of my mail friends.  They’re almost the total opposite of one another: where one is totally buttoned up and conservative, the other is totally laid back and casual.  Casual Dude made a comment about how nice Buttoned Up looked today, so Buttoned Up proceeded to tell us how every election year he’s always caught by a camera crew and asked for an interview.  My take is because he dresses the part.  His take is that he has to be prepared in the event they ask him.

Meanwhile, Casual Dude has what appears to be a bunch of schmeg all over his pants.

  • Me: What the hell happened to you?
  • CD: What do you mean?
  • BU: Your shirt is totally wrinkled.
  • Me: And what’s that all over your pants?
  • CD: God damn it!  What is that??
  • Me: Guess we know who’s really excited about the election today.

Maybe you just had to be there…You totally should have been.

Let it burn

4 Nov

There are some embers that will always smolder.  No matter how often you try to put them out.  There comes a day when you don’t think about the fire that once was, and it seems like it has burned out forever – and you’re at peace.  But the slightest bit of attention and those embers start to light up again.

Doesn’t matter how long it’s been, there are some people you can never let go of.  They’ll just pop up out of nowhere and the butterflies will appear.  Even if you try to rip the wings off of those bastard butterflies because you know they’re made by the devil himself, they will not die.  No matter what.

There are some people who you will love forever, even if you don’t want to anymore.

Doesn’t matter if you think of all the ways they’ve wronged you, and how your heart landed in a million pieces, and how you cried 1,000 rivers, and how you buried the dreams you once had.

You will always love them.  No matter what.

And you don’t want to – because it sucks to be pulled back into the depths of that fire.  You just want to turn it off, stop thinking about it, and just let it be.  But you can’t.  And you’ll never be able to.  No matter how much time goes by, or who comes into your life – or who comes into theirs.

Because you still find comfort in the fire and the warmth it brings you.  And there’s hope in the warmth of the flames.  Hope that will go up in smoke, as it always does with him.

I fucking hate that.

I wish it would just burn out.

I can’t sleep

4 Nov

Mainly because its in the middle of the day. But mostly because he’s asleep right next to me. Inches away. Passed out. How could I miss that??

Of course he’s asleep. We had a long night. It was way past one by the time we went to bed. We were out super late while he declared his love…to the damn bartender.

And he was wasted. So he went and passed out. And now we’re at the airport and he fell asleep in the chair next to mine. Mouth open. Snoring.

I hate my life.

The morning after

2 Nov

I want to vomit and I want to die. Though not necessarily in that order. Long night of drinking turns into a long day of cocktail flu. Swore up and down I wouldn’t drink that much and wouldn’t stay out too late.

Four cocktails and two beers later I looked at the clock and noticed it was past 1:00 in the morning. Guess I was wrong. Thank god I didn’t order one last round at 1:30. Can only imagine how amazing having my stomach pumped would feel.

But we had such a magical and romantic time. He spent hours talking about his wife, and how if she ever cheated he’d leave her, and how he knew they’d be together forever, and how lucky they both felt to have found one another, and how much he loved their new baby. Really romantic. And then there was that awesome time when we were at the bar and our legs accidentally touched so he totally readjusted himself and moved as far away as possible without actually changing seats. It was great.

I want to vomit.  And die.

And then make out with him.  But not necessarily in that order.