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Justin Timberlake isn’t the only one bringing sexy back

2 May

That’s right, fans.  I’m taking matters into my hands and doing what it takes.

And by “matters” I mean “every snack food I can find” and “doing what it takes” I mean “shoving them down my throat”.

Stupid PMS.  How is it possible to have so many cravings that can never be satisfied? It’s a miracle I haven’t eaten the island in the middle of my kitchen.  The only reason I haven’t tried it is because it’s black and gray and I can’t think of any appetizing foods that are black and gray.

In the last 45 minutes I hoovered:

  • An entire bag of chips
  • 3 candy bars (the mini ones)
  • A bowl of ice cream
  • 2 pieces of cheese
  • 1/4 herb turkey
  • 1 mango

I also managed to break out with 2 brand new pimples.  Welcome Simone and Simone 2!

Next up I’m going to sit on the couch and sob my way through the latest episode of Game of Thrones.  First I need a big glass of wine so I can rehydrate myself from all the tears I’m going to shed.

How much longer until menopause and hot flashes?


Fat is as Fat Does

26 Jan

I’m a whale.  I’m a hippo.  I’m a pig.  I’m a whale.  These are the things going through my head as I stand in front of the mirror wondering where on earth these cankles came from.

First official day in Australia, it’s perfect summer weather, and all I see is pasty white blubber.  These next six months are going to be AMAZING!

I have a friend of a friend in town who I’m supposed to meet up with today.  Have never met her, we’ve just exchanged a few emails, but it seemed like a good idea at the time.  When I first agreed to meet up with her, I immediately sent her a facebook friend request and started stalking her.  I was hoping for someone who wasn’t model hot so I wouldn’t feel like such a fast ass.  Just a normal looking girl, though definitely fitter than I am.

We’ve decided on going down to St. Kilda, down on the water.  “Swim suits?” she asked.  Flash of me standing on the beach blinding everyone with my fat thighs.  Lied that I left my suit at home.

“Should we run or power walk?  Should I wear gym clothes? “she asks.  First of all HA!  Second of all HAHA!  Me?  Power walk or run??  Is there a zombie apocolaypse?  Because if there isn’t, I’m not doing it.  Oh, and also, its upward of 90 degrees today, I’ll sweat just from breathing – my heart would stop if I ran.  My response? “Haha. Yeah, no. I’m the biggest slacker EVER. For reals. Go casual.”

Know whats’ funny?  To get rid of the whale/hippo/pig/whale thing, I should run or power walk.  Maybe I’ll just have a cookie to take my mind off of this.

Just Let Me Die

13 Mar

Stomach flu.  Or food poisoning.  Either way, just let me die.  Wonder if it’s related to the Cool Whip that I take out of the freezer every night, let it soften, take two bites from, and then put back in the freezer.  Ugh.  Gross.

In half an hour I’m supposed to be leading a session for a fancy client.  That is totally not happening, mainly because I don’t want to vomit all over the floor halfway through the session.  My efforts to find a back up have totally failed.  They’re on their own.  I hate having to do that.  It’s shitty.  I do a favor for a friend and pick up this session, and then the day of I have to back out.  Horrible.  Just horrible.

I’ve never been the type of person to drag myself out of the house when I feel like dying.  Frankly, I’ve never understood how on earth people are able to do that.  How can you sit at your desk, stare at the computer screen, and get any work done while you’re also trying to hold all your puke down?  Vomiting is bad enough, but when you’re forced into a little stall and you know all your coworkers are hearing you it makes it that much worse.

No thanks, I’ll stay home, curl up on my bathroom floor, and then cry while I throw up.

Yay! Nay!

28 Jan

The battle against my massive muffin top has been going quite well.  My thighs are no longer threatening to bust the seems of my pants.  No longer can you notice every last dimple of my ass in my pants.  My Spanx are enjoying a well earned vacation.  Best of all?  My stomach doesn’t have the permanent indent from my buttons any longer.  Bye bye fat!

Yesterday, for the first time in about 8 months, I wore my skinny jeans out of the house.  Fit like a glove – in a good way.  Not one of those squeeze into it and if it zips it fits things.  No no, they actually looked good!  Best jeans ever.  EVER!  They’re the jeans that I always receive compliments on.  It’s as if Houdini himself made them, because what they do to my ass is magic.  Have had them for about three years and have taken such good care of them.  They’ve lasted me longer than any other jeans, most likely because the second I gain 10 pounds I can’t wear them any more.  The inner thighs are starting to wear, but they still look GREAT!


After a long day of prancing around in my jeans, it was finally time to take a little rest.  Had my dinner ready to go and plopped down on the couch.  For some reason I always sit Indian style – or crisscross apple sauce as they say in schools now.  What the fuck is that about?  How can you get apple sauce to go crisscross?  Really?  Anyway, my ass hit the couch, my legs went into their favorite state and that’s when I heard and felt the horrible RIP of the left inner thigh of my jeans.


Life sucks.  I’m going to go eat something I shouldn’t be eating.

Of This I Am Sure

27 Jan

At 39, I’ve come to know certain things about myself.

  • I prefer dogs to cats.
  • I hate dancing.
  • I have zero tolerance for Christian Fundamentalists.
  • I would never tolerate someone hitting me.
  • I’m always going to be a few pounds overweight.
  • I will never like beans.  Or the Yankees.

Yesterday, I learned another valuable lesson: I am not cut out to ride the bus.  I learned this lesson the hard way.

In an effort to save a few bucks, I decided to buy a round trip bus ticket from Philadelphia to New York City.  In the past I’ve taken the train – a very enjoyable trip.  This year, however, my desire to become slightly more frugal led me down the bad path of choosing Bolt Bus over Amtrak.  Quite possibly one of the dumbest decisions I’ve ever made – even more stupid than dating Hairy McBacksweat.

For those of you who don’t live in the North East, let me tell you that yesterday was freezing cold.  There is nothing like standing on a sidewalk, in line, for over an hour, while you will your feet not to freeze.  All I could think about was how it was clear to me why homeless people do so many drugs, clearly it’s the only way they can keep warm in the shitty temperatures.  Drugs are really bad, but at least they numb you from the pain of cold weather.  The damn bus was running an HOUR late, yet it didn’t occur to Bolt Bus to notify anyone.

When the bus finally arrived, the bus driver just stared at us while he talked on his cell phone.  He made us wait an extra 15 minutes.  Not quite sure who was talking to because he’s not exactly the type of guy with a charming personality.  Imagine a sack of potatoes, now add a pair of glasses, and remove any semblance of personality.  That’s who this guy was.

Once he opened the doors and started letting us in, he was extremely rude to some of the passengers.  One old lady was having difficulty getting up the stairs and he told her to “Hurry up! There are people waiting behind you!”  Seriously, dude?

If only that had been the end of it all…

Once on the bus we all noticed it smelled like the inside of the toilet.  Smell was beyond disgusting.  As we started pulling away the bus driver came on over the loud speaker and told us if we had any more complaints about the smell to take it up with Bolt Bus because there was nothing he could do about it.  He then went on to inform us that the bus had been in the bay and was scheduled for a clean up but they hadn’t had a chance to get anything done.

The ordeal was so fucking terrible, in fact, that within my first five minutes on the bus I was online purchasing an Amtrak ticket for my trip home.


1 Jan

My plans for an epic New Year’s Eve were thwarted.  These plans were indeed EPIC!  Picture this: intimate gathering with Jersey Belle and Oingo Boingo at an uppity bar that serves the most delicious drinks you’ve ever had.  Three of the forty tickets they had sold belonged to us.  All you can drink (their cheapest drink is around $12) from 9-1, champagne toast, food, fanciness, you get the picture.


Instead my New Year’s Eve consisted of the Plague – given to me so “lovingly” by Lucy(fer) and Damien over the Christmas holiday. So instead of hobnobbing with Philly’s elite while getting drunk enough to make some very poor choices, I was busy wrapped around the toilet thinking, “Why me?  What have I done to deserve this??”

On the bright side I am not hungover today like many of the people I know.  Granted, yesterday it was like I was hungover without having had the pleasure of imbibing.  And while you were all out having your fancy steak and lobster dinners, my NYE dinner consisted of flat coke, two crackers, and a little bowl of applesauce.

I know how to party.

Here’s hoping your New Year’s was better than mine.

Catherinette’s Terrorist Plot Thwarted!

6 Oct

There is nothing worse than getting stuck behind an amateur in the security line at an airport. You know the type: struggling to remove all their layers, bitching about having to remove their lace up boots, and pissed about having to empty their pockets. Fuck you, dude! You’re holding up the line!

Didn’t you read the 50+ signs on the way up that tell you what to do? You, sir, are a bastard. I hope they pull you out of line and give you the cavity search you deserve.

I’m a seasoned traveler. I wear shoes that can easily be removed during a security screening. I remove all jewelry and belts. I even make sure all my liquids, creams, and gels are stowed away in a clear 1 quart bag.

Today, however, my bag was searched. Why? Because you’re not allowed to bring a giant ass jar of Nutella on the flight. Seriously? Is this where we are as a society? Peanut butter and Nutella are now the vessels if terrorists?