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Saving first base

2 Mar

Warning for my sister, stop reading.  I think there’s something on the stove that needs your attention.  Or maybe you left the water upstairs running, you should probably go check it out.  By the way, are you going to mom’s house for dinner tomorrow night?  What do you think she’ll make?

Stop reading now, you can go away.

At a party last Saturday, surrounded by friends, one of them announced, “Catherinette has great tits.”

Having boobs is a glorious thing.  At a d cup mine fit my frame.  Yes there are times when my button down shirts start to gape.  Or when I suddenly get uniboob at the gym and I go from having 2 to just one giant one in the middle.  They’re heavy sometimes, and they can be uncomfortable during the summer.   But for the most part they are a glorious sight to behold.  If they’re out on display, people will look.  Sometimes it’s subtle, sometimes not so much.

This afternoon I get the joy and pleasure of having my boobs smashed like tiny pancakes.  It’s mammogram time.  I’m excited about it.  No I’m not.  As a female with boobs, though, it’s my duty to go and get them checked out.  Gotta save first base and keep motorboating alive.  This time around, however, it’s gonna get real awkward with the technician.  You see, they’re not in their typical state.

Tuesday night, #4 couldn’t get enough of them.  On our first date I had worn a pretty conservative top which accentuated them, but didn’t show any cleavage.  I caught him sneaking some glances, and called him out on text messages later on.  Over the course of our text exchanges he mentioned how excited he was to get a hold of them – so to speak.  Obviously we were both aware of what was gonna go down on Tuesday, so I wore something low cut so he could see what he was going to get himself into later that night.  Once we were back at my house he manhandled them like no one’s business.  For 3 plus hours.  After he left they were so sore it hurt to wear a shirt, and laying on my stomach was close to impossible.  The next day as I was inspecting them in the mirror I noticed there were marks all over them.  A hicky here.  A welt there.  A hole lot of redness.  Was that a bite mark?  3 days later and they’re still sore and some of the marks he left are still visible.

I’m super stoked to take my top off and then have to explain to the technician that, no, they typically don’t have those marks.  And that, no, that welt on the bottom of the left one isn’t usually there.  And also, no, they’re not usually bruised it’s just a hicky on my god damned right one.

In hindsight perhaps I should have scheduled the appointment out a bit further…

 

 

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Catch of the Day

6 Feb

Kids, I’ve semi recovered from my average date last week.  Have made an important decision.  A decision I’m sure you’ve been wondering about since you read my post.  As much as I want to throw in the towel and surround myself with all the cats, let all my grays grow in, and invest in a closet full of sweatpants, I’m not going to do it.  I’m going to keep going.  I’m going to go on at least 25 dates this year.  If it works out and I find a hunky beau, great.  If not, then I’ll just tell you about it and then cry myself to sleep after eating some dairy free ice cream.  Then at the end of the year I’ll pat myself on the back, look in the mirror, and say, “good on you!”

Why go on?

I’m glad you asked.  I’ll tell you why.  Because of my niece, Lucy(fer) – I’m doing it for her.  How does going on soul crushing dates help her?  Well, it may not directly.  What will help her is seeing a woman who has committed to doing something, trying as hard as she can, and not giving up.  Deleting all my online dating profiles is easy.  Stepping up to try to show a little girl that big girls are fearless isn’t so much.  So I’m leaning into the fear of the unknown, the possibility of getting hurt, the fear of rejection to show her that even though it doesn’t work out the way you hoped it would, that it’s worth it to take the risk.

I’m a god damned inspiration. I’m going to persist, y’all.  Just like Elizabeth Warren wants us all to.

Here’s what I can tell you about weeding out dates, though.  If you go on a trip with your boys and message me to tell me how you enjoyed your dinner of fresh caught Maui Maui, then I’m out.  Maui is an island.  It is not a fish.

Yeah. No.

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?

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.

I’m Just as Stupid as the Next Girl

27 Jan

The wonderful world of dating often makes girls turn incredibly stupid.  Open mouth breathing, eyes rolling, drooling kind of stupid.  You all know I’ve had an online dating profile up for quite some time.  I took a break from dating last year.  For the first time in umpteen months I have a date.  This Sunday, I’m going out with a dude.  The logical part of me says that we’ll go out, it’ll be pleasant, there will be zero chemistry and it will have been a waste o’ time.

BUT this afternoon I caught myself jumping ahead 100 steps.  These thoughts actually went through my mind:

  1. I need to buy a new outfit for my date.  I’ll probably have to go out and get new bras and underwear once we start sleeping together.
  2. He lives in Jersey and works in the city.  I live and work in the burbs.  Which one of us will move if it works out?  He really loves his house, and I don’t want to commute from Jersey.
  3. I have plans to go to NYC in early March, hotel room is booked.  Maybe I should wait to invite my mom and see if it works out with this guy and he and I can go together.
  4. Two weeks is a long time to be away from someone over the summer.  Wonder if he’d fly up to the Vineyard to spend a few days with me and my family.

I actually thought those things.  All of them.  When I realized what I was doing I started laughing at myself.

Why do we do this?  Why do we immediately start into planning the future before even shaking the other person’s hand?  It’s so totally absurd, yet every single girl I know starts all of that stupid shit when they meet someone new.

Suddenly that crazy girl I mentioned in my last post doesn’t seem quite as stupid as she did before.  Sure, she’s holding on to a relationship that’s super duper dead.  She told me a few weeks ago how she thought she had met someone she could spend her life with – before they went on their first date.  I thought she was totally ridiculous.  AND THEN I go and start planning the same kind of shit.

Look, I don’t delude myself that this dude is the one.  I don’t even know if we’ll make it to the second date, but I do know that the mere thought of having in my life puts me in auto-planning mode.  That just puts added pressure on the whole thing and takes the fun out of everything.  I need to knock that shit off immediately if not sooner.  So, yeah, I’m stupid, just like the next girl.

I Resolve to be Less of a Stupid Whore in 2012

31 Dec

Yesterday, while being all fancy and shit in Pastis in New York City, I overheard a conversation two young women were having. Pastis is the type of place that is so crowded with tables that you can’t help overhear what’s going on next to you. Especially since you’re practically sitting on the laps of the people at the next table. It’s a great place! Unless you have to squeeze between two tables to get to the booth – I was sure my fat ass was going to knock over someone’s water glass.

But I digress.

So these two trendy 20-somethings, with their workout clothes, and purposely messy ponytails were talking about dating. The blond slut was telling the brunette slut about how she had knocked boots with this dude AGAIN! This was the fourth time they had gotten together. The first time was in the bathroom at a party, the second time was at his place, the third was in the back of his car, and the latest time was at her house. Klassy rich girls. Blond girl wasn’t sure what was going on between them, but she was okay with where they were. That’s when brunette slut asked, “is he still with his girlfriend?”

Then I nearly choked on my water.

Blond slut said, “oh yeah, they’re still together. He was telling me that he’s thinking about asking her to marry him. He’s not quite ready yet, but he thinks it’ll go there.”

I stared straight ahead and forced myself not to turn and stare at them.

Brunette slut said she didn’t care that he had a girlfriend, and that she would totally do the same thing. She said she had no moral obligations to a dude’s girlfriend. They then talked about how one of them had been cheated on before, and how weird it was that they were on the other side now. This is right around the time I wanted to hit them both.

Then THEN THEN! Then the blond slut said she thought she was starting to develop feelings for him. Let me remind you she’s developing feelings (not of rage or nausea) for a dude she fucked in the bathroom who has a girlfriend. “You know what I really like about him? I like how honest he is.” She actually said that. Um, yeah, he’s not honest. He’s fucking someone behind his girlfriend’s back, that’s what I like to call “lying” and “deceitful” and “shitty”. She knew she had to stop sleeping with him, so her plan is to start dating one of his friends so she can still see him from time to time.

Why? Why on God’s green earth are women so stupid? WHY?

Look, I’ll be honest here – I’ve hooked up with dudes who have other girlfriends. I’ve thought things like the blond and brunette slut. But not in a long time. I don’t believe that a guy who cheats on his girlfriend is honest. I don’t believe he’s a good person. He’s an asshole. If he was anything other than a selfish prick he would either not cheat, or break up with the girlfriend. We delude ourselves into thinking this guy is meant to be ours when he’s with someone else, or that the girlfriend is a bitch, or that what we’re doing is okay. We’re just putting ourselves in a situation where we’re going to end up getting hurt AND feeling like a total fucking asshole to boot.

I say fuck that. Fuck it right in the pooper.

No thanks. Look, go out there and whore your life away in 2012. Go forth and suck all the dicks you could possibly want to suck. Just do yourself a favor before you do it, make sure someone else isn’t sucking that dick too.

Happy New Year!

Rub a Dub Dub: My Thighs Are Full of Blub(ber)

10 Jul

I’m not a big girl by any stretch of the imagination.  Sure, I probably carry about 15-20 more pounds than I need to and I have an extra roll of fat here and there.  But I doubt anyone passing me would stare at me and think I belonged locked in my bedroom surrounded by empty pizza boxes, covered with a dirty bed sheet, just waiting until I had a heart attack and then the paramedics had to cut a hole in the side of the house and transport me by flat bed truck.  I’m not THAT bad!

There is, however, one MAJOR thing I hate about being chubby in the summer time.  I fucking hate it when I wear a dress, and then my thighs begin to sweat and start rubbing up on one another.  Ugh, worst feeling EVER!  Especially when chafing starts happening and then your skin starts to burn.  VERY unpleasant feeling.  AWFUL in fact.  Terrible.  Horrible.  And also, yucky.  Plus then you have to do that whole “I have to unstick my legs from one another so I’m going to take a giant wide step to the right or left” and then you end up waddling down the street.  That’s when you begin to look like you pooped your pants or something.

On days like today there’s only one thing left to do: stay inside where there’s plenty of air conditioning.

There are many times in my life I’m thankful I’m not a dude – and at times like these I give extra thanks.  I can’t imagine how awful it would be to add a sweaty nut sack to the equation.  Fuck that noise right there.  As a chick, it’s strange to think of something down there constantly hanging outside of your body and potentially sticking to your inner thigh.  Add chafing to that and you have an equation that I don’t want to know the answer to.  No thank you, I totally pass.