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Live Blogging from The Front Line (and by “the front line” I mean “my bed”)

5 May

Yes, gentle readers, it is true.  I’m home sick AGAIN!  As it turns out, Catherinette Singleton has been diagnosed with Acute Bronchitis.  I prefer to call it “Smoke Stack Fever”.  It’s really not a big deal, I just decided to take the doctor up on the note that he gave me that suggested I stay home today.  It’s a fun filled day full of codeine, naps, and Law & Order SVU reruns.  Holla!

I’m taking full advantage of being at home today and have been on facebook since I woke up (half an hour ago).  A girlfriend of mine happened to post this video on her profile and I cannot stop laughing.  This leads to hacking coughs and the desire to ingest more delicious codeine laced cough syrup.

You have got to check out the kids interpretation of “the whole club was looking at her” and “she gave her big booty a smack.”  COMEDY GOLD!

Now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s nap time.

Your Mom’s My Inspiration

30 Mar

I’m so busy that I don’t have time to post, but I do have time to harass the general public with my emails.

Earlier today, Mellafabulous asked for the password to the protected posts. Being the generous and kind person that I pretend to be, I decided to send it her way.

Those of you that have the password know that it’s a little play on words. So we went back and forth…

  • Mellafabulous: Are you suggesting I’m a [insert my oh-so-clever password here]? I prefer the term [synonym for my oh-so-clever password here].
  • Me: As a matter of fact…you were totally the inspiration for the password. I had initially gone with wh0re, but thought people would think I was talking about your mom. HEY-O!

I practically wept tears after sending that. God, I totally amuse myself sometimes…

When Drunk Tools Attack

16 Mar

In an attempt to balance out my “old maid” behavior of seeing Riverdance on Saturday, I decided to brave the St. Patrick’s day drunkards and meet Jewcy Bits out for some drinks yesterday afternoon. By the time I arrived in Canton, most everyone in the bar was 3 sheets to the wind. Probably because they had all gone directly from their beds into the bar. I’m pleased to announce that my “old maid” actions were completely cancelled out as I was drinking beer straight out of the pitcher within 2 minutes of walking into the bar. Not something I typically do, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

I don’t make it a habit to go to bars in sneakers and frumpy clothes, but I made an exception yesterday. Thankfully, no one seemed to notice. The nice thing about walking into a crowd of drunks is that no one seemed to notice that I was dressed like someone’s mother. In fact, they didn’t even notice that I wasn’t wearing a stitch of green either.

Here’s something else people didn’t seem to notice: the fact that I was far more sober than most of the other people there. Case in point: in the middle of mocking an important conversation with Jewcy Bits, some drunkard stumbled over our way and said to me, “Have you met my friend, Drunk A-hole with Zero Personality?” and then stumbled away. 30 seconds later, Jewcy Bits backed away and left me standing there with Drunk A-hole with Zero Personality (DAwZP). Thanks, Jewcy Bits. No, really.

The world’s lamest conversation day ensued.

DAwZP: Hi.
Me: Hello. [awkward silence ensues] I’m Catherinette.
DAwZP: Hi.
Me: Hello.
DAwZP: I didn’t hear you.
Me: CATHERINETTE
DAwZP: Nice to meet you. I still can’t year you.
Me: It’s because you’re too tall. [DAwZP stoops and I yell in his ear] CATHERINETTE!!
DAwZP: Hello.
Me: Hi.
[more awkward silence]
Me: You play football?
DAwZP: Yeah.  I’m here with my team. [waves to a bunch of guys that are standing around in a circle dancing and singing to one another]
Me: Your friends are gay.
DAwZP: What? [cups his ear and leans forward]
Me: YOUR FRIENDS ARE GAY!
DAwZP: Yeah. [stares at my boobs]
Me: So, how long have you been here.
DAwZP: What’s that?
Me: What time did you get here?
DAwZP: I can’t hear you.
Me: HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN HERE?
DAwZP: What time did I get here?
Me: YES?
DAwZP: 11:30.
Me: That’s nice.
DAwZP: What was that?
Me: Fuck this, I’m out.

People if you’re going to attempt to hit on someone, at least have something to say.

Later on we saw DAwZP hanging out by the garbage can near the ladies room.  Poor bastard was drooling all over the place and just about to throw up all over himself and anyone standing nearby. 

How could I have let that catch slip through my fingers…? 

This Is Why I Don’t Live In New York

19 Feb

do not hump

I think the sign says it all.  No?

A Very Special TWSS

29 Jan

As I was walking past our kitchenette this morning, I overheard Hooker Boots say something that nearly made me hurt myself from laughing.  I have no idea what she was referring to, which is even more amusing to me (basically because I’m 12 and totally immature)

It was the biggest thing I’d ever put in my mouth and it got me all sticky.  I had to brush my teeth for like 15 minutes afterwards just to get rid of that taste.  I swear, 2 days later I could still taste that thing.

Which reminds me of my lunch today…I almost send Disney an email that said the following:

This is the messiest one I’ve ever eaten.  I might have to eat it with a fork and I NEVER eat one of these with a fork.  And it’s running all over my hands.

Protected: Sunday Night Swingfest

8 Jan

This content is password protected. To view it please enter your password below:

Guess Who Had Some Fat Wood in Her Face Last Night??

6 Jan

fat-wood

Umm…who, exactly, came up with the name for this?  It’s kindling that we bought back around Christmas time.  How the name escaped me up until last night is beyond me.  I’m envisioning going back to the nursery where we bought it and telling the guy behind the counter that I really, really need some “Fat Wood”.

Meme’s And Tags Are For Suckers, I Guess I Can Suck It

5 Jan

The tagging and meme’s are to blogs as chain letters are to email.  Take that analogy, SAT professor.

Usually when someone decides that I’m worthy of a tag and/or meme, I pretend like I didn’t notice it or that I’m too busy and important to bother carrying on the tradition.  Recently, however, Acorn King tagged me and the concept is a good one.  The tag has evolved as each blogger has decided to give it their own spin.  When Father Muskrat had it, he changed it to 7 random acts by 7 random whores.  Acorn King decided that he’d change it to 3 embarrassing sex stories involving his friends.  Oh, and I decided to change the tag all over again.  Now it’s 3 stories that involve my exes making jack asses of themselves.

I’ve dragged my feet at getting the post up, but mainly because I was trying to come up with good stories to share.  You’re in luck, kids, I finally have the stories!!

Sleeping In The Wet Spot

My college boyfriend, Smalltown Boy, is now a professor at our alma mater.  I’m sure he would be more than delighted to know that I am sharing this story with you and the rest of the free world.  One night in the fall semester of our Senior year, Smalltown Boy and his roommates decided to throw a huge party-which they pretty much did every single weekend.  On this particular night, Smalltown Boy got butt wasted.  So wasted that I had to take him up to bed early.  After some unsuccessful attempts at groping me, Smalltown Boy passed out with his hand down my pants.  I quietly cursed him, removed his hands from Vageena Davis, and rolled over to my side of the bed and fell asleep.

A few hours later, Smalltown Boy woke me from a dead sleep by crawling on top of me.  I thought that he was trying to start things up again, and promptly told him to get off of me and let me sleep.  “I want to sleep on your side of the bed.  I need the window,” he told me.  “Bastard is going to get sick,” I thought, so I let him roll over me to get to the window.  As I made my way to his side, I suddenly felt it: a giant wet spot.  “Did we secretly have sex in the middle of the night and I just don’t remember?” I asked myself.  Nope, the wet spot was way too big for that.

I think you know where this is going.  That’s right, he peed in the bed and he wanted me to sleep in it.  Look, I’ve heard about sleeping in the wet spot before, but there’s no f’ing way that I was going to sleep in someone’s pee.  I got up, got dressed, andwalked home (thankfully, we lived on the same street about 3 houses apart).  The next day when he came to find me he looked awfully sheepish.  He pretended not to remember anything that had happened the night before.  Nice play, but I didn’t believe it for a second.

How to Make a Peen Turn Blue

In the two-some years that Un-boyfriend and I dated, we only went away on vacation one time.  One miserable time.  We took a week long trip to the beach.  I was so excited!!  In preparation for our trip, I went out and bought all sorts of accessories: gold circle coin condoms, flavored ones (not that I was going to stick them in my mouth), ribbed ones, and green ones.  As far as I was concerned, we were going to be spending the bulk of our time knocking boots.  Unfortunately, he seemed to have other plans…

The second we got to the hotel room, I started getting undressed, and he turned on the TV.  He completely ignored me for 2 hours because the NBA playoffs were on and he’s totally gay for the NBA.  No, really.   After 15 minutes of trying to “talk him” into turning off the TV, I ended up throwing a fit and then reading my book.

Blah, blah, boring details, it was finally time to hit it.  I chose the green condom for our first romp of the trip.  About 18 seconds into it (literally), he started saying, “Ouch, this hurts!”  Puzzled, I told him to shut up and keep going.  “NO!!  This really hurts!!  It feels like it’s ripping off my skin!!”  He climbed off the bed and went running into the bathroom with the green (glow in the dark) condom on his upstanding citizen.  We both cried: him like a baby and me from the hysterics I was in.

“It won’t come off!  I can’t get it off!  What did you give to me??”  I fell off the bed laughing.  “I’m losing sensation!  I think I might have to go to the hospital!”  More weeping from me as I got off the floor to try to help him.  He was buck naked in the bathroom, hunched over his Oscar Mayer weiner, trying to pull the condom from the tip.   The second I saw him standing in the bathroom trying to take the thing off, I lost it all over again.    “It’s not funny!  It’s turning blue!”  I swear I have never wept like that before.

Remember the Time We…

Mr. Big X and I loved going to New Orleans together.  The first time we went was about 6 months into the relationship: it was our Valentine’s gift to one another.  Bliss.  It was bliss.   Months later we broke up.  A year later, we got back together.  We were living in different cities at the time, and decided it would be romantic to meet up in New Orleans to rekindle the romance.  We booked the same hotel, and met at the airport.

The 2nd trip was just as great as the 1st one.  The hotel was beautiful, the food was delicious-as was the sex.  We spent the days walking around the French Quarter, and the evenings locked in our hotel room.  On our 4th night there, after a toss in the hay, we were laying in bed.    I was sure that I was laying in the arms that I would one day marry, and remember thinking that life couldn’t get any better than this.  “This reminds me so much of the last time we were here,” he said to me.  I asked him to expand.

Mr. Big X: Don’t you remember?  It was that night that we went to [insert restaurant night here].
Me: What restaurant?  I don’t remember that.
Mr. Big X: How can you not remember!!  We had that bottle of wine and that really funny waiter!
Me: Nope, no recollection.
Mr. Big X: The day we went to the aquarium?
Me: Um…no.
Mr. Big X: Come on!  You loved that place.  You had that martini with the candy in it.
Me: I’ve never had a martini with a candy in it.
Mr. Big X: Of course you have!
Me: No.  I have not.  I would remember if I had had one of those.  I think you’re confusing me with someone else.
Mr. Big X: NO!!  It was you!
Me: No, it was not.  Oh, and I hate to tell you, but I’ve never been to the aquarium here.
Mr. Big X: Are you sure?
Me: Yeah, I think I’d remember spending the day with a bunch of fish and then having some candy martini.
Mr. Big X:  I thought it was you…

For about an hour he tried to convince me that I was totally wrong.  Until it all came spilling out.  Such a gentlemen.  Mr. Big X had confused me with his last girlfriend.  Who he had just happened to also take to New Orleans.  And stayed with in the very same room.  Man, was it fun trying to see him dig himself out of that hole.  Such a wonder that it didn’t turn out…

As I mentioned at the beginning of this post, I’m not one for tagging, but I’m dying to know what Pistols would have to share with the world.  Do with this as you will.  Write about 7 whores a whoring, 3 embarrassing sex stories involving your friends, or 3 stories in which you illustrate how your exes were jack asses.  Or do something different.  Get all Nike up on it (ie: just do it).

Pistols, don’t say I never gave you anything.