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Did you kiss your mother with that mouth??

3 Feb

It’s amazing to watch parents begin to clean up their language when little Johnny stares at this Brussel sprouts and says, “Fuck this” as he pushes his plate away.  The look on the parents’ mouth is absolutely priceless.  You know what’s hilarious?  Watching little kids drop the f-bomb.  Cracks me up every time.

This weekend Lucy(fer), Damien, and Mamacita came up for a visit.  On Saturday morning – at the ass crack of dawn – the kids were playing relatively quietly when Lucy(fer) suddenly whispers, “puta.”  For those of you who don’t speak espanol, the word basically translates to “whore”.  We Mexicans use it in the same way Americans may say “fuck” when they stub their toe, drop something, or get pulled over by the cops.

The second the word left her 6 year old mouth, my mother’s jaw hit the floor.

  • Mamacita: What did you just say?
  • Lucy(fer): Puta.
  • Mamacita: Where did you learn that word??
  • Lucy(fer): You say it all the time.
  • Mamacita: I most certainly do not.
  • Lucy(fer): Sure you do!
  • Mamacita: Well, it’s not a nice word for little girls to use.
  • Lucy(fer): Okay.  I won’t say it.

Lucy(fer) went back to playing her lame ass game of puppies at the vet while my mother and I laughed and laughed.  No shit that 15 minutes later Lucy(fer) drops one of her dolls and she suddenly explains, “aw fuck.”

Naughty No-No’s

22 Jun

We’re four days into my watching Damien and Lucy(fer) and I’ve already become one of those mommy bloggers.  I’m not even a mother for Lord’s sake!!

First, the update on the BIL: he’s doing much better.  Looks like he’ll be home in the next few days.

Second, my niece is going to be a hooker when she grows up.  She has this thing about showing where naughty bits when she’s in the bath.  I’m talking throwing her legs wide open.  If she were 18, Penthouse would be thrilled to have her.  But she’s 4 and this is going to leave me with scars for the rest of my life.  It’s horrifying.  HORRIFYING!

During bath time today and on Monday she was starting to get really intimate with the water running out of the faucet.  I asked her what she was doing, and she told me she was cleaning her “cha china”.  Look, I’m a chick.  I know what water from the faucet can do for you.  In fact, all women know.  And if they say they don’t, they are lying through their teeth.

I remember my grandmother yelling at me when I was little to keep my hands on top of the covers.  I can’t believe I ever did anything like this, but I must have if she was yelling that shit at me.  Now I’m the one sternly reminding her that her private parts are for private time only, and that she shouldn’t be showing them to the free world.  I draw the line at informing her that if someone wants to see them, they should buy you a drink or two first.

God freaking save me.

It’s Snot Funny

31 Jan

Bitches, I hate being sick.  I freaking HATE!!  Every time I get the teeniest tiniest taste of a cold or the flu I turn into an eight year old brat.  All I want is for someone to dote all over me and listen to me whine about how I’m going to die and take notes as I begin to bequeath all of my worldly possessions.  Boom Boom can have my Burberry handbag.  My sister can have all my bedding and furniture.  Jersey Belle can have all my music.  Fashionista can have all my cookbooks and Le Crueset stuff.  Jewcy Bits can have all of my gluten free goods.  Lucy(fer) and Damien can have my 401(k).  My mom can have my photo albums.

Is anyone writing this down??

No, of course not.  Because everyone is busy leading their own lives while I sit here on the couch dying from Ebola, or the Hantavirus, or Anthrax, or the Black Plague or God knows what else.  In the past two hours I have gone through half a box of tissues.  It’s that kind of day.  My poor nose hurts so badly from blowing it that I’m afraid of what it will look like in two days.  And where on God’s green earth does all of this damn snot come from?  WHERE?  It’s not possible to produce so much freaking mucous.  It’s just not right.  I’m rotting from the inside.  It’s the only explanation.

I’m dying.

Goodbye cruel world!


Fuck, I have to blow my nose AGAIN!

When Good Toilets Go Bad

29 Jun

This morning at 7:15, Damien and Lucy(fer) burst through my bedroom door.  Next year, remind me to take one of the rooms with a door lock when we go on vacation.  I groggily asked them who they hell they thought they were and that’s when Damien excitedly announced that the toilet had just thrown up.

  • Catherinette: What?
  • Damien:  The toilet throwed up!
  • Catherinette: What do you mean?
  • Damien: It spit water up into the air and it went all over the place!!

I have never seen anyone seen so excited over an overflowing toilet.  Not even a plumber that knows that he’s going to ass rape you when he overcharges you for cleaning up the mess you made.  I politely responded to Damien then threw him out of my room and told him to come back in 2 hours.  It’s a pain in the ass that the kids can’t tell time because he thought “2 hours” meant “15 minutes”.

As it turns out, my sister and brother-in-law had had quite the adventure that morning.  After stopping up the toilet, my sister enlisted the help of her hubcap to help her “fix” the toilet.  He went after it with a plunger and the toilet was not pleased.  It was so angry, in fact, that it literally spewed water straight up into the air and all over the floor.  Both he and my sister were covered in poo water.  Frankly, I’m surprised I didn’t hear a string of obscenities when this all went down.  Perhaps they were both too shocked to respond in that way.

My sister told me the whole story after I finally dragged myself out of bed.  When asked about the whole debacle my brother-in-law’s response was, “I don’t want to talk about it.  I just want to forget the whole thing ever happened.”

Hey, we’ve all been there.  But I’m pretty sure that for most of us what we’re trying to forget doesn’t involve getting showered in poo water.  At least, I hope that’s the case.

Protected: Ambien + Vodka = Catherinette’s Thursday Night

11 Jun

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Reaching New Heights in Boredom

2 Mar

My mother is a smart woman.  She was born and raised in Mexico, and she and her brother were the first in her family to get past high school.  Both of them attended medical school, and became doctors.  Sure, my uncle is a special breed of asshole, but my mom is pretty cool.  She has had her own private practice for years, and has a good reputation in our area.  She has a nice, small group of friends here-who are somewhat dull, and some great friends in Mexico who are the bomb.

When we first moved from California, some 20 years ago, my mom ran into 2 of her friends from medical school.  Somehow all 3 of them had made their way from Mexico here to Baltimore.  I have vague memories of dinners at my parents’ house as a teenager when they would come over and talk about life “back home.”  Just fleeting memories, really.  All of us sitting at the table, someone talking, my mom getting more food, etc.  I don’t remember actual conversations or who said what to whom. 

Over the years they all went their separate ways and lost touch.  Up until 6 months ago when we ran into one of the couples while grocery shopping.  We kept bumping into them, and started reconnecting.  5 minute conversations ended up turning into 30 minute conversations over by the cheese aisle.  It was fun.  So my mom decided to have them over for lunch on Sunday.

What a horrible and tragic mistake.  There’s a reason that I only have vague memories of when they would come over: I blocked them out.  Clearly, this is a sign of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.

This was the first time that I was so bored that it was physically painful.   He told countless boring stories about some small towns he lived in while he was in Mexico.  Right down to what on earth he would have for lunch and how the tables were set and how there were only 2 cars in the village and one was his and how he would drive to another town to make phone calls and pick up his mail and it was so hot there but you got used to it and sidebar to wife about how she didn’t know what heat was even though she was from Florida where one time they went swimming and they met a celebrity who very much enjoyed hearing his accounts of life in small town Mexico.

Holy boring, Batman.  Do you know how hard it is to try to look someone in the eyes without yawning and or rolling your eyes when they’re boring you to tears?  Try it.  The whole time I was sitting there listening I’m thinking to myself, “Does mom not remember this kind of torture?  Is she doing this to us on purpose?  What did we ever do to her to make her put us through this?  Is she mad at me for some reason?”

Thank God that my sister and her family were there.  Damien and Lucy(fer) insist on taking a bath in my mom’s whirlpool tub every time they go over to her house.  Those little angels invited me up to the bathroom to hang out with them while they bathed.  While typically I avoid this at all costs (as it’s not the world’s most exciting thing to hang out in a bathroom and watch 2 kids splash around, and yell, “No water out of the tub!” 600 times), this time I jumped at the chance.  For 45 minutes my sister, brother-in-law, and I hid in the bathroom with the kids. 

They finally decided to leave, and as soon as the door was closed my mom said, “I am so sorry.”  \


15 Feb

My brother-in-law is typically good when it comes to grilling.  Last night, something changed.  My dad ended up coming into town and ruining all our plans.  Poor Damien was so sick that he was reenacting scenes from the Exorcist and happened to be exploding from both ends.  My sister thought it best to not take him out of the house.  She attempted to snake her way out of seeing our dad, thus leaving me trapped under that bus.  I told her that she was mad if she thought that I’d be alone with him for ours.  I’d take the risk of being puked on.

We headed to the store, picked up some stuff for dinner, crossed ourselves before entering my sister’s house, and proceeded to act like the happy family that he imagines that we are.  It was magical.

Anyway, bro in law was responsible for taking care of the 8 tasty steaks that we had purchased.  We spent $75 on the meat (twss).  I marinated them in the most delicious marinade in the world, and then handed them lovingly over to the grill “master”.  More like m-ass-ter.

This is what ended up coming off the grill.

blackened steaks

Oh, and these were some of the better ones.  Some were so charred beyond recognition that we couldn’t even put them out on the table.  Awesome.

It Just Gets Worse

26 Jan

I’m not sure what’s more upsetting, knowing that the dog will never greet me when I walk into this house or being forced to watch “The Polar Express” while playing Thomas the god damned tank engine. Who the hell thought this movie was a good idea?  The kids are so creepy that they’ll probably have starring roles in my next nightmare.  And the “songs” in the film will serve as the soundtrack on those horrifying dreams.

As for the hateful train set…where should I begin?  Shall I comment on the fact that the tracks cost one million dollars and yet they never stay together?  “Why they keep breaking?” Damien keeps asking.  Because they’re shit, that’s why. And who the hell comes up with the names for the stupid characters? I mean really, what the French kind of name is Scarloughie?

When I’m not fixing cheap ass train tracks or being frightened by scary animated children I’m busy fixing Lucy(fer)’s socks.  I’m half tempted to duct tape them on her little cankles.  Is that wrong?

Super.  She just crapped her pants.  Guess who gets to change the diaper?  If my sister hadn’t just lost her dog last night I’d wake her ass up and force her to change the dirty diaper.

There should be a universal law that all children must take naps when in my care.  Frankly, it’s in everyone’s best interest…or at least in mine.   And it’s also a safety precaution for them so they don’t end up with my hands wrapped around their fragile little necks.