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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.

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.”

Yippie Ay Oh I Will Punch You

11 Aug

Lucy(fer) has been singing “Yippie ay oh it’s the dough!” for the last half hour.  The more she sings the less I see anything wrong with shoving her into the nearest wall.

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!

Protected: The Devil’s Child

22 Oct

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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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