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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.”  \

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.

My Super Smart Move

18 Oct

Today my mom and I took Lucy(fer) and Damien to a local farm to pick apples, jump on a moon bounce, ride a tractor, and spend time being thankful that we don’t actually live with the kids.  Surprisingly enough, the kids were pretty well behaved.  Except for the ride up-Lucy(fer) screamed for about 10 minutes because her mother wasn’t with us.  It took so much out of her that she passed out in her seat.  Frankly, the last time that I passed out like that was when I downed a fifth of Vodka, but that’s a story for another day.

You don’t want to hear about snotty nosed kids picking apples.  What you want to hear about is my super smart move.  Knowing that I was going to be out in the country on some flipping farm, I decided to wear my sneakers.  I was in a hurry when I grabbed a pair, put them on my feet, and then ran out the door.  When we got to the orchard, people would give me strange looks, or smile at me like I was retarded.  “What the fuck is there problem?” I asked my mother.  “Catherinette, don’t use that type of language in front of the children.”

Three hours into our adventure, I happened to look down at my feet.  Stupid me had grabbed one sneaker with red trim on it, and one sneaker with pink trim on it.  My shoes did not match.  No wonder they were looking at me like that, I totally was retarded.

Protected: Wax It?

28 Sep

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Mmm…Babies. Tastes Just Like Chicken!

10 Sep

Let me ask you a question: what do you do with small babies around the holidays? 

Frankly, I think if they can’t help around the kitchen, then they should help out with something else.  At our house, I have decided that they should be included as focal point of my still life pictures.  Sure, technically they’re not still life pictures if there are people in them, but I just think that babies add a little I don’t know what (I can’t spell the swanky Frenchy Frog version of that) element to the picture.

Take these two snapshots for example:

Lucy(fer) As Spoon Rest

Lucy(fer) As Spoon Rest

Damien Adds Extra Flavor to the Salad

Damien Adds Extra Flavor to the Salad

You can see how much more interesting the photographs are with the help of 2 intolerable little brats adorable children.

So, on your next holiday, consider adding some flavor and spice to your own pictures. 

Note: No babies were harmed in the writing of this blog post.

Let The Douche Baggery Commence

4 Sep

My douche bag father is coming to town this weekend.  My sister and I are not very pleased.  Still, we have to make some kind of effort if we expect to remain in the will.  Not that there will be much left for us as we assume that he’ll be leaving the bulk of his estate (which is substantial) to our evil step-monster.  She has him wrapped around her bony ass little finger.  She is evil to the core.  She’s one of those women who you think is super nice, until you really get to know her and realize she’s a soul sucker with blonde hair and an annoying voice that will make your ears bleed if you listen to it for too long.

It’s been nearly 3 years since the last time they came to town.  As a matter of fact, he’s never even met Lucy(fer).  Not one single time.  He doesn’t ask for pictures, and he calls her by the wrong name. 

  • Dad: “How’s Lillian doing?”
  • Me: Her name is Lucy(fer).
  • Dad: Sorry, that’s what I meant.  She’s going to be turning 3 this year in November, right?
  • Me: How about 2 in October?
  • Dad: Hey, did I mention that your evil step-monster and I are taking a week off from our hectic life in the tropical oasis of Oahu on our estate with a pool, and heading over to our beach front property in Florida for 2 weeks?

My sister and I are hoping that Lililan Lucy(fer) uses her evil powers on him and breaks his ear drums when he attempts to pick her up.  Actually, he’ll probably throw out his back too since she weighs as much as I do.  Damien has already informed us that he doesn’t want to hang out with his other grandpa because he’s “yucky”.  Can’t wait for him to say that to my dad’s face.  Good times, good times.

Damien has met my dad on 2 other occasions.  One of them happened to be a trip to Florida to the beach front estate.  How do I begin to explain the horror that was my family trip to Florida 3 summers ago? My father and evil step-monster thought it would be grand if we could all go down there and spend some time bonding as a family.

Let me just give you a few phrases to provide you a brief description:

  1. The smell that hit us when we walked into the house where I would be staying.
  2. The disgusting toilet I had to clean with a washcloth and bar soap because no one had bothered to do it before I arrived.
  3. Random children all over the house, adding to the smell.
  4. Having to watch the birth (via Cesarean section) of a child I did not know.
  5. My step-monster’s racist father that insisted that Mexicans only eat goat and tortilla. Didn’t seem to bother him that I was Mexican, and insisted that it wasn’t the case.
  6. My step-monster’s crazy mother breaking out into song, and insulting one of her daughters. Wonderful comments included, but were not limited to:
    • “Fatty fatty 2 by 4, can’t get through the kitchen door,”
    • “My god. I didn’t think they made swimsuits in your size,” and
    • “I don’t think that chair can take all of your weight.”
  7. And let us not forget the convicted felon that had just been released. What was his crime? No one would tell us. All they would say is, “Best keep your little one away from him.”

Klassy, klassy trip.

Just thinking about it makes me want to bang my head on my desk and weep openly.