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An Open Letter to My Liver and the Livers of my Friends

23 Oct

Dear Livers,

I just wanted to take this time to apologize for the damage that we are about to cause tonight.  It’s South Philly Fashionista’s bachelorette party tonight, and as is tradition, the friends of the bride must make the bride vomit.  This, of course, will require that we also get wasted beyond imagination.  There will be wine, and probably bubbles, and fancy expensive cocktails, and tequila, and shots.  Probably Irish Car Bombs.  And I might be the one responsible for buying those Irish Car Bombs.  I might be, I might not be.  We’ll have to see how the evening turns out.

But one thing is for certain, tomorrow morning we are all going to wake up wishing that we were dead.  That’s what bachelorette parties are all about.  Right?  That and running around with penis straws trying to get dudes to hit on us.  And maybe someone will make out.  And maybe someone will touch a penis.  And maybe someone will cry.  Drunk girls are awesome.

So on behalf of myself, Boom Boom, Jersey Belle, and SPF I’d like to tell you that we love you, and we’re sorry.  And if you’re going to make someone vomit, can you please make it be SPF?

Thanks so much!

Catherinette

Gym Rats

30 Aug

If you’re like some people, the thought of going to the gym causes physical discomfort and makes you want to vomit.  I’ll be honest, the only reasons I decided to go are because: 1) I’m sick of my rolls of fat, 2) I have zero desire to show myself on facebook in a bikini.  Which is exactly what will happen if I don’t lose 10 more pounds by the end of October.  Trust me, no one wants to see my fat thighs in a bikini.

This afternoon Boom Boom and I both found ourselves sweating our asses off after a week of indulging in too many carbs and too many beers.  You know what we realized?  We are 12 years old.  Seriously, we’re fucking 12.  I realized this when she was walking the track and I was sitting on the recumbent bike and then, my secret man meat boyfriend walked it.

She was walking behind him and she saw him, she looked across the gym at me and we both laughed and laughed.  Why?  Because we are stupid.

I will say that the good thing about seeing him is that he keeps me on the elliptical for another 15 minutes.  He is so hot.  Sure I look like a stalker when I crane my neck to stare at him lifting, but last time I checked, 12 year old stalkers aren’t subtle.

Get a Room

8 Aug

How many of us have seen a couple groping each other in public and thought, “God, can’t they freaking control themselves?  Do they have to expose us to that utter nonsense?  I’m disgusted!”  And then there are those of us that have probably been the targets of jeers like:

“Get a room!”

“Way to go!”

And even, “Get some!”

Coincidentally, I may or may not have heard some of those very things last week when I was making out with Bob the Builder all over the downtown Philadelphia area.  Sure, he was more interested in “making love” and not touching my “bad parts” (nothing sounds as sexy as some dude saying how much he wants to touch your “bad parts” and how scared he is to go down on a chick because he has no idea what the hell he’s doing).  You still must be so shocked that I passed on that.

Anyway, Friday Boom Boom and I were up in NYC for the afternoon and evening.  Being the awesome people that we are, we were attending the Nintendo dinner at BlogHer.  I gotta tell you, being a blogger is pretty sweet sometimes.  They hosted everything, we showed up, drank their booze, ate their delicious food, and even walked away with new DS XLs.  Thanks, Nintendo!

On our way home, we spotted a couple on a corner that was just going to town.  My first instinct was to just mock them and bad mouth them – mainly because that’s in my DNA.  But there was something about the way that he held her face, and she had her hand on his waist that prevented me from doing it.

Sometimes, you can tell that two people really love each other, and I’m happy I caught it on film.  For all the times I love to take pictures of people on the sly when they’re looking like total ass monkeys, it’s nice to capture something good too.

Cheers to that couple, I only wish I had gotten their email addresses so I could have forwarded them the picture.

My Spicy Man Meat

29 Jul

I mentioned several weeks ago that my friends and I have decided that we are all too freaking fat and that exposing our bodies to tourists in Mexico would be unlawful and we’d immediately get sent to the States.  Operation Mexi Melt is in full swing, and everyone has been doing well.  Boom Boom and I have become dedicated to fitness.  Several times a week we drag our plump butts to the gym and work up a sweat.  Typically, the thought of this would make me feel like killing myself 12 times, however, I have found my inspiration: spicy man meat.

There is this dude that works at the gym that is seriously one of the hottest guys I have ever seen.  Ever.  In my life.  Ever.  Ever. Ever.

Ever.

Hottest dude ever.

In the world.

Ever.

This guy’s body is sick.  He’s tall, has just the right muscle tone, broad shoulders, great hair and  a tight ass.  Me want him. Unfortunately, his stupid tiny blond girlfriend is usually in tow.  I don’t know the girl, but I fucking hate her.  She is a whore. The luckiest whore in the world.  You can imagine my delight on Tuesday when I was sitting on the stationary bike, cursing my, when he suddenly appeared – without his girlfriend. I literally sat there for an hour and just gawked at him. I watched him run around the track, lift weights, sweat, and totally avoid eye contact.

I ended up moving to an elliptical that faces the track, and that’s when the magic happened: he started doing wunges (walking lunges, which are usually lamer than shit) right in front of me.  He was lunging so deep that his ball sack was practically hitting the floor.  It was so hot I almost fell off my elliptical.  I swear I had to go home and change out of my workout pants afterwards, creamy good times.

Hottest guy ever.

Inner City Drama

12 Jul

Guess who almost pooped her pants on Friday night??

That would be me!

Guess why?

No, it’s not because Office Adonis finally made his move (though I’m working on that) or because Boom Boom made me a Miralax Margarita as a little joke.

Picture this…

Three hot girls driving around in a brand spanking new SUV in Philadelphia at 1:00 in the morning.  Two of these girls are drunk messes, one of these is a responsible young lass who cares so much about her drunk whore friends that she offered to drive home.  And maybe part of the reason she wanted to drive home is because she’s got a touch of new car envy.  Four blocks out of the parking lot and suddenly red and white lights and a big fat fucking siren pull out of nowhere.

The second I saw those in the rearview mirror I seriously felt my ass clench.  I was sure that I was going to poo myself in Boom Boom’s sweet ride.  How would that look if the cop made me get out of the car and I had a trail of poo down my leg?  Not good, not good at all.  As I was rifling through my bag, I started to recite the alphabet backwards.  You know how freaking hard that is to do?  I kept getting stuck after Z Y X.  Who the hell can recite the alphabet backwards?  I can’t do that shit sober, thank God I wasn’t drunk.  Thank God.

I’m pretty sure that when the officer saw my face he caught that deer in the headlights look.  I was ready to flash him my pearly whites, and maybe a boob. As is customary the officer asked, “Know why I pulled you over?”

Why do they ask you this question?  What is the point here?  A ton of stuff rolled through my mind.  Did I run a stop sign?  Had I turned down a One Way street?  Had I killed a pedestrian and not even noticed?  Maybe there was a warrant out for my arrest because I didn’t tip the nail technician at the salon earlier because she cut my toe nails so short that my toes hurt when they were exposed to wind.  Or had he secretly been following us all along and he knew that I had been drinking earlier in the night?  Were we going to have to give blowies to get out of this mess?  What would my mom do if I called her from prison asking her to bail me out?

“No, officer, I don’t,” I responded while clenching my cheeks.

“Well, ma’am,” (not even a freaking miss), “you’re driving with your headlights off.”

Um, duh.  In my defense, I would just like to remind everyone that this was my first time driving the car.  Then again, one of the fundamental lessons I learned 20 freaking years ago when I started driving was that you have to turn your lights on when it’s dark.

Instead, what I remember from those classes is that the most dangerous time to drive is 15 minutes after it rains because the oil on the road comes to the surface AND if you stop behind a school bus, you have to stop 15 feet away.

Crack is Wack

1 Jul

We have all seen the damaging effects of crack. As a Gen Xer I clearly remember Nancy Reagan appearing on a very special Different Strokes telling the nation to “just say no.” For some people, like Whitney Houston, that message fell on deaf ears.

Seems like the cafeteria lady also decided to ignore Nancy’s little message. This morning she was totally high. It took her 10 minutes to ring up my coffee. First she ignored us for five minutes while she tried to staple some receipts. If I didn’t know better I would have thought that it was her first time using one. She then rang up my coffee at the wring price, stared at me credit card, then back at the machine. To fix the issue she turned off the register and restarted it. Then she rang it up again only this time at $950. Um, that’s a very expensive. She stared at the register, and tried again.

Yesterday she apparently fell while she was ringing up a lunch order. She then told my girlfriend to just help herself to some change since the cash drawer was over.

As much as I miss my daily cafe runs with Foxy and Disney and all of the wonderful mocking, there’s just nothing that can compete with a cracked out cafeteria lady.

Protected: Widgets & Cock

17 Jun

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