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Gimmie Love

8 Mar

Dear younger sister, or really, dear only sister.  Now’s the time for you to go and find something else to do and not read the post.  What’s for dinner tonight?  Are you and the kids going out since my brother-in-law is heading out of town?  May I recommend something delicious for tacos?  Because tacos are always good.  Get on that.  And stop reading.  Thank you.  Goodbye.

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God Save the Queen, 2013

26 Aug

Like many couples, Oingo Boing and Jersey Belle (whose name I may change to Ginger Belle because I love targeting all my ginger jokes at her) do this awesome thing every single night when they go to bed.  No, not each other.  Rather, they have a lovely custom of saying a lovely string of things to one another.  There’s a really lovely bit in there about their love for all things British and our upcoming trip to the UK – where we’ll proceed to sight see, eat our faces off, drink too much, and someone (probably me) will end up vomiting.

God Save the Queen, 2013

Skinny England

Half price.

Skinny England.  It’s the reminder that we are less than thin by UK standards.  Let me in on a little something – this I know from personal experience – if you’re a size 14 in the US, you’re a size 16 in the UK.  Do you have any idea what it’s like to be a size 16 in a sea of size 6’s?  Not awesome.  And know what else?  Somehow, every single time I go to the UK, I try to remind myself that I need to drop at least 15 pounds and I end up gaining 10 just before I go.  My muffin top digs traveling.

In preparation all my travels later I’ve vowed to drop at least one pant size – seeing as how I’ll probably go up 2 when I start binging while I’m overseas.  For the last few Monday’s I’ve woken up and said, “Today’s the day.  Skinny England is on!”  Take today for example.  Packed my breakfast and lunch and vowed I’d eat a good dinner when I got home.

  • Fish tacos – good
  • Fruit – good
  • Bagel with cream cheese that I took over the granola bar I’d packed – bad
  • Ham and cheese sandwich on whole grain bread – not too bad, except for the fact that I buttered the bread
  • Potato chips – really?  What the hell is wrong with me…
  • Banana – good
  • Coffee with non fat milk – OK
  • Coffee with cream and 4 sugars – seriously?
  • Handful of M&M’s – I just can’t
  • Three MASSIVE chocolate cookies – I give up

So, instead of just starting all over tomorrow, I’ll just go ahead and say this week is shot and go ahead and gain the two pounds I’m destined to gain this week.  Tomorrow?  Margaritas!!  And probably some pie.

01/01/13

1 Jan

My plans for an epic New Year’s Eve were thwarted.  These plans were indeed EPIC!  Picture this: intimate gathering with Jersey Belle and Oingo Boingo at an uppity bar that serves the most delicious drinks you’ve ever had.  Three of the forty tickets they had sold belonged to us.  All you can drink (their cheapest drink is around $12) from 9-1, champagne toast, food, fanciness, you get the picture.

BUT NOOOOOO!

Instead my New Year’s Eve consisted of the Plague – given to me so “lovingly” by Lucy(fer) and Damien over the Christmas holiday. So instead of hobnobbing with Philly’s elite while getting drunk enough to make some very poor choices, I was busy wrapped around the toilet thinking, “Why me?  What have I done to deserve this??”

On the bright side I am not hungover today like many of the people I know.  Granted, yesterday it was like I was hungover without having had the pleasure of imbibing.  And while you were all out having your fancy steak and lobster dinners, my NYE dinner consisted of flat coke, two crackers, and a little bowl of applesauce.

I know how to party.

Here’s hoping your New Year’s was better than mine.

Time to dust off your vagina!

7 Nov

It’s a typical hump day for me. One that involves zero humping. There is a little something special on the books today. Peeing in a cup followed by a finger in the ass.

I know what you’re thinking, “Catherinette finally found a boyfriend.” Not quite. Not even close. No, my friends, it’s that time of year again: The time where I’m molested by a doctor while she judges me for having no sex life.

Sure, sure, at least Vangelina Jolie will get some attention. But it’s not quite the type of attention she’s interested. Trust me when I tell you that whenever you hear, “you’re going to feel some pressure,” that you’re going to feel like you’re about to be ripped on two. Not a good feeling when the doc had half her hand shoved up inside you while pressing down on your stomach with the other hand and asking you about the weather.  Just wait until you have someone’s freaking fist wedged up inside you while they talk about current events.  Go ahead and try to keep a straight face and let me know how that goes for you.

I did something new this time, I made the doctor laugh – and it wasn’t when she saw what gravity had done to my breasts.  No, no.  It goes a little something like this.

  • Dr.: Are you sexually active.
  • Me: No.  Not currently. [insert sad trombone music]

She doubled over laughing.  Further proving I am awesome and dispelling my personality is what keeping the men away.  Clearly it’s my body.  And those boobs that have decided they want to be closer to the floor.

Other than that whole fisting thing when they check your ovaries, going to the OB/GYN is relatively painless – and totally not hot.  Back when I was dating Mr. Big X, he would get really excited when it was time for my annual.  He had it in his mind that it was essentially a lesbian encounter and the doctor would end up propositioning me while my legs were up in the stirrups.  He was disappointed every time I came home and informed him that it didn’t happen.  Then he’d have me give him the blow by blow details of what happened.

Perhaps I should have taken home some examples of the shit they put inside you to test you for diseases.  Like these little numbers:

You’re looking at the cervical brush and broom. Or what Jersey Belle describes as the “Vaginal Swiffer”.  Guessing that bringing those suckers home probably would have killed the mood.

Then again, maybe he would have wanted to play “doctor”.

Freak.

I’m Getting Old

1 Apr

There can be no other explanation for it.  None what so ever.  Sure, the fact that we started drinking in the afternoon could have something to do with it, but that’s just a lame excuse.  It was the lights at the club that were making me dizzy.  Like and old person.  An old person who hit a wall and had to leave the bar at 11:15 on a Saturday night because the lights were making her dizzy and the music was too loud.

Did they have to turn the volume THAT high?  Do you need to feel the music thumping in your bones?  Couldn’t they turn it down a little bit and then maybe stop with the crazy light shows?  Those were the thoughts going through my head last night when I was out with my friends.  Along with, why would she wear something like that?  Who does he think he’s kidding with that hair? And my favorite, why on God’s green earth is Claude drinking bourbon on the rocks?

Lame.  I am officially lame.

Claude and The Producer came all the way from DC to hang out with me and I was very busy being lame.  We spent the day drinking, eating, and walking all over town so Claude could find shoes.  We then proceeded to play that little game called, “I really like the first pair of shoes that I tried on, but lets walk all over town, and then come right back to this store.”  Super times.  Whatever, it was an excuse to take a break from our drinking.

Two cocktails, a glass of champagne, two more cocktails, two more glasses of champagne, and two big margaritas made me lame yesterday.  By the time 10:30 rolled around there was nothing I wanted more than to rest my head on a pillow and pass the fuck out.  Meanwhile, we’re sitting at a bar and I had just asked Jersey Belle and Oingo Boingo to come hang out with us.  So they get there, but no one can talk to anyone because it’s too fucking loud and the lights are making me want to vomit.

So what did I do?  I left their asses at 11:15 so I could drive 45 minutes to get home and go to sleep.  God forbid I’m still awake past midnight on a Saturday.

When did I become that person?  What happened to the days of staying out until dawn, waking up at 2:00 in the afternoon the next day, and doing it all again?  I miss those days.

Video

This is What I Look Like on Saturday Night

21 Jan

Depeche Mode, Jersey Belle, Oingo Boingo, and South Philly Fashionista can totally attest to the fact that this is what I looked like after inhaling far too much tequila that time we went to Mexico together.  This baby nailed the performance, she deserves a baby Academy Award on your toy shelf.

I wept when I saw this.  Actually wept.  I don’t think I’ve laughed so hard since my sister told me a little story about a conversation between 5 year old Lucy(fer) and 7 year old Damien.  The whole fam was in the car and the song “Pumped up Kicks” was playing on the radio.  A song which I introduced the kids to, even though it’s about a shooting. It’s got a catchy tune and I figured they wouldn’t know what it was about.

  • Lucy(fer): Why do the kids in the pumped up kids gotta run gotta run?
  • Damien: [straight faced] To outrun my gun, faster than my bullet.

For some reason, imaging them in strapped into their car seats having this conversation made me laugh.  I have problems.  I know.

All Dolled Up

6 Mar

Every once in awhile BBC America airs some GREAT (and disturbing) documentaries.  My favorite, by fair, was the one about men who purchased synthetic, or real, dolls.  These dolls are life sized dolls, with orifices, and you’ll be shocked to hear the dudes were creeps. The one who takes the cake, however, is this dude named Davecat.  You’ll be surprised to hear he still lived in his parents’ home…in the basement.  He claimed (and still does) to be in loved with his doll, Sidore.

He was recently featured in an episode of My Strange Addiction.  Apparently, he and his doll are now “married”.  Not quite sure how that happens.  AND both he AND his doll have twitter accounts.  Being the crazy person I am, I’ve decided to follow both of them.  Obviously her account is crazier than his because, well, she’s a fucking doll.  Last time I checked, dolls aren’t alive and they can’t tweet.

The beauty of the whole thing is you can submit questions to her and she will respond to you!!  Yesterday I was hanging out with Jersey Bell and Oingo Boingo and reading her answers to them.  One person asked her if she and Davecat ever got into fights.  My first thought was, why are you asking a doll a question?  And then I kind of went to the way of, she’s a doll and dolls don’t talk back when you argue with them.  Boy!  Was I wrong!  Apparently, early on in their relationship, they used to bicker a lot.  I mean, can you imagine this scene?  Him sitting in his mom and dad’s basement arguing with a life sized doll?  If that’s not crazy, I don’t know what is.

But wait, it gets better.

Someone asked her if she was English?  Again, I’d like to remind you she’s a doll.  Here’s her response:

Technically, I’m half-Japanese (dad’s side) and half-English (mum’s side). I was born in a district of Tokyo, then my parents and I moved to Weatherfield, a suburb of Greater Manchester, when I was five. I still have the accent, thankfully — my lad says I sound like Shirley Henderson out of ’24 hour party people’ — but I’ve forgotten most of my Japanese! 😦

Um, she has an accent but she forgot her Japanese?  REALLY??  She’s a doll!  A.  Doll!!