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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.

I hope you choke on your sandwich

15 Jul

A few weeks ago one of my friends from Widgets & Co. asked me why we didn’t have any upcoming lunches scheduled.  For about a year I had tried to wrangle up a group of friends for monthly lunches.  There were about 7 of us, and it was very rare that all of us were able to get it together to actually make it.  There were always lame excuses like: I have a meeting, or I have too much work to do, or I’m an asshole.  Mainly it was that last excuse.  Because so many people were bailing, I thought, “fuck it, I’m not scheduling anymore.”

Fast forward four months and several of the regulars are asking to have them put back on the schedule.  Fine.  I’ll bite.

I fell for it.  Just like an asshole.

Today was the big day for lunch, and man was I excited!  Lunch all packed, only thing on my calendar for the day – otherwise I could have worked from home – and I was fired up to catch up with anyone.  First thing this morning, one of my friends declined.  Fine, no bigs, there was still a group of them.

Noon rolls around and two of them are sitting at their desks…with their lunches already half eaten.  “You guys coming to lunch?” I asked.

With her mouth full one said, “Oh, yeah.  I declined.  I was supposed to have another meeting, but it got cancelled.”  Um, so doesn’t that mean you’re free now?  She obviously was extremely busy pinning gift ideas for her baby on Pinterest.  Pretty sure you can do that from home.

And the other one said, “I was going to be in that same meeting too.  I’m going to catch up on some work I have to do.”  Really?  Last time I checked your job wasn’t online shopping.  And by the way, those pants you were looking at are not cute.

Fine.  Bitches.  Whatever, there are still a few more to go.  One of the dudes I saw from across the room and I waved him over.  “You ready for lunch?”

He stared at me blankly, “what lunch?”  Uh, the one you accepted six weeks ago.  “Oh, that one.  Yeah, I don’t have anything on my calendar.”  Again, doesn’t that mean you’re free?

Three down, and two to go.  Not two minutes later the dude who had asked me to schedule the lunch walked over to my desk to inform me that he wasn’t going to make it.  By this point I was pissed.  Six weeks.  These people had SIX WEEKS to tell me they couldn’t go.  How hard is it to just decline the appointment?  And don’t give me that bullshit that you’re “busy” when all you’re doing is fucking around on Pinterest and the Ann Taylor website.  You’re not busy!  You’re being an asshole.

So I stomped down the steps to meet the remaining dude.  Guess what?  He didn’t show.  Seriously??

I did what any mature adult would do – I packed up my shit and came home without telling any of them goodbye.  I am never ever setting one of those lunches up again.   Oh, they’re going to be sorry!  Yeah they are!!  When I’m sitting on the other side of the world during my six month assignment they’ll all be thinking, “man, I really wish I had gone to that lunch.  I miss her so much.”

And furthermore, I hope they all get terrible food poisoning that causes humiliating explosive diarrhea.  Suck on that, assholes.

In somewhat related news, I’m totally PMSing and the slightest thing sends me into a fit of rage.

Happy Hour Specials

17 May

You know what’s awesome?  Happy Hour.  You know what’s even better than that?  When you go out for margaritas, and the bartender remembers you and decides to give you Happy Hour prices even though it’s an hour past end time.  You know what’s even better than that?  When the bartender is hot.

Life is good, my friends.

Back in April a few of my bitches came up from Baltimore to hang out for the weekend.  Since we’re so old and can’t handle staying up past 11, we figured we needed to start drinking early.  I suggested a bar crawl in my neighborhood.  I live in a super adorable town just outside of Philadelphia.  Everything you could possibly want is within walking distance – there are about 10 bars within stumbling distance – perfect for an afternoon bar crawl.

Stop number 4 ended up being our last stop of the night.  Not because we were pussies, but because they had just rolled out their new summer drink menu, the bartenders were fun, and two of them were mighty nice to look at.  It turned into one of those nights when the bartenders would just bring over random drinks because they thought we were awesome. By the end of the night it was like we were all best friends forever.

We bonded.

They lit our drinks on fire.

We laughed.

We got drunk.

The next day I vomited.  But that’s not part of the story.

Last night was the first time I’ve been back since then.  Sure enough, one of the dreamy bartenders was there and remembered us.  It was romantic.  We should have made out.  He flirted shamelessly.

But here’s the thing with bartenders. I can never tell if a bartender is flirting with me because he wants me to give him a better tip, or because he wants me to touch his tip.  Can’t read them.  My girlfriend insisted that he was totally into it, but you’ll have to excuse me for being skeptical. Clearly there’s only one way to find: go back for more margaritas and investigate.  So who’s ready for Happy Hour?

Did I mention he was hot?  Did I also mention he wants to move to London with me?

Oh.  Did I forget to mention I was moving in the fall…?

Tea and Porn

15 Feb

Nothing says klassy get together like a Tea and Porn party.  Back in the day, Tea and Porn parties were a weekly occurrence.  Someone would bring the tea, someone would bring fancy biscuits and cheese, we’d lay out proper China, and someone would be responsible for bringing the porn.

When I tell people about the parties now, many of them – especially the dudes – imagine that the party would end up with a massive orgy after all the chicks got turned on and started making out with each other.  I assure you, this was not the case.  Most of us ended up going home bloated from all the cheese we ate and disgusted by what we had just witnessed on the TV.  This wasn’t sexy-time, rather an opportunity for us to learn about all the disgusting things that could happen to you.

For example: “Debbie Does Dallas” taught me that if you get jizz in your eye it will turn red and it burns.  I also learned that in the 80’s, no one shaved – I’m not sure why.  In the early 90’s the girls would have massive fingernails and I’m sure caused internal damage when they diddled one another.  That is not cool.

It was typically Claude who would score the porn with us.  His mission “operation steal parents’ porn” brought us all sorts of interesting experiences.  Though, sadly, the one I remember the most was the one that freaked everyone the fuck out.  We were over at a friend’s house, it was her first time at one of our parties, and we popped the video into the VCR (that’s how long ago this was).  Suddenly, we found a dude on his back starting to bend into himself as he dropped his peen into his own mouth.  All the while there was a dude next to him coaching him along.  We had to stop the video, and Claude was on the verge of tears knowing that his parents watched that kind of stuff.  Hard to recover from that one.  Thankfully, we had cheese, tea, and some 80’s porn flick to bring us out of it.

I miss those days.  Not so much for the movies, I certainly don’t miss seeing all the facials (gag).  You have to be super fucked up and/or addicted to drugs to think to yourself, “Yeah, it’s okay if 4 dudes cum all over my face at the same time.”  Yeah, you know what?  That’s not normal.  So says the girl who misses Tea and Porn parties.

Quote

Foxy says the klassiest things

21 Jan

On Saturday our believed Foxy Luv turned the big 4-0.  My plans to shotgun Ensure and throw creamed corn at her were totally denied.  WTF!  She wouldn’t even head out for a booze filled night with me.  Why?  Because she was hoping to get some from her hubcap.

When I asked her if she was sure she was going to get some, she said:

I gave him Map Quest directions to my labial folds.

That’s our girl!  Always keeping it klassy!

 

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.

Reunited and it feels kinda good

21 Oct

At 38 I still feel like I’m in my 20’s. I have friends my same age who say they feel old. Some, like Foxy, are ready to throw money at the nearest plastic surgeon and have them fix imaginary wrinkles. Trust me, there are some who DEFINITELY look old, and act old, but there are very few days in life where I feel old. As far as I’m concerned I can party like the rest of them – just as long as I’m in bed by 11.

Facebook allows me to keep tabs and track of a bunch of my old college classmates. In the 15+ years since we’ve graduated there have been marriages, babies, divorces, scandals, new jobs, new houses, more babies, more marriages, and plenty of weight gain all around (mostly around my hips and thighs). While I keep in touch with many of them, like most Facebook relationships, they’re pretty superficial. Wouldn’t reach out to them if there was something stressful going on in my life, but will “like” a picture of a new puppy when I see one.

Tomorrow night something different happens – am meeting up with a friend I haven’t seen in 10 years. In college I counted him as one of my very best friends. He knew everything about young Catherinette. My parents and friends joked we would get married one day. I fought that tooth and nail! We were like “When Harry Met Sally” if they never got together, that was my explanation. And yet we did find ourselves together – for exactly one week. The week started with a black out drunk make-out session leaning up against a refrigerator at someone’s party, and ended in tears in the hallway outside a friend’s room when I told him I couldn’t date him. We remained friends – even after I started dating someone new the following week.

We stuck together through all of my stupid college relationships and when he started hooking up with my skanky ass roommate. He was always someone I could turn to and bitch about my love life. He was a good guy. Except for the one time he walked in on me and my boyfriend and refused to leave the room until we admitted we had been doing it. Of course neither one of us would cop to it so then he sat there talking about basketball and asking us why we were under a blanket when it was 90+ outside. That was the only time I wanted to hit him.

Fast forward almost 17 years and he’s now married with two little girls and I’m still a hot mess when it comes to dating. Awesome to see how some things change, and some seem to always stay the same.

So tomorrow we’ll be reunited and we’ll spend the evening doing catch up. Am looking forward to it and dreading it at the same time. It’s times like this, when I see my friends from back in the day with an awesome life and I’m still single, that I question myself. It’s having to deal with the “why are you still single” question that makes me anxious. Oh, and the fact that I’m part pig now.

Hmm…wonder if this whole “I’m part pig” thing is actually related to the “why are you still single” thing…?