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Catherinette: Risk Taker

10 Mar

Fuck jumping out of a perfectly good airplane or off a bridge.  Forget being set up on a blind date or driving without a seat belt.  I’m doing something that would make my mamacita proud.  In fact, I think she’ll cry when I tell her about it later today.

What’s the big risk I’m taking?  I’m eating peanut butter that expired 6 months ago.  That’s right!  I’m living on the fucking edge!!  I’m staring food poisoning right in the face and saying, “Fuck you, food poisoning.  Fuck you in your stupid ass.”

There’s nothing wrong with the peanut butter, it’s fine.  In fact, I had some yesterday too and I didn’t get sick.  I’m not scared of a stupid little expiration date.  It’s not like it’s dairy products or condoms.

Speaking of condoms, I threw out 8 perfectly good ones yesterday morning.  I should have known when I bought them that it would all go to shit and they’d end up in the garbage.  You see, fine readers, condoms and I have a tumultuous relationship.  I buy a 3 pack and things go grand.  The second I buy a 12 pack everything goes up in flames and 9 end up in my bedside drawer mocking me for years. 

I know that some of you are immediately rushing off to check the peen counter.  Well, don’t get too excited.  I bought those condoms back in 2008.  Yeah, that’s a long time ago.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to this expired peanut butter.

I Am the Fashion Police

12 Nov

People, we have fashion rules in place for a reason.  Just like laws.  You’re not supposed to run a red light because you might kill someone-even yourself.  You’re not supposed to wear black stockings with white shoes because you might burn someone’s eyes.  These rules and regulations have to be followed.

You can imagine my horror when I saw someone in our lobby dressed in a white linen suit.  A man.  In a white linen suit.  In November.  This is not okay!!  This is a crime against humanity and he must be punished!!  Who cares that he’s from another culture where wearing white after Labor Day may be tolerated??  This was a blatant disregard of a perfectly reasonable fashion rule, nay, law.  It will not be tolerated here!  (Unless you’re getting married or live in Miami)

Someone is going to have to sit him down and give him a strict talking too.  I’m sure that once he learns about our culture, he will recognize the error of his ways.  Surely, he doesn’t want to be like that douche bag I work with that wears seer sucker suits in the middle of January.  Right??

In the meantime, I am slapping his violating ass with a fashion citation!

White linen suits in November are NEVER okay in these parts!

White linen suits in November are NEVER okay in these parts!

It Puts the Lotion In the Basket

18 Aug
Why wont you love me??

Why won't you love me??

How do you go from “I want to be with you” to “your nipples would make a nice addition to my lampshade”?  There’s a fine line between wanting to see someone and stalking.  My question is where on God’s green earth is that line?  Having never been a stalker (at least not one with a restraining order), I’ve always been intrigued by what it is that makes someone go that extra mile and end up parked outside their target’s house peering through the blinds at 3:00 in the morning.  Sure, I’ve done the occasional drive by, the call and hang up trick (this is before the introduction of caller id, I was 12) and happened to check their gmail status to see if they were on line, but it’s never once occurred to me to plaster hundreds of pictures of someone in my closet and make a little shrine to them or carve their initials into my forearms.

I have had the misfortune, however, of being a target.  Sure at first it’s natural to feel all popular because someone so badly wants your attention.  But the creep factor starts setting in when they start asking for measurements of your back, or threaten to hose you down if you don’t put that darn lotion right back into the basket.  When it gets to the point that you’re afraid to be alone in your own home, they start following you around at work, and start harassing your friends about how you might feel, that’s a very berry bad sign.

I “dated” (and I use that term loosely) Hairy McBacksweat when I was fat and going through hard times.  We lasted for a few months, and I ended the “relationship” when I woke up from my low self esteem induced haze and realized that Hairy McBacksweatand I weren’t meant to be together.  Mainly because I had a shred of dignitity, wanted to be with someone that was smart enough to string together a sentence with more than 4 words in it, who didn’t walk around scratching his nut sack all the time, and who peed with the door closed.  I wasn’t asking for the world here, so the relationship ended.

“I love you,” he told me.  I stared at him blankly and blinked in return.  “We can work this out,” he added.  I kept staring at him blankly.  “Please.”  Another blank stare from me.  Finally, after 45 minutes of him cursing, pleading, yelling, crying and my silent responses he left-it was over, or so I thought.  Thank freaking God because I had seen a scary side to him that I’d never seen before.  There was just something that kind of snapped, and for a split second I thought he was going to strangle me.

At work the next day, he showed up at my cubicle and wanted to talk things out.  Um, we’re at work, it’s not time for talkies-it’s time for reading blogs and fooling around on the internet work.  I excused myself by telling him that I had to be in training in 5 minutes.  He walked me to the training room, asking me if he could measure my back and pleading with me the whole way.  I finally had to yell at him in the middle of the hallway to tell him there was nothing left to talk about and to leave me alone. 

Still not over.

He started visiting Foxy at work all the time.  This required that he walk right past my desk to get to hers.  Oh, that’s clever.  Hey, totally not obvious that you’re doing that to see what I might do.  And then there were talks about how he just wanted “closure” and “why won’t she love me?”.  Um, that’s not closure, pal.  Here’s what will help you, let it go.  When he wasn’t bothering Foxy, he was calling my brother-in-law to talk about his feelings and determine how their relationship would change now that he and I weren’t together.  Yeah, just what every guy wants: to talk about his feelings with some unstable dude.  So hot.  Can’t believe I let him get away.

These examples are just minor annoyances, the scary part happened when he showed up at my apartment one day.  I lived in a nice ground floor apartment while we had been seeing each other.  Thankfully, there were bars on the windows and without a key, the only way to get into the building was by being buzzed in.  I was standing right by the kitchen windowwhen the phone started ringing.  I looked at caller id, saw it was him calling and ignored the call-just as I had been doing for the last week.  He left me a voicemail, which I checked. “I know you’re in there screening your calls, I can see you.”  I stepped away from the window and immediately called my sister to come over.

Two minutes later my phone rang again, this time he was calling me from the front door wanting to be buzzed in.  I’ll never get exactly how this happened, I meant to push a button that denies the entry, but instead ended up pushing the button that grants the entry.  He was inside my building…and my front door was unlocked.  Just as I ran to lock my front door, he opened it and stepped inside.  My useless dog merely ran over to him and licked his hands.  Traitor!

“This is it,” I thought to myself.  “My sister is going to be too late.  The only thing she’ll find is my right hand and my scalp.  They’ll find other bits of me scattered around his house, and he’ll be wearing my skin as a suit.”

He insisted that he had just come over to declare a truce.  He said he thought we could remain friends.  He swore that he was finished making scenes at work, and demanding explanations from my friends.  Then he told me that he just wanted to hold me one more time before he gut me like a fish.  Okay, he didn’t actually say that last part, but I thought it was coming.  Thankfully, my sister arrived 5 minutes after he did and I was able to talk him into leaving (without him taking my nipples).

Shockingly enough, the friendship didn’t pan out.  Mainly because I started pretending like he didn’t exist when I saw him at work, never responded to any of his email/phone messages, and would stare blankly at him if he tried to talk to me in the cafeteria. 

Hairy McBacksweat is long gone now.  He’s married-to an actual living, breathing human woman.  Not to one of those real dolls (DO NOT CLICK ON THAT LINK if you’re at work, unless you want to be fired from your cushy job) like I thought he’d end up with.  I do think of him every once in awhile, and then I throw up in my throat and wonder what on earth I ever saw in him.  I’m gagging right this very second.

Thighs & Lows

21 Jul

Oh God, the horror.  THE HORROR!!  White, dimpled thighs sticking out of the bottom of a swimsuit which is straining to conceal what’s inside.  The sun bounces of the pastier-than-white thighs to blind everyone within a 2 mile radius.  Corneas are burned-it’s like staring straight into the sun.  People will actually go blind.  If they’re the “lucky” few who have chosen to wear sunglasses, they will retain their eyesight.  But the horrors of dimpled thighs will haunt them for a lifetime.  No one wants to see that.  No.  One. 

It’s swimsuit season and you all know what that means: women all over the world are trying to find the swimsuit that hides all their flaws and makes them look cute AND feel good about themselves.  This is just as easy as proving the existence of the Loch Ness Monster or finding Atlantis.  Every year as the season approaches anxiety builds, and we know that we’ll have to squeeze ourselves into bathing suits in dressing rooms with lighting that shows off every single wobbly bit that makes us want to die a thousand deaths.

Finally, we find one that is tolerable.  Essentially this means that we think that people may not laugh too much when the see us in it.  Sure, it’ll still require that we take a Valium to wear it out in public, but it could be worse (or so we try to convince ourselves).  Then it’s a matter of putting it on and going in public without wanting to die or cause permanent damage to those that directly look at our whiter-than-white-cottage-cheese thighs.  Yet this is exactly what the people will be exposed to when I don my swimsuit to sit poolside with Muffy-my pasty, dimpled thighs.

I can suck it up.  I can mentally prepare myself to don the suit and pretend that my legs are smooth and that there’s no such thing as cellulite.  I can do it.  As traumatic as swimsuit season tends to be, I am far more comfortable humiliating myself in public when I’m with my girlfriends.  All I need to do is manage to get from the chair into the water, and then back out again.  That’s it.  The rest of the time I can cover myself under the guise that I’m protecting myself from the sun or am cold from coming out of the pool.

The really stressful part comes when I know that I’m going to have to wear the suit in front of males or people that I’m not comfortable with.  You can imagine my panic this morning when 3D asked me if I wanted to go tubing with his friends.  Oh God.  Please.  Not that.  Anything but that.  There will be tears-both mine and theirs.  I’m going to have to wedge my fat white butt into an inner tube and that’s just going to make my thighs look even bigger than they really are.  Will the dimples get bigger too? 

My heart is beating so fast from the thought of having to lose 40 pounds in 2 weeks.  I’m not sure I’ll be able to pull that off.

Dating Tips From Catherinette

18 May

Let me give you a little dating tip: when you’re getting ready to go out on a first date with someone, resist the urge to cut your bangs.

WHAT HAVE I DONE??

Oh god.  He’s going to notice.  Why on god’s green earth did I pick today of all days to trim my bangs?  WHY??  Seriously, it’s bad.  I did something similar when I was a freshman in high school-on yearbook picture day.  I was immortalized in pictures with the most jacked up bangs anyone had ever seen.  Two different lengths, both of which were too short.

How am I going to explain this?  There’s really no reasonable explanation, other than I 3 sheets to the wind and took scissors to my hair to punish myself for all of the mistakes I’ve made in life.  Somehow, I don’t think he’ll understand.

A hat.  Perhaps I will wear a hat.  After all, we are meeting at a bar.  Plus, it helps to cover up the afro that the wonderful rain has given me.

Fuck.  FUCK!!

Thank freaking god I didn’t do anything to my eyebrows…though there is still time.

Protected: Just What I Always Wanted

29 Apr

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ACH!!

12 Apr

Somehow a wasp managed to find it’s way into my bedroom.  That’s freaky shit.  What’s even scarier is that it just landed in my hair.  As a matter of fact, it’s still on my freaking head.  I’m about to have a heart attack and die.  I’d swat at it but it might enrage it and cause it to sting me.