Tag Archives: Catherinette’s Favorites

Le Swoon

13 Feb

You guys!! YOU GUYS!!  That gif was totally me at the end of my date last night.  Holy Lord almighty.  Swoon.  SWOON, you guys!!  Are you swooning?  I’m still swooning.  I want to spend the entire day just melting and turning into a giant puddle on the floor.  Then I’ll pick myself back up and melt all over the place again.

God bless, #4.

We met up at a restaurant near my house.  I was early, as per usual, and was the only customer in the place.  He walked in and I thought to myself, “hot fucking damn, he is fit as fuck.”  He knows how to fill out a polo shirt.  Looked way hotter than in his pictures.  Like, I felt my ovaries beating hot.  I had to restrain myself from asking him to father my children.  He sat down and immediately faced the bar and I thought, “Fuck, he’s totes not into me.”  Whatever, we’ll have a few drinks and then I’ll go home and line up the next date.

We drank, we ate, we talked politics, family, dating, traveling, pizza, drinks.  I don’t know.  We talked, and he was interesting, and smart, and funny.  And I poked him in the arm and it was rock hard and then I thought, “stop touching him!  He doesn’t like you,” because he was facing the bar.  AND THEN he nudged my leg and I thought, “I’m going to touch his body.”  And then we talked some more, and then I poked his arm again and my ovaries started beating again.  And then he lodged his leg next to mine and my immediate impulse was to pull it away and I thought, “do not move your fucking leg.  You will leave it there touching his.”

But then he asked for the check.


It was a little after 7:30, we’d been there for 2 hours – I could have sat there for 2 more days.  Okay, fine.  Read all the signs wrong, clearly if he wanted to leave then that meant that he was over it.  He was naturally charming, and was being polite in hanging out, and he was ready to go.  And I was bummed.  Then he said, “can I walk you home?” Obviously, I said yes.

So here’s this handsome, younger gentleman walking me home and I had that inner dialogue with my slutty self.

  • Slutty Self (SS): You should just sleep with him.
  • Rational Self (RS): Do not do that.
  • SS: Don’t you want to see him naked? Imagine what he looks like under that shirt?
  • RS: You playing the long game here, or do you want him to touch you all over and then never hear from him again?
  • SS: Is that a bad thing?  Because look at him.  Invite him in the house.
  • RS: Do not invite him in the house.
  • SS: Don’t you want to touch his peen?
  • RS: If you wait, maybe you can touch it more than once…

There we were on my porch and he was looking at the house, and I knew he wanted to come in – but I was not going to invite him in.  Instead, he kissed me on the porch.  I wanted to maul him.  To climb him like a god damn mountain.  I restrained myself.  So he kissed me again, and my inner slut yelled to me, “you’re five feet from the couch, you could be on top of him in less than 2 minutes.”  I thanked him for a good time, bid him adieu, and went into my house where I melted onto the couch.

Of course I needed to immediately start thinking, “WHAT IS GOING TO HAPPEN NOW?? IS HE GOING TO CALL ME?? WHAT IF I NEVER SEE HIM AGAIN??”

Five minutes later he sent me a message in the dating app (because I hadn’t given him my number) thanking me for the date and saying even if I wasn’t sure about a 2nd date, that the kiss is something important to check out.  I immediately wrote back and told him I had a great time and gave him my number.  And in the first few official text messages he wrote, “You were as good a kisser as I imagined.” And that’s when I died. I am dead.

I mean, like, what?  WHAT JUST HAPPENED??

Of course my head told me to take a deep breath and calm down, my throbbing ovaries were making plans for where we were going to do it, and my heart is making plans of its own.  Here’s the thing: this (if there is a this) will be a casual thing.  It will be nothing more than that.  It will burn hot, and it will burn fast.  We all know that the hotter the flame the faster it burns, and I need a slow burn. As much as I may want it to be more than casual, it will not be. So I’m going to keep going out there, and meeting other guys.  The Tutor and I are going out again tomorrow.  I will not get my hopes up (haha, who am I kidding?).  I will let this play out.

And I’ll keep checking my phone to see when he’s going to respond to the text that I sent him this morning.  It’s been 2 hours and he hasn’t responded.  I’m never going to hear from him again.

I ordered a few new bras.  You know, just in case.

Why hasn’t he responded to my text?? Oh wait.  He just did.


Kissing Frogs (Repost)

28 Feb

Sometimes I am amazed by the awesomeness of my own blog.  I mean, really, I’m awesome. Not all the time, but most of the time.  There’s some pretty deep stuff on this blog.  And some funny stuff.  And sometimes, sad stuff.  I just think I’m cool.

Man, I should have been a writer or something!  Here’s a little post about the magic of making out which was originally written on 11/20/2008.  You’re welcome.


“You have to kiss a lot of frogs before you’ll find your prince.” That’s what a friend of the family used to tell me when I was a teenager. Here I am some 15 years later, and I’ve made my way through quite a large number of frogs. Yet I keep going back for more in hopes of finding that prince of mine. We’re raised to believe that that there’s someone out there waiting for us. Scratch that, not someone, but THE ONE. Our better half. Our soul mate. But how do you know when you’ve found him or her? There are some people that believe that you just know when you’ve found THE ONE. You will feel it! The the planets to align, the Heavens to open up, the angels to sing, the seas to part.

There has only been one person (so far) that I thought was THE ONE. He was it, I was certain of it. I dated Mr. Big X for nearly 2 years. He’s the one that I would describe as THE ex. He’s the one that set the standard, the one that each new potential beau is compared to. I thought we would end up married. I thought he was the father of my children. Alas, things didn’t quite work out as I had anticipated. Perhaps I should have known from that first kiss how things would wind up.

By the time the first kiss came along, we had known each other for about 18 months, and I had been crushing on him for about 18 months. I would pine away for him and clutch my pillow at night pretending it was him. I’d find stupid reasons to walk past his desk during the day at work. We would hang out at happy hour and I would flirt with him. I guess sometimes he’d flirt back with me, but I could never tell if he was being nice to me or if he was interested. I clearly remember one occasion when we were out at a bar, and there were 4 of us talking about hot female celebrities. His friend had mentioned some young starlet with a rocking hot body. Mr. Big X turned to me and said, “I don’t care for those girls. They’re too skinny. I like full figured girls.” I had to walk away because all I could thing to myself was, “He just called me fat.”

On the fateful day of our first kiss, we found ourselves with my sister and a friend on a boat enjoying the fine summer day. The day had been perfect! We had spent the day flirting with one another and I had a feeling that he might ask me out. When he drove me home that night, and asked if he could come up to my apartment, I was positive that he just needed to use the bathroom. Once upstairs, something changed. Gone was his cool confidence-in its place was some kind of false charm. It’s kind of difficult to describe. Kind of like when you first meet someone and they seem very nice, then the second they find out that you’re in the market for a car, they suddenly transform into the stereotypical cheesy car salesman. That’s what it was like with him. He fed me cheesy lines like: “You’re such a great girl,” and “You’d be so fun to date.” I half expected him to pull out a chart showing a graph of the features and benefits of dating him. After about 15 minutes of him feeding me cheesy lines, he asked me out. Without making a scene, or wetting myself from sheer excitement, I said yes. I’m happy to say that he didn’t notice my voice shaking; at least I’m pretty sure he didn’t.

He then placed his right hand on my left thigh and asked, “Can I kiss you?” He tried to make this sound natural, but it came across as so awkward. Who the hell asks that question these days? I struggled to control my eyes from rolling. ”Sure,” I answered casually. I didn’t know what to do; he was sitting kind of far away from me. In my experience, when I was about to kiss someone, our faces were already near one another’s – not 2 feet apart. I leaned down and placed my glasses on the table, not knowing whether I should move closer to him or wait for him to close the 2 feet of distance between us. When I straightened up, he began moving his face towards mine. In the 5 seconds it took for him to bring his lips to mine, I remember feeling so nervous, and not knowing where to look or if I should just close my eyes.

I was expecting fireworks. I was expecting trumpets. I was expecting the planets to align, the Heavens to open up, the angels to sing, the seas to part. Instead, I got a wah wah wah. The kiss was not what I had imagined – what I had hoped for. BAM! Our lips met and he was suddenly darting his tongue in and out of my mouth like a snake. He was moving it in and out so quickly that I started to get nauseated. I backed away for a second to see if I could somehow get him to take it easy, or to try to kill his little snake imitation. No such luck. He grabbed the back of my head, and proceeded to shove his tongue half way down my throat. I’m surprised I didn’t choke and die right then and there.

Next thing I knew I was on my back, he was climbing on top of me, and he had 8 hands – 2 of which were up my shirt as I struggled for breath. I managed to wedge both my hands between us and shove him off of me. Unfortunately, I shoved a little too hard and he ended up falling off the couch, and smacking his head on the table. He managed to stay conscious and I managed to keep his tongue out of my throat for the rest of the evening. I considered backing out of the date, until I went to work the following day. There was a single white rose on my desk and a note from Mr. Big X. And that was the beginning of our relationship. A relationship that ended in tears and 2 broken hearts.

To this day I wonder if I should have known from that first kiss that he was actually a snake. Can a first kiss tell you whether the journey you’re about to embark on is something significant or just a booty call? Can it tell you if the person you’re with is THE ONE or just someone?

The Stages Of Mourning A Relationship

2 Aug

It’s 3:00 PM and I’m still in my nightgown.  I managed to stop crying about an hour ago, and even talked myself into taking a shower.  Not just any shower, I actually shaved my legs.  And what’s the point, really, as no one will be running their hands down them anymore.  Less than 24 hours of being single and already I’m hating it.  Stupid green grass on the other god damned side. 

Mourning the loss of any relationship is difficult, but the different phases of mourning allow you to heal much faster.  Let me take a minute to describe the different stages that you’ll have to get through:

Phase 1: Sobbing Uncontrollably into the Pillow He Once Slept On While Your Dreams For Your Future Slip Through Your Fingers.  This is the stage when you have to double your intake of water.  After all, all the tears that you’ll have streaming down your face can be pretty dehydrating.  In between sobs, it’s required that you clutch the pillow, hoping to get a whiff of his scent.  During this time, you’ll also question your actions and wonder if you were just a jack ass and should take it all back.  You’ll probably cry yourself to sleep, have dreams of the 2 of you being together, and then start sobbing again when you wake up with the pillow in your arms and the realization that you’re alone and your mascara has probably stained the pillow he will ever use again.

Phase 2: Getting Dressed.  This is one of the hardest phases of the mourning period.  It actually requires that you find a reason to let go of the pillow, and get up out of bed.  I know, it sounds utterly ridiculous.  You may even think that you’ve found a reason-like the house is burning down-only to realize that it’s just not worth it to leg go of the pillow and stop the tears.  When you are able to finally get up, though, the actual task of getting dressed can be quite traumatic.  You’ll have to figure out what to wear that won’t remind you of being with him.  If you end up picking his favorite t-shirt or the panties that used to drive him wild, you’ll have terrible flashbacks and end up back in stage 1.  Only this time you’ll be holding the panties and the pillow in your hands.

Phase 3: Eating the World.  Typically this is the sole purpose for getting up out of bed and getting dressed.  During the first stage, you may find that you have completely lost your appetite and can’t possibly think of eating.  I’m here to tell you that feeling will go away.  In some cases, you may be one of the lucky ones that has food in the house.  In the case that you do not, your best bet is to go with some fine food from McDonald’s or KFC.  The grease will help speed the healing process-it really will.  When you leave your house to get your food do not forget one of the most important staples: ice cream.  It doesn’t matter what flavor you get, but you’ll need to eat at least a pint at a time.  And none of this no fat or reduced fat shit.  You need the fat and calories to help you.  Really, you do.  Here’s the tricky part with this stage, you can’t let it go on forever and ever, otherwise your body will go to crap.  The purpose here is just to eat your feelings and numb your pain for 24-72 hours.  That’s it, no more.  As soon as you’re done with this stage, you can move into the next one.

Phase 4: Abusing Your Liver.  Nothing numbs the pain and stops the crying like a good stiff drink.  Spend time with your boys (Jack Daniels, Jose Cuervo, and/or Jim Bean) or pour yourself a peeptini.  Just do what it takes to make you forget how happy you were when he would put his arms around you and kiss your neck and tell you he loved you and that everything was going to be okay and that you were the most beautiful think he’d ever seen.  Be cautious!  Too much abuse will lead you right back into Phase 1, and too many tears are bad for your skin.  Being single can be painful enough, being single with too pink cheeks is even worse.

Phase 5: Beating the Dead Horse.  This is the phase where you test your relationships with your friends and family.  It’s at this point when you talk everything to death, including what it possibly could have meant when in week 3 he told you he thought you were beautiful and then took a sip of his water glass with his right hand instead of his left.  Eventually you’ll become bored of telling the same story over and over, or else your friends will threaten to strangle you if you bring up his sweet nickname for you one more time.

As I’m in mourning for my dead in the water relationship, I feel it’s only right to enter into the next phase: eating the world.  McDonald’s, and Ben & Jerry’s are all in my future.  Who needs 3D when I have these fine gentlemen that can provide for me?  There’s one problem with entering into this phase of mourning-it requires getting dressed, and I’m not sure that I’m ready for that step.

Protected: Let Go

10 May

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Protected: Magical Thinking

21 Apr

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18 Apr

My grandmother was a tiny woman with soft wrinkled hands, and eyes that would sparkle when she laughed.  She was a quiet woman that was more interested in observing than being the center of attention.

She grew up in a small town in Mexico and married when she was 16.  Two weeks after her marriage, her mother went to her and told her that the marriage had all been a lie.  Her “husband” was married to another woman and the “priest” that had conducted the ceremony, wasn’t really a priest.  He was just the friend of the “husband”.  My grandmother left him.  She was already pregnant with her first child.

My grandmother remarried, and my mother was born.  They split up, and my grandmother ended up raising the kids.  She ran a boarding house and spent much of the day cleaning (go figure, a Mexican cleaning).  She was a strict mother.  When my mother and uncle were making too much noise, she would go to them and tell them that she was going to throw herself down the stairs if they didn’t stop the racket.  When my mom told me that story I had tears in my eyes from laughing so hard.  Who says that??  I’ve since adopted it as my own-though I my usage of the phrase is not intended to be harsh like hers was.

She was a devout Catholic and there was a time when she went to church everyday.  Growing up, my sister and I would tease her about it.  My sister could always rile her up by asking her how she knew that God wasn’t a woman.  It was amusing to us.

She lived in Mexico, but spent much of the year with us here in the states.  The last time she visited us, she brought me all her pictures.  She said that she wasn’t going to need them anymore, and I remember I told her not to say those things.  She passed away a few months later.

When my cousins went to clean out her house in Mexico, they said there was nothing left, not a single scrap of paper.  She had packed up everything and brought it with her.  She knew it was her time.  She chose to be with us.  She came here to die.

It was 7 years ago today.

Protected: I’ve Got It Bad

18 Apr

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