Tag Archives: pathetic

Monday? More like Manday!

12 Feb

That’s right, bitches!  Guess who just lined up date #4 for tonight?  I did!  She who hasn’t seen a naked man (other than in her dreams) in more than eleventy twelve years!  Of course it will probably be either an absolute train wreck, incredibly boring, or somewhat mediocre, but I’m going.

Frankly, it’s an excellent excuse to skip the gym.  Sorry, Treadmill, I can’t see you tonight because I have a date.  With a man.  A living, breathing, actual man.  One who is gainfully employed and owns his own home.

Wait. Fuck.  This might be a bad idea.  He said he was a “gym ninja” who “loved working out.”  I am a couch ninja who enjoys eating all the carbs and not working out.  What if my fat rolls scare him off??  What if he doesn’t like muffin tops??  And we’re meeting at a pizza place!  What if I end up eating more pizza than he does?  Cuz let’s face it – I love carbs and never work out.  I just realized he’s younger than I am by 7 years!  I’m like his fucking out of shape grandmother!

PLUS I’m getting a pimple on my chin.

Fuck.  This is an absolute disaster.

Dragging out the inevitable

24 Jun

So guess freaking what?  GUESS WHAT?  You know how I told you about the douche bag that my girlfriend was dating?  Yeah, well, here’s an update…

So I caught up with her today for the first time in about a week.  I was SURE that after the big fucking fight they had last week that she would have told him to pack up his shit and get the fuck out.  Nay.  She did not.


Instead she told him that she would lose some weight so that he could want to be with her.

The things we do for relationships.  Why do we turn in our self worth, our pride, our self respect for someone who doesn’t deserve it?  What makes us think that it’s better to be less of who we are to please someone who doesn’t want what we have to offer?

I feel like we’re sold a false bill of goods.  We’re led to believe that being with someone – anyone – is better than being alone.  And in some warped way we begin to believe that we need to alter who we are, give up a bit of ourselves, comprise things that we believe, just so that we don’t end up alone.  That it’s better to be with someone who we aren’t and be with someone, than to be who we are and be alone.

You know what I have to say about that?  I say fuck that shit.

We should be reminding people that someone should love you for who you are, not for who they want you to be.  Compromise?  Sure.  Yes, do it.  But don’t compromise who you are – don’t ever do that.

Not ever.

You are better off on your own as your best self than with someone who doesn’t like who you truly are.

Let the church bells ring

7 Jun

The sun is shining, the breeze is blowing through the open windows, I can hear the church bells ringing, the neighbors’ kids yelling “and you wonder why you don’t have friends!”, then a quick “SLAP” as the older brother hits his sister, and finally a very whiny, “MOM!!” as she runs off to tattle on him.  Summer is here, friends.  It’s warm enough for short sleeves – but not so hot that you immediately start sweating off all your make-up and begin cursing the world.  It’s the perfect day for sitting outside, enjoying some sangria with friends, and watching cute dudes roll by.  Or perhaps you’re enjoying that umbrella drink on the beach while you pretend you don’t hate your body and wonder if every person who walks past you is trying to count the dimples on your thighs.



I know you’re wondering what I’ve been doing with this perfect Sunday weather.  I’m glad you asked.  I’ve been sitting at my dining room table ALL day doing one of two things: studying for a test I will no doubt FAIL on Tuesday, and getting sucked into the void of Pinterest as I think through how to decorate my new pad.

I’ll finally have the kitchen I’ve always wanted, complete with a wine fridge.  WINE FRIDGE! Yes.  It’s happening.  It. Is. Happening!

Moving sucks balls though.  It sucks.  I’m somewhat tempted to just set my current place on fire and start over in the new place.  That way I don’t have to worry about what to take with me.  And I’ll finally stop stressing out about what the hell I’m going to do with this antique marble top dresser I’ve had since I was 15.  I no want it.  I NO WANT IT!!  It’s too nice to throw away, and too heavy to put in my car and take somewhere.

Antique dealer?  Craigslist?  Me not know. Perhaps Craigslist is a good idea.

Or perhaps it’s not.  Perhaps I’ll end up on an episode of Dateline after my dead body is found in the flooded basement.  It could happen.  And with my luck it won’t even be Josh Mankiewitz or Keith Morrison telling my story.  Instead it’ll be that one blond woman who’s face looks like it’s fucking frozen, Andrea Canning.  Maybe I’ll just pass on Craigslist because I will haunt a bitch if my story gets told by her.

Perhaps the time has finally come to get up from the table, wash my face, brush the rats’ nest that is my hair, and venture outside to enjoy the beautiful day.

Right after I finish picking out the new area rug for my new bedroom…

Mending a Broken Heart

27 May

I’m typing this with Flamin’ Hot Cheeto-dusted finger tips.  Life is hard.  Relationships are HARD.  Especially when they’re imaginary relationships with secret boyfriends who are busy dating other people because they don’t realize that they’re in a relationship with you.  Ugh, I freaking swear.  How hard is it to get a little attention from your secret boyfriend??

So as I wrote earlier he’s off on a date – probably with the woman of his dreams – while I’m busy on the couch dissecting EVERY SINGLE interaction we’ve ever had to see if I can determine what it all means??

Last night I may or may not have sent him a message on Facebook.  And then I may or may not have checked Facebook every 15 minutes for like ALL NIGHT waiting for his response.  And did he?  No, he did not.  And did he read it?  Yes, he did, approximately 20 minutes after I sent it.  WTF?  I mean, I know hard to get and all, but seriously?  This is bad, right?  This means we’re breaking up, right?

Listen, living life as a 15 year old angsty insecure teenager in the body of a 34* year old woman is totally getting old.  I think life was just easier when I didn’t have a crush on someone who is young enough to be my son (assuming I got pregnant when I was 11), and was busy catching up on all the “Game of Thrones” seasons (Hodor).  But, no!  I just had to start talking to this hunky dreamboat with green eyes and now I’m torturing myself.

This morning I went running to a friend of mine to tell him EVERYTHING.  He was super ecstatic and informed that this dreamy dreamboat with the green eyes was totally interested in getting in my knickers.  He was, however, playing the LONG game.  Apparently, the reason that he didn’t respond to my Facebook message is that he doesn’t want to seem to eager (bullshit).  And also, apparently, the ball is in his court.

Fuck his ball.

And fuck his court.

But also, I totally hope he stops by tomorrow and tells me how horrible his date was and that he totally wants me and then he touches my boob.  That could happen, right?  Or, you know what’s probably going to happen, because this is what happened the last time I really liked someone?  He’s totally going to hit it off with her, then in 2 years they’ll be engaged, and in 3 they’ll be married, and she’ll be pregnant.

And I’ll still be sitting on this couch eating Flamin’ Hot Cheetos and wondering why I’m still single.

*Or 41, whatever.

The Beauty of Language

4 Aug

It’s said that Eskimos have many words for snow, but only one for love.  That’s a bunch of bullshit, but it’s kind of a nice way to start off this post.

Being fluent in more than one language is a bonus.  Not only can I talk badly behind someone’s back without him knowing what I’m saying, BUT I know curse words in multiple languages.  Being able to call someone a slut in English and Spanish can be extremely useful because sometimes “slut” just isn’t enough.  A “slutty puta,” on the other hand, can perfectly describe someone who’s a touch more than slutty.

There are some occasions when an English word doesn’t quite capture the moment.  Today, for example, I’m suffering from extreme laziness.  Kind of like Lazy Jane in Shel Silverstein’s poem – that’s what I feel like.

In Spanish we have a word for extreme laziness, “hueva”.  It’s a noun as in “tengo mucha hueva,” which roughly translates into “I have very much extreme laziness.”  You can call someone a “heuvon” or “huevona,” which is relatively derogatory and probably comparable to “lazy bastard.”  There’s never been an English word that describes this state of laziness in just the right way.  It’s that feeling where you have shit to do, but the only energy you can muster up is related to lifting the remote to change the channel – or it may not even be that much.

Take now, for instance, I should be at the grocery store.  Actually, I should have gone to the grocery store several hours ago, instead I’ve napped on the couch, played on the inter webs, and watched stupid movies.  All of this under the guise that I’m saving myself money by not going today, and why do today what I can put off until tomorrow.

It’s a beautiful day, and I should take advantage of the glorious weather.  I’ve even found a way around that – I’m currently situated on the couch so I can look out the front window and feel the breeze.  It’s perfect.

I know what you’re thinking:

But, Catherinette, if you were really in that state of extreme laziness you wouldn’t be writing a blog post.

Ha!  You are so wrong.  You see, dear friend, this is just another excuse to keep me home.  Can’t write a blog post AND go to the grocery store at the same time.

Damn it.  I’m hungry.  Wonder if there’s a clean spoon and any peanut butter left…


This Train is About to Derail

25 Jan

Nothing makes my day like having lunch with a hot mess.  There’s something so sigh-worthy about meeting someone who is clearly more messed up than you.  It’s a way to validate that we’re not as crazy as we think, and gives us the chance to be thankful for what we have.

This afternoon I had lunch with a new friend of mine, and all I could think was, “this chick is a train wreck and I can’t wait to go home and blog about it.”  You can’t begin to imagine how difficult it was to stay rooted in my seat and command myself not to roll my eyes.  Maintaining my eyes in a fixed position was physically painful, I still have a headache.  This was hard, people.  Harder than turning down a free drink from George Clooney.  That hard.  I was riveted by her stupid stories, and appalled at her low self esteem all at the same time.  It was amazing.

I haven’t known her for very long, but she seemed nice and funny enough.  I know a few dudes at work who can’t stand her and think she’s too emotionally needy.  Instead of taking that as a big fat red flag, I chalked it all up to them being dudes.  Christ, they were so right.  I can’t wait to talk about her behind her back tomorrow at work.  It’ll be magical.

She’s completely hung up on this dude who broke up with her.  The break up happened over five months ago, and she is still reduced to tears when she talks about him.  Total mess.  Crazy part?  They dated for seven weeks.  She’s been mourning the relationship longer than it actually lasted.  She told me she ran into him at a happy hour last Wednesday, and when he ignored her, she proceeded to run to the bathroom and sob uncontrollably.  Heaving sighs, mascara running down her face, saliva dripping from her mouth hysterical.  Her friends had to rescue her, dry her eyes and tell her to get it together.  Instead of leaving, she did what any stupid idiot would do, got completely bombed and then confronted him.  90 minutes, 2 Jaeger shots, and 3 beers later she cornered him, told him she still loved him, started crying and begged him for another chance.  You can imagine how that ended.

So she’s sitting across the table from me telling me this story and all I could think to myself was, “how does this girls make it through the day without slapping herself for being so incredibly stupid.”  She actually teared up when she recounted the story and I had to talk her down from crying.

She then went totally bipolar on me and told me how excited she was because she found out an old boyfriend of hers was going to be in town.  A college boyfriend who was the best sex she had ever had.  She was SUPER excited to see him.  I asked her why things hadn’t worked out and she told me because he was a total asshole, and he didn’t want a relationship with her.  She made herself available to him (or she made her vagina available to him), he’d fuck her, and then he’d end up dating other girls.  Meanwhile, she’d wait around for him to “see the light” and realize she was the one for him.  Look, I’ve been there too, but it’s been a good 10 years since I deluded myself with that story.  Fact: if the dude is fucking you but not committing to you, he will NEVER commit to you.  The only thing he wants from you is your vagina.

I played it all calm and asked her how it had come about that they would see each other.  So she proceeded to tell me they had been messaging back and forth on facebook and that’s how she knew.  “Oh!  I have the messages right here.  I’ll read you the chain!”  Goody, I was psyched.

  • Him: [Facebook status update] I’m going to be in town from Feb. 15-25th.  Hit me up if you want to get together.
  • Her: [via private Facebook message] I’d love to see you!  It’s been way too long.  Let’s definitely make plans to see each other so we can catch up.  Wink wink, nudge nudge.
  • Him: Hey, you!  I’ll see what I can do.  Might not be able to make it, but will let you know.

She was sure that he meant he’d clear his schedule.  To me that translates into, “I’ll visit your vagina if I can’t come up with anything better to do.”

Sometimes You Can’t Cover the Skank

7 Jan

Last night I went out with Biggie and some of his friends to a townie bar.  It was amazing.  There were chicks wearing mom jeans, hot dudes, college kids, a dude who looked like Howard Hughes who I thought was going to stab someone, whores, sweatpants-wearing slobs, and even a former male model.  A very drunk former male model with whom I did a shot of Wild Turkey.  I totally would have flirted with him, but he was too busy trying to remember how to walk upright.

One of the girls who waltzed in (wearing leggings, a sparkly top, Uggs, and a Snooki-bump) has it BAD for Biggie.  This girl has thrown herself at Biggie so many times I’m surprised she hasn’t left a mark.  She doesn’t care that he’s married, she just wants to get on him.  The first time she met him she pretended to be so drunk she couldn’t drive so he offered to take her home.  He practically had to carry her into her house.  As soon as she had him in the door she started stripping and asking him if he wanted her.  As a chick, I imagine how empowering and sexy it would feel to do something like that, but she totally botched it.  She got her panties stuck in her leggings, and then couldn’t get her feet out of the leggings so she started walking around like a penguin and then fell on her face.  Not hot.  He burst out laughing and promptly left.

Ever since then she’s found a way to show up everywhere he goes.  She sends him “sexy” pictures, and propositions him on a weekly basis.  He’s flat out told her no (I’ve seen the messages he’s sent to her) and she just keeps on coming.  I had a feeling that he might be egging her on a little bit, and I imagined he flirted with her, but I was proven wrong when I saw them together last night.

Biggie and I had been there for about 45 minutes when she waltzed into the bar and took the stool next to him.  She was not happy to see her.  He immediately looked at me and his eyes got all big.  As she ordered her drink he leaned toward me and said, “That’s the girl.  Please don’t leave me alone with her.”  The rest of the night she told stories about how drunk she would get, and how often she went out, and she kept trying to get Biggie’s attention.  Sadly, she was just making herself look like the drunk slut she was.  It was clear she was on the prowl, you could tell the way she was sitting on her stool.  While everyone else was sitting back, lounging in their seats, or slouching a little, she was perched at the end of the seat completely upright with one arm on the back of her chair (she was sitting sideways) and one on the bar.  Good luck to her.

Biggie knew the male model and he came over to do a shot with us.  She passed on the first round, but said yes to the second.  She suggested a Jaeger bomb and the male model was all impressed.  For those of you who don’t know, a Jaeger mom is a shot of Jaeger and a red bull.  You take the shot glass of Jaeger and drop it (including the actual shot glass) into the glass of red bull. The male model was all psyched, right up until the bartender gave them the drinks and the idiot chick explained how she had to pour the Jaeger into the glass.  She then proceeded to sip it like it was a drink.  Um, that’s not a Jaeger shot.  That’s a red bull with Jaeger poured into it.  Fail.

She spotted some dude who was wearing a sweat suit and proceeded to go on a tirade about how it wasn’t fair that girls couldn’t wear sweats to a bar.  I promptly told her any girl could wear sweatpants to a bar, she just couldn’t expect to get laid.  That shut her up for about 20 seconds.  She then started talking about how it wasn’t the same and she just wanted to be comfortable and cute.  She could be comfortable, but unless she goes under the knife, she’ll never be cute (I didn’t tell her that).  I leaned forward to her and said, “Leggings are like sweats.”  As the words were coming out of my mouth I realized she was was wearing leggings.  I immediately had to backpedal and try to make up some story.  Not sure if she bought it.  Then again, I don’t care.

When it came time to leave Biggie made me swear I would walk out the door with him because he was afraid she would follow him.  We went outside and were talking at my car for a few minutes when he received a text from her.  Nothing major, just that it was nice to see him.  We said our goodbyes and ten minutes later I got a phone call from him.  He told me the idiot girl had called him and as soon as he picked up the phone she said, “Is that your way of making me jealous?”  He had no idea what she was talking about.  “You said you were going to be with friends tonight, and I walk in and you’re with Catherinette.”  He explained to her how other friends had been there before she had gotten there, and some had bailed.  She then proceeded to yell at him and hang up on him.

She’s special.  And by special I mean a total idiot.

Look, I’m all for having an imaginary relationship, but I draw the line at believing that my secret boyfriends are actually part of these relationships.  This relationship she’s having is purely in her head, and she needs to keep it there.

Cheers to the stupid whores in 2012!

Pity Party For One, Your Table is Now Ready

7 Jan

I’m not sure which I hate more: my fat ass or going to the gym.  Lately it’s been going to the gym.  Ugh, this is not winding up to be the thin 2010 I had hoped for.

What makes matters even worse is that I have my 15 year college reunion this year.  That’s right, 15 year reunion – I graduated from college when I was 12.  It’s awesome.  I’ll see all my old classmates and not only will I still be single, but I’ll be fat too.  Maybe if I’m lucky all my hair will fall out and I’ll suddenly develop a lazy eye.

I thought that watching The Biggest Loser might inspire me.  Yeah, not so much.  Instead I just sat on the couch and cried the whole entire time.  I don’t know what the hell it is about that show but it makes me weep like a freaking baby.  Every damn episode, I just can’t help myself.  At least I didn’t sit on the couch and eat my feelings while watching it.  I’ve got that going for myself.