Lady-Like

Alright friends, since my last few bloggy blogs have been nothing but sad, sad stories, I have decided to switch things up and be not so depressing. [however: the fact I am blogging at 2 in the morning, chiefing my peace pipe while watching Say Yes To The Dress is in fact incredibly sad news]

MOVING ON!

Tonight/today/this morning… whenever the fuck you decide to read this, I am here to give you all some lovely little lady-like advice. Those of you who know me, know I am quite the woman, but I certainly ain’t no lady. REGARDLESS! I am here, and I am willing and I am ready {Side Note: These are the words I said to the first man I slept with after my ex, and it was wet, wild and worth it!, granted I was on my knees wearing nipple pasties and an edible thong, but you get the idea].

1. Be straight-forward. Don’t be some pansey lil’ asshole that beats around the bush. You want something, take it, you want to say something, say it! Some fucker keeps hollaring at you and you ain’t interested, kick the clown in the fucking pecker and be done with it. No bullshit ladies! No fucking bullshit! Ain’t nobody got time for that, especially a lady.
2. Honesty. If I ask you if you masturbate and you say no. You are a goddamn liar and certainly no lady. Be honest with yourself and others. It doesn’t mean we want to listen to your ETrue Hollywood Story (chances are we don’t and no one gives 2 shits about it), it means be HONEST.
3. Leave a little mystery. You want men to say Who is this girl? I want to know more? Oh the things I would do! etc.etc. Trust me, mystery is key and the longer you keep it going the better. Sure, if you shacking up with some fellow over and over again, the mystery may fade, fuck the mystery could be over the first time you play anal acoustics, but alas leave a lil something something to keep those boys wanted more. (Side story: I totally was vibing this one guy and he was vibing me, and this had been something going on for quite awhile, when we finally did the deed. That was it, he was done with me, no mystery left in his mind. I was left with no respect and a sore vagina)
4. Be short. Not as in pint-sized, but as in how you verbalize your thoughts. So for example: Him: Where were you last night? Me: Out. Him: Did you have fun? Me: Sure did. Him: Do you care to share? Me: Not really. Now I know this may feel like it’s coming off as a bit dickish, but it’s not, it’s lady-like. Why? Because you aren’t giving away to much and it’s no one’s business anyways. Plus, the moments you do decide to divulge a little more, they’ll either appreciate or not fucking listen.
5. Never stay the night. NEVER NEVER NEVER NEVER NEVER!!! Stay the night, don’t do it. That has been probably my number rule in life and in being lady-like. Now, I am definitely a sucker for morning sex, it’s totally my jam. I love waking up getting a nice, lazy shag going on and then bounce. HOWEVER, these moments needs to happen before the early birds make it for 5$ breakfast. Reasons for this: 1) After a night of whatever my make up and hair is no more as mint as it was prior to. Half the time, I resemble a sad panda already regretting past shenanigans. Not ideal, not sexy. not lady-like. 2) If you leave before him waking up he’ll either appreciate your kindness and will want to see more of you, or he will wish you stayed and still wants more of you. win/win.
6. Lingerie (spanx included). Always, have some lingerie floating around. I know I do. I have some on hand just in case. Men, love it. Even just having dudes know you have it around is good. Here’s why and I’ll explain this by sharing a little antidote in The Life of Cait. I once had a friend you was fuck buddy. One day he saw lingerie in my car, he inquired about it, and immediately I saw his eyes light up. But every time we  bumped naughty bits, I never wore it. UNTIL …..(drum roll please) ….one day, after countless games of hide the sausage I finally had it on and the look on his face, was fucking worth it. He went wild, that night we banged until the sun came up (may of broke my not spending the night rule). Lingerie ladies. L-I-N-G-E-R-I-E.
7. Pay your own way. There is nothing worse than a thirsty bitch. No guy needs some cunt soaking up his hard earned $$$$$. Pay your own ladies. It really is that simple. When I go out I always pay my own. Once in a while, when then man I’m with takes a wiz, I’ll pay his too. It shows mutual respect, and whether we are a couple or not, he can always get me back next time. No biggy. Now, sure if I am out on a date, and he wants to pay, I’ll let him, but I always offer. (I GIVE, I GIVE, I GIVE!)
8. Let a man feel like a man. Now, I am a huge fan of bringing a man down, but when I do, I build him up just so I can bring him back down all over again haha! KIDDING! Nah, I am not that rude. What I mean to say is, let the man you are with (whether your friend, boyfriend, or whatever) feel like what he is. A FUCKING MAN. Let him make the moves and let him lead the way. And if for whatever reason he can’t and he is struggling, guide him, but let never take the lead.
9. Be free. Don’t let anyone, let alone a man tell you how to live your life. Do it your way. My way is usually slagging it up at the local pub, but every lady has their own way of expressing their freedom. I choose free love man. FREE FUCKING LOVE!
10. Own it! And owning shit involves a multitude of things. Whatever shape or size you are. Be proud girl, love yourself completely! You make a mistake, own up to it. Acknowledge your faults, it’s okay. Everybody has fucked up, don’t hide it. Be the first to say sorry if it comes down to it. You bought a dress a size off, wear that shit like no other (but return it the next day) haha.

Alright ladies. These are just a few tips to being a true lady (at least in my world). In the words of Storm Large “What the fuck is lady-like if ladies like to do the fuck they like”just like me!

Pollinated by the Wind.

GUESS WHAT FUCKERS!!! I’M BACK!!! Now isn’t that just the sweetest way to say HELLO after almost a year or so hiatus. Truth be told, I have been blogging, documenting life’s little tidbits in my trusty little handwritten book, and just be too god damn lazy to type them up. But don’t worry dear friends. Time will come when these lil doodle poetics will be placed on the cyber net for your viewing pleasure only.

Anywho, I thought I’d blog ya’lls with a lil update on me. (So not narcissistic at all)….

So since I’m a 27 year old biddy, and excellent at writing lists, that is what I shall do.

• My last blog was about me getting a baby. And no, I’m not talking about shitting out a kid or buying Mongolian toddlers from the black market. I got myself, a dog, name Barrie St.Bernard. And yes, that is his full name.
• My cat Olive, only enjoys Barrie St.Bernard for the shear fact he eats her shit. Other than that, he is the Bane of her existence. (And yes, Bane as in Batman.)
• I’ve up and left my last humble abode. And graduated from the Upper Ghetto of New West to Chateau El’La Shanty Town, Burnaby.
• My 6^th anniversary with my man was forgotten. La Fin.
• I looked in the mirror one day and realized how time flies by. Also discovered a new freckle. I named it Dotty
• Did spring cleaning in December and liked it. Also found some cheese string in a pair of denims I haven’t worn since circa,08;
• Became addicted to Red Bull after a gaming marathon which resulted in me stroking out after I lost 142 of my saves.
• My girlfriend passed away this summer. Incredibly heart-breaking.
• Finally, a few of the movies I worked on are out. Check out, Step Up 5, Big Eyes, If I Stay, Night of The Museum 3 and more. I will say this my endeavors of becoming an actor have resulted in me being ‘arm-candy’, a statue, ‘girl with tray’, serving wench, ‘sad girl 2’, ‘a hungry I’, ‘wedding guest’ , ‘hand double’ etc.…My resume must be looking pretty tasty right about now.
• Did the ALS ice bucket challenge and actually donated 100$.
• I still wear a fanny pack.
• My daily trips to the dog park without a dog park are no more! I am now a real person and have Barrie to venture to the parks too. Perfect place to smoke my medicine, and unwind while Barrie roams free in a fenced off area, a place that resembles a concentration camp. Anne Frank would be proud…How…ideal…
• Convinced myself that rolling my eyes is burning calories. FYI it is.
• I now practice drinking coffee black/decaf/with a straw/peppermint gum. Why I’m practicing? Fuck if I know.
• Held my fart in once for a whole day, just so I could dutch-oven my man, after he forgot to take out the trash. (Future reference for anyone who has the pleasure of living with me. TAKE OUT THE TRASH).
• New Love: Matthew Goode.
• I realized:…..
• Finally retired my Peter Rabbit stuffy to the closet. Don’t worry I’m sure he will come out of the closet again. If Anne Heche can, Peter Rabbit can too.
• I now only make status updates on Facebook while sitting on the toilet.
• Decided to take up cooking, by buying a microwave. Only to return it, when I realized I don’t enjoy cooking.
• Attempted to hold a quarter in my stink crease. (Still have not found the quarter)
• Slept in the parking lot of Timmy Ho’s. (Clearly, a high point in my life).
• Put my car Mia, out to pasture. She’s such a slag.
• Went home for the holidays to see the fam. So in love with being the crazy auntie from out West.
• I wrote Dr. Phil a love letter. Also went into great detail about how I feel I’ve been pollinated by the wind. He has yet to respond. Xoxo.
• All summer I feasted on Mexican food while living in this great city of ours.
• YOLO, mother fucker, YOLO.

Emotional Blue Balls

Okay, ladies and gents I need to vent. I know what you are thinking, “Cait? Vent?” ALWAYS!!!

I don’t know what it is, but it seems to me that there are some serious relationship problems floating through this spring, honestly the birds and the bees are on a hiatus FOR REALZ!.Let me divulge a little, just a little, about my relationship with my honey boo boo child! (31 year old child).

Typically, many women see men as emotionless beings. That’s typically. Unfortunately for me, I was blessed with having no emotions (for the most part), but because of this I feel my man makes up for my lack of emotion. Honestly, I have my rag-time girlfriend visit me once a month and his is 24/7.

Ever since he decided to venture into a new business he’s had more time on his hands. I on the other hand have been incredibly busy working 3 ½ jobs (yes 3 ½). When I do come home he’s upset I don’t spend time with him, and instead I choose to workout, pet my cat, read or write. HOLD THE MOTHER FUCKING PHONE YA’LL! Let’s get some things straight here.

1. When I do come home, I’m tired. All I want is a little bit of time to settle in, get into my sweatpants, pull a nice cold brewsky from the fridge and mellow the fuck out.
2. I don’t want to talk about work when I get home. Work is work, work is always work, work is left at work straight up. Sure, ask me about my day, I’ll tell you it was “good,” “bad” “wild” “shitty” whathaveyou. But I am not content, nor up for telling you a play by play about my workday.
3. I’ll be honest if I come home and there isn’t some sort of supper being cooked up I’m definitely pissy. Sorry but if I am the sole provider of this god damn relationship, and you are at home picking your nose, yelling at 13 year old kids on the Xbox, you definitely have time cook up some food. If I’m bringing home the bread, all I ask is you bake it.
4. DON’T BE UPSET THAT I EXPECT YOU TO COOK AND CLEAN! If you ain’t working fucking do something to make this relationship work. I clean constantly when I am home. I’m not asking you to swap the deck like a mother fucking lone pirate, I’m just asking you do the dishes once in awhile, clean the cat’s shitter when it starts to stink, and vacuum. In fact, I can never tell if someone has vacuumed, just tell me you did and I’m kosher baby!
5. When I am home and at you leisure, I don’t consider watching you on your computer quality time. I would rather be out enjoying life; walking, dancing, playing vids together, fuck and FUCKING! THAT WOULD BE GREAT! That would be ideal. One of the best ways to spend quality time together is to fucking get it in.

Honestly, I am pretty sure my man’s emotions comes from blue balls. Straight up! And he does it to himself. I’m sexual intercourses’ number one fan!! LEGIT! In my ideal world, I would have sex every morning, afternoon delight once a week and finish the day off with a good oral sesh. My man is good once a month. Literally. In fact that last time we had sex beginning of March. The last time we made love with months and months ago. He has so much built up in him, that I swear all his emotions are locked and stocked in his fun stick. Just release baby, release and let go.

Another re-occurring thing that keeps coming up is jealousy. Jealousy gets you nowhere, aside from being a Facebook creeper.  So what, a couple of dudes may think your lady is hot stuff. In case you didn’t notice that is a mother fucking compliment. In my case specifically, I get paid to look pretty, I am aware that my photos will be seen by scholars (haha) and weirdos, but its part of my job. It pays the bills.  I brag about the size of my man’s penis all the time. Any girl would be happy to go for a ride with him, but he’s mine. I’m not scared or threatened he’s going to use his joystick against me (Just happy he’ll use it in me).

Jealousy is a waste of time, effort, and brings out the worst in people. Any relationship with jealousy issues needs to be reflected upon. Like, actually.

I think that all the men in the world are slowly losing their testosterone. Seriously! Ever since Justin Beiber hit the scene, mans vagina has only increased in size!!! (That however is another night, another blog, another story.)

 

I Do Not

Every girl dreams of this day. At some point in their lives they picture a man on their knees, with a sparkling rock asking the one question every girl deserves to be asked. Then from there on it’s a whirlwind of engagements, planning, appointments, planning, bookings, dress shopping, planning, food tasting, bachelorette party, and constant planning and planning and planning and then…..at the very end of the aisle…. marriage. Many girls dream of this day, this moment and yet here I am, saying; Fuck. This. Shit.

I’m not marriage material to put in plainly.

Firstly, I am selfish. Marriage is not just a commitment but it’s me fully giving myself to something and someone else. This is not to say I’m a total cunt and deserve to be treated like a princess. I’m not and I don’t. This is also not to say I don’t want a family. I do, in fact I plan to shit out a kid in the next 8 years or so. However, I do not believe I can be completely and utterly ‘self-giving’ (at least not now in my life). Now, having said this, I will say I have been with my man now for nearly 6 years. I love him, I am in love with him, I am committed to him, BUT I also make sure to take care of myself, to give myself love (no, not talking masturbation here).

Perhaps part of my being selfish is I just want to be happy. And I don’t want to ever hold my partner in crime accountable for my happiness. I can make my happiness on my own. I can make it with my man. I can make it on acid, I can make it throwing bread wafers at alter boys. Maybe it’s not me wanting people to know, but I want to know I can create my own happiness and at times just have this happiness to myself.

This brings me to my next point. Dependence or shall I say, independence. For years and years I’ve always depended on other people to help me get through life. My mom did everything for me and at times still does. She sang ‘Rock-a-bye-baby’, threw the monsters out from my closet and under my bed all through junior high. She paid my bills for a time, she enrolled me in school, she booked my doctor, dentist and eye appointments, she still picks me up from the air port, she is what all mothers should be, WONDER WOMAN.

It wasn’t until I came out here on my own and lived by myself; I began to become my own person. I taught myself, to manage my own finances. I paid my own bills, I learned to take the bus on my own, or ask strangers for directions when I was lost. I guess in some way, I fear marriage may take this independence away from me. (At least on paper it does).

Speaking of paper, I am proud of the money I bank. I’m also very aware that I cannot always go Dutch the rest of my life. I am very protective of my finances. Having gone to school for five years I have a debt I would like to pay off before menopause hits. I also do not want any debt I have, become my man’s debt and vice versa.

Plus, my idea of a wedding if I ever got married is, BYOB, Potluck party in the backyard and town hall marriage license. My honey’s idea of a wedding is the bigger the better. This is not my style, nor is it my wallets style. I can’t justify spending 20, 000$ let alone 125$ on a wedding/marriage certificate. To me it’s simply not worth it. Perhaps it’s because I don’t have dollar bills hanging out of my bra and coinage tucked up in my keester. But wedding ceremonies and paying for wedding ceremonies is not in my stars.

PLUS! And this is just straight up. Marriage is a contract, it really is that simple. The last contract someone asked me to sign I ended up in a glass window modeling clothes for Sears (FML).

Another major factor is I don’t think so far into the future. I live day by day, night by night and la-dee-da. Even though my honey and I have been together for a lengthy time, we could still break up. I’m not saying we will, I’m not praying we do, I’m not saying nothing other than what the fuck do I know? We could be together forever and we could be together for just two more days (in which case he would have read my blogs and realized I ain’t his type and if so….douche bag.) But, and here’s the thing, if we do break up, there is no paper work, there’s no divorce shit to deal with, the biggest issue we would have is who gets the Xbox (and trust me that’s a big enough issue on its own). {Side Note: Xbox is mine, DIBS!}

Well, there are more reasons I really do not insist or wish to get married. Many reasons I also don’t care to get into too much detail with: Reasons like: marriage is an institution that fails half the time, my benefits would not change regardless, marriage will simply not cure loneliness and because Chuck Norris said so.

“Cait will you marry me” Batman says.

“I do not.” Cait replied. “Even though you are Batman.”

The Bloody Truth

There is nothing in this world I despise more than the one thing that makes me a woman. P E R I O D S! (Well, I despise Cher and the wanker who invented the baby mop more, but for the sake of this blog) P E R I O D S, FUCK YOU!

Now, every lady’s experience with the crimson river is different, but I’m betting pesos it ain’t all fine and dandy. Gentlemen, you are blessed with two things. Ball and Cock. Granted, I am sure your jewels dangle too and fro, which can not be all that comfy, but us ladies have a vagina. Yes, I love my clam, but with every clam is some chowder and not always the lubey kind. 

Vagina’s clean themselves, and do so by letting the goo ooze out, sometimes red wine, sometime white. Boys, got the ball stink, but with some baby powder and a spray of Febreeze they are good to go. We need to wipe our baby maker clean, get into the creases, trim or wax the nether regions to make sure she is sparkling gold.

Periods, ain’t no icing on the cake. I swear God hates us! (Definitely hates my savage beast ass for sure).

The first time I got my period I was 13 years old (grade 8). I woke and went to the loo and looked in my panties. There, I saw dribblets of blood. I just thought I cut myself grooming the kitty. I changed my underwear and continued my day. Around 11 am, when I take more morning shit, I sat on the porcelain and noticed some more red drops. That’s when I clued in, I’m cursed, God has it out for me, I need to go to church or whip myself or something. 

For two years after that, I padded myself up (was not at the tampon stage quite yet). I resented every moment Aunt Flo was visiting. Yes, it was once a month for about a week, but it was terrible. I would rather butt chug egg yoke then see Aunt Flo.

I personally made it my mission to find a way to keep my beaver damn closed. Obviously, I failed. The only way to stop your period from flowing is to A) get preggerz or B) menopause. Ya, um out of question for me.

When I was in high school however, my hate for the painters subsided. Reason being, when you are a little prostitot your period is your best friend, well more like you frienemy and here is why. {SIDE NOTE: I was at the tampon stage by now}

Friend: Because you are not pregnant.

Enemy: She cramps your belly and back. I’m not talking I need to fart kind of cramp. I’m talking hot, punches to your mid-drift and back side. 

Friend: Because you are not pregnant.

Enemy: Your jubbilies are crying. They are sore and tender and all they want is to be left the fuck alone, in a nice sports bra. Booby pain, is not good pain.

Friend: Because you are not pregnant.

Enemy: PMS!

Friend: Because you are not pregnant.

Enemy: When a dude doesn’t want to break your beaver dam and let the waters run free, he plugs up the other side. Two plugs, one girl. OH HELL NO!

Friend: Because you are not pregnant.

Enemy: Bloating. ‘Nuff said.

Friend: Because you are not pregnant.

Enemy: Some people will think you eat to many chocolate bars.

Friend: Because you are not pregnant.

Enemy: Rags are expensive.

Frienemy for fucking sure. 

Currently, my thoughts on periods are essentially the same. Not a fan. After all, who would be a fan of bloody uterus lining eroded from a gal’s piss flaps. That my friends is the bloody truth.