The Scarlet Letter

I always wondered what my epithet would be. Maybe I read too much on old mythology or my hard on for GoT has taken me to this point, I don’t know, but somehow I have gotten here. Now, I say I’ve ‘wondered’ what my epithet would be, in truth I know it. It’s both sad and a great honour that these titles aren’t made by ourselves. Epithets are made by the people. PLEBIANS UNITE!

Over the course of my life time I have acquired quite a few.

Cait The Great

Now, not only did this one rhyme and at the time I was high on living the bohemian life tucked under Edgar Allen Poe and Trojan Wars. But I was strong like bull. I fending off boys for my sisters, I used my strength to help around the house. I was a little tank. I was strong, independent at the ripe age of 8. And yes, morbidly and romantically I was entwined with Mr. Poe at a young age, but that’s a story for another time.

Few summers after, came…

Cait The Great White.

Why this stuck for a whole summer, I’ll never really know, but I blame it on my love for sharks and a white dress, I wore nearly every day until it because the color of a very dusty rose.

Cait The Jack of All Trades

I am sure many have acquired this name over their life times. For me, this came from my dance school. I excelled at every dance class I took. From ballet to jazz to tap to hip hop and whateverthefuck else I did. But, I was never the top dancer. I was second, always second to the top. Where I thought I would be the best in ballet, there was always someone taller, leaner and had all attributes a ballerina should have, with jazz there was a dancer with spirit fingers that were out of this world, with tap, well my sister kicked my ass in it. I was never the best, I was always second best. A jack of all trades, but master of none, and being master at always being second best is no epithet anyone should live by.

In college came, Cait The Native. No epithet really, but everything I did, everything I accomplished was because I was native. I got scholarships and bursaries, not because I was a starving artist, but because I was a red skinned girl who wore moccasins to class. It’s funny when I first applied to school they didn’t accept me. REJECTED! I was then advised to reapply, but under being native. Sure enough, I got in. Clearly applying as a white person is nothing to compared to a native.

Even my theatre ensemble native the fuck out of me. No fault of their own, and at the time it didn’t bother me too much. But in my mind, I was more than being native.

College passed, and into adulthood I came. And with a thunderous bang, came more epithets I could every imagine.

Cait The Harlot of New West60c99e26569147e9d9f58a8fc12c7831--funny-shit-funny-stuff

Cait The Homewrecker

Cait The Cheater

Cait The Vamp Whore (This one actually makes me laugh)26POP-master768

Cait The Stealer of Men

Cait The Husband Capturer

Cait The Tight and Easy

Cait The Untrusted

Cait The Trusted In Bumping Naughty Bits

Cait The Master Blower of the Love Whistle

Cait The Usurper of Men

Cait The No Hearted

Cait The Addict

Cait The Pill Popper

Cait The Reckless

Cait The Crazy

Cait The Used Up, Damaged Fucking Whore of a Person Who Deserves Nothing, but Loneliness and a Broken Heart.

Wait a minute. What happened here. What happened to all the good things I have done?e14cd95a68c4bbe95d829d6b48715722 (1) What happened to all the good qualities I possess? Or do I possess them no longer?

I have always been loyal to those I love, I’ve always put the ones I care about before me. I’ve invested in friendships and relationships financially, emotionally, mentally. But here I am. Cait The Girl With The Scarlet Letter. Cait the Native is starting to sound a lot more desirable now.

I have certainly done stupid things, but I am not stupid. People talk, rumours run rapid, and when you aren’t there to defend yourself, people start to believe these rumours. It’s sad, it’s hurtful, it’s something I would never wish on anyone. I lost a lot of important people in my life over this. And I am not trying to pass blame to the masses and the gossip king and queen in town. I am not, but I am not there. And although these rumours are blended with truths and I am sure exaggerations, and certainly lies, I am not there.

I had a relationship with someone who was married. I knew it was wrong, he knew it was wrong, but in those moments of our selfishness it felt right. I didn’t intend to destroy a family, he didn’t intend for anyone to find out, nothing was intended. Now, because of this, long time girlfriends don’t trust me around their men, I am now considered a homewrecker.

I am very open about my sex-capades. I talk about banging this person and another 14b986d022db146fc633a6a37053ae27person, I talk about infidelity, orgies, I talk and talk and talk. I realized that me being so open about this had people define me as this skeeze queen. True, through no fault but my own, I joked about my sexual encounters. All the time. It’s unfortunate really. I do what all my male single friends did, but I am the whore.

Now, people expect me of this. I once invited a friend out to meet me at a bar. I was there with some co-workers and other lonely hearts enjoying the night. It was quite a ways a way for this bloke to come out, but I offered to pay for his cab ride, even offered him to crash at my place if need be. He came and was terribly upset that I was going home with another lad. I apologized, I felt terrible, but my intentions were intentions of catching up, having some drinks and hanging out. His intentions were different. I didn’t realize this until I received a 20 minute lecture on being a terrible person and leading on men. Apparently this is a trait I have. God forbid me to invite a boy out and not put out.

It’s because I am more than this. I know I am more than this. But as mentioned before rumours run rapid, and when all the rumours are about you, and you aren’t there to defend yourself you start to believe them. I know I did. Maybe this bloke was right. My vagina is friendly to all!! Maybe the right thing for me to do was fuck the shit out of him. After all he came all this way thinking so why not deliver?

Maybe I am a piece a shit. Maybe I am all those names everyone seems to know me by now. If that’s the case, I should wear each and everyone of those fucking names proudly, right?

Like I said, I’ve done stupid things, but I am not stupid. I know there is more to me, than just an epithet.

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Mr. Wonderful

Hi friends, it’s me again, yours truly. Now, I have always been quite open in my blogs, open while being humorous, and while also not  being so open in a sense. Although a lot of my writings are honest I mask my feelings with jokes and whatnot. This one will be a little different. 

I want to tell you a story about my Mr. Wonderful.

As you all know I have recently been single (2 yrs). I am hitting the dating scene and the one night scene. I am finally enjoying my single-dom. During the summer, I was going at it full force, probably partying more than I should, probably fucking around more than a young lass, like myself should, but ya know….fuck it (literally).

One night, my girlfriends and I went to this hole in the wall place for late night cocktails (yes the same hole in the wall where I met The White Whale). I was scoping out the new crop of servers (all males…..yuuuummmmmmmyyy) when one gentlemen caught my attention. He was tall, dark and handsome. On top of all that he was a white boy! (SCORE!!!! Side note: I am not a racist, I am just honest, I know what I like, white boys with no culture is so my thang!) My curiosity was peaked! How could I have not ran into this man before. Now, I have an in. What I mean is when I see someone I like I stare at them constantly. I stare and stare and stare until they meet my eyes. This gentlemen, turned around immediately looked at me, I smiled, he smiled and there you have it. I’m in.

Now, it wasn’t immediate bumping naughty bits. Oh no! I did have to chase the man a bit. Not tapping on his window chasing, but setting up my marks, so that one day he would just fall inside me. We did keep running into each other. Not only because I forced my friends to go to the shitty joint he served at every weekend, but we ended up at the same parties. No real conversation between us ever in these early stages, just looks and my want to mount him. Seriously, every time I saw him, my vagina tingled, my stomach had butterflies and in some regard, I was pissed off. Why? Because, I am supposed to be a confident, young, fierce woman, ready to take any cock on. But he made me feel like a little school girl. (Side note: He’s so dreamy.)

One night, while at the hole in the wall, he was off shift hanging out and having drinks with his friends. Already two double scotches in, I finally muster up the courage to invite him over. He sits beside me, I buy us some shots, he thanks me, and goes back to his friends. Fuck me! How did this not work? Usually I buy shots and men thank me by giving me a little finger bang under the table. But he didn’t. Instead he did what only a gentlemen would do. He thanked me and carried on with his night.

Another night I was with a larger group of friends. We were all in the back room/the bath house of this place, and I drank and drank. He comes in the back to say hi to us all (at this point in time, we were on a face term basis-meaning we didn’t know each others names yet).  This time I stepped up my game. I bought this lovely fellow what I was drinking, a Guinness. And behold, one of his favourite bevys to sip on. I had know idea, I swear. He is impressed with my choice, but let’s face it, I can be pretty impressive….

So this time I go for the finger bang!! Haha,  only kidding. I slyly/notsoslyly, place my hand on his leg and all of a sudden he puts his hand on mine. Romantic right? NOPE! Not even close, he had put his hand on mine only to remove it. How rude! Or at least I thought in the moment. Looking back, he was a gentleman. Furious, I go in for a kiss. And it was like an agressive, whythefuckwontyoufuckmealready kinda kiss. He leans away, and simply says He can’t. My thoughts, Sure ya can, just put those sexy lips on my lips and let loose! But, alas, as mentioned before, he was a gentlemen.

Alright, so I conceded. I came to terms with, maybe he just isn’t into me. And normally I would be someone to never give up and pull out all the fucking stops for this bloke to like me. But I couldn’t. Not with him. As much as I wanted him to be another notch on my belt, I also wanted him to want it too and if he didn’t then, it wasn’t meant to be.

Now, we did continue to run into each other. We flirted, I mellowed out and stopped trying to throw my beaver at him, and something happened. We were out at a friends place, and I left to take a wiz. On the toilet, tinkling away the door opens. Normally, when someone opens the bathroom door and I am sitting on a porcelain throne, I would be mortified. But he opened it, walked in, closed the door and smiled. I sat, I peed, and peed, and peed, looked at him, wiped…..and man or man, I so wanted to pee in his mouth. Don’t ask why, I just wanted to, so deal.

Something had come over us. I stood up and awkwardly wiped the piss dripping down my leg. Buttoned up my pants, he walked over to me and kissed me. HE KISSED ME GUYS! It was absolutely wonderful. We made out for awhile in the bathroom. Our hands slid all over each other, and I slid my hand onto his …..well….you know….and HOLY MOTHER OF GOD, IF THIS DUDE’S DAD AIN’T ZEUS, OR THOR OR DWAYNE THE ROCK JOHNSON….it’s a fucking Christmas miracle. It was so beautiful, but extremely intimidating. I can deep throat anything, but this was going to be quite a challenge. I have to strategically plan out my breaths, as to when I could come up for air.

Taking a moment, to daydream about this encounter…….

So, that night we didn’t…well I didn’t earn my stripes….He had to leave, and alas, once again I was all alone.

Don’t worry folks, we did eventually get there. I remember the first time quite vividly, considering I was shit-faced. It was amazing! I came so quickly, and did so over and over again it was whats the word….dare I say wonderful? I had never been with someone who fucked so beautifully. And I fucked a lot of people. Eventually, he woke up bright and early and left, like a ninja. That bastard, pulled my move! That’s my move, a little awkward since we were at his place, but nonetheless I was impressed.

So I did it, I finally shaboink him. And although I wanted to again and again and again….I knew it was only going to be a one time deal. Or so I thought. (You can’t see it right now, but I am smiling so hard).

We ran into each a few more times, occasionally he would serve me at the hole in the wall. During these times, I would give an extra generous tip as a thank you for his very generous tip. We didn’t really flirt during these encounters, we were polite towards one another and that was pretty much it….UNTIL….one night he asked me what I was doing later, and of course with my wry wit, I said him. Sure enough, round 2, then 3, then 4….and THEN!!!

Our fucking, turned into something more. We would wake up next to each other, and neither of up would be running for the hills. I would drive him home, when usually I would call a cab. (Tangent: I really enjoyed the drives back to his place. We had great in-depth conversations. He was insightful, he was funny, he was incredibly intelligent. He had substance to him…I was really starting to like him….MOVING ON!!!!!!!!!)

We started seeing each other more often, and it wasn’t just to bang. It was to be in good company. We were just a couple of swells, trying not to be a thang. You see friends, me and Mr. Wonderful were quite similar. We were both sexual devients, we were slags, we had serious commitment issues, enjoyed the same brews, laughed at the same things, we enjoyed reading, even our moves were the same. I remember one time I woke up to him giving me head. THAT’S MY MOVE!

I’m not going to lie it was scary, we were messing up each others game. I would try to fall back, but simply couldn’t. I would wake up, he was the first person I thought about. He was constantly in my head. I didn’t want this, I didn’t want to actually like. But I just couldn’t help myself.

One morning, something happened. He said those three words that every girl dreams of. That is every girl dreams of, except me. I loved and lost once my friends, to do that again is just too much. I didn’t know what to say. I grabbed my things and left. I remembered the drive home, I was so confused. My emotions were all over the place. This man was just everything I want in a man and I left. Like a coward, ran away.

When I got back to my place, he left one message on my phone,

Fuck.

Yup, just my thoughts exactly. Why? Because I loved him back.

Now, you have to understand folks, this was maybe two months into us knowing each other. Although we had all these similarities, we were really just strangers. Strangers in love I guess. I did however respond with,

I love you, too.

We did continue to see one another. Without a label of course. We knew we loved each other, but we weren’t ready for a relationship (odd, I know). Even when we were out in public our PDA went wild. We started being that disgusting couple that can’t keep their hands off one another, we even sat on the same side of the table. GROSS! I KNOW!!!

He still fooled around with others as did I. But at some point he confided in me. He wasn’t hooking up with anyone else. I wanted to say the same thing, but I couldn’t. I did however, tell him I felt guilty and did just fantasize about him anyways. You are probably thinking What the fuck Cait! This guy really likes you, not just likes you but loves you. Not only that he isn’t sleeping with anyone else….why the fuck are you fucking this up! You love him too, get your fucking shit together! I know, I thought the same. I always find a way to fuck up a good thing. Mr. Wonderful was so imperfectly perfect. And here I was, being my usually slutty, no feeling self.

He went away for a mini vacay with his best mate.  And I finally mustered the courage to say something I never thought I would via text message.

                 Why can’t I be yours, and you just be mine?

He never responded. I finally, put myself out there, I finally opened up about my true feelings for someone, and he didn’t respond. I finally, admitted to myself, that I may not being completely ready for a relationship, I was terrfied! But for him, I wanted to try. You see Cait, this is why you don’t put yourself out there like that! You don’t open up, you take what you need so you don’t feel anymore. You avoid any sign of love because you don’t want to be hurt. Why the fuck would you do that to yourself!?

Recently, he came back, and I’ve only seen him once. I sense he is certainly falling back. He has messaged, but seldom. I message him yearning for some sort of comfort, hoping he will want to meet up again, but I always fuck everything up. I have seen him since, but only once.

I still think about our morning drives, waking up next him, us doing terrible impersonations of The Count hah ah ah…., drinking stouts, listening to his stories, going for breakfast, taking my dog for a walk with him, but we aren’t at those moments anymore. Either we were strangers in love, or strangers in something we thought was love. Regardless of the game, it has seems I have lost again.

He is really wonderful though. And although it seems we have drifted away, I am very thankful that he was my Mr. Wonderful, even if only for a little while.

The Big H

Seems like the last few months my days start incredibly early. Most of the time it is before my 7 morning alarms go off, but I don’t mind. One morning however, it was not so wonderful to wake up. Not only was I up and not so enthusiastically at’em, but 4:30 is a little too early for me. So body, I’m not a farmer, fuck off.

The last couple weeks or so I have been having stomach and chest pains. It legit feels like a leprechaun jigging on my chest. So, Not, Cool. So alas, this pain never fully goes away, instead it’s been a constant. Straight up fucking annoying. Some days it is almost unbearable. Now, I am what I call a….tough cookie. But ouch, man. Seriously.

I am quite stubborn. That’s a fact. I strongly dislike going to hospitals or clinics in every way. The smell, the sounds, butt fuck everything. Most people think of hospitals as a place for healing. To me, its sickness and death. I will refuse and refuse to go. I could have a harmonica shoved up my asshole, and I still would refuse to go. Most likely, I would call up all the Plebians who owe me favours and tell them to finger my harmonica. I would rather lick butter off a prostitutes dirty ass butt crack than go see a doctor. HELL! One of the last times I saw a doctor they couldn’t find my hymen.  MY GOD DAMN FUCKING HYMEN. The doctor thought it was playing peek-a-boo…MY HYMEN PEOPLE!  HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO SAY THIS. For fuck sakes, fuck hospitals and fuck doctors…..fuck.

Okay, moving on…

One of my closest friends advised me over the last few weeks to go see a doctor. Come on Cait, what is the worst that could happen? Um thanks closest friend, let me tell you what could happen.

  1. A shit ton, fool!
  2. A SHIT TON, FOOL!

I simply refuse to go. Caitlin, says no, closet friend, Caitlin says no.

The chest and stomach pain was constant and consistent. I was dizzy, I was drowsy, either I was puking or my ass was puking. Now, I know what you are thinking. This bitch is knocked up. Sorry folks, hate to break it to ya, but unless my fingers are shooting spermies I am as un’-pregnant as humanly possible. If I was preggerz, meet Jesus Junior, the Second Cumming of Christ.

Almost forgot to mention, I am on meds too, but ya’ll know that so…. Yeah, the obvious side effects aside from cracking myself up and being awesome, I get constipated, faint, can’t think straight, I feel like a pansey, and I have the occassional slurrrrrr-rrrr-rring of words. I’m telling you, if they were casting Judy Garland’s BioPic I would knock that shit out of the park.

So all these forces seem to be building up inside of me. That one morning I was sweaty, the world was spinning, I couldn’t breathe, I’m telling you folks, I was one symptom away from seeing a baby crawling on the ceiling. I am alone. Who do you call when you are alone? No one is home. I got my cat plotting my death already, and my dog is licking his balls in the corner.

11745834_10100508642189933_6844818290448706980_n{SIDE NOTE: My boy Barrie is such a mythical Saint Bernard This cuddly beast has no idea what is going. Saint Bernard’s are supposed to be heroes. SAVE ME, BARRIE ST. BERNARD, SAVE ME! Granted, they are known for saving people from avalanches, the alps and people with colds. So I will let it slide, my boy Barrie. I mean the fact he was sitting in the backyard the other day trying to catch the wind with his mouth…whelp! It says it all.}

Okay, back to being alone. Who the hell am I going to call at this ungodly hour? I certainly do not want to call the parental units, not only would it worry them, but them being on the other side of the country is in all essence, useless. Sorry mom, sorry dad. I also thought, and this was a rather quick poke of a thought, to call some of my friends. However, the majority of them either don’t drive or do not have a vehicle to drive. Plus, the last thing a friend wants to hear is, can you please walk me to the hospital? So friends, maybe, you could get your license or a car  and then I could call you, and you could be like a ‘real’ friend…..just saying…

So looking at my phone, I realize I really only have one option. Call the ex. Fuck my life, this is so not ideal. SO. NOT. IDEAL. I call him, no answer. THANKGOD! Not meant to be. I understand, no one wants to pick up the phone this early in the morning, let alone knowing it is from your ex. It’s fine really, It’s a sign. C’mon Cait, you are a big girl now. Definitely not forking up 80$ for an ambulance, so lets drive. Smart thinking, I know! I went to university where all the smart thinkers come from. I put on my jacket, can’t forget pants, grab my Nikes, dish out my Id’s, snatch up the keys and Oh, I can’t forget my driving gloves! KIDDING! Driving gloves are for pussies, and for people who duel. EN GAURD!

So at some point between my front door and my beloved car, Robin I passed out. No joke. I woke up to rain and wind and what I am sure was once a slug smeared on my cheek. MMMkkay… maybe driving is out of the question.

Somehow I find myself crawling my way back up the stairs, baby steps, Cait, baby steps. I can hear my phone. Its ringing. Someone can save me! I increase speed, which really isn’t fast at all at this point. I’m racing to my phone, I reach the top, only to realize my phone was in my pocket the entire time. Seems legit.

Who is it? The ex. I pick up and was doing my best to play it all cool. I went to five years of acting school for this moment, FAIL! I caved. Oddly enough he was on his way with little Plum dog for the pups to play. So….

FLASH FORWARD TO BURNABY GENERAL HOSPITAL.

No line up, practically no hospital personnel either. I’m in a room and on a bed within one hour. The ex heads back to my place to keep an eye on the pups. It was for the best, he seemed agitated and annoyed at my conundrum. I’m sure driving an ex anywhere is on no one’s To Do List. Part of me wanted him to stay, especially since I have driven him to the hospital more times than I could count, but I needed to be alone. I had to do this on my own. We are not boyfriend and girlfriend anymore. We are just friends and that’s okay.

So I am in Room 1. FYI not a real room. Just a bed surrounded by curtains. There was a gentleman on one side of me in Room 2. He sounded like quite the comedian. He was cracking wise with the nurses, telling them stories that ranged from a one-legged prostitute he fell in love with in Bali to tea-bagging a donkey. Come to think of it, not much of a gentleman. Oh and he was in the hospital for….get this… full on corkscrew lodged in his head. Yup, 8 stitches later and a bandage that somewhat resembled a yamaka. L’Chaim.

Now, these hospital gowns, don’t even get me started. They are frail, not flattering and seriously, you can never have enough coverage, (which reminds me I need to switch my life insurance.)

11904718_10100532930141683_8754819215513386869_nSo anyways in my barely there hospital gown, nurse comes in to take my blood. She even says it in a creepy Transylvanian way which she thought was hilarious. I‘ve come to take vyer bloooood! I thought it was nonsense. I even told her to go back and re-enter like a real person. She did, such a trooperSo she grabs my left arm and can’t seem to find my vein. Stabs me anyways. MOTHER FUCKING OUCH! Painful! Incredibly so. Seeing my discomfort, she pulls out the needle, lets my blood drip on my beautiful hospital gown and proceeds to take blood from my other arm. I should have let the crazy bitch play Dracula. Be good to my right arm lady. It’s all I got until I find myself a man. She places cotton balls on my arms, both sore, my stomach is in pain, I can’t breathe, my veins are throbbing and all of a sudden…..a lonely tear drop falls from my eye. Then 2, then 3, and then the water works. I hate crying, I cry even more just knowing I can be an ugly crier. S.A.D.N.E.S.S.

Anyways, Room 2’s mom comes and picks him up. Enter, Room 2’s new patient, crazy lady. Why she be crazy? Let me tell you. I am there in my little ‘room’ crying. She starts crying. I get louder, she gets louder, I get even more boastful and operatic and she hulks it out even more. We sound like a whales, just a couple of swells I tell ya. MAAAOOOO WAHHHHH MAHHHHaaaa….Ahem, I am competitive by nature, its a gift, there is no denying it. So I use my years of voice training to …WAHAHAHAOOO BAOOOOOOMEOOOW MEOW…

This beautiful moment friends, goes on for quite some time. At some point my crying turns into uncontrollable laughter. The sad, sad story we were sharing turned into the funniest fucking moment of my life. AND THIS IS BEFORE THE DRUGS PEOPLE! She however, was not amused. She went silent. Later, Room 2 crazy lady. it was a pleasure. HAHAHA.

So non-bloodthirsty nurse comes in and mixes me up a frothy cocktail of grossness. It was straight up, gnarly. I sucked it back, channeling my college drinking days and I CAN’T FEEL MY MOUTH. Yes, she forgot to mention the numbness in my mouth that would happen with this shot. Clearly, she didn’t enjoy my whale talk as much as I did.

Follow blue line to x-rays. Follow blue line back to bed.

Pain, still so much pain. If I can’t handle this, child birth is not an option. I will order my children on eBay. Props to all you momma’s shitting out kids. Props Mom,

So the ex calls. I can’t talk. I’m trying to, but I sound like Leo DiCaprio from What’s Eating Gilbert Grape. FUCK. MY. LIFE. Or in my case, FEEEOWKK MWAI LIFEEE….Like actually.Where are the actually drugs! This numbness, the mouth shit does fuck all.

I am such a baby. There was a man with a corkscrew stuck in his head, IN HIS HEAD! The fucking thing didn’t even phase him. Whereas me, a 27 year old, single, semi-independent woman Is whining over a misunderstood tummy ache. WHAHHHH!!!

Doc comes in, injects me with wait for it…..morphine! And oh my if you haven’t had morphine, I encourage you to have a go. You haven’t lived until a doctor jabs you in the backside (now I know why hospital gowns don’t close at the back), with a big ass fucking needle. The needle hurts, but the morphine feels like candy. I can’t talk and now I can’t think for myself. Clearly, every man’s dream girl.

So at some point, sprawled out on the bed, face down in a star fish position, gown back flaps wide open the doc revisits me. Lets me know I’ve been out about half hour or so. He gives me the down low. (The Doctor’s down low may or may not be featured in a future blog. After all, I should probably keep some things a mystery from you folks.)  So yada yada, yadada….basically in one ear out the other. The Doc will have to invoice me, seriously I’m high on all your hospital candies, drooling and not even noticing that I am drooling and this is the moment you decide to tell me what is wrong with me. SO. NOT. IDEAL.

What a day it was folks. It will hopefully be a long time before I decide to visit the big H again. Hopefully, my friends will have cars, and I won’t need to call the ex. Or I could not be cheap and take an ambulance ride. BUT WHATEVER….Now, excuse me while, I instagram the hole in my back from the biggest needle ever.

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 tumblr_lw677pFqFG1qikj2so1_500if 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.)

 

Childhood Memoirs

Okay folks, I hate to admit this, I really do, but I am homesick. This usually happens once or twice a year, but it seems for some reason to hit me more often than usual. I don’t know if it’s because I am finally turning into a lady, or menopause is hitting me up at 26 years old (if it is the menopause thing, FML, legit).

I am a very family oriented person. As you guys know by now, my family is big, trust me bigger is better. ALWAYS BETTER. Having a big family however, makes your realize how much you miss everything in each family members life. For instance, when I left to venture out this way at 17 years old, my baby sister was 10. Now, she’s 19 years old, already finished a year of school and is legal. LEGAL!!!

It’s crazy looking back at all the memories I’ve shared with my family. So, well I dwell a little on missing my folks back home; let me share with you some childhood stories spent with the family. The best way to spend a childhood I say.

***

When I was little, I never really wore clothes. Now, I know what you are thinking; makes sense little native girl running naked with Imagemaybe just maybe a loin cloth wrapped around her waist. But no friends, this is not the case. Most days after a bath, I would wrap bandanas around me (yes, I know similar to a loin cloth). For no reason really. It wasn’t that I wanted to be a super hero, or a paper bag princess, or that I wanted to instill a stylish trend in my family. It was that I was a fucked up little girl with a terrible mushroom cut and had too big of an imagination to understand it. Forgot to mention, with my ever so stylish bandana swag I always wore my ruby reds. This photo my friends, has haunted me throughout my entire life.

***

My grandmother collects these Royal Doulton figurines. They were displayed all over the house. I memorized all their names and everything. One night when grandma went off to play bridge with her golden girls; myself and my two older sisters decided to pull out the doll house and play with grandma’s Royal Doultons. Which looking back was kind of useless since they were made of glass so we couldn’t move the bitches. But it was still pretty cool back then. I tell you we felt like rebels. Still haven’t told grandma. For that grandma I am truly sorry. Maybe.(Grandman would have done the same).

***

Our dishwasher would break all the time when I was a child. For awhile, we had to physically clean our dishes. PHYSICALLY CLEAN THEM….OH THE HORROR!!!

One night after dinner, my brother brought us all downstairs to see the new NINTENDO 64. He was playing while all four of my sisters and I watched, amazed. Mom, was upstairs and kept yelling what sounded to me like jiberish. NonE of us were paying attention really. Our focus was on Mario’s quest to save Princess Peach. So after awhile of mom squaking at us, she starts throwing the pots and pans out the front door. We noticed, shrugged it off. BIG MISTAKE!

OUT OF NOWHERE, LIKE A WILD BEAST RAGING!!!! Mom storms downstairs into our peaceful video game experience rips the NINTENDO 64 out from the cords, and throws the damn system outside. Honestly, I’ve never been so dramatized in all my video game experiences IMy brother lost all of his progress because he didn’t save before mom raped the poor system. I’ve been an avid video game saver ever since.

Anyways, long story short, mom throws everything outside because none of us did the dishes. Dishes have never been so clean since then.

***

Every summer we take a long 8 hour trek up to grandma’s in a little town called, Wiarton. From Ottawa to Wiarton, with 8 people snug in a Van, plus one dog my claustrophobia hit the roof. One time, after a hot and sweaty ride, with the smell of dog and B O in the damn vehicle, I was literally sticking my head out the tiny opening of the window just to survive. I looked like a stoned kitty licking the air to rid myself of dry mouth. When we were finally pulling up grandma’s long drive way, I took off my seat belt, practically standing in the van, so excited to get the hell out this hot box. However, my dad hit the breaks real hard, which made my dog fling back, butt first.

I still remember it so vividly like it was yesterday. My poor, finger. My poor, poor dog. You see, when my dad hit the breaks, I lunged forward and my dog lunged backward. (I’m trying to find a poetic way to say this, but yeah it’s just not happening). My finger went in my dog’s butt. End of story.

***

Oddly, I think I’m done with flashing back to childhood memories. Yeah, the butt-finger thing pretty much does it. Regardless, there is still no place like home.

A Sobering Revelation

Hey folks. Guess What! Tomorrow, will be the first day of something new (among other things I am sure). Ahem, what I mean to say is tomorrow will be the start of not drinking alcohol.

SAY-A-WHAT!

Now before you tell me to shut the front door, let me tell you why I am making this decision.

Firstly, no hangovers. After a night of heavy drinking I feel like shit, I don’t want to socialize, I don’t feel good, I shower 4 to 5 times in a day, constantly eating, dishing out the occasional and awkward apologies, my morning workout feels like Thor slammed a bitch (me being the bitch) with his hammer. Every time I am hung over all I want to do is float on water (sorry my bathtub doesn’t cut it.) I just want to smoke my peace pipe and pet my kitty. MEOW!

No alcohol, no hangovers.

More Money! Holler! Not that I spend wads of cash on firewater anyway, but it definitely saves a few bucks here and there. There is nothing like seeing a lot of greenbacks in my wallet. Plus I won’t be fucking myself over come time to pay bills and rent.

Health. It is obvious that with abstaining from weekend beer benders there are both short term and long term effects.

            Short term being no hangovers!

            Long term being: clearer skin, stronger organs, better body etc. etc. etc.

Clearer thoughts. I find the more I drink, not only the stupider I get, but I can’t think straight until them brewsky toxins leach their way out of my body. Honestly, sometimes I feel I revert back to my child-like-minded state and re-learning everything a new.

Happiness. Maybe and just maybe, I will be happier. I’ve been finding lately that whenever I drink, I can just loose myself in my hammered state and not give a fuck about anything. But despite that, it doesn’t beat a morning run, it is not as comforting as wrapping myself in warm laundry blankets from the dryer, not as refreshing as a hot bath, and not as cherished like the times I spend with my family.

Strengthening relationships: Lets face it, when I drink a lot, I get a tad flirty. Nothing is meant by it at all, but I would rather make obvious fuck ups in my monogamist relationship with my man while I’m sober. At least that way I know in my right and sober mind what I am doing. Not too mention sometimes alcohol just makes relationships toxic. I tell ya my I am drinking and my man is drinking sometimes we have the best of times, but mostly it’s arguing and fighting. Not healthy in anyway and definitely not worth it. So not worth it.

So lets see how this goes friends. Finding myself, without alcohol as a side-kick.

Awesome. This will be just awesome.

2014: Resolutions

It’s 2014 friends! Which means resolutions are to be made, some will last a couple weeks to a month (hey maybe even a year) and some are just a passing thought like a fart in the wind. SO! As per tradition of the coming year I have set myself some resolutions to be attempted, completed and mastered!

1) Swim more often. I hate the ocean, but love floating in water and I am sorry, but my bathtub just isn’t cutting it anymore. At least once a week would be ideal, but also owning my own pool would be ideal as well.

2) Teaching my cat to hi-five.

3) Always look for the good in others.Image 

4) Let go of the past.

5) Be more of a lady. (PFFF..HA! I crack myself up).

6) Go to more concerts.

7) Read more. Some books I am aiming to read are: Serena by Ron Rash, Wild by Cheryl Green, The Hunger Game (Series) by Suzanne Collins, The Fault In Our Stars by John Green, A Game of Thrones (Series) by George R.R. Martin

8) Be more awesome than last year.

9) Learn a new recipe. But perhaps I should learn how to cook. I have yet attempted to move from my microwave.

10) Drink more wine. I am more of a beer drinker myself, but my recent holiday feasting of red and wines was simple divine.

11) Being a creature of habit, I tend to stay with what I know. I know my honey lagers and cream ales! But this year I would seriously like to attempt one new beer a month.

12) Dance to one song a day. I tell ya, there is nothing like a great booty shake in the morning, noon and night!

13) Speaking of moves, I hereby, would like to play more board games, particularly TWISTER! 

14) By the game TWISTER.

15) Do more cursive writing.Image

16) Ummmm….I guess I could cuddle more.

17) Phone Grandma.

18) Finally decide on which gaming console is more amazing.

19) Purchase…underwear.

20) Become Batman.

2014! Here I come!