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. e551991c8f7d806c962b0c8069cb96f2Be 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. e14cd95a68c4bbe95d829d6b48715722 (1)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 26POP-master768way. 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!

I Got Answers!

You got questions, folks, well I got answers. No more asking Jeeves, when you can ask, yours truly. Well, okay this little bloggy blog is obviously more about me and not about why pluto isn’t a planet anymore, or why Trump is an asshole(but seriously if you don’t know the answer to that one….stop sniffing paint cans, friends) , AND hey I haven’t written in quite sometime and I feel we need to have another get to know you sesh, by you friendlies getting to know me. Think of it as the touchy feely without the touchy feely.

Lets roll.

What is the best feeling in your world? Letting out a steaming hot pee after drinking Americano’s all day and secretly allowing my sweet anal air whispers to be released after holding them all shift.

What is the first thing you do in the morning? Wake up.

How old are the oldest pair of shoes you own? 11 years folks! I know impressive, right? I got my mukluks from my mom in ’05 and still rock them to this very day. Although they certainly have seen better days and may not have a sole on them, but they are my little lost boy shoes, that I will keep FOR-EV-ER!

What is a weird attribute that you have? I name all my inanimate objects. For example: to grab some food I open  the Mr. Cocoa and for example right now, I am typing this on my Polly whiles sitting on a Ralph. I, however would not describe this as weird as much as I would describe it as unique.

What is/was your favourite Saturday morning cartoon growing up? Gargoyles.

What is your biggest regret? Aside from not taking a whiff of Amy Adams, beautiful locks on set, it would be buying the Backstreet Boys Greatest Hits…CD. Yeah, I don’t want to talk about it…but I will say this. I was depressed, shopping away my problems and in that weak, weak moment I thought they could show me the meaning of being lonely. Instead they should me the meaning of being a loser. Capital L on that too.

What turns you on, spiritually, emotionally, creatively? That’s an intense question. And I have an intense answer. NOTHING! Only joshing, folks. Obi wan-kenobi turns me on, plus he and I are on first name basis now, aren’t we Ben?

Do you have any Phobias? Yes, I do. SMALL ROUND THINGS. They gross me the fuck out. Marbles can die, Maltesers can die, don’t even get me started on peas and cherries. So you are probably thinking…what the fucking, mother fuck, fuck is this girls problem? Its a textile thing really. The feeling of these things in my hands makes me want to cut my hand off and donate it to the Salvation Army. Why? Because nobody fucking wants that shit.

What is one thing you seriously despise? Well, I will give you two. 1) Lines in journals. I absolutely can not toleratethem. Why? Well, I am a creative spirit and although I can colour in the lines on pictures, writing on lines/in between lines/beside lines/or whateverthefuck is not my thing. My writing/the chicken scratch that it is needs to be not restricted. It needs to flow up and down and in circles and spirals and whatever it chooses to do.  Honestly,   my journals look like I had an epileptic seizure trying to spell fu–_@#$%70958h3rck. 2) Would be questions.

What is a word you dislike? Egg. The way it sounds, the muscles in my mouth I have to use to say, how it is spelled. Everything about it really. Did you know all through public school I thought Freddie Mercury died of eggs. Yeah, perhaps that is where my first dislike of the word came from. Eggs, killed a musical, talented, prick. That and Humpty Dumpty is a shit head.

Worst roommate you every had? EV-ER-Y SINGLE ONE! Including my cat, she’s an asshole. (xoxo Olive.)

Is there anything you will not do under any circumstance? RED DRAGONS.

What is the worst pet you ever owned? Caterpillars, fucking caterpillar. What a waste of containers that was.

What is the hardest thing you ever done? MATH! Is that an answer? I am going to use it as one anyways.

What is something you would like to forget? The time I poured my ‘heart; out to my ex  after he pick me up on Halloween. Picture this: Cait, high and druSKhH1Fg1hF-8nk, crying, in a skunk costume, saying to my ex man, You don’t love me anymore.!!! Ugh so gross. I just grossed myself out right there. I hate when I get the feels, and say stupid shit. But my costume was dope and although I lost best costume to the Glitter Fairy Queen, I still had a great night. And he deserved to win anyways.

WELL! There you have it folks, short and sweet just like me! Sure, this one was a quickie but hopefully you left a little more satisfied knowing just a little more about me.

Until next time….

 

Money, Puppies and Chewbacca Cries For Help!

I went to bed pretty darn late last night. Now, for me late is 9:30 pm, 11:30 if I take my noon nap. Anyways, so I was up until about 1 am. Two girlfriends and I cried our eyes out for all different reasons. No feel good cries either. Sometimes I hate having ovaries, and feelings, and girlfriends and eyes that aren’t really crying just…..sweating it out.

ANYWAYS.

I went to bed late, but woke up butt-fuck early. I simply couldn’t sleep. I tossed and turned and finally around 6 am I went to take a leak and couldn’t go back to my sweet, sweet, uncomfortable slumber land. I have a head ache, I’m officially/unofficially off my medications, my heart is racing, I’m sweating and just have a not-so-good feeling.

FLASH FORWARD …

I am in my Sunday best (even though it is Wednesday). My Sunday best is comprised of sweats and moccasins.I haven’t had my coffee, my hair is not brushed and my make up still on from last night looks like a sad sad panda.sadpanda_large

I am waiting outside of the TD Bank. As soon as the doors open I burst through like a child running away from Disneyland. I head up to the first bank teller I see and completely unload.

You see folks, last night at around 11:30 pm I went to the bank to deposit my hard earned mula. Now, it may seem odd that a young lady like myself is out depositing funds this late. But that is the way I roll/ I usually work nights so after each shift I drive to the bank closest to the homestead and deposit money. It ranges from xx amount to xxxx amount. So last night, after a busy night of work I deposit a significant amount of x’s into my account. The issue here is as soon as I put the money in the machine it read “Temporarily out of service” No joke. My wad of coinage closed the bitch down. No receipt, no money back and checking on my handy mobile banking app it showed no money whatsoever had been deposited. ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME!!!!! Clearly the little munchkin behind the machine had other ideas and decided to eat up my wad of green. SEE YA LATER!!!

So this is why I am here stroking out at the bank teller. I’m pleading my case, my ovaries are taking over and the waterworks start streaming down my face. Not only that, but the bank teller is pretty cute, and as I mentioned before I am not the most graceful of criers. I sound like Chewbacca rubbing one out. (So not lady like).

So the bank teller informs me that this stuff happens all the time and that I am not the first. Well, that is just fucking dandy, good to know my money is entrusted into this bank, really. It would have been nice to know the odds, ya know see the stats of how many people have their hard earned money taken away by these dirty machines. (Just throwing this out there…built by Jews?) 

I am also informed that they filled out an ‘investigation’ form for me. Well, fuck. So will we be expecting Horatio Caine or the Scooby Doo Clan waltzing in here to solve the mystery. By the way….THERE IS NO FUCKING MYSTERY!!NOT AT ALL!! I DEPOSITED MY MONEY, YOUR MACHINE TOOK MY MONEY, NOW I DON’T HAVE THAT MONEY!!! MYSTERY SOLVED! I basically paid the bank to rob me.

Okay, so form filled out. I am then told it can take anywhere from 1 to 2 weeks. WHAT. THE FUCK. I am not waiting two weeks for my money, this is why I came in late the night previous, so I could have it straight away. If I knew I would have to wait that long I would have kept the bills rolled up in my tube socks. (Side note: I always have money on me. I have bills behind mirrors, in books, under my pillows, in my record player and tube socks apparently…I once found 200$ in a fanny pack I had boxed up to give to the Salvation Army, but last minute decided to keep my fanny pack. Thank goodness too. 200$ well spent at the casino playing slots….JUST KIDDING…I don’t play slots).

Crying, sad panda getting sadder, I’m spewing my poetics about their dumbass machine. I’m HERALDING my advice and apparently the bank strongly dislikes advice.

FLASH FORWARD

Nap time at home. You see, whenever I am upset, stressed or having feelings I pass the time by konking out. Seriously, who wants to be awake and feel the shittiness that is life. So to add to this deep shit that I am soaking up, I get a phone call from the ex asking if I had taken Plum.

Just to clear things up, when the ex and I were together we were a family of five. Him, myself, Olive our maniac of a kitty, 10956634_10100468573986933_1848671186757172107_nBarrie St. Bernard and his little sister Plum. When we broke up I took Olive and Barrie St.Bernard while he left with his dignity and lil Plum and possibly a cactus.

So I get this call that Plum is missing. She wasn’t at his homestead. She must have gotten out and is going on her own little adventure. My heart just sank. Suddenly, everything I was so worked up about prior to, didn’t matter anymore. My lil baby was missing and the last thing I wanted was to see Plum’s mug on a milk carton or worse.

Barrie St.Bernard and I bust into Robin (our beautiful Jeep) and hit the road. At times like this you kind of wish throwing banana’s peels at cars was not only legal, but actually worked. So as we are flying down the highway, the ex calls and informs me that Plum has been found and she is in Juvi/the pound. Thank goodness, she is safe.

So I meet the ex and his mama at the Animal Shelter. A few hundred dollars later they bail her out of jail and also licensed her. Apparently, Plum has been an illegal alien in British Columbia for the past 6 months. Oops… I ask too take Plum for a day or so, which the ex agrees too. Even though she doesn’t live with me anymore the thought of anything happening to her kills me and I just need to hold her a little closer today.

FLASH FORWARD.

At home, with my puppies. My head ache is fading. I have a bottle of wine and I’m watching the pups play with one another in the backyard. Sure, as soon as Plum was found all my thoughts of the whole bank issue was swarming in my head. But in moments like this, these things are rather medial. It is just money in the end, and it will work it’s way out. Plum is my family and I could have lost her today, but I didn’t and I would rather my family, than money.

12042741_10100541678479943_1832850378390910259_n

Little Signs

I haven’t experienced much death in my life. In fact, in my 27 years I can easily say a handful. The first for me was just over a year ago. She was my best friend. After Lisa’s passing, I tried to prepare my heart for the future. I tried to prepare myself, knowing that a young and beautiful woman had passed, and there are more people who are in my life with such importance who will also pass. One day. Maybe not now, but possibly soon.

This past June as few of you know, I, along with my family had lost an absolutely wonderful and genuine person. My grandma. I could spend hours describing how magnificent she was. But, and perhaps this is the most magnificent of all her aspects; she was my soul-mate.

I will admit I haven’t full grieved her death. In fact, in the last two years I have fully grieved any death. Sure, I have moments where I am looking at photos, or a I pull out a random object that brings on the waterworks. But in all essence, I haven’t full opened myself to feeling the sadness. Lets face it, no body wants to feel that way.

When I was younger, I wrote poetry like a mad woman. Limericks to odes and all of the above. For every birthday and Christmas gift I wrote a poem. I used to write my grandma tons and tons of poems. And she in return read them, saved them, and gave me more poetry books to get lost in. At a young age I was surrounded  by Oscar, Edgar, Ogden…

My first published piece was in a Canadian Anthology of Verse Island Skies. She bought a copy, asked for my autograph and kept it on her mantle filled with family portraits.

I haven’t written any poetry in quite sometime.

On my flight from Vancouver headed to little town Wiarton, I wrote a poem. It was simple, it came so easy as I was writing it, it was as though someone had gotten a hold of my finger tips and my heart and wrote it for me. And so, I will share it. It’s not meant to be critiqued. It’s not meant to be judged. It’s not even meant to be for just me. It’s just simple meant to be.

I know I will see you again,

in another form, another place.

I have noticed that you left messages for me.

Little signs that I can trace.

The daisies bloomed nearly everywhere,

Popping up throughout the town.

It is these little things that let me know….

You haven’t left me yet, and that you, are still around.

The monarch have made their way…

to your house for company.

I greeted them with open arms,

just as you always did with me.

As I walked into your house,

I was surrounded by familiar faces.

By aunties, uncles, sisters, brothers, cousins, fathers, mothers…

And you, my grandma too.

For my heart is where your place is.

It is hard to imagine a life without you,

physically here. It is hard to comprehend.

But I love you, I love the mystery of your messages.

Dear Grandma, Until we meet again.

Love,

Caitlin Ann

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.

#Single

First off, I CHOSE TO BE SINGLE! After a seven year relationship that probably lasted two years longer than it should have, I finally stopped the procrastination and made a choice. TO. BE. SINGLE. Although a rather scary thought after being in a relationship for eons I took the plunge! It was and still is the best choice for me. At least for now.

OKAY, now that that is out of the way.While being a single lady, I’ve realized quite a few things about myself.

Such as:

  • I’ve resorted to climbing on counters to get to the top shelves. I haven’t done this in quite some time. Basically, I need a kitchen built for gnomes.
  • Zippers on the back of dresses will be the death of me. Seriously, I literally have to stretch and work up to doing up my zippers. This usually ends up with me asking thy neighbour to help a sista out. They have since blocked my phone calls and have posted neighbourhood watch signs all over the street.
  • I sleep easier. Granted I have two massive dogs that are the biggest cuddle bugs you could ever have. Makes the slumber more cozy.
  • I’m not as lonely as I thought I would be.  Sure I have moments where loneliness kicks in. Especially in the beginning, I thought I was the loneliest ‘sac de shit’. But it does get easier, every day gets better. Slowly, but surely.
  • I don’t feel as guilty masturbating. But i will say my hand may now have carpal tunnel (not so sure how I feel about that). This also reminds me that my booty call list is no longer applicable to me. Half are married, crazy and don’t have pagers anymore.
  • I’ve gained more of my independence back. Its super empowering and makes me feel like a real person.
  • No one is there to judge me for all the shitty shows I watch. And I watch some pretty questionable shows. My cat however, judges me, but that is just in everything I do.
  •  I drink more water. I don’t know if that has to do with me being single or the UTI I had a month ago.
  • The most action I’ve had in the last few months is someone calling me while my phone is in my pocket on vibrate. I never pick up. 079b84c331d6dbc7bf2e053a4fbc87a3
  • I don’t feel guilty for hanging out with my friends and coworkers.
  • I can cook whatever I want and not be bitched out for the crap I eat, Hey! I love my KD Tuesdays okay.
  • No arguments over video game time. Video game time is my time, all the time.
  • I don’t have to smell anybody else’s farts.
  • The only ego I need to stroke is now my own. I am so proud of you, Cait!
  • The only arguments I have are with me, myself and I. Usually, we are all on the same side.
  • Perhaps, the most beneficial aspect of being single for me is working on myself. WHO WOULD HAVE THOUGHT!!

I’m sure when I’m a 40 year old spinster my views may change a little, but thus far being single is A O K with 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 6th anniversary with my man was forgotten. La Fin.ac48f32f3daca5a9f9eb4d8686938ff2
  • 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:…..even-god-wont-save-you-worst-bad-childrens-book-vintage
  • 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.