Waterproof Make Up is Overrated

Folks, waterproof make up is overrated. This past week has put it to the test, and it failed miserably. Alright, now I’ll fess up with how I know this.

Last year was very up and down for me, I had my good days, I had my bad days and towards the end of the year most of my days were good days. So good they were wonderful. I was branching out with different career opportunities, I wasn’t partying nearly as much, Barrie and I were meeting lots of canine friends, and my ‘not’ relationship was finding itself again.

But I don’t know what happened. It was like 2017 smacked the side of my head and said hey there little lady….new year, same you, you sad sack of shit…. (Insert sad/annoyed emoji). Since January, I’ve been nothing but overthinking, and feeling. And ya’ll know I strongly dislike the idea of feeling, having feelings, caring for things etc. And overthinking brings on anxiety, and anxiety brings on thoughts that may or may not be true, which brings on more anxiety because I don’t know whether they are or not, which brings on sadness and utter defeat. I lose.

I’m not keeping track but I’ve probably cried at least 3 to 4 times a day, everyday since the new year. In the morning I cry, on my way to work I cry (sometimes at work I cry), my drive from work I cry and in bed I cry. I cry, I cry, I cry, like a big baby. I can’t control it. I’ve cried so much I am surprised my tear ducts haven’t dried up. Part of me thinks all this waterworks stuff has to do with me not crying or even having actual feelings for years and years. I was ‘dead’ inside then, now I am alive and it is so not worth it. Not even in the least bit.

I don’t want to be awake. Mostly I don’t want to be awake when I am alone. It’s a sad place to be. Don’t be alarmed, this is not to say I don’t want to exist, but I would rather be sleeping, just get lost in some sort of Slumberland, where I am not a depressed individual. Instead, I am Cait The Lovely! Who rides a unicorn and has a cotton candy bed!!! Unfortunately reality doesn’t allow for such pleasures.

sadpandaLately I have been leaving my house early for work. Sometimes 2 to 3 hours before work. I leave early because I don’t want to be home. I then find a place to grab a coffee, which I may or may not drink, and I drive around. Driving used to make me feel better. In some truth it still does. But I cry folks, I cry and cry and cry and before I know it I look like a panda. Mascara and eyeliner down my face, perhaps I look more like a sad mime, a disgruntled Beetlejuice, Morticia Addams, one of the Kardashians. Fuck, I don’t know, what ever I look like, well I am sure there is a meme out there somewhere for it.

I’m losing myself friends, I’m drowning in tears that are surely falling for ridiculous reasons. I’m lost in all this sappy and mushy shit. Emotions are exhausting, feelings are suffocating, and when they are placed inside my used-to-be hollow self… … …well, maybe I just shouldn’t wear make up anymore.

Cait Interrupted

Hi friends,

Alas, where do I even begin…

Monday I was admitted into emergency. Now, in my mind absolutely no real emergency whatsoever. I say this because, for the last two days I was just indifferent. I felt empty, I felt like any feeling I ever felt was gone and that for the remainder of my so-called life I would always feel just this…just…desolate. Cait’s very own wasteland. A place that used to be bumping full of energy and smiles and happy-go-lucky type shit. Now it’s just nothing. An abandoned amusement park, no longer amusing.786e44a15f57dded1b6359cd0e6cfd32

This year has been quite the rollercoaster to say the least and fuck do I ever hate using that metaphor, but it is so true. Up and down, then stalls, then up and down, then some bitch loses her phone because she’s a fucking idiot for trying to take a selfie with a phone……UGH!!!!!!!!!!! This ride isn’t fun anymore.

I called my mom on Monday. I was sad. I often call mom when I am sad. I don’t mean too, and I hate to have her feel helpless because she isn’t here, but there are only few people I feel semi-okay/butnotreally/butitstheclosestIwillgettofeelingcomfortablewithsomeone.

If mom is busy, I call the ex. Now, before you guys go to any conclusions let me explain something to you. My ex and I have been broken up for two years now. In the beginning I would do my best not to call him in these moments, simply because I didn’t want him to feel used. I didn’t want him to feel like I only called him because for 8 years we were together and it was routine, it was comfort. However, he knows me. He knows I’m incredibly stubborn, he knows I hate feet, he knows the scars on my body (inside and out), he knows about my secret obsession with nutcrackers (shhhhh it’s a secret!). He just knows me. He perhaps, is my closest confidant.

On Monday, after being on the phone with my mom, I called the ex. We decided it was time to take me in. Where folks? TO THE LOONY BIN OF COURSE! Kidding! I get I’m crazy, but I am not quite girl interrupted yet. Hospital it is.

On the way to there, I was thinking two things: 1) This isn’t a real emergency? 2) So craving a Happy Meal…

We get there and it isn’t busy one bit. Thank gawd too. I would hate to have someone with a machete in their head or someone birthing a goat have to wait on me just because I am having a sad, sad day.

I was shocked. And I don’t know why I was so shocked, but when I got there everyone was so comforting. The nurses seem to genuinely care about my well being. They didn’t want me to leave, they didn’t want me to feel sadness anymore, they truly wanted to help me. So much in fact they bumped me up before a sick baby. Sorry sick baby, but Cait’s a baby too….

They brought me in to see a psychoanalyst. I forget her name, but she was quite lovely. They also brought in a general physician.I was broken friends. I couldn’t stop feeling sad, I couldn’t stop crying. How did I let it get to this point? ME! Cait the mother fucking great, the toughest cookie in town was crumbling.

I talked to ….lets call her Miss Lovely (psychoanalyst). She truly was lovely. She seemed to have compassion for me, she wanted to understand, she genuinely was listening to all my words and ramblings. She asked me questions, upon questions, but for once I didn’t mind. She asked me about my drug use, I was honest. About my diet, I was honest, about any past or present relationships and in that I tried not to share. I tried not to be honest, but in the end she knew the whole story.

Miss Lovely, then talked to the ex. Since he knows me best, sometimes I think better than I know myself. They both came in a short time later.

I will now be going to an outpatient treatment center. Just to have someone to talk to once 3a51a-depressiontwo8-2in awhile. Someone who can hopefully help me sort out my shit. Someone who is either willing or at least paid to listen to my stories (and I got lots of them stories).

It was funny, on the drive home, the ex turn towards me and… Miss Lovely was so fuck foxing, I should got her number….ugh!!!!! BOYS!!! We had a laughed. He dropped me off, helped cleaned my place a bit, tucked both Bear and I into bed and then it was Tuesday. A new day, still a sad one, but then it’ll be Wednesday, then Thursday, and if it’s true what They say (who ever They are), every day gets better. And I’ve finally taken steps to get better myself.

The Blahs

My friends,

How are all of you today? I must admit, I, myself am not doing so well. Those of you who have read my stories, know very well of my struggles with depression. It’s a love hate relationship I must admit. Depression loves me, and I hate it so. Some days are good, some days are bad, some days are just okay, and some days are just…some days, I guess.

I strongly dislike opening up about my feelings. I strongly dislike showcasing my weakness. I strongly dislike being vulnerable. And alas, I strongly dislike sitting in the shit and feeling the blahs. I hate depression so.

Friends, I want to open up a bit. Just a little. I want to share what I go through on a not so good day. I want to share, because there are so many misconceptions about depression. It truly is one of those things, that you couldn’t possibly understand until you are there, until you and sadness are hand in hand, until depression keeps poking at you, until melancholy is the only shirt that wears you. Even at that, those who have gone through this funk or are currently battling the blahs, well, lets just say every story is different.

When I first was diagnosed with depression I was in both denial and acceptance. Make sense, I thought. I had gotten out of a long term relationship, I lost my grandma, I lost my best friend, I lost cousins, I was homesick, and not where I thought I would be in life. I was in denial to my diagnoses because, I didn’t want people to look at me differently. I am one strong, mother fucking tough cookie, and for some Doc to come in spend 10 minutes with me, and send me on the way with one fucking terrible symptom and loads of fun prescriptions, well…fuck.

So it has been a roller coaster. This, my friends, is not a ride I can easily get off. I can’t just snap my fingers and not be depressed anymore. (Although I wish this were the case). It’s a bummer, I know.

Alas, lets turn my feelings on.

On a not so good day I go through…

  • I cry. Here is the thing. I never cry. But on these days, I just can’t help myself. I cry because of all these feelings and thoughts that run through my heads. I will admit though, I do cry quite beautifully. I have often thought of taking a selfie and instragaming the shit out of it with whispers of ‘so sad today’, ‘hard knock’, ‘#loveme’.
  • I create scenarios in my head. Some are reasonable like; ‘what if there is a zombie apocalypse and no one wants to save me, and then I realize that this scenario is not realistic at all and that none of the scenarios are reasonable. NONE OF THEM! And then I start panicking and then…
  • ANXIETY. I get so anxious about everything. I will constantly text or call people who are dear to me, people who I love and care for, AND when they don’t text back or take too long to respond, I keep texting and calling AND start crying because they don’t love me anymore, AND all these thoughts keep building AND stacking AND everything is closing in AND my chest begins to hurt, AND my heart begins to hurt, AND I can’t breathe and all I want is to….

End it.

  • I lose control and then all of a sudden it stops. (but not really). You see friends, I get so worked up inside my head, I can’t get a grip on anything. My footing is lost, and it’s not that I have fallen, it is that I am falling, and falling and I keep falling.

This isn’t fun for me. And although dejection is enjoying every fucking minute of my sadness, I am not.

  • I get upset with myself. I beat myself up. I self sabotage. I don’t mean too. At least I don’t think I do, but I don’t know much of anything anymore.

Recently, I tried opening up to another. He was kind, genuine, and wonderful. I loved him. But as I opened up more about my struggle with being a sad sack of shit, it seemed to push him further away. Although he was quite insightful, seemed to understand and told me of his stories with similar battles, it must of not been what he wanted in someone else. He fell further back, and I fell further down. I thought He doesn’t love me anymore, but misery is company and loves me so.

  • I get desperate. (Yup, pretty much just sums that up.
  • I shut off. I don’t want to talk to anyone. Friends and family will call, I won’t pick up, they’ll message, I won’t answer. I have great people in my life. I really do. But I am not there for them anymore. I guess I just can’t be bothered.
  • I tell myself, I’m too tired for this…

It’s hard. I work at a job where we are told a smile is part of our uniform. {Side Note: Lamest fucking slogan EVER!} My smile, is just a facade. Seriously friends, it hurts to fake smile for fucking 8 hours. Sucks even more once you begin to loathe the place you work.

  • I tell myself I am Batman. But then I get sad because I realize I am not Batman. Not even close, not even 1%. I’m just me. A soon to be 30 year old, spinster, who is lonely as fuck.

Loneliness is a shitty feeling. The other day I had a good friend over. He and I had our traditional Sunday Night Special. We watched a movie and ordered in. I was lonely the entire time. Not because he wasn’t good company, but because I knew after the movie, he would go home. I would be left here, alone.

Going to bed at night is probably the hardest for me. For a little while, I had someone who slept over quite often. Although we were intimate, it was the cuddles and sleeping side by side I really enjoyed. It was peaceful. I felt at peace with myself.

When he wasn’t there I would try to have sleepovers with other men. It wasn’t the same. The cuddles were different, the intent behind the cuddles was different. There was no comfort. I wasn’t at peace with myself.

On a not so good day, sleeping aides help.

Friends, I am sad. This whole ordeal, this funk I am in, these blahs I am battling are, well … I feel as though it is breaking my heart. Maybe it’s because my heart has cracked recently, maybe not…but I am so sad.

  • I look in the mirror. I realize, I am not the girl my parents raised me to be. I realize I am not the person my grandma would be proud of. I realize I am a shitty, terrible, selfish cunt and I shouldn’t even be here. I shouldn’t be a functioning human being. I shouldn’t exist. I didn’t choose to be born…why the fuck am I still here?

My thoughts get darker.

Suicide is something that I am familiar with. I’ve lost family members and friends to this. Before, I used to think, how selfish. Don’t these people know who they are hurting? But then I realized something. Once you get into the world of melancholia, you get to a point where one option arises. And although there are other options out there, the longer you are entrapped by that world, the more that option is the only choice for you. At least this is how your mind sees it. I will admit, I have thought of that. I have yet to get to that point to just choose that. But that thought is always there.

  • I get homesick.

My entire family is back in Ontario. Back in a place they call their home. I have nieces and nephews, who hardly know me, some I haven’t meant. I see photos and videos on Facebook of ‘family times’. And well, it’s just a ray of sunshine over there.

I haven’t seen my family in just under 2 years. Although they constantly reach out and ask me to come visit. It just isn’t that easy for me. In fact, most times it makes me feel terrible. I feel bad I can’t be there. Sometimes I get annoyed with them and I want them to stop. My life is out here, I want to be out here, I want to have a family out here in this beautiful city, why make me feel guilty about leaving yours!?!

  • DRUGS!

Drugs don’t help. In the beginning of this phase, I was heavily medicated. Prozac, Zoloft, Paxil, Lexapro, Doxepin, you name it, I had it. Basically, in the unlikely scenario of a zombie apocalypse happening, I could dope a whole city up on happy pills and suddenly zombies become fun!!!

Before the summer, the Doc, decided to stop it all. Stop all my fun stuff. Stop me not feeling. (I like not feeling.) 

Introducing, coke! No, I am not referring to Santa’s favourite beverage. I’m referring to the the lil’ sniff’sniff ya know… My whole summer was spent snorting cocaine. I won’t lie I enjoyed it. It made me more social. I was euphoric, I felt on top of the world, but I tell ya, coming of that stuff is the worst feeling. Killing kittens would be easier. Coming off this high and getting smacked with reality I was sad, I was in agony, I hated my life, my anxiety was full throttle and I couldn’t fucking sleep. I didn’t want to be awake a feel.

After the summer, I decided no more doing lines off some whores ass crack {Side Note: My coffee table is such a whore). Just in time for the Doc to load me back up again, this time with Marplan and Celexa. (I haven’t touched these guys yet).

Friends, it’s really hard. Like I said, I am one tough motherfucking cookie, but fuck. I know this too shall pass. I know at some point I will get to my happy place, but right now, its really fucking hard. I’m down in the dumps, battling the blahs, but I will see you guys on the other side.

This may have not been a good day for me. But I know there will be a good day eventually.

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.

Swipe Left

Alright, folks. I must, MUST tell you all about a date I had recently. As you guys know by now I am single and although I am not quite ready to fla-mingle and get into another relationship, I’ve been hitting up the dating scene. I mean fuck, why not….free dinner, free movie….right?

Now, I am not really one for dates. Perhaps it has to do with never really going on one. My last relationship lasted eight years, and I can’t even remember us going on a date ever. Any who, so ya dating scene, is so not mine, but hey, it’s 2016, gotta stretch out a bit and try new things.

Lets get to the story now.

So I knew this guy, lets call him Bruce. Now, that is so not his name at all, but I always thought he looks like a Bruce. I always pictured Bruce’s as big burly men, slightly toned, but not enough to be a juice head. Bruces should be tall, polite, and mysterious. They generally have big foreheads, short brunette hair and only wears glasses to read.

So Bruce and I have known each other for years. In fact, he was one of the first people I met when I moved out here back in ’05. We went to the same university, and for the first two years in school we were involved in each other’s social circle. Eventually, he left to do a field study across the world. We kept in touch through emails, Facebook and even writing letters. (YASSS, it’s true, I still write letters.) 

When he came back a year later, we didn’t really see too much of each other. We had different majors, I made new friends, and he made new friends. We just drifted apart.Don’t worry friends, it’s not a sad drift. We just didn’t really have much in common anymore.

So flash forward to 2016.

I was getting fitted for a costume for this ‘Masquerade’ scene for a terrible, terrible movie. (Hint: 50 shades of terrible). While the designer was sewing me into a gigantic gown, I noticed a Bruce size man across from me. He was being attended by another lady. This Bruce size man, was wearing a mask and a tuxedo. (OH so mysteri-o-so). Not going to lie, I was slightly turned on.

To my surprise this Bruce size man was having the time of his life. He was smiling, chatting up the costume fitter and then he started to sing. Wait for it……When the moon…..is in the southern sky….and Jupiter aligns with Mars……

I couldn’t help but have a laugh. Just a little. So as he is singing, and as I am watching this Bruce size man do so, I belt out…. Age of Aquarius! Hey, can you blame me. This lady had been sewing me into this gown for what felt like hours, and this Bruce size man was my only form of entertainment. On top of that, I wanted to bang him.

He looked up at me. He smiled. Looked down. Then back up. Then back down. And did this rrepeatedly for a time. What a fucking wierdo…..Then he looks back up one more time….and…..Caitlin Ann! It is you? What the fuck is this man going on about. Of course it’s me, it’s been me since ’87. But who the fuck is this dude? Caitlin Ann, it’s me, Bruce. SFU? Resident buddies? Book club? HOLY FUCKBALLS! Took me a second to realize it was him. It’s the mask, man. Sorry it’s been too long my friend. {Side note: I never belonged to the book club officially, I just went for the food.}

Now I am all for conversation. I am also all for shooting the shit with strangers. But I am also for this lady to stop sewing me in this gown, and for this semi- awkward conversation to be over.Luckily it was. His fitting was done. FUCK MY LIFE! Now, I’m going to be on set with this fucker…Let me just clarify some things here. He’s a nice guy, I like him, but I wasn’t looking forward to making up small talk with an old friend. On top of that, my want to tap his ass, lasted a span of seconds and I was over it.

So yadadada…yadada….get on set…..shit happens…..yadada yadada….asks me on a date…..yada yada yadada….

Flash forward to the date.

Havanas on Commercial (Already, Bruce is getting points.) I LOVE HAVANAS. However, he loses points when I have to meet him there, because he still rides a bicycle.(Yay, for being environmentally friendly, but nay for being a pain in the ass for pedestrians and drivers everywhere).

So I arrived late, which is incredibly unlike me. I am usually the first bitch on the scene, but I wanted Bruce to know, that I have changed. That I am now, a woman, no longer a girl. No longer, Caitlin Ann but, Cait. 

Hes there already. Of course he is.

He greets me. Now, I’ve should have known it in this moment that this wasn’t going to be worthwhile. He walks over, arms wide open, gives me a hug and… wet willies my ear. MY FUCKING EAR. DUH FUCK?! I haven’t been wet willied since Full House fucking ended. I seriously felt violated. On top of his gross nasty ass fingers, being inside my ear, I haven’t cleaned my ears in months. Ugh…..

Moving on.

We get a table. He pulls out a chair as though it is for me and then proceeds to sit on the chair himself. He then laughs. DUH FUCK? Is this kid playing with me. Who the fuck are you? We are damn near thirty and so far you finger banged my ear, and teased me with a chair. So I quickly order myself a scotch (two of them, both doubles). 

So we for the most part we were just catching up. But he was constantly interrupting everything I was saying. LIKE EVERYTHING. I’m all for two sided conversations, ya know. I don’t want to hear my voice all the time, but I also don’t want to hear someone else’s cutting me off. At some point the conversation was becoming one sided. In fact, Bruce compiled all his stories of the last 9 years, we haven’t seen each other. Get this, Bruce pulls out a fucking piece of paper, that had a list of what he wanted to cover. NO JOKE! He opened it up and went down the list. I heard everything, from his time in Austrailia, his threesome in New Orleans, his Masters Degree, the time he stole a gerbil from a pet store and sold it too his coke dealer, toilet papering his ex’s house, the new book club he’s the Chairman of, his Halloween costume of every year since and the list goes on and on and fucking on…..Friends, this was so exhausting. I tried not to listen, but killing kittens would have been easier.

Alas, now we are eating. Maybe with food in his mouth, I can enjoy my meal. Nope! Not even close. He talked about where he is now in his life. How much money he has, all the people he knows, where he lives now…So I ordered myself a couple more scotches (singles this time, I have to drive after all).

By the time the bill came, Mr.Money Bags, has forgotten his wallet. (Mic Drop). I was actually shocked. I grab the bill and just as I am about to grab my card, he orders himself another beer. As much as I wanted to bounce ASAP I wasn’t going to stiff the server. I paid.

Ladies and gentlemen! PRIZE FOR THE DOUCHIEST OF DOUCHE BAGS, GOES TO THIS FUCKWAD RIGHT HERE!

So bills paid, we walk out together, asks me to come over. I decline. I let him know it was ‘interesting’ catching up and I wished him all best and B lined for my car.

How the fuck did I think going on a date with this lad would be fun?I mean we drifted apart years ago, why would I even entertain rekindling an old friendship. Honestly, what the fuck was I thinking. Not a great date. Not by any means.

Definitely swipe left for this fuck, GEEZE!

 

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!

Times Are Tough

So here is a little secret friends, or perhaps it’s not a secret but something that has always been spitting up lately. I am going through another tough time, and yet my tough time is nothing compared to the issues that go on in third world countries, it is not as devastating as the fire’s in Fort McMurray, I am not homeless, nor poor, I am (for the most part) in good health, have great friends, and I am not nearly as traumatized as others with the whole HODOR/HOLD THE DOOR phenomenon.

My problem friends, is as social as I can be, I crave my alone time. As happy as I may seem I am very sad. Some days I wake up and just want to go back to sleep, some days I wake up and I am the happiest I can be and sometimes I just want to end it all. I loathe waking up because I’ll never know how I’ll feel. The feelings I like, are ‘notfeelings’, numbness, indifference etc, etc.

I have not been clinically diagnosed with ‘Depression’. In fact, I’ve avoided going to the docs just for this reason. I hate talking to people, I hate showing weakness, I hate crying, and I hate to admit that I am really just a sad, sad sac of shit, stewing in absolute and utter sadness {howmanytimescaniusesadinasentence}. I don’t want to be labelled, I don’t want to be judged, I just want to either be or to either not.

***

Beginning of this year, I received a letter from seventeen year old Caitlin. (True story). The letter said something along the lines of: If you are not rich and famous now YOU ARE A LOSER! You are probably serving tables and being a wait….for….it…..LOSER! Then it was followed by some cheesy song lyrics of a song I don’t even remember. Fack!! I was/am such a bitch to myself. Seriously, who writes a fucking letter to them self only to tear them down! Uncool seventeen year old Caitlin, uncool. Now, the kicker in all this is: I AM WAITING FUCKING TABLES!!!!! I work five nights a week serving!!!! Would you like another beverage,sir? How is the food tasting? Oh, you didn’t enjoy your food and when I went to do a quality check you said everything was tasting okay and now you don’t want to FUCKING TIP!? Another beer, coming right up, or how about a tall glass of SHUT THE FUCK UP AND FUCK OFF! My smile is wearing thing fuckers!!! Now, having said all that, I enjoy my job. It also allows me  the opportunities to work in shitty low budget films and cheap modelling gigs, but hey every little step counts towards something, right?

***

One thing I pride myself on is that I am able to crack wise about myself. I make ‘two-finger diet’ jokes about my history and somewhat present love affair with bulimia, I joke about the days I am driving to work crying my eyes out, I joke about miscarriages and abortions and not being able to have kids. This is what I do, I make jokes. But sometimes it’s hard to have only myself as a scapegoat.

***

So lets get back to the start.

Last year was a rough year for me. Now, I won’t go into too much detail there, but in short, some shit happened, I was sad, I had anxiety, Doc prescribed me a mixture of potions and pills and off I was into the Netherworld. Summer full of nothing, but rainbows, unicorns and David Bowie’s Goblin King’s bulge.1200

At some point, the rainbows and unicorns disappeared and Bowie’s bulge started to resemble Danny DiVito. I realized, fuck this Cait, you are a big girl, pussy up and do this on your own. No drugs.

So in the fall, I went off completely against Docs orders. (I know, I am such a rebel).

It sucked at first, but day by day, I was slowly finding myself.  I socialized more often, I went to the gym (sometimes seven days a week), I made an effort to be a real person. It was actually quite exciting. It’s like when you first masturbate or ‘discover yourself’, you just want to keep doing it over and over and over and over and over….

Sure, I had bad days, but I would cope with walking my dog or watching my daily dosage of Dr.Phil. I found things to do,to occupy myself.

So…..

At some point this year, my progress into becoming a real person again, was retrograding.

  • I was/am drinking quite often (a girl with three years of sobriety),
  • Hated/hate being at home, so usually a drive or a stop at the pub was my go to,
  • The should’ves, would’ves, could’ves started creeping back into my life,
  • My family back home seemed like they were/are growing without me,
  • I am working 24/7,
  • I am homesick
  • I am lonely
  • I am falling back into a sad, sad, place and all I want to see are rainbows and unicorns and David Bowie’s bulge all over again!

New prescription-complete.

Diagnosis-self-diagnosis.

Anywho, there is more I care to say, but this medication are making the little gnomes on my computer angry and I am pretty sure my titties are lactating….whattheactualfuck!

funny-side-effects-to-medication