Twice the taste, No Calories

Alrighty friendlies, I’ve been feeling a little deep lately. I know, I know, it’s very unlike me to get all emo and shit, but can you blame, I am a woman nearing her 30’s, with ovaries that cry once  a month. Seriously, if it were up to me I would rather have no feelings and punch my ovaries in the fucking face, but alas, I shall not.

This year, I have been slowly unraveling into one of two things: 1) A Crazy Person 2) An Open Book. Fuck, perhaps both man. I mean for one, my whole family is crazy so it is about time the cray cray bug bites me, and well, I have always been someone who is quite open, but very careful will what I choose to share with others.

So today, I will share a couple things that have been floating around in this big head of mine.

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In highschool (fuck 11 years ago now?) I was a little more roly poly. In my family I was the ‘fat one’. I would be hounded by my siblings with fat jokes. Now here is the thing, I wasn’t by any means overweight. I was thick sure, but I played tons of sports and was a dancer.

In grade 9, I decided that the only time I’ll eat food was right after school and right after dance class (which usually ended around 10pm). I never, ate breakfast, as it always made me sick in the wee hours of the morning.This practice of mine was painful. I would be starving all through school, and as soon I was home I would eat, and eat and eat, as much as humanly possible and then head to ballet class. Now, to put this in perspective, school started around 8:45, ended around 3pm and my dance classes would start at around 4:15. So stupid Caitlin, would be cramming in any fucking thing she could in the span of 1 hour; Chips, sandwiches, KD, fruit, you name it!

I would go off to class, in a very tight body suite for 4 sometimes 5 hours, with all the shit I just ate swishing around in my stomach. SO.NOT.IDEAL.

Now, at this age I was also turning from a child into a semi-decent-older child. I began having curvy hips, my boobs were blossoming into an uncomfortable C Cup (C is for Caitlin), and stretch marks started to line my thighs and ass. Now, maybe for most females at this time, having titties and hips is exciting. The boys will finally come flocking wanting to catch a  nip slip, or slide in for a finger bang. But for me, a girl who wants to be a ballerina, this was unacceptable.

I already came to terms knowing my body type was not that of an ideal ballerina. I had thick,stocky legs, but I knew they were strong and I could fly off the floor with them, I had small feet, but they were able to endure pain like no other {Side note: I once danced a show with a nail completely stuck in my heel without realizing until the performance was over. #thuglife?}. I wasn’t very tall, but I could lift my legs hire and jump hire than my other fellow ballerinas. I was faced knowing I probably won’t make it as a ballerina based on my body, but if the companies saw passed this and looked at my skill, my technique, then maybe I could. Maybe, just maybe.

In order for me to speed up this process of possibly making it into a company. I decided that all the binge-eating I was doing, was not productive for my life goals, and so to balance it out I discovered……..wait…..for….it……the two-finger diet. (Ahem-bulimia).bulimia

Now, I didn’t start doing this until the last few years or so of high school. But I would go home eat like a fucking piglet, head to the studio, use the washroom to throw all the shit I just ate up and head to class.

Some of the other girls I think knew, but we were all in the same boat. We hated our bodies.

Towards graduation, I stopped. Like turning a light switch on and off. I applied to few universities. The one dance school I applied to I was denied. I wasn’t going to be a dancer. I was angry, I was sad, I was let face it PISSED RIGHT THE FUCK OFF. I couldn’t understand, I knew my body wasn’t that of a ballerina, but I tried to make it so it was. My technique was damn near flawless, my turn out was outstanding, my feet could take me across the floor like no other dancer. My references, were from well-known choreographers and prima ballerina’s. Now, yes I know this seems like I am building myself up way too much, but fuck I was straight up awesome what can I say?

In the letter I received. They regretted to inform me that I was not accepted into the School Of Which Will Not Be Named. They then followed with and now I don’t remember word for word, but it was something along the lines of: What makes a dancer, is not her arabesque. it is not her perfect turn out, nor her feet, but it is her passion. That was my problem, I was so concentrated on trying to make my body perfect, that I completely lost my passion. My eyes were dead in dance, the emotion I tried to convey in dances was forced and noticeably so.

So I stopped. I stopped dancing, I stopped throwing up, I stopped stuffing my face. I was accepted into SFU for Performance Theatre, moved out to BC at the age of 17 and pursued another path.

Now, being a freshman in university I certainly gained weight. I partied every weekend, I was eating unhealthy food, I was an insomniac, I drank coffee until the last drop, I was completely an utterly unhealthy in every possible way. You would have never guess I was a dancer, until I started to move and dance.

I would come home during the summers from university and would be a little bit bigger. I knew my family noticed, not everyone said something, but facial expressions say a lot. I hated myself all over again. However, I didn’t feel the urge to go back into old habits.

At some point during my years in university, I met someone and fell in love. L.O.V.E. Now, being still a young, stupid girl still in the party scene, and when you are working with a bunch of actors shit just gets weird. I made a mistake. We almost broke up. He wouldn’t talk to me for a couple weeks, and although we were ‘working on it’ I felt like I was loosing him. I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t even drink. In the span of 2 weeks I went from 145-130, then from there on down to 112.

Went home for the summer to visit the family, and they noticed, not everyone said something, but facial expressions say a lot. My mom noticed right away. I in fact didn’t even realized how much weight I lost until people started making comments. And now looking at older photos, I definitely was skinny as fuck. AIN’T NOBODY GOT TIME FOR THAT! My body resembled that of a boy scout or slender man. So not sexy at all.

(Funny how when you gain a little chub chub or lose a lot of weight people will always say rude shit)

When I returned to University (I believe it was my final year), my perspective of people and their bodies changed. Even, the most skinniest of people I saw flaws in their bodies. I didn’t want gain any weight ever again.

So fast forward to now, I am not as skinny as I was then, I am more what I would like to describe as an average thickness. I workout regularly. I eat somewhat healthy. But even now and then that trick I did back in high school creeps up. Sometimes, I get so down about it I won’t even eat in a day, the only thing I seem to binge are laxatives and fucking strangers.

dumb_dumber-e1370035901294What do I have to thank for it? Well, my teeth aren’t as white or as healthy as they could be. That’s from throwing up disgusting acid shit. I have a lot of intestinal issues. I can eat something and it goes through me quite quickly, and sometimes if it doesn’t HELLO LAXATIVES! I also have issues with my ovaries. And it’s not because I punched them in the fucking face. You see, because of my old habit, I have developed cysts on my ovaries, that come and go. Usually, being on birth control keeps them in check, but they are not nice to have. I can sometimes get intense pains, which usually means they have ruptured or just headbanging in my nether regions.GErQCzV

Also another lovely side effect of my old stupid tricks, is the possibility of having children is slim to non. Usually, pregnancy would result in miscarriage or an ectopic pregnancy which is usually resulted into a miscarriage anyways.

So I am at a stage in my life, where I am rather indifferent to the fact. I enjoy being the crazy auntie from out west that spoils all her nieces and nephews.

I am okay with the decisions I have made in my past. I am content with moving forward. And I am still a work in process when old shady habits start creeping up on me.

But hey, every one goes through stuff. And maybe I feel the urge to devulge all this shit because I’m riding the crimson wave right now. but hey I am a bit cray cray, and thought I would share just one chapter of my open book.

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.)

 

My Lady Problems

So being a lady, straight up I have issues. Like all people in the world no matter the race, sex, species and what have you we all got problems. Today I shall share with you my girl problems, which I am sure, if not all, most females can relate too.

  • Breaking in a new pair of high heels, never fun.
  • Breaking in a new pair of anything is never fun (unless it’s the bed).kgrhqyokjqe1y9eds0bnkpi80cgq_3
  • Once a month dilemma: do I by a bundle pack of tampons from Costco for 5$ made out of cardboard by hard-knocked little orphans in Kuwait, or do I just TP this months wave?
  • Getting drinks at a bar: Do my boobie go over the counter, or under?
  • The days when you want your girls to be free, but the weather says it’s just not in your cards.
  • Justin Beiber: Makes me embarrassed to be a woman….wait….is JB a she?
  • When guys hair is longer than mine. Unless you are a wizard or some bad ass native warrior then SNIP SNIP.
  • When it’s that time of the month: Do you remain celibate for that time period and just resort to whipping yourself of your sins or do you let the bloke ride the crimson wave with you.
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  • Snorting when I laugh.Now I don’t know if this is one that I personally have or if this affects all women.
  • Thongs: Not always a win-win Especially since it’s call butt floss for a reason.
  • Waterproof mascara! Don’t come off in the rain please, but please come off in the shower.
  • Realizing that some guys aren’t your friends anymore once you get a boyfriend.
  • I own a pair of B34’s therefore, I do have balls and they are bigger than any man’s they are just located on my chest.
  • CRAMPS!!!!!
  • Adjustable shower heads are a girls best friend.
  • Sweatpants Saturday to Sunday.
  • Yoga Pants Mondays to Fridays.
  • Most orgasms start off as fake, gets them boys going and working harder, which in turn….voila….we see the light!
  • Chocolate….mmmmm….chocolate…5ho5abscpjftgugj5dr9
  • PMS!
  • The fear that one day a human baby will possibly emerge clawing from my womb as I lie in a medical bed strapped down wishing I’d have been drugged up on herbal remedies.
  • The loathing of your period coming.
  • The fear of your period not coming.
  • Tender Boobies.

Alas, sadly this is only a few of the lady problems I currently face.

Please say I am not alone ladies.