How thrilled was I when they arrived about 20 minutes later with a box of melty goodness!  I went running to the table, threw open the box, and felt a tear trickle down my cheek.  What the hell is this?  I thought to myself.  Where is all the glorious pepperoni that I planned on eating? 

Not one single god damned slice.  What to do?  What to do?  Should I just suck it up and eat it?  Or should I call them to complain? 

Here’s the thing about cheese pizza: I hate it.  It’s freaking pointless to me.  Kind of like a sandwich with only mustard, lettuce and mayo.  Or perhaps cake without the frosting.  It’s just wrong and should be illegal. 

I decided to call to bitch them out.  Um…yeah, they insisted that they delivered what I had ordered.  “Oh no you did not!  I have my confirmation right here and it says PEPPERONI!!” 

Meanwhile, I was lying the whole time because I didn’t have it up in front of me.  So while I argued with the guy for 5 minutes, I pulled up my email confirmation.  There it was, right in front of my face: Large pizza with cheese and sauce.  What’s a hungry single girl to do? 

I looked at that confirmation and I said very clearly and slowly into the phone, “My confirmation says it right here: pepperoni.”  I lied!  Over something as stupid as freaking pepperoni!!  So of course he apologized profusely and they’re now making me another.  Sure, I bet they’re spitting on it and/or adding some secret sauce.  But you know what?  As long as there’s pepperoni on it, I don’t give a crap.

Oh!  I believe there’s a knock on my door…

Humor-Blogs.com

He lived out in Las Vegas so we had a long distance relationship.  We met randomly one night, and just hit it off immediatley.  After that initial meeting, I’d find myself seeking him out.  Every week we would sit down together and I would be caught up on his latest shenanigans.  He led such an exciting life out there in Vegas!!  I would hear all about his gambling addiction, his group of friends/coworkers (one an ex stripper), and I even heard about his short marriage.

Tonight he died.  And I’m mourning the loss of Warwick Brown from CSI. 

Damn you, writers of the show!!  Why did you have to kill him off??  I was with you when you wrote Sara off because she was annoying as sin and I always hated the gap in her teeth.  So now you kill off Warwick and soon you’ll be writing off Grissom. 

You are making mad, writers.  I’m going to send you a nasty little note about my hatred for you and how I want to slap you right in your insolent mouths and then beat you with your own shoes.  Then I will sign it, “In closing, please suck it.”

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to have to continue my violent sobbing.  Tomorrow, I will dress in black.  I wonder if I’ll be invited to the viewing…

I need you right now. I’m at home, dying from the plague. Had I been smart, I never would have gone to work yesterday. Yet, I felt obligated to go since I was supposed to do some training. Too bad the market got housed yesterday and my sessions were cancelled. You’d think knowing that would have brought me some solace, but it did not. You see, when I was getting dressed yesterday morning, I noticed something really disturbing: my pants were getting awfully snug around the hips and thighs.

I’m getting fat. My diet of fried food, pure carbs, soft drinks, and booze is finally catching up to me. No longer are the days when I wore size 10 pants without Spanx. Oh no, my friends. We are now entering into the days of size 12s if I suck it in and never breathe again.

You know what this means, right? Gasp! It means back to exercising and watching what I eat. Good bye chicken fingers, good bye french fries, good bye hamburgers, and farewell to you chocolate peanut butter cream pie. Adios 2 cups of coffee with tons of milk in it every morning. It was good while it lasted.

After trying to squeeze my fat ass into my pants yesterday, I made the decision that things were going to change around here. I made some smart choices when it came to meal times. For example, I ordered a turkey burger and water for lunch (with extra mayo and tons of sweet potato fries). Then for dinner I had sausage, peppers, mushrooms, and onions (on 4 slices of pizza that had extra cheese and some pepperoni). I can do this!! In no time at all I’ll be back down to my fighing weight (or so fat that I won’t be able to leave my own house).

So dear people, I’m going to take advantage of being stuck home in my bed today. I’m going to not eat like a pig (basically because there’s nothing pig-like in my house. Oh, except for some chocolate peanut butter cream pie), and drink tea all day.

Your fat friend,

Catherinette

P.S. Someone bring me some blueberry pancakes, STAT!

Damn it!  I was robbed!!

And to make matters worse, 3D is sending me dirty text messages.  At least this one’s not of his peen.  Really, what on God’s green earth inspires men to send pictures of their bits and bobbles when they’re not requested?  Sure, he has a hot body, but that doesn’t mean I need a peen pic every god damned day.

I think I’m just going to close the book on today and go to bed. 

Hopefully my sore throat will be gone tomorrow.  If not, I’m staying in this bed instead of wrestling with another pair of pants and dragging myself into work. 

So I’m staring at the TV like a zombie when this hilarious commercial came on.

Click here to view the embedded video.

Perhaps it’s my fever talking. I don’t know, but I watched it 4 times in a row and had tears streaming down my cheeks.

God, it’s kind of sad that it takes so little to amuse me…

Let me introduce you to these upstanding members of the community:

The Single Mother (who we shall call Ms. Travesty): is a recovering alcoholic, recovering drug addict, and full time nurse. Ms. Travesty enjoys wearing light colored blue jeans and stained white shirts. She’s in her mid 50’s and has an 8 year old daughter – she met the father in AA meetings (he’s on methadone). When she’s not picking up single bachelors from her AA meetings, she’s calling the cops to have them dragged out of the house, and/or trying to tell me stories about how she’s gained weight.

My favorite story about Ms. Travesty happened a few summers ago: she had met this real winner and had been dating him for about 6 weeks. Mr. Winner had no job, no driver’s license and had pretty much moved into her house. Suddenly, they start fighting like cats and dogs. On a Tuesday afternoon, I was sitting in my den watching TV, when I noticed that there were 3 cop cars parked outside my house. I immediately called my friends and family to share the drama that was unfolding. 20 minutes later, out comes Mr. Winner in a pair of handcuffs, his cut off jean shorts, and the dirty white wife beater. It was just like being on an episode of Cops! The officers put him in the back of the cop car, and then he started yelling all sorts of crazy stuff.

Since then, I have tried my best to avoid Ms. Travesty at all costs. It’s gotten to the point that when I see her standing in her driveway, I whip out my cell phone and pretend to be on a very important phone call. This ploy seems to work pretty well, I highly recommend it to you.

The Daughter (who we shall call Little Tragedy): at one point I thought she was cute, now she makes me want to kick her when I see her. She and all her little friends love playing in the neighborhood. That’s all well and good, but why must they do it on my front lawn? Don’t they hear my dog going nuts in the house? Seriously, I’m surprised that my dog hasn’t jumped out the window and eaten her and her little friends. My dog, a St. Bernard, loathes and despises her. I know this because he decided to bite her one day, twice. It was not a pretty scene, though it was an extremely effective way to ensure Little Tragedy never came into my house again. She used to drop by my house all the time, when she was hungry and her mother had left her alone with her grandfather-who would pass out on the couch and not even realize that she had left the house.

As Little Tragedy has grown up, I’ve noticed her imminent progression into soon-to-be-school-hussy. What 8 year old do you know that wears cropped tops and glitter eye shadow? It’s sad to Little Tragedy her go down this road, but I know she’ll end up pleasing the boys in the men’s’ room sometime really soon.

The Dogs (lovingly referred to as the Hounds of Hell): I hate them with a passion that burns to my very core. I wouldn’t hate them so much, but Ms. Travesty thinks it’s a good idea to let them out at 4:00 in the morning. Fine, release the Hounds of Hell, but please let them back in when they start barking. Oh no, not Ms. Travesty. Instead, the Hounds of Hell bark, and bark, and bark, and bark, and bark, and bark, for 2 hours straight, directly underneath my bedroom window. What’s really super is that sometimes she lets the Hounds of Hell out right when I’m attempting to go to sleep. There seems to be no limit to her disregard for her neighbors.

I hate you Ms. Travesty, I really do.

I’m thinking that I have Katie Couric and Sarah Palin to thank for this.  If it hadn’t been for the interview(s) where Sarah Palin was made to look so stupid one wondered how she managed to remember to breathe, I probably would have tuned out.  I have to admit, she didn’t come across quite as stupid as I thought she would have.  Though I did find it most amusing when she called him O’Biden, and when she said she might not answer the questions as they had been asked.

I might have to take this tactic the next time that someone asks me a question I don’t want to answer.

• 3D: How do you feel about me?
• Me: I’m glad you asked that question.  Feelings are important.  We all have them and one of the things that’s most important is how we feel about Energy.  Let me tell you where I stand on that…

Damn it.  I think I missed my calling.

Now let me throw out a question to you: is it just me, or when you hear the term Maverick, do you immediately think of Tom Cruise in Top Gun?

Another wonderful evening of singledom.  While I did manage to stay out of my pajamas until after 9:00 PM, I did end up eating dinner in my bed.  God, I love doing that.

On a side note, my room smells like burning.  For a second I thought my laptop was about to go up in flames.  I was waiting for smoke to start eminating from the heat vent (or whatever the technical term is).  I was even prepared to start weeping if that happened.  Thankfully, all of that was for nothing.  Turns out that some bastard freaking bug flew into my lamp.

It’s little bug body is burning and my whole room stinks to high heaven.  Gross.  This totally changes the equation…

Ewan McGregor + Peanut Butter Cream Pie + Burning Bug Smell = Semi Decent Night

God damned bug.

There’s definitely an upside to the markets going down faster than Aubrey O’Day.  The upside?  Aside from stocks being at a deep discount, fewer meetings!  Our call volumes have spiked over the last few days as investors panic.  We’re so busy focusing on making sure that we’re answering as many calls as possible that they have to cancel meetings.  Thank the freaking lord for small graces. 

I hate meetings.  I really do.  Half the time someone is talking about how her 5 year old daughter has panic attacks when she goes down the slide, or how we need to move the project launch date by 4 months and can you please have the training for 500 employees done in a week?  So I’m happy that the markets are going down the toilet.  As long as it saves me from wasting another hour that I’ll never get back, I can live with it.

Good help can be so hard to find nowadays. Really. I’ll give you the example of my good friend, Disney. He and his wife decided to hire someone to help clean the house. Come to find out that in addition to cleaning their home, she’s also calling her family…in Mexico.

Then there’s my situation with lawn care. Sure, sure, now I have someone that’s reliable, thank freaking God for that. But before that, I had to rely on myself to get it done-and we all know just how much I enjoyed doing that. So much that the lawn would just grow, and grow, and grow, until Jack could pretty much scale it. Who needs a beanstalk when you have me as your gardener. Oh, and there was the time that 3D would take care of the lawn. That was all good, right up until we had to talk about feelings. F that noise.

And what about getting the car washed? I don’t know about you, but I think taking it to get washed can be such a scam. Half the time the car ends up with scratch marks, or looking just as dirty as it did before-only wetter (that’s what she said). This afternoon I devised a wonderful plan to deal with this. I talked my 2 year old niece, and 4 year old nephew to wash it for me. And it didn’t cost me a dime (or peso as the case may be)! The best part was that it wasn’t even my idea!! No, it was Damien that offered to wash the car. Of course, the second she saw Damien having “so much fun”, Lucy(fer) immediately demanded to help. Naturally, I played the roll of the supervisor. I sat back with my beer and watched them do their little handy work. They made me so proud.

Why didn’t I think of this before?? Being part Mexican, they’re naturally inclined to do manual labor. Well, now I’m putting them to good use. And for the right price, a taco and a Dos Equis, I might lend them out to you.

I clean for tacos.

Little baby hands ensure there are no scratch marks on the car.