The Catherinette Chronicles

The DVR is quite possibly the best invention in the world.  Even better than white bread.  When I go to sleep at night, and say my prayers, I thank God that he has blessed me with a DVR.   Okay, so I don’t really do that since I never say a prayer, being an atheist and all.  But it is true about the DVR, it makes me happy when skies are grey. 

I have about 1 million shows that are currently saved on my DVR, and Thursday night happened to be one of the occasions when I decided to catch some of the shows.  On the top of my list?  Gossip Girl!  Thankfully, there were 3 episodes on there.  The show is the best, and makes me want to turn back time and become a teenager on the upper East Side.  Pretty much it’s so I can be in the middle of a Nate and Chuck sandwich. 

Here’s the thing with the latest few episodes:

Oh, and bt dubs, I don’t believe for one single second the romance that’s going on between Jenny and Nate on Gossip Girl.  No freaking way.  How can he go from Serena and Blair to freaking little J?  Ugh, that makes me so angry!! 

Dear writers of GG, stop the shenanigans immediately if not sooner!!

I have come to believe that stockings are the invention of communists and/or the devil.  They are a method of torture, and only serve to ruin the day of the wearer-and quite possibly those around them.

When I wear stockings, which is hardly ever because I hate them more than I hate this man, one of two things inevitably occurs:

1. 1. They run the instant I attempt to pull them up past my too chunky thighs.  And they run in a place where I can’t hide the run, like right down the ENTIRE back of my leg.  This makes me want to scream because it means that the money I spent on them might as well have been flushed straight down the nearest toilet.

2.  About 3 hours into the day, the elastic in the waistband starts giving.  This means that the rest of the day will involve the stockings riding down until the crotch is closer to my knees than to Vangelina Jolie, and/or that I’ll be tugging at them while doing awkward moves to get them up where they belong.

Today happens to be a stocking day.  Guess what?  The waistband is shot AND I have a huge run down the front of my leg.  The issues with the wasitband have caused me to walk funny all day, so it looks like I spent last night making sweet love to some stallion.  Which I did not.  The run makes it seem as though I spent too much time on my knees at lunch time.  Which I did not.

Damn you, hosiery industry.  I hate you.

For the love of all things bright and beautiful all creatures great and freaking small!! Why?? WHY?? Seriously, I’m too freaking old for this gd nonsense. I’m 34 years old, and my face looks like it belongs to a 13 year old. I have 5, count them FIVE god damned pimples on my freaking chin. What the hell is that all about??

I hate breaking out with a fiery passion equal to a 1000 bolts of white hot lightening.  There is nothing on this earth that I can think of that’s worse.  Not being maimed in a tragic tractor accident, or having to listen to 3D drone on and on about his feelings, or Debbie Downer tell me another cat story.  NOTHING is worse than the way my chin looks right this very second.  Not even having to endure listening to David Hasselhoff singing. 

Several months ago I decided to go back on the pill because it always helped my skin.  Sure, it just so happened that I was also knocking boots with someone at the time, but the primary reason that I went on it was because of my skin.  Don’t get me wrong, I don’t have acne, it’s not that bad.  But I do, several times, get a pimple. 

My sister and I used to play this little game where we would name our pimples.  Mine always get the same name: Simone.  She decides to pop up for special occasions, and sometimes she likes to bring her friends.  Tomorrow I’m going to a little Happy Hour with Disney and Dirt Bag.  Dirt Bag is kinda cute, married, and enjoys hitting on me.  It’s fun to be hit on from time to time, I know that he does it half jokingly, but tomorrow Simone will put a big fat stop to that.  Instead, we’ll end up pretending that I don’t have pizza face and he’ll struggle to maintain eye contact instead of looking at all the damn red spots on my face.

I hate you Simone.  I hate you, and all your stupid friends.

Humor-Blogs.com

In 16 days I’m off to England for a week!  This will be my 6th trip over to England.  The first time I went, I absolutely fell in love with London.  If I could only choose one vacation spot for the rest of my life, I wouldn’t hesitate to choose that glorious city.  My mom was kind enough to offer to take me for my 35th birthday, so we’ll be across the pond for an entire week.  The super awesome part is that, not only is she paying for everything, but she only likes to travel in style.  That means 5 star hotels, people.  Aw, I love to travel on someone else’s dime who only likes luxury hotels.

We’ll be spending several days in the country side, 2 in Manchester, and then 2 in London.  As we’ve been to London several times before, we’ve already determined what we can miss and what we cannot.  One of those things that we must see, is a show.  You can’t go to London without seeing a show-it’s a crime and should be punishable by public flogging.  Lord only knows what we’ll end up seeing.  Whatever it is, I’m pretty sure that it won’t be as funny as this:

Don’t fret, loyal readers-all 3 of you, I’ll make sure you have plenty to read while I’m away.  I would never ever take you for granted, unless you asked me really nicely to.

I’ve been at Investments r Us for over 10 years.  When I initially started, at the tender age of 23, I was sure it was a temporary gig.  Corporate America was a world where I would live for a maximum of 2 years, where I would meet my future husband.  Once married, I’d quit and take care of the house and the kids. 

Here I am a decade later.  No husband.  No kids.  Trapped in Corporate America.  If I wasn’t so freaking tired right now, I’d throw myself out of the nearest first story window and end it all. 

Things are about to change, though, I can feel it!  After watching this clip about 50 times, I’ve made a decision: I’m going to quit my job.  I want to be a receptionist and clear phone lines just like Pam does.

http://www.dailymotion.com/videox3dq88

Pam is my role model.  Not only does she get to help Michael by clearing the lines, but she gets to do it with Jim.  Yeah, yeah, I know it’s all made up stuff, but I can dream if I want to!

They look like relatively reasonable children, don’t they?  Just like any other 7 year old dressed up for Halloween.  Well, I’m here to tell you that they’ll go from normal to bat shit crazy in 40 seconds if you give them nasty Halloween candy. 

In an effort to help the masses, I’m offering my advice on how to prevent your house from getting egged on Halloween.  Do not, under any circumstances (unless you like trying to get egg off your house, wash soap off your windows, or changing a slashed tire) give out any of the following:

Candy Corn
Raisins
Pennies
Bit O’Honey
Popcorn Balls

All of the above give children free reign to terrorize you and your pets.  I’m warning you, if you ignore this advice, be prepared to find your house and trees completely toilet papered.  Frankly, if you pass out any of the above, you totally deserve it for being a Jack Ass O’Lantern!

Happy Halloween!

There are times, like today, when I’m convinced that my clients live in some alternate universe where you can slow down time so you can finish projects.  I imagine that this world also has streets made of candy, and rivers of appletinis.  It must be a really splendid place to live because all my clients seem to be residing there just about now.

I’m currently working on 8 projects-no lie.  There are 4 that are due by year end.  That would require that I make 3 clones of myself, and that we all move into my cubicle until the end of year.  The other day when one of my managers told me that I had to the training ready to go by the end of November, I almost guffawed on the phone. 

Me: “You realize, don’t you, that we have less than 15 business days to complete that?”
Manager who lives in Lala Land: “Doesn’t that give us plenty of time?”

No, dear Manager, it does not.  Especially when you consider that the Legal department takes 3 weeks to review everything.  That means that the training would have had to be done BEFORE my department had ever been assigned the project.  Strangely enough, we do not predict the future, and can therefore not create training when we don’t know that you need our help.

What I’d really like to do is waltz into my next meeting with these 2 signs:

Is that wrong?

Know what happens if you look up the definition of “abomination”?  You find a picture of this filth:

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When making the decision to wear white shoes, remember that under no circumstances should they be matched with dark colored stockings.  Doing so will cause people to point at you and mock you for having such terrible fashion sense.

Such a shoe-hosiery combination is only permitted if you are a stripper, hooker, or it is Halloween and you happen to be dressing as a stripper or a hooker.

Also, avoid red stockings at all costs.  And never ever wear stockings with open toed shoes.  That is a crime against humanity and punishable by death.

Humor-Blogs.com

*This public service announcement is brought to you by Catherinette Singleton: making the world a better place by mocking those lacking in good manners, good looks, and fashion sense.

There are times when even I, the tireless mocker, become a dreaded sap.  Every once in awhile, on a sappy day quite like today, I may get the urge to read a poem or two.  Kind of like when someone is feeling nauseated and they think they’ll feel better after sticking their finger down their throat.  And sure, they feel better for about 20 minutes, but then the nausea comes right back.  Yeah, poetry and vomiting are about the same for me. 

On most days, I have no use for poetry-unless it starts with, “There once was a man from Nantucket.”  As a matter of fact, there’s not a single poem in this world that I know by heart.  But today, for whatever the reason, I feel like sticking my finger down my throat.  So I leave you with one of the only poems that I like-and there are even 2 lines that I can recite.  The last is my favorite. 

Please to enjoy…

An Interlude
by Algernon Charles Swinburne

In the greenest growth of the Maytime,
I rode where the woods were wet,
Between the dawn and the daytime;
The spring was glad that we met.

There was something the season wanted,
Though the ways and the woods smelt sweet;
The breath at your lips that panted,
The pulse of the grass at your feet.

You came, and the sun came after,
And the green grew golden above;
And the flag-flowers lightened with laughter,
And the meadow-sweet shook with love.

Your feet in the full-grown grasses
Moved soft as a weak wind blows;
You passed me as April passes,
With face made out of a rose.

By the stream where the stems were slender,
Your bright foot paused at the sedge;
It might be to watch the tender
Light leaves in the springtime hedge,

On boughs that the sweet month blanches
With flowery frost of May:
It might be a bird in the branches,
It might be a thorn in the way.

I waited to watch you linger
With foot drawn back from the dew,
Till a sunbeam straight like a finger
Struck sharp through the leaves at you.

And a bird overhead sang Follow,
And a bird to the right sang Here;
And the arch of the leaves was hollow,
And the meaning of May was clear.

I saw where the sun’s hand pointed,
I knew what the bird’s note said;
By the dawn and the dewfall anointed,
You were queen by the gold on your head.

As the glimpse of a burnt-out ember
Recalls a regret of the sun,
I remember, forget, and remember
What Love saw done and undone.

I remember the way we parted,
The day and the way we met;
You hoped we were both broken-hearted,
And knew we should both forget.

And May with her world in flower
Seemed still to murmur and smile
As you murmured and smiled for an hour;
I saw you turn at the stile.

A hand like a white wood-blossom
You lifted, and waved, and passed,
With head hung down to the bosom,
And pale, as it seemed, at last.

And the best and the worst of this is
That neither is most to blame
If you’ve forgotten my kisses
And I’ve forgotten your name.