The Catherinette Chronicles

I just spent the last 90 minutes getting drilled in the mouth, and being surrounded by Pro Lube, and dental dams.  And I don’t mean in the same way that Foxy Luv does-in stall #1 of the men’s room at the local bus station.  Rather, it was take 2 of my wonderful root canal.  You know the stupid ass emergency root canal that I had done the day I left for my trip.  The one that is going to cost me $1000 and will cause me to sell all my eggs to raise the money.

God I hate my dentist.  Dr. Giggles is one of those men that makes the lamest ass jokes and thinks they’re hilarious.  Meanwhile everyone else just stares blankly at him and then sighs.  Here’s an example of something he nearly wet himself laughing over:

Dr. Giggles: You know what I found to be really funny?
Hygienist: What’s that doctor?
Dr. Giggles: When I was in Russia in the middle of winter, and I saw all these ice cream stands.
Hygienist: [Blank stare over her mask]
Dr. Giggles: People were actually wandering around eating ice cream in the freezing cold! [proceeds to laugh so hard that he had to turn off the drill so he didn't hurt me]

 Not funny.  Right?

Here’s what would have been funny.  If I had been able to shout “that’s what she said” after he said the following things:

• There it goes, it slipped in so easily.
• Plenty of wiggle room in there.
• Can you clean her up?  I’m making a mess here.
• Man, that is so tight I can barely get anything in there.

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Okay, Batman, riddle me this:

• 1400(ish) employees
• 4 buildings
• 1 cafeteria
• 4 cashiers
• 6 microwaves in the cafeteria

Who did that f’ing math? 

This afternoon I went to the cafeteria with Disney.  It took him 5 minutes to get in line, order a sandwich, grab himself a drink, and pay.  It took me 15 minutes to wait for a blasted microwave.  I swear to Christ it’s impossible to get a stupid microwave during those hours.  It’s like trying to get tickets for a Jonas Brothers concert.  You either have to line up 8 hours before the ticket office opens or you’ll be shit out of luck.

And it’s always the same.  The microwave I get is always the one that someone just used to reheat some stinky ass fish or make popcorn.  This means that my lunch will be tainted by the nauseating smells.  All I can taste are someone else’s fish or burnt popcorn.  No one wants that.  No one!!

When I’ve asked Facilities Management why we can’t have microwaves in each of the pantries (there are 2 per floor), they give some lame ass excuse about “fire hazards” and “dangerous”.  You know what?  I bet if those bastards had to microwave their god damned lunch in the cafeteria during lunch hours that they’d be singing a different tune.

Note to self: never ever take anything to work that needs to be heated.

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Vile.  Repulsive.  A crime against humanity. 

That’s how Muffy would respond if you asked her what her thoughts were on cilantro.  Her hatred for cilantro is much like my hatred for beans, guacamole, and salsa.  Kind of funny since I’m Mexican.  But this post isn’t about me, it’s about my good friend Muffy and her disdain for cilantro.

Being the good friend I am, I ensure that Muffy never has to be anywhere near cilantro.  I wouldn’t want to see her pass out and/or vomit if she came too close to it.  Yet, when I saw these 2 things, I couldn’t resist capturing them on film. 

Muffy, these bad boys are all for you!  Please to enjoy.

In case you can’t quite make out what it is, let me explain: it’s a mini cilantro garden!!  Just what you’ve always wanted.  And it can be yours for the low, low price of $8.00.  Available now at Anthropologie.  You can thank me later.

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The holiday season is upon us.  This means that many radio stations are starting to play Christmas tunes.  I usually like turning on that one locall station to listen to the Christmas music-it helps get me in the Christmas spirit.  There are some songs that I absolutely adore, some that I’m even ashamed to admit that I like.  Yeah, I like the standards as sung by Frank Sinatra, Doris Day, and Bing Crosby.  And yeah, I’ll even admit to loving a Mariah Carey Christmas classic AND Jessica Simpson’s cover of “Baby, It’s Cold Outside.” 

Go ahead, mock away, I don’t care.  And please feel free to enjoy the uber cheesy youtube clip.

Anyhow, there are also some songs that will send me running to the radio to immediately flip the station.  If the station isn’t changed fast enough, it causes me to vomit and my ears to start bleeding.  What could possibly cause such a violent reaction?  Oh, I’ll tell you!  There are 3 songs that will make me cross the room in a split second:

1. The Christmas Shoes:  You know which one this is.  It’s that stupid ass song about a little boy that’s poor and has to buy some god damned shoes for his dying mother.  Ugh, can’t freaking stand it.  I swear I’d rather hear 3 minutes of nails on a chalk board.
2. Madonna’s version of Santa Baby: I love the orignal version, and I’m a Madonna fan (aside from her clubby club electronica phase), but her version of the song makes me want to hurt myself.  Badly.  It sounds like she sucked a bunch of helium and then went to the recording studio.
3. Where Are You Christmas: This has to be one of the all time worst.  Have you listened to the freaking lyrics??  Utter crap, for real.

Wow, maybe Christmas music puts me in a mood-the mood to put my head through the glass window.  Perhaps I should go back to listening to the news on NPR or regular music.

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David Caruso is quite possibly the biggest douche bag in the world, and I know douche bags. I never understood all of the hype surrounding him.  I remember when NYPD Blue premiered a hundred years ago.  I was barely out of womb (or in my early teens), and clearly recall that his ugly mug graced the covers of tons of magazine.  Even at that tender young age, I was mystified by his popularity.  He’s a red headed freak, he can’t act to save his life, and he’s not attractive.  How does a guy like him make it in Hollywood?  One of life’s little mysteries.

He decided to leave NYPD Blue to pursue a film career.  Bad move on his part.  That decision was akin to eating fast food everyday because you plan on losing weight.  His film career didn’t go as planned, which was a blessing to those of us that didn’t care for him in the first place.

Fast forward several years and suddenly he’s on CSI Miami.  What makes matters even worse is that the show took off and he’s popular again.  WHY??  Someone explain this to me!!  How can you take this show have fans?  I just don’t get it. 

But don’t take my word for it.  Go ahead and take a gander and then tell me what you think:

You know what today is?  It’s turkey day, people! That means it’s time to shovel as much turkey, stuffing, and pumpkin pie into your mouth as your body can possibly handle.  Then, 20 minutes later the Thanksgiving bloat will wash over you.

While you’re waiting for that physical discomfort to pass, here’s a very special Thanksgiving video for you to enjoy.

Oh, and hey, have an extra helping of turky and stuffing for me since I’m busy enjoying the day in London…

There’s a young man that works in my company that is fine. He dresses well, is hot, and has the personality of a mound of dirt. For someone as attractive as this J. Crewish young lad, you’d think he’d have some social skills. Not Wet Noodle. Talking to him is physically painful. While at first I was delighted to be in meetings with him-just because he was so pretty-I learned to dread the meetings like one does going to the DMV. It’s painful and a waste of time.

Several years ago, Wet Noodle married a woman who was 9 years his senior and not that much of a looker. When my friend, KK, first saw his wife, she just about fell over and died. I use one word to describe Mrs. Wet Noodle: Cankles. Seriously, she is not an attractive woman, and has ballooned in size since they first got together.

This afternoon, Disney called me over to his desk to show me something. He had found a very old picture of Cankles. I looked at it, then at him, and the following escaped my lips, “Jesus Christ. I think she ate herself.”

In addition to working with Jack Ass, I have the joy and pleasure of working with Debbie Downer. Have you ever met one of those people who just sucks the joy out of everything? She’s very much like this. Every time I talk to her it makes me want to wander back to my cubicle and search my desk drawers for razor blades so I can cut my wrists. The woman is as bitter as bitter can be.

Poor Debbie Downer has had the worst luck with family, and with men and is very forthcoming with tales of her unfortunate life. She seems to be someone that just never fits in and wanders from one sad relationship to the next. She doesn’t seem to have many friends-except for The Pooper (she’s called The Pooper because she poops at bathrooms in bars and then doesn’t wash her hands). The Pooper and Debbie Downer are like 2 little peas in the bitterest pod you ever have seen.

I often compare my life to Debbie Downer’s and hope that I don’t end up like her. She’s 10 years older than I am, and has never married. She has never had children. She doesn’t get along with her family. She lives with cats. She is annoying and we can’t stand talking to her for more than 5 minutes. If you ask her a question, she immediately turns it into a 20 minute conversation. And by “conversation” I mean that she talks about herself and how depressing and god awful her life is while you try to drown out the sound of her voice or wish that lightening would strike you dead. She used to sit in front of me at work, and sometimes I’d be forced into “conversation” with her. Another friend of mine would get up, find a phone, and call me. I’d pretend it was an important business call so I could stop talking to Debbie Downer.

Let me give you some examples of how uplifting “conversations” can be:

Example 1:
Me: How was your weekend?
DD: It sucked.
Me: Oh, that’s too bad.
DD: Yeah, my boyfriend dumped me and I found out I can’t have children.
Me: Oh, that does suck.

Example 2:
Pleasant Coworker: I’m pregnant.
Me: I’m so happy for you, congratulations!!
DD: You are the most fertile person that I know. I wish I was like that, but I’m going through early menopause and can’t have children now.

Example 3:
Pleasant Coworker: It’s great growing up with sisters. They really keep you in check and can call you out when you’re a bitch.
Me: Agreed. I can’t imagine having grown up without a sibling.
DD: I never had sisters. I just had a brother and we didn’t really get along. We were like 2 strangers living in the same house.

Is 10 years really all that separates us? Am I on the same track as she is? What a depressing thought. Where the hell are those razor blades. . . ?

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Here I am, off in the lovely English countryside.  Though the weather has been a little wet (shocker for England, I know), we’re enjoying the trip.  It’s easy to forget that my cubicle is back home waiting for me, and at this very second, someone is probably setting up an appointment for some stupid ass meeting.  The thought of having to go back and sit in endless, pointless meeting makes me want to run to the nearest loo, shatter the mirror, and cut my wrists with the shards of glass.

I get screwed over (hard) all the freaking time-and not in a good way. Seriously, someone should have told me to buy my own lube when I started my career in Corporate America. When the business says, “Bend over,” we say, “how far”-that should be our motto.

Working at Investments r Us must be like being a hooker with cheap clients. We don’t even get cab fare home. Not even a cigarette. We just get up, get dressed, and limp home.

Common phrases I hear in meeting from our business “partners”:

Stop crying.
Stop struggling, this is going to happen.
Stop fightng me, it only makes me want this more.

God I “love” my job.  Maybe I’ll throw my passport in the nearest river, and become a bar maid in the local pub.  At least I’d be able to choose who I grab my ankles for.

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Should I tell you about the time that I got so hammered in London that I ran around the city, by myself, without a coat or a purse until 7:00 am?  And how when I sobered up I had no recollection of where all my stuff was?  And how there was an explosion of orange stuff all over my pants?  And how I have vague memories of sitting in a cab crying?

You’d probably like to hear about that, wouldn’t you?  Oh, I know how you are.  You’d probably think it’s funny that I went out drinking with my cousin, and that we each had 4 pints of cider and 2 bottles of wine.  Then we played true confessions and I started crying in the bar.  Then I was so wasted that he told me I had to go stay with him in his dorm room.  Only I was too upset and told him I wanted to go back to my hotel-only I couldn’t remember where the hell it was.  When I started walking away, he grabbed my purse, and I let him have it.  Then I started running, and he grabbed my coat-which I shrugged out of.  Then he grabbed my sweater, and I did the same thing.  Then I took off running down the street and he couldn’t catch me.

Nothing like wandering around the streets of London at from 2-7 in the morning in JANUARY without a coat or any money.  I vaguely remember sitting on a bench in some office park, and walking for about an hour trying to figure out where my hotel was.  I even remember sitting outside St. Paul’s Cathedral at about 6 AM thinking that maybe I’ll just jump the stiles at the tube stop and take the tube back to my hotel (this is when I remembered where I was staying).  When I saw all the cops, I decided that was a bad plan.

I finally made it back to my hotel and passed out.  Let me tell you, that hangover I had when I woke up at 8 PM?  Not pretty.

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