Monthly Archives: November 2011

Moms Gone Wild

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Mom! Do you pray in English or Tagalog?” Tagalog, being the national language of the Philippines, for you uneducated mofos. To which she replied (as if I asked the dumbest question ever), “English, of course! This is America!” with her thick ass Filipino accent. “Um. Don’t you think it’s best to do it in your native tongue? That way God can understand what you’re talking about?” I’m not sure if you’ve ever heard a Filipino person (one who is born and raised in the Philippines) try to speak English before, but it’s not pretty. I can see God up in heaven cursing everyone out because he can’t figure out what the hell my mother’s praying about, asking himself, “Did she say she wants piss?” when my mom actually asked for fish. I just hope he has Tivo or some kind of a recording device so he can rewind. Maybe a subtitle option, or even an interpreter. I was tempted to asked if any of her prayers are ever answered, but I thought I’d leave it alone considering this is the woman responsible for birthing yours truly.

The thing about my mom is that she is beyond wonderful. She is one of those people that’s just beaming with positives. You can tell her that your left foot needs to be amputated and will tell you to be grateful you still have your other foot. She’s just made that way. Full of optimism. She used to tell me that when it rains, it’s because God is taking a shower and it should be celebrated. I grew up thinking God must be morbidly obese if he needs to bring rainstorm in an entire city. And that he has some kind of personal hygiene issues considering rainy season mostly only happened between July & August in the Philippines. She cracks me up. It is never a dull moment when my mom is around. Just the other day we were at the store and she was looking at something. She says to me, “Do you think this perfume smells good? I can’t find the expiration date.” as she handed me the package. I looked at it and wanted to laugh so hard but I though I’d keep the fun going. I tell her it looks nice. Even the name sounded nice. KY Intense Personal Lubrication. “That’s nice. I will buy.” I finally had to tell her it’s for having sex. She immediately threw the thing away while yelling “Oh Shet!” Yup just liked that. She can’t say things that have sh or ch. Anything with sha or dge sound. So if she says, “Cate, close the garuds.” She means, close the garage. Or if she says, “Cate, you need to clean Em’s shet.” She means, “sheet.” She also confuses the letter f with a p, as with the v with a b. So, love is lub, and very is berry. Here’s an example. My daughter is berry beautipool and likes to eat a lot of piss por dinner. Get it?

My mom is pretty much perfect. Except for one thing. She can’t see shit up close. She is always squinting and wonders why people think she’s Chinese. She needed corn starch and grabbed tapioca starch instead and wonders why her dessert didn’t come out right. Don’t let her take a very important family picture because it will come out blurry. They always do. What, like not wearing her reading glasses in public will make her look younger or something? She’s not realizing that it’s all the squinting that’s causing her the extra wrinkles and making her look old as balls. Oh, and speaking of balls. The only other annoying thing about my mother, is her husband. Please see previous post appropriately titled “Aged Ball Sack” to catch up. On our way to the airport this morning (to drop them off finally) he says, “It will be nice to build a house up there in the mountains. But the water bill will be expensive because it’s so high up there.” And “Why is everything white here?” I’m pissed off I even had to answer with “What do you mean?” He goes on to say, “The roads are all white.” That’s pretty much how it is when he comes with my mother to visit. 98% of the shit he says, I know nothing about. The other 2% will make your 6 month old infant seem a genius. I imagined kicking open the passenger side door and pushing him out of the car! While shooting him so he can finally shut the fuck up. But then I wouldn’t have anything funny to write about. Ain’t that a bitch?

Hope to see you never,

Cate

Lady Gaga

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Gotcha. Of course this has nothing to do with Lady Gaga. And if I were to write about Gaga, you have my permission to shoot me. Sorry Gaga fans. I’m just not one. I guess I’m biased having grown up in the 90’s! And since I’m older (for you young Gaga fans) let’s assume I know what I’m talking about. Madonna has already been done. By Madonna! Enough Gaga talk. It’s business time. Well, not really business, since I don’t have one. It’s just a metaphor for “I’m so tired of baby talks all day that I’m ready for some grown up like conversations.” My kids are my everything. Literally. I have no life outside of them. So here I am! A place where I can write about how I feel and have some kind of an adult conversation about my kids. With my computer. Pathetic. I know. If only this keyboard (KB) can talk! It would go like this.

Me: Fuck my life.

KB: Fuck your life? Imagine how I feel.

Me: What the fuck do you mean?

KB: You keep pounding on me like you’re Mike Tyson and I’m Robin Givens.

Me: Um, you’re a keyboard. I’m supposed to pound the shit out of you.

KB: Maybe if you went to typing school, you’d know that a backspace isn’t meant to be pounded. It’s not that kind of back space.

Me: At least you don’t have to clean up poop all day. And play the same game or sing the same song like I’m some kind of parrot.

KB: You talk about the same shit everyday. SAME SHIT.

Me: Fuck you. I’m getting off this computer.

KB: Fuck you too. I’ll see you in five minutes.

Five minutes later…

Me: I need a vacay.

KB: You ain’t lyin’.

Me: At least you get a reboot, an update and a weekly maintenance. I take care of you.

KB: What the fuck you talkin’ about? You are always shutting me down while I’m still running. That’s just not right.

ME: Well, that’s because you’re too slow.

KB: Bitch! I’m not taking this shit from you. Get out and find some real friends. I’m just sayin’.

ME: You mean, “I’m just typin’.” I kinda like our time together.

KB: I don’t. While you’re at it, you should probably see a shrink. I wasn’t made for this kind of shit.

Me: You ungrateful bastard. I should have bought a Mac.

KB: Mother Fu…

Signing off,

Cate

Date Nite

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We have officially made Friday nights as our date nights, or so we thought. After spending too much cash this past Friday, we’ve decided it will probably be more like every other Friday, or maybe the first Friday of the month. Don’t get me wrong, it was nice. And the fact that we were kids free for an evening was even better. But part of me felt a bit guilty. There’s this chaos going on right now in the U.S. of A. Unemployment is something 9 percent and there’s all sorts of people occupying major cities, living in their tents (although that could very well be the waiting line for the Twilight movie. I’m not really sure.) According to the media, it’s rough out there. And guess what? I saw first hand the tragedy of these poor poor people on my date Friday evening. First, we hit the movie theater. I’m a penny pincher so I thought we’d go to the cheap theater, the one that plays movies about to come out on redbox like next week. I guess I wasn’t the only one trying to save money. It was evident by the long ass line we had to wait on. So it got me thinking, that perhaps the media was right. I also went to the Dollar store and stocked up on Coke and Raisinets so the only thing we had to buy other than the tickets was popcorn. $10! That’s all it cost. 2 tickets and a large popcorn. Take that Edwards Cinema!!!

I bet you’re wondering what movie we saw. “The Help.” It was great by the way. I will write a review another time though. So the movie ended and it left us feeling hungry. Apparently we’re not the only ones craving Indian food. It was rather packed in there with people who have no jobs and about to lose their homes. But that did not stop us from enjoying our meal! $30 later and we’re off to our next adventure. A new Hobby Lobby just opened in our area about a week ago and we just had to check it out! What I didn’t tell you is that we actually checked it out before the movie but couldn’t find a parking spot so we’ve decided to come and try the second time. It was still packed, but luckily enough we found one parking space. The people with no income were too busy looking at things they cannot afford and buying them for a house they are about to lose, mind you. I just felt so sorry for them. I mean, I would do the same thing if I didn’t have an income and my car is about to get repossessed and my house foreclosed. It’s called therapy right? I shop when I’m broke kind of attitude. And I do. So we browsed and bought nothing because you see, I’m not really a shopper. I’m a looker. I can look for hours and not buy shit. It’s just the way I’m made. Next stop. The Casino! That’s right. What’s the best and easiest way to make money? Playing the slots. Duh, winning!

This is where it starts to bug the shit out of me. This is also the part where my sarcasm ends. I can’t understand how the media hype up all the bad things that’s going on in this world, and yet there are people all over the place buying shit and spending money. I thought we’re in a fucking recession! It sure doesn’t seem like it, or maybe people just like to keep up with the Jones’. I don’t know. But from the looks of things, there’s no fucking recession going on here. At least not in my area. The casino was filled with people throwing away money, slots after slots. It was crazy in there. Easily, I spent $40 with the hope of winning 10 grand. The hubs played poker for fun! But you see. I’m not complaining. I’m not marching my ass in downtown San Diego blaming the corporations for my lack of money. Nor am I complaining that I live in a 4000 square feet house that I got for half off because the owners before us tried to be greedy by thinking they can buy a $600K house and it will just keep on going up. What were they thinking? Listen, in my previous life, I was a Realtor. I bought my first house when I was 25! All by myself, without having my parents and my other 10 siblings to live with me so I can afford my fucking mortgage. I did my due diligence and educated my self with the process of buying a house (this was before I went into real estate). So when it came time to go over my loan, I knew how much house I can afford. I didn’t look at my future earnings or the hopes that in a year I can sell my house for twice as much. I based it on my current situation. And I made sure it was in the lower end of my loan, just in case something awful happened and I lost my job. I’m not saying that banks and realtors and loan officers were not at fault. Part of their job is helping you and advising you on things that they are qualified to do. I know a lot of them took people for granted, but that’s why you have to watch out for yourself because in the end, it’s about you. So yes, I feel bad that people are losing their homes and jobs. But I think people also need to take responsibilities. We’re always pointing our fingers at others because we’re afraid to look at ourselves in the mirror. Be the solution. Be the change you want to see in the world. Man up. Or woman up. Admit you made a mistake. Admit that you took part in trying to scheme the system. Or at least say, “I should have educated myself. I should not have let anyone tell me otherwise.” You knew that with your $40K per year salary you couldn’t afford a $500K house. That’s not rocket science.

Until then,

Occupy Cate

Womb Mate

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Awww, look at that face.

She looks like an angel, doesn’t she?

How can anyone ever be mad at her?

She is perfection in every way.

What a blessing!

But guess what?

Looks can be deceiving!!!

This little beauty is really…..

A

WITCH!

Don’t let her fool you. That’s exactly what she wants you to think.

A witch for Halloween. Once a year. NOT!

What she doesn’t want you to know is that this is her every day.

Clever though right?

To be yourself for Halloween and no one will ever know.

Guess what kiddo? The joke’s on you! Your secret’s out!!!

Here’s what really happens behind the scenes.

***WARNING! MAY CAUSE NIGHTMARES***

You don’t intimidate me.

That’s all you got?

Oh yeah! Who’s scared now huh?

Cry all you want.

Yell all you want.

Do the scream of death.

You’ve been warned, Ms. Em the Diva!

Next time you have your “babytude,” remember, there’s plenty more where these came from.

I’m just sayin’.

It’s on!!!

In. Your. Face.

Love,

Your ex-womb mate

Fite Club

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No, I’m not stupid. I know how to spell, thank you very much. But for the sake of this blog, I had to find a creative way to express today’s post in, dum dum dum, four letter word(s).

I know that there are rules to follow and the first and most important one is to not talk about “Fight Club.” But in order to keep my sanity I just have to break the code of silence. The other day, actually more like everyday, I witnessed a fight going on where I’m always the referee. I hate getting in the middle of a fight and this one just felt wrong from the moment it began. I know how and why the fight started but considering one of the fighter was twice as big just didn’t seem fair. That’s like putting Brad Pitt in the ring with Tom Cruise. He’s way taller than Tom. Well, everyone’s taller than Tom. But I still love him, short or not! What’s that? You want to know what my definition of fair is? Vin Diesel vs The Rock. Just saw Fast Five last night and felt a fantasy come true, but I was disappointed with the Vin Diesel/The Rock fight scene. I guess I was expecting a hard on, but sadly, I stayed limp the whole time. Now back to the story.

So I’m in my living room and all of a sudden I hear a loud thump. Then the most annoying screeching irritating sound you can ever imagine happened. My eardrums are busted and will never recover. If you haven’t figured this out by now, I’m talking about my rug rats. The 3 year old and the 1 year old were going at it like they are in the Fight Club movie. Currently, my son hates his little sister. He can’t stand the sight of her. It used to be only when she burst out with her screams that he’d come up to her, tilts his head, gives her the stare of death and then pushes her. Now her mere existence makes him turn from Edward Norton into Brad Pitt’s character. This is also how I know for a fact my son is not deaf. He can be upstairs in his room playing and she will be downstairs with her, “I want what I want and if you don’t give it to me, I’m going to scream you to death” scream and he’ll stop whatever he’s doing, walks downstairs just to push her. Then to make matters worse, she’ll come up to his face just to do her scream and it’s all hell from there.

I don’t get it. I mean, I know there’s going to be sibling fights, but for the last year, it was never really an issue. He tolerated her until now. I remember when she was born and my husband brought Tee to the hospital to meet his little sister and he ran in the corner sobbing. He was confused, but I think in his mind, she was just a visitor. So everyday when he wakes up, he’d be so happy and then he walks downstairs and sees his little sister and he would have this look on his face like, “You’re still here?” And then they became, “When are you leaving?” And now it’s come to, “WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU STILL DOING HERE? IT’S BEEN OVER A YEAR! GET YOUR SHIT AND GET OUT!!

To be fair, it’s also partly her fault. She provokes him. He’s playing with something, she has to take it from him. If he refuses, she does the scream of death. She sees him doing something, she does it. She follows him around everywhere. She is suffocating the shit out of him. But now Tee has this mind set of, “If I can’t make you leave, I’m going to put an end to you.” Just yesterday we were playing with play dough. Let me tell you how smart this little guy who can’t talk for shit is. He pretended to eat the play dough so she’ll eat it. I’m telling her, “No Em, not in the mouth. That’s yucky. Dangerous.” And he just kept doing it. Shoving the play dough in his closed mouth.

I turned my back for a minute and he breaks a drinking glass (I think we’re down to 4 now from 12!). I turned my head around and he’s nowhere to be found. I see my little girl with eyes so big probably trying to figure out how she can tell me her big brother is “The Good Son.” The other evening he took everything out of the kitchen cabinets, and I mean everything. I saw the whole thing happened but I thought they were playing together so I left them alone. Then I realized I have to clean all that shit up later and walked over there to find only Em playing by herself, with all the mess on the floor. He ran in the living room, pretended he was there the whole time, walked over to the kitchen and looked at me as if to say, “See mom. I told you she’s a trouble maker. Just drop her ass off at the fire station. Better yet, lets put her on craigslist. I’m sure someone out there will take her for free. You’ll thank me later.

So what do I do? How do other mommies deal with crazy kids? I put both of them on time outs. I make them kiss each other after every fight. I thought maybe the thought of kissing his little sister would make him stop, but no. I can’t take them in the car, or shopping together like we used to. It’s always bickering and scratching and pinching and pushing and screaming. I’m embarrassed to go out in public. If my life were a movie, it would be “Fight Club” and “The Good Son” mixed with “Look Who’s Talking” and “American Psycho” and that movie with Sigourney Weaver where she was traumatized about almost being killed by a serial killer causing her to not go outside. Oh, also “The Net” with Sandra Bullock. Everyday I’m reminded of how far I’ve come from my old movie life of “Bridget Jones Diary” and “Serendipity” and “The Notebook” with a hint of “Clueless” and “Dirty Dancing.” Time sure have changed.

How about you? What’s your movie life like?

Til next time,

C to the A to the T to the E.

This is Tee before little sister:

And Tee after:

Aged Ball Sack

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Let me tell you about my step father. He is old as balls. I know that some women are into old men, my mom included. But I don’t know what she ever saw or continue to see in this man. I can tell you that she didn’t marry for money, because first of all, he has none. But I can’t tell you why she married him. Perhaps its low self-esteem, or pressure from her mother that at 30 something years old, one should be married. I guess I’ll have to rewind a bit so you can understand. My mom had me when she was 24. It’s actually your typical story. Sailor gets stationed overseas, in this case, the Philippines, meets a woman, dates her, have sex with her, then leaves for his new duty station to repeat the process again. It’s safe to say I probably have half siblings all over the world. But the story of my semen donor will have to wait for another time, because today I’m gonna talk about my senile step dad.

My mom married him when I was 14. He’s a real catch I tell you. He was pushing 60, a widow, with 3 grown kids and lives in an apartment in Occupy Oakland. No, I’m not talking about Hugh Hefner. And no, he’s not a bad person. He’s just old. At the time I thought to myself, “Wow! My mom is smarter than I thought. Marrying an old dude so he can die soon and then she’ll have his pension.” Hey, I was 14 so you can judge me how you want. But fast forward 19 years later and he  is still here, alive and kicking, much like Hugh. And it just gets worse and worse. Every time they visit, I wish she would not bring him along. It’s like having a third child in the house. We can’t take him anywhere because we spend most of the time looking for him! Maybe its dementia or your brain cells diminish as you get older, but he just gets stupider and stupider every time I see him. Allow me to elaborate. When I was a teenager he would tell my mom shit like, I smoke crack because I sniff my nose a lot. Or that I carry a pager (remember, this was back in the 90’s when pagers were the shit and cell phones were like the size of a foot long sub) because I’m running a prostitution ring (seriously, I was 16 at the time). So I couldn’t wait to get the fuck out of there once I graduated high school. So now that I’m in my early 30’s and in SoCal, they visit quite often. But it’s always a blessing and a curse because I get to make fun of him and my husband and I are always cracking up at his expense, and then a couple of days later I’m ready to shoot myself because I just can’t stand it anymore.

Their recent visit was the best or worse, depending on how you look at it. I picked them up at the airport and my mom was uber hungry so she asked me to go to McDo (If you have something negative to say about McDonald’s, I suggest you read my Fast Food Nazi post). She thought she was sharing the burger with me and ordered a quarter pounder. We sit down and told her I already ate so she’s forced to eat the burger by her self. He makes a comment, and it’s not like one of those comment where it gets you thinking like, “did he really just say that?” No, it’s more like “I wish you’d shut the fuck up because that was the stupidest shit ever.” But then I can’t say that either because he always tops his previous comment with an even more stupid comment. I could probably write a book with nothing but his one liners (like that one book called “Shit my Dad Says,” except mine will be called, “Super Shit My Step-Dad Says”). So here goes the first one. “Wow! I can’t believe how big the burgers are at this McDonald’s. The one by our house is so much smaller.” My mom says, “It’s because I ordered a different burger.” And this goes back and forth about five times. He still to this day do not understand why the burger from the McDonald’s by my house is way bigger than the one by his.

So off we left McDo. Driving down Margarita Rd and he says, “I don’t see any Margaritas on this road.” In my head I’m thinking, “If my kids and mom were not in this fucking car I would seriously hit a tree.” My mom just ignores him. And then I realized that’s how she’s been able to live with this man for all these years. She just completely tunes him out. But then I’m left with having to hear his questions repeatedly because she refuses to answer them. So now we get home, mind you, he’s been at my new house many times before so this next comment was just out there in the fucking galaxy somewhere. “There are lots of cars in this town but do they have buses?” What the fuck right? And then he proceeds with, “Are you in the same time zone?” I just couldn’t help it anymore and started shaking my head while cracking the fuck up. And looked at my mom and said, “Are you serious?” He also claims that he’s met my biological father in 96 when he was still working at the Army Base. Some random white guy with the same last name as my BF (no, not best friend, but Biological Father) and he knows this for a fact because he has the same widow’s peak as I do. Google it and you’d know what I’m talking about. I tried to tell him my BF has been retired from the Navy since 88 and resides in the East Coast so that could not possibly be him. He still insist. Til this day.

The next day our house was invaded by flies. It always seems that way every time they visit. It’s like they bring the flies with them in their suitcase. So I’m trying to kill flies everywhere and using a magazine to do it. He says to me, “Why don’t you buy a fly swatter. They are only 5 cents.” Finally mom comes to the rescue and says, “5 cents? Maybe in the 30’s when you were born.” I secretly laughed. I know it might sound awful to you, but every time my phone rings and it’s my  mom calling, I’m thinking she’s calling to tell me the bad news that he has passed on. This guy has high cholesterol, diabetes, legally blind, and not even the Angel of Death can fuck with him. Shit, I’m thinking Chuck Norris is a big vagina compare to my Step Father. I just feel so bad for my mom. I bet she never imagined he’d be living this long. Shit, he’s outlived my grandmother. And by the looks of it, he’s going to outlive  my mom. And even possibly me.

Happy Ball-Sack Day everyone!

You know it,

Cate with a C

Poop. Poop. And More Poop.

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Let me start by saying that I love my son to pieces! Let’s call him Tee. I love him with all my heart and would take him however I can have him. I know that every child goes through a phase. Not long ago he was taking off his pants and diaper and thinks it’s okay to run around butt naked, in private or not. And now, we are in the anus phase. He just likes to get in there. Perhaps it’s a sensory thing. But either way, I really hope in time he will get over it. But everyday, twice, three times and sometimes four times a day, he picks his butt when there is shit in there! And it’s not like, he can say to me, “hey mom, I’ve got shit brewing so you might have to change me here in like, let’s say, thirty minutes?”

***If you’ve read my other post, you’d know that my child has no language at the moment, well, none that I speak anyway. I don’t wanna sound like I’m complaining and I hope I don’t offend anyone out there, especially parents that go through what my husband and I go through on a daily basis. Like I’ve mentioned before, it’s hard enough raising a typically developing child, and it’s even harder with a special needs child. ***Disclaimer***

Like I was saying, he is in there like a thong swimwear. So he picks his shitty anus, and he doesn’t yet understand that when you have shit on your hands, you oughta wash them in soap and hot water. So he ends up painting his room in brown because he picks his butt, then forgets he has shit on his hand, and touches everything else in the room. Needless to say, I have to sanitize my house at least three times, but if I’m lucky, just twice a day. I’ve tried googling things like, “why is toddler picking his poopy butt,” and most say, “give him a cold shower right after to teach him a lesson.” The funny or sad part is that my son happened to love cold water. So I can’t punish him that way because he would think it’s a reward. I’ve asked his teachers, his occupational therapist, neighbors, random people in line in front of me at the grocery store, because I’m thinking I can’t be the only one going through this crap. His OT said to get him one of those shorts for sensory seeking kids, but they’re like $80 for 1! I’m gonna need 7! Others say maybe it’s time to potty train him. Maybe he is trying to tell you to change his poopy diaper (duh, I’ve been trying since he was 15 months old). Or just let it be. He’ll get over it (easy for you to say because you’re not the one cleaning up the mess). I also read somewhere that I can buy one of those sleepwear where the zipper’s in the back, then he can’t get it off, thus eliminating his ability to dig in his poop. They too, were pricey. And then one day, after my fourth poopy cleaning for the day, I’ve had it! I just couldn’t take it anymore and went right into Amazon.com and ordered him 7 of the full body sleepwear for everyday of the week. I was so excited because you see I’m a Prime Member and I get the shit delivered to me in 2 days. So they get here and viola! Totally useless. I bought the flannel ones! In the middle of summer. I have yet to use them. So until it gets cold enough here in Southern California, I am stuck wiping shit on the carpet, the wall, the bed, the closet, the toys, just shit everywhere. And then I go in my bathroom, and cry for five minutes, just to realize that I left my son alone in his room to play with his poop yet again. Effing shoot me is the thought that comes to mind, except I use the actual effing word!

How about you? Have you had similar experience? If so, do you have any suggestions for me besides alcohol and medications? Holla atchagurl, hopefully before I volunteer myself to the loony bin. Piss and shit homey! Happy Monday.