Monthly Archives: December 2011

The Kardashians versus Snookie Lawsuit

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I just wanted to give everyone an update regarding some changes that I’ll be making to the blog within the next couple of weeks. No worries, it’s still completely pointless and of no help to you, but it will make my life easier. For now however, the first change will be the titles for every posts. While I’ll still be labeling/categorizing my posts under a four letter word category, e.g., Food, Baby, Love, etc, I’m going all out with the title. I really need to make sure important people starts noticing me and I can’t get that done with crappy four letter word titles, ya know? And according to everything I’ve read so far, “they” all say to make sure the post titles are creative and ones that are pretty popular in the search query. So you might see the title with no relevance to the post itself like, “Sex, Kardashian, Justin Bieber, Charlie Sheen” (or see above title) but I’m actually talking about my 1-year-old and her adventures with Santa. I need lots of views because I’ve got bigger plans y’all. I’m a fame whore so just get used to it. Until then, enjoy your holidays. Have a merry Christmas. Yes, I said MERRY CHRISTMAS. If I’ve offended you, I’m not sorry.

Triple Ho’s,

Cate

p.s. For all you late shoppers out there who refuses to call yourselves procrastinators, Amazon Prime is the best way to go. You avoid the lines, the people and the driving. Thus avoiding jail time entirely. Because if you’re anything like me, I feel like hurting people during Christmas time (and this is coming from someone who is a bonafide and certified shopaholic). This is the worst time of the year to be out and about because you’re amongst your kind (procrastinators). And trust me, they wanna pull your hair out just as much as you want theirs. And since I fear being someone’s bitch on Christmas, I decided to order all my stuff this morning and I’m getting them Thursday. I suggest you do the same. Also, no taxes when you order online. That’s how I get uncle Sam back.

Suck-o-Tash* my Squash**

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* Succotash (except in my case, suck-o-tash) is not a term coined by me nor anyone affiliated to me. It is in fact, from the book “Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close” by Jonathan Safran Foer. Also coming to a movie near you of the same title, starring Tom Hanks and Sandra Bullock. In select theaters Christmas Day. *

** I have decided to go with my initial instinct of categorizing every post with the appropriate four letter word category in order to have better titles. Eventually, I would like to post each blog under each category, not just the default home button. Coming up with just four letter word titles for every posts just seemed kinda stupid after doing it for the fifteenth time. Plus, we all know longer is better and preferable. **

One thing you must know about me is that I truly enjoy cooking and eating. I’m not one of those cooks that only likes to serve the food. Hell no. I make it, to eat it. I supposed that has a lot do with my love for food. And by food, I mean all kinds of food. I am what you call an “equal opportunity” eater. If food was a man, I’d be a total slut. A “maneater” as Nelly Furtado calls it. I am so great at cooking that I can literally fuck it up and it would still turn out ama!zing! (Yes, I spelled it exactly like that!) No, I’m not talking about that time I seasoned the steak with 1/4 cup of seasoned salt. That’s grilling. And we all know, grilling requires no talent, just the ability to pay attention. If you’re ADD, you should probably look for a different hobby. Also, the fact that I can’t get my bread maker to “make” my bread for me has nothing to do with how I put the ingredients in. That’s the case of the machine, not the operator. But that’s baking. And though require some skills, it’s no cooking. I don’t know. Maybe that’s just one of the things God has blessed me with. Others are great with money, some can drive and text simultaneously, I can cook! And thanks to Pinterest, I can try out different recipes for different occasions. Click here for the actual link to this recipe.

After looking at the stupid spaghetti squash my mom bought after Thanksgiving (yeah, it’s been sitting there that long), I’ve decided to look for some easy recipes on Pinterest and yes, I found a winner (actually, I found another one but I didn’t have all the ingredients and too lazy to drive anywhere, so this one was it). I’ll take you through the process, as it was quite a simple one.

Poke holes on squash and bake for 60 minutes (see I told you, very little skills required for baking)

Cut in half, take out seeds and scrape with fork (the inside that is), put aside

Get a sauté fryer (or a frying pan, whatever you have) and add lots of butter (or olive oil, if you prefer) and fresh garlic, sauté for about 5 minutes

Add fresh basil (to your liking, I love it so I spare no expense), except last night I didn’t have fresh ones, so dried ones had to do

Add squash, sauté for another 5 minutes, add salt (I used sea salt because I’m fancy) and grated Parmesan cheese (which I also did not have, more about that next)

That’s it. Done and serve!

Once I transferred the dish to a plate, I sprinkled with Parmesan cheese (no, not the one I have to grate my self – you know I’m lazy)

So here’s my review:

It was actually pretty good, considering I have never made spaghetti squash before. I’ve had butternut squash, but not this one. However, to eat this as a main dish (as I was trying to do to help with my dieting) was not fun, to say the least. I imagined it was a T-Bone steak, much like the one I had a couple of days ago, which by the way was out of this world amazing!! I do think it would make a fabulous side dish, so I am keeping this recipe for next time as such. And I am fairly certain that fresh basil and grated fancy Parmesan cheese would have made it even more scrumptious.

Here’s a couple of pics to show you proof, for all you skeptics out there. I wish I was able to take better pictures but I do have an older camera that doesn’t have any fancy schmanzy stuff to make them look purrty. But don’t let the pictures fool you. It was quite tasty. Even the hubs gave it a try and he’s never had squash before and said he liked it. So two tongue licks and a yum from both of us. Also, if you would like to send me a new Nikon D5100 camera for Christmas, that would truly help me and this blog a lot. Thank you. I would settle for a Canon. 

I’M SORRY, I COULDN’T HELP IT. ISN’T IT JUST BEAUTIFUL? IT WOULD MAKE MY LIFE BEAUTIFUL. AND WILL HELP ACHIEVE MY GOAL OF INTERNET FAME. YOU CAN EITHER BE THE PERSON THAT HELPED ME BECOME FAMOUS OR THE ONE WHO WILL FOREVER REGRET THAT YOU COULD HAVE BEEN ROLLING IN THE DEEP WITH ME LIKE ADELE. THE CHOICE IS YOURS. IT’S AVAILABLE AT AMAZON, BY THE WAY. MAKE IT HAPPEN.

Squash-a-licious,

Cate-a-licious

Sexy Back

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Hi, it’s Cate. Remember me? From Craigslist? I sold you that Step 2 wagon last week? I’m not a psycho or anything, but I just felt that we had a connection and would really like for us to be friends. Wanna get together and meet at the park?

I wish. Then I wouldn’t feel like such a loser right now. Friendless and all. I don’t even know at what point it got to be so hard to make friends. In elementary school, you just blurted it out, you know? “Hey you, wanna be my friend?” And if that didn’t work out, you’d say, “You suck. You’re not my friend anymore.” It was so easy and simple. But maybe I’ve lost my mojo. My friendship juice. I do think that part of it has a lot to do with the way I pick my friends. I’m what you call a shallow person. But before you go all crazy on me, allow me to explain. I pick my friends initially according to how they appear physically. Much like I used to do back in my dating years. Don’t get me wrong, however. It’s still their character that ultimately determines their merit. But is that so wrong? I know we’re not supposed to judge a book by its cover, but isn’t it also true that “you are whom you frequent?” I want friends that would motivate me physically, someone I can share things with like, running and working out. I’m not a gym rat or a work-out-holic by any means, but I felt my best when I looked my best. And I just want to get back to feeling that way again. 

In the last four years, after having the kiddos, I have not been able to get back to my pre pregnancy weight. And it’s been a hell of a load (pun intended) on every aspect of my life. Just today, I was pushing both the kiddos in the stroller at Marshall’s and some lady says to me, “Wow! 2 and another on the way?” I was thinking, “What the fuck are you talking about?” but said instead, “No, I am all done with kids, thank you. This shirt just makes me look bloated.” Doesn’t that just make you wanna go home and starve yourself?

Yet somehow, in spite of being 30 elbees overweight, I’m still mentally fit. So in my mind, I still look for friends that are physically in shape, like I was before the pregnancies. So when I roam the gym or church or mall or meetup groups, I tend to have my blinders on, only looking in directions where my old self used to fit in, never even considering for a  moment that I too am being judged. Perhaps these physically attractive people are looking at me and seeing someone who is not a good fit for them. Maybe because of my current weight, they are unable to see what true beauty lies within me. Ironic, isn’t it?

With love,

Two Tons of Fun

a.k.a. Cate

Self Help Lies

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Honey. I have something to tell you. You may not like it. You may even hate me for it. So please sit down. And know that I have tried my best to ignore it but I can no longer fight or deny it. It has been eating me alive since I was a little girl. But I think it’s time that I no longer hide from my secret. This is who I am. The sooner I accept it, the sooner I can truly live my life the way it was meant to. So here goes it. I’m a closet……millionaire! Please don’t judge me.

No. I don’t secretly have millions. That’s so far from the truth. What I’m trying to say is that I wish I’m a millionaire, as in, that’s all I ever do, is wish. I have this feeling in my gut that I’m supposed to be rich but have no clue on how to make that happen. Wait, I take that back. I have a clue, I have ideas, but it’s following through with them, that’s the challenge. I’ve read all sorts of books on self help, hoping it would help find my “sweet spot” or “calling” or “purpose” but to no avail. They all say the same shit. Something about the way to wealth is doing what you love. But everyday is a struggle. How am I supposed to know what I’m passionate about when I’m not passionate about anything? Sure, I can spend hours shopping and not even know I’ve been looking at the same shit for an hour, but couldn’t that also be considered a time waster? How about sex? I like sex! Would that bring me wealth or herpes? Maybe I’ll win the lottery. But first I must play. Perhaps I can start my own business (a shop about sex). My college professor used to tell us that we all see opportunities, but what makes an entrepreneur different is that he/she actually goes for it and takes the risk. Which I obviously lack. So I dream about being a successful entrepreneur. I obsess about it. I read about it. I talk about it. I research and google about it. I am consumed by it, but does nothing to make it a reality. I wish there’s a simple answer to “How To Get Filthy Rich.” Then everyone would be in the 1 percent, right? Perhaps its fear of failure. Or just fear itself. Some say you choose it and others say you’re born with it. So is it in your DNA? The Steve Jobs, Warren Buffets, Bill Gates and Donald Trumps of the world, are they carrying some extra chromosome of some type that the rest of the 99 percent somehow is missing? Is that what makes them special? I sure hope not. Otherwise, I’m screwed.

Closet Love,

Millionaire Cate

More Shit Talk

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The other day, while changing Tee’s poopy diaper, the hubs says, “I should start my own cologne line and call it Poopay. Eau de Toilette.” Mocking some random stranger coming to ask him about the new cologne, “Oh my god dude, is that Poopay you’re wearing? It’s the shit man!” That’s how things happen in our household. Nothing but shit talk. It’s the norm for us. Most of the time we are high on shit and we don’t even know it, especially when we’re in the car, like yesterday. It wasn’t until the hubs got out to go pick up a book at the library (yup, we still go to the library. It’s the eco thing to do.) and he opened the car door to get back in and says, “It’s smell like shit in here. And it’s the explosion shit smell honey.” Don’t ask us how we know the severity of the shit, but we just do because we’re shit connoisseurs. The beautiful thing about having an SUV is that the trunk serves a dual purpose, in this case, also a diaper changing station. My husband takes off Tee’s pants and says, “Oh Shit! Babe. You need to come here. I need your help. There’s no way I can clean this up by myself.” Shaking my head and thinking, “Amateur.” So I go to help him and the little man has shit all over his pants and by that I mean like down to his leg and all over his butt. But to tell you that it’s the worse shit he’s ever had would be a lie. Currently we have a tie in the number one spot, but perhaps you can help us decide the true winner of “The Worst Shit” award.

The first incident also occurred while driving. I was 7 moths pregnant with Em and as you guessed it, the husband was on deployment. Tristan and I was on our way back from San Diego. I made the mistake of changing his diaper before we left San Diego and didn’t bother putting his pants back on. So we’re singing “Twinkle Twinkle” when I smelled the explosion. But, I ignored it. I figured we’re only 25 minutes from home so I’ll just keep on driving. A few minutes later I looked at my rear view mirror and saw my son’s face covered with shit. The thought of him eating his own poop made me nauseous and I had to pull over on the side of the road to vomit. After vomiting, I decided to inspect the damage and there it was. Shit everywhere. Down his legs, all over his back (I don’t even how that’s possible). His car seat soaked with shit. It was like a volcanic eruption and lava was just flowing out of the butt hole. We didn’t have the SUV yet so I was in a car and trying to figure out how the hell I’m going to change his diaper and clean all the poop while on the side of the freeway with my big ass belly getting in the way. I used one and a half pack of wipes and it wasn’t enough. But that’s all I had left! Luckily I had a towel in the car and used that as a cover for his car seat. When we got home, I had to run inside immediately to give us both a shower. When I was done with that, I had to hose down the car seat completely and sanitize the car. And I had to take two more showers afterwards. It was disgusting. 5 Shit Stars deserving.

The second incident happened while shopping at Lowe’s. Fortunately, we were still in the Outdoor Garden area. Em was sleeping in her car seat inside the cart and Tee was sitting on the upper cart area. My husband was pushing the cart so he was facing Tee. I was in the front of the cart checking out plants and happened to turn my head to show the hubs something and saw an eruption exploding from Tee’s butt. I mean, I saw diarrhea pushing itself up his back! Then down to his legs and started dripping all over.  Husband was freaking out (amateur) and had to rush the cart outside to go back to the SUV (but not before asking one of the associates if he can have some plastic bags to use as a changing pad) so he can clean up our son. He left diarrhea trail on his way out all the way to the SUV. He had to tell one of the Lowe’s workers to sanitize the cart. We never came back to that Lowe’s again.

Sadly I know that this will not be the last of the poopy adventures. But I’m waiting for the day that I will no longer have to look at another diaper again. Quite frankly, it’s also a romance killer. I change so much shit throughout the day that one evening, when the kids were finally both asleep and the hubs and I were spending some much-needed QT, with the anticipation of eventual love-making, when I thought I smelled shit. I turned to my husband and asked him, in my most serious face, “Do you have shit in your pants?” I think it’s time for potty training. One day when the hubs and I are old and are wearing Depends, these little turds better show us their gratitude by changing our shit. They have no idea what’s coming for them. Karma’s a bitch.

Laters Stinkers,

Cate