Category Archives: Life

If these walls could talk

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It’s Monday, right? Our entire household is sick, or has been sick for the last two weeks, which means our house has turned into a Museum of Germs. As soon as I start to feel better, I’ll need to disinfect and sanitize so I can feel like a normal human being again. Prior to the attack of the killer cooties, I was in the process of making some home improvements, Weekend Warriors style, except, it has been going on since Christmas break. Yikes right? And by the looks of it, it’s probably going to take me two more months to finish this stupid project(s). I don’t know what I was thinking. It started out with the built-in cabinets, leading me to switching the kids rooms around, to the next bright idea of repainting AND redecorating their room. Now I’m stuck with half-finished cabinets, almost finished boy’s room, and sucks to be you Em’s room. I’ll let the pictures do the talking. Please. Do not judge me. It’s a work in progress and as soon as I am done, I will post the finished products, whenever that may be. Oh, I forgot to mention. I also went on a tangent about organizing. So now I have all kinds of paperwork lying around my bedroom floor waiting to be filed and shredded. Mutherfudgeme.

So this is what we started with (we bought a total of 5 pieces) :

Then I stained it with Dark Walnut

And then:

This is taken from my iPhone just now. I can’t find my camera because I’m sure my little rugrats hid it from me.

As you can see, I also painted the inside of the recessed wall. Martha Stewart Cement Gray. What you’re not seeing is that we have recessed wall on opposite sides of the wall and in the middle is a fireplace. I promise, once it’s all done, it will all be revealed. And that’s that. Maybe a granite on top, and some shelving units. You’ll have to come back to see. Isn’t the suspense just killing ya?

Now, Tee’s room! Used to be Em’s room.

So I decided to keep the yellow as to not give myself more work…

Yup, if you haven’t guessed already, this one below I stole from Pinterest.

Of course all of these pictures would have looked even more amazing had I taken them with a Nikon D5100. I’m just saying. And lastly….

No, no room pictures for Em. It’s too embarrasing right now. We’ll have to wait til we at least start on it 🙂 Sorry baby girl!

Bubbles you later!

Cate

New Adventures Awaits

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Whew. It’s been a hot minute. No worries though my dedicated reader or two. As you can tell, I’m still very much alive and kicking, just like my step dad. I wish I had a good excuse, like I went on a month long vacation to Fiji or Bora Bora, but nope. Just the same ole boring stuff. Unless you’re into kids and poop, then it’s like Disneyland in my house every day. I’m not going to write a whole lot today. I am still very much lost with what to do and what direction this blog will be heading. So many changes has been taking place lately and it’s left me stuck. For now I just wanted to update everyone and say that I am still here and my journey has just begun.

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

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