I'm BACKKKKKKK.....

It’s been nearly three years… and I’M BACK BITCHES… and I’m back with a vengeance. A lot has change in my life over the years. I’ve gained some weight, lost some weight, gained some pets, lost some pets, gained some friends, lost some friends, gained some friends again… and most importantly, the reason I’m here… I lost what I attributed to be the “love of my life.” The love of my life in a very selfish, asshole moment suggested that I distract myself from my pain by blogging again… Well, little does he know… HERE I AM?!?!?!

Maybe I’m just a hugeeee vagina, but I’m miserable. Our relationship was far from perfect, but what relationship is. However, we were best friends. I’m sure that everyone says that, but I mean we were. We were never short on laughter; we were never short on fun. When the times were tough, they were tough, but when I thought things were getting better… boom… these cycles.

Do you remember that game you played when you were a kid with the flower petals, “he loves me… he loves me not?” WELCOME TO MY LIFE.

I dealt with it… until I couldn’t deal with it… until I couldn’t think of ways to work on our relationship. I fought so hard for us. Key word…. I. To this day, he swears, “he fought for 2 years…”

No.

No.

Sorry. You told me you didn’t love me and you walked out on our fur kids, your “stepdaughter,” and myself and then let me console you when you were upset about it, but the second I needed support, I should write a fucking blog about it… well here you go… HERE’S YOUR FUCKING BLOG.

So, how does someone tell you they don’t love you and then break down repeatedly about it? How does someone tell you they need space to figure out how they feel about you? If it is hurting you, obviously you fucking care… DING DING DING. WINNER, WINNER- LOVE DINNER? Or no love… because by the time that dinner is ready to be served… I’ll already be eating dessert with someone else because I’m amazing. I deserve someone who realizes that. I deserve someone who doesn’t need to abandon our family to decide if they love me. I may be crying. I may be pathetic, and I may still be in love with you, but I know my worth. I just haven’t found my big girl panties yet—I’m still working on cleaning up the piles of laundry that I’ve been left with.

Random Ramblings...

What drives someone to be attracted to a certain type of person?

Is having sex with a bigger person okay, but being with them on a long term official basis not okay?

In my single days, granted I was a drunken partying mess, I had my share of fairly attractive men. I've always had a feeling that maybe it was never more because: a) I was a hot, drunk mess or b) I wasn't skinny. I am pretty though. I’m not morbidly obese. I’m shapely. I have curves. My hour glass figure is there; perhaps it isn't as small as other hour glass figures, but it’s apparent. You’re not finding it hidden under mass rolls of fat. While I may not be the most confident person when it comes to my body; I know that I am more than my body. My face is a face of an angel. Haha.

My weight fluctuates. My face never changes. My personality never changes.

I've dated various colors, shapes, and sizes as well. I don’t have a “TYPE.” I’m attracted to what I’m attracted to. I've never dated someone strictly based on their physical appearance. Personality is far more important to me than that. I've had extremely attractive people talk to me and immediately dismissed them based on their douche-fuck personality.

Does someone’s own insecurity in what society might think about their choice of a larger person as a partner influence this decision? I think I’ll ask my Human Sexuality teacher if I can change my paper to this topic.

I’m interested in what drives people to do these things. Is it specific to the male gender? Are men still so cave men like that they are incapable of grasping their own insecurities to pursue what they really want? Or are females small-minded as well? 

This is my random thought. Perhaps I should survey said attractive guys and ask what the reason is…

Back to my homework. 

I'm a narcissistic cunt-face

***That awkward moment when you read your post and realize you might have narcissistic tendencies…. Oops.***

Part of being in a relationship is accepting the good with the bad. For instance, the farting on me while you sleep… or you thinking your jokes are funny, but in all reality, they are only funny to you. The pretending to be half interested when you could really give a flying fuck what is going on in the other person’s world…  (We both suck at faking interest)

I accept the negative because the things I love the most about you overpower the shit that makes me want to poke my eyeballs out and stick screwdrivers in my ears.

I’m sure that you’ll get butt-hurt over this posting, however I’m feeling inspired to write about something for the first time in months, which happens to be the joys of relationships.  You know how I feel about the butt-hurt though; to this honor, I dedicate a quote that you so dearly despise, “Put a tampon in it.”

Which strangely made a song pop into my head, “If you don’t like it then you better put a tampon in it, If you don’t like then you better put a tampon in it.”

Now there is a hit.

I said, “Lord Jesus, it’s a manpon.”

Okay, enough, enough.

First and foremost, I’m a fucking moody bitch. Seriously, I can go from happy to angry over a simple overanalyzed pissy facial expression.

“Oh, you looked at me wrong, well enjoy my being a sarcastic cunt for the rest of the evening there buddy.”

“But babe, I was just smiling.”

“You’ll be smiling alright, when I insert a manpon into your mangina.”

You would think that most people would appreciate my overzealous sense of sarcasm. They really don’t. While I might make myself laugh, my boyfriend tends to hate it. I can be a bit overpowering… go figure. This is that moment when I wish I wasn’t too lazy to dig up that e-card about the reasoning for being fat is that you couldn’t fit this much personality into a skinny person. Really, I’m just fat because I don’t like to exercise and I drink a lot of beer.

With that being said, I try to control my urges to piss the other half off when we are having adult conversations… I usually end up having super sarcastic conversations with myself in my head. I know a lot of people say they are missing that filter. I’m in a club with them. It is hard to control myself from being a cunt. Especially on this anti-backspace kick I’ve been on. He hates it. If I accidently type/text something snarky, I can’t erase it. FAIL.  

I don’t know what the point of this GD blog is, but carry on…

Now that I’m not drunk and pissing in my bed on the regular, my life has been pretty calm. I’ve been finding it hard to feel inspired to write, though I’ve missed it dearly. Unless you want to hear about my daughter being a smaller version of my smart-ass or my kittens, and I love my fucking kittens, I haven’t had much to say. I think today I was inspired when I found myself being extremely short and sarcastic with the boyfriend on my lunch break. Which carried over to me being a super sarcastic texter. I suck at life today. It made me think about relationships, the good, the bad and the ugly.

I haven’t really dated a lot. My vagina has had a much more active dating life than me. However, the few people that have managed to wrangle me have almost all been boring, except my dashing new beau. Well, newish. He challenges me, which I love. It is so nice not to have someone that I can walk all over or someone who couldn’t “handle my personality”. I might drive his ass insane in the membrane, but he secretly loves every minute of it. I know, I’m psychic. Even if he doesn’t, he loves me more than he hates me and that’s all that matters. YOU WILL LOVE ME. YOU PUT THE LOVE IN THE HEART. Like a Hannibal Lector cupid.

This whole having someone outspoken and spunky has its ups and downs. We’re still adjusting, it probably doesn’t help that we kind of rushed that whole living together thing. (Which is not a complaint) I absolutely love living with the fucker. You know, keep your friends close and your enemies closer… I kid, I kid.

Kittens. They are cute.

Why is it that people do things, complain about doing them and then complain because they want/need to do them. I am the queen of it. I think I should get an award for everything I fucking do. Is there a word for that? My thought process is like “bitch, I donated to the fucking homeless and to cure cancer, when cancer is cured and homeless people find homes, I want a certificate…. Laminated and framed. Mother fucker, if I had kept that fucking dollar I donated to those fuckers, I could buy more beer.”

Cleaning, I am a fucking neat freak.  I bitch and complain about spending every waking moment of my free time cleaning up after my little fam bam, yet when the boyfriend does it for me, I’m at a loss and I feel like I am missing some big adventure. I CAN’T NOT CLEAN. I think I need CA. That could be taken one of two ways, Cats Anonymous and Cleaning Anonymous. I need both. It is also really bothering me that that was a double negative, which equals, “I can clean.” That makes sense though. Perfectly describes my addiction. The boyfriend tries to help out and force me into relaxation, but I’m a fucking psycho. I want things done my way or they won’t be right. I do appreciate his efforts. The apartment does look good when he cleans, I just didn’t touch the towel that wiped off of the counter, and therefore it doesn’t have the Kaitlyn-Glow.  

I have totally lost my whole concept of what the fuck I was doing with this blog, but it is amusing me either way.

 Basically, I’m a bitch, an amazingly hilarious bitch. (At least in my own head and that is all that matters, duh) My boyfriend and I are crazy about each other, really, you fucking touch him and I will cut you. Two words: Curb. Stomp. But seriously, he makes my heart happy and my blood boil all at the same time. Enough of this mushy shit….

I like cats. I like to clean and complain.

Word.

P.S. My original facebook page for my blog was taken over by aliens and/or hacked, so if you haven't liked my new page, get on that shit yo! Click here for free mustache rides!!

and look at my narcissistic beautiful fucking face bitches.

Are you smarter than a 5th grader?

 Unfortunately, I am not a genius. It really sucks. However, with that being said I’m also not a dumb ass. I’m sure some people would beg to differ. Fuck their opinions though.

Being a page admin and in a few groups on Facebook, I come across some flat out retards. I came across one such idiot last night, which inspired me to write this blog posting. 

Now that we’ve established a few things…

Why do people get so offended when you correct their grammar? Also, if you don’t know how to spell something or use a word properly, why don’t you use a different word or Google it? Google IS your friend.

Last night after commenting on a friend’s status, some idiot replied and immediately my Hitler ‘stache grew and I was in full on grammar Nazi regime. Too bad that Marnizzle beat it to me. This is what was posted…

Now, I’m not perfect. I know that I sometimes misuse punctuation or spell something wrong due to simply just not paying attention. However, this bitch was blatantly fucking dumb. Now, what I have to say about this could be considered hypocritical. However, you have to consider the factors:

1. The truth, meaning she was corrected because she DID post something that was grammatically incorrect; and 
2. That me calling her ignorant is in fact true. She is/was ignorant in the way that she spelled and presented herself.

I find it rather sad that someone can’t spell LYING. Don’t they still teach people about verb forms and verb tenses?

Anyhow, the main objective of this posting is that instead of correcting herself, this less than intelligent broad lashed out and started name-calling. How old are we? Like seriously. My six-year old daughter would do something like this, and would probably still sound more intelligent than this girl.

“Oh No! You bitch, you corrected my grammar, well at least I’m not fat and ugly.”

Really?

Bitch, first off, I am far from ugly. I may be bigger than you, however I’d rather be curvy, beautiful, and smart than a dumbass, skinny, mediocre looking redneck. Yes, I am allowed to call you a redneck because I, too, am from the south. However, I moved past being a stereotypical southerner and can properly word things that I say and type without sounding like a redneck trying to speak in ebonics. When you can’t come up with anything better than insulting someone who was attempting to educate you, that speaks volumes for your maturity level and your intelligence level. 

My suggestion, if you can’t learn from your mistakes, is that you put on some camo, go to work at Applebee’s and stop trying to be “Billy Bad Ass” to people who are far more educated than yourself. Hopefully you’ll meet a nice fella who likes his broads ignorant and will provide for you. Applebee’s isn’t going to get you very far yo.

Can I have a #6 please?

Since I’ve been out of commission in the land of dating and I’m all “wifed up", I have nothing new to blog about, so I’ve decided that I’d bust out an oldie, but goodie.

It never fails that when I go out, it is a necessity for me to visit the Taco Bell drive thru on my way home, be it by cab or car, I better get my Taco Bell or someone is going to get hurt. Yeah, I'm a fat ass. I legitimately think that there is nothing better to eat when you’re drunk than a cheesy gordita crunch.

When visiting the drive thru, I usually come across my “boyfriend”. He is some young kid that I choose to sexually harass in my drunkness every time I visit. I think if he saw me sober he would be in shock. The poor kid is scared of me, I am not sure why. Most 19 year olds would love if a hot girl told him she wanted to marry him and have his babies, right?

Yeah, probably not.

This poem is in my blog posting of poems, but since we’re on the subject of my Taco Bell drive thru boyfriend, I thought I’d share…

  

My favorite part of the evening

Is on my way home

When through the Taco Bell drive thru

In my car I shall roam

Professing my undying love

To my future husband, so sweet

Ready and willing

To molest his man meat

Anyhow, back to my story... 

I was out with a few friends and a coworker, when Jerome, my best friend rescued me and my drunkness. I am pretty sure he had to carry me due to my being a dumb ass and wearing heels.  Being the amazing friend that he is, and the understanding of my love for Taco Bell, we picked some up on the way to my apartment, where he intended on dropping me off. 

This is the only picture I could find from that night, I had to cut Stacy out because she would MURDER me. She looked like a hot mess. 

Jerome helped my prized Taco Bell and me into my apartment building. Once we were in the hallway, I realized… Ummm… I don’t have my key. I let Lauren drive my car to wherever she ventured off to and my house key is on my car keys, duh. Dumb ass of the year award goes to me! Marnizzle aka Narnia aka Saggy Drunk wasn’t home… she was off prosistuting it up with some dude.

 Now, at this time, I had just gotten one of my adorable kittens. Yes, there is a reason I am bringing up my kitten.

At some point in my drunken stupor, I decided that someone was home. I heard moving around inside. Totally forgetting that I have an effing kitten making noise. 

After deciding someone was there, I told Jerome that my coworker Stacey had moved in with us. That I KNEW she was there. That someone was in my apartment and we had to get in.

I have no clue what I was thinking. I was probably distracted by the fact I had to pee like a mother-fucker. Here I am locked out of my apartment, at least 20 minutes away from Jerome’s apartment. I have no keys to my door, no windows are unlocked. I'm piss out of luck. (Like that word play?) Drunk me made the amazing decision to pull my pants down and piss in the hallway of my building.

At least it wasn’t my bed this time.

So, after releasing some urine from my urethra, I plop my ass down on the stairs and eat some of my food. Apparently, I also cried at some point and beat Jerome with my Taco Bell bag because it was definitely HIS fault that I didn’t have MY key and that no one was at my hizzy, other than the kitten. Fucking pussy. 

This is Jerome and me, just to get a picture… I love him. (We made "grillz" out of our Chipotle burrito foil) 

Eventually we gave up and left to go to Jerome’s hizzy. I later learned that Lauren was on her way to drop off the key to me. When I woke up the next morning in his bed, I was in a puddle of urine. Apparently, I hadn’t released all of my urine from my urethra in the hallway. FAIL. Luckily, Jerome hearts my face and is totally okay with my pissing problems. That is a true friend, fo' sho. 

I got lucky in that the hallway didn't smell like urine and no one saw me. I'm sure my neighbors would have loved that vision of beauty. Who doesn't love a golden shower every once in a while? 

It was a pretty funny night out. Any night that ends with Taco Bell and pissing is one for the books. 

I believe that the moral of the story is… I am lacking some morals. I am totally okay with this though. It keeps my life interesting. 

I want to piss on you..

There have been a few occasions when I’ve been known to spring a leak while catching some Zzzz's in the middle of the night after consuming too much alcohol. They say liquor before beer and you’re in the clear, however that is not the case with me. I’d say it is more like, liquor plus beer and the piss is near.

I’ve been pissed on before by my spawn, but never by a guy. I now know how the few boys that have been so lucky as to receive my golden showers feel… WET.

Luckily for this fellow, I thought it was hilarious. It was karma’s way of paying me back ten fold. Now, I say ten fold only because my fucking mattress was SOAKED! Fo’ real. He really knew how to mark his territory. 

So this is how I received my first Golden Shower:

The roomie and I were out with some friends for karaoke. (As you well know, I fucking love drunk karaoke.) This guy had been trying to hang out with me for monthsssss. I always blew him off. Yeah, I’m a bitch. However, this evening, I decided to be nice and when he texted to see what I was up to, I invited him out to karaoke.

So, here I am meeting this guy for the first time. He’s cute, kind of quiet but nice. He sits down and joins in on our drinking adventure. At this point, I am HIGHLY intoxicated, as per the usual at this point in my life.  He has MAYBE 2-3 beers tops. I’m thinking he isn’t much of a drinker and is completely sober, which is cool with me. We all can't be Frank the tank. 

Now me, being highly intoxicated, decided that my V wanted the P, so I invited Mr. Piss Pants home with me. SLUT. Unfortunately, little did I know, he was drunk. He was drunk as a mother-fucking skunk. (That’s the Alabama in me, haha)

So we get in bed, the V meets the P and it was fun. Woo party in my pants!

Upon waking up the next morning and become aware of the fact that I am in a puddle. Of course, being the one who NORMALLY pisses the bed, my first thought is FUCK! Here we go again. So, I reach down and touch the crotch area of my underoos only to realize my undies are dry. Upon this realization, I’m thinking, Yes!! I didn’t do it, but ewwww he did. Hahahaha, Sucks for him.

He woke up and was completely embarrassed. I would’ve been too. At least when I piss the bed there is a very large amount of alcohol consumed for me to blame it on. This fucker only had 2-3 beers. Let's just say he will not be attending the Beer Olympics anytime soon. I thought it was quite strange that such little alcohol had this effect on Mr. Piss Pants. 

A few months down the line, I learned why he couldn’t handle his alcohol. You see, this guy was my Facebook friend, and a few months after this incident, I noticed a few, "Happy 21st Birthday" posts on his wall. WHAT?!?!  Now, not only did I get my first golden shower, I also am a cougar. Well, maybe not a cougar, perhaps a cheetah? Haha.

So this is how I graduated to a golden shower-receiving cheetah! Sounds pretty legit, right?

It’s not a party until someone gets pissed on. J