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.