I accidently just spent 30 minutes looking at pictures of Beyonce.

I don’t even look at pictures of my baby that long. I mean… My baby is cute and all but she ain’t no Beyonce…

Actually I am really relieved my baby isn’t Beyonce because that would cause some awkward questions about paternity. Plus I would not have been able to push all that hair and booty out my body. I’m too skinny and frail. Let’s be real.

So I’m house-sitting right now, and that means I have cable for a week. We are too cheap and snobby (“Oh we don’t have cable…we read really long books and discuss jazz.”) to have cable at our apartment. I’m doing this properly, too. I am so involved in the Real Housewives lives, I am starting to genuinely neglect my family. “Ok… Great, husband….Yeah I care about your hopes and dreams, I guess. But what about Gretchen and Tamra!? Will they ever end this tension?” “Yeah, Madelyn, you said your first word. If it isn’t ‘NeNe’ or ‘BravoTV’, I don’t care.”

I would watch anything on Bravo. I’d watch “When presidents poop” without shame.

It is amazing what we will distract ourselves with. I watch other people live instead of really living, myself. That really is why we ditched cable at out apartment. It was taking too much time away from our family. Between Matt’s obsession with zombie shows and my fascination with the drama of rich douchebags, we don’t even see each others genitals when cable tv is involved… Much less use them on each other (awkward description of sex…sorry).

I just thought I would let you know that my husband and I are not boning this week due to prior engagements with cable television. I figured you cared…

No?

Ok my daughter is currently in an epic battle with the curtains. The curtains are winning. I have to go help.

-real housewife of someone else’s house while I house-sit (aka. Katlyn)

Hey bitches.

I’m writing a novel. 

That sentence either makes me sound really important or really douchey. Both are true.

This is my daughter and I and our general outlook on the day:

And with that, we are going to the park to judge people. Only losers with out jobs go to the park on a Tuesday…

Oh. Wait.

-Loser

Katlyn makes shittay videos

I just want to be glamorous.

I just want to be a hippie.

I just want to be rich.

I just want to live simply.

I just want a lot of things, people. And they are all conflicting wants. I always want something when the act of wanting it makes me a better person than someone else. 

Por ejemplo (spanish for: “For Example”. I also like using Spanish to make me look more cultured( (aka better)) than people that can’t speak spanish), when a couple of hippies walk by and bump into me because they are so effing stoned that they can’t see that there is in fact a thing called reality existing in front of them, I just want to be a put-together wealthy responsible business owner who looks upon those hippies with disgust because I am a productive, successful, well-mannered member of society and they are lazy and naive.

BUT if I see a couple of rich bitches and they bump into me because they are too busy sending emails on their smart phones and trying not to fall while prancing around in 17 inch $300 shoes, I just want to be a peace-loving, simple hippie (who occasionally smokes weed… not that I have any idea what it is like because I have never smoked weed… ((I have))) who doesn’t live a life controlled by a need for a superficial success that never leaves one feeling fulfilled.

BUT when I see a black guy who happens to be wearing “urban” attire and he bumps into me, I just want to smile and appear as un-annoyed (YES THAT IS A WORD!) to look as non-racist as possible…..

sorry. that seems a bit off-topic…

Sometimes, I realize that I am racist in my pursuits to appear non-racist. LET’S BE REAL MOTHAFUCKAS! Sometimes we go out of our way to make sure someone knows we aren’t racist, which is, in fact, racist. I think I just so badly want melanin in my skin that I have a deeply rooted envy of black people and that envy makes me resent them and kind of hate them so I overcompensate and take African American Studies classes when I was in college (awkward change of tenses there, Katlyn.) It’s not like I want to make them sit on the back of a bus and drink from shitty water fountains. I just want to have melanin!

I am afraid I’m going to get shot in a drive-by shooting because of this post…

NOT BECAUSE BLACK PEOPLE ALL COMMIT DRIVE-BY SHOOTINGS! I wasn’t thinking a black person was going to shoot me, ya racist! I am worried that a rich bitch with a smart phone or a grungy hippie is going to shoot me! It’s ok to hate rich bitches and hippies as long as they are white…

The racism in this post is beyond my control. I think I have gone too far…

I’m sorry. Luckily not many black people will read this post.

NOT BECAUSE BLACK PEOPLE CAN’T READ!!! BECAUSE I DON’T KNOW MANY BLACK PEOPLE!

NOT BECAUSE I HATE BLACK PEOPLE! BECAUSE I LIVE IN A TOWN OF RED NECKS!


NOT THAT EVERYONE IN TENNESSEE IS RED NECK!

No…. wait… that’s true. Everyone in Tennessee is a red neck. 

I should go.

-Redneck

I need to have a day where I don’t make this face for a majority of it.

I was reading some of my older blog posts on my older blogs (I have had a lot of blogs… all huge successes… that’s why I had so many… high demand… no I’m just fucking with you. They sucked) and I realized that most of my posts are about how my life sucks and how I deal with that in an emotionally stable (unstable) way. And I thought, “Wow. That is super sad and depressing… Why do I do that?” And then it hit me.

It’s because life sucks.

YAY

Ya’ll (I’m from Tennessee), it’s just that things in my life suck sometimes, and they suck in yours too. I know they do. I just know it. BECAUSE I SAID SO! And I look at the sucky to not-sucky ratio of life, and I’m like, “Yuck.”

I fuckin hate people (I thought about ending the sentence there, but then you might get offended because you are a people) who are “happy” all the time. They just seem dopey and unaware how the real world is or they seem fake. Or maybe I am just jealous that they have found the secret to not letting the pressures of this world turn them into cynical old man bloggers (I’m a 24 year old woman).

You know what? This post is bullshit. I’m just spewing bullshit. I’m angry at a lot of people right now, and I don’t like the lack of control I have in my life. I can’t change other people, and that’s stupid because I am so powerful that I should be able to do that. I PUSHED A PERSON OUT OF MY BODY! Someone exists because of me! (Well my husband, too, but I don’t like to give him credit for things because then he has the upper hand and marriage is about maintaining the upper hand.)

I just want to be a bitch. In life. I want to not feel guilty about telling people that I hate the annoying, selfish, stupid shit they do. I admire people that don’t care about hurting others feelings. Not like sociopaths.. they’re creepy… sometimes sexy… K. I won’t go there. Sorry. I just respect people who say what they mean but who haven’t gone over the deep end into delusion land that they walk around like Kanye West. You gotta be humble, but you gotta be real. The humble-to-real ratio is very important. 

So what I am trying to say is that I am better than so many people in this world, and that makes me angry (like I said, humility…very important). 

Fuck it.

Guys, I’m sorry. This posts is god-awful. It looks like a post-birth vagina. IS THAT ALL I HAVE TO TALK ABOUT? THE FACT THAT I GAVE BIRTH TO A BABY!

No! I can talk about being married.

God, I’m lame. I used to have a real life. And I know that raising a human is real and being a wife is real, but it is also real lame sometimes. Sometimes I want to be a selfish irresponsible penis. Penises are so lucky! They just get all hard when they want and they finish their bidness when they want and they just have fun in life. And they don’t have deep-rooted abandonment and trust issues. And they can’t make awkward blog posts. 

So, to recap: I’m emotionally unstable and have life ambitions to be a penis.

You stopped reading a while ago so I can say anything I want right now…. I could even say the worst most offensive racist word I know. Here I go…

Kanye West.

-Penis Katlyn

This is the first of many very sophisticated videos that this blog will offer society. Here it is: Our first trailer for our blog

Remember that time you decided to watch 1 episode of Grey’s Anatomy on Netflix because you were tired and lazy that day, and then you look at the clock and it’s 2 weeks later and you know more about Meredith Grey than yourself? 

And you know when you are trying to eat healthy so that you can teach your baby good eating habits so you wait until you put her to bed and then you eat an embarrassing amount of ice cream that you won’t admit to in a public forum (4 bowls)?

I don’t see anything wrong with eating ice cream until you want to die.

These occurrences are called: real life.

People gunna be eatin’ shitty and watchin’ shitty tv that melts their brains… that’s real life. We aren’t perfect. Moms… well women in general… have a very difficult time accepting that they are not perfect. It is our natural instinct to take care of everyone else and put ourselves last. It isn’t necessarily noble. It’s just the fact of life. We are better than men.

I’m just kidding.

Why am I talking about this? Well, I have been struggling with the idea that I should be productive at all times. Like… apparently…more gets done when you do stuff? I don’t really get it yet, but I’m watching this episode of Grey’s Anatomy about it and Meredith is breaking it down for me. 

There are just so many things that I want to accomplish with my life, and yet there is so much preservative-laden junk food and trashy reality TV that pull me away from accomplishing these accomplishments. (one of my desired accomplishments is to learn another word for “accomplishment.”) Plus, I have the whole “being a mom” thing that I have to deal with, too. Oh and the “being a good wife” shiz that is important or something. So what happens is I pressure myself to clean my house until it sparkles, raise my daughter to be an organic food eatin’ perfectly-mannered child genius, shop for and cook the organic food my daughter will eventually hate because she will eat an oreo and realize food can taste like heaven, give my husband BJs like they don’t gross me out (I GOTTA BE REAL YA’LL!), do laundry every 10 minutes, use cloth diapers like a damn rich hippie, cook dinner, take care of my exhausted husband who works and goes to school, change a million poopy cloth diapers, put baby down for naps, play with baby in a developmentally enriching way, and still find time and energy to “relax” in an intellectually responsible manner… like reading or listening to Chopin or woodworking….

BUT I DON’T WANT TO WORK WOOD!!! (there is a double meaning there) I want to not think. To not do anything beneficial for anyone. I just want to be a blob that gets sustenance from ice cream and the sexual drama of tv doctors. So that is what I do instead of working on my writing (I want to write/direct/do stand-up/be Tina Fey). I kill my creativity and talent and sex drive by watching bullshit tv and eating food that gives me a stomach pooch. And I hate myself for it, but I still do it because I have to know what happens to Christina and Owen.

My point is: don’t ever watch Grey’s Anatomy.

Really, you gotta allow yourself some vices. Eat junk food when you really want it. Don’t freak out if you aren’t always productive and perfect because if you do, you end up putting so much pressure on yourself that you eventually quit whatever your working towards altogether. Allow yourself to indulge, but know when you are taking it too far. Know when to stop shoving Chocolate Moose Tracks down your gullet (is that a thing? I don’t know.) 

I feel like this post is only applicable to my life. I hope someone else out there can relate. 

I feel so broken and dark- like Meredith Grey.

Fuck you,

Katlyn

(sorry)

New stuff.

Isn’t it great when you have youth left in you and life still seems new and exciting? 

Anyone else here married, by the way?

Hey yall. My name is Katlyn (Katlyn, for short), and I’m the married chick on this blog. I’m also the one with the baby. Therefore, I am the one with no youth left. I’m all dried up. Dry and itchy. Dry and itchy and flakey. Dry and itchy and flakey and a little saggy.

From that description, you now realize I am also the sexy one. 

It’s odd being 23 and being this old. I spend a disproportionate amount of time thinking about retirement on a daily basis. I wake up and ask, “When is all this shit done again?”

Ok. Now I sound all depressed. It just ain’t so, though. I’m just at one of those cliche crossroads in my life when my vagina still feels young, but then when it comes down to boning time it’s so tired and resentful from the time I pushed a baby through it that it would rather go to sleep. I’m in between young and old. I still have a lot of dreams and naive ambitions for my life, but then I have a healthy amount of cynicism to keep me from really being the free spirit that I was pre-baby. 

Since I am the blogger here that is likely closest to death (the whole husband/baby thing does that), though, I am going to go ahead and take it upon myself to label myself the wisest (and when I say this, I in no way believe it to be accurate…) And with my wisdom, I am going to give you out there advice for the day: BOOM! ADVICE BOMB!

Here it is: sleep

If you are in college, and there is a party this weekend, and this super hot douchebag is going to be there, and you really want to show him your tits so you can get his approval and feel better about yourself (not judging, yo. that’s a legit need), I’m telling you now: Don’t do it. Go. To. Sleep. 

If you are out in the real world and you have a day off from work and you were thinking about going to the gym and then going to meet with your homies (or whatever you kids are sayin’ these days) and then going clubbing later, don’t do those things. Go. To. Sleep. 

If you are an adventurer, and you are going to climb Mt. Everest because it has always been your life goal, don’t do that ever because that is unnecessary. And because you need to sleep. 

SLEEP. 

I just wish I had known that once I had a baby, I would never sleep. Even when she is sleeping, I don’t sleep because that is the only time I have to get my shit done. I never sleep in. I never go to bed at a decent hour. I am always tired. Always. Tired is the new not tired. 

I do not mean to sound like a whiney mom pants. My daughter has made my life truly meaningful. She has give me purpose and shit (I literally mean “shit.” She poops constantly. On me. Like I have her poop in my hair on a semi-regular basis…) And I do hate parents who complain about being parents all the time. It’s just life, yo. You have kids and it’s hard, but you accept it and move on and focus on the great stuff that comes from your little ones. 

But I need you to understand how important it is to sleep now. While you still can. Please believe me. Please. Go to bed. I just want you to sleep. Stop reading this. STOP! GO TO SLEEP, BITCH! 

If you already have kids, then you probably don’t even know what you’re reading right now because you are too tired to legitimately care about anything you do anymore. And that’s ok. 

So, in this blog, I’ll blog about stuff that I know about. Just try me out. I will also have some videos up, too. And if you don’t like me, just ignore what I say and read what the other ladies post because they don’t have whiney mom pants like I do so they are considerably more tolerable. 

I love you. (too soon?)

-Mom Pants