Red Couch Confessionals

Dear general public,

My actual job has been swallowing me whole lately BUT I finally finished editing this video that I made weeks ago so enjoy :) I adore most of you & I do promise that, at some point, I will get back on track with the written posts. Although, in a surprising and annoyingly ironic turn of events, the only real assclown in my 'love' life at the moment is apparently... me.

Self-sabotaging for the win,

xoxox lolly

Also to the readers who wrote in with questions AFTER I shot this video, here are some quick answers:

Do you have feelings for anyone right now?

Feelings is a complicated word. I have a FAT crush on someone right now but I'm not really sure about how that's gonna pan out.

What would you do if you thought your boyfriend was cheating?

First of all, I'm sorry if you're in that situation, because no matter what, no one deserves that bullshit. Second of all, you HAVE to talk to him about it. I know it sounds really simple, but you have to just use your words and have the conversation. I seriously think that most people waste their time trying to spy or uncover something. If you think something's up, ask him. Listen to what he has to say & then trust your gut.

Worst pick-up line you've ever heard?

I'm not sure what the very worst is... oh wait, someone asked me if I wanted to be a step-mom. Yeah, that was definitely the worst. His 'kid' was sixteen and I was nineteen. Nograciashomes.

The Perfect (Shit) Storm

It started out like any other good night of drinking with friends. My dear friend (who I'm referring to as HomeGirl) was in town from Arizona and we'd grabbed some booze and headed back to my place where one of my guy friends met us. In typical fashion, we were sprawled out on my living room floor, laughing, when I first noticed that my guy friend was getting way more drunk than the rest of us. However with the sheer volume that I hang out with/entertain drunkards, I decided that it wasn't TOO big of a deal and made a mental note to make sure I took his keys.

When we decided to make a fast food run, HomeGirl and I made the executive decision to leave him behind so that we didn't have to deal with the distraction of a drunk manchild in the back seat. By that point, he was also going through what I like to call Boozey Bipolar Disorder, in which, the intoxicated person cannot decide if they love you or hate you. He was on a particularly interesting hate binge when we left, but I figured he'd get over it by the time we returned and fed him french fries.

We got back and found him stumbling around in my front yard with no shoes on and a wine glass full of whiskey. He started to whine the second we got out of the car, "Where the fuck did you go? I still need to talk to you about some things. Are those fries? I want some of those fries..."

I mean, seriously. He was worse than Carl in Walking Dead, just STAY IN THE MOTHERFUCKING HOUSE AND THEN ZOMBIES DO NOT TRY TO EAT YOU. This is why we can't have nice things, boys, this is why we cannot have nice things.

After breaking his ridiculously strong grip on the wine glass and enticing him with food, we got him back upstairs where he proceeded to try to steal HomeGirl's fries and switched back over to hating me with a renewed energy.

"You just don't understand what I'm saying. And you're not even trying to understand what I'm saying, you're just so closed-off to that whole side of human experience, you're never going to be able to fully experience all the experiences you could experience..." he rambled, "You can't get a boyfriend if you keep saying no to people that want to be your boyfriend."

I went to sleep after hiding his keys and woke up a few hours later to a LOUD pounding sound. Hearing HomeGirl get up and let someone in, I rolled over and went back to sleep, not really thinking much of anything.

I woke up the next morning with a headache and sat up to see my guy friend wrapped in a blanket, snoring. Rolling my eyes, I got out of bed and walked to the bathroom to assess my intensely tragic smeared eyeliner situation. Looking down, I noticed there was a pair of boxers sitting on the floor. I looked over to the tub where one sock was dangling from the edge and some soapy water was still glistening, indicating that someone had recently bathed. And lost an epic battle with their clothes. 

Confused, I peered into my bedroom and saw my guy friend's jeans crumpled on the floor. Not willing to investigate any further alone, I walked out to where HomeGirl had made a bed for herself on the couch and questioned, "Did he seriously take a shower? What the hell happened last night?"

"Dude, did you hear him when I let him in the house?" she questioned, sitting up suddenly, "Did you hear what he said to me?"

"I heard the knocking but I didn't hear what he said. Why the hell was he even outside?" I questioned, cursing him again for his Carl-like tendencies. Stay inside the effing house, bro, then zombies do not try to eat you.

"He wasn't even outside, he was in that little back staircase through your kitchen door. He got locked out there somehow and when I opened the door, he rushed inside and was all out of breath and shaking and said, 'I was locked in there for an hour and I... I totally SHIT MYSELF!" she finished, waiting for my reaction, which was something like this:

"He SHIT his pants?" I asked, trying to process the information, "Wait, what the fuck is he wearing right now? Why was he even back there? You literally have to walk straight by the bathroom to get to that kitchen door..."

"I didn't even really look, I just went back to bed," she admitted, "But I think he like actually shit himself on the other side of the door right there. I could like smell it... I can still kinda smell it..."

"Did he clean it up? I mean, what if there's like a pile of poop on the other side of the door?" I asked, starting to smell the distinct odor of explosive diarrhea wafting through the back half of my apartment as we walked through my kitchen. Looking down to make sure I wasn't trekking through anything nasty, I opened the back kitchen door and looked down at the rug.

Shit. Explosion.

Both of us gagging, we got out to the living room as fast as possible and started lighting every single candle I owned. Determined and slightly satisfied with the fog of room spray I'd just unleashed, I walked into my bedroom (still carrying the bottom of room spray) with HomeGirl trailing behind me at a safe distance to lift the blanket and see what he was wearing. 

And all I saw was...

Hairy.

Boy.

Ass. 

Covering my face to try to block some of the smell, I dropped the blanket and nudged him with my foot. I kicked him a little harder until he rolled over, looked up at me with a smile on his face and questioned, "You okay, babe? You look like you're sick or something."

Not one to normally sugarcoat, I arched a 'impressive-even-for-me' eyebrow and asked, "Can you seriously not smell yourself?"

He frowned a little, "huh?" and sat up where I was witness to the most obvious progression of confusion to pure panic in under three seconds:

"Do you remember the end of last night?" I asked him.

"Not really," he grinned a little sheepishly, "Why?"

"You shit yourself," I answered honestly, "And then apparently took a shower, stripped down all of your shitty clothes and passed out half-naked on my floor."

I have navigated some truly awkward moments in my life, but I will tell you this, there's nothing quite like having to break the news to someone that they defecated on themselves in your apartment. Or as the case may be, right outside of your apartment on your rug.

"I... what... I...?" he stuttered, squinting at where HomeGirl was trying to muffle a half-strangled little laugh that managed to escape her, "I shit myself? I seriously.."

"You seriously shit your pants. Apparently, you got locked out in that little back hallway. I have no idea how you got there or how it locked behind you, but there's some still out there and we have to go have brunch with a friend so I don't know what you want to do about that...but... yeah," I finished.

The next ten minutes consisted of HomeGirl and I sitting on the couch while he rambled through the apartment, discovering new bits of evidence and repeating over and over again (at varying levels of volume), "I can't believe I seriously SHAT myself. I SHAT my PANTS. I don't even... how does that happen? How is this something that happens?"

Embarrassed to have something like this happen, especially when just meeting HomeGirl for the first time, he apologized to her to which she responded,

"Eh.. shit happens."

Sometimes, quite literally.

HomeGirl and I left to go meet other friends for brunch after Sir Shits A Lot (as I've now dubbed him) promised to clean up before he left. We returned five hours later and although the bathroom was clean, he had passed out again in my bed. When he finally got up to leave, in quite possibly, the shittiest (pun intended) mood I'd ever seen him in, I noticed that he had put on a pair of my jeans to wear.

And then, at my request, he took the rug with him. 

For those of you who don't know, I live on a fairly busy street and I will never EVER be able to erase the memory of him walking across the street, in my fit-flare jeans, carrying a rug with HUGE brown stains all over it. My eyes cannot unsee what they have seeeeeen.

It was a literal shitshow.

Despite all this, me and Sir Shits A Lot are still friends. And to make up for his lack of bowel control, he did bring me pizza, flowers and an array of cleaning supplies.

Although, to be real, the flowers just made me a little depressed because he's the first boy in YEARS that has gotten me flowers and it was as a result of alcohol making him forget that he is, indeed, potty-trained.

I mean, honestly.

Who gets 'sorry, I got shit-faced drunk and then shit on your stoop' flowers? 

Me. 

Only me.

Meanwhile, in my actual love life:

:) just not enough vodka that you shit your pants because people will mock you forever. 

Questions, Answers & Shit Flowers (First StrugLife video)

Ello, loves. I decided to do a Question/Answer video because, why the hell not? :) I know it's pretty rough still and I didn't really take a ton of time to edit it, but stick with me and if I get a good response from this, I'll try to be more fantastically original with the second. Love you all xoxox.

Tequila Tears

It was Christmas Eve and I had finally laid back down in bed after a friendship crisis had pulled me across town to deal with, to quote Juno, things way beyond my maturity level when my phone buzzed. Again. Heaving a whiny ‘why me?’ sigh, I rolled over and squinted into the screen, which was shining with what felt like the light of a thousand suns.

A little surprised by the name, not to mention the timing, I answered my phone with a confused, “Hello?”

“Hey... come get me,” slur, slur, mumblemumblemumble...something that sounded vaguely like a compliment or a burp, “Hello?? Come get me.”

It was the current lust of my life... a guy that I'd been hanging out with quite a bit and sadly starting to develop feelings for, even though I knew it probably wasn't going to go anywhere. While I found him wildly hilarious and really attractive, he was clearly phobic of anything resembling a relationship and I didn't have the energy or the desire to try to change his mind. Despite that, and my better judgment, I had done little things like giving him a Christmas present (candy & a coozie because a bitch is classy), but I knew from his reaction, I shouldn't really waste my time.

“Are you okay?” I asked, trying to locate the very last ‘give a damn’ buried inside my sleepy little self, “What’s going on?”

“We were doing tequila shots and I’m just... got in a fight with my *hiccup*.... can you please just come get me? We can watch a movie,” he offered, "Let's watch a movie."

I swear, my dog Rukka (who I'd also waken up twice now in the middle of this Christmas Even drama) and I looked at each other like this:

Sidenote: I really have to do a post at some point about how annoying I find the classic ‘watch a movie’ ploy. Because you know how many times a boy has asked me over to watch a movie with the sole intention of enjoying a cinematic adventure? Not never.

“I can’t...my mom is gonna make me get up with my brother at the crack of dawn to open presents and I don’t want to drive all the way there, pick you up and then bring you back before anyone gets up,” I tried to explain with actual logic instead of the obvious ‘I look like a total skeez right now and I want to slip into this sleep-coma and drool in peace’.

“You don’t have to. I can meet them. I want to meet them, your mom and brother and shit...I’ll even wear a polo...”

‘And shit’, I mouthed while he completed the sentence in typical drunk boy fashion.

“Please... I just really want to see you,” he mumbled, “And this way, I can see you AND meet your family."

Coming from a guy who'd taken one look at the inexpensive yet thoughtful Christmas present I'd gotten for him and immediately started to act like I'd drugged his drink and was trying to trick him into a loveless marriage, I was a little lost, but one more 'babe please' had me sighing.

 “Alright, I’ll be there in ten,” I answered, moving out of bed and starting an epic search to locate a pair of sweatpants and my keys.  

Pulling up to his house, I looked up the driveway to see him standing there, annoyingly adorable in a pair of jeans and a very wrinkled polo. I flashed my brights as he stumbled down to my car, falling into the passenger seat and leaning over to give me a hug. First whiff of Patron breath, for the win.

“Hey babe,” he murmured with a sheepish smile and I pressed a quick kiss into his cheek before pulling out and heading the trek back to my place. He started to tell me about the fight, then about the tequila and then he began an epic battle with my radio, which lasted until we pulled up to my house.

As a professional drunk wrangler, I managed to get him inside and up into my bedroom with minimal fuss, although to be fair, there was quite a bit of this:

After he collapsed on my bed, I went downstairs and made him a quick sandwich (sidenote: if any of you make the inevitable ‘make me a sandwich’ anti-feminist bullshit joke, I will choke you out). I also grabbed a glass of water, a few precautionary ibuprofren and scribbled out a quick note to warn my mom about our current house guest.

When I got back upstairs, he was sitting on the edge of the bed, kicking off his shoes. After using reverse psychology that I normally use on the little kids I babysit, I soon had him medicated, hydrated and fed. And then, drunk llama beer (or in this case, tequila) tears started in full swing:

We talked. For hours. Well, he talked and I listened. He told me about his family and his friends and his problems...and I sat with him laying in my lap, played with his hair and just listened, which contrary to popular belief with the sheer amount that I talk, I’m actually pretty great at.

Eventually, we were both tired enough that we drifted off to sleep after I decided that my mom would be much more likely to make him pancakes and apologize for not having made him a stocking than get upset. And at o'dark'o'clock, as per usual, my brother pounded on my door and in his Rick James voice announced, "It's Christmas BITCH!"

Homeboy came alive like someone being tazed.

Noting the panic and confusion when I explained where he was and that present opening with my family was going to be happening downstairs, I drew my curtains to make the room extra dark and told him to go back to sleep for awhile. He rolled back over and I padded downstairs to go through my goodies while my mom took obnoxious pictures and my brother fake-punched me to steal some of my candy that he was sure was misplaced in my stocking. 

Three hours later, I woke him up and told him what time it was. After checking his phone and realizing he was going to be late to his own family Christmas activities, he began to slow procession of collecting the belongings he'd scattered around my room the night before and started down the stairs.

Without introducing him to my family, we walked out of my house and went on, easily, the most awkward car ride of my life. And this is really saying something, considering I’ve been in a car ride where I was shoved in the back of someone’s Jeep, wearing a bright green plaid dress, trying to cover all my ladybits while we whipped around on the freeway, inspiring honks and suggestive gestures from trucks full of construction workers.

And so in awful silence, I drove him back to his house where his parents were already starting to head out. Nothing like being the random girl in pajamas and last night’s makeup that’s dropping someone’s son off... especially when he looks like he got in a fight with Jose Cuervo and lost. 

 

I believe I managed really spastic wave/salute before shoving my sunglasses further onto my face and getting the hell out of dodge.

When I didn't hear from him for about a week and a half following Christmas Eve, I was disappointed, but not really surprised. When I got the inevitable, "I think you were getting too serious too fast" text, I didn't even bother pointing out the fact that I wasn't the one who'd fallen victim to the tequila truth serum and dumped out a bunch of emotional bullshit on his lap... I just chalked it up as a loss.

Months later (and a couple ex-almosts between), I got a random late night text from said Homeboy who’d moved into a new place and wanted me to check it out. And bring Jack in the Box. Call me stupid, but (no really, call me stupid), I headed out and hit up the drive-thru, showing up at the new place fifteen minutes later with six tacos and one order of mozz sticks in tow.

We hung out, shared the late night snacks, listened to music and basically had a great time. I ended up crashing over there, which led to me walk of shaming right by an old lady who was walking her dog, although the lady didn't look very scandalized and the dog just looked sympathetic.... but I was still kinda smiling about the randomness of the night when I got out of my car at my mom's house. 

Walking up the sidewalk, I was thinking that maybe I was wrong to give up on douchelord so soon. After all, I knew he didn't have a girlfriend, because I'd asked and it had almost felt like we were back to the way we were pre-tequila eve. I walked into my mom’s house and saw my brother sitting at the table. He looked up with a mouthful of cereal, “And where have you been, huh?”

“Shut up,” I mumbled, walking over and taking his spoon out of his hand to steal some Captain Crunch.

“No, really... where were you?” He laughed.

“Remember that kid that came over on Christmas Eve... *HIS NAME WOULD GO HERE IF I WAS A BITCH AND I DIDN’T PROTECT THE (NOT SO) INNOCENT*? I went over to his house to hang out,” I finished, wondering why he was giving me such a weird look.

“*HIS NAME HERE* that’s dating *SO AND SO*?" he asked.

Of COURSE, my brother would know the girl that Homeboy was dating. 

And of COURSE, Homeboy didn't mention her to me at all, even when I'd asked if he was seeing anyone.

When I texted him to ask if he knew about the connection, he admitted that he did and that he was basically just hoping I wouldn't find out. And that he was hoping I wouldn't say anything to any of the involved parties.

Which I did.

And swiftly got a text that read: Way to open your fucking mouth when I specifically told you to keep it closed.

Moral of the story: if you don't want people to find out that you're doing shady stuff, DON'T DO SHADY STUFF.

Update: 
 There are a few things that I learned from this interaction that I'm actually really grateful for....

• 'wanna be my party boyfriend?' is an awesome pick-up line, even though it sometimes ends with the guy cussing you out via text message due to the above series of unfortunate events. 
• regardless of the fact that the guys I talk to tend to act like douchecanoes, they have REALLY good taste in music and I normally end up getting exposed to new artists who, let's be real, give me way more enjoyment than conversing with said boys.
• beware the word 'swag'

ALSO: Despite the fact that I do not talk to homeboy any longer, because he thinks I'm Satan's mistress due to my loud mouth and general lack of restraint, I don't have hard feelings about the situation(s) or towards him. Shit happens...sometimes, quite literally, (more about this in my next post) and as much as I'd like to put all the blame on the ex-almosts and act like I'm perfect, I'm definitely not.

After all, I'm still kissing all these twenty-something frogs hoping to find a prince and it's just as much my fault for giving them too much credit or meaning in my life as it is theirs for being incapable of human connection.

 

Sorry about the optimism, bro. And if you're reading this, I am a little bit sorry about putting your shit on blast (twice). For what it's worth, I don't hate you at all and I do feel a little bad about us still being on bad terms but hey... you win some, you lose some

:)

Editing my first StrugLife video :) get READY.

Interview Madness :)

Hello Loves :)
This won't be my normal type of post (I'm sorrrrry... people keep making me do really grownup and adult things, like work at my real job)... but I did do an interview with one of my dear friends, Ray, who happens to run a fantastic blog called IReadRay. To hear me talk about why I never can enter a burrito shop in Arizona without seeing two people I've kissed and more, feel free to hop on over there and enjoy. There's tons more interesting stuff than me on that site so click around awhile ;)

For THAT interview and more ridiculous awesomeness, click HERE


xoxox :) I promise to put up a post soon. But just know, I went on a date.

Yup, I typed it.

Sidenote: before the 'date', we had already decided that it won't work out between us so I think I get double points for already knowing I wasn't going to date someone before the date began.

Let's Talk About Sex (Mainly, why we won't be having it)

 

 

"I think the reason you're still single is because you shove all the nice guys, like me, who actually like you into the friend-zone. You just won't give me a chance, because I'm not enough of an asshole."

 

 

Let's just talk about THIS bullshit 'logic' right here. Because, for me, it ranks right up there with, "I just don't think you see what's right in front of you. I don't think you realize what you could have if you took the time to open your eyes to someone that could really treat you right..."

 

 

Wrong.

 

I DO see what's right in front of me. I mean, currently, it's a computer screen and Peyton Manning's fat forehead looming on my Dad's TV, but I do know what you're talking about when you start heading in that direction with the conversation. I feel the longing looks that you're shooting me, I understand the meaning behind the song you just turned on while we were driving in the car and I know that when we hug lately, you hold a little too tight. I also catch those epic sighs you heave whenever I talk about another guy.

 

I catch your motherfucking drift, homes.

 

But we are not going to date.

 

I know this, because I've been the one, mouthing Taylor Swift lyrics to myself in the mirror:

 

 

I used to think the reason that one of my guy friends (let's call him HomeSkillet) didn't like me was because he just couldn't see how awesome I was. Wrong. He was friends with me, because he thought I was awesome. He just didn't want to date me, because he wasn't attracted to me, either physically, romantically or both.

 

And instead of accepting this like a grown and rational being, I was miserable. I imagined that I was trapped in the 'Friend-Zone', which in my mind, looked similiar to the Island of Misfit Toys. Exiled there with a bunch of other dope bitches that no one ever really liked 'that' way, I spent my days trying to think of a way to escape the crushing blows of seeing him with other girls or worse, him asking me for help picking out presents or planning dates for other people.

 

And then, one day, I realized there was a LIFE-RAFT to escape on.

 

Actually, it's more like a yacht. A beautiful yacht, glistening in the sunlight, playing your favorite song over the loud speakers while your friends beckon with champagne from the top deck.

 

Yup, get onboard the SS Acceptance, bitches.

 

 

We're not going to date, just like I never dated HomeSkillet, because although, I think you're awesome, I don't think that we'd be awesome TOGETHER in a relationship.

 

Maybe, you remind me of an ex-boyfriend in a certain personality trait.

Maybe, I've seen the way you treat your girlfriends and it looks like a shit time.

Maybe, I know myself well enough to know that I'd be a bitch to you if we dated.

Maybe, I just don't want to have sex with you. Ever.

 

Maybe, I don't have anything more than my gut telling me that it would be a bad idea BUT I'm still not going to date you, because I like the friendship we have and I refuse to head into any relationship with doubts in the back of my mind. Life creates plenty of those, I don't need some starting out with someone, it's supposed to the honey-moon phase where all I want to do is kiss their face and bring them tacos.

 

Not where I'm trying to convince myself that it's a good idea.

 

So, as much as I think you're hilarious and smart and charming and nice and silly and just plain awesome, we're not going to date.

 

But back to the whole "you don't date 'nice' guys because you friend-zone them and you date bad boys because you like being with assholes" thing... 

 

 

No one wants to be with an asshole.

Unless, they happen to also be assholes, in which case, they probably like dating someone that they have something so deeply in common with.

 

First off, let's tackle the whole assumption that I seek out assholes to date.

 

 None of the guys that I've dated have ever walked up to me and said, "I'm a complete piece of crap. You know those CarFax things... well, if you got a RelationshipFax on me, you'd know that I've slept with three girls this year already named Ashley, I just got out of jail on a felony charge and I'm really into hard drugs. Want to hang out, anyways? Also, can I borrow twenty dollars?"

 

Cue the epic makeout scene.

 

 

Um, no.

 

I understand that I have dated my fair share (and everyone else's-let's be real) of douchelords and that SOME of that has been my fault. Yes, MY fault. I take ownership of the fact that in some situations, I didn't do the entirely logical thing (ie: running in the opposite direction) and I, instead, decided to give hoodrats a chance. Several chances, in some people's cases.

 

But I never entered into a relationship or a situation where I knew that the guy was an asshole from the jump-off. Normally, I find out later when the plot twists, a punchline is delivered and then I hurry back here to type out all the pain and humiliation here in comedic form for all of you.

 

 

Aside from me not trying to actively seek out assholes to take me on dates (or stand me up for dates, as the case may be), I really don't understand the whole 'nice' guy concept. Because I know lots of nice guys, but they are not nice guys that I'd like to date.

 

More on this later, I'm not really sure I have the energy to delve into the 'nice' guy craziness now.

 

But for the record, I don't LIKE dating assholes.

I'm never super excited when I realize the guy I'm talking to is actually a social degenerate.

 

And despite everyone treating my singledom like a Scooby Doo mystery, I am telling you now that the villian is not me. At least, it's not my lack of understanding that good guys exist in this world. I know that 'nice' guys exist. Some of my ex-boyfriends are actually pretty nice guys. But would I ever date those clowns again? Hell no.

 

 

 

Even Dawson Leery's whiny ass knows that we're friends for a reason, and he's the King of Friend-Zone Crying and making me want to punch a television screen. (Sidenote: I am referencing Dawson's Creek, you should be grateful that I don't want to date you)

 

We're friends for a reason.

I love y'all.

But either, you'd drive me crazy in a relationship or I'd bug the shit outta you and I'm trying to save both of us that hellish experience :)

 

"but... I really think I'm in love with you. I don't think you know what we'd be like together until we try it. I just don't think you can give up on true love. I think we're soulmates..."

 

Soulmates?

 

xoxox kayt.