Fat Bottom Girl Said What

It's not about the ass, it's about the attitude!

Do I look like I work here??

I figured out some time ago, that I’m “that person”.  I guess I have “that sort of face”.  The sort of face which makes everyone think I magically know where every item is located in Walmart, and that I want to know all the intimate details of their life, even if I hardly know them.

Mind you, I’m not complaining, as this particular gift has served me well in certain circumstances; in the field of counseling I was educated in, as fodder for my blog, material for some future stand-up routine I might want to do.

The one area where it really comes in handy though, is in parenting!  Of course when you’re hearing the oft times Tourette’s like ramblings of a teenager, the spewed information you really want to know, i.e. sex, drugs, rock n’ roll, will periodically get peppered with bits of knowledge you might possibly have been able to survive without knowing.

The peppered bits of late:  pubic hair elimination.

Yes, you read it right.

Two times in the last month this particular topic of conversation has come up with my son, and my nieces.

I had taken my nieces, 15 and 13, out shopping with me one day, and the subject of shaving came up.  The older tells the younger she can’t believe their mother lets her shave her legs already, because she didn’t get to do that at her age.  In response the younger tells us there’s one thing she’s not going to be shaving anytime soon, and that’s her “hoo-hah”!  I cringed, but tried to recover quickly and told her I didn’t think she should concern herself with that at her age, and then tried to segue into another topic.

Last Saturday night I was on the phone with my son, chatting about school, and his upcoming Xmas visit, and how his step-sister leaving her hairbrush on his side of the sink really pisses him off, when all of a sudden he said, “Mom, I want you to know I’m going to shave it all off.”

OH MY GOD!!

I knew he couldn’t be talking about his beard, because at 14 he merely gets a few long hairs sprinkled in various locations around his face.

I said, “You’re going to shave what??”, already knowing what he was talking about.

“You know.”

Oh lord.  What happened to him never wanting to shave it, and going so far as to tell me one time that he wanted it to be “a veritable forest down there”??

I said the only thing I could think of:  “For Christ’s sakes don’t use a razor!!  Only use your trimmers! You don’t want to slice your weiner!”

Welcome to my world.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Keep Your Hands to Yourself

If you’ve read my blog for any length of time, you’re aware I’ve been involved in more than one relationship which has been abusive, be it either physically, psychologically, or both.  I prefer not to label myself as either a “victim” or a “survivor” of domestic violence.  I prefer to see myself as a scholar of life in general.  There have been times in my life when I have made poor choices about relationships, and I have learned many hard lessons, and have moved on to make better choices.  That’s all.

You might not think someone who has learned some of these particular life lessons might want to see any sort of violence, but when the now infamous video of Ray and Janay Rice surfaced this week, curiosity got the best of me and I watched it.  I watched it, and then I started reading everyone’s reaction to it, and then I got irritated.  The more I read the more irritated I got.

Did these people see the same video I saw?  It seemed that maybe they didn’t.  I didn’t see one “victim”.  No, I don’t see Janay as the victim in this as so many others seem to.

I can almost hear the collective “oh my gods” as I type that, and I realize by even writing this blog post I am subjecting myself to all kinds of criticism of my opinion, and even possible backlash, but obviously I’m still doing it, and I can, because this is my blog.

Let me tell you why I don’t take the same view as others have.

I have had vitriol spewed at me, I have had hands around my throat trying to choke the life out of me, I have been kicked and pushed and even had my face used as an ashtray, and never once, not one fucking time, even during states of inebriation, would I have thought to smack one of my abusers in the face, or spit at them, or taunt them with words.

That’s not proof that she’s not a victim of domestic violence, you might say.  But if getting punched in the elevator by Ray makes Janay a victim, why don’t her actions towards Ray make him a victim also?

You know why?  Perception.  Society seems to have an extremely skewed perception that men can’t be victims of domestic violence because they’re often taller, or more muscular than their spouse or significant other, they often make more money, and seem to have more power within the relationship.

But the way things seem to be isn’t always the way they are.  Statistics show 40% of domestic violence victims are men.  40%.  I would guess the actual number is probably higher than that, as most men are often embarrassed to come forward and admit they have suffered abuse from their partner because of the stigma attached to it.

In my own personal experience, I have seen my brother take being hit, scratched, having his clothes torn off him, and called names by his drunk high school girlfriend while he just stood there and took it.  I know other men who have suffered constant verbal abuse, and have been slapped and pushed, by girlfriends or wives, who never once even lifted a hand to defend themselves against these physical attacks, who have stayed in relationships for the same reason abused women do, because they made a vow, or for their kids, or because they’re too scared to leave for fear of what their partner would do if they did.

Am I saying Ray Rice is a victim of spousal abuse?  I can’t say for sure, but it appears to me Janay dishes out abuse to him also, just without the same physical result of the abuse he dished out to her.  It appears to me they have a very volatile and mutually abusive relationship, and I think it’s sad they feel the need to be in that type of relationship.

My point is this:  maybe it’s time to bring the subject of males suffering domestic violence out into the light, because it’s a reality.  It happens every day, and it’s very possible you know a man who’s suffering in silence right now.

Please take a minute to check out the following link, and watch the video. This is a hidden-camera experiment which was done to gauge reactions to violence.  The differences in onlookers’ reactions to man on woman violence, as opposed to woman on man violence is unbelievable, and to me quite sickening and inappropriate when it comes to seeing the female being abusive to the male.

 

http://www.buzzfeed.com/candacelowry/watch-how-people-react-when-they-see-a-woman-abuse-a-man-in#12r9a1p

 

No one, absolutely NO ONE should have to suffer abuse, be it physical or verbal!

 

 

 

 

 

All About That Bass

You had to know I would post it sooner or later.  How could I let this cute little ditty about big booties slip by?  And I can shake it, shake it too.  As a matter of fact, I was just shaking it around my kitchen last night to the Grease soundtrack while cooking supper.  As always, regardless of your booty size, find a little time every day to shake your boom boom because it’s good for the spirit.

Yeah, it’s pretty clear, I ain’t no size two
But I can shake it, shake it
Like I’m supposed to do
Cause I got that boom boom that all the boys chase
And all the right junk in all the right places

I see the magazines workin’ that Photoshop
We know that shit ain’t real
C’mon now, make it stop
If you got beauty beauty, just raise ‘em up
Cause every inch of you is perfect
From the bottom to the top

Yeah, my mama she told me don’t worry about your size
She says boys like a little more booty to hold at night
You know I won’t be no stick figure silicone Barbie doll
So if that’s what you’re into then go ahead and move along

Because you know I’m
All about that bass
‘Bout that bass, no treble
I’m all about that bass
‘Bout that bass, no treble
I’m all about that bass
‘Bout that bass, no treble
I’m all about that bass
‘Bout that bass
Hey!

I’m bringing booty back
Go ahead and tell them skinny bitches that
No I’m just playing I know you think you’re fat
But I’m here to tell ya
Every inch of you is perfect from the bottom to the top

Tell Me Something Good

Do it.  I dare you.

A Country Crooner’s Relationship Advice

“I don’t know if there’s a secret. I think you have to have the same sort of priorities and outlook. You’re sharing a car. You’ve got to want to be going to the same place. You have to decide early on that failure’s not an option and that you’re going to evolve together. You’re going to change. . . . . .”

Thanks Brad Paisley. I love the often quirky, always catchy, sometimes heart-wrenching ballads you write, and now I love your relationship advice too.

Have a great Friday all you Fat Bottom Girl stalkers!

Work Desk Confessions of Being a Triflin’ Ho

There’s something I must confess. I’m a bit of a whore. Or as I like to call it, a “hoor”. It’s pronounced like this hoo-er.

Don’t misunderstand, I’m a totally faithful girlfriend! I’m not saying I’m that kind of a hoor. It’s worse.

I’m an attention hoor. There it is. Right there in black and white.

My name’s Fat Bottom Girl, and I’m an attention hoor.

Man it’s good to get that out there in the open. I know you never would’ve been able to tell I was an attention hoor if I hadn’t just come out and told you.

Oh, you knew? What gave me away?? The fact I’m a blogger?

Seriously, if you blog, you’ve got to admit you’ve probably got a little attention hoor lurking in you too. Even if like me, you’re anonymous and don’t reveal yourself on your blog, your little tiny attention hoor inside is being fed by clicks and comments.

I feed my attention hoor here and on my personal Facebook account. And Twitter. And now Tumblr. Bloody fucking hell, where will it stop??

But here’s the problem. I fucking hate Facebook. I hate the religious crap, I hate the political crap, I hate the 100 selfies some people feel the need to share of themselves in bikinis because they need to feed the really big attention hoor inside them, I hate the re-shares of stupid shit that was popular two years ago, I hate people’s need to profess their love for their spouse on there as opposed to fucking walking across the room to the Barcolounger their husband’s lazy ass is sitting in with the Natty Light can in their hand and fucking telling them in person, I hate pictures of the fucking goulash you had for dinner, or pictures of the guy with the clap-trot dick rot disease who would be healed if he gets a million likes.

Fuck. It’s exhausting. It’s just fucking exhausting. I don’t want to do it anymore. I want to take it off my phone. I want to shut it down. I want to walk away from it and not worry about missing out on somebody’s kid doing their first big girl doodle in the princess potty.

I just want to be done with Facebook.

But I can’t. Because sometimes, Facebook feeds my attention hoor. Sometimes if I’m feeling especially bloated and unloved, I can get dolled up in my attention hoor makeup and post a selfie and get morsels to fill me up. I can post pics of a project I’ve done and get kudos for being a chick and knowing how to use power tools.

I’m an addict and I can’t stop.

Why can’t MySpace be cool again??

Me. . .A Work in Progress

Fat Bottom Girl:

In honor of my 3 blog years, I’m re-posting my very first blog post in the history of ever. I’m also deleting numerous posts, because truly, I have a bad habit of reading over things written in the past and then carting around bad feelings from reading them. I truly want to be “better”, just like I wrote three years ago. I do feel I’m “better”, but a lot of things I’ve written on here are pieces of baggage I don’t need to drag around anymore.

I’m also moving my poetry and prose to my new fiction blog http://thefatbottombard.wordpress.com/.

And as always, thanks for your support. lol Bartles and Jaymes. You remember that shit?

Originally posted on Fat Bottom Girl Said What:

I am now, and forever shall be, a work in progress. I don’t plan on ever perfecting myself, because that would be impossible, but I just want to be “better”. By “better” I mean–I want to feel good about being me on a more consistent basis, I want to cry less about things that aren’t worth crying over and reserve the tears for when they are truly needed, I want to have more patience with my son, I want to figure out how to be emotionally healthy within a healthy relationship. . . .and so many more things. I can’t promise this blog will be consistent because I am a very busy person. I can’t promise this blog will be informative or helpful. I can’t promise this blog will be humorous or insightful. The only thing I can guarantee is that this blog will be honest. I am a truth-teller…

View original 129 more words

You Say It’s Your Re-Birthday? It’s My Re-Birthday Too!

3 years. 3 years? You’ve got to be shitting me! I rarely stick with anything for 6 months, let alone a year, and WP just notified me I’m having an anniversary. I prefer to call it a birthday though. More appropriately, I think I should call it my “re-birthday”.

I started this blog hoping to set some thoughts free. I thought if I put them into cyberspace that maybe they could sort of metaphorically be flung into the universe and I could be free of them.

But what really happened is that there was a coming together of like-minded people. A meeting of soul sisters, and some soul brothers, who came to read my rants and ramblings, and stayed to support me through trials and tribulations.

More often than not, this blog has nurtured me. It’s given me food for my soul delivered by my fellow bloggers. Some days when I thought I would starve, I came here and found a table laid with a feast by all of you. You gave me the morsels and nuggets I’ve needed to get through the last 3 years, and for that I want to say thank you. I can only hope that I may have touched your lives in some way, and possibly even given you a bit of strength or hope to get through a crappy day or maybe even two.

I don’t know what’s going to happen to this blog over the next 3 years. It’s going to go through some changes, and it has already branched out to include a separate poetry blog. Frankly, I don’t know if it will survive another 3 years. Maybe I don’t need it to survive another 3 years, and maybe I do. Only time will tell.

I get so frustrated with it at times. I get frustrated with myself for not writing enough, for not reading enough, for having such inconsistent stats! And then I try to remember why I came here in the first place.

I came here to heal. I didn’t know it at the time, but that’s what drew me here. I had stopped writing about 6 years, and it was killing me. I was drowning in thoughts and feelings and ideas and stories and poems. This was my life raft.

And as luck would have it, not only did my albeit bumpy WordPress path lead me to personal insight and growth, it also led me to My Man, and him to me. To me our relationship is nothing short of a miracle, it’s such a good fit. He gets me. Finally, someone gets me, and he loves me in spite of it. Or because of it, I’m not quite sure which. I just know I thank the universe for him every day.

Today, I’m spending a special shout out to all of you. You know who you are, all you damn fat bottom girl stalkers! Thanks for being there!

The Fat Bottom Bard

Recently I decided to shake some shit up. No, not a martini. My blogging. But now I’m really thirsty for some reason.

I was getting very frustrated about my blogging stats. I’m not a stat whore or anything, but my views have really dropped. Like dropped down to where they were when I first started blogging. Like low. Like practically non-existent.

So I talked to My Man about it. My Man is a blogger too, has some pretty impressive stats, and I’m not just talking about in his pants. Seriously, he’s working on being uber famous and some day we’re going to have a beach house and a maid and a huge bathtub because of it.

The conversation went a little something like this:

FBG: My stats suck. Like not suck in a good way (blow job reference), but in a bad way.

MM: Sweet Cheeks, don’t take this the wrong way, but honestly, your blog is a clusterfuck. You’ve got shit about blow jobs and sex toys and funny shit mixed in with sappy shit. I think it just confuses the shit out of people.

FBG: But Stud Muffin, I’m confusing as shit. It’s an accurate representation of me.

MM: That’s for damn sure my Cock Sucking Angel, but unlike me, most people don’t want their minds blown by your eclecticness on a regular basis. Your funny shit is funny, and your sappy shit is good, but it just doesn’t work all in one place.

FBG: My Amazing Meat Pony, I think you’re right. I hate to admit it, because you’re right about a lot of things, but I really think you’re right about my clusterfuck blog.

Okay, so maybe the conversation didn’t go EXACTLY like that, but you get the drift right?

The result of that, after some contemplation and heel dragging, is The Fat Bottom Bard. No longer shall my Fat Bottom Girl followers have to suffer from me waxing poetic when they only come here looking for a good dick story!

And no longer will those who might enjoy only my poetry and prose have to suffer my filthy sailor mouth. Well shit, no promises on that actually, because I know some of my poetry will have a lot of fucking cussing in it.

Either way, follow one, follow both, follow none. I must follow my muse wherever he takes me, and usually it’s straight into the dregs of hell, so buckle up boys and girls, it’s always a bumpy ride when a Fat Bottom Girl is driving.

My Name is Alice

PhotoCredit: shanegallagher.deviantart.com

PhotoCredit: shanegallagher.deviantart.com

Sinking
Falling
Flailing

Down the rabbit hole I go

I’m late, I’m late
for a very important date
of which I have no plan to keep
because only darkness abides there

Drink me,
Eat me,
make me play croquet and drink tea
which I prefer iced
with a sane hatter
though they’re so few and far between

Will that particular caterpillar
ever become a butterfly?
Will what’s in that hookah
make all my troubles disappear?

Off with my head! Off with my head!
the only solution to stop all those crazy thoughts
from becoming things

You! There!
my King of Hearts,
smile at me like a Cheshire Cat
and wake me from my slumber
there’s no judgment in your world
where you feed me tasty morsels
to make me feel (abby) normal again
lest I drown in my own tears

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