Fat Bottom Girl Said What

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

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

Blogging for Books

I’m a book whore. I’ll do pretty much anything for a free book. Well, not that, but nearly anything else.

Surely I’m not the only one who gets slightly giddy at the thought of a book, and downright titillated when someone mentions it’s free??

So imagine how engorged and tingling I was when I found Blogging for Books. Over 2 million books, of all types, just begging to be read, for FREE!! Okay, not totally free, but for the mere price of a review, so practically free. Pick your book, read it, review it on your blog and link it up, and get another book. A book whore’s delight!

Not so delightful was my first free title, My Life in Middlemarch.

I must admit to being a reader who is first enticed by the cover of a book, and this one was no exception.

The cover is the best thing about it.

The cover is the best thing about it.

I believe it was P.T. Barnum that said a sucker is born every minute, and I was definitely sucked into this one by that cover. More specifically I was sucked into a world of quotation marks.

The description seems now to be nothing but a bunch of smoke and mirrors.

“In this wise and revealing work of biography, reporting, and memoir, Rebecca Mead leads us into the life that the book made for her, as well as the many lives the novel has led since it was written.”

Of the 10% of the book I read, which I would liken to slogging through a hasty pudding of English literature, I don’t believe even 1% of that was memoir. The majority of it was merely quotes from other books, or bits of research, that jumped hither and yon.

This book left a bad taste in my mouth for this author, and the extremely homely “George Eliot”. I couldn’t swallow another bite and had to walk away.

However, it shall not deter me from diving into more titles due to my extremely book whorish tendencies!!

And remember my fat bottom stalkers, life is entirely too short to read bad books!!

Worth Every Penny

Gas money for a 7 hour drive to and from Colorado and a case of tired ass- $130.00

Accommodations for a 2 day stay, and food including fried pickles and tasty treats from a little French bakery  – $420.00

1/2 Day White Water Rafting Trip for 2 on the Arkansas River complete with a totally unplanned swim in said river – $125.00

Look on my son’s face as he tells me this is the most awesome trip ever and that he wants to do it again tomorrow – Priceless

DSC_4674

tongue speak

your tongue shall speak volumes

I eagerly await your recitations

syllables, meter, the morphology of it all

has me spewing jargon and expletives

the pitch and intonation of varying resonance

as you

articulate
pronunciate
narrate

syntax
the fuck out of me
with your literacy

you sir, are a cunning linguist

your particular sort of speech
music to the very core of my being

there shall never be an oral moratorium between us

speak

‘rithmetic

youmewe

 

 

 

 

 

 

and sometimes I can sum my feelings up for you
quickly and neatly
in a tiny space
with few words

and other times long addition isn’t enough
and I need an abacus
because no matter how I try
there are never enough words that will factor in
what I feel for you

and the silly school girl in me
that doesn’t even like math
believes
you + me = all I’ll ever need

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