Fat Bottom Girl Said What

When my ass talks, people listen.

Archive for the month “February, 2013”

Proximity

Space. . .
How much space do you need exactly?
Is halfway across town far enough?
Or is it relative,
And you only need space in your mind?
What is it about proximity that bothers you?
Does it now bother you that I know you so well,
Without knowing you that well?
Yes, that sort of thing tends to fuck with a person’s head
Doesn’t it?
It kind of fucks with my head too,
But it makes me want to be closer to you,
Not farther away.
Here’s your space. . . .

Speed Not Reasonable & Prudent

Don’t know about any other states, but “Speed Not Reasonable & Prudent”, is a type of speeding ticket you can get yourself here in Kansas.  However, I’m not here to talk about traffic violations.  When I speak of unreasonable speed, I am referring to myself in a relationship.  I can go from zero to 90 in about 2.8 seconds.  I know that sounds impossible, but I don’t have much self-control when it comes to certain things:  chocolate, booze, sex, and men.   Over the years I have learned to reign myself in when it comes to the first two on that list, but not the last two.  Oh, and when you have the titillating combination of sex and a man, I am just totally fucked!

So, current relationship, Knight on a Paint Horse, and I, have been dating for about two months now.  I would say we are exclusive, even though we haven’t really spelled it out in detail.  He’s not a real detail type of guy, which I think is typical of most guys, so there are many things which go unspoken within our relationship; it’s like certain things are just supposed to be a given.  Plus, we spend quite a bit of time together.  Too much time I guess, because once again we have had to have the “oh my god you’re smothering me and I need a little time to myself” conversation again.  Yes, I get that I do this.  Yes, he is trying to be patient with me.  Yes, it does drive him crazy because he knows the reason I do it is because I don’t trust him.  Yes, I freely admit to him that I don’t totally trust him.  I hope that some day I can totally trust him, but that day is not today, and probably not tomorrow.  I know this is detrimental to a relationship, and I know my gut tells me he is probably trustworthy, but my fucked up head always gets in the way.

I also have no “whoa”.  I would say I don’t have any brakes, but Knight on a Paint Horse would say I have no “whoa”.  I don’t know when to stop; I don’t know when to whoa.  For example, even though I would never tell him this, I have already ran scenarios through my mind about us living together, and what kind of life we might build together.  For fuck’s sake, I have already introduced him to my parents!  WHOA!!  What the hell am I doing??  He needs me to whoa, and he told me so, but how in the fuck do I whoa?  How do I pull on the reigns and slow this horse down, when my worst fear is that stopping the momentum will get me bucked off and left in a cloud of dust while the Knight rides off without me?  I’m not really sure how to do it, except to just do it:  stop spending every night together, stop calling him immediately after he gets off work, stop spoiling him so much, and stop putting my life on hold for him.

He wants some whoa? I will do my best to give him some whoa.  I know I need some whoa in my life, so I can take time to enjoy the ride, as opposed to just racing to get to the end of the line.  It might be nice to actually try riding at the same pace as the Knight on the Paint Horse; maybe we can arrive at a destination at the same time.

Finding the Courage

Have you ever had to reach down deep into the pit of your soul to find the courage to do what’s right?  I know there are some of you that have.  I’m not talking about returning a lost wallet, or giving back change to the clerk at the grocery store who thought you gave her a twenty dollar bill instead of a ten.  I’m talking about one of those life-changing decisions you must make when you are a parent.

I am a mother.  I am many more things than that, but first and foremost, I am a mom.  It’s how I have defined myself for the last 12 years.  My ex-husband and I split before our son was born, and our divorce was final when he was a few months old.  Our son has never know us as a couple, and he has been pretty comfortable with being co-parented.  Recently, he has been testing boundaries, and being disrespectful, at times, to teachers and to me.  I am a fairly domineering parent, more so than his dad, but will freely admit I am sometimes too exhausted to follow up with punishments for extended periods of time.  Don’t judge; it happens often with single parents, and I don’t feel ashamed of it.

My son turned 12 a couple of weeks ago, and I decided it was time to dive head-first into teaching him certain life lessons like laundry, how to clean the bathroom, etc.  I have also gotten a bit harsher when it comes to dealing with his mouth and how he treats me.  Everything kind of came to a head on Monday evening when I got to school to pick him up and found out he had gotten in trouble again during the after-school program.  It was the same issue as three times previous–disrespecting teachers.  We got to the car, and I lost it.  I’m a screamer.  Once again, don’t judge.  Some people yell, and I am a yeller.  At times I feel it’s the only way I can get him to listen to me.  I was angry, because we had just discussed the disrespect issue during parent-teacher conferences.  Obviously, he wasn’t getting the point.  Monday night discussion carried over into Tuesday morning and ended badly with him back-talking, and me losing patience again.  I talked to my Dad on the way to work, and called my brother on the way home and discussed it with them.  I come from a family of “he needs a 9 1/2 up his ass” men.  The men in my life believe raising boys is like raising dogs or horses; establish dominance and show them who’s boss.  I do think there is something to this rationale, however, I can’t get involved in a pissing contest with a male because, well, I am female, and it just doesn’t have the same result.

All of this led me to a lot of thinking and soul searching.  I had to start asking myself some hard questions that I really didn’t want to hear the answer to.  For years I have known the day might come when my son might ask to live with his dad.  I had no idea when it would occur, and there is nothing you can do to prepare for it.  I had to ask myself on Tuesday, if that day had come.  My son was helping me cook supper, and after he got his plate we sat down at the table.  My stomach churning, I asked him if he he ever thought about wanting to live with his dad.  I steeled myself for the answer.  “Yes,” he said, “I think about it all the time.”  “I think it’s time for me to go and live with my dad, because I am almost a teenager, and he needs to teach me how to be a man.”

I couldn’t help it.  I started crying a little bit.  Sometimes children are wise beyond their years.   Sometimes, they are too smart for their own good.  I have always tried to do what is best for my son, even though it has been quite painful, and exhausting at times, and I knew at that instant, that allowing him to go live with his dad, was the best thing for him.  Am I sad?  I think devastated would be a better word for it.  For 12 years every waking moment, and many sleeping moments also, have been dictated by taking care of my son 24/7.  His dad has never had the pleasure of doing that.  He is a good dad to our son.  Doesn’t he deserve a chance to have the same joy I have had?  How many men in this world would gladly step up and be full-time parents to their children if they had the chance?  A lot of them would, and do it gladly.  Our society doesn’t allow this to occur often enough.  Judges often think children are better off with the mother, and don’t even consider giving the father a chance.

As I sit here, watching a beautiful snow fall, crying as I am writing this, I know I cannot be selfish and try to keep my son to myself.  I have always freely shared time with his father, but now I have to let go of my son even more.  I had to reach deeply inside myself 28 years ago, to find the courage to give my daughter up for adoption.  Now, I must dip into that well again, to allow my son to go live with his dad.  I don’t like it, but I know it is for the best.  Why does doing what is right always have to hurt so damn much?

Lazy Asses – Installment #2

How fucking lazy can you be?  Hey douchebag in the car in front of me!!  Why did your lazy ass just throw trash out of the window??  Is the interior of 1999 Ford Taurus so pristine that you can’t keep the trash in the car, until you stop at a convenience store to get you a big gulp refill and a taquito, so you can dispense of said trash in an acceptable receptacle?  You litter bug piece of shit!  Keep your Doritos bag in the damn car and throw it away in the proper place.

Oh, and smokers, be courteous!  As a former smoker, I tried to be courteous about where I put my butts.  First of all, here in Kansas (that is pronounced Kans-ass, according to the new beau), we appreciate it if you don’t throw any fire hazards out the window as you’re driving down on interstates and highways.  This is the wheat state, and we also have a lot of pasture ground, so shit tends to catch on fire around here.  Also, dump your ashtray in a damn trash can instead of out the car door in the parking lot of the local Piggly Wiggly!  Yes, the paper and what’s left of the tobacco will decompose in a couple of months, but the filter could take anywhere from 2-10 years to do the same, so just dress the damn thing and put it in the fucking trash can.

Just throw your shit away in trash can you lazy asses!!

Color Me Happy

I am one happy bitch. I got exactly what I wanted for Valentine’s Day. Chocolates? Hell no! Can’t eat them because I’m on a low carb eating plan. Flowers? What the hell would I want those for when they’ll just die? Sexual favors? Oh yeah. That’s what I got. I told him what I wanted, and the man delivered. I know, I’m a freakin’ nympho. Three times a day, four times a day, I say bring it on! I’m pretty proud of myself, and of my man–we’re in our early 40’s and we rock it more often than people in their 20’s. So be jealous bitches, because I am getting it on a regular basis and loving every fucking minute of it! (Shit, I just realized maybe that’s what Loverboy was talking about in that song.  And even if it’s not, take a listen to some kick ass 80’s tunes.)

VD Isn’t Just A STD!

VD also stands for Valentine’s Day.  Might as well be an STD, because that’s about how much I like it.  I have never been thrilled about Valentine’s Day, for the simple fact I hate having to wonder first, if I’m going to even have a “Valentine”, and second, if that “Valentine” is going to be a reciprocal gift-giver.  This year I do happen to have a Valentine, and thought it best just to come out and ask him if we were going to exchange gifts.  I think I actually asked him what his thoughts on Valentine’s Day were.  His reply was, “It’s just another day to me.  Does that upset you?”  That’s a good question.  In general, it doesn’t upset me, because it technically is just another day, and another way for retailers to make money.  That’s what I think in theory.  In practice, I would love to get a big bouquet of flowers, or some expensive bottle of perfume, or a nice new pair of cowboy boots.  (Didn’t expect that last one did you?  lol)  But, it seems I have a man who isn’t overly romantic.  I really don’t go in for the hearts and flowers bullshit anyway.  My preference would be to get something heartfelt, on an unexpected day.  Will he be the type to do that?  I don’t know yet.  As of today we have known each other about a month and a half.  I think things are going quite well.  Already he has surprised me with some of the things he’s done, so I guess a girl can never know what might happen on an unexpected day.

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