Fat Bottom Girl Said What

When my ass talks, people listen.

Archive for the month “April, 2013”

May Day, A Red Schwinn, and A Damn Kick Stand!

May DayI can’t believe tomorrow is the first of May already.  My son will be going to stay with his Dad all summer once school gets out on the 17th, and I will have the visitation as opposed to his Dad.  This is going to be sort of a trial run, to see how things go.  No decisions have been made yet, regarding where he will live and go to school next year.  I am glad that time hasn’t come yet.  My son, unlike me, seems to have made up his mind.  Why is it so easy for him to go?

If you’re my age, you might remember May Day being kind of a big thing.  I grew up in a tiny town in Kansas and only had about 12 kids in my class.  About half of the kids lived in town, the other half lived outside of town; most on farms.  Every May Day, I would make May baskets and deliver them to the kids in town, and at school we would make a Maypole around the tether ball pole, usually with strips of fabric cut out of colorful old sheets.

One year I remember making May baskets with my mother out of some old wallpaper we had around.  We fashioned the wallpaper into cones, and made handles for them.  We stuffed them with an assortment of Brach’s Pick-A-Mix wrapped candies, and lilacs from the big bush near our driveway.  I put all the May baskets in my bike basket and set off on my deliveries.  When I delivered the May baskets I would set them on the porch, ring the bell and run like crazy back to my bike, hoping to get out of sight before the receiver came to the door.  I wasn’t so worried about delivering to the girls, it was the stops at the boys’ houses that I worried about, because you had to worry about the kisses.  Yes, you had to run like hell after ringing that doorbell at a boy’s house, because they would try to catch you and kiss you!

One boy in our class would lie in waiting every May Day just to try and tackle a girl delivering a May basket.  He was a particularly short and stumpy boy, who didn’t run very fast, so I thought I still had a pretty good chance of getting away because I outran him in PE every day.  I parked my Red Schwinn, complete with bell, on the sidewalk. . . .I walked stealthily towards the door, trying to tread lightly across the boards of the porch lest they squeak and give me away. . . I checked to see if the curtain swayed. . . .I laid the May basket with it’s fragrant lavender and white lilacs every so gently near the door. . . .I stood up to knock or push the bell. . . .the door opened. . . .oh shit!!!. . . .I made a mad dash towards my parked bike. . . .how was I going to get on it and get purchase on the pedals in time to get away from him. . . . .I knew what was coming and didn’t want to face it. . . .just a couple more steps. . .grab the bike. . . .hop on. . . .damn kick stand. . . .CAUGHT!!. . . .a big smooch on the cheek from the boy who hit a line drive into the side of my head in third grade!!  What a nightmare!!  How was I going to show my face in school the next day??  Of course I did, and lived through all the ribbing, and in another year or so I moved from that town when my parents got divorced.

You know I saw that guy at a Wendy’s a few months ago, in the town I currently live in.  I didn’t say anything to him, and he didn’t recognize me.  Seeing him made me wonder if he remembers that particular first day of May, when he was able to grab a May Day smooch.





To remind myself why I am such a forgiving person. . .

Don of All Trades Does It Again!

I know, you’re saying to yourself, “Oh shit, what has Don done now??”.  Well, he won one of those damn award things, and has passed the thing on to me, amongst a few others.  It’s not that I’m not grateful, it’s just that I totally suck at passing these things on.  There are numerous blogs I try to keep up with, and many deserving of awards, but when it comes to all the pasting of links, and making up questions, I get lazy!  Actually, it’s more the fact I have a limited amount of time in each day, and I choose to get my whopping 5 hours of sleep as opposed to handing one hour over to typing up shit for a blog award.   I know, sounds quite superior and bitchy of me, doesn’t it?

Seriously, I do appreciate it so much when a fellow blogger passes on an award to me.  It’s nice to know that Don enjoys chuckling over my “relationship train wrecks” so much, that he felt I needed an award!  Words hurt Don.  I am officially teary-eyed over here now.  Just kidding.  I do kind of feel like punching you in the throat though.  Just kidding about that too.  If you haven’t checked out Don of All Trades, get your ass over there and do so!  Not only does he help keep the mean streets free of crime, (I think maybe he has a night gig as Batman) he is also one funny mother fucker, who every once in awhile will throw a story in that tugs at your heart strings and makes you tear up a bit.

Without further adieu, I will now answer the questions Don has asked of his nominees, because I know he’s dying to know more about what makes this Fat Bottom Girl’s milk shake bring all the boys to the yard!

So now here are 11 questions for my nominees:

  1. If you could introduce your husband or boyfriend to someone and had to tell his occupation during the introduction, what would you want that occupation to be?  That Magnum uses his penis to make the molds for their XL condoms.
  2. Pancakes or waffles?  Waffles all the way!!  Pancakes are fucking syrup suckers that piss me off!  There’s never enough syrup for a damn pancake, regardless how much syrup you put on there.  WTF?
  3. Favorite professional sports team?  Ummm. . . .no.  I have much better things to do with my time than to worry about shit like that.  I do know the Royals seem to be starting out the season rather well though. 
  4. City in the USA not named New York, Boston, LA, Dallas, Chicago or Miami that you’d like to visit?  Right now my list includes Austin, New Orleans, and Savannah. 
  5. Vacation time!  Where do you go if it can be anywhere?  Someplace with beaches and clear blue water.
  6. What’s a regret you have that sometimes eats at you?  That I pissed away my voice.  I loved singing, and was pretty good at it at one time, but just let it fall by the wayside.
  7. You can change one thing about your husband/boyfriend.  What is that thing?  It would be nice if he were more spontaneously affectionate.  He’s not very touchy-feely, and outside of the bedroom there’s limited physical contact besides a slap on the ass once in awhile.
  8. When’s the last time you were drunk?  Last weekend??  lol
  9. What would you do for a Klondike bar?  I think the better question is, what wouldn’t I do for a Klondike bar??
  10. If you could…if Jesus insisted that you murder one person, who would it be (I’m excluded please) –  The man who molested my daughter.  That was an easy choice.
  11. Best thing you’ve ever eaten?  I’m kind of a foodie, so I can’t answer this one without making a list a half mile long! 

Tipton Terrors

I am going to grace you with another bit of bad poetry. You can thank Kira over at Wrestling Life, for the inspiration, due to her Wordle Wednesdays she recently started. It’s kind of fun, and gets the old brain box ticking, eyes searching to see what interesting words lie within the wordle, and what kind of bad poetry can be written from them! Enjoy, or just detest me for posting some more of this horrendous shit. Either way, Tipton is an actual, primarily Catholic town in Kansas. Freaky shit when it shows up in the wordle, huh?

another small,
primarily Catholic,
Kansas town,

wheat waves,
accusing eyes,
words heard,
bowels constricted,
desperate reality,
avoid guiltily,

“Sir, . . . Sir. . the flight’s at the gate, you can depart the plane now.”



Decide for yourself. Don’t let anyone else dictate to you, who you are.

The Toughest Job You’ll Ever Love


Motherhood, fatherhood, parenthood in general, truly is the toughest job you’ll ever love.  I thought my job was tough when my son’s dad asked for a divorce when I was only a couple month’s pregnant with him.  I thought my job was tough trying to deal with behavioral issues, accompanied by extreme anger and huge temper tantrums, which cropped up in my son at the young age of three.  I thought my job was tough when he was butting heads with his third grade teacher, and crying himself to sleep every night because he hated her so much he didn’t want to go to school.  I thought my job was tough the first time I had to put my son on an airplane, by himself, to fly halfway across the country to spend five weeks of the summer with his dad.  I thought my job was tough when my son started deflecting my hugs and kisses, and acted like returning my “I love you” was a struggle to get past his lips.  But as I wrote in this post, nothing can prepare a parent for when a child reaches the age when they have the desire to go live with their other parent.  That particular moment is when you know for sure, that being a parent is a tough job.

Weeks ago my son’s dad and I sat down and discussed the possibility of my son going to live with his dad.  At that time his dad informed me of his intent to retire from the military, and possibly take a contract job in Afghanistan.  His dad had a two year plan, which had my son going to live with him the beginning of his freshman year of high school.  Needless to say, after years of deployments and separations, I wasn’t thrilled at the prospect of him being absent for another year of my son’s life.  His dad’s end goal was to do this contract job, and then fully retire once his wife finishes nursing school and goes to work, thereby allowing him the chance to be a stay-at-home dad.  Honorable intentions, but I believe these next two years are particularly crucial when it comes to my son.

But last week, after my mother informed me she isn’t willing to transport my son to and from school in the coming year, his dad and I sat down for another chat.  His dad offered me a possibility I’m not particularly comfortable with.  He told me he wants me to consider my son starting school next year in the town he lives in, whether he is there or not.  Do you understand what I’m saying here?  He wants my son, to live with his wife, for possibly a whole year while he’s gone to Afghanistan, instead of living with me.  He did preface it by saying he knew I might not be comfortable with it, and he was afraid I would have terrible guilt feelings about allowing my son to do it.  After all these years he knows me very well, because even hearing the words come out of his mouth immediately made me sick to my stomach and made tears well up in my eyes.  I left the restaurant that day not knowing how to feel about any of it.  I wasn’t even sure how my son would feel about it, but I knew I needed to sit him down and ask him about it.

Yesterday we had almost an hour in the car to talk, so I brought it up.  I asked him how he would feel about living with his dad’s wife, even if his dad was in Afghanistan.  I told him his dad and I had talked about him starting school next year in the town his dad lives in.  He said it would be okay with him.  I told him I wasn’t sure how I felt about it, that I had reservations.  I asked him why he felt he wanted to move.  He said, “So you can have a break, and because I want to go to a different school, and because I feel like you’re annoyed with me all the time.”  Wow. . .gut punch.  I told him I don’t feel like I need a break from him, and I am not annoyed with him all the time, but maybe it seems that way since I feel like he’s always testing limits with me.  And when I felt like I could do it without breaking down and totally losing it, I told him none of this has anything to with how much I love him.  And he told me he knows that.

So now I am left with all these feelings, and all these questions.  Should I allow this?  How do I really feel about this?  What kind of mother am I if I allow him to be parented by his stepmother the majority of the time?  If I do allow it, can I live with the guilt?  Is there a possibility this will make my relationship with my son better?  This is all I have known for the last 12 years.  How do I get up every morning and walk past his empty bedroom and not feel like a total failure?  Since the day I brought him into this world, he’s the only thing I’ve been living for.  How do I let him go?

Could it happen?

You are the love of my life
And you are the reason I’m alive
And baby baby baby
When I think of how you saved me
I go crazy

I’ve never known love like this
And it fills me with a new tenderness
And I know I know I know
You’re in my heart you’re in my soul
You’re all I can’t resist

And I need to tell you
The first time I held you
I knew you are the love of my life

I spent a lifetime waiting
Always hesitating until you
I was lost so deep inside my shell
‘Til you came and saved me from myself
Now all I really know
Is I need you

And you are the love of my life
All the joy and tears that I cry
And baby baby baby
You don’t have to say a word
I see it in your eyes

As we stand together
I promise forever
‘Til the day that I die
You are the love of my life

I spent a lifetime waiting
Always hesitating until you
I was lost so deep inside my shell
‘Til you came and saved me from myself
Now all I really know
Is I need you

You are the love of my life
You are the reason I’m alive

I heard this song on my drive to work today.  I started wondering if it’s possible, if love could change your life and transform you.   Could love save you?  Maybe you’re one of the lucky ones, and it already has. . . .

Going Off The Rails

Yes, I am.
Right now, right here, at my desk, at work.
I try to fight it.
I try to calm myself.
The anxiety overtakes me.
The crazy sets in.
I want to escape, but the jump from my window isn’t even far enough to break my arm.

Happy Fucking Friday

Ten Famous Autocorrected Quotes

Because everyone needs a good gut-buster laugh on a daily basis, I am reblogging this! Tears running down the face, pee running down my leg, all thanks to the Dimwit Diary and the damn autocorrect!!

The Dimwit Diary

Suppose a young man with a wild imagination and too much time on his hands went to a greasy spoon diner one evening at 3 AM.   Suppose the same young man grew tired of all the belligerent drunks and lot lizards that usually frequent a greasy spoon diner late at night, so he began to surf the interwebs on his smart phone to occupy his time until his gyro omelette and rye toast were ready to be served.

Suppose that while killing time surfing the interwebs, the young man came across some famous quotes and later stumbled upon the humorous website, Damn You Autocorrect.  Now suppose the imaginative young man with too much time on his hands got to thinking:

“What if all the famous authors, poets, artists, philosophers, and great leaders of history had to use a smart phone to type their inspiring quotes?  Would their quotes sound any…

View original post 146 more words

Ducks and Pigeons

The following is an analogy given to me by my boss the other day, while sitting around the lunch table complaining about my dating dossier and wondering aloud why all the men I have been involved with in the last twelve years, including my ex-husband, have felt the need to cheat on me.
“Say you’re hunting ducks.  You’ve got your duck call and you’re blowing it, but the ducks aren’t coming.  All you keep getting are pigeons. Maybe you just think you want a duck.  Maybe, you need to learn to like pigeons.”


Here, pigeon, pigeon. . .

Here, pigeon, pigeon. . .


P.S.  What’s quite ironic about this whole analogy?  I dressed up as Carol Burnett’s “Pigeon Lady” character one year for Halloween when I was just in elementary school.

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