Fat Bottom Girl Said What

When my ass talks, people listen.

Archive for the month “June, 2013”

Modern Conveniences

I did something stupid last night. After attending a party, and getting slightly inebriated, I texted The Fuck Stick. Yes, I used to refer to him as The Cowboy, but there’s really nothing cowboy-like about him except he wears boots and can rope some shit, so he will now be referred to as The Fuck Stick. Back to my stupidity. It was late, I was drunk and feeling sorry for myself, and lonely, and this is what it said: “Can you just admit to me that I was a convenience and you never cared about me? Because that’s how I feel.” He didn’t respond. He still hasn’t responded, and most likely he won’t. That’s okay. I think his not responding is telling. I don’t think he cares about me at all. I know that may seem strange that I wonder if he cares about me, but I do. Does he have the capacity to care about me? I don’t know. I just really don’t know anything right now, except that I am lonely. I know I will get past all this, but right now it’s still sucking. I have decided I am just going to be proud of the fact I didn’t tell him I miss him, or some sort of stupid shit like that.


We loved the brokenness in each other.
The flaws, the shortcomings.
The healthy parts were an obstacle to our relationship.
The good things about me were overlooked, made fun of, trampled on.
I tried to find the goodness in you.
I really did.
Every once in awhile I thought I would catch a glimpse of it,
then it would vanish into thin air, propelled by negativity and harsh words.
Now what I thought was your handsome face, is gone too.
Your ugly soul has shown through, turning you into an ogre.

A Real Fine Place to Start

And in the endings, there are also beginnings.

And in the endings, there are also beginnings.


D-Day has come. He is here right now, loading things from the garage into his truck. I am a mess. I am shaking, my heart is racing. This would’ve been so much easier if I didn’t have to see him. A good friend of mine is here, to run interference. I am hoping, since it is early in the day, that he doesn’t have an abundance of alcohol on board already. I want this to be over with. I want all remnants of him gone, so I can get on with the healing process. I never want to be in this spot again. The next time I see the red flags, I want to be strong enough to turn tail and run. Wouldn’t it be so much easier to make that run in the beginning, than at the end?

Butcher Knives vs Butter Knives

Some people say do it cleanly. Cut all ties and be done. Others understand the pouring over of old text messages, and the slow removal of memories, items, possessions; bit by bit. Tomorrow is D-Day. D-Day, meaning Done Day. I am done. I want all of his possessions out of my house and my garage. He hasn’t even contacted me about coming to pick them up. He is taking advantage of me again. My house isn’t the storage shed. He has a storage shed. I know, because I gave him over $200 just so he could get, and keep, the storage shed. I know I will never see a dime of that money back, or for that matter, any of the money. Another expensive lesson; in more ways than one.

I just wanted you all to know that I have switched cutlery. I may have started out using the butter knife, but now I have picked up the butcher knife. I started chopping a couple of hours ago, and the first thing that went was all of the text messages. Oh, and if you see a whole bunch of smoke tomorrow night, it’s not wildfires burning, it’s his shit on fire in my front yard, and I’ll be dancing around it.

The Spaces In Between Hurt & Healing

I am struggling tonight.  I don’t miss him, necessarily, but I miss a presence.  It is quiet except for the hum of the window air conditioners, and the tink, tink, tinking of the pull chain on the ceiling fan as it hits against the glass globe. 

My heart hurts and I am lonely.  I know it will pass, but I feel like I have a lump in my throat that won’t budge, and I can’t stop myself from crying as I write this. 

I made the mistake of reading through all our text messages.  He seemed to really like me at first.  Everything seemed great.  It didn’t last.  He started accusing me of wanting to spend too much time together, of being too mistrusting.  He started picking, and I started believing what he said.  I went from being a confident woman to a meek girl who fell in line with his wishes. 

I will be that confident woman again someday, but it will take time.  It will take at least as much time to build myself back up, as it took for him to knock me down.  Right now I have bursts of emotion, but quickly go back to feeling dead inside.  It amazes me how I can still see the bruises on my face, but I can so easily separate myself from the reality of what has occurred.  I guess it is a process which has to be worked through, and I must be in the first phase of it.  I wonder how long the denial will last?

Today’s Note From the Universe

The following is my “Today’s Note From the Universe”. Is it just coincidence that I get this particular one today? Also kind of strange that I am from Kansas, and it makes reference to the Wizard of Oz. Spooky weird, just like my life.



By design, FBG, you are stronger than whatever you may create.

Including the lions and tigers and bears now in your life.

Oh, my!
The Universe

You know what they say about time….


…that it heals all wounds.  This one is healing, but I think it’s going to leave a scar, not just on my face, but on my soul as well.  Maybe someday, a man will come along who can love not only my scarred face, but also my scarred soul. 

The Reason for My Tears

I cried on my commute home today. I cried for the man he’s not, and I cried for the monster he is. I cried for his son, because it scares me that at his young age of 4, he has probably already seen what his father is. I cried for believing in him. I cried because I had hope that things would be different this time. I cried because my son had to see these marks on my face and know they were left there by a man I allowed in our home. I cried because I don’t understand how a person who made me laugh so hard, could bring me such pain. I cried because I don’t understand how I got here. I cried because I’m not sure I know my way out.

The Instant You Know

So here’s how it went down. I got a text from him around 6 last night, asking if he could come get some clothes. Because he’s such a dumbass, that when he had come Sunday morning to get stuff, he didn’t take any clothes with him. I told him yes, and then felt sick to my stomach that I had to let him in the house again.

He knocks, I let him in. He looks at me like I’m supposed to say something. I say nothing. He asks, “What are you still mad or something??”. I ask, “What do you want me to say?”. He starts carting drawers from his dresser out the door. He wants to know if I’ll “at least” open the door for him, so he “can be out of my hair” (which sounds like another total martyr statement to me). He asks if I had a nice afternoon with my son, I reply yes, that I did, all the while wondering why he would even ask. Another trip out the door, and he says to me, “Aren’t you glad your son wasn’t around to see any of it?!?”. Yes, I was very glad he wasn’t around to see any of it. Back in the door, he asks if the rent on the storage shed is due on the same day every month, and I bite my tongue from saying, “Yes, dumbass, responsible adults figure that shit out, not to mention the fact I have told you numerous times!!”. I simply tell him yes, and he volunteers the information that he paid it yesterday morning. I say I thought he hadn’t gotten paid. He asks what I said, claims he didn’t hear me, and I tell him it doesn’t matter anyway. This irritates him. Out the door, and he tells me that he guesses I am right, and that it doesn’t matter. In again, and one last thing to take out the door, he stops in the kitchen and asks if it’s okay if he leaves the bed awhile longer. I say yes, and I tell him this wasn’t how I wanted things to turn out. He says, “Well, that’s what happens when you beat the shit out of me.” What the fuck?? I tell him the only reason I hit him, was because I was tired of him hitting me, and after him cutting my face open earlier in the evening I wasn’t going to take it anymore. He says he was only hitting my hat, that he wasn’t hitting my face. I ask if he was only hitting my hat, how is it I have a fat lip? He then proceeds to tell me that I gave him a scratch on his arm, and his hand swelled up a little bit. I tell him that probably happened when I was trying to get his fucking hands off my throat because he was choking the shit out of me. He tells me that he only choked me because I wouldn’t stop hitting him. I told him I have a right to defend myself. He says the problem always is that I never know when to shut the fuck up. He says, just like now, you don’t know when to stop fucking talking, and he walks out the door.

In that instant I know. I know I will never take him back. I will never take him back, because next time, he might not take his hands off my throat. Next time, he might just kill me. You see, he has no remorse. No remorse whatsoever. He thinks I am at fault. He believes I brought everything on myself. He believes I deserved it. Fuck him. I know he’s wrong.

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