Fat Bottom Girl Said What

When my ass talks, people listen.

Archive for the month “January, 2014”

A Day in the Life of an Office Bitch in Construction

Do you ever have those days at work when you think, “Shit couldn’t possibly get much stupider than it already is”? I have them often. But as luck would have it, I continually get the answer to that rhetorical question, which is an unequivocal “yes”.

As I’ve said before, I work in construction. I don’t wear steel-toed boots to work every day, and I don’t swing a hammer, I am an office manager for a construction company. Basically, I am the “office bitch” for a construction company. I push papers, I copy and scan shit, and I watch the money. Correction; I watch the money go out. Rarely does the money flow back in, and when it does, it’s a trickle. When it goes out, it’s a flow like your first piss when you’ve broke the seal after pounding four beers in an hour’s time.

So this contract I work on, it’s bleeding; bleeding like your ball sack when you nicked it manscaping.

How to fix the problem?

My suggestions would be:
1. Work smarter.
2. Buckle down and get jobs bought out sooner and get your fucking paperwork turned in on time.
3. Stop making excuses and do your job.

I know those are novel ideas, and very easy difficult to implement, but they cost the company no extra money. Wouldn’t you think you’d want to try the no-cost approach first?

Not around here!

My boss just came to me and told me to buy “Moose Knuckle”, our head superintendent, a new white board. Moose Knuckle, known to everyone around here as “Captain Save-A-Ho”, claims this will help him get his shit together and track activity in the field better.

I must point out here that Moose Knuckle doesn’t even carry a notebook with him. He claims he can keep track of everything in his head. Really, the only reason he can keep track of anything, is because he makes it up as he goes along. If he doesn’t know the answer to a question–he will make something up. And that something that he makes up, to cover his failure to jot down a fucking note every once in awhile? It won’t be a simple bullshit excuse like, “Man, I was really fucking busy bailing my drunk girlfriend out of jail today and didn’t make it to that job”. No, it’s fucking elaborate and Ripley’s Believe It or Not kind of shit, like, “Man, I’m not sure what happened, because I got stuck in a 10 car pile-up on the way to the job site, and I had to give 3 people mouth-to-mouth, and one dude an emergency tracheotomy with my ball point pen, and then I had to whip off my too tight moose knuckle Levi’s and use them as a tourniquet to save this chick’s leg, and I just lost track of time and before I knew it was time to come back here for the meeting”.

But. . . .a new, really fucking big white board is going to make all the difference.

Do you have any idea how much those things cost? We’re talking party like a rock star in Vegas with cocaine and hookers, or a Justin Bieber trip to the titty bar expensive.

So I suggest to my boss that Moose Knuckle take the one out of the empty office next door to me. Nope. Not good enough. Moose Knuckle wants the BIG board. I’m guessing to make up for what he is lacking in the moose knuckle department, but mind you, that is merely a guess, except for the fact of just how fucking tight the dude wears his fucking pants. Gross.

I look at my boss like Crazy Eyes from Orange is the New Black. I ask him if he realizes how much it’s going to cost, and remind him that Moose Knuckle didn’t maintain the first white board he had. He says he knows, but tells me to get it anyway. WTF? Just to prove to everyone after dropping a load of money on this thing that the guy couldn’t coordinate s’mores making at a fucking Campfire Girl jamboree??

I know you guys don’t like to listen to me, because I have a VAGINA, but could we just buy the guy a little notebook and tell him that if he can maintain that, you’ll graduate him to the big boy white board??

Saving a few bucks. What a stellar fucking idea.

 

moose

the beast

in the shower it hits me
punching me in the gut like a prize fighter
threatening to spill emotions onto the porcelain
like bad Chinese takeout from a queasy stomach

its fingers, icy tendrils, grip my heart
so quickly and tightly
it makes my breath hitch
the pain bringing tears to my eyes

the beast rears its ugly head
opening his colossal jaws
to enclose me in them
swallow me whole, just to spit me out
flesh flayed, bones exposed

why is it you doing the right things
scares me more
than all the wrong things those other guys did

Snooze Buttons

SLEEP

if this is a dream

don’t wake me

don’t shake me

don’t let the alarm
start buzzing in my head

and rouse me
from my blissful unconsciousness

allow me to slumber

wrapped in thoughts of you
and the ecstasy of my happiness

PP + MJ 4 Ever

SpidermanKiss

You descend until we’re
upside down and right side up, noses to chins
brush your lips against mine
silky as the web of a spider

Tangled, spiraled, orb
tunneled, tubular
oh what a web
our love weaves

Cast your net
before I run
lest I be entangled
and made dependent upon
the safety of your sticky castings

Saving everyone means
you might lose me
the girl next door
green eyes and red hair

But saving no one
means you losing yourself
even a superhero’s heart
isn’t insusceptible to love

DITCHING THE DILDO

dd

 

Recently I was met with a dilemma. I wanted to ditch my dildo.

Our relationship wasn’t going so well. After giving myself a birthday present a couple of years ago of a lavender colored, pretty well-endowed, supposed feel closer to skin schlong with a multi-speed and pulse vibrator, I came to the conclusion I wasn’t satisfied. Our sex life wasn’t measuring up to my standards.

I decided I wasn’t into the schlong.

Now wait a second! Don’t take that to mean I’m not into schlong, because I totally am! I am so into schlong that my lesbian friends have a nickname for me–“Strictly Dickly”. True story.

I just wasn’t so sure about this particular schlong. Honestly, it was my first experience with “faux schlong”. It was my birthday, I thought I’d treat myself, and I went to the toy store and got it.

I even threw away my trusty sidekick, the “Betterfinger” vibrator, for the new faux schlong! Before I knew whether the relationship would work out. Bad move on my part.

Lesson learned. Sometimes you need to stick with what you know. I don’t know if it was what it was made out of, or the color, or the fact that it smelled kind of like a Dr. Scholls shoe insert, but after a few test runs I was done.

So what do you do with a lilac dildo? What do you do with a lilac dildo? What do you with a lilac dildo? Sorry, just got a damn sea shanty running through my head.

Seriously though, what the hell do you do with a dildo when you’re done with it? Just casually toss it in the dumpster? No.

Have a dildo burning party? That option sounded appealing. Get the fire pit stoked up. Gather copious amounts of alcoholic beverages and invite friends. But wait. I am a bit earth conscious. This thing had enough rubber in it to be used as a flotation device. What the hell would I do to the ozone if I burned it? So that option was out.

Cleverly camouflage and disguise? Yes. That was my best option. I stuffed it in an old sock, and double-bagged it, and tossed it in the kitchen trash amongst egg shells and coffee grounds, and hauled the whole mess to my dumpster.

Buh-bye lilac dildo! I’m going back to my vibrator! Wait. Oh hell. I threw the vibrator out! Now what’s a girl to do??

And then I had a thought!  Maybe my buddy Jack Chaser, over at The Things I See Up Here, knows where I can get a new vibrator. It seems he recently had a sex toy company (not sure if I’m allowed to say their name or not but it has something to do with The Garden of Eden and forbidden fruit), contact him about some guest posting.  I kind of want to know if he’s getting free sex toys out of this deal.  Like maybe a lifetime supply of pocket pussies or something?  Seriously, I think the guy has enough dildos already.  It’s all he ever talks about!  Of course if he does get more, he could spread the wealth around a little bit!  Hey Jack, don’t forget this loyal follower is in the market for a new vibrator!!  A rabbit, a dolphin, hell I’m not picky!  I’m lonely!!

Seriously folks, if you need a good tears rolling down the face belly laugh, go pay Jack a visit.  The guy knows how to tell a good story, even if he is a little kinky.

Commitment Issues

I can’t commit.

No, this has absolutely nothing to do with my new relationship. That’s going quite well, thanks for asking.

This has to do with my blog. I can’t make a commitment to my blog.

I want to be a fantastically popular big hair rock star in spandex pants kind of blogger, but I don’t think I have the dedication.

Don’t get me wrong, I like to write. No, scratch that, I love to write, but only when the feeling hits me.

Problem is, my muse is like a no-good down on his luck drunk douche bag, who thinks the world owes him a living, so he does the bare minimum hoping to get by with the maximum. Some days he doesn’t show up at all. Other days he shows up so freakin’ wasted on cheap bourbon, with so many ideas, I couldn’t possibly write them all down, or ever hope to create an actual piece out of them.

I get mad at my muse for being a slacker, but mostly I’m mad at my muse because it’s like he’s rubbing off on me. I don’t know that I actually possess the desire to be great at this anymore, when I’ve spent so much time being nominal.

Maybe I started the blog for all the wrong reasons. Maybe I should’ve stuck to a certain type of post, and not hopped all over my wacked out mind and just posted whatever happened to spill out onto the paper that day–poetry, idiot ramblings, humorous anecdotes; all of it usually laced with profanity.

Followers hovering at near the 200 mark for almost a full year; so close but yet so far. Tagging the shit out of stuff to try to get more hits. None of it working it seems to bring me that fame I desire.

So I’ve decided to do something drastic. Read on.

Dear Blog,

Maybe it isn’t meant to be, and we should just break up. I have issues. Truth is I whore around, and spend more time adoring blogs other than you, because I like them better. Good relationships require time and attention, and I guess I’m just not really feeling it for you.

However, I do have a proposition for you Blog. We can be friends with benefits! I’ll come back every once in awhile to fuck around with you, and have a couple of beers, and write a few lines, then go about my business. How does that sound? Good? Okay, well then we’ve got a deal.

See you around.

—FBG

 

C&H

My Baby Plays a Mean Meat Whistle

The "B" is silent.

The “B” is silent.

Bacon. Sex. Bacon. Sex. It’s kind of a toss-up. Seriously. That’s how much I love bacon. So I just came right out and asked him. “Would it bother you if I were to eat bacon while we were having sex?”

Now you might not be quite as enamored of the swine and bovine as I am, so that question might shock you. But to my warped mind, eating a pork product, or any other tasty meat treat while having sex makes perfect sense, and here are the reasons why:

1. In my neck of the woods, sex is sometimes referred to as “porkin'”. Example: “I was porkin’ this chick the other night. . .”

2. How many times have you heard of a man’s equipment being referred to in “meat” vernacular? For example:

Men can “beat their meat”, or “slap their salami”.
They can slip a woman the “hot beef injection”.
Hey baby, wanna ride the “bologney pony”?
Your wife or girlfriend’s favorite dinner? “Tube steak!”
“Pork sword”
“Weiner”. (Not to be confused with Anthony, whose weiner everyone has seen thanks to the internet.)

3. Let’s not forget that an erection is oft referred to as a “boner”. Meat often comes with bones in it. And as AC/DC says, I’m pretty sure “just givin’ the dog a bone” refers to putting your man meat in a chick’s mouth, but I could be wrong.

4. There’s also musical meat. Example: “Hey honey, why don’t you come over here and play a tune on my “meat whistle”. If you don’t know all the notes, you can just hum.”

4. Last but not least, meat terms you never want to be associated with your penis: vienna sausage, little smokie. When it comes to meat, the serving size does matter. Don’t let her bullshit you.

So you see, it all makes perfect sense now, doesn’t it?

Oh, and just in case you were interested? He told me it wouldn’t bother him a bit, just don’t forget to melt some cheese on it and dip it in mayo. I’m thinking he might be a keeper.

Travel Plans

I think it
but there’s really no point in asking the question
as I am well aware of the answer

(Where have you been all my life?)

Walking your road
and I
walking mine

I don’t know of all your travels
or what all your stops and detours have been along the way

I only know my own road –

sometimes long
so long and painful that many days I wanted
to rush to the end
and be done with the journey prematurely

sometimes broad
so broad and entrancing that I could gawk and explore
without fear of running into anything
or anyone and being stopped dead in my tracks

sometimes meandering
so meandering and foreign that I could never guess
who or what might be around the bend
or the treasures I might find

sometimes steep
so steep and narrow that I feared falling
off the precipice and careening to
the bottom where only blackness and longing dwelled

sometimes generous
so generous and heaped with blessings
of love and laughter
that I could barely catch my breath to offer thanks to the universe

sometimes rocky
so rocky and rutted that I tripped
and fell so many times my knees and soul left
scraped and scarred doubting the wounds would ever heal

sometimes lonely
so lonely and desolate that there was only silence
and no one there to try to stop the flow of tears
or hold me when my sadness became unbearable

But travel we must
converging with others roads when the time is right
and yours has converged with mine
on what would seem a serendipitous pathway
or possibly a collision at a crossroads

We each have reached out to the other
hands
fingers
tendrils of souls
intertwining and trusting

How long we will stroll this merged, but imperfect thoroughfare
remains to be seen
I only know the ground seems steadier
with you beside me

Lip Confrontation

Kiss me,” she said. kiss

“In every way. . .

possible
imaginable
probable
viable
thinkable
advisable
feasible
available
conceivable. . .

. . .now,” she said.

2014 – The Year of the Fat Bottom Girl

The Chinese New Year calendar says it’s the year of the horse, but I’ve decided to shake shit up and make it The Year of the Fat Bottom Girl.  Because I can.

Have you ever noticed the sub-title of my blog? “It’s not about the ass, it’s about the attitude”? That’s not entirely true. It’s kind of about the ass.  Many of you have probably wondered about the size of my ass. Or possibly you have speculated aloud, some even telling me that they believed my ass wasn’t really that big, even though I call myself the Fat Bottom Girl. But here’s the deal–baby got back. I got a little junk in my trunk. I’m packing a little meat in my seat.  That’s right, this ass be bootylicious.

To get slightly serious for a moment, as I begin 2014, I am on a quest to be more accepting of my body. To be kinder to myself when I look in the mirror, and I want the rest of my fat bottom girl crew to come along on this quest with me. It’s time to embrace the skin you’re in! It’s time to be okay with having a juicy booty! (That does not mean run out and buy sweatpants with “juicy” monogrammed across the ass!  That shit is just plain tacky!)

My goal is to be able to look at my ass in the mirror, and have the first thing that runs across my mind be, “Damn girl, you don’t just have a can, you got a can-can”, or, “The bigger the cushion, the sweeter the pushin'”, instead of looking at it in disgust and comparing myself to some composite woman in my mind who has been pieced together through advertisements and tapes of old boyfriends telling me what I am lacking.

Ladies, it’s time to embrace your fat bottoms! Gentlemen, if you’re like Sir Mix-A-Lot and like your woman with some curves, let it be known! Give her a smack on that ass every once in awhile, and tell her you love her each week day, each velvety cheek day.

This Fat Bottom Girl is going to make sure 2014 is a great year, and to kick it off right, I’ve put together a video list –  “Ode to Fat Bottoms”. So get up, shake that healthy butt, and enjoy!

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