Fat Bottom Girl Said What

When my ass talks, people listen.

Archive for the category “Uncategorized”

An Ode to 80’s Lust (I so would’ve done you in high school)

I see you looking at me out of the corner of your eye mullet man. 

Watch me light my Satin cigarette, being careful not to catch my meticulously coiffed mile high bangs on fire with the cheap Pump Mart lighter whose flame can’t be controlled. 

You should know I’m just like this cheap Pump Mart lighter because my flame can’t be controlled either.  I burn bright and hot. 

And I look hot too, in these pink and black checked Zena jeans with the black bandana tied around my wrist.

I know you noticed the bandana as I tipped up my Bartles & Jaymes wine cooler to take a sip. 

I can tell just by looking at you, in your glued on 501’s and Motley Crue t-shirt and high top tennis shoes, that if we get together our relationship would play out like a Bon Jovi ballad. 

Strut those tight pants over here

and kiss me with your Mickey’s Big Mouth breath before I change my mind

and take a walk on the preppy side with the guy in the polo with the popped collar.

Tempered Glass

Posted on my Poetry/Prose sight The Fat Bottom Bard

Fat Bottom Girl's avatarThe Fat Bottom Bard

And who are you to throw stones

from your glass house on high

no better

or worse

or different

than the rest of the masses

who are merely

trying

to live

and exist

and find love

in the chaos

of our creation

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An Open Letter to Charities

I’m writing this from an undisclosed location.  I’ve had to go into hiding.  I feel like a good fella who’s had to move to the ‘burbs and change his name from Bobby 3 Balls to Larry Smith.

It’s not because my blog has gotten wildly popular overnight. (How can you call 4 readers wildly popular?)  I’m on the down-low due to (gasp) charitable donations.

Little did I know that a couple of $20 donations, to try to put a stop to the Sarah McLachlan simpering, would result in some sort of stalkerfest!

I love animals, and thought I was doing a good thing by donating money to charities which help animals, but had no idea how quickly things would escalate after I mailed that check.

Before I knew it, guilt gifts galore started showing up in my mailbox–calendars, wrapping paper, address labels, Xmas cards, and even a pair of socks.

Socks??  Were the socks supposed to remind me there are little puppies and kittens wandering around out there with cold toes?

Here’s the thing, your gifts don’t guilt me.  Your gifts make me wonder why you use the money I send you to turn around and send me a bunch of cheap crap instead of using it to help the animals?

How many cats and dogs could you feed with the money you spent to make those labels and that pair of socks?  Could you spay or neuter one or two with the numerous calendars you’ve sent?  I imagine you probably could, and that makes me a bit angry.

So this is what I’m going to do.  First, I’m changing my name and going into the witness protection program so I’ll stop getting your solicitations, and second, I’m going to start donating to local charities.  At the most, I think they’ll only send me a letter once a year asking for a donation, and I’m okay with that.  A letter once a year is more like a gentle reminder, as opposed to stalking someone numerous times throughout the year.

So you can keep your crap wrapping paper and tell Sarah McLachlan to shut her pie hole because she makes my kid cry with that shit!

Sincerely,

Fat Bottom Girl

Large Derriered Female

 

All About That Bass

You had to know I would post it sooner or later.  How could I let this cute little ditty about big booties slip by?  And I can shake it, shake it too.  As a matter of fact, I was just shaking it around my kitchen last night to the Grease soundtrack while cooking supper.  As always, regardless of your booty size, find a little time every day to shake your boom boom because it’s good for the spirit.

Yeah, it’s pretty clear, I ain’t no size two
But I can shake it, shake it
Like I’m supposed to do
Cause I got that boom boom that all the boys chase
And all the right junk in all the right places

I see the magazines workin’ that Photoshop
We know that shit ain’t real
C’mon now, make it stop
If you got beauty beauty, just raise ’em up
Cause every inch of you is perfect
From the bottom to the top

Yeah, my mama she told me don’t worry about your size
She says boys like a little more booty to hold at night
You know I won’t be no stick figure silicone Barbie doll
So if that’s what you’re into then go ahead and move along

Because you know I’m
All about that bass
‘Bout that bass, no treble
I’m all about that bass
‘Bout that bass, no treble
I’m all about that bass
‘Bout that bass, no treble
I’m all about that bass
‘Bout that bass
Hey!

I’m bringing booty back
Go ahead and tell them skinny bitches that
No I’m just playing I know you think you’re fat
But I’m here to tell ya
Every inch of you is perfect from the bottom to the top

Tell Me Something Good

Do it.  I dare you.

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

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?

Fat Bottom Girl's avatarFat 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…

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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!

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!!

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

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