I don’t have to answer to you.
I have the right to change my mind.
I don’t have to consult with you when I want to make plans.
I can dance with every guy in the bar.
I can flirt shamelessly.
I can go an extra couple of days without shaving my legs.
I can sleep all over the whole bed.
I can decorate my house however I want.
*I am writing this in an attempt to help myself feel better about my singlehood.
Do you ever happen to notice what phrases people are searching for when they stumble upon your blog? According to my WordPress stats, these are the terms which seem to be getting me hits:
black fat pubes, did the girls fuck petraeus, god facebook page, fucking fat bottom girls, fat bottom woman gets fucked while sleeping
Here’s what I really want to know–which ones of you put those search terms in to find me?? And when you search for “fucking fat bottom girls”, does that mean you want to watch someone doing it, or that you need to know how to do it?? Just curious, because if you want to know how to do it, all you have to do is ask!
Be sure and hit me up and let me know what kinds of crazy search terms people have used to find you!
I am feeling guilty because I haven’t written for a few days. I felt like I was on a roll, and then sickness set in. I am ready for this cold to be gone, but it seems to be hanging on. I wanted to call in Monday and just stay in bed all day, but couldn’t because I had a major obligation at work. This week is filled with not only regular monthly obligations, but the Christmas party obligation. I am an excellent party planner when I have the time to do it. I don’t have the fucking time to do it this week. All of these things make me grouchy and bitchy. Yes, grouchier and bitchier than usual. I said it, because I know you were thinking it.
I know this entry “sucks hind tit”, as my father would say. I don’t like to write half-assed, and there are some who would tell me not to write at all, if I can’t give it my all. To those people I would say, fuck you. This is my blog, and I’ll write when I feel like writing, or even when I don’t feel like writing, and even if it sucks hind tit.
I work in the construction industry, and a large number of my co-workers are men. In fact, almost all of them are men. Trust me, most of the time I have no problem with this, as men are much quicker to forgive than women, and don’t tend to be backstabbing, conniving whores who think you’re trying to steal their job/significant other.
The downfall of working mostly with men is the smell. The question at the forefront of my mind most days is, “Don’t you ever shit at home??” I swear these guys save their shit so they can do it at the office. I understand that every once in awhile you’re going to have to take one of those out of the ordinary kind of craps. You know, the ones that sneak up on you after you put the two taco lunch you had at the local Mexican eatery on top of the numerous beers you had the previous night while playing shuffleboard with the guys after work? But every day of the week??
Guys, is your gut built different than women’s? I don’t know about the other ladies out there, because most women don’t sit around and talk about poop like I obviously do, but I am a once a day kind of girl, and my preference is to do it before I get in the shower. Most women don’t even like to shit in public places, and will only do it as a last resort and if they’re seriously going to crap their pants before they make it home. It is clear, after studying male pooping habits, this is not the case with most men, and they do not share these “poop-phobias” with the fairer sex.
The guys at the office will sometimes spray to try to cover up the stench, and even leave the fan running as a kind of courtesy, but we work in a trailer, so it really doesn’t help much. The walls are paper thin in this place; you can hear them reeling the damn toilet paper off. When I hear this sound, I have a learned reaction now–I know I need to light the candle.
Maybe for Christmas this year I need to buy the guys kind of a group gift as a tribute to all the crap-tacular dumps they leave in that nasty ass bathroom of theirs.
Some days are better than others.
What is it that weighs on me?
What is it that pursues me and
won’t let me be satisfied,
or happy,
or content. . .
You fuck,
you have been knocking at my door the last three days.
I don’t ask you in.
I never actually open the door,
but you are able to get in anyway–
through the keyhole, through the crack at the bottom,
like a winter wind come to chill me to the bone
and turn me into a fucking Ice Queen
who has no patience for the simple people
and their drivel
and bullshit.
Be gone with you stupid peasants!!
Lest I turn you into ice statues!
I just noticed on my Facebook ticker that a friend of mine “liked” God’s photo. God has a Facebook page? What the fuck? Do you really expect me to believe God has internet service?? And a camera he takes pictures with and uploads them to Facebook so he can keep everyone apprised of the happenings in his life/death/ spiritual existence? What the hell do you post as a status when you’re God?
I am certain that some people will read this post and think I am being blasphemous, but technically aren’t all the folks who are “liking” God’s Facebook page, and plastering bumper stickers all over their cars being more blasphemous? You might also ask, what do I know about God? A whole lot of nothing. I have had my experiences with religion and spirituality, but consider myself to be agnostic at this point in my life. But what does anyone really know about God? Not much, but I sure as hell hope God has a sense of humor when it comes to this crazy shit!
I mean, really, how about the douche who started this Facebook page? ( You know it wasn’t really God, right?) Someone was so full of themselves that they thought they could speak for God?? How pompous can you be? I so don’t have to worry about being struck down for all the crazy ass stuff I’ve done in my life, if I’m standing next to this guy! Here’s how it would go down:
God: Oh, I know you Fat Bottom Girl! You’ve drank tons of liquor, and fornicated with a bunch of dudes out of wedlock, and you’ve cursed, and you’ve taken my name in vain, and you think I shouldn’t strike you down?
Fat Bottom Girl: (points to the guy standing next to her) Ummm, yeah, but this douche claimed he was you and made a Facebook page!
Bam! Douche is struck down, and I’m all good and move on to heaven! What? You think that’s a stretch?? Well, so is God having a fucking Facebook page!!
So did you do it?
Did you do what you said you were going to?
What you promised you would do?
I didn’t think so.
You can’t be counted on.
You’re just like all the others.
Oh, you don’t want me to classify you?
To lump you in with all the rest of them?
What the hell is so different about you?
You say you’re different, but all you’ve given me so far is
the same old shit.
Lip Service.
All I’ve gotten is
fucking lip service.
Don’t you realize your actions say all I need to hear?
I got stood up for a blind date tonight. I guess he had a good reason; he got called in to work. I was unaware he worked in an on-call position. I found out about the time I was ready to head to the bar. I had never spoke to this man, it was set up by a friend of mine and her boyfriend.
Am I upset? Yes, but not because I was stood up. I am upset because I wasted a good make-up job, a good hairdo, and perfume. I was perfectly happy sitting at home today in my pajamas. Yes, all fucking day I sat around in my pajamas. I rarely do that, and it was quite enjoyable. I got out of those pajamas, and made myself look presentable for about 2 hours. Then I came home and washed the presentable off, because there was no meeting.
Is it so terrible that I don’t want to do this anymore? Don’t want to keep searching for the love of my life? Don’t want to keep being stood up for blind dates, or ignored and avoided after having a date? Is it so bad the I just want him to be here already, sitting beside me on the couch and sleeping in my bed?
I am so exhausted by all of it.
I have no problem admitting it; I love the movie Valley Girl. It’s one of my favorites because it’s totally tubular and bitchin’. Okay, so it’s no wonder it didn’t win any awards, but Nic Cage looks freakin’ hot in this movie. This was before he became creepy.
I am sitting here with color on my hair, watching it right now, as this morning I am still stuck in 80’s chick flick mode. Here’s what gets me about this movie:
1. The Soundtrack — You can’t go wrong with kick ass music like, “A Million Miles Away”, “Johnny Are You Queer”, “Eaten By the Monster of Love”, “She Talks in Stereo”, and the piece de resistance, “I Melt With You”.
2. Nic Cage has his chest hair shaved in a pattern. If he had as much hair on his head now, as he had on his chest then, he wouldn’t need abad toupee.
3. Classic movie lines:
Randy: [to Julie after she dumps him] Well fuck you, for sure, like totally!
Fred Bailey: Do you believe a girl should pet on the first date?
Girl: Who are you, Bozo the Clown?
Fred Bailey: [warily surveying party food] What you got running here, a bait shop?
Suzi Brent: Like, it’s sushi, don’t you know?
Julie Richman: Yeah, but Tommy can be such a dork, ya know? Like he’s got the bod, but his brains are bad news.
I could go on and on, because there’s just so many of them, but I need to wash this damn color out of my hair soon, so I need to finish up.
4. The Click — The last, but most important reason I love this movie? Is because of “the click”.
Some of you know exactly what I’m talking about, because you’ve experienced “the click”. Julie and Randy experience “the click” in this movie, and that’s why I keep coming back to it. I like to be reminded what “the click” feels like—“like I feel connected to you somehow. . .it’s like we’re linked”, and then he moves in for the kiss. Yes, I have been lucky enough to experience “the click”, and more than once. It doesn’t happen often, but when it does, I have a hard time walking away from it, just like Julie and Randy do. I will chase “the click” to the ends of the earth, I will drop everything for it and drive hours to feel it, it’s like a drug and I can’t get enough of it. I have never been able to walk away from “the click”, and I usually end up making an ass out of myself because of it. “The click” is like a high, and I can’t get enough.
When was the last time you felt it?
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Fat Bottom Girl Said What 