Fat Bottom Girl Said What

When my ass talks, people listen.

Archive for the tag “dating”

Battle Wounds

I was never good at walking away

feet dragging

legs leaden

so I push. . .

barrages of gunfire from the arsenal

which is my wounded soul

you stand and take it all like a soldier

I wonder where your armor has come from

and how you dodge my bullets

Why do you stay?

What makes you dig in

and establish a bunker which can’t be penetrated by my ammunition?

You should retreat

run far away from my enemy lines

and the grenades I lob to keep you at a distance

But you don’t.

You stay strong through the fire fight

never once raising the white flag of surrender

Always my hero

setting me free from this prisoner of war camp I’ve constructed for myself






The Fallout of Hope



“It’s because you’re an optimist.”

What the fuck did he just say to me??

He was kidding.  He had to be kidding.

Me?  An optimist? Especially when it comes to me thinking about finding love??

My brain didn’t want to even think about the word!

My mouth didn’t want to form the “O” or purse my lips for the “P” of the first syllable.

I felt dirty.  Like he’d insulted me and called me the “C word”.

How dare he!

I pride myself on being a pessimistic realist–especially when it comes to that particular topic.

Was I losing my snark?  Was I allowing something which seemed to say “optimist” to peek through my rough exterior?

Is there some teeny tiny kernel of optimism which lives somewhere deep down inside my black heart which he caught a tiny glimpse of?

Or, worse yet, am I lying to myself?

Is there something within me that believes it’s possible for me to find love again, that there might be someone out there who will love me like I need to be loved?

I’d like to think not, but maybe he sees something within me I can’t.  Maybe he sees some sort of potential in me that I refuse to because it makes my life easier.

For me, realism is so much easier than optimism, and pessimism kicks both their asses, because it means I don’t have to manufacture “hope” for love, because even if it were to happen, it would probably just go to shit anyway.

I think I started being a realist about love when, while carrying my son, his father left me for one of my best friends.

I became a pessimist when every man since then cheated on me with other women.

I doubt romantic love exists anymore, and so far, no man has shown up to disprove my theory.

Maybe, some day a great guy will come along, but I’m not holding my breath.

Until then, I will live in my cynical world, because it protects my heart from the fallout of hope.










Products and Factors



I’m the common denominator

but I’m not much good at math

and your words only seem to add up

to problems

always more than just the two of us

in this equation

where I come from I can only do

1 + 1 = 2

I don’t need any other variables

making their way into my life

mutually exclusive

I’m uncomfortable with odd numbers

but you always seem to follow a particular formula

wanting a range of women

as opposed to 1

I am not an absolute value

I’m a scalene triangle

obtuse in the figurative sense

and running perpendicular to love

merely a fraction of my former self

after your bisection of my life


I fucking hate math.







The clock marks time




it’s been long enough now

that I almost can’t recall

why I fell in love with you in the first place

Maybe it was your stellar acting skills

A regular Shakespeare of the long distance relationship

prancing on the stage

waiting for my applause from the front row

and you, merely

throwing me crumbs, always giving me excuses

of why you couldn’t give me actual time

More of the




I chastise myself for holding on too long

ignoring what was staring me in the face

anxiety mounting

tearing at my fresh skin, newly healed

Your claws digging deeper

into the fresh carrion which was my

already abused heart

the wounds you left more devastating

because they were poisoned with the lie of love


I make myself sick
with my desperation
of wanting to know

tell me
show me
prove to me

I have to know
how much you care

I re-read
I pick apart
searching for a hidden meaning

Wanting to know
what you mean by
telling me you care
telling me I am your oasis
telling me that some days I am the only thing which brings you joy

I feel like I tell you
in no uncertain terms
how I feel about you

But always
the word I really want to say (and hear)



*This piece has been sitting in my drafts folder for over two years. It’s a good example of the anxiety I go through when I become involved in a relationship. Or maybe, it’s only when I become involved in a relationship which I know isn’t good for me.  I need to do some cleansing. . .of my possessions, of my writing, so this is the start. Honestly, I think this was still in the drafts folder because it’s complete drivel.


The song of you

is stuck in my head

It resonates like a tuning fork

I hum another tune

but it is drowned out by your melody

I want you to take your one man band elsewhere

Get it off my street corner

so I can allow another man’s song

to replace your lyric

which was filled with fables and broken promises





Photo Credit:  felixgi.deviantart.com



Warning Labels




I lived in a walled fortress most of the time. . . with a moat. . .and a dragon.  But no knights.  My life doesn’t currently have, and has never had a knight, or a true partner.  Mind you, I know knights don’t exist in anyone’s world except Walt Disney’s, and truth be told, after the shit relationships I’ve subjected myself to, I should probably come with a warning label.

If any man ever happens to express interest in me again, here is what I would want him to read on my label:

  1. I don’t trust you. Most likely I will probably never fully trust you. If I come to trust you, it will be because you’ve backed up your words by deeds.
  2. Don’t ever think scaring me is funny.  It’s a trigger for me, and you might possibly be met with a slap to your face or a knee to the balls because I will feel as if I need to defend myself.
  3.  No yelling. EVER. Yelling sets off an immediate panic attack in me, and then when the yelling is done, I immediately dissolve into a puddle of tears.
  4. PTSD.  I have it, though I hate to admit it.  There’s no shame in having it, but I constantly try to minimize the situations I was in and deny that I have it.  It will rear its ugly head, and you will need to love me through it, or you will need to leave.
  5. Touch.  I will need to sense your presence before you touch me, or I will be startled, even if you’ve never put your hands on me in anger. I can be a very affectionate person, but it will take a little time.
  6. Jealousy.  Don’t get psycho jealous with me, because I’ve been there and I won’t do that again.  It is possible I might experience some jealousy and read something into situations which are harmless because I’ve been cheated on numerous times and lied to too many times to count.  See #1 for further clarification.
  7. Guilt.  Because I’ve been told numerous times that everything that goes bad in an asshole’s life is my fault, I still have a hard time believing that it isn’t, so I will always feel like shit is my fault.  I will always assume worst case scenario in every situation and will prepare myself for the blame, so don’t be an asshat–you own what’s yours, and I will own what’s mine, and we will forgive each other and move on.


I think this about covers the basics.  If you’re still here and have an interest in understanding more about me, then maybe you give a shit and you’re interested in sticking around.  If not, that’s cool too, and I get it.  The rollercoaster isn’t for everyone.



Grab Your Beakers


Chemistry.  So amazing, yet so perplexing.  I have been obsessing about it recently.  The topic came up Saturday night, when I was chatting with a friend.  Here’s what I want to know from you, dear WP friends:

1.  Is chemistry something that you either have or you don’t?  Meaning, can it be “manufactured” during the course of a relationship, or does it have to be there from the beginning?

2.  If you believe it can be “manufactured”, does it quickly wane because it wasn’t there right away?

3.  Do you think a relationship is doomed if you have no chemistry with someone?

4.  What are your experiences with relationships in where there’s been chemistry/no chemistry?

I have a ton of other questions, but am so looking forward to reading replies, and generating some talk about this topic!  Hope you are willing to participate!

Because of all who came before you. . . .

You’re grown. . .you can do this. . .he is going to show up. . .why do you think he’s going to show up?. . . some of the other guys didn’t show up. . .always let you down. . .you can’t count on a man to do what he says can you?. . .but he’s not those guys. . . you have to give him a fair chance. . .what’s fair? nothing in life is fair is it?. . .fair, as in, he said he is coming, so believe that he’s coming. . . do I have to believe in him?. . .isn’t that like having an expectation. . .shouldn’t have expectations. . .no expectations. . .really? I need to be able to expect him to show up, shouldn’t I?. . .I think that would be the bare minimum for expectations. . .yes, just have a little drink, just to calm your anxiety. . .if I still smoked I would be chain smoking. . .I need to change my perspective on this. . . how to do that. . .he would be foolish if he doesn’t show up because I am awesome. . .so I’m not the most beautiful woman, or the smartest, and I don’t have the perfect body. . .but fuck you, I look good for 44, and I am attractive, and guys check me out. . .and I am smart, I am well-read, and I know lots of shit. . .and I’m talented, and I’m interested in a lot of different things, and I have a karaoke machine and I can cook, so really what more would you want??. . . and thank the hell, the boy has some manners and just texted to say he is on his way so I can relax a little. . .

*This is the kind of tornado that runs through my head because of the experiences I have been through with men. My self-esteem is shit. I can act like I am all that and a bag of chips, I can pretend I fucking rock and that I’m great, and make everyone, even some of my best friends believe it, but I’m not. I have absolutely no idea why a guy would want to take the time to come see me, or date me. I truly believe I am the “fuckable, but not dateable girl”. God, I have to stop that fucked up thinking!!

Which planet are you??

Men and women are more like Saturn and Uranus.  (Photo Credit:  nineplanets.org)

Men and women are more like Saturn and Uranus. (Photo Credit: nineplanets.org)

I have to know if any other woman’s mind works this way, or if I am just an odd duck. Men, feel free to chime in too, because I always love hearing the male perspective. I really don’t think men and women are that much different; but instead of Mars and Venus, more like Uranus and Saturn.  I will leave it up to you to decide which sex wears a sort-of halo, and which sex’s name sounds like an asshole, but let me tell you at any given moment either sex could be either one. But I digress, because I came here seeking advice, from you, my omniscient followers.

Last Saturday night I went dancing and met “Whatshisname”. I thought Whatshisname and I kind of hit it off, we talked, we laughed, we danced, he opened doors for me and shit. . .we even kissed before the night was over, and wow, just wow. Anyway, I thought it was a great night, I offered my number, he took it, and I really thought he would call. He hasn’t called, and it’s now Friday.

On the other hand, I have Booty Call, BC for short. BC hit me up last Friday night, but I didn’t want to wait up until he left the bar, so I went to bed. BC hit me up Saturday night, but I was busy dancing with Whatshisname. BC hit me up again last night, but I was on my way to bed. (I get up very early because I commute to my job, and am usually in bed by 9 p.m.)

Here’s the deal, and I do this kind of shit all the time: I am waiting on Whatshisname to call. I know, I barely know the guy, but I think I would really like to get to know him better, so I am sort of avoiding BC. Don’t get me wrong, sex with BC is good, but he’s BC–there’s no affection, there’s no hand-holding, there’s no “you have the most beautiful eyes”, it’s just sex. Which sometimes is okay, but not while I am in a holding pattern. I keep telling myself it’s silly of me to sit around waiting, wanting Whatshisname to call, that I need to keep living my life, and that would include seeing/doing BC, but I couldn’t go there last night. I don’t know when I will be able to see BC, because I really want to see Whatshisname.

Why does it seem like I have given my heart away to Whatshisname already? I guess because I am a fool, a hopeless fool who wants something, and I don’t even know what that “something” is!! Does anyone else do this stupid shit, or is it just my dumb ass??

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