Fat Bottom Girl Said What

When my ass talks, people listen.

Archive for the tag “wine”

Thieves

I drink the wine
straight from the bottle
because there’s no need
for niceties anymore
No reason
to put on airs and pretend I’m sexy
So I don flannel pants and an oversized shirt
for comfort
Why do I allow you to take
all the good parts of me
when you go

*Originally posted on The Fat Bottom Bard.

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A PSA from Me and The TSA

Next weekend I’m taking a short trip to Nashville.  I’ve finally decided it’s time for me to dive in and really start experiencing some of the things this country has to offer, but I will be packing a little differently for this trip than I did the last one.

If you all remember, last November I flew to Toronto to visit the now ex-boyfriend. That is such a long story, and one I’m not quite ready to tell, so we’ll just let it go at that, but being who I am, I was hoping to “have some fun” i.e. “get laid”, while in Toronto.

Sometimes, one would like to use “additional items” for sexual encounters, so I packed a small vibrator.  It was like travel size.  I even bought it in the travel size section of the adult toy store–travel size vibrators, travel size lube.  To me, travel size=fun size!  But, I digress.

It had been awhile since I’d flown, but didn’t think much about going through security, as I didn’t figure they would find anything too suspicious in there.  Little did I know, my loose face powder was going to set off some sort of “search that bitch’s bag” alert.  No big deal–until I remember I’ve got that damn vibrator in there!!  And who’s going to search my bag? Not one of the four women standing around there, but the one guy on duty.  Fucking fantastic.

“Pleasedon’tfindthevibratorpleasedon’tfindthevibratorpleasedontfindthevibrator”

I keep chanting over and over in my head, as I feel a sheen of sweat form on my upper lip.

He gets his gloves on and starts digging, setting items in Ziploc bags out on the table for everyone to see, and telling me when he finds the powder, that he’s sure that’s what has set off the sensor.

“Oh, but you can’t take this on the plane,” he says, as my heart drops into my gut, and he holds up. . . . a small bottle of hairspray.

You thought I was going to say the vibrator, didn’t you?  Thank the god of dildos and sex toys, the guy did not ask to see what was in the little zebra striped bag, and informed me I could load my makeup and clothing back into the suitcase.

Going through customs in Toronto I was worried I would have to go through that scenario all over again, as they pulled my bag aside to search it.

“Mam, you can’t have the wine.  If you want to take the wine you have to check the bag.”

“Fuck that, I’ll stand right here and drink it, because there’s no way I’m letting you bastards get drunk on my Canadian wine and pleasure yourselves with my vibrator!!”

Needless to say, the vibrator is staying home this time because TSA is not partying on my dime! Those toys are expensive!

Cult Followings

How in the hell am I supposed to amass a cult following if I have no followers??  Seriously people, where did all my stalkers go?

What’s that?  You said I basically dropped off the face of the earth during this last year and didn’t post on regular basis so you all abandoned this fat bottom ship?

Okay, I see how you are.

Well, I’m back.  At least for now.  I’ll be here when the feeling hits me

I’ve promised myself I won’t worry about stats, even though obviously I do because I hate not having any followers.  Doesn’t every writer want to be wildly popular?  Seriously, if you didn’t care you wouldn’t have a fucking blog, so you might as well be honest about being an attention whore.

So in the spirit of attention whoring, here’s something I want you to do–follow me on Twitter at @fatbottomgirl1.  The one is because I’m the fucking original, and all the others are just imitations

I tweet some hilarious shit, it’s just that no one ever reads it.  If you don’t follow me, here’s some of the shit you’ve missed:

I wore all black to work the other day.  Boss asked if I had a funeral.  I told him yes, a little piece of me dies each day I come there.

What’s the big deal about a thigh gap?  If I stand around with my legs spread I have a fucking thigh gap too.

Found out an ex-bf’s wife is now a photographer.  Let’s hope she can photoshop him a bigger penis.

My hands smell like Vaseline and bacon.  I must be at a sex party with really good snacks.

Your average Kansas bar is basically Walmart with beer.

On a pessimism scale I’m a cat.  Regardless of how much anything there is, my bowl is always half full.

Why does all corned beef in a can come from Argentina? Is that the only place beef is cornable?

46 quickly approaches making bifocals a necessity for all close-up work, even blow jobs.

Hobby Lobby’s so  holy roller it makes me feel like the ultimate atheist sinner when I shop there.

For some reason I feel like this day was a total waste of pants.

Beware men who write under a pseudonym. But mostly who live life under one.

Can deep throat a 10′ dick but gags while trying to brush the back of her tongue. #pornstarproblems

You should actually get out of your marriage before getting into. . . .another woman’s vagina.

If Bartles & James is more appreciative of your support than your current SO, you might be in the wrong relationship.

Revenge is a dish best served. . . .with wine. Lots of wine.

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