Friday, February 10, 2012

Oh my god, Becky...

For those of you that haven't ever met me in person, lemme tell you something...

I'm fat.

Not like 10 lbs overweight, fretting over leftover baby weight. My baby is 114 months old (holy crap, that took way too long to compute in my head). And I gave up that ghost a long time ago. I'm fat. Like, FAT. Like, I wear a size... *gasp 18/20. And in t-shirts? a XXL. *faints

And guess what? I admit it. And I own it. I regularly reference the size of my ass. Which IS huge, by the way. Every time I make a reference to my monstrous posterior, someone always says, Oh baby, I like big butts. Well guess what, Sir Mix a Lot? We're not talking about 36-24-36, only if she's 5'3". We're talking about holy shit, I'm not getting out a tape measure, but trust me it's big.

My point? Lately, I've been noticing a trend on Twitter. Bash the fatty. They eat too many cookies. Cupcakes. Sushi. WINE. (wait, this sounds familiar...) They have no self-control. Well take a good look in the mirror, asshole. Because behind the fat, I'm someone's fantasy. Obviously not everyone's, but someone's. Yeah, as scary as that sounds, it's true. So when I unfollow you, don't think I'm just being sensitive. I'm not. I don't unfollow because you've hurt my feelings. You may say whatever you want on your Twitter. I unfollow because you have a lesser opinion of someone like me. If you don't like my fat ass, I won't miss ya.

It's become so easy to become an avatar. To be honest, I've thought about putting up a generic picture, to be more anonymous. But in the end, my Twitter IS about me. So, it IS me. Now don't get me wrong. I'm not about to put a picture up of myself that I don't like. Why? Because I don't want to look at it, and I'm a vain motherfucker. Because at the end of the day, I have to be happy with what I put out there. And that is ME. Take it or leave it. Because at the end of the day, this is all voluntary. We signed up for this. It is what you make of it. And my experience is mine.

And so, full circle baby, back to me. I'm a fat girl. And those that know me, well... I think they kinda dig me. And it usually doesn't have a damn thing to do with the size of my ass. And you know what? I may or may not always be a fat girl. But I'll always be me.*

*could I have said "me" one more time in this post?

Tuesday, January 31, 2012

I never...

Driving home from work & school yesterday afternoon, the words "I never" sparked a conversation between my 16 yr old & I. She was lamenting the fact that she had never been to a concert. And the fact that I have been to more than one, forget the fact that I'm THIRTY EIGHT YEARS OLD, is Not Fair. Also disregard the fact that this is the same child that has been to New York City, and I have not. She's been to Disney World, TWICE, and I have not. She went on a cruise when she was 12 years old. Ok, I was with her, but I sure as hell wasn't 12.

(side note: I'm a huge list maker; this knowledge will come in handy in a minute)

Where was I going with all this? Oh yes, I never. Instead of thinking of all the things she has done, I started thinking of things I haven't done. And want to. And intend to.

Which brings about this:

Things I've Never Done, But Intend To Do (snappy title, huh? I'm a clever monkey!)

-Go to New York City
-Attend a Wine Tasting
-Have an Adults Only Roller Skating Party
-Take a Cake Decorating Class
-Punch Giada De Laurentiis in the face
-Take a vacation, all by myself
-Go to the movies alone
-Watch It's A Wonderful Life
-Defriend all the people on Facebook that I don't give a rat's ass about, including all the dumbasses from high school that don't even remember me
-Go to England and drive on the wrong side of the street
-Banish Hey Soul Sister from existence
-Own a Volkswagen Beetle
-Speak fluent Spanish
-Have LASIK
-Learn the correct words to Benny & the Jets
-Make a quilt
-Kick a clown in the crotch (don't hate, clowns are EVIL)
-Sing karaoke


Have you ever? What have you never?

Thursday, January 26, 2012

You're ugly and your momma dresses you funny...

So, I'm a bitch. Ok, to most of you that's not news. But I'm starting to realize it more and more. I'm not nearly as tolerant as I used to be. Now, before you start jumping my ass (and please, feel free to jump it because THAT is always the highlight of my day) I'm not talking about race or sexual orientation or that new-fangled rap music all the kids are listening to these days. I'm talking about tolerance for stupidity. It seems the more people I'm around, the more people I dislike. Given my current occupation, I have seen a lot of people. And I've come to this realization: PEOPLE SUCK. They are rude. They are impatient. They are mean. And I've had about enough.

But that isn't all. That can't be my whole identity, BITCH. I must be other things... yes?

THINGS I AM:

Loyal friend
Lollygagger
High heel lover
Obstinate fighter
Constant lipstick wearer
Wine drinker
iPhone addict
Random stranger sneeze blesser
Curse word aficionado
Procrastinator
Pen Hoarder
Basketball Hater
Cupcake eater
Pedicure junkie
Typo maker
Scramble With Friends Kick Asser
SUV driver
Doodler
Glasses wearer
Facebook pic creeper
Detergent sniffer
Twitter freak
Big boob haver
New Chihuahua owner


So go on and call me a Bitch. Because I am. But I'll take all the other things too.

Thursday, January 19, 2012

Don't call it a comeback...

According to the Universe, I'm a douchebag. I pithily commented on Twitter yesterday that I didn't have a blog to black out to protest SOPA/PIPA. Within 5 minutes, a text message appeared on my trusty iPhone : "But you do have a blog. LINK."

I felt as if I'd been smacked with a stupid stick. HOLY BALLS, I have a blog! It's only been a year and a half since I've posted anything. And this blog was supposed to be my foray back into writing. Which was supposedly missed so much after a long (much-needed) absence. I posted a handful of times, and then discarded it like last night's empty wine bottle.

Have I really become that lazy? That I can't even write a post once in a while to remember what I used to love? That typing more than 140 characters is just too much? That the instant gratification of Twitter is nothing compared to the soul-baring power of the blogosphere?

The answer is simple: Yes.

Yes, I am that lazy. Yes, typing >140 characters CAN be too much. Yes, Twitter validates my need to feel heard in that moment. But yet, reading back on the prior posts I feel that pull. That longing of not having to Tetris my words into a tweet, making them fit just so into that 140 character form.

I make no promises. But I'm gonna try...

-qop