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?

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?

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.

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

Baggage, it's not just for overnight trips...

The last few weeks I have been extremely moody. Call it emotional, hormonal, irrational or just downright scary. I may be a chick, but I hate letting my real emotions show. I can usually fake it with the best of them. Because the realness of it all scares the absolute mess out of me. I can deal with your problems, any day of the week. I can console, advise, or just be an ear. And I'm very good at it and very sincere. Helping and/or fixing YOU is the easy part. Fixing me, well... that's better saved for another day.

But I think my emotional constipation has about reached its final breaking point. I'm not sure I can hold them back much longer. I'm not a crier. Yet, I've cried more times in the last month than I've cried in 5 years. Every time, save one, has been in private. Away from eyes and ears of those that have instigated them. Because that means you win, even if wasn’t your intention. Making me cry is a battle royale. And I am the Queen, after all. I am competitive to a fault. I hate to lose. And when your actions spur a tear from me? Then you win, and I certainly can't have that.

So, what's a girl to do? Super glue my tear ducts shut? Lock myself in a padded room with no one around? The answer is usually found in a box of wine...

Miss Prissy if you're nasty...

A good friend of mine has a tendency to call me Prissy. (also Spoiled, but that's another story) Which makes me CRAZY. But then I step back and realize, ok maybe I am Prissy. Spoiled. Crazy. All of which makes me, me. But that's a total copout, to just admit to being Prissy & Spoiled. It doesn't tell you anything really about me. And neither will this, but I'm gonna post it anyway.

Crap you didn't know about me, and will probably forget the second after you read it:

1. Two years ago, we moved from Marshall, Texas after living there for 14 years. We moved to the middle of nowhere. I will probably be adjusting to it for the next 14 years.

2. Christopher Soprano's voice is the sexiest thing evah. Not his face, his voice. I could listen to that for hours.

3. I consider myself an only child. My biological parents only had me, and I grew up an only. I always wanted siblings though.

4. I do, however, have two half-siblings. They are college age. I'm "friends" with them on Facebook, but that's as far as it goes. I don't initiate contact, I'm not a big fan of rejection. And I'm the grown up. Therapy anyone?

5. I graduated from high school a year early. I wouldn't have done it had we not moved in the middle of junior year. I often wonder what life would have been like if I'd graduated from Pflugerville, instead of San Antonio. Don't want to change it, or regret it, but I will always wonder.

6. After staying at home with kids for 14 years, I work for BFE City Hall now. Started off as a part-time office helper thing. It has since turned into a real job, with a title and everything. I'm Big Stuff, bitches.

7. I am cynical to a fault. I do not trust easily. But when I'm your friend, there is nothing in the world I wouldn't do for you. If you're a real friend, I'll even let you call me Spoiled.

8. I have semi-diagnosed OCD. My doctor strongly believes I have it, but has yet to officially diagnose me. I don't take medication for it, and most of the time I don't think I need to. It manifests in strange ways too. My desk at work must be spotless, and perfectly symmetrical. My Tahoe is a disaster zone. Go figure.

9. One day, I want to learn to quilt. I'm going to make myself a quilt. Then one for each of my girls. Then I can quit forever.

10. Grease is my all-time favorite movie, followed a close second by Office Space. Damn it feels good to be a Gangsta.

11. I have an obsession with flip flops. Love 'em, love 'em, love 'em. My toes, always some variation of pink, must be perfectly painted 24/7. Even in winter, when I will still wear flips. I will not step one toe out of the door without my toes painted.

12. I don't have regrets, because each thing I've done has made me, me.

13. Growing up, I never expected to get married at 20. Or start having babies at 21. In fact, I never thought I would get married.

14. The best sound in the entire world is hearing one of my children say "I love you Mommy". Second best? "Would you like a glass of wine?"

15. The smell of tulips and baby powder are the most heavenly scents.

16. My favorite word is fuck. Second favorite is shit. I am KLASSY.

17. I have dreams and aspirations that I will probably never share with anyone. And I mean anyone.

18. My mouth has no filter. I cuss like a sailor, and will say almost anything to anyone. Because honestly, if you like me, great. If you don't, great. I know who I am. If you want my opinion, ask for it. If you don't, don't freaking ask.

19. I miss big hair. I'll admit it.

20. I have two tattoos. One is a cross on my left ankle. The other is on top of my left foot, three hearts with each of my children's initials in it. I am currently planning a third and fourth.

21. I am unnatural affection for my iPhone. I looooove it. For real. I have yet to name her though, nothing is good enough.

22. The best week I've ever had was our Disney World vacation, summer 2008. Everything about it was magical, as corny as that sounds.

23. I'm a huge sports nut. Football is like crack to me. And it has nothing to do with all those tight asses either.

24. I sing all the time. I sing loud and proud. My singing voice is not pretty at all. I don't care. 80's music is the best. Belting it out in the car is one of my favorite ways to relieve stress.

25. I abhor, detest, despise clowns. Stupid, stupid clowns. I don't care if you have some sweet name, like Foo Foo the Rainbow & Kittens Clown. Come near me and I will go gangsta on your ass. Thank you Pennywise for my lifelong affliction.

How you like me now?

Go Shawty

Go shawty, it's your birthday
We gon' party like it's yo birthday
We gon' sip Bacardi like it's your birthday
And you know we don't give a fuck
It's (not) your birthday!

Happy Birthday America! I'm gonna watch movies, drink copious amounts of wine (Bacardi = hangover) and grill some dead animal carcasses. Ok, so I'm not gonna grill. I'm gonna watch. Because really? Anything this soaked in booze shouldn't be around an open flame.

Y'all celebrate. Y'all be careful. Y'all come back tomorrow with all your appendages (that means you Doc).

Orange Crush, the Facebook experiment.

Facebook is a curious thing. It's wonderful, you can see who married who and who got fat. It can help you feel superior and make you feel like a worthless failure, all in one click of a bookmark. You have all these "friends", but I dare each and every one of you to go through your lists. There will be at least 5 people that you don't know dick about. Sure, you went to high school or college with them. But do you really know them? Probably not. And for the most part, we're cool with it.

I, on the other hand, look at it as an experiment. I friended a whole bunch of people I went to High School with. People I have absolutely no recollection of. People that most likely have zero recollection of me. But for some reason, because we all went to this magical place called High School together, each and every one accepted. Every. One. For a half a second, you fool yourself into thinking that there might be more to it. Well, maybe they were in Mrs. Watson's English class. Or Coach Swope's Algebra class. But in reality, most of these people didn't know you from shit.

And then BAM. You find Him. Or Her. In my case, it's a Him, because I likey the ones with a penis. I digress. Anyway, there He is. The Crush. The one that never went anywhere, probably because I was a big fucking geek with big hair and blue and gold eye shadow. (what? it was required for dance team, suckahs). Friend Request!! Accepted. I hear those Mexican soccer commentators scream, GOOOOOOALLLLLLLLL!

Of course, I post a status here and there. I played all the gaywad games for a while until I felt like a supreme loser for giving a rat's ass if my corn was ready to harvest or not. And it fades away. Slowly but surely, like your Mexican vacation suntan. But the kicker? Occasionally, you add someone to your bag of tricks that you never expected. A real friend, that is now a daily part of your life. My old crush has become my new friend. Growing up can be the shit.

For the record, he's still cute as hell.

It's all about the Pretties...

So I've debated this second post. What direction am I going to take this blog in? Am I going to follow in the old QoP flip flop steps or will it have a flavor of it's own? For those of you that used to read me, you know the primaries about me. For you new people, you'll have to feel me out for yourselves. Of course, knowing me you know that I giggled a little at "feeling me". I even giggled today at work when I said duty. What rocked even more is that when I did, the person on the other end of the phone giggled too. Some sort of secret silly-minded kinship that is underlying and goes without saying. Score!

FYI, to all you diehards, there will not be any dirty HNT's. Unless I drink a lot of wine. ;)

Today was my favorite day at work. Which is also the date I get treated the worst. Maybe I really am a sadist. I do like pain, after all. Not the emotional kind, I try to shy away from emotional crap at all costs. Anyway, today was Cut Off Day (COD). I have the reviled job of working in Utilities. I am in charge of the Utilities for EvenSmaller Town USA. And on the 26th (or 28th, as the calendar fell), today was COD. If you don't pay, you don't play. No tickie, no laundry. Also known as, PYFBD. Pay your fucking bill day. Here's the drill people, it's simple. Pay your bill and you keep your shit. If you don't, I will cut it off. My job is not worth you being able to play PS57 or whatever. Yes, I have a heart. But your sob stories do not pay my paycheck. And my paycheck pays for my pretty toes, pretty nails and wine. And I'm much more pleasant with pretties and wine.

Today was no different than any other COD. I cut off power. And I was called, in no particular order:

Cunt (my favorite, makes me laugh every time)
Bitch
Heartless Bitch
Jackass

My all-time favorite: Fat Cunty Bitch. Really, people. I can't make this shit up.

Seriously. Do people think I'm going to rush right out and turn your shit back on if you insult me? Uhhhh no. And for that matter, if you need to call your utility company remember one thing. It could be me answering the phone. And I'm super-nice. Until you get an attitude with me. And then this cunty bitch will fuck you up. BE NICE. For real.

In all reality, I don't like cutting people's power off. I know that it's tough out there. DUH, why do you think I'm doing this job? It's a J. O. B. and it pays mah bills.

Moral of the story: Pay yo bills, or this Cunty Bitch may be turning off yo shit.

The Return

I have thought about this almost since day 1 after dumping the original QoP blog. For those of you that don't know, I used to have a wildly successful blog. And by wildly successful, I mean that like 4 people read it. And three of those people are 3 of you. I developed a nasty case of Stalkeritis and dumped the blog when I'd had enough. But after much, much, much debate (and a bitching case of being tethered by 140 characters on Twitter), I'm baaaaack. Everybody say, "yippy fuckin' skippy".

For those of you that are not used to me yet, be warned on post 1. I cuss. I say whatever the fuck I want. And I don't care. My favorite saying is "Suck it and deal". If you don't like me, that's perfectly fine. Don't read. I'm way good with that. I'm opinionated. I'm OCD. I'm scatterbrained. And last but certainly not least... I ♥ flip flops and wine. And the movie Grease. Damn people, do I have to tell you everything tonight? Get off my ass already. ;)

I'll make a Cast of Characters page, which will probably grow as time goes on. It always does. But for now, the majors:

#1 - my oldest daughter (14)
The Diva - middle daughter (12)
The Baby - ummmm, the baby, duh (7)

We live in Small Town, Texas. Lived here for 2 years. We live out in the fucking middle of nowhere. I'm still adjusting.

Stick around, if you wanna. Or not.