Archive for 2017|Yearly archive page

My Big Fat Life – Fields of Weeds *breaking up blog

In Uncategorized on November 17, 2017 at 3:23 pm

As of last night, I am no longer with him. I haven’t slept since yesterday morning and my eyes are swollen. I’ve cried a lot, begged for sleep to find me and thought a lot about the past two and a half years of my life.

When I met him, I truly thought I had found my life partner. I loved him and felt at ease with him in a way I had never experienced with a guy. At first it was amazing, and I wanted to share with the world this amazing love I had. It was immediately complicated by what would become a field of hurt that I tried to just work through because I do care, but honestly the past year I have spent trying to get my courage to just walk away. In fact, within an hour of him showing up at my place last night I was telling a friend that I wanted to just end it with him. Not because I didn’t love him, but because I realized he didn’t love me.

When we first started dating he told me with in the first few months that he has an ex that sometimes comes to stay with him, for no reason other than to come stay with him. She’s married, with a kid, and for some reason this is jive with everyone except me. I have had my trust tested before and I know enough that love doesn’t do that. It doesn’t put you in a position to prove your trust or test it, because it cares for what you are building and protects it. He knew my story and the hurt I had endured, hell it’s all on here. Yet he still threw that at me. I was honest with him and told him that was not something I could do and if he wanted to continue dating I needed him to not have her stay with him. He resented me for it, which again makes no sense because he always said he didn’t want her to stay and he didn’t care if he saw here again, he just wanted the option and it hurt to know he didn’t love me enough to just want to say “no” because he considered how it might make me feel. Hell, this should have never been brought to the table. He should have just brought it up if it came up, or just said no because he wanted to not hurt me. But that wasn’t the case.

The seeds of pointless plants sown next was the fact I wasn’t allowed to tell people we were dating. He said for privacy, but his public and private Facebook was littered with photos of his past lovers so it made no sense to me. I tried talking to him about it, because when you are faced with something like that, you tend to make assumptions whether right or wrong. I loved him enough to not want to assume and so I asked him why he posted no pics of us, or I wasn’t allowed to mention our relationship. Instead he got mad at me and told me I had no business looking at his old photos and I was deleted from his friends list on both Facebook profiles. When he saw I had mentioned we were dating he shot me a message on Skype that said “You sure like to tell people we are dating don’t you?” I had only mentioned it twice at that point, and beside why wouldn’t I? I loved him. I wanted the world to know.  I was hurt, and left with this feeling that I was somehow not pretty enough or as comparable to his past and that is why I was denied.

The weeds growing were reaching tower height. I became insecure and jealous of the women who were in constant communication with him, including his exes that he kept comparing me to with “I never had this problem with anyone else I dated.” He was so offended by my assumptions, but honestly up to that point did nothing to squash them. Instead he let them grow and shamed me for it. Over time I learned that it was better for me to let the shit grow instead of asking to pull it up by the root. It wasn’t unusual to get a day or two of silent treatment and accused of arguing when I would try to talk, because I was looking desperately for some validation; Some way to kill all of the stuff growing around me. He let this garden of weeds grow and then scoffed at me for wanting some flowers planted. Yet he didn’t see those women he dated before me were superficial romances he had, and of course there was no real life confrontations. Instead I was being compared to people who didn’t have the time and space invested we had, or I thought we had. How can I compare with a superficial short relationship that still has the waters of new to tread?

I am not claiming innocence here. I owned my part and always apologized for ruining his day, talking about it, or putting him in a bad mood. I would write it off as my hormones, and stress; anything that shifted it onto me so there would be peace because the peace was amazing. When he held me I felt safe, and loved.  When he held my hand he could tell me the sky was a lazy deep purple and I would believe him. When he put his arms around me and told me he loved me, I would shame myself for ever having doubted him and would melt into his words as they wrapped their way through my ear canals and into my soul. Nothing could touch that moment for me, not even doubt.

Over time those weeds kept growing, because we never really dealt with them. I would ask, he would push back, I would be ignored and then the process would start all over again with a few more weeds of doubt taking root each time. I was slowly becoming lost in the very space I was trying to dwell in, and supposed to nourish something beautiful.

Then the rejection. It was often that I would try to initiate advances, and he would not respond. Or, he would respond and the evening would end up with him pleasured, but no offer to help my body get where it was wanting to go. More weeds planted. I tried talking to him about it a few times, and of course it wasn’t something he responded to, because it never changed. I started to feel ugly, undesirable, ashamed of, and just not up to the standards of the other women he obviously openly adored. I was even being rejected in private. My insecurities grew and I would look for verbal affirmations just to hear something to help me forget the jungle growing at my feet. I wanted him to touch me, make love to me and help me forget for even a moment that as soon as he got up and left in the morning that the weeds would still be there. I remember one time telling him while sitting on his bed that sometimes I needed to hear him say something nice, like tell me I am pretty or that he appreciates me. But that was just a road to the fields of weeds, and there was no beaten path, just a road not traveled. And it sucks knowing that just a word here or there would have made all the difference in my world, and he just didn’t want to give it to me.

The weeds were planted with little jabs. One day when I was reading a story about this lady who got a “good morning beautiful” text, he responded to me with “Ah, maybe one day you’ll have that”. My heart sank because I knew he was telling me that it wouldn’t be him, and it never was. I tried talking to him about the passive jabs,  only to be left with the accusation of starting an argument and told to leave him alone, and after a day of the silent treatment I fell back into his graces again but with even more weeds of insecurity and hurt growing around my feet. In the beginning I could at least walk around it all and find some space that felt beautiful without tangles under my feet, but it’s become more and more difficult over time. The man I fell in love with became my pain, insecurity and tears that watered the mess I was left standing in.

I love him. That will take time to change, but god help me I love him. I’ve already grieved the loss of the love I thought we had months ago, yet I haven’t even been to bed because my eyes are swollen with pain from crying all night while my head is shouting every single promise he ever made to me. The last few years of investment and hope that he was a man of his word when he said he loved me, gone. Now I see he isn’t and it hurts more than what I imagine a million bee stings feel like.  I fell for everything he promised, and said. I hung his words of forever around my heart like a cloak and kept my hopes warm that somehow in the madness of this world, I had managed to find my prince. But for now, I just want the pain to stop. I want the sounds of his words to leave my mind and let me sleep. I want him to hug me and make me stop hurting. I want to be carried over this field of weeds into the Fields of Gold, with sun rays and flowers to where I feel loved, cherished and desired as he tells me I am pretty and he is proud that I am his woman. Reality is I look like shit and I’m lying in the bed where I can still smell him. I am between wanting to not sleep on this bed, and keeping the sheets here for a few more days so I can feel him around me as much as I can, or stripping the bed and burning the covers that quietly mock me as I lie here with nothing more than a loud ghost.

So many more moments that could have swept me away from the weeds, or even cleared it out, that contributed. So many more moments the realization became I wasn’t good enough for him and what he wanted, and he felt I was undeserving of his time and space. So many moments he could have apologized and owned his part in all of this, but didn’t and made me feel compelled to own it so I could absorb it for both of us in hopes he would invest in me. I was such a fool. I hate love. I hate it all. My heart just hurts.  Knowing he doesn’t care and likely never did, chokes me. I feel I was just used this past year especially for nothing more than a good story to tell the courts, and lay witness to his good character for everyone else but me.

I’ve waited a long, long time but I’m starting to believe the Fields of Gold is nothing more than a song I heard long ago. Fuck it.


My Big Fat Life – People Change  

In Uncategorized on November 1, 2017 at 3:40 am

People I used to believe were best for my life: 

People that only said the good things about me and tickle my ears with smiles.

People that would agree with me on everything.

People that made me feel good.

People that didn’t expect anything from me.

People that didn’t bother me, and wouldn’t try to find me.

People that didn’t mind that I was flighty, and often flighty themselves because there was nothing more exciting than the chase, catch, release, chase, catch, release, chase…

People that made everything feel “easy” and didn’t challenge me to do better.

People I’ve come to learn that are the most valuable in my life: 

People that make sure I get home okay.

People that are honest with me, even if it’s not something I want to hear but need to hear.

People that ask how my day is going.

People that value me. That’s not just applicable to significant others.  *bizarre fact – Someone once told me to find someone who values me when I decided to date, and I seriously had no idea what that meant or looked like. I had to Google it. Just in case you’re as lost as I was, here’s what it’s supposed to generally look like, but for friendship value I’m sure Google has that covered. I kinda disagree with the last sentence in #9. Sometimes we just don’t enjoy the other for whatever reason. Romantic love comes and goes in waves in relationships, and that last sentence boarders more on what I perceive as romantic love notions:


People that challenge me when things feel difficult and I just want to retreat, because they want to see me do better and they believe in me. 

People that encourage me.

People that are consistent.

People that look for me.

People that make me feel safe, protected, secure, stand up for me, and stand with me. 

I’ve been laying here looking at the ceiling thinking about my youth, and remembering how much I wanted to be loved and valued, and love and value. I never had that, and didn’t know what that looked like so I just moved on with life while living the definitions I had written myself. I believed that being loved and valued meant someone made you feel good all the time. They came when you wanted, and left when you were done. I didn’t understand at the time that the definition I had written myself out of ignorance and inexperience was in fact the furthest from what it’s supposed to read.

It’s wild how one moment can rewrite everything.

My Big Fat Life – Empty Space

In Uncategorized on October 4, 2017 at 12:37 pm

I have a bit of writers block lately. It seems my head is busy with other things and I can’t seem to really think about anything else. Mostly it’s a crazed haze of words that make no sense to anyone else but me, and I am not even sure if I understand it all.

I’ve written at least three different paragraphs here and deleted them all. It kinda feels like looking at sink full of super dirty dishes and not really wanting to touch any of them, and not even sure which one to touch first so you can clean the damn thing. That is pretty comparable to my mind today. My mind is a dirty dish. Dear god..

Okay so I left that one as an example of where I am right now. It’s pretty lame, right? This is what I’m working with today.

Okay, let me try again..

(10 minutes later after stopping to play Tapped Out (The Simpsons game app), plugging in my phone and downloading the new iPhone update)


(Got up and took laundry from dryer, started new load of wash, got a cup of water, kicked dog off bed after he started to clean himself, looked in cupboards, flipping through YouTube…)


(got another cup of water, watched a few Judge Judy videos on YouTube – I don’t even watch Judge Judy, played some more Tapped Out)

Well, since I spent so much time getting this blog written, I need to go and get dinner in the oven so it’s done on time and then take a shower.




My Big Fat Life – The End of the World, and Zits

In Uncategorized on September 22, 2017 at 3:24 pm

Today I had to get an ultrasound to see how well behaved my ever bitchy uterus is behaving. As I carefully walked into the building with my full bladder praying I didn’t cough or sneeze, I also prayed the ultrasound tech listened to my request when I made the appointment. I have no idea why, other than the tech likes to fuck with people, but on the ceiling above the table he plays this loop of photos he took. ALL are of water. Fast rushing waterfalls, lakes, streams, you name it. Last time I asked him about it, he was offended and defensively stated they were all photos he took. I wasn’t giving my arm chair photography opinion on the photos, I just asked why he had photos of water above a table with a woman sprawled out trying not to pee all over the floor as he pressed his wand over my bladder like he’s trying to uncover a secret like f*cking Indiana Jones.

I checked in and decided not to sit down, but to lean against the wall while I waited. I couldn’t reassure myself that if I sat down that I could get up with ease. So while I was leaning against the wall, I couldn’t but help hear a family with a screaming toddler as they passed by. An attractive pregnant woman strolled over to the seats as her husband and screaming child took place next to her. I figured she was there for her pregnancy ultrasound and wrote my assumptions as I looked their way. Praying my turn would happen before I suddenly caught the worlds fastest cold and started sneezing, I continued looking at the family. Not because I am a creeper, but because in a very fast chain of events she immediately put her hands on her hubbys face as though she was examining him. Within seconds this attractive pregnant woman started popping her husbands zits on his face. In the waiting room. In front of us all. I thought perhaps he would pull back, but nope. Instead he leaned in and let her go to town. When she was done with his face, she started examining the top of his head. He leaned in further and put his head down for her as she proceeded to pick whatever it was she was picking off the top of his head in this weird zoo like fashion. When she was done with him, she turned her attention onto herself and openly popped whatever it was she could find on her arms. Suddenly sneezing was no longer my focus, but this intimate public display of bonding I had never seen before.

When the tech finally called me back, I was rescued. Seeing he didn’t have the display of photos lopping on the ceiling, I felt even more confident that perhaps my bladder wouldn’t provide my own bodily display of horrors.

I don’t know the results yet, because you know how it goes. There has to be a really long wait, followed by an entire weekend of questioning your life and resolving not to worry about things until they tell you to. I don’t think anything is really wrong, but they did find three lumps that the tech made sure to stop and take several measurements of. Again, I don’t think anything is wrong, and chalked this up to a passive shot at me for requesting the bladder explosion inducing pics not be shown during my tests (let me have this one), 

After finally being able to get up and get dressed, I emerged from the building without seeing Mr & Mrs Zit Popping Daddies and jumped into my car. On the drive home it dawned on me that tomorrow marks two things: Another “end of the world” prediction, and the anniversary of my marriage to the muse of this of this blog birth. It sorta freaked me out as I did the math quickly in my head and realized tomorrow we would have been married 8 years had it worked out. As I reflected upon that fact, I realized that if two women getting married didn’t bring an end to the world, chances are it’s going to survive tomorrow and I’ll still be morally obligated to beg the teenagers to bring me the laundry from their room before it self destructs out of depression, and the entire inventory of cups in the house. 

I don’t regret that we didn’t stay married. It was, in fact, best we had never married to begin with. We were together weeks when we did, and it was my one and only U-Haul experience. I don’t really even regret getting married to her either, because my take away didn’t require a U-Haul and I still carry those lessons with me. Some of it is baggage, I am aware. I think we all have that one box of shit left in the middle of the floor that when opened would reveal some scars. I’m still unpacking those boxes, but I figure it’s really only a major issue if I leave them in the middle of the floor and start walking around them instead of opening them up. Sorta like a zit…

My Big Fat Life – When the alarm goes off, but you don’t 

In Uncategorized on September 8, 2017 at 8:09 am

I’m still somewhat dealing with this dumb whatever it is, and finally went back to see the Dr. He said it sounds like a small portion of my long collapsed from coughing, and took X-rays to make sure there wasn’t something brewing. Thankfully there was noting to write home about, and so it’s just hanging out until it finally decides it’s bored with my body and disgusted by my diet of chips and coffee.

Yesterday we had a severe thunderstorm warning that freaked me out. As you know Oregon is pretty much burning to ground right now, so the idea of more lightening just seemed like a shorty thought, but the “deadly to ground lightning strikes” didn’t exactly make me feel much better. I’m deathly terrified of thunder. Yes, I know it’s just a noise, but it’s a really loud noise, and I recall some storms with thunder so loud it shook the Josie. Combine the loud noise with the warning of deadly lightning, and it equals me reverting to a 5 year old that wants to hide under the bed. Only problem is I have to pretend I’m not that scared, because I have kids who are depending on me to not be. Thankfully we only had rain and wind, and somehow missed the thunder and lightening.

By the time the threat of being struck by lightning in the streets passed, and my imagined eulogy that included a funeral sponsored by Doritos & McDonalds Frappes was played out, I started to feel a little dizzy so I sat in the front porch with the dog for a bit to catch of the clear air. Being able to breathe just air and not residual forest fire smoke isn’t  something we haven’t had much of in Oregon since the fires have spread like crazy. I just felt like absolute crap and figured my body was taking a clue from my lower left lung, and collapsed on my bed. That was somewhere between 6 and 7pm last night. I woke up at 1:30am, let the dog out, and went back to bed.

I’m not exactly sure how I managed to not hear my alarms this morning, but I sat up at 7:15am and realized the kids missed the bus, and quickly woke everyone up to shuttle them off the school. Thankfully they weren’t late, but as I drove them while wearing yesterday’s makeup and sporting hair that looks like I stopped caring, I realized that I feel a little better and I’m not coughing as much. So that’s a good thing.

My hair, however…..

My Big Fat Life – Black Lace Panties and Gummi Bears 

In Uncategorized on August 31, 2017 at 4:36 pm

Yesterday I attempted to do a make-up day. I had the cookies ready, I was gonna flop on the bed and get my rest on. As I drove the kids to school it was all I could think about. 

By the time I dropped the kids off and teturned home I had one of those pay-your-damn-bill–already-loser notices on my door. While somehow less offensive tha the dog crap of the day, I just rolled my eyes and muttered some obscenities to myself as I turned the key. 

Since my day wasn’t going to have the picture perfect setting for a day of chill, I decided to run tonWalmart and return something that was contributing to the clutter in my room. As I approached customer service in the somewhat empty store, I noticed a woman behind the counter looking as tired me ringing up stuff and throwing in a cart beside her. I thought she was probably doing returns and stuff and quirky asked myself who the hell would return such a huge bag of Gunni Bears while asking myself who the hell needed such a huge bag of Gummi Bears. I watched as she rang up a hige bag of chocolates, some cute booties, black lace panties, make-up, a fruit tray, and various other items. As she finished and announced “Thats five hunderd, twenty five dollars” to the clerk who was now ringing up return, the lady in line behind me remarked how big the bag of Gummi Bears was. Thankful I wasn’t the only easily marvelled by this, the clerk helping me replied to her co-worker “Wow. She tried to steal a lot this morning”. 

Are you kidding me? I was barely awake and some woman was already up and attempting to shoplift an entire basket of item from Walmart? Who was this woman? While stealing is obviously dumb and bad, I confess I had a bit of envy over her ambition before noon, not to mention her obvious plans for something exciting that included chocolate, black lace panties and an ungodly yet comically sized bag of Gummi Bears.  

I finished my return and a couple of other errands, and went home. I flopped on the bed hoping to at least make the most of what I still had and I’ll kid you not  my stupid alarms went off. It was the first Wednesday of the year and I had forgotten it was early release day. 

I still have hope that there’s a day in the next week that I come home to a clean house, silence, coffee brewing, my comfy bed and the remote where I reign as Queen of my personal utopia for day.  Since my daydream also includes the dog not following me to the bathroom and trying to push the door open like a total creeper, I doubt it will ever be that perfect, but I’m hoping for dangerously close. 

In the meantime, I salute Walmart woman. Even though she got caught, and rightfully so, something tells me she had much bigger ambitions for yesterday than I did, and I have to give her some props. Anything that involves black lace panties and that many Gunmi Bears, plus a fruit tray before noon had to be a pretty epic plan. Something tells me she was far more disappointed hers didn’t pan out than I was over mine. 

My Big Fat Life – First day of school crap. Literally. 

In Uncategorized on August 29, 2017 at 4:00 pm

Today was the first day of school for the kids. I’d been dreading waking up early again, but excited at the thought of hanging out in a quiet zone where I wasn’t telling people to stop fighting, and being able to hoard cookies for myself while lazing around to nurse whatever it is that still has me consuming Kleenex like it’s nose candy. I planned to live this out while watching an episode of a show I’ve recently fell in love with without interruption. By the way if you haven’t seen Girlfriends Guide to Divorce yet, watch it. 

In my excitement to get in the house and carry out my perfect plan to be as sedentary as possible while being blanketed in only cookie crumbs and void of being immediately greeted by conflict and complaint,  I locked my keys in the car. 

I called my insurance company for roadside service who in turn sent a guy named Mike out about an hour later. Mike came and unlocked the car door so my keys could no longer mock me from the front seat where they sat, so yay Mike! 

I opened the door willing to take whatever time I had left and make the most of it, only  be greeted by a howling dog and a pile of his crap. I guess he’s trying to step in and make sure the legacy continues. Asshole. 


My Big Fat Life – He flirted with me! 

In Uncategorized on August 28, 2017 at 10:22 pm

It’s no secret I am eternally “cute”. I’ve never been the woman that gets called beautiful. I call it my own personal Debbie Reynolds Syndrome. While I’m chill with it now, there’s always that part of me that wants to be beautiful to that one person. I don’t even give a crap what others think past that one individual really. He’s why I put on make up, do my hair, try to look like I didn’t emerge from a garage sale explosion, and all those other things we women do to try and be attractive to the one person we have the feels for, so it’s weird to me when guys throw some attention at me, let alone like a dodge ball in 5th grade hell. 

Now, I’m pretty oblivious. I typically think someone is just being nice or write it off as “that must just be their personality” and all that other stuff. I don’t think I’m the most engaging woman on the surface, because I’m awkward as fuck when I meet people. But when someone starts saying things that are pretty in your face it’s hard not get what the end game is all about. 

When I was a lesbian flirting with women it was an entire different ball game (God it’s so hard not to make a joke about softball here). If you didn’t cinch the deal and reserve the U-Haul within two weeks, you’re friend zoned. There’s no guessing games when you end up having sex in the car after your first date, or she’s spending time asking you those get to know you questions over toast. It’s actually pretty cut and dry. If the lesbian eye lock didn’t happen in the club you know to move on, girl. 

So let me tell you what happened today…. I had an interview with someone opening a new business. When I first met him he was sorta flirty, but of course I wrote that off as his nature, so no big deal. At one point I put my glasses on so I could see some paper he handed me, and he was quick to jump in with “Oh, you put the glasses on. You’re not leaving here now” A bit flirty I guess, but people say stuff all the time and it’s usually pretty harmless in intent. It was after the interview he blew my phone up with those get to know you questions that add an element of excitement when you’re getting to know someone. I didn’t find it so exciting, in fact I found it odd.  In part because I truly don’t know how to handle attention from men when it comes at me; it’s not a game I ever really understood. It still feels forgeim that men might find me attractive, and it’s a lot like trying on a shirt that is twenty sizes too small when trying to make it feel completely not awkward as my boobs are busting open buttons and I can’t move my arms like that kid from A Christmas Story. That other part is I looked at my phone thinking “I’ve already got a person. What’s with this guy? Can’t he just tell by looking at me?”I seriously don’t know what my reasoning was with that thought, so I’m blaming my current state of physical health. Hell, let’s blame my uterus.  So when he sent a text suggesting some exchange of pics of an adult nature, I froze. With a woman I’d be all “Hey, girl… stop disrespecting me. If you don’t respect my relationships, you’re not respecting me”. Which is truth whether it’s male or female by the way, and I find it super unattractive anyways that people flirt with others who are invoked. The response I could muster was “I might be salty, but I reserve that for the person I’m involved with, and men off of Craigslist”.  

What in the actual f*ck? 

While it’s flattering when someone compliments because it’s sorta validating in a way,  I’m not looking to encourage attention past that. I can’t control what someone else says, but I can sure as hell control what I respond with. That shit is on me. I also just don’t want to deal with socially awkward situations as much as possible, because I suck at it. Confrontation is not easy for me. I’d avoid it all together if I wasn’t trying to be less of a doormat, and trying to change my old ways of just wandering off instead of working it out. 

I just seem to suck when it comes to attention from guys, and I’m totally at a loss. It’s not like men are some alien or incapable of having a coherent coversation. It’s just so weird! 

My Big Fat Life – Diane Sawyer on my ceiling 

In Uncategorized on August 27, 2017 at 5:35 pm

I’m writing this from bed where I fall somewhere between awake and sleeping at the most pivotal parts of a show I keep attempting to watch. I’m not sure if that’s an indicator that the show sucks, or I’m just too sick to care. 

I woke up this morning with a party going down in my sinus zone, which seems like a really bum deal considering I’m currently on antibiotics for something else equally dumb. A few weeks ago a tiny-itty-bitty splatter of spaghetti sauce hit my hand while cooking. I’m not even exaggerating about how small it was. An underdeveloped mosquito could have easily invited 20 others along and had a pool party, it was that small. Somehow that tiny-itty-bitty splatter that didn’t even produce a blister turned into the germ rave of satanic proportions and I found myself at Urgent Care a few days later sporting a fever and a swollen hand. Folks, cellulitis is a bummer. Even more so when there’s no cool story behind it; just some “I made sauce” hashtag. But alas, I lay here sporting a disgruntled uterus, so what’s being the host to  a few more disgusting and dumb fights with nature? 

I did manage to make it out today for a bit, but came home, stripped my clothes off and fell into bed. I’ve been swinging between coherent and waking up wishing the mid day rave in my face would get drunk and go home already. 

While laying here avoiding the living room which is really a lair for the teenagers and a loud TV,  I’ve come to realize a few things: 

1.) I wish my kids had better hearing.
 2.) Thank God school starts soon. 

3.) I’m out of coffee. Fuck.

4.) I really, really want to know where that set of keys I lost ended up. It’s driving me crazy. 

5.) I miss being onstage more than I realized. I climbed up and did some improv out-of-my-ass sets not too long ago, and I really missed it. It felt like I was visiting an old friend and I really shouldn’t take that long to go see again. Only I needed way better stories to tell that I practiced (like, actual writing a set) instead of relying on the extreme weirdness my life is at that exact moment. 

If I dared to add a 6th, I’d have to confess a few posters of my hero Diane Sawyer would bling my ceiling out pretty sweetly. Bonus if they were black light compatible. I’m kinda bored with the blank canvas desperately and silently screaming for a better paint job. 

Oh, and a black light for my room would be pretty awesome too. 


My Big Fat Life – My uterus is a squatter 

In Uncategorized on August 21, 2017 at 12:36 am

I’ve always referred to my uterus as natures pocket. I guess it’s really more like a pocket to carry babies in before we have them emerge from our bodies like a gory scene out of a horror flick,  but not everyone can have a baby, so natures pocket seems like a more politically correct term. 

It wouldn’t surprise me if someday they find we have some related DNA relation to kangaroos. Maybe a million years ago a gorilla cross bred with a kangaroo and this is how it all came about which leads me to be both thankful YouTube didn’t exist then, and somewhat curious as to how that would play out. 

I’ve never understood why the uterus doesn’t just eventually fall out after a certain time. Like, when it realizes the baby thing isn’t just going to happen, or it’s just done because it’s tired of shoving kids out at the rate of a clown car or a Duggar. Both of which equally move at the same rate. Instead it just hangs out and acts like a squatter. My uterus is a squatter. 

The inability to naturally sluff this unusable organ is probably the only design flaw I would change if I could create the human body. Well, that and the fact I firmly believe boobs should stay put in one place at all times, which would end that odd nipple placement when wearing a bra on a cold day. 

I just don’t get why we have to pack it around like a hoarder when there’s no reasonable or practical use for it when we’re done with it. It’s like carrying around the wrapper from a Snickers bar years after ate it. We’re basically forced to hoard a squatter. 

Such bullshit.