The Fat Fat Bastid Blog

I don't know that I've ever cussed this much in one day, in my entire life.

I leave work late. I'm a night owl and I get my wind at night. Tonight was my last night working for the week, I trekked to China One, then straight to the most well-lit bus stop in the area. It's one of the very few precautions I can take in this town.

Both ear buds in my ears, to drown out the sounds of the night, and to drown out the sounds of any passers-by attempting to start convo... which happens more often than not.

So Big Black Fat Fat Bastid walks up and just starts talking. Non-stop. He must have smelled my Chinese food.

Baseball cap, polo and  big ol' jeans with no belt (that's important later). I take out my headphones, he makes convo, he's nice, very pleasant, and very large. He invites me to his R&B show at the Café around the corner. I ask him to tell me more. He serenades me with all the wrong lyrics to Johnny Gill's My My My (something about positions and per-froom). I know he's just pretending to be tone deaf. I laugh and we exchange numbers.

WTF. Really? What have I just done?

His lisp appears out of nowhere, as if it just escaped his innards and came tumbling out his teeth. Then he's wheezing, "clapping his knees" and talking about his new job at the barbershop.

As a janitor.

I wish I was lying. I admire men who can cut hair. I just think it's a special talent. Getting a man's hair to look perfect, with a perfect lining ain't easy. But like I said... he's just the hair-sweeper-upper.

He brags about how he mentors younger kids, and tells them there's a better life for them out there. Tells them to stay in school and do their best. Question though... who is mentoring YOUR  ponkass, sir? Who?

He decides he will buy me things... as soon as his first check comes in. Mostly donuts and pizza, if I remember correctly. He must be howngree. Then he goes on to agree that I cook so well.

Bewilderment.

He asks about the bus schedule, which is really beginning to worry me now, because said bus is severely late, and I reeeeally wanna go home, as my food is getting cold, Wendell is starting to frighten me, and I'm getting eaten up by a family of bugs. They are landing on my phone, my britches, my arms... and Fat Fat Bastid is sitting next to me with his entire belly exposed from the titty to the undergut. His belly is literally sitting on his lap, and the bugs aren't bothering him. Not even the bugs are that damned howngree.

Do not want.

Cliff's Notes:
His phone is lost. Call his mama's phone and ask for him.
I met his "brother". 5-foot-nothing, Caucasian teenager. Shaped like a packing box.
Wendell's hair has two fades. I can't explain it. One was dark. Other was darker.
He belched a lot. Maybe five times and never said "pardon me" once.
I was invited out for coffee, donuts and a long walk on the 'beach'.
He asked outright if I was a "single mom".
Without awaiting a reply, we became a couple.
There are no fuckin' beaches around here.
He called a friend to give ME a ride home. Said we could "double date".
(That friend hung up in his face).
We rode the same bus home. I was afraid I was being stalked.
Someone on the bus recognized him. He has friends! Can't be all bad, right?
I asked his last name, he told me "Courtney Wendell  Big Swag Freestyle 27.
Sweddagawd. Verbatim.
Eventually, I realized he was unstable. Mentally and every whicha way, unstable.
He talked the entire ride, just mumbling, even with my earbuds on.
"Don't make no plans Saturday. I'm coming over. Cook me some soul food."
He also said to me: "Call my mama cell for me & tell her I'm on my way home".
He got off 3 stops before me. When he stood up, his pants fell OFF.
Yes, I saw all 3 miles wide of his big, black, balls-dangling ASS as he went to pull em up.

This is my karma. This is a direct repayment for something I did to someone else. Acknowledging that, I immediately contacted that person and apologized.

Tell you what...
I am SO done with muthafuckin' mingling.

And I Wholeheartedly Disagree

 HE said: 

 

 

So I said: ..."I think we know good & well when a good man is present and treating us right."

Then HE said:  "I really don't know about that!!!!"

Then I replied: "Maybe... some men believe that if they are turned away, it's because another man tainted our views. Sometimes, the connection just isn't there, and it's no one's fault... and not due to any woman's past frustrations."

---

I wonder why any man would believe that the only reason on earth he can be pushed away, is because a woman was hurt, and that we are, by default, taking that hurt out on them. Or maybe we're "on our period" and acting out of sorts. Perhaps, in some cases those scenarios could very well be true. But there is also the chance that...

 

Fish Oil Dream Fragments

Ever since I started taking fish oil tablets, I've been having some outlandish dreams. I am almost always a super hero, rescuing the world (82nd & South Vernon Avenue, or 107th & Eggleston, more specifically) from impending doom... which is usually in the form of a Transformer or some other threatening, massive robot form.

I Googled this phenomenon, and read that lucid dreams were indeed a side effect of the tablets. 

Years ago, I blogged about The City's Most Annoying Man, after the annual Chosen Few House Picnic in 2010. In last night's dreamscape, he was my boyfriend. Still annoying as all hell, but my boyfriend nonetheless. Just last week I dreamt my fluffy fiancé was consoling me at my wedding while the rest of the guests in the church were acting a hotghettomess.

Could this be a sign of... something? 
An impending happy marriage?

The only time my dream ever turned out to be a psychic vision, was when I dreamt of where I'd lost my driver's license. These dreams about happy endings are alarming, considering every marriage-related dream I've ever had was, quite literally, a horrid nightmare.

Maybe I should start working on my Wedding Dress Body... just in case. 

Dreeeeeeeeamy!

Downpour

I must have done something right
Standing in such a glorious light

Cradled in the arms of a beautiful earth
Seeing it's plan and knowing my worth

If destiny has had it's say
I think I heard it clear today

The blessings of love towards me, I savor
Realizing I'm in His favor.

Finding Joy

It's easy to complain, to nag and worry about when life seems to go all wrong.

I have to remember, that when JOY comes into my life, to brag and boast on the blessings in my life, so that others may see, and allow some joy to come into theirs.

It has been exactly 1½ years today, since I found my true Love. This roller-coaster ride has proved to be trying, beautiful, difficult and glorious. I am blessed that we both have had the perseverance to see this milestone day. 

I don't know exactly what the future holds. No one can ever guarantee they'll see a tomorrow, but if the world and the lives as we know them should end today, I want the world to know that I am happy and grateful for a Love so dear.

May we see many more wonderful anniversaries.

With Love.
~Me

Love and Whiplash

As soon as I've decided that I am done with Love
That I have seen more than my fair share of the pretentious kind of Love

I'm reminded I have no choice.
No say so.

As soon as I declare I'm fed up with heartache
That the good ain't worth the bad and I've learned my lesson

I am commanded to try again
To give it another shot

So on this bumpy roller coaster ride I call my life and Love
The ride I swore was over and done with

Here I am again. 
And God as my witness I'm in love with Love.

Again.

If I Should Die... Don't Trip, It's Cool

Whew! 2012 has been a doozy! Not even halfway through it, and it seems any and everything that shaped my childhood has withered away. If I start listing, I will regrettably miss someone, so I will refrain.

Most heartbreaking was my friend Anthoney Bills. I had always teased him that his name had MY name in it, so we were destined to marry. I am sure I proposed five times, three times he accepted (probably to hush my rambling, lol)

I wondered if he was ready, if he felt his final days coming and accepted them peacefully? I wondered if he'd really patronize me enough to have married me, lol. I wonder, and wonder then wonder a little more.

Well, don't wonder about ME! 

If I should die before I wake, I'm okay with it. Really I am. 

Whenever I blow-dry my hair, I comb it forward into a very inappropriately long mohawk that drapes over one eye, then I begin to recite emo poetry. No matter what the lines read, the final line is always "The Dead... are the Lucky Ones". My kid gets a kick out of that, lol. 

Eventually I realized there may be some truth to that. The world is cruel. There are beautiful times here, but they are almost always followed by some trials. It makes us who we are. 

But, the thought of eternal rest in Heaven? I believe in it! And the people there... from family, to friends and musicians? Everybody whose somebody is there, and I ain't scared to go!

Side Note: Anyone who knows me, knows I want "Can You Feel It" by the Jacksons played. Get the instrumental or an organ version, but I want it. And anybody who wears black gets sent home. I like colors. Don't rock the rainbow, people will get the wrong idea, lol... but yeah, it had better be a celebration!

Don't be sad, because I won't be, and wouldn't want YOU to be.

That is all! ;)

 

 

Nightmarepalooza at the Chapel!

The dreams are getting creepier!

So I dreamt that the fates decided it was my wedding day.

All of a sudden, I am being fussed over by dozens of people who are family of people I met on facebook whom I'd never met in real life. Pretty sure there is some significance to that. However...

I was told my wedding would begin at 3:30. I sat in my bed with sweatpants and a t-shirt on as I looked at my watch... which read exactly 3:30. CPT starts now.

I was teleported to a church... or hall... or whatever it was. It was full of people... most of whom I did not know, and it was dark. A very gloomy overcast set over the aisle I was to walk down.

I was rushed into a large room that smelled like old wood planks (my dreams are very vivid.)

There was a seamstress who pulled out a beautiful white gown, sleeveless, gathered at the waist with a short train. In a millisecond I was in it, and she stood close-by making alterations from the pins attached to her cushioned wristband.

I admit it. It's been a long time since I've had a perm, and I am long overdue. How that stylist managed to hide these naps and pin some curls up was a miracle in itself.

A makeup artist urged me to stop blinking, as she applied a shimmering shadow to my eyelids, and a friend decided I would look beautiful in the pearl earrings she'd loaned me.

For a moment, there was a muted hush, as all these kind people hustled to make this day beautiful for me. There was me, the bride, adorned in a gorgeous white dress, beautiful makeup, hair in tendrils, wonderfully classic accessories and a church full of admirers. Then I realized there was one thing missing...

In a way, his absence scared me and relieved me at the same time. The total commitment of your life to another... not family, and not someone you would ever know 100% about?

That's all she wrote and I'm never getting married.

Eats, Times, Life.

Eats, Times, Life was an homage to Beats, Rhymes, Life... in case you didn't... Check the Rhyme. Nyuk Nyuk Nyuk!

I had decided to give the pork recipe in the Chinese Food cookbook a try. Third try, third fail. The last recipe attempt will involve steak. If it fails too, I will rainch the steak off, throw some A1 on it and 'squoze' it next to some mashed potatoes. I ain't playin' no more!

I had such an interesting dream a few nights ago... about a female police officer helping me to catch an evasive hairy brown tarantula hiding in my sheets. According to the Dream Interpreter, something is bugging me and I need to get things sorted out. For that reason, I started a dream journal, in case my slumber stories reveal more about the enigma that is me.

Dreamscapes after that included: 

Getting lost in a shopping mall looking for my camera to take to a New Edition concert, finding a kitten wrapped in a blanket on my window ledge like some squirrels had planted him there, working at a whorehouse where the Madame was a deaf girl, a spitting contest from moving cars in a public parking lot, me and Q-Tip hanging out in a church acting like BFFs, and last night... saving my pet bunny (which morphed from a kid, to a bunny, to a cat) from the evil butler, then escaping through the bushes in a zig-zag path to avoid drug dealers.

Whew!

Some nights ago, I had an epiphany. But it was so deep, and so personal, that I refuse to tell this (lonely) blog the crazy details. 

Don't you hate it when someone tells you they have something to tell you, that they never intend to tell you? Here's the distraction I refer to as the "Stop Effin' With Chinese Food and Go for What You Know!" picture.

Can't go wrong when you throw jalapenos on somethin!
In this case: Taco Fixins over Cilantro-Lime Brown Rice.

Mmmmm, S'good!

Sweet and Sour Chicken... Psyche!

Dear Little Paperback Book I Bought from the Register Hidden Among the Tabloids & Horoscope Scrolls:

ARE YOU FREAKIN' KIDDING ME?!

What a send-off. How can 2 recipes, back to back, both containing chicken and fabliss wannaful fragrant spices... taste AWFUL?! How does that happen? I followed this recipe to an absolute tee.

How is it humanly possible to mix chicken and ginger and garlic and soy sauce and peppers and onions into a recipe... and the RICE I boiled... out-flavors the FOOD? 

One hour plus of cooking... and the result is Chunky Air Pudding. No taste at all whatsoever (except for when I occasionally bit into a random piece of fresh ginger root). Even the mandarin oranges and apricot preserves have been rendered tasteless in this recipe.

Well, I have pork and steak in the fridge that are awaiting their spin in the wok. At this rate, this cookbook will fail them both, but I am keeping the faith. Not a strong faith in this book of pretty (pretty awful) food, but faith nonetheless.

I will certainly never secure my husband at this rate. If the next couple of recipes fail, I will have to resort to other measures. 

Measures I am not yet certain of.

*...sigh*

*...sigh again*

Hell with it... *...another sigh*

Spicy Orange Chicken

Small talk, small talk, small talk, RECIPE SCAN:

More small talk, small talk, SNAPSHOT:

My rendition of Orange Chicken over fragrant Jasmine rice!
Mmmmm, that smells divine. Oranges and peppers and garlic and ginger 

make it smell like an authentic Chinese Food restaurant!

 

But, I will tell you one thing...

If it looks like

AND tastes like

 

...I am most  DEFINITELY never making this bullhockey again.

I am disappointed in myself for dedicating a whole blog to it, not to mention the 2 shopping trips worth of hard-to-find groceries!

However, I plan on getting to Ideal WIFE Status before the end of 2012. Learning recipes is just the beginning.  My other, ummm... "Personality Alterations" have yet to be documented, but I promise you'll be proud of me! Or rather, I will be... seeing as though I'm the only fool who reads this stuff.

HoneyB... Out.

Kick. Open. Side-to-Side.

Hold hands standing face-to-face with a friend.

Kick one leg forward. Then open them. Then kick left, then right. Thus the:

"Kick. Open. Side-to-Side".

Unfortunately, that means the partner has to:

"Open. Kick. Side-to-Side" or someone's getting a swift shoe to the shinbone.

So guess who was always the one who compromised???

Pat-a-Cake vs. Cake-a-Pat:

Four friends in a circle. Partners facing each other. 

Pat up, pat down, pat left, pat right.

It's all simple until the question arises about which pair has to:

Pat down, pat up, pat left, pat right. 

Who wants to pat DOWN first? Geez!

So guess who was always the one who compromised???

Guess who was left convincing her aggressive buddy-partner to do the same?

Sidewalk Chicken:

You're walking down the sidewalk and someone, sometimes a couple, sometimes a pair of friends... are coming towards you in the opposite direction. 

So guess who always ends up in the f*&#!*g GRASS! 

I usually bow my head and avoid direct eye-contact, making sure I keep my focus on the narrow sidewalk and hoping the oncoming chowderheads would be so kind as to notice it too. Never fails though. TWO people walking down a narrow sidewalk, always outpower one person coming from the other way. Can't you two line up? Single file? Make an effort? SO inconsiderate.

So today while walking, a middle school kid with some Bryan Adams sunglasses is coming towards me, so I test my cold-hard-stare. He jumped into the grass and I think I heard his heart beating fast when he passed me. I felt bad. No more of that. I'd rather walk in the grass and mumble the obscenities under my breath, wondering who failed so miserably at raising the rude brat. Or... better yet, write a worthless blog about it. 

Me: A lifetime of compromises... until further notice.

Love Is: Seventeen Katrillion Calories

My fluctuating girth can be attributed to many things.

The most predominant of those things are... well, food. Naturally.

I have found that I indulge in comfort foods and the joy of cooking...

When I am in Love. 

When my heart is all a'flutter, my tummy is all a'growling.

Although I would never recommend the Stress-Induced Diet to anyone,

The truth is, it works, just for all the wrong reasons.

Maybe when we're not in Love, we focus more on being all svelte and sexyfied for the next encounter? Although men who like fat chicks are just kinder... gentler... more considerate and loving creatures by nature. That must lie in the satisfaction of knowing that if your girl is fluffy, she's eating good. And if she's eating, she's cooking. And if she's cooking, and she loves you... you will be eating good too.

*fat raspy voice*

"Sherman I cooked all this food. Is that all you gon' eat?"
~Anna Pearl Klump

Love is sweet and rich. Filling and satisfying. Much like a Twinkie.

When my spirits are high, so is my calorie intake. 

Love just reminds me of snacks... and chickens deep fried.

Kisses... Hershey's.

Tartar sauce with a side of crispy fish sticks.

Butter and hamhocks and Edy's Caramel Praline Crunch.

A big bag of plain Lay's, a vat of Louisiana hot sauce and On-Demand.

A 2-liter of 7-up with a straw I wish was long enough to hit the bottom.

Damn. 

And now I'm howngree.

I forgot where I was headed with this.

Dreamscape: Let's Drive Where?

Wednesday evening, I dreamt of a bus ride.

A semi-decrepit old lady with a jet black, short pixie-style haircut

Stretched her skinny, wrinkly, turkey-neck arms out to steer that greatbighuge tour bus's steering wheel. 

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"Italy. Just for the weekend." She answered.

I was never good with geography.

All I know is that Chicago is in Illinois. 

And South Africa is somewhere... south. 

But if I'm not mistaken...

Isn't there a whole lotta non-bus-accessible water between here and there?

Granny gave me deafening silence, in return. 

So I spent the trip french-braiding a girl's hair. 

Which was in itself weird, because I only did one single braid.

Diagonal, from the top right, to the bottom left. 

Why is this lady whipping these corners around the mountain so hard?

I... am frightened.

The last corner she cut hard, nearly sending us over a cliff...

Then I woke up. Sweating.

Meep Meep! Step on it lady! I'm tryna get to Bologna!

Dreamscape: Bling. Thanks, but No.

Two nights ago after a late night fish-oil tablet, I had a vivid dream...

As I always do after a fish-oil tablet.

I think the havoc it creates in my pores makes my mind move a million-miles-per-minute.

So I broke down, broke tradition, gave the man I thought I loved a double-diamond ring.

Two round faceted stones, diagonally stacked sideways

Like a lounging snowman.

Maybe that was some subconscious thing... 'snowman'. Don't know.

I flipped the box open and presented the ring. I proposed.

He took the ring, put it on and flailed his fingers.

Without having answered my proposal.

Then he extended his elbow and I grasped his arm like a good

Maybe-probably wife.

From there he took me 'round town.

Flaunted me in front of all his friends.

Lookit! I'm a trophy fiancee! I blushed.

He told me..

"The answer is NO, by the way."

Ummm... You might wanna give that back, homey.

Devoured

Love was Delicious.

It wrapped itself around my skin 

And enveloped me in warmth.

Love was Delicious.

Then I ate it and shat it out. 

Blah.

Connect

The truth is...

I'm not even looking for love. The harder we look, the more it evades us. I am happy with the circle of friends I have, who provide me with more than I am willing to admit I deserve sometimes. But sometimes... just sometimes... the desire to connect, to really connect is there.

There are moments in my life when stress gets the best of me, and life's trials and tribulations are so much to bear. Those are the times I Wish...

Consider...

Dream of...

Contemplate...

Wallow in the beauty of 'What If?'

To have someone who provides a shoulder, 

Or an ear,

Hug, embrace, an affirming nod.

Someone who doesn't try to solve my problems

But who can hear them, and understand not just WHAT I'm going through, 

But just to recognize that I am going through it.

Someone who knows when my day is going bad

Or when I feel my efforts have not been enough

And when I simply need... 

Someone.

And he stretches out his arm to pull me near.

Saves a sweet spot on his chest for me to lie my head.

And in that near silence,

With his heartbeat, 

I feel that all will be okay in the world.

[End Wishful Thinking Here]

The Thrill of Heartbreak

A friend had confided in me about a girl he was pursuing, that he was sure was not as interested in him. I suggested he give up before his heart was broken. Unless... he was into that kind of stuff.

In so many words, he replied "As a mater of fact, I am" (...into that kind of stuff)

He said he liked the excitement of love and everything in between that might eventually lead to heartbreak. The 'drama' of it all.

Another friend said "Why do we eat, if we know we will eventually die?" Morbidly interesting point, lol. The purpose of life is to live it while we are here. Eat while we live, til we die. Love while we live, til we are heartbroken.

Even if it hurts to love and be broken, is it truly better than never loving at all?

I think I have loved too much to make a fair assessment. I have compared the level of elation of being in love... to the level of heartache I've felt when love ended. All I can conclude is... both are insanely overwhelming! (but obviously on opposite ends of the spectrum)

Let's hope my next blog will be about me and the falling in love aspect. Now THAT... is long overdue.

Heartbreak... Yummy! 

One Woman, Many Men

Today marked Day 2 of an ongoing online debate. The topic of "Making Things Simpler by Having a Sex Buddy".

To which I have replied: Nothing is simple when sex is involved. More specifically, a woman is less likely to have a strictly sexual relationship with a man... without the chance of feelings being involved. In turn, I was accused of setting a double standard.

As far as I knew, double standards are when you have a moral code set for one side, and not the other. I don't believe it's 'morally' wrong for a woman to have many partners, anymore than it is for a man to have them.

Example:

Fact/Opinion:

A woman is more likely to cry at the movies. A man is less likely.

Double Standard:

It is only acceptable for a woman to cry at the movies. Never for a man.

I know I'm not wrong here.

What I DO believe, is that a typical woman will become emotionally involved while having intimate relations with a man. We're just wired that way. We are more likely to 'make love', men are more likely to 'screw'. And I believe any woman who thinks she is capable of having "just sex" with a man, without having any feelings... even if they're tucked away in her subconscious... is probably fooling herself.

Cursed be this estrogen.

The Untimely & Repeated Death of Chivalry

It's not at all fair, really. A thousand kind gentlemen within reach, and one single knucklehead spoils the show for the rest of you.

At what point in time... in what country... did it become okay to approach women with overtly sexual introductions? How and when is that okay? It seems like common sense that if you are in fact interested in a woman, to bring your A-Game. Not your X-Game. Maybe some girls love that kind of attention. Some women certainly do not.

As if the message wasn't clear enough (I think he had his weewee in his other hand... which is why he couldn't ever finish a thought):

I'm sorry, sir. I'm not clear on your intentions. Please specify what you really want?

Ohhhh, okay. I understand now. Pleased to make your acquaintance?

Then, when the girl doesn't reply to your disturbing and obnoxious advances, and all else fails... go HERE:

Yeeeeah, THAT oughtta win my heart. Minutes ago you wanted to "F" my fake sweet "P", lol.

Ya damned looney.