Category: satire

The Dieting Chronicles of Dumpy von Marshmallow Waist and Duchess McMilkshakes*

Ya’ll, the weight loss motivation is finally getting serious up in here! (Right in time for all of the delicious Thanksgiving and Christmas season goodies. Smart.)

I’ve found me a Weight Watchers girlfriend and she’s funny lady, Amanda AKA Duchess McMilkshakes. She doesn’t have a blog yet, but I’m slowly chipping away at her apprehension to put her funny out into the world. For the time being, we are going to collab on a Weight Watchers weight loss adventure.

We each signed up for Weight Watchers (again) and took our ‘before’ photos (that, for the time being, will live in the privacy of our phones and in the minds of our lucky men). We are so ready to take this bitch DOWN.

Well, at least we are ready to not eat cake for breakfast *everyday*.

Because all of you lucky people already know so too much about me (and it’s about to get even more TMI) I’m just going to share Amanda’s bio. But, here’s my selfie in case you forgot what I looked like:

My two chins and my sassy cousin.

Throwback to when my daughter stayed in one spot for more than 10 seconds, and I could get my hair and makeup done. It’s one or the other now and I almost never pick makeup. I’m grateful every single morning for eyelash extensions.

My name is Amanda, and I’m a 36 year old mom to the sweetest angel on the planet, who inadvertently destroyed my bladder and waistline. I’m currently on a mission (with the help of my friend, Katie) to get fit, which hasn’t been easy because I love food and hate exercise. Let’s be honest, I didn’t get this round by eating apples and walking everywhere. Oh, and did I mention that my dude is a chef? Like an actual, classically trained chef who makes delicious food and couldn’t care less how fat I am as long as he gets to see me naked once in a while? It feels insurmountable some days, but I’ve mustered up the courage to give it another shot. This journey isn’t going to be easy, but I’m excited to share it with everyone- the good, the bad, and the funny. Let the hilarity ensue.

I don’t care that there is a mystery period in the middle of the sentence, this meme is our brains on bacon, ya’ll.

Random fun facts:

K: *I’m obnoxiously long-winded. Oh wait, we all knew that already.

*When I was a toddler, I used to get into the splits to stand up. I went on to do gymnastics for several years. You’d never know any of this after seeing me get off the couch or out of bed in the morning, though.

A: *I am 8 months postpartum and I still weigh over two bills. ‘How far over’ you ask? Far enough that I’d need to be seven feet tall for me to have a healthy BMI.
*I have contemplated teaching my baby and or dogs how to tie shoes so that I don’t have to pass out every time I bend over because I can’t fucking breathe.

Why are you losing weight?

A: I want to Beverly Goldberg the shit out of my daughter, and I can’t do that if my heart explodes because I can’t stop putting half and half on my Apple Jacks. Seriously though, you gotta try it.

K: I’m pretty sick of my bingo wings swinging like huge bull balls when I write things on the board at work. I’m really worried one or both might get carried away and knock a kid out one day.

What makes this time different?

A: Honestly, I don’t know if this time will be the magic time I get my shit together and stick to a diet, but I do know that I’m not comfortable settling for elastic waistbands and angled selfies so that only 1.5 chins show. Unfortunately, Snapchat hasn’t made a flower wreath to flatter my waddle, so I need a new plan of action.

K: I’m just gonna be real TMI here. Last weekend, I was getting into the shower. It wasn’t a hair-washing day, so I had my super sexy shower cap on. I look completely and utterly ridiculous in the thing, but it does the job, so I guess I’ll have to accept looking like a beached whale at the salon.

I was leaned down, completely naked, getting the water temperature right. All of a sudden, I hear a noise that sounded exactly like Tina Belcher saying, “Butt”, so, naturally, I figured it was a serial killer who somehow managed to break in in broad daylight while the dude and I were at home. A split second later, I realized it was my boyfriend imitating Tina Belcher and I screamed, “Don’t, you asshole!” and slammed the door in his face.

From the other side of the door comes his voice, “What the hell? I just said ‘butt’. I saw your butt, so I said ‘butt’.”

Yeah, he saw my totally-in-need-of-a-serious-waxing-job butt in the bright light of morning. He probably also noticed my second ass (more on that later) and the fact that my back rolls have back rolls. Thankfully, since my rear end was facing him, he didn’t see my stomach eating my entire lower half.

That’s what I thought in my head. He probably just saw the ass he (for some strange reason) loves, but in my head what he saw was something so frightful, so grotesque, it pissed me off that he snuck up on me when I wasn’t prepared or almost fully clothed and in the dark.

That mental narrative needs to stop.

What was the breaking point? The cherry on top? The straw that broke the camel’s back?

A: Some of the kids in my Pre-K class asked when I’m having my baby. Granted, they’re 4 and 5 years old, but the fact they think I’m 72 weeks pregnant is a real problem.

K: Probably when I saw my second ass for the first time. What is a second ass you ask? Well, it’s a secondary butt within one’s primary butt. Usually, at least in my case, your second ass looks like two chicken cutlets with a bad case of cellulite that have been glued smack dab in the bottom middle part of the dominant ass. I noticed it while I was leaning on the counter brushing my teeth (because that task is really tiring, obvi) and because the full-length mirror was lined up perfectly with the vanity mirror, the stars aligned and- bam- I saw it, clear as day. I always thought I only had one butt.

Biggest irrational diet fear?

A: I believe, wholeheartedly, that being fat is God’s way of keeping me humble. If I were thin, I’d run around in two tassels and a leaf in the middle of winter with zero fucks given. I’m afraid that if I ever get in shape I’m going to have to have my ho phase at 36, with a new baby. It’s not gonna be a good look.

K: My most irrational fear is that I’m going to like this diet thing and turn into someone who prefers bullshit like kale brownies over fried Devil’s food cake donuts. Like, what if I become that annoying person someone made the meme “Just shut up and eat your salad, you whore” about? (I added that last part. I think that meme needed an extra touch of sass.) I can’t become that person. Fatty McSpaghetti Squash just doesn’t have the right ring.

What do you think you’ll miss most when you change your lifestyle?

A: I think I’ll miss the comfort that comes with old habits. Sometimes, the need to feel better outweighs the need to fit into skinny jeans.

K: I’m gonna miss just being a total fool about food. There’s something really freeing about not knowing or caring about how many calories or points something is. As awesome as it is to wake up and know your food plans for the day are limitless, it becomes a problem by the end of the day when you’re eating as much as a running back that does zero running and gets out of breath doing the brownie dishes.

We have some exciting weight loss topics to explore and some insane ideas for fitness in store. Let us know what you want to know more about. What would you like to see us do in the name of getting fit (because we are pretty much down to do anything ridiculous if we can write about it)? How can we embarrass ourselves to help you? Let us know in the comments.

*Amanda found this website where you can find your weight loss name to um…inspire you. If being named Greasy McBacon Thighs doesn’t get someone to eat a salad, I don’t know what will.

Anti-Advice From Aunt Fatty

I was so incredibly blown away by the amount of suggestions I got from my last post (I really thought I’d get next to no responses). One of the suggestions I received touched on an idea that has been swirling in my brain for some time. It being suggested was the impetus to get this ball rolling.

Thank you to See It With Your Own Eyes for suggesting I take questions for an advice column post/series.

The absolute most absurd aspect of this and why I think it *could* be pretty amazing is that it’ll be advice from an utter inept failure of an adult.

It’ll be like anti-advice.

It’ll be the kind of unsolicited advice you might get from your drunk uncle. Most of it’ll be complete nonsensical garbage, but there might be a gem of worldly wisdom hidden amongst the empty pizza boxes and beer cans.

The only way this’ll work, though, is if I get questions from you, my lovely readers.

I think the best way to do this will be to have ya’ll send me a private message via my Contact Page with your question or topic you’re seeking advice on.

You can choose to reveal yourself or be completely anonymous.

If you send me an alarming, tragic, or deeply personal question, it won’t be featured because this is all about being ridiculous and lighthearted (I will talk you through it and be there for you, because even though I may not be a very adulty adult, I’ll never leave anyone in need hanging).

If you submit a question, you agree to my response potentially being stupid/weird and/or not actually helping you with your problem. As such, you understand that I am, by no means, an expert on almost all matters.

I really hope ya’ll are some huge hot messes, in need of some good ol’ anti-advice, because I think this could be something pretty magical.

I’d like to post my first “advice column” on Friday as Aunt Fatty’s Free Advice Friday, so send me those burning questions!

(Also, share the shit out of this. Pretty please.)

I hope to hear from you soon.

Special Request Sunday

Hey, y’all! It’s come to my attention that bloggers ask their readers for suggestions on content they’d like to read and their readers actually give them some great ideas and feedback.

I never thought to do this.

I mean, this could epically fail and no one will want to suggest anything. Maybe someone might even say, “That ain’t my job to tell you, the writer what to write *insert eye roll*.” Or, this could get awesomely weird and entertaining.

Sundays are my chores-and-dread-Monday days, so save me from that sad existence with some special requests or content you’d like to see more of here at Fatty McCupcakes.

I’d insert a poll, but I don’t know how and I’m too lazy to figure it out. Honesty is the best policy…

Some themed days and other content I’ve done past and present are:

WTF Wednesday

Travel Tuesday (or Thursday depending on how much I don’t have my shit together)

Storytelling of various epic family adventures and fails

Rants and Ramblings

Stories about the many different ways I’m inept at life

Other Bullshit

So, if you are also procrastinating cleaning your toilet today, let me know in the comment section what you’d like to read more of here. If you want to suggest something privately, send me a direct message via my contact page.

Can’t wait to hear from ya’ll!

Picture of caramel apple for attention

WTF Wednesday: Blogging Truth Bombs and Beefs

It’s about to get beef bomby up in here, so prepare yourselves. Depending on how you interpret that, you could be feeling very different things right now.

Blogging, ya’ll. What is it even?

I’ve mentioned a time or 10 how I’m a writer who just so happens to use the blogging platform to get my writing “out there”. As such, I’m by no means an expert on the topic. However, I’ve been doing the grunt work long enough to have noticed a few things.

Ready? Let’s go!

1. The “Market” is Saturated

Ya’ll, we’re all just one of millions. Literally millions. There are millions of blogs on the interwebs. If you are doing this blogging thing to be noticed; if you’re blogging to earn money; if you’re writing on the blogging platform to get your writing read and/or to be found, GOOD LUCK.

I’m not saying that sarcastically either. I really mean it. You’re going to need some serious luck of the Irish or some other historically magical luck to distinguish yourself in a major way.

I’ve had many discussions with fellow bloggers on this topic, and the general consensus is that bloggers who have ended up rich and famous started blogging and writing smack dab in the middle of the sweet spot of the Blogging Leads to Fame and Fortune era.

There are plenty (actually a fuck ton) of bloggers who make income from their blog via affiliate links, advertising, and utilizing SEO like bosses, but I’m not referring to them here. I’m talking about bloggers who have used their blogging platform to become extremely well known, published authors a la Jenny Lawson (The Bloggess) or Allie Brosh.

So, if blogging is just a step in the direction of your ultimate goal of being a published writer, just get to writing on your book, baby.

I used to actually, and don’t laugh when you read this, think I’d be “discovered” because of my blog. I know, embarrassing, right? The reality is, though, among millions of other bloggers vying for readership, I’m just another asshole who thinks my blog is going to become famous. Learn from me, just write the damn book.

2. They’ll Help You, But For a Price

If you are currently blogging about blogging or offering e-courses on SEO, rock on with your bad self. Anyone smart enough to monetize where the gettin is good is money goals in my mind.

That doesn’t make the bad feeling I have about this business go away, though.

Whenever I wish to educate myself on monetizing options for my blog, I usually click on a blog post about SEO or affiliate links and I’m lead down a veritable rabbit hole of advertisements, newsletter pop ups, and the promise I’ll turn my lame blog around just so long as I sign up for an e-course or I pay an un-godly amount of money to receive consultation on my brand. This inevitably reminds me of all the times I was dumb enough to invest in and try to sell Mary Kay or Scentsy or dōTERRA.

They get you with the promise of a “nominal” fee and the insistence that you’ll be CEO of the business in “no time”.

It’s the same thing with blogging courses and blog consultations. Maybe you will learn something and be successful like them or maybe you won’t, because remember- there are millions of others doing the same exact thing as you.

I’m not saying these courses are all crap or the people offering them are part of some pyramid scheme, but what I am saying is nothing in the blogging world is free or guaranteed. Be savvy about how and where you invest your money, especially if you started your blog as a hobby and you are literally making zero money doing it.

3. The Dumbing Down

I don’t care if this isn’t a fact- or researched-based opinion, because what I see with my pretty perceptive eyes is that a huge amount of people on this planet are dumb as fuck.

The kinds of things that go viral all over social media are quick and easy to read memes, gifs, funny videos, and graphics. Don’t get me wrong, I love a good meme or gif. In fact, I can entertain myself for an embarrassingly long amount of time just scrolling through funny bullshit on Facebook, Instagram or Pinterest. But, I fear that this is the limit to many people’s attention spans or interests- a pretty picture or easy to read snippets of information.

When you’re a writer, you put blood, sweat, and tears into content for people on the internet to (hopefully) read, but many just click onto your post to watch the funny gif and then they leave.

I have heard/read the words, “People just aren’t reading blogs as much anymore” far too often in the last year.

I think it’s true. And, I think people are choosing to read an eight word meme over your 800 word post because it’s quicker and easier.

4. The Balance

Probably one of the hardest aspects of being a blogger is finding the time to keep up with the blogs I follow. Not only do I want to read them, it’s also nice to comment, like and, perhaps, even share on various social media outlets. I mean, I want other people to do the same for me, so I can’t not return the love.

This is where things become a precarious balancing act.

When I have to decide between 20+ blog posts to read during my rushed 20 minute lunch, I either read only one or two or I skim read them all.

I don’t have an endless amount of time to read blogs, as much as I’d love to be able to do that all the time (how glorious of a career would Professional Blog Reader be?). Yet, I hope others will have the time to read my blog.

It’s such a crazy, fucked up thing, and I’m sure I’m not alone in this balancing act. It’s like we’re all saying, “I don’t have time to read your blog, but read mine, mmmkay?”

But, if we all do that, though, no one will read any blogs. And then, the blogosphere will implode, and all of our hard work will die a terrible death.

I’m still working on how to read all of my favorite blogs and sleep…

5. The Like vs. Traffic Debate

How much traffic your blog receives is only revealed to you, unless you wish to share it. However, how many likes your post gets and the amount of quality comments at the end of your post is viewable and it means something.

I mean, it should mean something.

To me, likes and comments are like passport stamps from the visitors of your blog. They are trophies. They are getting the gold.

The more likes and comments I get, the prouder I feel about my post and how it was received by my readers.

Likes and comments are also a visual to new visitors that make me look more credible as an established blogger. As much as you don’t want to accept this fact, we all know you’re secretly ashamed of that post you did last year that only garnered two likes and zero comments. At least, that’s how I feel about that asshole post…

That said, this is how I measure the success of my posts. Not everyone is the same. Many people consider traffic to their blog to be more important and that’s just fine, especially if they’re monetizing. In that case, traffic is the gold.

The great thing about blogging is that it can literally be and mean anything to you. Find value where you wish.

If you’re new to blogging or you are just not seeing the amount of likes or comments on your posts that you’d like, assess how welcoming you are to visitors. Does it take you a week to respond to a comment? Do you not respond in a way that keeps the discussion going? Are your responses pretty canned? If you answered ‘yes’ to any of these questions, you need to up your commenting game.

Also, asking a question that is related to your post topic, like, “What do you think the little hole in the crotch of Spanx is for?” (that’ll really get ’em talking) can help facilitate discussion in the comment section.

I could go on. There’s so much more I can say about my blogging beefs and truths, but I think this is more than enough for now.

Blogging isn’t all sunshine and rainbows, so spill it. What grates on your nerves. What annoys you the most? Let it out, babes.

WTF Wednesday: When Do I Ever Get a Cupcake?

I’ve been deciding it’s high time to get my act together, diet-wise (Want to guess how many times I’ve said that exact statement? Hint- a fuck load). I haven’t quite come down from my vacation eat-everything-I-possibly-can mode. I’ve totally been living the vacation food life sans the walking miles everyday aspect of that life, so the pounds really have the ability to pack on.

Literally me every time food was in front of my fat face on my trip.

I’ve probably gained at least five pounds since I’ve been home. I have no idea, though. My scale is propped behind my bathroom door with two inches of dust on it, because The Boyfriend doesn’t sweep behind the door, if we’re pointing fingers here, AND because I’m Anti-Scale. When my jeans fit again, I’ll know I’ve lost weight.

My blog buddy and sister from another mister, Cinzia, suggested we be diet accountability partners on MyFitnessPal.

Because I love the ever-loving-shit out of Cinzia and because I finally deleted my Weight Watchers app that I’ve been paying $20 a month for for the better part of a year, yet wasn’t even using, I was happy to agree.

We arranged to share each other’s food diary by way of a passcode. Essentially, she was able to see all of the ridiculous shit I put in my mouth and I could see how many pieces of lettuces she ate and miles she ran in a day.

It was great fun. Here is a rundown of some of the things I might have said to her about her diet:

“Wow. No dessert again. You’re doing that everyday now? Is that a thing?”

“You ran five miles? Are those the same kind of miles we have over here in the states?”

“AREN’T YOU EVEN HUNGRY?”

Now, here are some things she probably said (I can’t be certain. People say a lot of things to me everyday. So…):

“Girl, did you really eat a donut for breakfast on the first day of tracking?”

“You did so good all day. Well, except somewhere around ‘Taco Bell Nachos and Large DQ Cookie Dough Blizzard’.

And…

“What exactly does ‘small bite of entire Cheesecake Factory Chocolate Hazelnut Crunch cheesecake’ mean?”

Basically, I’m utterly failing.

Here’s the deal, and I’m just gonna be real forthright and candid with ya’ll.

When do I ever get a cupcake, though?

With MyFitnessPal, you get the calories you get and you don’t throw a fit (Except, I did throw a fit. I threw a full blown fatty fit, complete with legit crying over not getting to eat a chocolate cream pie * ever again).

This is why these kinds of diets and eating plans don’t work with me. I need to know that eventually I can have a cheat fry or two. Or, that the cupcake I inhaled on one of my students’ birthdays doesn’t mean my entire diet for the day/week/month is derailed.

I need some wiggle room, ya’ll.

I’ve mentioned quite a few times the success I had on Weight Watchers (like, 50 pound-weight-loss-success).

This is why:

You get extra weekly points.

This may sound like an excuse to eat what you shouldn’t on a “diet”, but hear me out…

If you strictly follow your daily allotted points, your weekly points don’t hurt your progress.

They don’t make hurt your progress, ya’ll.

As long as you track and don’t go balls to the wall insane, you can lose weight while enjoying the occasional french fry or 20 or the odd cupcake or three.

So, what I’m really saying is restrictive af diets aren’t my jam and life is way too sucky to not eat cupcakes.

I mean, right?

So, if you’re reading this, and I kinda think you are, I have a question for you, Cinzia…

Will you be my Weight Watchers Girl Friend?

I totally will only be a little sad if you want to stay with MyFitnessPal since he’s done a body good. I just don’t think he’s that into me and I miss my cupcake points.

Now, I just need to find the willpower to sign back up with Weight Watchers and count my points without cheating, and I’ll be on the right track to losing this is-she-preggers-or-just-fat belly.

The struggle is real, folks.

What diets or food plans have worked for you and if you say paleo or keto totally works without cheating ever, I want your proof! For realz, show me it’s doable and I’ll maybe consider it…

*whispers* No, I won’t.

WTF Wednesday: R.I.P.

My post today was supposed to be a rant about diets, but instead I’m in mourning for my post likes.

Unbeknownst (I love this word. It makes me feel smart af when I use it- probably incorrectly) to me, when one migrates their site from WordPress or some other hosting site to self-hosted, their likes die a terrible death.

(I’m not positive it was a terrible death, but in my mind, it was terrible. They were screaming and crying and begging not to be left behind.)

So, yeah. I’m in my mourning attire. I’m crying into my Ben & Jerry’s. I’m not doing my eyebrows.

It’s serious.

For real, though, I’m crazy bummed.

Thousands of post likes that were basically my battle scars earned during the fight to be recognized, read, and enjoyed are gone. Gone.

A few really incredible blogger buds offered to and went about re-liking many of my posts. This just speaks to the unquestionable kindness of our blogging kind. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, you beautiful creatures.

As kind as that offer was, I’d rather ya’ll go and do something meaningful in the honor of my lost likes. Do a kind deed. Pay it forward in the Starbucks line (that reminds me- I need to do this too). Volunteer. Write a post to raise awareness on an important topic. Because as important as those damn stupid likes were to me, there are far more important things in life.

I’m trying really hard to let them go. I hope to be back up and running next week, because what else can I do? Blog posts, like life, go on.

For serious though, if you’re a like whore like me, realize that if/when you go self-hosted your likes won’t be going with you.

I wish I would have known. I could have at least said goodbye…

What’s been your biggest writing/blogging regret?

(I hope it’s a really good one, because I’m an asshole and I like to know I’m not alone in the potential bad decision department.)

WTF Wednesday: Why Your Man Won’t Touch Your Diet With a Ten Foot Pole

I think it’s pretty safe to say I’m a serial diet killer. I’ve been on one successful “diet” in my whole life (I actually lost 50 pounds and kept them off for several years- hard to believe, since that was many, many pounds ago). I truly have no clue what drove me to stick to that diet. One theory is that I was possessed by the spirit of Richard Simmons (yes, I know he’s still alive, but he’s so exuberant, his spirit is alive in all of us).

Image

I imagine if Richard Simmons could be available to me today to keep me from being food naughty, I’d be pretty successful. Like, if he could jump out of a bush and yell, “OMG! No!” just as I’m about to take a big ol’ bite of chicken and waffles, that’d be good.

One of the first diet fads I tried was Slim Fast. That lasted precisely 12 hours.

Low carb eating went on for a week until I found out sugar-free candy and cookies still have carbs (what’s the point even?).

So, let’s just say I’ve had a lot of I’m-starting-my-diet-tomorrow-so-let’s-go-hard-at-Cold-Stone Sundays (because diets can only start on a Monday, dontcha know).

My poor boyfriend has gone through so many conversations with me about food that usually go something like, “It’s OK if I eat this entire bag of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups, because I’m going to start counting my points/calories on Monday,”, that he *barely* rolls his eyes anymore when I say something like, “I’m really going to get serious about eating healthy come Monday!”

Literally the boyfriend

Almost always he steers entirely clear of my “diets” and turning over a new leaf speeches, because he knows exactly what’ll happen in exactly four days when it’s not new and fun to add kale to everything and the cravings for anything but kale hit hard.

For several years now, my dude has been in charge of the grocery shopping and he so is not into my sporadic dietary changes, demands, and needs.

I majorly lucked out and got grandfathered into a deal where I don’t need to take part in the weekly grocery shopping when I started my first year of teaching. We decided it wasn’t super fun for me to have to spend the entire week in my classroom and then in a grocery store with screaming children and cranky parents.

It’s been positively lovely to never have to step foot into our crazy ass grocery store that I’m convinced is a portal straight to and from the depths of Hell.

So, despite grocery shopping being his job, he really isn’t a fan of:

Get me oat milk, but not the one in the green box. That kind was just a little too oat-y.

Don’t forget to look for the organic agave nectar (at a store that rarely stocks organic). I’m 62% sure it’s in the sugar aisle.

Like, by any chance, is there ever diet Ben & Jerry’s?

I know they never have spaghetti squash, but just check.

How inconvenient would it be to buy a horse-sized bag of carrots? Like, the bag you’d buy to feed a horse?

Make sure the ketchup has no more than two grams of sugar.

If you forget my chocolate cream pie, don’t even come home.

The grocery store we the boyfriend goes to has a million different varieties of All-American Pies right by the checkout for those last minute impulse buys.

If this image has made you feel a real hankering for one of these excellent cream carb bombs, you can actually buy a *new* 6-pack on Amazon for $14.19. Since they are like 50 cents-tops, I don’t think this is one of Amazon’s best deals.

The chocolate cream pie ones are pretty damn tasty with their gritty factory-flavor pudding and stale sugar-coated pie crust.

The boyfriend got in the habit of impulse-buying one for each of us every week.

At first, it was a fun and different way to ruin my diet. After awhile, though, I decided that shitty chocolate cream pie every week was not doing much for my figure, so I requested that he not get me one. Then, I’d sit seething and envious in the bedroom, where I couldn’t see, but could, unfortunately, hear him breaking into his pie.

(Due to the thick, but crinkly wrapper, Mars can hear when one of those bad boys are being torn into.)

So, it got to be too much knowing he was getting a cream pie and I wasn’t, so I requested that he purchase two cream pies until he heard otherwise.

“Are you sure?” He asked.

“I thought you were counting your points again?” He said.

I responded accordingly with:

He started getting two chocolate cream pies again without another word.

Like a predictably psychotic cycle, I decided the chocolate cream pies were to blame for my bloat, so I said a few weeks ago, “Babe, you have got to stop buying me those damn chocolate cream pies!”

“Are you fucking serious?” He replied.

I answered with:

I mean, don’t you know by now that I’m crazy?

I sorta kinda forgot that I had said no more cream pies, and after a particularly hellish day (that also happened to be Grocery Shopping Day), all I could think about on the drive home was sinking my teeth into a crusty, creamy pie for my dessert.

When I got home, I excitedly, expectantly opened the cupboard to discover NO CREAM PIE. NO.CREAM.PIE

“WHEREISMYCHOCOLATECREAMPIE?!”

“You’re joking right? You have to be joking. Please tell me you’re joking.” He answered.

The words “chocolate cream pie” are not allowed in our house. They are referred to henceforth as “those individually packaged chocolate pastry delights that I’m never buying you again”.

So, at least in my case, this is why my boyfriend won’t go near any diet talk. If you’re anything like me and your man balks at even the slightest mention of keto, carb-cutting or whatever diet buzz word is popular at the time, check yourself before you wreck yourself. It might not be because he hates your avocado smoothies like you’ve always suspected…just sayin.

What about your significant other? What can they just not even with you? Let me know in the comments!

WTF Wednesday: 10 Things I Positively Hate

I’ve seen other bloggers put together lists of things they hate (and love) and I always felt I needed to do a list because the hate is strong with this one. I’m finally getting around to writing down what makes my eye twitch.

Unreasonable ridiculousness, injustice, ineptness, and my own stupidity makes me feel white-hot hatred on the daily.

So, because hatred is so fun, I thought I’d share some of mine. Aren’t ya’ll so lucky?

Because it’s Fall Ya’ll and this is my most favorite season, my Basic B-ness is just bursting with PSL-flavored excitement, so I’ll also be putting together a list of things I positively love. So, haters, back off my hate list- there will be a love list so sickly sweet, you’ll beg to be brought back here.

So, why don’t we just get on with it, eh?

1. When the TP doesn’t come off cleanly

I don’t mean when the roll is done and you claw off shreds of useless toilet paper. I also don’t mean when your butt crack wants to keep some of the TP to form dingleberries.

No, I mean when you’re breaking off your chosen amount of squares and the last square doesn’t cleanly break away from the square you’re leaving for next time.

If this happens to me, I simply rip off the unruly pieces and add them to my already-way-too-big-that’s-definitely-clogging-the-toilet-wad. But, someone else who lives in my house who shall remain nameless, does not and I can’t even when I see the unruliness of our TP roll.

I know in the grand scheme of things, “unruly TP” rates pretty low as a problem, but for me IT’S A PROBLEM.

2. People who stand at crosswalks who aren’t planning on crossing any time soon

WHY ARE YOU STANDING THERE? WHY?

As a law-abiding citizen who realizes that walking on any city street in any corner of the world is equivalent to walking through a battlefield blind, I am always watching out for pedestrians. Because I’m actually concerned for their safety, I stop for them whenever necessary.

But, when I bring my car to a full stop for you at a crosswalk and you wave me on like I’m wasting your time, I get pretty eye-twitchy. Maybe stand LITERALLY ANYWHERE ELSE?

My favorite is when the person is surprised by my stopping and they guiltily glance over like oops-I’m-just-standing-here-picking-my-ass-don’t-mind-me.

If you’re just lurking, don’t lurk at the entrance to a crosswalk, mmmkay?

3. When my knees absolutely refuse to get with the program

When it’s Shaving Day, it’s a pretty big deal. I basically have to completely clear my schedule for the day to do a full-body job.

Shaving all of the areas that make me socially acceptable takes so long, I’m left with pruney fingers and an achey back.

So, it’s no surprise that after five hours of shaving, I’m a little angry when I emerge from the shower with knees that look like a bad combover. WHY U NO SHAVE, KNEES?

4. When someone recognizes me and I have not one clue who they are. Not one fucking iota

I hate this, because it’s the most awkward social interaction on the planet when someone recognizes someone who doesn’t recognize them back and vice versa.

The.worst.

This last happened to me just the other day when I was getting my car smogged. The guy asked me what high school I went to and when I told him, he said, “I knew you looked familiar!” Even after learning his name and wracking my brain for hours later, trying to place his face somewhere in my, obviously, blurred high school memories, I got nothin.

The weirdest and most awkward Recognizing was at an Auto Zone a couple of years ago. The girl working there recognized me from high school and even called me by name. She asked me about some guy we were both supposed to have known, let’s call him Bobby. She said, “Isn’t that crazy about Bobby? I really had no idea.” Because I felt like I had stepped into the Twilight Zone of High School Past, naturally, I responded with, “Well, I kind of had an idea…”

Before I could make it really good and awkward, I left with my wiper blades, wondering why people I swear I’ve never seen before in my life remember me so well.

I’ve decided it has to be the greasy bangs and poodle perm, as they were pretty hard to forget. It has to be something God-awful.

5. My Jekyll and Hyde head

I hate how when I leave my hair naturally wavy, one side of my head cooperates and, I shit you not, looks right out of a magazine article about how to achieve perfect, effortless beach-y waves. The other side, however, always looks like I just woke up from a long winter’s nap in my filthy bear cave that I’ve been too busy to clean, because I’ve been sleeping on one side of my head for six months.

I can’t have a full head of nice-looking hair ever.

6. Public bathroom noises

Using a public restroom is a terrifying enough occasional necessity already, so why do some people make it even worse for everyone? Why are you sighing? Stop. Just. No. Save your pleasure pee noises for the privacy of your own home. No one, ain’t no one, wants to hear anything from your stall. The shotgun fartsmake us all uncomfortable enough.

Go in, do your business-making no noise whatsoever, wash and leave-using your shirt sleeve to open the door like the rest of us. For shit.

7. That itch you can’t scratch

Absolutely the worst thing in the world is to get completely comfortable in bed only to have a hair blow over my skin which causes an intense seizure-like-freak-out-body-contortionist-act as I try to scratch an impossible-to-reach spot on my back. After trying to bend my arms in a totally inhuman way, my comfortable spot is gone and I question why bad things happen to good people.

Then, it happens over and over again and it’s exactly how I imagine Hell.

8. When people aren’t ready in the drive thru

Nothing fans my burning hanger flames more than people who take up far too much time deciding on their order in the drive thru.

“You’re such a bitch, Katie…”

Hear me out.

When there are 18 cars behind you and you’re asking the high school-age fast food worker, who doesn’t give two shits, if they prefer the Beefy Fritos Burrito over the Beefy Mini Quesadilla, you’re just being an asshole.

IFYOUHAVEMORETHANPRECISELYTWOQUESTIONSGOINSIDE.

9. People who drive just slow enough so that you don’t get through the light

Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing, Gladys. We all know your game. You’re not fooling anyone with your adorable white cotton candy hair and “World’s Greatest Grandma” license plate frame.

I know you go slow approaching the light and then quickly speed up so you’re the only one who makes it through on purpose.

Maybe it’s your way of sticking it to us youngins. Maybe your adorable elderly look is all a sham and you’re really Satan’s great aunt, sent to destroy us all, one road rage breakdown at a time.

She may look adorable, but her favorite hobby is going 10 miles under the speed limit on a two lane residential street, because she knows you can’t pass her.

10. Magically appearing chin hairs

Once a week (well, actually twice- you’ll see), I really go to town with my tweezers. I find that one really good plucking job will last *most* of the week.

Like clockwork, though, the day after Chin Day I’ll find 18 hairs that were, I SWEAR, not there the night before.

I am convinced that I am being paid back for something from a past life in the form of a chia pet for a chin.

This is literally me checking to make sure I got all of those sneaky bitches.

(Check out the link where I got the above gif. You can learn all about how to give yourself a French facial, not how to check for chin hair stragglers.)

*Bonus* 11. When I don’t realize I’m done with my food before I can fully appreciate my last bite

This has to be my most hated thing on this list. I had to include this, but I couldn’t have 11 things. That makes my OCD cringe.

Almost always, I take full inventory of my food and I know exactly how much I have to eat and how much longer I have to enjoy the act.

But, sometimes, the last bite sneaks up on me and I cannot fully prepare myself.

Friends, I can’t fully explain the pain and suffering this causes me. It’s such a sad, and agonizing occurrence that even my fat cries out in guttural wails that could wake the dead.

It doesn’t happen often, but when it does, it usually ends with the boyfriend making a ten PM 7-11 run for some second-chance-Skittles. He’s got himself a winner.

This list makes me sound like a pretty hateful person, but in reality I’m only full of hate about 70% of the time. That’s not too bad. Not too bad at all.

What do you hate? Let me know in the comments and let’s keep the hate train going.

WTF Wednesday- What a Sell Out

I used to think that some people who monetized their blogs were sell outs and/or fake bloggers.

I KNOW

I’m sure you’re saying to yourself right now, “I don’t know about this Fatty McCupcakes chick. She’s kind of a snatch.”

Let me point out the word ‘some’ that I used above. Many of my most favorite blogs are self-hosted and are working on monetizing.

The people I viewed as fake sell outs were those people who didn’t seem like real humans behind their blazing advertisements and affiliate linked half-assed posts glaring with grammatical errors.

After some time pondering the way of the world in Blog Land and doing my own wretched writer soul-searching, I’ve come to realize that there are still a hell of a lot of fake-seeming bloggers and total sell outs, but there are also a lot of people who realized long before I did that blogging can be a full time job and who the fuck with half a brain works for free?

Me, that’s who…

Words, actions, thoughts- if they’re stupid, they’re coming from me.

You might have noticed that my site was down or private for a time a few days ago. You might also have noticed it looks or feels a bit different. (Sorry about that.)

This is because I’m finally self-hosted, ya’ll.

After all those years of thinking that only “real” writers blog for the joy until they magically make it big after a publisher stumbles onto their blog (yeah right), I’ve realized that published writers do it for the joy and because it pays off debt/funds travel/supplements and/or replaces income from a more tedious/sucky/soul-sucking job.

So, because I feel like *maybe* my writing is worthy of a paycheck one day and because I’m a broke ass teacher, you’ll be seeing this hypocrite working to monetize this shizz.

Maybe you’ll be seeing me do some affiliate links (but, I swear I won’t sound like a fucking car salesman).

For pretty sure, you’ll be seeing some ads (sorry, they’re a necessary evil that’ll earn me $0.35 a month, so.)

For absolute sure, you’ll be seeing my brand-spanking-new logo that Oriana from Oriana’s Notes did up for me!

Hopefully, you’ll be seeing some better (perhaps even semi-funny) and more regular content.

So, please bear with me as I learn to navigate self-hosting and (I’m sure) some of the problems that can come from it.

While you’re hopefully still supporting me (or not- whatever then), remember that I was wrong and everyone else who was smart enough to eek out some pennies by doing something they enjoy, were right.

At least I’m willing to admit it.

So, tell me while I continue to work out the kinks on my site, are you self-hosting? What’s your experience? Have you monetized? How is it going? How do you balance being real and affiliate links?

Thanks, ya’ll!

The Isle of Skye: The Good, The Bad, and the Ugly

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The Isle of Skye is legit an otherworldly realm straight out of a Tolkien novel. One moment, you’re bumping along on a lovely one lane road riddled with potholes, surrounded by strangely-shaped mountains carpeted completely in a soft green and then, you round a bend and you’re somehow in a rough, craggy atmosphere, where a purpley-brown growth is springing out of a mist-covered ground and you are convinced you somehow landed on a planet not in our solar system.
(That was the longest fucking sentence I’ve ever written. It’s probably not even grammatically correct, but we’re just gonna roll with it.)
This is not a homage to Skye. In fact, my favorite part of Skye really had nothing to do with the actual place, as I could have met one of my favorite bloggers (more on that later) in Timbuktu if that was where she lived (and I happened to be traveling to Timbuktu).
This is going to be a post that fully prepares anyone wishing to go to Skye for the good, the bad, and the ugly.
So, let’s just get on with it, eh?
The Good
Really, the best way to show the good side of Skye would be with the pictures I took. So, I’m going to show and not tell. Besides, even my amateur photography would better serve to express its raw beauty than any vocabulary I possess.

This was 10 PM on the Isle of Skye. 

That water, though…

Every conceivable shade of green can be found on Skye.

The coolest coffee shop that served me the best latte I’ve ever had.

The best latte I’ve ever had and my first time trying oat milk = OBSESSED.

Beauty around every bend

The skies really made that green pop.

An old cemetery by the sea

Too beautiful for words

The sheep. OMG the sheep. I loved them so much. I miss those wooly butts so bad.

A stretch of road with no one on it is how I hoped it’d be.

It was so quiet and peaceful at this spot. Right here. Right here is Scotland to me.

It legit looks fake.

What planet is this even?

Out of this freaking world!

Being introspective af

I really hoped we’d see a hobbit at the Fairy Glen.

This is Skye.

This is the Skye I want to never forget.
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A tiny Old Man of Storr 
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Hehehehehe
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Portree
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We got to this one before the hordes invaded.
The Bad
The Roads
Holy shit, the roads. Probably 90% of the roads on Skye are one lane. I don’t even know if that figure is at all accurate, but numbers don’t matter here. You’re gonna feel those one-laners and that’s all that matters.
Not only are the majority of the roads one lane, they are full of locals who don’t have time for tourists and their inept driving. One thing can be said about those locals: they have a system and they all religiously abide by it (You pull over if the pullout is on your side. If it’s on the other side DO NOT, FOR FUCKS SAKE, PULL OVER ON THE OTHER SIDE OR YOU MESS UP THE WHOLE SYSTEM, JANET.)
So, yeah, the actual Skye residents drive like bats out of hell and literally everyone else has no idea what they’re doing.
As if that ain’t bad enough, after every other sheep in the road (that’s not a figure of speech, btw, they are literally in the road) is a pothole the size of any one of the Kardashians’ massive fake asses, and considering the entire island is only 639 square miles, that’s a lot of freaking potholes.
Our rental car probably needed all new suspension after a week of those roads, and my chiropractor is rolling in the dough (literally and figuratively).
The Tourists
So, yeah, we were tourists, but we weren’t those tourists. We weren’t touristy tourists. We weren’t literally-push-like-we’re-in-Kindergarten-tourists.
Actually, I encountered pushy, rude tourists the most in really crowded touristy places like Edinburgh Castle and the like.
I don’t recall any one tourist from the Isle of Skye, but that is probably because we encountered 8,565,723 of them. To be fucking precise.
I get it, people want to see beautiful places. We all want to see The Old Man of Storr, the Fairy Pools, the Quiraing. Realizing that doesn’t make it any less annoying that you and literally everyone’s brother are trampling along to see a famous rock structure and not one bit of it feels like it should.
When you look at pictures of Skye, it looks so unspoiled, unpopulated, “unruined”. Unless you’re visiting during the off season, those remote-looking images are straight up false advertisement. It’s hard to take in and truly appreciate the raw natural beauty of the Quiraing when you’re fighting with hordes of tourists with their selfie sticks.
There were quite a few times we drove by beautiful waterfalls or odd-shaped alien formations and didn’t stop because the area would be literally crawling with people.
My favorite waterfall was this one…

…because strangely, we were alone on the road, and there was not a single person for as far as the eye could see. We barely caught a glimpse of the waterfall as we passed, so we stopped so I could run back to take a picture. As I was heading back towards the waterfall, the only sound I could hear was the sound of rushing water and just the wildness that Skye is when it isn’t overrun by people. It was my favorite moment, hands down.

Alone on the road with this made me feel so completely in Scotland.
The Ugly
The Lack of Amenities
The bladder is a sympathetic organ. It feels bad for you when there are no bathrooms anywhere to be found. So, to show how sorry it is, it makes you need to go to the bathroom far more often than is even humanly possible. The bladder is also a stupid asshole.
You know who else is a stupid asshole? The Isle of Skye.
Ya’ll, there are literally no public toilets on the entirety of the whole damn island. Maybe that’s an exaggeration as we didn’t explore every square inch, but where we did go, we didn’t see one. Not a one.
What is the result when a council/area/agency fails to provide public restrooms at popular tourist sites?
Well, let me fucking tell you.
TOILET PAPER EVERYWHERE. EVERYWHERE.
You have no idea the amount of stress I had knowing the bathrooms would be few and far between. And, that wherever I’d find to “wee” behind a bush, there’d already be toilet paper and I DON’T EVEN WANT TO THINK WHAT ELSE.
It was gross. Inexcusable. And, exactly what happens when a place is perfectly happy taking tourists’ money but can’t be bothered to provide sanitary ways to relieve oneself.
I’m just glad that one of my fears- having an attack of the travel trickle in the middle of nowhere- was never realized, because I really didn’t want that to be the highlight of my time on Skye.
The Locals Who Are Jerks
When we arrived in Portree on our first night, it was a really busy Saturday evening. The tiny Co-Op grocery store was a happening place, as everyone was trying to get their provisions for the evening. There is next to no parking in Portree, but we somehow lucked out with a spot directly in front of the store. In case we needed to move the car for some reason, my aunt and uncle stayed in the car and my mom and I went into the store.
As we were looking for a handful of basic groceries, my aunt was approached by a woman who ever so nicely (that’s sarcasm) told her she couldn’t park in the spot we were in all night. My aunt said something like, “We weren’t planning on staying in the grocery store all night, but thanks…”
This woman then proceeded to tell her how annoying tourists are and how she can’t stand them.
She said this to a person who is obviously not a Skye local, but a fucking tourist.
Our first introduction to the Isle of Skye was a woman who told us how much she hated us.
Awesome.
There were a few people who were kind and accommodating, but for the most part, the people we encountered on the Isle of Skye weren’t especially nice.
Even worse, we were told that the general consensus is that tourists suck and that fixing the roads or the lack of amenities is totally not worth it, but the money they get from the hated tourists? They’re cool with that.
Look, I get it. Tourists can suck. Especially the ones who push you out of the way so they can take 18 different selfies in front of whatever isn’t quite as cool as they are. If you live in a touristy town, hordes of tourists invading your area can get old pretty fast, but being rude isn’t going to make them go away.
What took away some of the sting of being treated like an invasive species was getting to meet one of my favorite bloggers, Lorna, from Gin & Lemonade.
Her and her hubby and darling daughter were so accommodating, kind, and an immense treat to spend time with. Because of them, I’ll always love Skye and when I think of my time there, I’ll feel a connection that can’t just be made by merely seeing and visiting, but by experiencing and truly getting to know the good that exists there.
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MASSIVE love to these people.
If you’re reading this and you’re a Skye local and you take offense, take it up with the lady who stands outside the Bank Street Co-Op-the one who warmly welcomes your guests.