Tag: funny

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: 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!

WTF Wednesday: Sometimes I’m a Basic B*tch

The Fatty is back!

It’s been a stressful start to the new school year, but that’s how it always is, so I’ve decided to make my blog-which is something I highly enjoy- a priority regardless of the stress I feel every.single.damn.day.
That’s life, man. We’re all stressed. I might as well make this crazy, awesome, shitty, whirlwind of what-the-fuck enjoyable by doing what I enjoy. That should be a no-brainer, but I have the Dumbs a lot.

I’d like to start with bringing WTF Wednesday back to its former glory*. I realized this morning that I can write a WTF Wednesday post that isn’t 8,000 words long. Not only will this be a more reasonable aspiration, ya’ll will appreciate reading the Facebook version as opposed to the novel.
Speaking of Facebook, that’s where I first shared this Worry Bout Yo Self tale.

So, if you’re a Facebook, sorry, you’ll be seeing this again. For your reading pleasure and ease, I’ve revised and added to the original story.
So, for the return of WTF Wednesday- the Mind Your Own Business Captain Obvious story:
Last Friday, on my way to get my weekly treat of sugar coffee and whatever carb bomb that totally wrecks any semblance of eating healthy I did all week, I stopped at the ATM to get my “weekend money”.
The ATM that I go to on the way to Starbucks is in a weird alley-type street. It’s between a two-way street and a one-way street.
The one-way street I call The Street That Takes You to Starbucks, because I have not one fucking iota what it’s called.
(If quizzed, I probably know very little street names in the city I was born and raised in. This is because all I need to know is if it takes me to Target or somewhere else mind-numbingly how-did-I-just-spend-300-hundred-dollars awesome.)
So, after using the ATM, I almost always go to Starbucks. It’s like my reward for doing adult things. Depositing and withdrawing money from an ATM is a really hard adult task, obviously.
The issue with this is that the Street That Takes You to Starbucks is one way the wrong way if you want to get to the Starbucks drive thru from said ATM.
Well, it’s actually not really a problem at all, because I make that one-way street my bitch and go down it any damn way I want, so fucking there.
Well, really, I’m not a rule-breaking badass at all, because I drive the wrong way on the street for precisely three seconds as I pull out from the Street the ATM Is On and then almost immediately into the drive thru. I’m 0% gangster.
I’m not a complete dumbass, so if a car is coming, I wait. If a car isn’t coming, I pull out and in really quick (that’s what he said) and all is right again with the world.
Further evidence for why this isn’t a big deal at all:
1. Whenever this occurs it’s ungodly hour o’clock
2. There’s never any cars coming
3. I drive the wrong way for precisely THREE FEET
On this particular Friday, Captain Street That Takes You to Starbucks Patrol in his Tesla was pulling off of the street into an underground parking lot that’s right next to the Starbucks. As I was sitting, waiting for him to pass or pull in (because I’m not a dumbass- see above), he was staring at me out of his open window.
I stared right back.
He continued to stare at me as he was driving down into the parking garage and as I started onto the street towards the entrance to the drive thru.
I’d like to take this moment to point out that his head was almost completely turned around, much like in the Exorcist and his mouth was agape, all while driving into the garage.
As he was not even looking at where he was going, he yelled, “OMG! ONE WAY STREET!”
He yelled this as if I were entering an eight lane freeway where all the cars are going 90 MPH and I’m going the wrong way, which was a HUGE exaggeration, as I was entering a lonely, empty street at 6:30 in the fucking morning.
Matching his intensity exactly, I yelled back, “OMG! I KNOW! I’M GOING TO STARBUCKS!”
So emphatically did I yell, that my basic bitch homeless person bun bounced with every over-enunciated word, especially on the word ‘Starbucks’.

The BEST definition I’ve ever read on Urban Dictionary. It even included the Starbucks. OMG.

Had I already gone through the drive thru, this would have been my face EXACTLY.
I sounded like the most ridiculous basic bitch ever. I really should have added “…to get my PSL and pumpkin scone, THANK YOU VERY MUCH!” for the full effect.
But, Captain Quiet Street With Nobody On It At 6:30 AM Patrol should really have minded his own damn business.
Let basic bitches be.

Do not get between a B.B. and her PSL. DO.NOT.
*I’m not quite sure it was really ever glorious, but whatevs.

Sisters From Other Misters

To a blogger, followers are everything. Fucking everything. I’ve yet to meet a writer or online content creator who is just doing it all for the sake of doing it. We love, we need and we appreciate our readers.

If followers are important to bloggers, their fellow bloggers/followers are their life blood.
The people who are doing the same damn crazy thing I’m doing- writing, editing for daaaaays, creating, compiling, and otherwise making damn word magic- give me life.
They are me.
I am them.
For some oddly awesome reason, the majority of the bloggers I’ve connected with are either from the U.K. (also Ireland) or they are expats living there. Jealous af.
(This just further fuels my crazy British obsession.)

It was an absolute necessity that on my trip to the British Isles that I’d meet as many of my Blogily* as humanly possible.
It was actually them (well, the Annual Bloggers Bash Awards) that was the reason for the trip. As if anyone needed another reason to visit the most beautiful corner of the world EVER, but, yeah, meeting my favorite bloggers inspired my trip this past summer.
In the end, I didn’t get to meet up with quite as many bloggers as I had hoped I would, because life always seems to find a way to ruin the fun (and trying to arrange specific meet up locations and times when you are constantly traveling and you aren’t the only one it affects is hard af). All this means is that there will have to be another trip.

Now, let’s get on with it. Here are the lovelies I met during the great Clampetts Do Europe 2018:
The One Who Writes Things That Make Me Ugly Cry
Lorna from Gin & Lemonade is one of my favorite blogging writers. She has a unique writing style that I could recognize in my sleep. All of her posts are gold, but this one gave me goosebumps, granted me a supreme reader’s high and made me cry all at the same time.
I got to meet Lorna at her house on the Isle of Skye on her daughter’s fourth birthday party day. If you don’t know Lorna, you’re also missing out on knowing her adorable, precocious daughter, Isla (that we get to know through Lorna’s posts about her).
It was such fun meeting this penguin-loving girl who will for-absolute-sure grow up to rule the world.
It was so, so amazing to laugh, gossip and plan (Reno 2019, baby) with Lorna. It wasn’t enough time. Not even. Hence the part about something amazing going down in my neck of the woods in 2019.
Here are the pictures we almost forgot to take, because every minute we were together, we were trying to cram in as much nice-to-meet-you-finally-I’m-only-in-this-corner-of-the-world-for-a-short-time-but-I-have-so-much-to-say-and-ask-so-let’s-not-waste-our-time-mmmkay.

The immensely talented Lorna and yours truly

Lorna’s hubby, Neil AKA The Car Packing Ninja and Isla
The One Who Fucking Hates Scooters, But is Just Lovely AF
Hayley is the kind of blogger you instantly want to be best friends with. Her posts are:
A. Well-written
B. Relatable AF
C. Funny/thought-provoking/important
D. ALL OF THE ABOVE DUH
When I read her post about her hatred for scooters, I knew we were destined to be friends.
To someone obsessed with anything British, Hayley is every beloved British chick lit heroine I’ve ever wanted to know IRL. She’s the girl you want to have a drink with after work. She’s the girl who’s funny smart and real smart. She’s the girl you can be real with, because she probably also has ruined a table by ironing on it and not, like, on an ironing board. She’s real and genuine and lovable.
Hayley picked out a gorgeous location-Angelica, a super posh restaurant on the sixth floor of a shopping center- to meet in Leeds. While eating the best fucking ravioli that have ever passed my lips, we (my mom and I) were treated to breathtaking views of downtown Leeds and to, of course, Hayley.
One evening was not enough to get to know her and listen to her quintessentially English accent at all. As we said our goodbyes, I realized how grateful I was to have a friend who was so hard to say goodbye to.

I LOVE this lady!

How gorgeous is this place AND THAT RAVIOLI?
The One Who, I SWEAR, Is My Real Sister Somehow
You know how once in a great while you meet someone who just gets you, someone you just completely and utterly click with?
Well, that is Cinzia.
Awhile back, I started a secret Facebook group for my lady friends, because sometimes we need a safe place to ask about period panties and WHY IN THE FUCK CAN’T HE PUT HIS SOCKS IN THE HAMPER, and that’s when I first started seeing comments from this just-like-me crazy funny girl invited by one of my blogger buds.
She would respond to threads and posts with gifs that are my absolute favorite gifs of all time and sometimes I’d have to do a double check, because I’d think something she said was something I’d said or vice versa.
When she found out I was coming to England to meet her friend and workmate who is a blogger friend of mine, we agreed she’d absolutely have to join in on the fun.
The day we met, we had drinks at a bar called The Magna Carta in Lincoln. See:

She walked up Steep Hill in the 85-degree heat to meet me. And, Steep Hill is literally what it’s called- a really fucking steep hill.
She rode the train for two hours to get to Lincoln from Nottingham.
She bought me our first drink even after trucking it uphill in the freakishly hot weather.
She took the Clampett Clan on a personal tour of the Lincoln Cathedral.
We laughed and talked like we had known each other for years. It was easy and fun and the hours felt literally like minutes.
I figured I’d only get one day with Cinzia, but she made the two hour train trip a second time and we took a boat ride on the Lincoln Canal and had lunch as we talked and laughed like old friends.
At the end of the day, my mom and I had to take a bus back to our house stay. Being total bus newbs, she figured out what bus we needed to take, told us to ask the driver to yell out the stop for us (that’s a hilarious story I’ll have to tell another time, btw), and saw us onto the bus (I secretly think she was worried we were learning disabled in public transportation and was genuinely concerned we’d end up in Wales or something).
As the bus drove out of the station, we waved and waved like two little girls and I couldn’t help but feel like I was saying goodbye to a lifelong friend or beloved family member.
She’s totally my Sicilian sister from another mister from across the sea (I don’t care if that doesn’t make sense).

Cinzia is now a blogger! Check out her work here.
The One Who Sent Me Tunnock’s Tea Cakes (AKA My Most Favorite Person Ever)
While in Lincoln, I also got to meet Frédérique, another blogger and follower of mine. It was pretty exciting to meet my Québécois package pal in person (that means we have sent each other packages with special sweet treats in Fatty McCupcakes language).
The funniest part of this whole meet up is that this girl is literally half my size and when taking pictures together, I was squatting down to appear not quite so gargantuan in comparison and she kept squatting down like it was a fun game I was trying to play. It was hilarious.

In case you haven’t met my massive nose yet, here it is. It says, “Nose to meet ya.”
So, I think it’s pretty safe to say that my trip across the pond was a monumental one and I had many memorable moments, but it was and will always be defined by the short, but influential moments I had with these wonderful women.
*Blogily:
blog•i•ly
noun
1. a group consisting of writer types from all walks of life, background, sexuality, ethnicity, and what have you, who band together to support one another in all manner of ways, including but not limited to blogging.
synonyms: blog family, tribe, sister/misterhood,

Throwback Thursday to When I Actually Blogged

Strangely, and for reasons I still don’t understand, I gain new followers every day (and here I am, still not rich and famous). To those of you who are new here, I swear I don’t always suck. I used to post religiously every week. Sometimes I posted twice. I was inspired. I was hopeful. I was excited. I was preparing to rule the world.
Something happened, yo.
This post could have been alternatively titled: Throwback Thursday to When I Actually Gave a Fuck.
It’s not that I don’t care about you. Every time I get a notification that I have a new like, comment, follower, a tiny voice inside me says, “Someone loves me. They really do love me.”
(Typing that out makes it sound so profoundly pitiful. *opens Google app to google, “Is it bad to think that strangers love me when they follow my blog even when I know it’s not possible they can love me and I only think it for, like, a split sentence?* Google wasn’t sure.)
I love the essence of blogging. I love writing. I love finding and reading good writing. I love the connections.
But, as much as I’d love to be that lucky bitch in every chick flick who has a mental epiphany/breakdown and leaves everything for a rundown, centuries old house in the middle of France and spends her days consuming goat cheese and red wine while writing her fifth novel on her antique typewriter at a table that looks out on a picturesque lake while wearing an oversized cable knit sweater that doesn’t make her look as big as a house, because she’s maybe a size four, I can’t because I live in the real world.
In the real world, I work a full time job, have debt, and spend an ungodly amount of time wondering how I’ll ever fund my next vacation, a house, or my next overpriced hipster donut.
For some time now I’ve considered the possibility of monetizing my blog. Only recently have I realized that I’ve been working my ass off at a part time gig and getting nowhere in the process.
I shouldn’t say ‘nowhere’, as I’ve actually gained something greater than Ellen hosting me on her show and then surprising me with money to pay off all of my debts*–I’ve gained loyal readers, many of whom I call true friends.
But, it’s finally time for me to put my efforts into ways to better my standing, my life, my writing game.
In the coming months, I hope to move to self-hosting. That’s just the first step in my Make Actual Money From Writing/Blogging plan.
Until then, you’ll have to bear with me and the construction zone mess this place will likely be.
If you are one of my newbies (or oldies, I’m not discriminating) and you’re still reading this mess, here are some of my older posts that I wrote when I was still young and full of writing zest. I hope they’ll keep you going until I figure my shit out:
I love sharing embarrassing personal stories about toilet disasters
Geez, poop AGAIN?
Now farts? Come on…
Because everyone likes to laugh at the inept one
I’m really hairy (Speaking of which, I skipped my mid-week chin plucking to write this. You’re welcome.)
Tell me more about your own writing struggles. Misery loves company and all…
*Well, actually, if Ellen would have me, I mean…I wouldn’t say ‘no’…

Just a pic my grandma took of our family dog taking a shit on our lawn, because I couldn’t think of any other pictures for this post.