I used to love post apocalyptic movies because it was fun to scare myself shitless about the world ending because I was fairly confident it was all fiction. I felt safe knowing it wouldn’t be in my lifetime that we would have mass panic over toilet paper and hand sanitizer while a novel virus made its way around the globe. But here we are.
I’m pretty convinced we are starring in Contagion 2: Shit Gets Real Real. I imagine that, at this point in the movie, our audience is thinking, “Those poor fucks. They have no idea what’s coming.”
It’s at that crucial stage in the movie and in life where we can actually make moves to stop this virus from completely obliterating our lives (I’d kind of like to go back to Saturdays filled with racking up my credit card on shit I don’t need at TJ MAXX, thank-you-very-much), but we got Bubba and Ultimate Karen who think it’s fake news that this is a big deal.
As the drama builds in the movie, there are a few brave, headstrong people who choose to self-isolate, giving up their grande iced soy chai lattes with three pumps to be part of the solution not the problem, while the majority of the world goes about their lives like they don’t watch the real news. This is the most frustrating, maddening aspect of this sure-to-be-an-Oscar winner. The audience is yelling obscenities at the noobs who don’t think they are capable of sitting their asses on their couches for a bit to help the greater good.
In a crucial scene, the protagonists brave the grocery store and its like Soviet-Russia-bleak but make it fashun because the heroine is wearing her new rain boots she bought for rainy Edinburgh. It’s tragic, but beautiful because she risks her sanity (she’s an extreme germaphobe) to buy groceries for her family (the camera quickly pans over the Coffee Nut M&M’s, wine, and Velveeta Shells & Cheese to the heroine’s resolute face to remind the audience how brave she is). Meanwhile, Bubba and Ultimate Karen carelessly have lunch at BJ’s like the world isn’t mere weeks away from imploding.
It sounds like every post apocalyptic movie but the twister is that this is real. It’s.really.happening.
Today in Contagion 2: Shit Gets Real Real:
My boyfriend and I got in a fight about how to walk through the grocery store full of infested people.
I had an absolute meltdown over how many M&M’s said boyfriend had eaten since Friday but it turned out I had eaten the M&M’s.
My state canceled school until April 6th, and the boyfriend and I don’t know what that means for our pay.
I realized that it’s not fair this is happening this year because my class is the sweetest I’ve ever had and I already miss them.
I started precisely 15 internet fights with complete idiots because I’m triggered. Yes, I am, ma’am.
So, how was your day? How are you feeling about the insane movie we’re starring in?
Anyone else legit concerned about the toilet paper situation right now? If Coronavirus wasn’t scary enough, I now have to wonder if I truly will need to resort to wiping with an odd sock or some McDonald’s napkins. We’ve all seen the memes and we all laugh, but in the back of my mind, I’m holding it together just barely. All that spins through my brain anymore, like a record on repeat, is the worry I’ll have to just.get.in.the.shower.after.a.poo like a DAMN HEATHEN.
WILL THERE EVER BE TOILET PAPER AGAIN?
NO, REALLY? WILL THERE?
On top of the toilet paper chaos that is, quite fucking frankly, appalling and I’m embarrassed to be part of the human race right now, people are buying out ALL THE FOOD.
Like, does anyone think of others? Along with my dead cold fear I will soon start to whittle away to nothing, I’ve been close to tears thinking of the elderly people all around the world who are being left to fend for themselves. They can’t compete against Bubba Joe and Ultimate Karen with their 18 carts full to the brim with toilet paper that will last a lifetime while the remaining part of society that is sane would just like the normal amount of toilet paper. Mothers can’t even get wipes for their babies because these fools think their 18,456 rolls of TP won’t quite cut it.
So instead of being in the plane that was supposed to be taking me to Paris for spring break, I’m in my sweaty pajamas, wearing a hole in the couch with my ever-expanding ass, while I just sit and worry and worry and worry some more.
The real insanity, though, is how I’m scared we will starve while at the same time I’ve eaten through half our quarantine snacks in just two days.
In all seriousness, though, this virus and the absolute unraveling of society that is happening right before our very eyes has my OCD on red alert.
To try to combat the obsessions and worry, I’m trying to do my small part by staying in as much as possible. I know there are still people who think this is all a big over-exaggeration and then there are the people who are right- ahem- the ones who don’t want to panic but we realize it’s not all “business as usual”, and we know we need to flatten the curve LIKE LAST MONTH.
Whatever your opinion, shits about to hit the fan all over the world. I figured I better bring Fatty back for the time being because, I don’t know about you, but a bit of humor makes shit times feel a bit less shit. So in between my absolute freak outs, I’m going to try to channel my humor and find the bright side, even though it feels like hiding right now.
I’ll check back in soon to let you know how self-isolating is going after I’ve eaten all my snacks and the excitement of “It’s like we are in a movie about the end of the world” wears off.
So, like, you know how heavy whipping cream is like a staple of the keto diet? Sure, lots of greens and grass fed meats are pretty key, but
HEAVY WHIPPING CREAM
Have you ever just had a spoonful of heavy whipping cream (of course the fuck not because the majority of you- the odd three or so followers I have left- aren’t psychos)?
Heavy whipping cream is legit heavy. It sticks to the roof of your mouth and blankets your tongue in a thick coat of fat. It somehow makes it into your brain’s pleasure receptors, where it does the version of the Macarena where you just flail your arms around and laugh like a hyena because you have no idea what you’re doing, but YAY, HEAVY FUCKING WHIPPING CREAM.
Once you try a spoonful, it only makes sense to use it in place of your 1% Lactaid when you make yourself an entire box of Pasta Roni. And by you, I mean me.
Oh, I’m sorry.
Did you think I was doing keto, finally?
Excuse me while I laugh in fat and desperate, but still ain’t trying keto.
So, once I learned how absolutely mind-blowing heavy cream is in boxed pasta (like, no joke, better than any of the pasta I ate in Italy), I knew I had to try it in my Chocolate Peanut Butter Cheerios.
Heavy whipping cream in cereal should be outlawed, in case you were wondering. It’s just not fair to regular milk.
These are just some of the delights I ate tonight, along with two mini bags of popcorn, a pudding cup topped off with a giant dollop of marshmallow cream, and some canned corn because I’m not a savage.
What makes this all the more oh-no-baby-what-is-you-doin was that just this past Monday, the day we returned from winter break, I chose to wear jeans to work.
Jeans.
Jeans, after two solid weeks of sweatpants and fists full of homemade Chex Muddy Buddies.
I figured… what did I figure? Was I even figuring?
If you must know, I still have an indent in my stomach from the waistband, and I couldn’t sit at a 90 degree angle the entire day. In case you weren’t aware, most sitting is done at a 90 degree angle.
So, what’s new with me? As you can see, not a damn thing.
What’s new with you two?
(I’m speaking to the two stragglers I have left here).
Have you ever tried heavy whipping cream in your cereal? Did it blow your pants off (just literally, unfortunately) like it did me?
So can we talk a minute about food prepping? Um. I hate it. Like so, so much. I hate cooking and since food prepping is like cooking on kale-flavored crack, I’d literally rather clean the moldy hair goblins out of the shower drain than chop shit for hours on one of my precious days off.
Legit me every time I have to food prep…
Due to my utter distaste for preparing food, I do quasi- prep. I do the absolute fucking bare minimum and then wonder why I end up eating a brownie for lunch instead of garlic butter salmon on a bed of quinoa with steamed organic green beans on the side or whatever fancy shit ya’ll are eating.
I don’t have time for this. Like at all.
I “prepped” a can of peas and a frozen spicy black bean burger as my lunch the other day. Impressive, I know.
Between looking for a side hustle I can do on the couch in my holey leggings, working nine hour days, planning an epic European adventure, trying to maintain this stink hole of a blog, and getting some sleep, food prep just doesn’t fit into the equation.
I’m fully of the impression that if you religiously food prep and this takes up a good majority of your Sunday, this is your hobby, man. Your hobby is preparing healthy fare that all too often ends up tasting like rabbit food for your future self.
I’m not even hating, but that’s literally the worst-sounding hobby ever (really, I’m just jealous you have enough commitment to lose weight and be healthy that you dedicate time to proactive practices that help you be successful).
If you full-on food prep and do anything else besides go to work and sleep, you’re a Goddamn superhuman and I’ll pay you to do my food prepping.
Thanks a million!
(Can you just make sure to pan sear the chicken with lots of seasoning? Leftover blah baked chicken makes me gag.)
Are You Fucking Kidding Me?
Why do I lose weight first in the lamest possible places on my body before any real dent is made in the obvious places?
So like, thanks, body for thinking I needed to lose the fat from my forearms before getting to work on my fat stomach that people think is housing a baby. Sounds right.
Or maybe we could have started with my flabby arms that knock art off the walls when they get carried away?
What’s that? My knee caps were first priority? Oh…
Where’s My Xanax
Speaking of flabby bits.
I’m in need of a new bathing suit for the Cinque Terre and I’m low-key dreading it like the plague (I know, poor me).
The thought of trying on bathing suits with the paper crotch protectors that never make me feel protected from the last person’s crotch makes my skin crawl. I know you try on bathing suits without your underwear WHICH IS HIGHLY FROWNED UPON, KAREN.
Me, walking up to the bathing suits, seeing all of those paper crotches with pubes stuck to them.
I’m also not looking forward to seeing the fat I was going to lose 18 different times over the years seeping out of every edge of the only bathing suit I could find that didn’t scream “64 year-old overweight retiree living the dream in Boca Raton, Florida”.
Oy.
Now I feel bad for the person who has to try on the bathing suit after me (because you know I’m not buying that floral-couch-pattern-from-the-70s monstrosity).
That face you make when all of the fat girl bathing suits are ugo…
So, your best pal just suggested a six-city, two week grand European adventure, but you just washed your last paper plate and it’s still a week until payday?
Tell me ’bout it, honey.
How do you make this trip happen? Because, I don’t know about you, but when someone says ‘Cinque Terre’, I’m all:
Let me be real here: I am poor as fuck. This is due in equal parts to being a total fuckwit when it comes to saving money (also maybe due to a teensy addiction to filling every nook and cranny in my apartment with Bath & Body Works soap) and choosing one of the lowest paid professions: teaching. What teaching does enable me is the time to jet off to foreign countries. The salary just needs to catch up with my at-least-one-international-trip-every-year tastes.
I have also let my credit cards get the best of me, because it’d be wrong not to make that excellent credit rating work for me, right? Right? (More on this later.)
So, what is a broke as a joke idiot to do when travel just has to happen, because what is life without travel, ya’ll? Well, let your favorite idiot help you out with this one, because for once, I am kinda good at something. I know, I fell off my chair too.
Last summer, as many of you know, I went on a most glorious nearly six-week-long trip to Amsterdam, The British Isles, and Ireland. I went with my mom, aunt, and uncle, so we were able to save quite a bit on our house stays, but holy mother of the god of expensive shit, it was not cheap to travel for more than a month. Since I am always way too transparent here, I will just tell you what I spent. My grand adventure cost roughly $5,500.
Even more surprising- I had the trip paid off the month after my return.
I’ll give you a minute to get over the shock.
So, how did a certified money moron pull this off? Let me tell you!
1. Fun Shit is Magically Easier to Save For
First and foremost, when what you are saving for is weeks of travel in one of your favorite parts of the world, somehow, you have some extra money. It’s really crazy. Actually, it’s just easier to skip the latte when you are doing it for patat frites in Amsterdam. It’s easy as hell.
So, if you need to, make a vision board with all of the amazing things you are Starbucks starving yourself for and you will suddenly become Scrooge McDuck.
2. Cancel Your Ridiculous Amount of Subscriptions and Cut Any Non-Essentials
Even your Ipsy bag. Yes, I know it’s only $10 a month.
Before my trip last year was for sure-for sure, I was paying monthly subscriptions for Ipsy, Snack Crate, Weight Watchers ($20 a month and I hadn’t opened the app in months) and a handful of educational subscriptions, like Number Rock. These subscriptions totaled $56 a month. This may not sound like a huge amount, but they were all 100% unnecessary. After six months of not shelling out the cash for these monthly charges, I had $336. That is a lot of patat frites, ya’ll!
Also, I stopped getting my nails and eyebrows done. Any non-essential luxury had to go and it saved me tons. A unibrow and hangnail-riddled fingers ain’t nothin’ when you are Europe-bound. I kept my massage appointments, but those were for my health and sanity.
If I wanted to really deprive myself, I could have also canceled Netflix and Hulu, but since I wasn’t paying for cable, I needed something to do when all of my extra cash was hiding out in my secret spot.
Speaking of…
3. Save Literally Every Penny
One of the funnest things I did to save for my trip was to save loose change in a mason jar. I don’t know if it was the addicting clink of the coins when I dropped them into the jar or the satisfying weight as the amount grew, but I was addicted to finding change. I’m also super fun at parties, ya’ll.
My dude’s pants pockets, under the seats of our vehicles, and the couch cushions- nowhere was safe from my greedy beadies. I left no stone un-turned in my search for a forgotten eight cents.
When my jar got full and the time came to cash in, I picked up some rolling papers (no, not that kind, yo) or coin wrappers and did that shit myself. My hands smelled like the unwashed masses for days, but every single penny went to my trip, unlike what would have happened had I gone the easy route, i.e. Coinstar.
(Be aware that Coinstar takes 11.9% of your total amount as a fee and that means one less ice cream cone on the beach and that is un.accept.able.)
4. Set a Budget and Try to Beat It, Baby
One of the most effective ways I saved trip money was setting a strict budget. In order for this to work, I had to take a truly honest inventory of my finances. It was a real coming to Jesus moment, because it was like a huge smack across the face with my newest pleather TJ MAXX purse find.
HOW IN THE FUCK DID I SPEND 150 AMERICAN DOLLARS IN ONE MONTH AT STARBUCKS?
I investigated where my money was going (Starbucks) and where I could cut corners and spend less (at Starbucks).
I set a budget for how much I felt was reasonable for groceries and other essentials per week/month. I did the same for weekend spending money. I even set a budget for how much I could spend during the week. It seems like it would have made more sense to just set one amount for the entire week, but I knew that if I gave myself $80 for the week on Monday, I would have had precisely $2.84 left to use by Friday. Because I spend the majority of my work week at, uh, work, I decided I needed the majority of my weekly budget allocated for the weekend.
So, I gave myself $20 for the work week, and if that only got me two and a half morning Starbucks runs, so be it. I pulled up my big girl panties and dusted off the Keurig I just had to have and made my coffee the majority of my mornings.
On Friday, I would pull $60 out of the ATM and that had to get me through all of my weekend activities. If I had a sushi date with a pal, this would eat up almost half of my cash. This made me take a good, hard look at whether or not I really needed to eat 18 long rolls and then be dead to the world the rest of the day in a sushi and soy sauce coma. More often than not, I suggested a coffee date instead (this was also a surprise diet hack).
Where I tried to “beat my budget” was when I started to have money left over on Sunday evening. It was like winning a game I didn’t even know I was playing. I started to try to have money left over every weekend. I straight up felt like Ebenezer Scrooge as I stockpiled my cash and coins.
5. Kash is King
Not only did I set a budget, I pulled cash out at the ATM for my work week and weekend money (as mentioned above). This prevented me from accidentally spending too much using my debit card. Because math is not my strong suit, $20 could easily have become $40 when I mindlessly handed over my debit card and not cold, hard cash.
Further, when I had money left over after the week or weekend was over, I saved my cash in a secret hiding spot and not in my savings account. It was and is way too easy to transfer funds from my savings to my checking to be used on something dumb, because when the money is just some numbers on a screen it doesn’t have the same impact as digging for your cash, counting it out, and then guiltily adding it to your wallet for a non-travel expenditure.
This is what I had left after this last weekend. Win!
6. Acorns
I am legit gonna sound like I work for Acorns or that I am getting some kind of kickback from them and while that is not entirely wrong, I’m not being sponsored to say what I am about to say.
I just love the shit out of this app.
If you have never heard of Acorns, make yourself a cup of tea or pour yourself a glass of wine, because you are going to want to hear this, and it is always nice hearing good news when you are enjoying a refreshing beverage.
So, in a nutshell (see what I did there?), Acorns is an investment app. This may sound scary, because if you are anything like me, you have not one iota of a fucking clue what investing involves.
Fear not, if you decide to try Acorns out, it is not a risky venture. I have been investing and saving with Acorns for more than a year now and I can confidently say I have not lost any pennies to Acorns. In fact, I am ADDICTED.
When you sign up for an Acorns account, the easiest way to start saving money is to turn on Round Ups. Whenever you use your debit card (yes, you need to connect your account, but it is secure), Acorns rounds up your purchase to the next dollar. When your round ups reach $5, that amount is withdrawn from your checking account into your Acorns account. Along with a monthly deposit of $25 from my checking, I saved over $400 to go towards my trip and I never even noticed the round ups.
It practically felt like free money, ya’ll.
When I first started Acorns, I’d withdraw money here and there when I wanted to make a purchase, but had I not touched my account, I would have $1400 today plus whatever dividends I made with my investment portfolio (which is conservative and means lower risk).
If I have piqued your interest, check out Acorns using my link here. If I can get 12 friends signed up and investing (I have already converted two), I will get $1000 from Acorns. YES, ONE THOUSAND DOLLARS. When you sign up via my link, you get $5 and so do I. That is what we call a win-win, friends.
*Bonus: The Guilt Gut Kicker*
The tips I shared above worked for me and why I am so excited about them again is that I am currently employing them for another international trip I just made official a couple weeks ago!
This time around, along with the poop-my-pants-excitement, I am feeling a bit of guilt.
I promised myself that this year I would focus on paying down my debt and the second another trip was a possibility, I threw finally being a real adult out the window faster than you can say “Peace out, bitches!”
Well, to combat that damn dirty feeling of guilt, I am planning to save $100 out of every months’ savings for my trip to be put onto a credit card. I hope to save for my trip AND pay off two small credit card balances.
Sometimes just having a plan to be a better adult can ease those poopy feelings.
Also,
What are your money saving tips? I am always looking for other ways to save/make some money when it’s for travel! Let me know in the comments!
The new president of the board where I teach is a passive aggressive power hungry bitch. She keeps praising me to my face and then going behind my back and saying nasty things to my co workers. And then she denies it. How can I deal with her and keep my sanity? And if that isn’t possible, how can I kill her and not get caught?
-Anonymous Idiot (who should have said no)
Dear Anonymous Idiot,
I once briefly worked at a place that shall remain nameless that had a board that was almost entirely run by moms of students attending. I think that was a major conflict of interest, but what do I know?
(I had way more to say here, but figured it’d be better for me to watch my big mouth.)
One of these moms hated me simply because she assumed I was too young to be responsible for her child’s education. She actually said to a teacher who worked there, “I don’t want that 18 year-old know-nothing around my son.”
No way! You think I’m 18?!”
I was 28.
So, all that to say, I know what you’re going through.
As far as I’m aware, school board members are elected to their positions. Next time she comes up to be re-elected, you know what you need to do. Until then, just be your amazing self and pay no mind to people like that. If you know you’re doing your job well and her comments are unfounded, it’s her problem not yours.
Also, it wouldn’t hurt to document the ever-loving shit out of every interaction and record every snippet of gossip you hear her quacking. You may need it, because if karma truly exists, ample evidence from the sane party will work in your favor big time.
Besides, if she’s doing this to you, she’s probably talking behind other backs as well. She might piss off the wrong person and your documentation could be the cherry on top of getting her removed from the board.
Best of luck and don’t do murder.
Love, Your Aunt Fatty (who is really, really mad about this bullshit for you)
Dear Aunt Fatty,
Can you help me find my calling? I see people around me who know what they want to do or are happy with what they are doing. From the moment I started searching for a job and a career, everyone asks me what I want to be…. and I don’t know. I don’t know who or what I can be. I’m average on everything including translating for the looks of things (didn’t get the translating job I applied for) and all I can see myself doing is retail, but I know that I can’t keep my big mouth shut anymore. If a customer pisses me off I will slap him with the keyboard or my hand. Depends what’s easiest at the time. How should I go about finding what I’m meant to do in life?
Sincerely, A Very Knowledgeable and Talented Queen Who Can Do Anything and Everything She Sets Her Mind To (I wrote this, because I only speak the truth)
Dear A Very Knowledgeable and Talented Queen Who Can Do Anything and Everything She Sets Her Mind To,
First, I think it’s really awesome (and also kinda like playing with fire) that you trust me enough with this serious issue.
Next, I’d like all of my readers to know that I know you personally, so when I say you can literally do anything, I damn well mean it and I’m qualified to say it.
You are too legit to quit and genuinely one of the kindest and most thoughtful people I know.
You impressed the hell out of my family when you took us on a personal tour of the Lincoln Cathedral. You knew so much and presented it to us in such an engaging way, I was in awe.
You know a handful of languages, dude. That’s like four fingers less than most people.
What I truly see you doing is working at a museum or important historical site. I see you being a director. I see you being responsible for all the important shit that goes on at these places (whatever that shit is, because I don’t know). I see you speaking your myriad languages to the other important director people of other important museums and/or historical sites. I see you wearing super smart lady suits that look killer on you (You’ll spice them up with a peekaboo lace camisole underneath and sky high heels. Or sensible flats, because let’s be real- heels blow).
You will be K-I-L-L-I-N-G I-T, girl.
If this is not what you want to be and you end up working the till at Tesco, I’ll be equally proud of you, because that’s just one step closer to being able to travel the world with your Soul Sister (me).
I know you’re feeling down right now, but don’t you dare ever say you’re average. Don’t you ever say that again.
Love, Your Aunt Fatty (who is #crossingherfingersandtoesbecausesicilyandobviouslyforyoutooimnotcompletelyselfish)
Dear Auntie:
Now that the cold weather has arrived, us girls need a little extra warmth on our bodies. Like most, I love the colder months because I don’t have to use a weed wacker on my legs to get them touchable smooth. How often should a lady shave those stems in the winter?
Much love,
Going to run in an Abominable Snowwoman contest
By Abominable Snow Woman, did you mean this?
Dear Going to Run in an Abominable Snow Woman Contest,
I’m so glad you brought up this very important issue. This is so something that needs to be covered every year when the temps drop and the chill hits.
Despite what every man on Earth may say, it is not at all necessary to shave for the entirety of Sweater Weather season. Like, there’s not one single reason to get your razor wet once.
If your body is covered head to toe in warm stuffs why shave? Even if you were rocking a tank and booty shorts, what’s a little butt hair poking out? We all have it. Right, ya’ll have an abundance of butt hair, too. Right??
Coming from someone who likes to look decent, I sure as fuck hate the process. I positively hate shaving because it takes so long my fingers are pruney and the water has run cold. I only shave for my massage therapist and only the places she will have to touch (and I’m only doing this as a courtesy, as I imagine rubbing down legs with a million porcupine spines has to be unpleasant).
I can just hear my dude groaning subconsciously. Sorry, boyfriend. You have hairy armpits, too.
So, rock on with your hairy bad self. Your built-in insulation will save on heating costs too, so I see this as a total win-win situation.
Love, Your Aunt Fatty (who is also participating in No Shave Octembanuaryarch)
Thank you so much to Giggling Fattie, who submitted her question above and also kindly posted on her blog about my Ask Aunt Fatty series! Check out her fantastic blog that I know you’re gonna love here.
A few of you sent in submissions (thank you, thank you, thank you) that I didn’t get to this week. Stay tuned for next week’s post to read your answer from Aunt Fatty.
Keep sending in your problems, people. I know you got ’em!
You can contact me here! Or, if you follow me on Twitter, Instagram or Facebook, you can message me there, as well!
I’m posting today to apologize for not posting my usual on Wednesday and today. The Christmas crazies have kicked in and I’m finding myself overwhelmed trying to fit in all the fun. Maybe one year I’ll slow the shit down and actually enjoy the holidays.
I’m fully expecting that you will see an update on how Dumpy and McMilkshakes are doing. Spoiler alert: We’re struggling and dieting during the holidays can suck our sagging back fat.
Check out the first posts in the Diet Chronicles of Dumpy Von Marshmallow Waist and Duchess McMilkshakes:
I’m positively loving writing ridiculous advice from Aunt Fatty, but I only have one submission waiting for my anti-advice, so I decided to wait and see if more of you felt the need for crappy life lessons from a wholly unqualified individual (to the person waiting: I hope it wasn’t, like, a time sensitive issue. If so, my bad).
So, in order for Free Advice Friday From Your Aunt Fatty to work, I kinda need people seeking advice. I considered just writing fake submissions, but I want to bring real life fuckery to you, not made up bullshit.
So, get to writing in. You can submit your queries here.
Check out the posts I’ve already done thanks to your submissions:
In going back through these previous posts I’ve done, I’m noticing that each new post got less likes than the last. Maybe you’re all busy with Christmas crap like I am or I was mistaken and ya’ll actually really hate this series?
Well, on that depressing note, I’ll take my leave. Hope to *see* y’all next week.
For Fat AgonyAunt (Love what you’ve done with my name),
A neighbour (yuk) has stopped to chat at the gate on occasion when walking their dog. (A friend of the husband from years ago) the last twice he has spoke about an open marriage … they are naturists and have just returned from their villa in a naturists villiage in Spain. Yesterday he asked the husband (he hasn’t said these things to him) if we would go for supper next week, p.s. they have a hot tub. Question: what if he brings holiday snaps out … or strips for natural hot tub?
Freaking Out About The Freaks
Dear Freaking Out About The Freaks,
You mean you’re not into a freaky deaky neighborhood partner swap? All the good kind of neighbors are open to buck naked and hairy hot tubbing and sharing their spouses like their favorite casserole recipe. Aren’t they?
Oh, I’ve just been informed that this is, in fact, not normal behavior and you have every reason to be a little put off by being stopped by them for fear they will show you pics of their wrinkly parts!
So, this is what you do…
You get to them first. Be a bigger Freak a Leak by showing them your holiday pics at the even nude-ier naturalist village (just print pics off of some nudist site that don’t show faces, only bare asses) and maybe even ask them their opinion on homemade German dungeon porn. Without a doubt and in no time they will be the ones avoiding you, you freaky dog you. *wink*
Or…not and you will have created an even more awkward situation, but it could be fun trying.
In all honesty, I’d just try to avoid them like the plague. Figure out their schedule of leaving the house and never leave your house at the same time. You know, be a real mature adult about it.
I feel like you need to update us on how this all transpires. Write back, Freaking Out. We all want to know if you got roped into nekkid hot tubbing or not.
Love, Your Aunt Fatty (who thinks this conundrum is really hilariously amazing. Sorry not sorry)
Dear Aunty Fatty, I have an umh ‘delicate’ problem. My cute little fur baby has gas. All the time. Bad, smelly, horrible, silent bombs. Help! Should I collect it to fuel my car?
Watering Eyes
Yeah, you did that. Gross, huh?
Dear Watering Eyes,
ABORT! ABORT! ABORT!
Just kidding, you can’t just pack up and leave your beloved shit-smelling fur baby.
So, story time.
My aunt and uncle had a dog once who had the most rancid farts, they could legit melt the varnish off furniture. They were so bad, you could taste them hours later. (This dog also loved to eat all of the bad things that made him fart, then puke, so he could eat his puke and then fart puke-smelling gas bombs. It was a vicious, noxious cycle.) Yet, this was one of their most beloved fur babies.
Moral of the story?
No matter how many nose hairs they singe, we still love them. We make accommodations to make them and ourselves as comfortable as possible.
What I would suggest is to first make sure it is, in fact, your defenseless fur child. In all likelihood, it could be the dude at home. For years, Aunt Fatty’s own father got away with blaming, at least, half of his farts on the poor dog.
If it is your poor pup, just cover your nose and mouth with a pillow or spray some essential oil air freshener (my favorite is Fuck Me, My Eyes Are Burning) to cover the horrific smell, while reminding yourself that your fur baby eats the crumbs you drop on the floor and sometimes they make your life easier by eating their own poop. Sacrifices.
Your idea of collecting the gas to fuel your car is genius. I’d legit start working on how you can make that happen (hook a fatty up if you ever become rich and famous on your fart fuel).
Love, Your Aunt Fatty (who is retching a bit)
Dear Aunt Fatty,
How do I ask my boss for a raise to allow me to buy lunch for my co worker everyday, because she can’t remember to throw away her Tupperware? There’s enough penicillin growing in our staff fridge to cure a small country’s syphilis outbreak. Please advise.
Worried About Contracting Syphilis From the Staff Fridge
Dear Worried About Contracting Syphilis From the Staff Fridge,
Ah, the joys of workplace refrigerator sharing. I bet the microwave is an equally horrifying place.
Honestly, I wouldn’t even waste your raise on some chick who has zero regard for everyone at your place of employment opposed to having their food mingling with mold spores.
I’d pack my damn lunch in a mini cooler that I know isn’t growing bacteria and forget the cesspool of contagion that is your kitchen at work if it were me.
Yo, this is $13 on Amazon! Snatch it up before it’s gone!
You will almost certainly look like a construction worker lugging your bulky, plastic job, but it’s better than getting the plague from your hazmat work refrigerator.
Love, Your Aunt Fatty (who is really sensitive to smells or just the thought of smells so she repeatedly dry heaved writing this response, as she imagined how nasty that heathen’s two month old leftovers probably are)
I know ya’ll are a messed up group of people (who isn’t messed up in today’s world?), so get those questions in!
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.)
Fall means I think of Elko. A smell, the orange color of the leaves, a vivid memory, or just a fleeting thought ignites a chain reaction of intense longing. It happens every so often and when it does, it nearly cripples me for a brief, cathartic moment.
Elko is a place I had a love-hate relationship with for many years. Now, I just long for it in my bones.
It can’t be explained by one key event or moment. It was a series of moments, feelings, awakenings. It was carried by the electrically charged breeze during a thunderstorm. It was kicked up and then settled, into the cracks and crannies of my brain, like the dirt from the road. It came to me, pungent, in through the window, smelling of wet sagebrush and desert. It was changing oak leaves in the fall. The smell of coffee and wet pavement. It was the green hills in the spring. The thick, silent snowflakes in the winter. It was stillness. Jackrabbits. The moon and the stars. It was fresh, plump grapes. Fried chicken and biscuits. It was peace. Sleep. Renewal. It was far away, twinkling lights, signaling home. It was something, somewhere, everything, always. It was Elko.
