Chrissy Teigen’s James Brown*

I’m a satire writer. I felt the need to start with that, in case you’re new here or you haven’t already realized that 90% of my blog is humor-based.

So, I think almost anything is laugh-till-I-pee funny.

It’s true.

My friends either love or hate going to the movies with me, because there’s a 110% chance I’ll be the loudest one laughing at every.single hint of a joke.

I laugh at myself and my ineptness. I laugh at fart and poop jokes. Hell, I laugh at farts. Every fart. I laugh at the fact that my boyfriend and I call each other Miss and Mr. Poopy Butthole (instead of the usual “Honey” or “Sweetie” *gagging noise*). I laugh at my students’ corny straight-from-the-dollar-special-Scholastic-knock-knock-book. Like, I genuinely laugh. I laugh at puppies simply being puppy-y. I laugh when conversations turn awkward. I laugh at my dad’s pronunciation of a Yoo-hoo as Yo-ho.

I fucking think everything is funny.

Well, almost.

Not everything is funny.

What makes me stop dead in my tracks during a laughing fit?

What makes me instantly get on my high horse soap box?

You want to know?

It’s when people pass off utter, on-purpose stupidity as “cute”.

I’m all for laughing at silly things like this:


Because it’s not stupidity, it’s a misunderstanding, turned hilarity.

source

Recently, I stumbled upon a stupid af BuzzFeed article about–are you ready for this–Chrissy Teigen’s butthole.

Get this, despite having had sex with her husband, however many hundreds (thousands) of times, she had no clue he’d spied her butthole.

Apparently, she had always assumed her coffee crumpet was the one sacred place left on her body that her husband had not seen.

Chrissy, didn’t you ever wonder why all of your friends were getting their assholes bleached? No, it wasn’t for health reasons. SMH.
I really don’t aim to be a snotty bitch, but, really? How can someone be that dumb?

Furthermore, why are we perpetuating the stupidity by glorifying it?

All images from BuzzFeed, obviously. 



I was planning on completely dismissing this article as a slow news day at BuzzFeed, until I continued reading (why did I continue reading??), and was forced to choke down her grammatically incorrect, cringe-worthy tweet.

There are at least 11,378 fools out there who either didn’t even notice the lack of any understanding of grammar whatsoever in her post or they just didn’t care.

WE NEED TO START CARING.

As an educator, it is literally my job to spread knowledge and to stop the scourge of ignorance.

Why are we continuing to share, repost, retweet, and glorify stupidity masked in I’m-pretty-so-it’s-OK?

So, I did my due diligence as an educator, and I commented on the poor grammar and lame subject of an article someone actually got paid to write, and I was met with being called a “judgemental bitch”.

I will be honest, I was my usual snarky, dripping-in-satire-self, but I simply can’t sit by, as someone’s stupidity is celebrated, and do nothing.

In hindsight, maybe I should have privately messaged Chrissy, and said something along the lines of:

“Chrissy, sweetie, I’m not being mean when I say this, and really, I’m just trying to help you, but you might want to invest in a basic human anatomy book. While you’re at, you might want to also add to your Amazon cart, “Grammar For Dummies”. Actually, no. What am I thinking? You’re paid for your good looks. You don’t need basic common sense. Nah. You’re good. Forget I even said anything.”

Too much?

While I’m at it, ladies, can we stop playing the dumb, because it’s perceived-as-cute-card?

Maybe Chrissy Teigen is secretly a rocket scientist, but since women are still more valued for their looks, she plays that role, because a girl’s gotta eat?

Either way, I don’t care how “judgemental” I’m perceived to be, I’m going to continue fighting ignorance one snarky, time-wasting social media comment war at a time.

*James Brown= slang for butthole.

 

WTF Wednesdays: Black Bean Brownie Botch

I’ve been logging my Weight Watchers points for a month now. Amazingly, I have not yet starved to death. Who would have thought I could survive on less than 80,000 calories a day? 

As much as I’m enjoying not feeling positively disgusting as I eat my way through a large triple cheese pizza, I also miss the days when I would inhale a package of Zingers, or hyperventilate over a warm brownie, smothered in caramel sauce and melting cake batter ice cream.

Last weekend, I went to the Cheesecake Factory with a friend. I had a salad like a good fat girl. Just for shits and giggles, I calculated how many points my favorite slice of cheesecake would be. 

For those of you not familiar with Weight Watchers, just know that a grande Caramel Light Frappuccino is 7 points, so is a 1/2 cup of ice cream. Just for comparison, you know.

Now, are you sitting down? Have you had your morning movement? I wouldn’t want anything unfortunate to happen when you’re blown clear out of your seat. 

A piece of Cheesecake Factory’s Reese’s Cheesecake is 67 mother-effing points. 

(And, it clocks in at a whopping 1,480 calories!) 

I get 37 points for one day. I couldn’t even eat anything else for the entire day and I’d be 30 friggin points over my daily allotment. 

I’m still reeling from this news. It’s no freaking wonder I have an ass the size of Texas. I’ve probably been eating 7,000 calories a day! Who knew things had so many calories! Doh! 

So, in the spirit of eating healthier, I looked into what I could eat/make that would be not so calorie-laden and still a “treat”. 

Also, I’m not gonna lie, I wanted to bake some ridiculous, kale-infused gluten-free, vegan, hipster monstrosity that I could satire the hell out of. 

I searched “healthy brownies” on Pinterest, and this is the recipe I settled on:


source

Not only do these “brownies” contain black beans, they also call for avocado

Avocado.

Now, let me just say that I’m kind of (and, by “kind of”, I mean I’ve never gotten on the hipster-led bandwagon) over the kale, coconut oil, and gluten-free everything that’s still all the rage. 

I didn’t set out to make these “brownies” because I enjoy, or pretend to enjoy, eating “treats” that are more vegetable than what they claim to be replacing. 

Nope. 

I made these to, hopefully, find an alternative to my usual carb- and sugar-laden goodies that are making me more fat. 

I just want something to satiate that bitch, Martha (my fat gut).

Before I continue, I feel I must point out that I’m not, by any stretch of the word, a photographer. So, I’m definitely not a food photographer. My unfocused, off-center photos were taken with my scratched rose gold iPhone 6. 

Also, I didn’t follow the ingredients exactly. The recipe called for a large flax egg. What in the hell is a flax egg? I know one kind of egg, and that’s egg. 

I also didn’t go out and buy expensive-as-hell coconut oil just to use a teaspoon for this recipe. No, I don’t just have coconut oil on hand. 

I was supposed to use organic, all natural cocoa powder. It says “natural” right on the Hershey’s box of unsweetened cocoa powder (that I already had). So, I felt pretty pleased with myself that I didn’t have to spend half of my paycheck at Whole Foods or Trader Joe’s just to make 12 brownies. 

I had light brown sugar, but the recipe called for dark brown sugar. Again, I deviated from the recipe, but how different could the two be?? 

My “organic” ingredients

After I gathered all of the necessary ingredients together, I readied the tools needed for the job. 


It was then that I realized I hadn’t seen my 8×8 pan in quite some time. In order to see all of the cabinet space where we keep our kitchen appliances, I have to get down on my hands and knees and take a picture of inside the cabinet, due to the positioning of the cabinet, and because I can’t get my massive head inside to look all the way back and to the right. With the picture as my guide, I can blindly reach for whatever I’m after. This is 100% why I never make anything. 


There was no 8×8, but I did spy a muffin pan. After thinking long and hard about my missing 8×8 pan, I realized I have never owned an 8×8 baking pan. That must be why I couldn’t figure out when I last saw it. 

A muffin pan would have to do!

Before I could even get down to business, I somehow knocked the open bag of chocolate chips right into the garbage. I was off to a fabulous start.

The recipe said to use a food processor. I’m not adult enough to own one of those, so I used my Magic Bullet. 


I figured the black beans were the only ingredient that really needed to be processed, despite the fact that the recipe said to process all of the ingredients. I do what I want! 

Mainly, I was more concerned about the black beans, because I didn’t want to bite into a brownie to be surprised by a whole bean. That would have just killed the mood. Amiright? 

The Magic Bullet did a decent job of processing the beans.

This just looks absolutely barftastic, doesn’t it? When is it ever OK to pair avocado and black beans with sugar. I guess when you’re making healthy “brownies”, obviously. But, *shudder* 


After adding the cocoa powder and mixing real well, the batter actually looked and smelled just like real brownies. I wanted to take a little taste, but salmonella. 

Here the batter is, decorated with my garbage can chocolate chips.
I must admit that while they were baking, they smelled exactly like real brownies. I was really salivating like crazy. 
It was divine

Sadly, that’s about as brownie as these “treats” got. 

Ya’ll, these are not brownies. 

They aren’t disgusting, but I will never waste an avocado like this again. Criminal.

Part of why I love brownies is the texture. My favorite kind of brownie is the kind that is almost underbaked (Paul Hollywood voice), so they are chewy, and you can taste what differentiates them from vegetables-freaking gluten. 

Not only was the texture more baked refried bean than ooey, gooey goodness, they were way too dark chocolate-y. 

I told you I was no photographer!

Also, after my first and only bite, I got a bit of black bean skin stuck in my teeth. 

Just no. 

I gave some to my neighbor, because he’s dieting right now. He said he liked them. I’m fairly certain he’s a lying bastard.  

Verdict: Unless you like pasty brownies that are dark chocolatey enough that one bite will send you into a migraine of epic proportions, don’t try this at home. 

WTF Wednesdays #11: First World Problems

Let’s face it, when you live somewhere with all of the conveniences, you are bound to encounter a crap ton of inconveniences when those conveniences aren’t up to your own standards. That is just how it is when you live in a first world country. It may sound trivial and entitled to someone living in a less privileged country, because it is. (We’re assholes.) However, that doesn’t make these inconveniences any less annoying.

Behold, first world problems that really piss me off:

  • When my leggings always end up inside out when I pull them out of the dryer. I swear I don’t put them in that way, but they seem to have a personal vendetta against me. It is really inconvenient that I have to spend an extra two minutes turning them right side out again before folding them.
  • When the barista at Starbucks overfills my Frappuccino. Then, when I ask for a napkin for my avalanche of a drink, they look at me like I’m the asshole because I don’t want to decorate my car with extra whip Cinnamon Dolce.
  • When the plastic container my Boston cream pie comes in is like the jaws of life, so when I finally open it, the plastic popping open sounds like gunfire. Sneaking a treat at 3 AM is next to impossible without waking the whole house up in a panic. I was inconvenienced and embarrassed.
  • When my fat makes my underwear roll down inside my leggings. Like, COME ON, underwear. GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER. 
  • When I realize, after being at home for hours, that my WIFI has been off, and the dozens of puppy and Chris Crocker videos I was watching are going to cost me extra in overage charges. That’s not how it’s supposed to work, universe!
  • When the Starbucks drive thru makes me swipe my own card. You do realize that due to the way you have the card reader positioned, and the fact that it’s a good two feet above my window, I have to take my seatbelt off and strain my arm? Inexcusable. I’m a lazy, fat bastard and that’s why I’m in the drive thru. 
  • When my last bite of something delicious is ruined because I didn’t adequately prepare myself for it to be my last bite. Just take me out back and put me out of my misery. Fuck me.
  • When I buy a tiny piece of coffee cake at Starbucks, thinking it’s probably 8 or 9 Weight Watchers points, but it ends up being 18 effing points. I didn’t end up eating it and that legit ruined my day.

(I think I’m just salty at Starbucks.)

I asked my boyfriend what my latest first world bitchfest has been and he said, after thinking for precisely two seconds, “Hmm. Oh, I know. I love how you’ve been eating an entire tub of Tru Whip at a time for months, saying, “It’s only like 35 calories for 1 Tbsp, so it practically has no calories”, and when you actually calculated the Weight Watchers points and found out an entire tub is like 8,000 points, you were pissy for days!”

Yeah, that was a really sad day. I’m still in mourning.

So, let’s hear it. What are some of your first world problems, pet peeves, and annoyances? Let me know in the comment section!

WTF Wednesdays #10

This week’s WTF Wednesdays is going to be a rant of sorts. It’s not going to be humorous, and some readers may not enjoy this one as it’s not my usual satire, but it needs to be said.
This rant will be focused on two of my biggest current pet peeves on the topic of education-my chosen career.

Ignorant, Biased, Uneducated Opinions 

I’ve always been the type to speak my mind and to stand up for what is right. I’ve not always been perfect at doing this. Sometimes my voice isn’t loud enough, or I speak too late, or too soon. Sometimes what I really need to do is bite my tongue, but that tastes of blood and defeat, and those don’t agree with my stomach.

Ask any close friend or colleague (hell, anyone who’s my friend on Facebook), and they will tell you I have strong opinions, and I generally speak them.

As a teacher, this kind of outspokenness can literally mark a bullseye on your back. The general consensus in the teaching world is that you keep your strong opinions out of social media discussions and elsewhere. What this translates to me is that teachers should just do what they’re told and to not rock the already capsizing boat.

For someone with a mega mouth, this can be almost impossible to do. When I read the comments section on a story related to education, and I see some ignorant spouting garbage, it takes the power of the gods to ignore it and not respond with the wrath of Zeus.

I know that the state of education in the U.S. needs a lot of work, but until you’re a teacher/have done your homework and done it well/know exactly what life is like as a teacher, kindly sit down.

The very fact that teachers have to defend themselves and their careers against unfounded and ludicrous presumptions is sickening. Until teachers are paid what they’re worth, are treated with respect and regard (we are only molding the minds of our future, no big), and we are allowed to be the ones to make the big, policy-making decisions about what we know best, education in the United States won’t improve.

I was reading the comments section on a We Are Teachers article, and one teacher said that teachers need to stop referring to teaching as a calling, as it creates the illusion that it’s more akin to pledging our undying devotion to being a nun instead of it being a paid career. I couldn’t agree more.

You Can’t Win 

It’s a tumultuous time to be an educator, because we don’t really value education as a society. It’s a nice idea, but when it takes from our pocketbooks, it’s a burden. As such, there is never enough funding.

Teaching, support, and admin positions are being cut all across the district where I teach. Amidst these cuts is a new reading law that requires reading specialists and highly effective teachers. Yet, the specialist positions are the first to go at schools losing teachers. Truly highly effective teachers can’t make the grade anymore due to new, near-impossible evaluation criteria.

If a student in my district isn’t reading by third grade, they can be held back and must be placed in a classroom being taught by a teacher rated as highly effective. Due to the new evaluation criteria, there won’t be any highly effective teachers (well, there are, and there will be, but not on paper).

Hmm.

As a teacher at a struggling school, I have to make the decision about how I will teach my students, with the knowledge that high stakes tests and other classroom assessments will ultimately be how I am evaluated and paid. I do not agree with teaching to the test, as it merely prepares students to take tests and not life. However, if I do not prepare my students enough for these assessments, I am left being the one losing out.

It is a painful Catch-22.

So, in preparing my students for the high-stakes tests they will be taking, the very tests that will be considered in how my school is rated and, in turn, how I’ll be evaluated, I wonder how well the student making fart noises during our practice test will do.

In essence, my livelihood is dependent on how well little people who still eat their boogers do on tests. That is terrifying.

And, we wonder why education is failing and teachers are leaving in droves.

Despite all of this, I care deeply for my students, my fellow teachers in arms, and education. I will be an advocate for change. It is time for teachers to start speaking out, standing up for themselves, and working to make the changes that we all know need to be made.

Even though the very act of speaking my mind about my own career is a precarious thing to do, I won’t be silenced. I won’t.

Check out this video on YouTube:

WTF Monday?

Yup, you read that right. Because I couldn’t think of anything wittier, WTF Monday it is. 

I already have my WTF Wednesdays post planned for this coming week, but I absolutely couldn’t wait for the following week to share a review with ya’ll. So, you get two WTF posts this week. Do you feel special? 

My boyfriend went out of town for the weekend, so I pulled out all the stops. I slept in the middle of the bed. I ordered in from all of the places he isn’t too keen on. I left my bra, gossip magazines, and girl products positively everywhere.

I also did a face mask. 

I don’t know why I felt the need to do this when he was gone (I mean, it could be that every time I do one, he acts like I’m a ghost and I’ve frightened him clean out of his shorts), but it just felt like a girl-on-her-own-for-the-weekend thing to do. 

So, I’m sure you’ve seen the videos and testimonials for the Shills black mask that’s supposed to be so magical that many don’t even recognize themselves after. 

No? 

You know. The one that’s supposed to pull off a layer of skin to reveal the real you underneath. 

Still no? 

The one that pulls out black heads, showing a close up view of the pretties, and it’s oddly satisfying to watch. It’s disgusting, but you instantly have to do it. 

Yup. That one. 

So, I’m totally not the type to jump on the bandwagon and buy every product that’s featured in videos that Facebook, so helpfully, pops into my feed. 

But, my direct deposit had just dropped and I was feeling like a baller. 


Source

This video:

Is the real reason I spent $15 whole dollars on a face mask. I want to know this woman. I want to be her best friend. Mostly, I wanted a mask that would remove my mustache!

Full disclosure: When I first saw this video, I was sitting on the toilet. I was full-on ugly-cry-laughing. My boyfriend knocked on the door to see if I was OK, as I’m sure I sounded like a dying seal. When I shared the video on Facebook, I mentioned this and my next door neighbor responded, “So, that’s what that noise was!” 

Dead. 

Gosh, I sure know how to do a preamble, don’t I? Let’s get to the actual review now. 

It took more than a week to get the mask (after ordering it on Amazon Prime), but lucky for me, I got it just in time for Girl Weekend. 

To prep, I washed my face with really warm water to open up my, already Grand Canyon-sized, pores. 

I used one of my makeup brushes, just like the pros, and applied the mask pretty thinly. Perhaps, this was because the tube is pretty dang small, and I could have easily used the whole thing on my giant face. That’d be a pretty expensive one-time-use mask, if you ask me. Also, there are zero instructions on how to apply it. 


Once it had dried completely, I was pretty giddy in anticipation of seeing all of my nasty black heads and bad choices being ripped out of my face. 

I started from the bottom, just like I’d seen countless times. It didn’t hurt at all. I was hoping all of my chin hairs would be pulled out, much like the rooting up of trees during deforestation. Nope. Those assholes stayed firmly rooted in place. 

As I started to pull my way up my cheek, it felt like it was pulling pretty good, but when I looked, there were maybe three black heads. Three.

I don’t even want to get started on my upper lip. I was so hopeful, yet it was so anticlimactic. While utterly disappointed, I was enlightened to what it surely feels like being that dude who can never seem to score, no matter how close he gets. Just disappointing. 

Also, IT DID NOT PULL OUT MY MUSTACHE. WTF. 

I guess you have to have one of those non-mustaches that are just baby hairs to qualify for hair removal.  

When I got to my nose, I got excited. Surely, there’s enough nastiness to be had there that I’ll have a major success. No such luck. It barely pulled up anything.  

At this point, I’m pretty damn mad. What a freaking waste of $15 that could have gotten me three days worth of Starbucks.

As I neared my eyes, they watered and snot promptly started rolling down my face – I finally felt the pain everyone goes on about. 

It was terrible. 

Excruciating.

I realized it was pulling out hairs-the baby ones that don’t count around my eyes. 

What.in.the.actual.eff.

So, now it decides to actually work. 

Watch me be the only one to grow full-on, thick, black hairs around my eyes now that I’ve messed with the baby hair that once peacefully, invisibly existed there. We all know what happens when you mess with those baby hairs

Also, it didn’t all come off in one nice, clean mask. I spent ages picking tiny pieces off until I just gave up. 

When I stepped back to take a look at the mess I had made of my face, it was pretty clear that I had failed at the black mask fad. 

I’m calling my face mask ‘stache the 360 Degree John Waters. 

Just wait and see, I will grow facial hair on my entire face*. I will either have to spend a fortune on hair removal or I’ll have to resort to joining the circus as the female version of Lionel the Lion-Faced Man. 

It maybe would have been worth it had more than three blackheads been removed. 

Next. 

*I edited and filtered the shit out of my face. You’re welcome. 

WTF Wednesdays #8

How in the crap have I been doing WTFWs for eight weeks already?! It feels like just yesterday that I chose to make my bitching a weekly, written thing (I had to distinguish written from spoken, because I vocalize my rants hourly).

Time flies when you’re being a bitch.

Today, my post is going to contain a lot of choice words. Brace yourself. Delicate flowers, you might want to go watch a cat video. 

Today is about the “Realization”. You know, when you finally realize you really can have too many cupcakes. 

Sometimes, it takes a lot. Sometimes, it takes getting into your car, in a pair of work pants that you haven’t worn in eons, and, as you squeeze into your seat, the button barely holding your pants closed, pops off and pings and ricochets off of every hard surface in your car, before it hits you in the eye, and finally, comes to rest in your fat crotch. 

Yes, this actually happened. Except, not to me (my Realization came in the form of a student being concerned about me falling on my belly, because, naturally, it’s got a baby growing in it. That’s why it looks the way it does. FML). It happened to my naturally thin, kick-boxing-obsessed boyfriend after we both gained our happy-to-not-be-in-the-dating-scene-anymore-weight. 

After he almost lost an eye to a Dockers Relaxed Comfort button, he thought about losing some weight. And, I shit you not, that’s all it took for him to go back to his Glory Days weight (watch for this to be a WTF Wednesdays rant. Men, the fuckers). 

Since I’m not a man, and my body hasn’t magically become a specimen of superhuman genetics, all of my cupcake eating has resulted in some added cushion. 

I’ve resorted to, again, getting on the Weight Watchers bandwagon. 

Years ago, I was super successful with WW, and lost damn near 50 pounds. I kept it off for close to four years doing the program off and on, and being somewhat resonable with food. 

Lately, all semblance of reason has gone out the window. Like, thrown out the window with my good arm. 

Thus, why I found myself on Saturday night, paying for three months of WW, while crying into a large Dairy Queen Reese’s Extreme Blizzard (just typing that, I’m fucking salivating and in heat). 

This first week I’m treating as a weaning period. Also, I just need some practice not eating everything in sight and I need fair warning for how much I’m going to be starving and dreaming of cake. 

The reason I loved Weight Watchers before was that I never felt truly deprived. Yes, my better-part-of-a-half-gallon-of-ice-cream-binges had to stop, but I still got to enjoy the occasional thimble-full of my favorite frozen treat. 

I’ve heard that “the fatties are in an uproar” over the new Weight Watchers points system, because it’s very restrictive. 

It’s only Tuesday, and I can confidently say, this Fatty is not happy. I’ll be positively starving on the new SmartPoints plan. It’s as restrictive as my no-longer-elastic bra strap. 

Here’s what sucks so far:

1. 12 tortilla chips are now five points, instead of three. Salsa and chips are now dead to me. 

2. TWO FUCKING TABLESPOONS of my favorite coconut cream creamer are three points. Now, I definitely can’t put my usual half cup into my English Breakfast. My mornings are ruined. 

3. This is SEVEN SHITTY POINTS:


These taste like fruit strudel. And, there’s frosting on top. But, these are no good to me anymore. I won’t be wasting seven whole points on a tiny fruit bar that I can down in two bites. R.I.P. 

4. The cream cheese chicken chili we are planning for dinner tomorrow will probably be 567 points, without the tortilla chips (I’m too scared to calculate it, so that’s just a rough estimate). 

5. And, this:


I.can’t.even. That’s practically half of the points I’m allowed in an entire day. 

I might as well just each dirt, or kale, they both taste the fucking same. 

Fuck.it.all. 

WTF Wednesdays #7: You Whore 

Ahh, blogging. Where do I even begin? I guess from the beginning. 

Way back, like seven years back, I started my first blog. It took a lot to get to the point where I finally hit “publish”. I sent writing samples off to my mom, who, obviously, said I was funny. I worried that she was biased, so she sent off my writing samples to colleagues and friends, never hinting at who I was. The response was incredibly positive and was the impetus to finally put myself out there for the world to read. 

Only, I had NO clue how to blog. Not one fucking iota. The only people who ever read my posts were close friends and family via Facebook and relentless “hints”. 

Not everyone and their halfwit brother had a blog then, so there weren’t articles all over social media about how to blog. I don’t think it was a “thing” then. I also think this was before the WordPress reader. Hashtags, Pinterest, and Twitter weren’t even in existence. It was the Blogging Stone Age. 

Pretty much no one outside of my small circle read my blog. 

What’s crazy is that I was OK with that. I was doing what I loved to do, and it didn’t really matter that I had to beg my ex to post supportive comments to make it look like I had a “following”. 

My second attempt at blogging has been a completely different experience. Completely. 

I’ll never forget the day I got my first “like” from a stranger via WordPress. 

What is this? Someone found my post? And, they read it? 

Wha??? 

From that point on, my following has steadily increased to numbers I never thought possible. 

I love being a “blogger”. Don’t get me wrong. My most favorite part of the blogging experience is connecting with people all over the world, from the United Kingdom to Kenya. That part is amazing and often the only reason I open my WordPress app. 

However, what I am finding to be a challenge is the ever-growing influence to whore myself out for followers, likes, shares, you name it. 

When I started Fatty McCupcakes, I promised myself that I wouldn’t get caught up in the inevitable obsession if all I focused on was how many likes I was getting. 

Don’t get me wrong, following your stats, managing your comments, and knowing what it takes to get your material in front of more readers is an important part of blogging.

But. 

After having an interesting conversation with my blogger bud, Charlotte, I discovered why all of the bullshit involved with blogging has been getting me down:

I’m first and foremost a writer

Blogging comes second to writing. Every.single.time. 

I’m not the kind of blogger who is solely in it for the potential money-making and free product opportunities. I’m definitely not one of those beauty/travel bloggers who seem to  always be jetting off to exotic locale after exotic locale, donning their free swag they got writing positive reviews. It’s just not my jam (I’m also not a ridiculously good-looking, independently wealthy, lucky bitch).

I have nothing against those kinds of bloggers. You do you, boo. If that’s your thing and you’re making money doing it, hell, maybe you’re smarter than I. 

However, some (as in, not all) of these bloggers don’t seem like “real” people. Even more, they don’t seem like writers. They seem to be computers that communicate (if at all) with their followers in a very sterile, impersonal way.  

How far can you fully engage in blogging until you’re a computer prostitute, begging for the opportunity to gain a follower, all just for the price of a risky blow job and a huge hit to your dignity? 

I don’t know about any of you, but there are some aspects of blogging that feel dirty to me. 


This leads me to the conundrum I’m in. Despite the fact that I don’t blog to actually blog, I do blog to gain more exposure. I want people to read what I write and to enjoy it and maybe, just maybe this will lead me to a paying gig at some point. 

I was recently introduced to Go Read, which is an online book club, but also a platform for authors to share their posts and articles. As an author, you have the opportunity to make money depending on clicks, shares and the like. I hear that many authors can make $250 plus a month. In order to get started, you pay a minimal fee of $25 and you have to buy a book and then you get to post. There are groups popping up that one can belong to where you share each other’s articles to up your payable shares. 

Maybe I’m being the dumbest, densest idiot on the block, but this just sounds like the not-good-kind of hustling and exactly the opposite of what I’m about as a writer. 

I’m not sure whether or not I’m ready to whore out my writing to boost my income. 

Tell me: Am I being stupid not taking advantage of an easy, albeit sleezy-feeling money-making opportunity? Do you ever feel like a blogging whore? Let me know in the comments. 

WTF Wednesday #5

Just me and my best friend (not a random dog I borrowed to snap a pic for Instagram).

As many of my followers know, I’m on the hunt for a house. I couldn’t have chosen the absolute worst time to do that, too. It’s a seller’s market in my area, and home prices are climbing to new heights. Homes that would have been right up my monetary alley are not even within reach. 

Probably you’re wondering, “Then, why are you choosing to buy right now, dumbass?”

Well, it’s simple. I’m sick and tired of paying someone else’s mortgage. I’m sick of having to share the communal laundry area in the basement that reeks of weed and stroganoff. I’m sick of forgetting to get quarters to do said laundry. I’m sick of not having a garden I can swear I’m going to use for planting an herb garden, but I’ll likely neglect. I’m sick of not having private outdoor space that I never use, but it’s there if I ever do decide to enjoy some fresh Reno cigarette air. Most of all, I’m sick of not having a dog.

I’ve had more people than is even reasonable who respond to that desire in a way that would insinuate that I’m not “ready” for that responsibility. Maybe they are just putting a really rude spin on the classic, “There, there. It’ll happen in time.” Either way, it pisses me the hell off. 

First, I’m 34-fucking-years-old. Sure, I can’t keep a house plant alive to save my life, but an animal is completely different.

Second, I could have gotten a dog like other irresponsible college kids do when I was young, living in a cramped apartment, and I sometimes couldn’t even afford to feed myself, but I didn’t. I didn’t because I knew that kind of lifestyle and my idiocy was not fair to any animal. 

Third, who are you, the Everything You Could Possibly Know About Dogs expert? Who says you’re the best dog mom/dad ever? I know you feed your dog expired hot dogs and clearance tinned cat food in secret. That organic dog food you made and posted on Instagram happened once. Three years ago. Sit down. 

Lastly, needing/wanting a dog in your life is almost as legit as the need to have a child. It’s all about the biological need for a woman to nurture something. 

Maybe it seems silly to you, but I was born with puppy ovaries. I yearn for a furry, milk-breathed baby. I need something to love and care for. Since I’m not planning on having human children, my desire for a puppy feels legit to me. 

Don’t belittle that desire, because it seems silly to you. 

Might I remind you again that I’m well into my adult years, I am responsible for 20 human lives on a daily basis, and I’m pretty damn dependable. 

Quit acting like I don’t know what kind of huge responsibility it is to have a dog. 

Just stop.

So, the search continues for a non-crack den house that’s crack-den-cheap so I can have a dog. Keep your eyes peeled for my next WTF Wednesday, which will likely be on the myriad options I have for housing (hint: I’m being sarcastic, and most of my options come on wheels).

Tell me: Has anyone made you feel like you were too inept for a dog, or even a houseplant? Let me know in the comments. 

My dog cousin, Pepper. She was cold. See? I know what to do.

WTF Wednesday #3

For this installment of WTFW, I’m coming at you with a rant. Brace yourselves, people. It’s gonna be a doozy.
I don’t even care how lame this rant makes me seem. So, I’ll just come out and say it: WTF is so hard about hitting “like”? 

Now, if you literally don’t like a post/page/status update, if you’re offended by it, if it displeases you, then, by all means, keep scrolling. 

But, what could possibly be offensive or displeasing about a Michael Scott meme? Or, a humorous and relatable tale of woe? Or, my EFFING FB BLOG PAGE? 

I have almost 400 Facebook friends. I have 180 some likes on my Fatty McCupcakes page and the majority of those likes are from the good people of WordPress. 

I just can’t even anymore. 

This is why I think it’s just plain salty to not have “liked” my blog page when you’re a personal friend of mine:

1. What happened to supporting your friends in their personal interests and ventures?

2. I’m not overly offensive. 99% of the time I’m making fun of myself, people.

3. Hitting “like” takes you, literally, a fucking nanosecond.

4. I rarely even post on my page, so you wouldn’t be inundated with crap daily. Only recently have I been actively publishing post updates.

5. Whether you like it or not, social media is how the majority of the world communicates. Thus, not liking my blog page after I’ve politely invited you is like ignoring me when I wave at you on the street. I think it’s rude. 

6. Don’t even try to lie and say you’re busy and it slipped your mind. I know you’re laying on your couch, binge watching Japanese panda videos on Facebook. Don’t even give me the “I’m busy and too important” speech. 

Now, I would understand if the majority of the topics I posted was on the furry fandom, or my blog was called The Freed Nipple and The Unleashed Vagina, but NOPE. And, nope. 

So, why the lack of support? 

Maybe if those 350 friends knew how much it would mean to me for them to take 20 seconds out of their life to show support in the form of pressing down on (while not even needing to look) a square millimeter space on their phone, while they watch Gilmore Girls reruns, it’d be different. 

But, I’m not about to act like I need the likes. 

It’s just the damn principle of the matter. 

Like Karl Pilkington, I have a lot of important things to say. You’re missing out when you don’t hit “like”.

On the same topic, has anyone else noticed that you are now able to see how many people saw your post on Facebook? 

I’m part of a mom group (don’t even ask how that came to be) and the moms post hilarious memes and real life experiences that always make my ovaries shrivel up on the spot (I have magical, regenerating ovaries). Many times, these harried moms, just looking for recognition, get a dismal five likes when 85 people viewed their post.

You already saw it. You viewed it. YOU LOOKED. 

You seriously can’t hit “like” and THEN be on your merry way?!

Why is this even bothering me? 

OMG. 

My eye is twitching and I can feel the blood pulsing in my temples. 

I think I’ll go now, before I have an aneurism. 

What annoys you about the world of social media and blogging? Rant away in the comments. I promise I won’t just glance at your comment, without responding, before I continue my über important creeping of random people’s Facebook pages. 

WTF Wednesday #2


Source
For this week’s installment of WTF Wednesday, it’s all about those dick diets that we all love so much (In no way am I insinuating that a particular body part is for lunch. I am using ‘dick’ like ‘jerk’. Got it?)

If you ever wondered why dieting sucks so much and it’s so damn hard (shit, I really shouldn’t have used the word ‘dick’, because now every other word has another meaning), it’s because diets taste freaking disgusting. 

For real. 

If I could, without guilt or consequence, continue eating marshmallow fluff and Nutella sandwiches for breakfast, till my dying day, I’d be a very happy, agreeable, and stress-free person.

But, because Heaven on Earth sandwiches make me fat and unhealthy, I get to eat unsweetened oatmeal and farty hard-boiled eggs for breakfast now. 

Yay. 

Along with finally trying to get my eating back on track, I’ve recently purchased organic colon cleanse pills and doTERRA Slim and Sassy. 

Because anything that’s quick and easy is my game. 

Let’s start with the colon cleanse. 

Never have these two words together ever sounded like a good time to me. Sure, it sounds like it’s maybe a good idea, because it’s supposed to rid you of the nasty sludge that gets built up in the intestines. But, the actual process of a colon cleanse? 

Just no.

When I bought these pills, I specifically asked if they’d make me poop my pants. I was assured it was a slow, not unpleasant process.

As much as I’d like to share some embarrassing story about how I was lied to and that I did actually crap my pants at school, it’s just not what happened. 

In fact, nothing has happened. Like, nothing. 

Maybe they are magic pills and they cleanse unknowingly, invisibly, magically. Or, I got scammed. 

I could have performed a more successful cleanse by eating from the shady roach coach that parks across from the strip club downtown. 

Next, let’s discuss Slim & Sassy by doTERRA. 

First, I have to make it clear that I am a hardcore fan of doTERRA essential oils. I know and love a couple consultants, and they are why I’m addicted to the amazing Past Tense for my headaches. So, I’m in no way dissing the company at all. 

But, Slim & Sassy is straight up “I’ll Just Stay Fat & Nasty”. 

This morning, I excitedly dropped a couple drops in my water, did a sniff test, and nervously took a tiny sip. 

I CAN’T EVEN EXPLAIN THE FLAVOR. 

It’s like your water has been tainted with grass-flavored peppermint grapefruit bark. 

And, now, my brand new “Boss Lady” metal water bottle will never be the same. 

Needless to say, S&S is not my jam.

Not only did it taste just incredibly odd, it mildly burned my lips and then left them numb.

In the middle of my light and sound read aloud, I started slurring my speech and drooling down my chin. 

As a teacher, this is just not a good look.

I don’t think I can stand trying Slim & Sassy again. My gag reflex is activating just thinking about it. Anyone want an almost-full bottle? 

In ending, I’m literally a walking billboard for the fact that almost all diet “tricks” do.not.work. 

The only thing that works is to stop pounding cake into your fat gob as if it were the end of days. 

This is why I struggle, because feeding Bertha* tastes a million times better than tainted water, sulfur eggs, and grass pills that just make my belch-y breath smell like fertilizer. 

#cakeme

*Bertha is my belly