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Sunday, July 14, 2013

The Guide to the Fat Woman Blog OR How You're in the Know

I've been blogging for a few years now.  My blogs usually have some sort of theme, although I go off track frequently.  (Off track, on a tangent, going south, you name it.)  Some people might not be willing to go back and read old blogs.  (Although you'd be missing some very good ones.  My particular favorite is The Stupidest Man Ever, but there's a few others that I'm fond of.  The Mystery of the Funky Green Poop stands out.  Super Deodorant Power et al is a particularly powerful commentary on why Fat Woman shouldn't be allowed in any supermarket.  But hey you can decide for yourselves.)

It therefore occurs to me that newer readers might not know all the individuals/subjects/rants that I commonly attack, er, molest, er, discuss.  Here they are, in no particular order.
Okay, this isn't a picture of me.
I've never actually owned a fur
bikini.
1.  Writer, moi.  If any of you all don't know that I'm a honest to gosh writer, then you should rush out and buy all of my books.  (Seriously, right now.  Mommy needs a new retaining wall for her deck which may or may not be falling down at any moment.)  Occasionally I will talk about reviews but I'm not supposed to read them.  For example, reading "Her Throbbing Question" on Amazon which is about one of my paranormal romances is always good for a giggle.  See that here.  Feel free to comment.  I do use the blog to make announcements about my writing, usually when something new comes out.
Still not me, but in the eighties I used to have big,
poofy hair and used sparkly purple hair gel.  I wish
I had a picture of that, but Easter egg woman
will have to suffice.  Savor the pastel moment.
Savor it, I said.  (I suspect you're not really
savoring it, but I'll let it go.)
2.  I like to rant.  (I LOVE TO RANT.)  I believe blogging is a way of letting everything out.  (Therapeutic blogging = good for you.  Well, good for me.)  Occasionally I'm forced to come back and delete the blog.  (I've done that three or four times.)  I usually have the husbandly one, also known as HIM, look over my shoulder and make sure I'm not crossing a line.  This is especially good because I've been known to rant about HIM on more than one occasion.  My favorite subjects of rantery as follows (and I make up words.)  a. home improvement contractors, b. doctors, c. dentists, d. poor customer service, e. HIM, the man to whom I'm married, f. my daughter's moron cat, who really is a moron, g. crappy neighbors, h. weird things that happen to me in stores, malls, and just about anywhere I'm happening to be shopping.  (The song from The Sound of Music just popped into my head.  "These are a few of my favorite things...")

Okay, it's not really me, but
on certain days, it could be me.
HIM once compared me to Bigfoot
and I've NEVER let him forget it,
thus I feel compelled to throw it
in here.  As I've said before, gentlemen,
never, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever
and ever more, compare your
significant other to a Bigfoot.
(Just telling ya.  It's the safest
thing to do.)
3.  HIM, the one whom I'm pledged not to reveal his name, although I've probably done it anyway.  I think there was an initial agreement that I wouldn't use his name and HIM started to be the substitute.  But anyone who reads the blog, or Facebook, or my books, knows it because it's plastered all over it.
Still isn't me.  It's HIM in a rare
moment where he's communing
with beer and a balloon under
his t-shirt.  No, that beer
doesn't make your butt look big.
HIM is a frequent target of my blogs because he is also Pain-in-the-Ass Man, whose most powerful superpower is the ability to piss me off in three words or less.  (Sometimes he goes for the gusto and does it in fifteen words or less.  See Pain in the Ass Man Rides Again.)
Yeah, not me again.  But it could be me.  I think I look
like this first thing in the morning.
4.  My daughter.  She's nine now and her name is Cressy.  So far she doesn't mind if she's in the blog.  That'll probably change in the next few years.  ("MOTHER!  How could you?  How could you?  I'm running away to Bolivia with a biker named Shishkabob.")  (Now I want to name a character Shishkabob.)
Isn't that just the cutest thing ever?
A French fried walrus
or possibly
a French fried vampire.
It was McDonalds.  Anything
goes there.  Have I blogged about
McDonalds before?  I was once
banned from a McDonalds
in Manassas, VA.
(It was totally worth it.)
She also tells me stories that I occasionally illustrate like The Attack of Alligator Girl and the Zombie Kids, which if you don't read, you're really missing out.  That was followed by The Return of Alligator Girl, which for a sequel was pretty darn good.  Occasionally she tells me something messed up like her rationalization for the formation of the universe.  Or my personal favorite of how mountains are really formed.  (Giant space mosquitoes came down and stung the earth.  Pretty cool, huh?)  I don't like to pick on her much because I'm afraid she'll grow up, read all the old blogs, and decides she hates me.  (Funny how that doesn't matter with HIM, doctors, or contractors, huh?)
This is a computer drawing from Cressy and also not me.
Here she puts her artistic spin on the moron cat.
She really doesn't think he's a moron, but she
knows that I think he's stupid.  She thinks
I'm going to hurt his feelings if I keep it up.
So shhh.
5.  Also I blog about my in-laws, although I'm not supposed to.  (Sorry Mom.  It's like an obsession.)  I throw my sister under the bus upon occasion.  (I can't help it.)  My sister has a cat named Mellow who has starred in more than one of my blogs.  In fact, Mellow's due for a comeback.
One of my favorite pictures of Mellow.
(Mellow is a cat of goodly size who doesn't seem to like anyone.  I tried to bribe her with food but it didn't work.  Also she sounds like the Cat of the Baskervilles when she meows.  I'm not sure how to write that.  Try to imagine a hound baying on a swampy moor, except with a meow.)

So thusly you get the idea and most of you will be caught up and in the know.
Yes, this is me.  In a cave hiding behind
the stalactites.
Come back next week.  Same bat time, same bat channel.  (Or possibly a few days either way.)

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