humour

It’s a no from me…

~ somethinginthewayshemoves

I am attempting to have a rest day, but my head is doing the anxious ‘doing nothing is not ok’ thing. So, in attempt to both rest my body and ease my mind I thought I’d do one of silly little blog rants. Come along if you fancy a vent.

Pores

Oh I know they have job a to do, but why do they need to be so troublesome? They always want to be making an appearance when I want them hidden. Constantly busying themselves with getting clogged. Try to take care of your skin with spf or a nice deep moisturiser and they will suck it up & make a big blemish. I just want soft smooth skin. Why must my pores always try to ruin it?

Horror Movies

They’re all about ghost or too disturbing to watch. Where are all the good old fashioned crazy killer films? Or even a well made creepy monster would do. Maybe I am just old, but it feels like the only scary movies I enjoy are from the 90’s. Is this how it starts? One day pop culture is annoying me and then next I’m saying ‘in my day’ to kids on the bus? Oh god, I hope not.

Stills from 90’s horror films

Fat Phobia

I’m always complaining about this. However, this week I’m pissed off about a particular kind of fat phobia. If you’ve seen that Tik Tok clip of Bethenny Frankel saying she hates plus sizes, you might get what I’m on about. She’s not saying she hates that brands are making xl, xxl and so on. What disturbs her is what they’re named. Why can’t we name them something nicer, she posits while entirely missing the point. The issue isn’t that fat people clothes come in extra, extra large; the problem is the that people still shy away from those terms. Large isn’t bad. Super large isn’t bad. No one is suggesting we find a cuter name for XS. Continuing in the belief that accepting fat people are fat is hurtful is not ‘body positive’. It’s just entrenching the stigma. Our bodies are bigger and that is ok. Everyone can see that I’m fat whether my label says 2xl or ‘bad bitch’. I will face the same stigma & barriers regardless. The point is, the size on your clothes doesn’t matter. It gives no information about a person other than the circumference of body parts. You’re not a fat ally of you don’t understand that.

Instagram Men

Not all of them obviously. Just the ones who think is it Tinder. Every day I get messages from men I do not know who think I exist for them to chat up. Or worse send repulsive, grammatically incorrect filth to. I honestly do not understand why they think it is ok. Nor why they think any woman is going to respond positively. There are sites designed for that shit. If you want to meet someone to date, download a dating app. The folk on there are interested in getting to know strangers. If you want to exchange explicit messages there are sites for that too. Having an Instagram account is not an invitation for any random man to crawl into my dm’s. If I don’t know you, leave me alone!

Man on a busy street holding a sign that Instagram is not a dating app

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She’s a very kinky girl…

~ somethinginthewayshemoves

Every now and then I come across a phrase or slogan that perfectly encapsulates an element of my daily experience. Whenever I do I kind of want to wear it emblazoned on my chest. So, this time I did.

Fat women wearing t shirt saying my kink is being called fat by men I reject online

T – Shirt – Custom slogan by Paper Press Ireland.

The reaction to this T- Shirt sums up how common this behaviour is. Several woman enthusiastically complimented it. More men gave me looks. The only man to comment advised me that I was attractive, but I would intimidate men by wearing such a thing. I laughed as I told him I wasn’t looking for man & would never be interested in one who felt intimidated by honesty. I suppose it underlines what I already knew, masculinity is oh so fragile.

In case the meaning is lost, I’ll spell it out. I’m fat. I’m also fucking incredible. I was fat when you sleazed on me. I was fat when I turned you down. I was fat when you tried to insult me & I’m still fat when I mock you. I’m not ashamed. I’m not desperate. I’m not waiting for your approval. Oh & I’m not alone. Fat femmes are not seeking random male approval. We know our worth. We want none of your sub standard attention. In short, don’t poke the magnificent bear.

Ly making silly face

Time to say goodbye…

~ somethinginthewayshemoves ~ 4 Comments

This week I said goodbye to my Uncle Gerry. He died before his time, but faced death with courage & humour. He lived his life with warmth & generosity; never forgetting a birthday & always offering whatever he could of himself to his loved ones & community. The packed chapel at his funeral reflected how much he was appreciated.

In his honour I wanted to pause to share the beauty I am still lucky enough experience. So often I (we) get bogged down by the stresses & strains of daily life that I forget how lovely the world can be. Sometimes it takes a loss to remind us what we still have.

Fireworks, swans, GlasgowSunset paws

Blue sky, Glasgow, lilies

In the spirit of his giving nature I also wanted to share some organisations doing incredible work. I hope you will support them if you can.

Crookston Community Group aims to develop a sense of community whilst helping those in need. The fund a number of services ranging from a food bank to children’s activities and community cohesion workshops.

Street League works with unemployed youth using sport as means to provide training & gain skills needed to find employment. They have fabulous success rates in getting young people into work. They focus on areas of high youth unemployment.

Peek want to increase the opportunities for children to reach their potential. They offer free play and creative learning services that allow children to thrive. They remove barriers by offering support & education for both parents & children.

Chin Chin, Uncle Gerry. You will be greatly missed.

Penis Envy…

~ somethinginthewayshemoves ~ 4 Comments
Continuing with my plan to share some writing from archives I give you this. Something tongue in cheek & a little bit dirty that I wrote many years ago. Have a happy weekend. 
This is perhaps a little crude, but I refuse to believe I am the only person to ever feel this way. Others must have the same longing.

There comes a point in a break up when you know you are going to be ok. You suddenly realise, I can get over this amazing man. It will take time, but I know I’ll get there.
I’m just not sure that I can get over his dick. It’s wonderful; really, truly gorgeous. It is everything I want from a dick.
Big.
Oh, I know, size isn’t supposed to be important, but I like a big dick. Not insanely big, just big enough to cause a little gasp when you first see it.
Perfectly proportioned.
Smooth.
Inviting.
Fuck it, just nice. You get the picture.
I miss it. Of course I miss him, the man attached is more important, but I believe I can move on.
He might not have been the right man, but he certainly has the right penis. I may never meet another one like it. It did all the right things. We’re always being advised to invest in quality. Be it materials, ingredients or equipment. Surely this advice stands for cock. Let’s face it, sex was unlikely to go wrong with that in his pants.
I am sad that I probably won’t ever see it’s full glory again. I feel I should be allowed one last goodbye. Or perhaps, visitation.
Can you get penis access?
Dick alimony?
I realise this may seem shallow, but it brought joy to my life. That cock made me feel great. It hardly seems fair that I should be heart broken and deprived of my favourite pleasure source. I’m really quite upset about this. Some other woman might end up with my dick.
I wonder if I should raise my concerns with him (the man, I don’t talk to the penis) or just hire a lawyer? I could set a precedent.