Who is this crazy bitch?

My photo
Pennsylvania, United States
My name is Laura. I'm 26-years-old. I love cats and books and Asian ball-jointed dolls. I'm a nerd and I'm happily married to an equally nerdy husband. I'm 5'5" and weigh about 235/40. I have brown hair, bullshit brown eyes, and freckles. I also got a big ass, thick thighs, tubby fingers and toes, flabby arms, a round belly full of good food, and chipmunk cheeks that haven't gone away since I was 5. I will be buried with them, I am sure.

Friday, November 5, 2010

Price check on reality, please.

(The OP is aware that lame title is lame.)

Perhaps if I had some nifty crafty side to me that I'd be willing to expose to the internet I'd have something with merit here.

Alas, I don't. Mostly what I made are small top hats and Martha Stewart-esque decour for our home.

Lately I've been dabbing into jewelry for my dolls. They're... pretty middle school looking. *laughs* But it's better than forking over fifteen bucks for some beads on a string. Seriously, people, stop over-pricing yourself.

That's one thing I just don't get. If the string costs you fifty cents for a spool and the beads are a buck a bag and it takes you maybe half an hour to complete the thing, why do you charge so much!? I understand when it comes to the pieces of jewelry where it's crazy with wire, the person used really expensive beads, and it took them two hours to put it together. That, I can respect.

But then on the other hand I understand that in order to make money that you gotta raise the bar slightly.

For instance; my friend and I run our little Etsy and we make little hats. *link in title* The particular hat is called Flowers Are Me, and I'm very proud of it. I think it's worth twenty dollars 'cause of the materials and time put into it.

Now if I had whipped up a hat with a simple ribbon and a big jewel? Fifteen, and even then I'd feel squeamish about it.

I've seen people put up hats a lot more plain than that and charge twice as much. (Oh, let's say, Hot Topic The HT site doesn't have the little top hats online, but they have A pretty sweet Kingdom Hearts blanket. WANT.)

And I just searched through Etsy and it gave me the chills... I mean... You're not even gonna bend the computer parts and make it special? And I can still see your glue! And those feathers, are... Ugh. >___<;;


We're just gonna get past that...

...Where was I? Oh yes. I'm hungry. I haven't had dinner yet. BLEH. But yeah, y'know, twenty's a good fair price. I mean, we do put in a lot of effort. We make sure to, y'know, NOT LET OUR HOT GLUE RESIDUE SHOW. We use spiffy ribbons and put in lots of gears, which can get expensive, and we make sure the hat actually fits. And if it doesn't, then we will change it for you!!

Ugh, why does this feel more like I'm pimping myself out...?

With that said, how 'bout I pimp out some others? :D

A Case of Random makes beautiful jewelry~

Ryaven makes the most adorably quirky crochet dolls! Want!

Monstro Designs has a LOT of cute stuff, especially bunny had for your BJDs!! I bought two for my SD and my MSD~

Simply Willow had GORGEOUS Steampunk jewelry~


Thursday, September 23, 2010

Eeeeeeh, lazy... D:

As I look across the kitchen, I see my calico/tabby mix. She's my inspiration~ Her name was Mama, but when I adopted her I didn't know that. My sister and I strove to find a right name for her.

At the time, she was incredibly heavy. I mean, when the man I got her from pulled her out of this tiny container, I didn't even know how he fit her all in!

My sister, ever loving, wanted to call her Fatso. I was appalled at the name as it was so derogative sounding. I wanted to call her Pumpkin 'cause of the orange bits.

We finally settled on a name that I felt is adorable but at the same time fitting for her.

Tubby Pumpkin.

She has various nicknames (TubTubs, Tubbychibchubs, etc...) and it got me thinking. She's a pretty round individual, and so am I. If she's a Tubby kitty, then I'm her Tubby owner.

And right after I thought that, I felt a piece of my self esteem settle into a zen-like place. Yes, tubby is a bad word, it just describes who I am. Like how skinny people give themselves high-fives for their weight. Well, damnit, so can I!

Though as of late I've been feeling insanely unmotivated. I just sit in front of the computer and browse the internet for hours. It's just like how I was when I lived with my parents. I could honestly spend 10+ hours daily online.

(Yes, writing this blog is also being lazy, but shush you.)

I haven't walked a lot either. D: This must change before winter settles in. 'Cause I think it'd be only SLIGHTLY hard to walk on ice for exercise. *shudders*

Alright! After I'm done writing this, y'know what I'm gonna do? The laundry! Then get dressed and go do shit! Maybe make a dress for my dolls. I don't know! I don't care! But I vow to do something!


Thursday, September 2, 2010

I is now a wife!

So I constantly get the question "What's married life like?".

Now, if this were 1950, the question might have some weight (dur hur, see whut I did thar. Weight journal, weight? OH HO I'm clever.). We certainly wouldn't have lived together for two years before getting married. And we most definitely wouldn't be bangin' each other's brains out on an almost daily basis (Honeymoon phase? HAH!). We also wouldn't have had the arguements we've had and gotten all of that awkward stuff out of the way, 'cause we'd be squared away in our respective family's house (complete with our very own Leave it to Beaver neighbor. Boy howdy!), only seeing each other either at school, the Sadie Hawkins Dance, or the occasional date where we'd drive up to Lover's Lane and he'd get to feel my fat rolls.

Whoo, memories!

Oooh, now, if this were 1980, it'd be kinda different. People would pop that question at me and I could reply snarkily "It's the same when your brother married your mother!". Then me and Mike could laugh at them and turn to walk off to go to some snazzy club where I'd managed not to trip in my spikey heels and Mike'll get to show off his awesome MC Hammer pants.

Yeah, that's the life!

Hm. I wonder how important that question'll be in the future? In 2020, when people ask me that question, how would I reply? Perhaps people would've started to live together for decades before marrying? So then when they turn fifty and decide "Eh, might as well for some good tax cuts", it won't be such a big deal. I mean, sure, we can get ourselves RoboStegosaurus to officiate the wedding, but after the light saber duel and the epic cake that's two stories tall? And don't forget the tradition of having old-washed-out actors from Star Wars or Star Trek come to the wedding to rip the heart out of a chimpanzee, then implant the heart into a new cyborg monkey. Then the monkey becomes your little pet and you can take him for walks all over. But just make sure he doesn't fling his cyborg shit at the kids, that'd be mean. Yeah, after all of those festivities, married life would be the same as those decades of living together.


I want a RoboStegosaurus now.

So yeah. I like to smile to the people and reply "It's the same... just happier.". Which it is~ I have a pretty ring on my finger now, and Mike has an amazing ring on his that I'd be lying if I said I wasn't jealous. It's silver and it's made out of some kind of metal that is so tough, it's second to diamonds. Mike has told me what it is (other than pretty)! Tungsten Carbide. Spiffy!

Like, my ring is beautiful. It's thin, gold, and has a small row of tiny diamonds on it. It's to compliment the gorgeous engagement ring Mike got me (I love this ring more than anything in the world, dolls and cats included.). But part of me looks at his ring and thinks "Oooooh, it's so cool and silver and big and heavy and you can't even break it!! Spiffy!".

Ah well. Ce'le vie. ... Cie la vie? Say lah vee? ... *googles* HUH. C'est la vie. Never would've guessed there'd be a 'st' in it.

So yeah. Married life is the same but happier. And let me tell you... The woman has it rough if she decides to change her name. It's taken me three days and a shit ton of calling and driving to finally get it finalized. I'm actually about to head off to the local social security place to get my soc card changed and THEN to the DMV to get a new licsense. *throws up the horns* Yeah, complications, here we come! This will be my second attempt at this due to the DMV in Penn Hills being incompetent.

"DUR HUR. There's about fifty people here. Let's only have ONE person take care of them while two jokers over at the camera counter mill around and the other FOUR people here walk around with clipboards doing NOTHING constructive what-so-ever! Yeah, go us!"

Yeah, not so fun. Tickets done in the one hour I was there? Ten. TEN. And I still had FORTY more tickets before mine would've been called. Kthnx but no.

And now I'm off to play me some Tales of Vesperia before I go with my friend to wait s'more. More on this game later, as I'm still on the fence about it.

(Also? LOVE YOU BLOGGER. The post I just spent 45 minutes typing wouldn't post and when I hit 'back', the white box was blank. I was ready to kill things when I saw that a draft was saved. Blogger, you have saved lives today.)

Wednesday, July 21, 2010

So I have a few peculiarities... is that a word?

HAH! It is! :D Didn't even know that.

As with any warm-blooded person on this planet, I have a few things I'm peculiar about. The lesser ones aren't a big problem. Such as if I kiss my fiance's left cheek I have to kiss the right cheek.

I have to stretch in a certain way or it'll drive me nuts.

If I rub my hands with lotion I have to really get in between the fingers at least ten or more times in a certain pattern.

Certain areas on my back, when rubbed, force my body into a weird episode of shivers/convultions.

See, small things. The bigger ones are the more irrational ones. Such as when I refuse to eat red spaghetti sauce becaue it reminds me of the monsters I killed while playing Doom 64 when I was younger.

I hate reheating ground meat beause it looks like cooked brain matter. Though I'm getting better by starting out slow. Today, reheated hamburgers. In the future, Meatloaf, my Arch Nemesis!

There's lots. But the one that amuses/irriates my fiance the most is because of that scene from The Cell. Y'know the one, where a creepy dude takes out what's-his-face's intestines through a hole in his stomach? Yeah, that scene? Creeped me out to the point where I do NOT let anyone NEAR my belly button for fear that their hands will somehow sprout giant drills and make a hole to rip out my insides.

I'm not even kidding. When Mike (that's his name) (okay, yeah, that was probably a "duh" moment) first tried to touch me there, I flipped. Shrieking and hitting of the hands were immediatley had, followed by a growl and a threat of "If you EVER touch me there again I'll... I'll... I'll do something to you!"

Okay, perhaps it's less of an irritation and more amusement for him. Because he keeps doing it. And it really gets on my nerves 'cause I'm seriously afraid! I used to try and overcome this insane perculiarity by slowly touching the inside part of my belly button (gross) or just resting Mike's hand on top of it.

Nope. Not workin'.

Within seconds of having his hand on top of my belly, I can feel that cold pointy point of the drill and immediately have to shove his hand away lest it burrows deep into my tubby flesh.

Yeah, I'm a special girl. :D

Though now that I think about it, there is my one peculiarity that really bugs him. And unfortunately I can't really do anything about it 'cause, well... Here, backstory.

So when I was younger, and unfortunately much like other girls, there was an "incident" with a boy. Granted, mine was a LOT less severe than others. Which makes me feel more like a wuss because of my aversion to certain kinds of movies/tv shows/entertainment things.

See, I have an insane amount of hypersensitivity when it comes to sexual violence of women in entertainment (to the point where I can't even type or say the r-word as you can see here). Most of the time it doesn't interfere with anything, but there are a few points when it does.

Such as when friends come over and we rock out to Rock Band. I refuse to sing the one song (which I've forgotten the name and have scoured the playlist for and now can't find, UGH) because you bellow out for at least 15 seconds the r-word. Yeaaaaah, that's kinda awkward.

Or when a new movie comes out that looks insanely interesting, but because it has scenes depicting the violence I can't watch it. Such as Clockwork Orange or Push, two movies with terrific reviews and highly regarded as good movies to watch that I simply can't bear to see. It's also bothersome when someone talks about a movie and I have to ask if it has sexual violence towards women in it. Then they ususally give me a weird look. >_<

Or when Mike and I are laying in bed and watching Star Trek. Well, the title Violations should've been a tip-off for me. Nope, Captain Oblivious right here. When Deanna Troi begins to remember scenes with Riker and he becomes forceful with her sexually, yeaaaaah... The night went down like this!

"Okay, we're done!" I immediately chirped, lurching too quickly close the laptop lid and buried myself in the blankets and pillows. Mike sighed audibly and we spent the next ten minutes in silence.

We finally talked about it and a long discussion ensured (of which I won't bore you of the details and I can't bring myself to share that much intimacy on the internet anyway. But our sex lives? I'll totally toot the horn about. *dur hur, "toot the horn"*).

So, you'd think I'd be hypersenitive to all kinds, right? Wrong.

During my teen years, I fell in love with online role playing. I'd create characters and people with like-minds would get on a chat system and we'd play together, being our respective characters. In my very early teens I surrounded myself with girls (and probably some boys, but it's the internet, you can never tell) who fell into a particular group- violent gay love between boys/men.

I thrived in this community and spent most, if not all, of my nights surrounded by males kissing, love-making, and, occasionally, raping each other. *headdesks* See, there's the word! I can say it when it comes to men, but with women? I stutter and feel a tightness in my chest.

It's terrible and I feel insanely guilty of it. I've become hypersensitive to women in violent sexual situations, but am desensitized when it comes to men. I know full well it was my way of coping with what happened to me (and to my sister). By hurting the gender that had hurt me, I was "getting back at them".

(I don't want to say heal, 'cause obviously I still have issues.)

What bothers me slightly is that my fiance doesn't quite understand. I mean, I'm not proud of myself. And if I found out a man was raped in real life, I feel terrible! Perhaps not as strongly adverse to it if it were a woman, but I don't go "Oh well, he deserved it". No one deserves that, I don't care what gender you are.

I've tried several times to take my hypersensitivity down a notch or two, but both times were dismal failures. Plus, a voice in the back of my head's going "WHY do you want to expose yourself to this?". I feel sick when I even catch a glimpse of it on the TV 'n at, so what makes me think I can endure it for more than two seconds?

Still not too sure on what I should do. On one hand, why would I want to be desensitized? On the other, I strive for equality in every portion of my life. Shouldn't that also apply to this?

Ugh! D: For once I have no clue how to wrap up a post other than to say I'm full of conflict.

Wednesday, July 14, 2010

I love my walking route~

Thus far I've been pretty okay with walking every night. Why night? 'Cause there's no sunrays pounding down on me and making me feel ten times heavier than I am. Walking in the horrible heat of summer? Not so much fun for a tubby girl.

Night time provides no sunlight, gentle breezes, and, most importantly, no traffic (of cars or humans).

While being a social-kinda gal (I live for parties in our house), I really prefer to walk on my own. No talking means I'm not gasping for air. I also tend to day dream and I've found walking is a fantastic way of fantasizing about a multitude of subjects.

-My fiance's ass
-My various characters and their respective novels that will never get written down I will write someday
-The home my fiance and I will own this time next year
-My goals (short term or long term)
-My sex life
-My career
-Worrying about my best buddy and the direction of his life
-Past friendships that have ended

And those're the tip of the iceburg! So walking alone at night (with a cell phone in case any creeps are around) is ideal for someone like me.

Unfortunately, my neighbor thinks otherwise.

I came home one night to find her outside. She's incredibly friendly and has an adorable dog. I really like her, as she's pretty much one of two social neighbors we have on our small block of townhouses. So we get along splendidly.

"I see you walkin'!" she greets me when I came home this particular night.

"Yep!" I reply. "I'm trying to keep in shape."

"Man, I see you walkin' and I just think 'It ain't right to walk alone, you need a walkin' buddy'!" she laughs. I laugh too, but inside I cringe.

Nooooo! I wanna walk alone! is one of the things I want to say, but I just smile and laugh. We end up talking for about an hour. And let me tell you. My big mouth moves fast and can talk about a variety of subjects from my cats to my dolls. But when it comes to like-mouthed people? I tend to shut up and let them do the talking.

'Cause it's just SO much fun!

Like, seriously. There isn't any sarcasm in that sentence. My neighbor talked about her job, her ex-husband, her brother, her sons, and her dog in this hour conversation. It was fantastic! I love hearing about other people's lives 'n at. It's just so interesting to me, 'cause it's like "Man, I wonder what my life would be like if it was like hers...", y'know?

So anyway, we had that talk about three days ago. *cough* And I kinda haven't been walking until tonight 'cause I've been kind of dreading if she was home and she'd go walking with me.

But I couldn't keep putting off walking. So I sucked it up and called her to let her know I was about to walk.

Ring, ring, ring, VOICE MAIL! Whoot!

And so I ventured forth alone with my thoughts, yes! My walking route is awesome~

It takes me twenty minutes all together. I work various muscles because it's not just flat surface (though I wouldn't mind that every once and a while). I start my walk going up a short 30-degree hill that curves to the left. The it slopes downward very lightly before flattening out. It's only flat for a few hundred feet before it goes to a gentle slope uphill, then a sharper degree.

At the top of the hill, I have two options;

1) Keep straight and go down a sloping curve before trekking up a steep hill to the original top of the hill.


2) Go left and down the steep hill then take the gentle slope upwards to the original spot.

My usual route is the former. I find it's a great workout and I can feel my muslces working. If I'm feeling really tired that day or if I'm just not up to it, then I take the latter of the two. Either way, it's a great walk and I'm in love with it.

I'm debating whether I want to buy a scale or not. After all, this is all about me trying to get in shape and continue to BE my lovely shape, not loose weight. But without any kind of device to assist in keeping track of all of this, how am I to measure my success?

I do know that when I'm walking, my knees and ankles feel a lot better and I don't hurt as much. My breathing is easier and my emotional state is optomistic and happy times. So at least I can measure that much.

So here's to hoping I get to continue this alone and if I do get company it's only rarely.

PS- I keep my cell phone in hand the entire time I'm walking. The second I feel someone following me or if I'm noticing the same car passing me more than twice, I'm dialing 911, paranoia be damned.

Tuesday, July 6, 2010

Stop revolting! D:

Throughout my life, I've been at war with my body. Sometimes I love it, sometimes I hate it. I'm finally at a stage where I love my body and the perks to it. I have five thus far;

1) I have lots of squishy bits so when I fall or hit into something it protects the bones more.

2) Because of my big-ass ass, I get more room when in smaller places 'cause people think tubby girls have horrible fat-cooties.

3) I can eat whatever the hell I want and not have to worry about the calories 'n at.

4) My face has a really pretty shape which I'm sure is molded from the fat. Also, chipmunk cheeks = more cute freckles!

5) My legs tend to be stronger than most 'cause it's been carrying around a lot more weight and as long as I wear the proper footwear, my knees aren't bad (though my knees are another story, thanks to physical peer abuse from the assholes in middle/high school! <3 Thanks fuckers!).

And apart from my tubby body, there are a few other things I love about myself. My hair is one of them, but the most important one was my lack of acne.

That was the ONE thing I had on all of those jerks in middle/high school! While they were making fun of me and pushing me around, I could look at their faces, marred from those disgusting little potholes filled with teenaged angst and pus, and be able to (kind of) shrug off their words of hate.

Haha! I'd think, At least my face doesn't look like a war zone, pizza boy!

This has carried on even into my late teens/early twenties. At least, until now.

Is it because I'm walking on a daily basis now, body?! Is it 'cause I haven't had pop in over a month?! I THOUGHT YOU LIKED PEACHES?!?!

Like a thirteen-year-old boy who is horrified into believing that his zits are the result of thinking about girls and their tiny bumps, parts of my face are breaking out into horrible white-headed dots.

(Oooh, I know. A post about pimples on a tubby girl is JUST what you need to read about at 12 am. Welcome!)

I'm beginning to wonder if perhaps this healthy lifestyle is what's causing it? Perhaps I'm a strange minority where chocolate and pop prevent zits rather than assist their growth? Though, wait, didn't they do a study saying that there was not relation?

Eh, kinda? It seems a majority says "no, chocolate isn't the cause." and some say "maaaaybe..."

Though the one about the very angry older lady reminds me very much about my brother. My brother used to get pimples quite a bit from eating candy and drinking pop. One day he decided to slim down on the snacks 'n at.

A day later? NO acne what-so-ever. His face completely cleared up.

And about a year or so later, he drank a single glass of orange pop. And guess what happened?

Yep. Two big ass fuckers RIGHT there on his nose. We laughed at him (us sisters are so supportive~) and he swore off pop forever. Now he drinks that green tea shit. BLEH, give me my glass of water (or frappucino) and I'm set.

BTW, my fiance is a genius~ He decided to start saving his leftover coffee in the fridge and now we get homemade lattes. LOVE HIM. Though now we're out of sugar a lot earlier than usual. *eh heh...* What can I say? My soul was born in the South.

So until I figure out what is causing my zits, I'll just keep drowning in Sea Breeze and wash my face with my fiance's Pro-Active. Surely they'll start working!

(Though now that I think about it, I'm getting married in little over a month from now... That POSSIBLY can't be the cause for my sudden case of acne, can it? ... Ffffuuuuuuuuuuuuu... )

Friday, July 2, 2010

Ugh, for fuck's sake...

Backspace key, I hate you.

I had a nice, thoughful, kinda humorous (okay, yeah, not really) post ready to send out to the world, and you fuck it up.

I shan't ever forgive you. Now if only I can quit you.

Good thing backspace key can't interfere with my real life. Er, wait, maybe it should be able to. My mistakes are many. From time management to friendships, there ain't a thing in my life that I haven't screwed up at least once.

For instance! Finances! I live with my fiance and, bless his wonderfully sexy heart, he takes on the rent for our home. I still cover two of the bills, do groceries every now and then, and pay my own financial problems.

Such as student loans. I'm almost done though! Less than two thousand to go. Thank you community college for being soooo cheap! I <3 you. It's actually the entire reason why he's shouldering this burden. It was his idea, too.

But it's just come to my attention (via a good friend) that I've been taking advantage of that. Suuuure, I could've put fifty dollars towards the loans, but no! I simply had to have one of those tupperware-type parties in my house. Or the time before when I had to go craft shopping when I already HAD crafts at home. Or the anime box set that was on a really good sale (including with my employee discount; All four box sets of The Melancholy of Haruhi Suzumiya anime for under $150? DONE!).

So along with this new pledge to exercise more and eat healthier (though these peaches ain't tastin' good at all. BLEH), I'm gonna make sure I cut down on the "nessessary" expenses.

Now don't get me wrong. I'm not the type to go out and buy dresss and frivilous items like an espresso maker. Crafting is kind of my little side business. And I love having friends over to our house. But I shouldn't have any of those until 1) My crafting business is able to pay for itself and 2) I'M FINISHED PAYING OFF MY LOAN AND FUCKING OVER MY FIANCE.
(It also helped that he sternly talked to me after the part. So now everytime I'm tempted, his voice rings in my head "DON'T DO IT, YA BITCH")

So to make up for those many months, I'm gonna do my gosh-darned bestest to ensure that he'll be a little less stressed and more pleased~ Starting with the kitchen and movin' aaaaaaall the way into the bedroom.

Hm, I think I have a topic for my next post now; How Fat Chicks ROCK the bedroom and their men/women. Both literally and sexily.

Tubby signing off~

Wednesday, June 30, 2010

C'mon, Tubby, here we go!

I am a woman.
I am healthy.
I am (kinda) strong.
I am a collector.
I am in love.
I am loved.
I am sexy.
I am happy.
I am an artist.
I am beautiful.

I am fat. Chunky. Big-boned. Heavyset. Plump. Fleshy. "Obese".

I say "obese" with quotes because I do not truly believe in that word. It's nothing more than a scare-tatic used by the diet industry to get fat women/men to give them money so that these people are socially acceptable.

Because you can only be happy/sexy/loved/beautiful/whatever if you are thin. You can't go out on fun dates unless you're a size 10 or below. You will be stared at when you eat in the public if you have a double chin. You won't find a husband/wife with those thick legs. You aren't healthy because you don't look healthy.

I feel that society as a whole has used "obese" to train its women and men into thinking that they can only exist as thin people. We allow the diet industry to tell us that we're obese. Only with their diet plan, their exercise videos, and their special food (and your money), you'll be accepted into society as a normal person, to be loved and to have a life again!

Guess what society?

I don't give a damn about you anymore.

I'm finally happy with who I am. It's been a helluva roller coaster and I'm no where near the end, but at least I'm on track.

I want to prove something not only to myself, but perhaps to others. To send a message saying "Listen up! I will NOT put up with your bullying anymore!"

I want to prove that you can be fat and fit. I want to take back the hate in the word fat and make it a lovable word once more. I want to show that you can be successful and happy, loved and sexy, confident and beautiful and be a size 18.

My name is Laura. In August, I'll be married and will turn 25. I am 5'5" and weigh around 235/40 lbs.

From this point forward, I'm going to eat more fruits and less bread. I am going to try to walk at least ten or more minutes per day.

I'm not too sure what'll happen. Will I tear down all of the emotional support I have finally built up within myself? Will I prove that I can be healthy and fat? Will I loose weight and (hopefully not) be under 200 lbs?

I guess there's only one way to find out...

Alrighty Tubby Woman! We've set our goals, now let's go! <3