Fatass | Heir to Blair

Tall Girl Problems

13 Mar posted by heirtoblair

I could write an entire blog called “Tall Girl Problems.” I bet there’s already a blog out there about it, but I’m too lazy to check.

That goes under the blog “Lazy Girl Problems.”

bathroom3 Tall Girl Problems

That’s Morgan in one of the thousands of bathrooms at the Opryland Hotel in Nashville. She’s not paying attention to me because a) she’s known me for 3 years & expects weird behavior or b) she’s also a blogger & understands weird behavior.

Huge bathroom, right? Plenty o’ stalls but I still had beef with them. See, Morgan is a short gal by tall girl standards & her head hits the top of the stall door. This was my view:

Nope, I’m not standing on my toes.

It created an awkward moment or five after I used the facilities & had to scoot my shapewear back up over my rear. & by “scoot,” I mean wiggled back & forth in a chicken dance until I was out of breath & my underwear was shoved up my ass, but my shapewear was on & up under my boobs so I just called it a success. A panting, sweaty success.

That everyone got to witness as the top of my head bobbed around over the door & I looked like a drunk fish on the line.

Trout, anyone?

HeirtoBlair500x150 v41 Tall Girl Problems

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Filed Under: All about BA, BA is effing crazy, BA's a nerd, blog conferences, FAIL, Fatass, I have real-life friends, Life in General, Random, Who's body is this?

Don’t worry, it’s not all sad-sad-unemployed-sad-sad-dramz around here.

24 Jan posted by heirtoblair

So today, I hit up the dentist because HELLO, insurance runs out in one week & I’m making all the popular pit stops. Dentist, eye doctor, birth control, & of course, the psychiatrist who desperately needs me to bitch on her couch for an hour. I dropped Harrison off with his auntie for two hours while I got my teeth scrubbed (he had been asking for her & considering she was a daily fixture in his life for two years, he needs some Auntie time). Then we hit up the craft store because a) it’s time to get my Pinterest on & b) The Momma’s birthday is coming up & I’m on a budget.

Let me just say that I can stand in a board room or jet across the country, but I turn into a complete wuss once I step through Michaels. All those women with glue stick burns on their fingers, willing to cut a bitch over the last vial of Martha Stewart glitter? THEY TERRIFY ME. Same thing with fabric stores. Also, the strangest thing happens that once I hit the first aisle, I completely forget what I was there for. Confidence takes a crash & burn so I stand there in the aisles, completely overwhelmed by the choices in felt.

In short:
Before Michaels: BIG SPARKLY INSPIRATIONAL UNICORNS OF HAPPINESS!

After Michaels: I WILL NEVER ACHIEVE ANYTHING GOOD IN MY LIFE.

yeah.

I’m standing in line with Harry in the push cart & a matronly lady turns to me.

“Is your mother’s name Karen?” she asks.

“No,” I say politely.

“You look like my friend Karen, so I figured you must be her daughter,” she explains. I shrug. Raleigh is a pretty decent-sized city.

“With two children, I figured you had to be her,” she persists.

Is this lady drunk? I only have one child in the seat & I’m pretty sure the firstborn’s that were traded for Christmas Cricuts weren’t eligible for the 40% off coupon. Like I said, I’m on a budget so if it’s not on sale, it’s not in my cart.

“You know,” she says. ”With your boy & the one on the way.”

oh.

shit.

Awkward silence abounds.

Does this lady not know Rules of Feminism #253: Don’t ask a woman if she’s pregnant unless the fetus is 75% down the birth canal with a hand waving?

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Filed Under: All about BA, BA is effing crazy, FAIL, Fatass, Life in General, Sorta Staying Home, Stupid People, Suzie Homemaker

Yeah, I’m not pregnant.

28 Jul posted by heirtoblair

dress1 Yeah, Im not pregnant. Not even a little bit.

Which is why a part of me died inside today when a lady walked up to me at a work luncheon, rubbed my tummy & said, “Oh, you’re…!!” Mortified & beat red, I said, “Oh, no!! No, of course not!”

I expected her to pull back & shrink away in defeat.

Until she said, “No? Really??”

THEN A HOLE IN THE FLOOR OPENED UP & SWALLOWED ME.

(oh, wait. that didn’t happen. i just wish it had.)

Except I DO look knocked up today. Frickin’ 1950′s style dresses with twirl skirts. I quit you.

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Filed Under: All about BA, FAIL, Fatass, Stupid People, Who's body is this?

Mom jeans & the Paint Stylings of Blair.

9 Sep posted by heirtoblair

I need to talk to y’all about the post-baby pseudo-FUPA.

This is serious. Stop laughing.

If you’ve had a baby, you know what I’m talking about. If you’ve had a baby & don’t know what a FUPA is, Google it & then you’ll know what I’m talking about. (I’m terrified of the spam & creepy followers I would receive if I explained what a FUPA is in great detail on here.) In short, it is this:

IMG 0019 1024x768 Mom jeans & the Paint Stylings of Blair.

That delightful pudge of baby fat/skin LOW below your belly button that will not go away. & yes, I WENT THERE – that’s my bare after-baby belly at 10 months postpartum.

You know, the reason “mom jeans” were created.

PEOPLE. There is a reason that mom jeans exist.

It’s because THEY ARE AWESOME.

I was all, “I’m NEVER going to wear mom jeans” & swore off anything that came within two inches of my belly button starting at the tender age of 15. Britney Spears, I’m looking at you to thank blame for years of my ass crack hanging out. I celebrated the day that I finally fit back into my pre-baby jeans, twirling around in their hip-hugging glory, trying to convince myself that they looked just like they used to.

This. Is. A. Lie.

I may be under my pre-pregnancy weight & those jeans may technically fit & zipper, but the flap of fat & skin draping over the button is totally new.

Which gives me three options:

Option One: Pre-FUPA hip-baring ho jeans. Let the jeans button & zipper underneath your pudge, allowing it to drape gracefully over the zipper. Please note that jutting hip fat is inevitable. If you brave these, rock a flowing shirt. Please.

Option Two: Afraid to commit to mom jeans. You tried. You really, really tried & swallowed the pride you felt ten years ago to purchase a pair of jeans that creep slowly upward to the belly. But darlings…all this gets you is a spare tire & a Walmart belly when the button saws your gut in half & creates two pooches – one above & one under. Also? This hurts. I know from experience.

Option Three: Mom jeans. Look how slim! Look how glorious! All unnecessary residual pouches of fat are contained into one streamline look!

When I first fit into my (fake! gasp!) Sevens, they totally did Option One. Until I hiked them up, gave myself a camel-toe wedgie & somehow managed to pinch my organs in half with the belt band without causing internal bleeding for two hours. A MIRACLE.

Then I gave up. I accepted my reality & gave in to the dreaded mom jeans.

& you know, they’re really not that terrible. A little more spandex, a little higher rise & honestly, I can breathe.

FUPA contained. Mission accomplished.

Hi, I’m Blair. I’m 27 & I am a proud sporter of mom jeans.

edited to add:

My favorite mom jeans? Mirclebody jeans. I wear a size 14 in the Samantha bootleg style. I had no idea these even existed until I snagged a free pair as swag at Blogher & immediately became a convert.

Also, Miraclebody has no idea that I’m writing this post. They have no idea who I am, unless they remember the freakishly tall girl that tried on five pairs of jeans to find the right size & fit.

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Filed Under: Adult Club, BA's a nerd, Fatass, Life in General, Never Have I Ever, Oversharing Extraordinaire, Stuff I Love, Things I didn't understand until I birthed a child, Who's body is this?

I’m getting all sniffly & sentimental.

2 Aug posted by heirtoblair

Because y’all? This day has the full-on recipe to suck.

Nate threw out his back. Which meant we had to carpool in, even though our days of carpooling were supposed to end today. I spilled something oily on my dress, which makes it look like I dripped water, except it’s totally dry. & since we carpooled & Nate took the Subaru, I had to borrow my sister’s car, which is so old that it was used when I drove it over 10 years ago. It smells like the moon roof hasn’t been closed in 3 years. Because it hasn’t. Which is all fine & dandy, except it didn’t start. So I was running late. Also? I got a call reminding me that I have a dentist appointment tomorrow.

I know my life doesn’t suck. But I could have really used more of this today:

portcity Im getting all sniffly & sentimental.

Except I don’t have a car today. Which means I have no hope of getting more coffee or taking my shoes to the shoe-repairman-who-probably-has-a-more-glorified-title-than-shoe-repairman.

Anyway. Back to my life kinda sucking except not really sucking at all because if a dirty dress is the worst of my problems, then girlfriend, I HAVE GOT IT MADE.

I was full prepared & braced for today’s McFatty. Fully prepared for somebody to be an asshole. Because even though yes, I’m putting it out there & yes, I ask for whatever comes my way as a blogger, I think I’ve developed a low-lying form of PTSD when it comes to asshole commentors. & I was terrified what someone would have to say about the fact that I gained, I lost, I gained more, I slowly lost, but not really & here I am frustrated.

& then, of course, I would be forced to seriously contemplate buying out the Twix in the vending machine because in my post-adolescent angst I will swear that I SHALL NEVER BE SKINNY AGAIN a la Scarlet O’Hara, & then do another 10 giveaways in a span of 24 hours just to annoy everyone on the planet, & then my head would explode.

& it never came. Instead, I had very sweet comments. Encouragement. Nutrisystem putting me in touch with their dietary folk (::fistbump::). About how I could do this, I’m an inspiration, I’ve come so far.

Y’all, I apologize. I underestimated how AMAZINGLY AWESOME you are. I promise, I’ll never do it again.

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Filed Under: FAIL, Fatass, McFatty Monday