Author Archives: Kara

Why I’m Not Thrilled With Women’s History Month

Before I begin this blog, please know that I’m already perfectly aware that I’m in the minority and that there are going to be plenty of people who think I’m an idiot.  Well, GUESS WHAT?!?!  I AM AN IDIOT!  But, I’m an idiot with an opinion and  a platform, so I’m going to use it.  As Flannery O’Connor once said, “I don’t deserve any credit for turning the other cheek as my tongue is always in it.”  So, fire away, ladies.  I can take it.

With that out of the way, I have to profess my aversion and mild condescension to the concept of Women’s History Month.  In fact, the entire concept kind of pisses me off.  I think that when Morgan Freeman was asked his opinions about Black History Month, he nailed why separating a certain group is wrong.

What he’s saying here is that all of us should celebrate all of us.  I don’t want a month set aside for women.  I want women AND men who impact the world in extraordinary ways to be celebrated.

Let’s put this a different way:

What I hate hearing people say:  Violence against women is wrong.
What I wish people said:  Violence against anyone is wrong.

What I hate hearing people say: Men shouldn’t rape women.
What I wish people said:  People shouldn’t rape people.

What I hate hearing people say:  Men should respect women.
What I wish people said: People should respect each other.

What I hate hearing people say:  I fight for women’s rights.
What I wish people said:  I fight for everybody’s rights.

What I hate hearing people say:  You really must hate women.
What I wish people said:  You really must hate logic.

What are we, as women, doing to forward this concept?  I’m pretty sure it’s not setting aside a single month to pat ourselves on the back.  Doesn’t that sound silly?

So, while I admire every woman who has helped shape, change, or impact the world in which we live, I really don’t think we’re honoring them by limiting the celebration of their contributions to the month of March.

NOT on behalf of the Team,


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Fatty Paradox 2: Breaking Through To The New Me

I had a dream last night…

…that God took a human form and came to Earth… He was in the form of a rather plump middle-aged woman… and He was in my pool, swimming with all my friends.  I was in the pool, too… but separated from everyone… kind of in a corner, by myself, uncomfortable and mopey.  Everyone was around God asking Him questions and everyone was laughing and reveling in His presence.  I held back… afraid… ashamed.  But I finally built up my nerve and swam over to where He was.  He saw me and looked at me with an expectant smile.  I asked Him, “How do I love myself?”He slipped his arm around me and I began to weep.  He said, “Say it to yourself a little louder every day.”There was more, but I don’t remember it.So for starters, it’s too hard to say that out loud today…so I’m just going to type it.I love myself.


I Am Catty About Fantasy Football

Football is a big deal in the South.  Anyone who has even driven through SEC country can attest to the fact.   As an Alabama girl transplanted to Georgia, nothing lets you know that the seasons are changing more than the Fall television roster and chatter about team rankings from …you know… everybody.

And, like I’ve done my entire life, every time football discussions arise, I respond in one of two ways, “Roll Tide, y’all!” or with complete silence.

The ‘Roll Tide’ comes from years of conditioning.  I was raised to believe that there was only one team in the great state of Alabama, and it was filled with elephants and bears wearing houndstooth hats.  I still watch the scores, but never the games.

The silence comes from not giving a crap.

Needless to say, an SEC-bred girl knows little of football and NOTHING of the NFL.  In my Dad’s world, and subsequently my own, there was Alabama vs. Georgia, Alabama vs. Arkansas, Alabama vs. LSU and the penultimate:  Alabama vs. Auburn.  And, unless Alabama moved into a national championship, that’s where football season ended.

So, you can imagine my surprise, when at the ripe, old age of 39, I joined a corporation filled with NFL fans.  I mean, I suppose it’s a reasonable expectation in Atlanta Falconland.  But, I didn’t even know Atlanta had a professional team until I moved to the area and the office began its annual fantasy football league discussions.

In.The.Dark.  I totally don’t get it.  Maybe it’s my gender, and maybe it’s my childhood, but I think fantasy football has got to be the dumbest invention since Dungeons and Dragons.

My co-workers even block time out of their day for the drafts — from the EVP to the the lower echelons of the group (like yours truly).  I use this free time to browse for memes which help me mock them.


And they play EVERY YEAR.  It’s like clockwork.  Office banter becomes boring, obsessive, and stupid.  I’ve purchased a new set of ear buds, and if I did nothing but set my Pandora to the Rick Astley channel, I’d still leave work in a better mood than if I’d tried to listen and comprehend the intricacies of playing imaginary sports.

This year, I’ve begun planning for the 2014 football season early.  My new goal will be to convince them that fantasy football has run its course.  It’s old.  It’s tired.  We need some new fantasy competitions — one I can play in, too.  But what kind of fantasy competitions could I win?  There’s no point in suggesting them, if I couldn’t roast them, you see.  (That’s catty.  I know.)

My ideas for fantasy games that don’t involve protective wear:

  • Fantasy Broadway Casting
  • Fantasy Figure Skating
  • Fantasy Smut Romance Novel Cover Art
  • Fantasy Internet Dating (redundant, I know)
  • Fantasy We Are the World II group
  • Fantasy Miss Mommy America
  • Fantasy Celebrity Rehab

I’m sure there are other fantasy-gameplay options.  We just need to find and implement them.  Input welcome — what fantasy games do you think we can get going to distract the rest of the football playing world from this practice?

Ultimately, of course, my fantasies only involve Colin Firth, who I obsess over regularly.  Is there such a thing as a Fantasy Colin Firth game?  I’d totes ace it.


Oh, yeah — and Roll Tide, y’all!

I Am A Fatty Paradox

I surround myself only with beautiful people, even though I am not beautiful.

I judge people who are lazy, lethargic, and large.  I am lazy, lethargic and large.

I’m a shallow, judgmental bitch.

I am the first person in my circle of friends to make a fat joke, even though I am fat.

When I say that I am a fat girl, I don’t mean that I’m one of those girls who looks at her shape in the mirror and cries because she can pinch an inch, or has a dimple in her thighs that wasn’t there ten years ago. Oh, no!  I’m truly and honestly fat — obese. I shop at the plus-sized stores, have stretch marks from my knees to my nipples, and have gone up in bra-sizes every year, even though those puppies “quit growing” in puberty.


I’d easily wager that I am 100 lbs or more overweight. I’m guessing, because scales were outlawed in my home before I turned thirty. I also don’t ever look below the neck when I’m checking myself in the mirror.

It’s weird, I know. But, in my head, I’m still 23, a C-cup, and a Size 8.


So, why is it that I hate in others what I am myself? Maybe it’s the same part of me that lives in a state of euphoric denial. And, after all, isn’t it human nature to hate those of us who manifest our deepest insecurities and fears?

The conundrum is that while I hate the quality in others, and while I imagine myself as the 23-year-old-me most of the time, I know that I’m not. I’ll be the first to admit to anyone that I’m grotesquely overweight. How can I imagine myself skinny and still admit my size to random people (and so publicly here)?

How can there be two parts of me that are so glaringly obvious and in conflict with each other? Is every female psyche equally complex? Or, am I unique in denying to myself, while embracing to others, my body, its size, flaws, and incongruities?

You’d think (and I’d agree) that my behavior should be the exact opposite — I should be aware of my size, understanding of weight problems in others, and less judgmental.  And, you’d be right.


Here’s where it gets weirder. While the part of me that still sees the 23 year old body is in complete and utter denial, the other part of me is incredibly aware of my size, its awkwardness, and how repulsive it must seem to everyone else. That part of me is probably the reason why I don’t look below my neck in the mirror.

How can a person love herself to the point of turning a blind eye to her own flaws, while hating herself to the point of being consumed with how repulsive she must appear to others?

Am I alone? I can’t be. The rest of me is too screwed up and there’s got to be something normal in here somewhere.  Of course, I know I can change myself.  That’s always been the key, hasn’t it?

But, when one is consumed with self-loathing, why would one take steps creating a better environment or body image?  It’s counter-productive to the vicious and hyper-critical identity I’ve nurtured from a young age.

So, the real question, I suppose, is not how to lose weight or stop judging others. No, the real question is how to learn to love oneself enough to stop the destructive cycle.  Hopefully this blog will become a journey of self-discovery.

And hopefully, I’ll turn from this:.


to this:


My Bridget Jones Life

Bridget Jones and I have a lot in common.  We’re catty, we’re sensitive and we confuse ourselves with the combination.

We’re a little clutzy.


With weight issues.


We curse just a little too much.


And say the most inappropriate things when we’re uncomfortable.


We’re both terribly mean gossips.


And we judge what people wear to parties, but are the first ones to screw up the dress code.


But, we always have good intentions.



and massive insecurities.


But, we always try to put on our big girl panties and move forward.


We are perpetual Singletons.


Who consistently find ourselves interested in the wrong type of boys.


And, our mothers would like to see us make just a little more effort to find a nice man.


But, when we finally -do- find a man, we become so ecstatic that we scare him away.


We’re both obsessed with Colin Firth.


And, we suck in the kitchen (or anywhere else Colin might want us to).


As a result, we don’t judge people by what they eat.


But, We have close friends who give us affirmation.


Who help us keep our priorities straight.


And are there when we need them with comfort and chocolate.


Thanks to them, we’ll probably never TRULY be Bridget Jones. (But I still wouldn’t mind my own Mr. Darcy.)


Simon Cowell: The Cattiest B*tch on Television

Reality television remains a popular source of entertainment for millions of Americans.  Yet, there are those who scorn it. I believe that Americans both love and hate reality shows for the same reason:  drama.  I love it — from Season 1, Episode 1 of The Real World, to the final season of Intervention; from Honey Boo-Boo to Big Brother.

I know it seems weird that on an anti-bitchy blog, I’m going to admit that I am hooked on reality television for the drama, but it would be hypocritical of me to deny it.  Reality television gives me much of the same drama as some people in my FB contacts —  friends I keep because I just love reading how they’ve slaughtered their  lives (and the English language) each week.

As an admitted Reality TV junkie, I feel that I should be accepted by the court as an expert witness when I state that Simon Cowell exhibits qualities that allow me to argue that he may be the Cattiest Bitch on Television.


Seriously, Kara?  you respond.  Have you not seen the Real Housewives of Anywhere in the World yet?

I know, I know!  But, they’re spoiled, rich women.  You expect it!  Simon is just a nasty little bitch!  Think about it.  From Britain’s Got Talent to American Idol to the X-Factor, he’s got something hateful to say.  Constructive criticism is a concept Mr. Cowell simply can’t grasp.  Doubt me?  Look at this.

AND he slept with his best friend’s significant other!!!  Who does that?  Catty bitches do.  That’s who.  And Hester Prynne.  And Brangelina.  But, I digress.

Image shared from

Shared from Getty Images and

And now that he’s knocked her up and she’s dealing with the fall-out from the media and her husband, Simon the Honorable pulls out (which he should have probably done TO BEGIN WITH):,,20724960,00.html

Simon Cowell Won’t See Lauren Silverman ‘Until Things Calm Down’:
Source People Magazine (click the picture to view the article on

And if those aren’t enough, he has an ego the size of this pimple I over-squeezed before work this morning.


But, in reality — I’ve never seen another human manage sporting a buzz-cut and a butt-cut at the same time.

To be fair, I found one other television celebrity to match his personality, charm, and looks.


So there’s my nomination.  If you can think of even one human being more deserving of the title, I’d love to hear it.  Who do you think is the cattiest in Hollywood?

Good Gossip

Usually when you hear the phrase ‘good gossip,’ you gear yourself up for truly scandalous information. And let’s face it, as humans, we all listen a bit more closely when that happens. No one wants to be the last to find out breaking news. (If that statement were false, I wouldn’t have to run spyware every other day from my maniacal refreshes of TMZ and Perez Hilton’s websites.)

When friends of mine use the phrase, I usually respond with, “oooh! oooh! Tell me! Tell me everything!” And I scoot to the edge of my chair, more alert than I’ve been in months, and with the focused attention my preacher wishes he saw in my eyes every Sunday.

I’m admitting it here. My name is Kara, and I listen to gossip too much.


But, is it ever okay to gossip? Is it ever okay to share gossip? You may roll your eyes at my response considering my recent and moderately public admission that I enjoy hearing gossip, but I will argue that there are times when it is okay.

Example: I have a friend who experienced an incredibly messy divorce. When I asked mutual friends if they’d heard anything, it was not because I hoped to hear something juicy (I swear!). No, I asked because I genuinely cared (and still do) about her, her then-husband, and their children. When I asked, it was in the hopes that there was nothing scandalous to report.

When such situations occur, and the news is bad, it’s received with grief, worry, and an unclear idea of how to reach out and let that person know that you a.) know, and b.) want to help. If I share this kind of information, it’s for the same reason. Because the people who are in this person’s life, and who care about him or her, need to know what’s going on — how to help — what needs might exist.

Now, I will admit and acknowledge that there are people who might not have cared about my friend or her family, and who took the same information and reveled in it, rubbed their hands with glee and tried to think who to call first. It was the same information, but different recipients of the data. Here, the exact same gossip became malicious.

So, I’m thinking that healthy gossip is differentiated from malicious gossip by the intent of the gossiper. What motivates our gossip? When (if ever) is it justified in your eyes? When does information that should be shared evolve from news to something seedier?

It’s a question I don’t have an answer to. But if you figure it out, give me a shout. I’ll fix us both some coffee, and lean over the fence post to hear what you have to say.