Author Archives: Kara

Blood On Your Hands?

  • You know, I don’t think I’ve ever encountered, in the history of the internet, a human being more stupid than you.  
  • I’m not sure why your mother didn’t originally abort you, much less why she hasn’t killed you yet.  I guess she’s just a coward like her daughter.  
  • why don’t you just do the world a favor and drink some bleach?
  • Everyone would be better off if you died.  Did you really think you’d be missed?  lol
  • I mean, look at you.  You can’t think you’re attractive.  Your skin is disgusting and that grill looks like something out of a horror movie.  
  • Maybe one day your boobs will catch up with your ass, but I doubt it.
  • What?  Are you going to cry?  Fag.
  • You’re nothing more than a trashcan.
  • Your eyebrows are so thick it makes me puke.
  • Just STOP making ugly selfies!  They hurt my eyes.
  • It’s so annoying how you think you’re hot.
  • You don’t even deserve to be noticed as a human being.
  • FUKK u
  • You’re SO annoying!
  • bitchhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
  • I hate you so much!  OMG!
  • Just shut up, you attention seeking whore!



Not one word written above  in BOLD  or below in italics is fictional.  All were copied and pasted from various accounts on a website where cyberbullying is prevalent.  (Note:  the bully and the suicide were not connected, but separate conversations on separate accounts.)

If you read my January blog, ‘How I Became The World’s Oldest One Direction Fan‘, you’re aware that this is an issue close to my heart.  As the mother of teen girls, I’ve learned in a very real and frightening way that this is not an imagined issue.

If you are a parent, allow me to encourage you today — RIGHT NOW — to find out what sites your kids frequent and JOIN IT.  Being dilligent sometimes requires an effort, but never has that effort been more worth it.

And, if you have ever taken your rage out on a faceless entity on the web, know that you may not have been the only one.  And, while you were potentially only blowing off steam, the other person — the REAL person on the receiving end may not know that, and may be inundated with messages just like the kind you wrote.


  • alone crying at home and taking pills, then drinking alcohol to join my best friend in the paradise…I’m almost at 12 pills. Love you Amelie. Love you everybody
  • There’s 2 pills left.. Even if I stop, I’m sure to die. I have taken 35 pills. Even without alcohol, I’ll be gone in few minutes, or hours whatever.
  • I feel it. I start to can’t move. The vodka is next to me. I just have to drink and sleep. Nothing more..
  • I’m alone. My parents left me. I got bullied. My best friend died. Some people kill themself for less than that…
  • I’m drinking.. I’m starting to drink. I’m sorry, but this isn’t a life, even the hell is better. Now I will stop writing, even without alcohol I can feel the death close to me.
  • you have no idea how much i hope it will work and nobody will found me to save me
  • i’m so close to the death.. i start to be cold and it becomes hard to write, my hands are leaving me slowly, and i’m falling in bed slowly too, i start to lose the control of my body and to see a light.. i let a letter on the table, when the neighbours will call the police (when they’ll start to smell a strange thing or don’t hear any noises ), this letter will go to my father. im about to die, and i’ve never been so happy to say goodbye.


The next time you decide to blow off some steam by taking your anger out on the computer, imagine your younger sister on the other end– taking what you have to say very seriously.

  • “I hate you.  Drink some bleach.  Your parents should just kill you.  You’re so ugly. All you do is take up space.  No one would miss you if you were gone. Are you still breathing?  Pity.”


Is there blood on your hands?


  • goodbye is my last word.





  1. if you or someone you know is contemplating (or who you suspect/shows signs of) suicide call the National Suicide Prevention Hotline at:  1-800-273-8255 or go to
  2. Social media and teens are a dangerous mix.  Educate yourself for the betterment of your child.

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,


Screen Shot 2014-03-12 at 1.57.12 PM

How I Became the World’s Oldest One Direction Fan

I am, and always have been that mom. You know her – the one who joins every social media site her daughter belongs to…the one who makes sure she gets to know every single friend her child has… not out of an attempt to smother her (although it could definitely be a side effect), but out of an attempt to protect her from the dangers that abound out there on the big, bad world wide web.

With that in mind, understand that for the most part, neither of my kids give me much to worry about – but I see a lot within the realm of monitoring their activities.  My youngest loves one of the most notorious websites on the internet:  Googling information about the site will lead you to one grizzly article after another about how teens use the anonymity the site offers to bully each other into suicides.

Since I am that mother, you have probably already figured out that I sit on refresh looking for the first glimmer of that kind of animosity to be directed against one of my kids.

But, young celebrities also frequent the site, including the five boys in One Direction.  My fifteen year old is beyond obsessed with those boys and she has cried more than one time if one of them “likes” a picture or answers one of her questions.  But, after contemplating what I would have done if had existed in 1988 when I was fifteen and Duran Duran had been on it, I grudgingly allowed her to stay on the site.

But this past weekend, the One Direction boys began to befriend some of their fans.  One has even been giving surprise phone calls to hopeful teens all over the world.  The fans who were singled out became targets for the rest of the community.  Names were called, mud was slung, and hearts were broken.  Jealousy is an ugly motivator.

The kids in One Direction know the golden rule - If you can't say something nice then....shhhh!

The kids in One Direction know the golden rule:
If you can’t say something nice then….shhhh!

My kid might argue with my logic, but I am SO THANKFUL those boys didn’t publicly acknowledge her.

So here’s where my newfound fandom comes in — I know, I know, it took a long time to get here:  After children began to express hurt, desires to cut themselves and death wishes, the young men of One Direction (with surprising maturity and compassion considering they’re just kids themselves) not only supported the kids who were being attacked — not only condemned that kind of behavior within the confines of their fandom — but created an account entitled @weallcare where fans and band members can try to offer a compassionate ear and support system to each other.

Screen Shot 2014-01-22 at 9.03.53 PM

At nineteen/twenty/whatever years old, I seriously doubt I’d have put that much thought into what I could do to help others.  But, when we see a society of Justin Biebers egging houses and drinking sizzurp (The Biebs was arrested for a DUI this morning, in case you didn’t know), it’s nice to know that there are still decent role models out there.  So, this mom’s a fan…tattoos and piercings be damned.

Screen Shot 2014-01-22 at 9.02.51 PM

Faith in humanity:  restored


One Direction’s Oldest Fan


  1. if you or someone you know is contemplating (or who you suspect/shows signs of) suicide call the National Suicide Prevention Hotline at:  1-800-273-8255 or go to
  2. Social media and teens are a dangerous mix.  Educate yourself for the betterment of your child.


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.)