Friends Shouldn’t Let Friends Beer Goggle

When I initially decided to tackle this subject, I had a specific story in mind. But something happened last night that I can’t NOT share with you. So today you get a 2-for-1 deal. First things first…

Last night, my friend Stacy and I went to a party. We were both long overdue for a girls’ night out. We knew many of the people there {it was a going away party for a friend}, but there were a few new faces, including two young, nice-looking guys.

At some point, Stacy struck up a conversation with them. They were both cute and somewhat flirtatious. We discovered that they were 19 years old. Oohhh dear.

As I mentioned, we’d had a few drinks and were feeling pretty good, not to mention looking pretty good. We had both dressed up, but everyone else at the party was in jeans. As the night wore on, we found ourselves hanging out more and more with “Chip” and “Chad.” Chip was shorter with a very cute face and always smiling. Chad was tall and goofy and funny, also with a very cute face.

Initially, Stacy had all of their attention, at least partly because… Well, to be honest, they were both admitted boob guys and Stacy’s got me beat in that department. Because they knew we were quite a bit older than they were, they kept saying we could teach them things. How very, very tempting… I jokingly said that Stacy should let Chad motorboat her since he’d likely never been near boobs that big before. She surprisingly obliged {much to Chad’s delight}. Chip whipped his phone out to capture this epic moment, which neither of them are likely to forget anytime soon. Stacy had applied body glitter to her cleavage, so when Chad finally emerged from his journey into her decollatage, his face was covered with the glitter. Possibly my favorite moment of the night.

But gradually, Chad decided I was his date. He kept standing behind me, wrapping his arms around me {did I mention that I LOVE when guys do that?}, and pulling me to him. I could feel his erection pressing against my ass. His hands mischievously kept wandering to my chest, but he announced that I had changed him to a butt man. Score one for the booty! They both kept asking if we could go to a hotel room.

Long story short, nothing happened with these young scamps, aside from some groping and lots of laughing. We were all just having a really good time. Not beer goggling in the traditional sense of the word, but definitely not something either of us would have done sober. Or, at least, I don’t think we would’ve.

I suppose I should mention that Stacy is married. No, she doesn’t run around on her husband, but she is occasionally flirtatious {no harm in that, right?}. On this particular night, she was not happy with hubby and was basically blowing off steam. Hey, it happens.

I also want to mention that Stacy told a bunch of people at the party that when she spreads her legs, diamonds pour out, the sun shines on it, and sometimes there’s a rainbow. Not because it has anything to do with this story, but because it was too awesome not to repeat. Love you, girl.

Now, back to my original tale. Shortly before my divorce was final {as in, less than a month} and a week before my 40th birthday, I went to a party with my friends. As with the Halloween party I mentioned previously, this was a couple of hours from home, so I didn’t know most of the people there.

I’m not usually terribly outgoing when I go to these parties. At that time, I was still pretty new to this whole scene and often just stayed close to my friends. At this party, however, I was in rare form. Maybe it was the giddiness of my divorce FINALLY being over soon, maybe it was because I was about to turn 40, or maybe it was just time for me to cut loose and enjoy myself. Whatever it was, I was ready to mingle.

I was telling random guys that they should buy me drinks since I wouldn’t get to see them on my birthday. Hilarious, since I wouldn’t have seen them anyway, but whatever. Needless to say, I received quite a few free drinks that night, including one from the DJ. I’m normally more of an occasional/social drinker. I might have three or four drinks over the course of the night, and I very, VERY rarely drink enough to get more than a buzz. But this night? I was feeling no pain.

At one point, I noticed a guy who {in my drunken mind} looked just like Cedric the Entertainer, whom I love. I started talking to him, not bothering to remember his real name when he said it, and kept calling him Cedric. He didn’t seem to mind. My friends finally decided it was time for us to leave, so I gave Cedric my number, made him promise to call me, and stumbled out.

A few days later, he called me. He seemed like a really nice guy, and he lived near where the party had been. He wanted to take me out for a belated birthday dinner, so we agreed to meet halfway a few weeks later. He had gotten a motel room {probably wishful thinking on his part}, but I had no intention of staying over.

I got to his room, expecting to walk in and find Cedric the Entertainer.

Yes, please!

Yes, please!

What I walked in and found was more like Fat Albert.



He was sitting on the side of the bed and didn’t even get up when I walked in. He was easily twice as big as my previously drunken mind had remembered. Now, I’m not opposed to dating a bigger guy. I’m truly not {I’ll get into that later}. But his boobs were bigger than mine {and I’m a double D}. That just ain’t sexy. We talked for a few minutes before leaving for dinner.

After dinner, we went for a walk in the park, and he was bragging the whole time about his expensive cars and his expensive jewelry, and I was tuning out more and more. I really can’t stand bragging. It’s so obnoxious. Honestly, if he’d had a better personality, I might have been able to overlook his size. But I’ve known guys like that before and it’s really a turnoff. We eventually said our goodbyes and I headed home.

My friends are usually pretty good about steering me away from poor judgements. But I admit, I’ve had a few lapses that I’m not proud of. It happens. But you live and you learn and you move on. Preferably with a guy who’s not young enough to be my son or a guy whose bra size puts mine to shame.

Next up: Weiner


Booty, Caboose, Apple Bottom, Badonkadonk

For most of my life, I’ve had a love-hate relationship with my butt. When I was little, my mom affectionately called me “Toots,” and somewhere in my baby book, there’s a comment about my dimpled little bottom and chubby legs.

In 2nd grade, I remember my teacher asking me to deliver a message to another teacher. I was in cutoff shorts because it was track & field day {I went to Catholic school, so any day without the uniform was a rare treat}, and I remember one of the kids from that class commenting later about how my butt stuck out as I stood waiting for the teacher’s response.

In 5th grade, a boy whom I had a crush on measured my rear end {unbeknownst to me} when I was leaning over, exclaiming at how many inches wide it was. Nah, that wasn’t embarrassing at all! Asshole.

I liked the fact that my butt was round, but it was always hard to find jeans that fit right because of my curvy hips. I bemoaned my ample backside many times over the years, trying desperately to keep everything covered and silently cursing my skinny sister, who never had trouble finding clothes that looked good on her.

So imagine my surprise to discover, after years of hiding, covering, grumbling, and groaning, that there are men out there who love a big butt. What the… WHAT??

In the year or so before my divorce, I became friends with some girls {sorry, but ‘women’ sounds like we had a quilting circle, and some of them sure ain’t ladies} who are part of a BBW group. I had never heard of such a thing, much to their amazement.

BBWs {Big Beautiful Women} have groups, fan pages, calendars, parties, admirers… How had I never heard of this? My parents had pretty much raised me to believe that bigger was absolutely NOT better, so in my mind, a BBW party was another way of saying, “Fat Girls on Parade.” I imagined heavyset girls awkwardly trying to have a good time at a party while skinny people pointed and laughed. As someone who was extremely bashful as a child {and even now has moments of shyness}, not to mention very self-conscious about my weight, this sounded like my worst nightmare. My new friends assured me that there are many men out there who not only like bigger girls, but PREFER them. I admit, I was skeptical.

After a few months of badgering, they finally convinced me to go to a Valentine’s Day dance. Dressing up for me back then pretty much involved some kind of semi-dressy top and black dress slacks. I didn’t own any heels, so I wore my black loafers, which had a very slight chunky heel. Sexy, huh?

I hadn’t been to any kind of social thing like that since college, and I completely froze. I spent almost the entire evening by the wall, occasionally talking to people if they came near me, but not knowing what to do with myself. My friends kept asking me to come out on the floor and dance, but I couldn’t. I was honestly frozen to my seat and couldn’t bring myself to do much of anything.

A few guys did notice me, especially one {that’s a story for another post}, but I was a total wallflower.

Despite my being a social failure that night, the party really opened my eyes to a whole new world — one where it’s ok to have a big butt and chubby legs. I learned that even though I’ve spent my whole life thinking of myself as fat, what I am is more often called ‘thick.’ There are girls bigger than me at these parties who love their bodies and have all the confidence in the world. If only I had met some of them years ago, but better late than never.

I still occasionally go to the parties, but the bar scene really isn’t my thing and I’m still not big on hitting that dance floor very often. I feel a little more confident {and sometimes, dare I say, sexy} when I dress up, and I’ve even started wearing skirts and dresses {something I hadn’t done since my now-teenage daughter was a toddler, and those were borderline muumuus… shudder}. I’m coming to terms with my curves and I’m becoming more and more comfortable in my own skin.

I’ve stopped hiding my ass under oversized shirts. No, I don’t dress trampy, but I’m owning who I am. Guess what? I have a big ass! And for the first time in my entire life, I’m ok with that. My daughter is built just like me, and because I’ve always made a point to reassure her that she’s perfect exactly the way she is, I don’t think she’s ever given a second thought to her butt {except one time several years ago when a little boy in day camp sang “Baby Got Back” to her. I laughed and told her to take it as a compliment.}.

The majority of guys I’ve met since my divorce have liked my curves and have shown me that you can absolutely be attractive and sexy, even if you’re not built like a swizzle stick. Thanks, guys.


Next up: The One Who Got Stella’s Groove Back