because none of us is fucking up like we think we are, is what i'm trying to say

Thursday, 25 April 2013

I'm Fat (and still get laid)



I’ve written an eBook, and it’s called I’m Fat (and still get laid), and it just went live. If you want to buy it, you can. Just click here.

Spoiler: I totally just wrote and re-wrote those sentences eleventy million times. This simultaneously feels like absolutely no-big-deal-whatever-I-don’t-even-give-a-shit, and HOLY FUCK.

Either/or there’s a lot of profanity happening in my imagination about it all. I know- shock you, right?

Remember that time I met with Penguin about My Heart Beats Only For You (and a few dozen other people) and afterwards I was all, yeah- so I think I’m just gonna publish all the things myself, to which everyone in the world was a bit, yeah but you’re just saying that, aren’t you?

Well welcome to the house of fun, where I’m going balls to the wall in seeing what goes down if I do just that. Over the course of this year I’ll be launching four mini eBooks based on the themes of this here blog: vagina, a surprising foray into spiritualism and being brave. Also: food. I’ve gotta have a Fat Bitch book.

I’m Fat (and still get laid) is a short collection of what I talk about with my girlfriends like, all the time. From relationships to work stuff, from how to take over the world to biological clocks and getting laid, these five mini-essays are my declaration of womanhood as per what I dissect and examine in excruciating detail when I’m down the pub. That’s how I get my kicks- asking the why about everything Girl in the history of the world, whilst simultaneously eyeing up the barman.

Chapters include:

- on really wanting kids but a husband not so much: “Look, all cards on the table, right now nobody is actually offering to marry me, or to raise a child with me. So it’s a bit of a non-question, the do you want to get married, don’t you think your child should have a father figure? thing. Like asking if I’d like pancakes for breakfast when we’ve got no flour in.”

- on having casual sex without being a nob about it: “Sex is basically my hobby. Some people have crafting, others five-a-side, but I have sex. I do it because a) it’s proper well fun, and b) because Ann Summers don’t sell a product with ten fingers.”

- on being chubby and unashamedly body confident: “As a woman who has conducted a very scientific research project into the inner psyche of sexually active blokes (i.e. has shagged around a bit) I say, with the sort of confidence normally reserved for Adele when she’s telling Karl Lagerfeld to do one, that no man has ever seen me in a thong and then changed his mind about putting his willy inside of me.”

- on utilising vaginas to change the world: “We have a responsibility. We have a responsibility to every vagina in Uganda that’s had her clitoris lobbed off in the name of tradition. For every vagina in China that gets left on a roadside to die as a baby because she isn’t a boy. To every vagina in India that gets raped with an iron rod for riding the bus after dusk, to every hijab-wearing vagina in Saudi Arabia that is forbidden to drive a car, and every vagina in the world that has ever experienced being told no because she isn’t male.”

- on being the boss of me: “It’s hard to articulate this kind of talk without sounding hippy-dippy and wholly na├»ve, but as my late twenties and I get better acquainted I’m trying really hard to find the lesson and move on. Carrying upset and hurt is like lugging around a suitcase of blue cheese: pretty soon it makes everything stink.”

It all sounds pretty good to me, but I’m probably biased on account of the fact that I really like the cover.

The scariest thing about this self-publishing caper, aside from suddenly needing to say things like “caper”, is asking for help. I’m typically not very good at it, on account of mostly being on a one-woman crusade to prove the patriarchy that I’m fine, thanks. I DON’T NEED ANYONE FOR ANYTHING EVER. But then, that’s not true. The whole reason I write is because I hope that by sharing my stories others will share theirs too, and so I ask you this:

Tweet me. Facebook me. Email me. TALK TO ME. And, if you like what you read, share it. Tweet and Facebook and email the mates who might also enjoy it, so that we can all be buddies who talk about their feelings together.

Not that I want to gate-crash your Friend Party or anything... except for the fact that I totally do.

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