New Release for Summer 2015! The Bluebirds: Nest Wreck

New book release!

The Bluebirds: Nest Wreck is the first book in my new three part series, The Bluebirds.

final final cover part 1

Blair Loxley dreams of breaking free from her well-planned life and blazing a path that is all her own. But first she has to break the news to her parents that she’s about to ditch the Loxley Family Master Plan.

Odessa Worthington has spent a lifetime traveling the globe while actively avoiding her hometown, her despicable father, and a certain young lady named Blair Loxley. When circumstances beyond her control threaten to reunite her with that unholy trinity, she has some difficult decisions to make.

Get it today for only 0.99!

Kindle logo           nook logo         smsh

The Bluebirds: Going South will be released on July 31, 2015.

Pre-order today on Amazon!

Fat Girl Hustle Update! Dang, I’m behind on this!

loserWell, the show is officially off the road. Scale Back Alabama ended today and -surprise, surprise- I didn’t win anything. Not even a consolation prize and I damn sure could’ve used one of those. Actually, from what I understand, the selection process for the prizes was a series of random drawings for which I didn’t qualify anyway because I forgot to go weigh-in before the deadline because I was too busy trying to take my kid to Legoland that week because he was on Spring Break. Excuses, excuses, oh how many do I have? Ha!

Now, if I had dropped about 25 pounds, I probably would’ve remembered to run by the gym before I left for Legoland, you know what I mean? But maybe I wouldn’t have. Maybe I would’ve forgot either way. Plus, I haven’t ever won a drawing of any kind at any point during my whole damn life so I guess it doesn’t even matter because I didn’t lose 25 pounds anyway. I know, I know, surprise, surprise again, right? Because I am SO great at staying on track and being consistent and not getting pissed off and calling Domino’s and reaching my goals. Wait, I am good at two of those things I just mentioned. Shit, what am I even talking about?

Okay, but I do have some good news. Maybe even great news because I did manage to LOSE FIVE WHOLE POUNDSfive during that whole Scale Back Alabama business. Yee haw, suckers! I’m excited because that is such a wonderfully great improvement over losing the same flippin’ two pounds over and over and over going on 26 million times. I’ll say it again: Yee haw! I lost five pounds doing The Fat Girl Hustle.

And I’m really pleased with myself because I actually did it right –which was probably why it finally damn worked a little bit. And, as bad as doing it right hurt my feelings (and trust me, my feelings were in pain), I said NO to cookies, doughnuts, sweet tea, pizza, beer, and tater chips. I did that for two whole weeks which is nothing short of a world wide best ever accomplishment for this Fat Girl. The best part is that I lived! I lived! I lived although there were times when I was surly thought I would die because I do not like doing without!

rexI did drink a LOT of wine to help me though that two weeks -speaking of which, have y’all tried Rex Goliath Free Range Red? I have no idea what the free range has to anything, but that Rex Goliath Red is the business. Their Chardonnay has a sticker on it that says it won 50 gold medals so I gave that one a go, too. The end result was that I got drunk as a bicycle and passed out on the couch so if I had a gold sticker, I would certainly give it to Rex Goliath Chardonnay so it could have 51 gold medals. Okay, what was I talking about again?

The Fat Girl Hustle! That’s right! In addition to torturing myself by eating healthy, I started running. Like really running. I have my husband (who lost 20 pounds in Scale Back Alabama) to thank for that motivation because we had a conversation that went something like this:

Me: Oh God! This is awful! I’m miserable! I’m such a fucking loser! I’m never going to lose any weight!

Him: You should do what I do.

coupleMe: Oh, I can’t do that. I fucking hate tuna! I can’t eat that shit! I’m just going to be fat forever and I should get used to it.

Him: Do you want to go to the gym tonight?

Me: Aw, hell no! I’m in a horrible mood. I have got to lose some weight or I’m going to go crazier than I already am. *Insert 15 to 20 minutes of bitching* Can you run down to Domino’s and get us a couple pizzas?

Him: You don’t like tuna?

tunaMe: I hate fucking tuna. I’ve never eaten tuna. Have you ever seen me eat fucking tuna? I fucking hate tuna!

Him: You know what else I do?

Me: What? Please tell me it doesn’t involve that damn canned salmon in there in the cabinet.

Him: No, but that stuff is delicious.

Me: What, then?

Him: Well, I don’t stop exercising when it starts to hurt. I just keep going. That’s when you lose some weight.

Me: What? Why the hell would you do that? My body hurting is my cue to quit before I DIE! What are you even talking about? That’s crazy!

Him: I’m just telling you that’s how you can lose some weight. Keep going after it starts hurting and drink a lot of water.

Me: I can drink a lot of water.

Him: Just try it. Trust me.

So I did. I trusted him because he has, after all, lost over 50 pounds since last October. Obviously, he knows something. So, I went to the gym that night and I ran a half a mile. Yeah, it hurt it like hell. Yeah, I thought I was going to die a thousand different deaths, but I just kept chugging along at my signature turtle warp speed. Which sucked. It really did. Especially since I’d been saying NO to all that good food that always puts me in a good mood (aka: my medication) for an extended amount of time. But I didn’t die and, when I was done, I was pretty damn happy with myself.

Two weeks and several half-a-miles later, I went to the gym and ran a whole mile and that’s when it happened. That’s when the scale finally moved past that terrible, horrible, awful first two pounds that always, always, always comes back to hang on to my fat beautiful ass.

runI was so beside myself that I signed up for a one mile Fun Run with my kid, which was my main goal in starting all this crazy shit to begin with. Sure he beat me by a good, solid five minutes (and won 3rd place overall) and a number of other little kids crossed the finish line well before me, but that was okay because I was out there. I ran the whole mile without stopping and somehow managed to finish in front of the walkers which was a big part of my goal once I took off. Don’t come in behind the walkers when running. I made up that rule and I stuck to it.

There were police officers at every turn we made who were very nice and encouraging and I told the one at the last turn that somebody needed to invent a half-mile run and call it the More Fun Run. He thought that was pretty funny, as did I.

pizzaOf course, after the race, I went back to my old habits for the rest of the weekend. Pizza and cold beer? Yes, please! And lots of each. But I went back to the gym on Monday and kept running. Did it get more fun? Hell, no. Did it still hurt? Hell, yes! But I just kept going and then last week, I did something I haven’t done in, literally, twenty years.

I did a 5K. I say “did” because “combination of walking, crawling, crying, and running” just seemed like too much information.

I finished in 48:15 and was so very pleased with myself that it was less than an hour and I did not get passed by any walkers while I was running. Yes, I do realize that I need to work on my goal setting not to mention my celebration techniques, but hey, I do what I can when I can. Finishing without getting ran over by the patrol car following the walkers at the end of the race is a big deal to me right now, okay? I think I’m doing pretty a damn fabulous job of moving my fat beautiful ass in a positive direction and I encourage everybody I know to be equally self-congratulatory every chance they get. Celebrate! Because you know we’re ALL all about that Bass.

unlucky fried kitten funnyIt took me two full days to recover from that 5K. I took a long nap that Saturday afternoon and another one on Sunday and it took me a few days after that to get back to the gym, but eventually, I went. I’ve learned that the sauna is my friend and I plan to run another 5K before the weather down here gets too hot. And I’m excited about that. So if you’ve been thinking about running, just do it! Get out there and shake that ass for the whole world to see. It will make you feel like a Rock Star -one who has been hit by a bus, no doubt, but a Rock Star nonetheless!

And so I’ll keep y’all posted on the Fat Girl Hustle as I chug along at a snail’s pace in hot pursuit of my next five pound weight loss goal.


Image result for funny running

Death by Arc Trainer #FatGirlHustle #StillHustlin

lima beansSo one time in this book called Diary of a Mad Fat Girl, there was a character named Ace Jones who had a bad experience on an elliptical machine at the gym. Those of you who have read the book might remember the scene with the bag of frozen lima beans. Now, I’m not saying that I’m superstitious or anything but I will tell you that since I started writing, there have been times when life has indeed imitated art.
stalkerI’ve seen characters from my books in real life. I’m talking about random people that fit the description down to the tiniest details. The most recent (and by far the weirdest) was when a person started working with me who is an exact replica of a character in the book I’m currently working on (yes, finally!) and, to make matters stranger still, it’s a character that I created over a year ago. This character now walks past my desk several times a day and it is so effin’ off-the-chart weird for me. But that’s beside the point. Let’s get back to what I was saying about a certain piece of exercise equipment.
Now, an arc trainer is not the same as an elliptical (or so I’ve heard) but an arc trainer looks enough like an elliptical to make me very afraid. Which reminds me… I need to update y’all on how I’m doing with the Fat Girl Hustle and Scale Back Alabama. Okay, are you ready? Here goes: I’M DOING HORRIBLE! HORRIBLY AWFULLY TERRIBLY HORRIBLY BAD AND HORRIBLE AND AWFUL AND TERRIBLE! That pretty much sums it up. Yes, I’m still going to the gym on a regular basis and, yes, I can tell I’m getting in slightly better shape than I was before I started but SHIT! I cannot lose any weight! And the worst part is that I have no one to blame but myself and I effin’ HATE it when that happens!
Moving on… I’ve always had this theory that if I would just start a decent exercise routine and then implement a few healthy meals that I would lose weight. Especially if I hadn’t been gaining any weight which would mean I was maintaining, right? That would work, right? That’s a good plan, right? Well. Hell. To. The. No. That shit don’t work (yes, I know that’s improper grammar, thank you, but I doesn’t give a shit right now –okay). But I really think that system used to work for me. I really do. Maybe I was a lot younger when it did, I don’t know, but it’s damn sure not working anymore.
I’ve gone to great lengths to choke down some pretty awful tasting shit these past few weeks and, truth be told, I’ve also eaten a bunch of crap I shouldn’t have (I’m talking to you Krispy Kreme Mardi Gras doughnuts) but the whole entire time, I’ve been exercising my fat beautiful ass off. Not literally, unfortunately, or I wouldn’t be on here bitching about it. I have lost nine pounds since I began the Fat Girl Hustle, but the mathematical equation on that is as follows: 2 pounds + the same 2 pounds + the same damn 2 pounds again + Holy Shit 3 pounds! + Valentine’s Day + Mardi Gras = DAMN, I am a LOSER! But not the right kind!
So on Monday I decided –yet again- that I have got to get serious about this. Let me reiterate that I’m not trying to get down to Skinny Minnie Size 2, I just want to fit back into my size 12 Calvin Klein jeans. That’s all. Not moving mountains here! But still a sizable task (pardon that ridiculously idiotic pun).
gym-confusionAnd so I finally decided to stop avoiding the arc trainer. I decided this because 1) I feel like I need to take my exercise game up to the next level and 2) they put up a giant sign at the gym indicating only 20 minutes on that baby will get some shit done (or that was my interpretation of the advertisement for the new arc trainers). So I decided to give it a go…
I waited until twenty five minutes before closing time so my audience would be at a minimum should I go down cooter-first onto some random part of the arc trainer. I was thinking while I was looking at that monster of a machine that maybe I should invent some kind of padded cooter protectors for those of us who are elliptically challenged. But then as cheap as lima beans are, that might be a waste of time and resources. And just imagine how that would add to the fun of getting dressed for the gym. Jeez Lou-eeze! Think of a better way to stall, already! Since I was fresh out of dumb ideas, I figured the time had come to put my feet on those mobile footholds and get started.
It was shaky, at best, and I feared the worst. I grabbed the handles and hung onto those sons-of-bitches like someone gripping the outer ledge on the top of a 70 story building. The thing I really love about exercise machines is that I have to get it moving before I can select my desired program, level of torture, and (Richard Simmons help us all) my weight. So I took a few minutes, moved my feet back and forth a few times, and told myself I wasn’t that far from the floor and if I did fall, I probably wouldn’t die immediately. Finally, with a death-grip on one handle and my arm wrapped securely around the other, I poked at the little buttons to get myself started on a level one weight-loss program. And just like I always do when prompted to enter my weight, I pushed the up arrow, closed my eyes, and listened to that beeper sing as the numbers went up, up, up and far far away from my dream weight of 150.
pedl you sobThe good news is that I completed my twenty minute attempt without falling over, falling off, or getting tangled up in all that business and hurting myself somehow. Sure, I stopped four times and huffed and puffed until that rat bastard of a digital asshole screen started blinking at me to PedL, but I did it! I finished my twenty minutes on the arc trainer! I was so proud of myself as I hobbled down the stairs and out to my car. By the time I got home, I was aching all over and felt certain that being run over by a bus would be less painful. The next morning, I thought I would surely die. My fat beautiful ass was in so much exhausted agony that I didn’t go back to the gym for three days after that. But I went back last night and, bad as I hated to, I got back on that son-of-a-bitchin’ arc trainer. I wised up and only did ten minutes so today I’m only having a partial near-death experience as opposed the full-blown near-death experience that I had earlier this week.
Long live the Fat Girl Hustle.
Now someone bring me a doughnut.
Just kidding! HAHA! HA! Ha! Ouch, that hurt.


No Meat. No Cheese. No Problem. #FATGIRLHUSTLE

gross lasagnaSo last night for dinner, I made some kind of spinach lasagna roll up things that I found on Pintrest and they were pretty good… considering. I got the jump on the prep time by preparing the spinach mixture night before last while our low-fat fajita chicken bake was baking. How smart am I? Obviously, not very. Despite that impressive pre-game effort, it still took an additional 143 hours to get this delightfully low-fat dish ready to go into the oven where it had to bake for thirty minutes. By the time it was done, I was hungry enough to eat a cabinet door so then, of course, I ended up eating twice as much as I’d planned. So much for pretty pictures and planning ahead.

Anyway… The texture of the lasagna rolls was excellent and the flavor was amazing, but there was no denying that there was something missing from our dinner. I’d fixed the Little Man radiatori noodles with marinara but the Hubs was dining on the new dish. When I asked him how he liked it, he pretended not to hear me. I took a few more bites and then asked him again, “What do you think?” Again, he did not answer. Now, I have this long-standing tradition that every time I cook something new, I talk about it nonstop until I determine if Hubs really likes it or if he’s just being polite. Fishing for compliments? Maybe. But more importantly, I want his honest opinion because if we both hate it, then I won’t have to waste my life cooking a bunch of crap that neither one of us wants to eat. So I asked him again, “How is it?”


“It’s good,” he said, not looking up. “It’s okay.”


Then we both put a lot of effort into talking about everything we could think of that was right with our low-fat lasagna rolls but neither one of us would just come out and say, “I hate it and I never want to eat it again!” We were trying to keep it positive. We really were. Like when we had to get off the sweet tea, we made a point not to talk about how awful unsweet tea was and then, eventually, we just got used to it. But when he picked up the parmesan cheese, which he hates with a passion, and piled a bunch on top of his lasagna roll, I knew we had a problem.

*** ooy gooy

“Okay,” I said. “We need to talk about this, like, for real.” So then we had a conversation about my homemade pasta sauce that I make with a pound of Italian Sausage which was followed by a discussion about all the ooey-gooey mozzarella and ricotta cheese that usually accompanies our Italian dishes. But we ate it. We finished our dinner and then we weren’t hungry anymore. Yes, we survived the low-fat lasagna rolls with the longest prep time of any food in the history of the world. We survived and nothing was hurt but our feelings.


No meat. No cheese. No problem.


Moving on to the next meal…     gluten-free-chips

Meatballin’ Outta Control: Mostly in the Wrong Direction #FATGIRLHUSTLE

Okay, so I feel like I need to be really honest for a second. If you’re looking for life-changing advice or divine motivation, it’s safe to say you won’t find that here. If you’re looking for a cache of wonderfully inspiring and totally extconvincing reasons to never eat greasy cheeseburgers or pepperoni pizza ever again, I’m afraid I can’t help you. If you’re looking for jaw-dropping “before” pictures of super-chunksters in frumpy clothes and unbelievable “after” pictures of svelte bikini-wearing beauties with rock-hard abs, well, this ain’t the place for that either.

Now, if you feel like you deserve a Lifetime Underachievement Award for always losing the Battle of the Bulge, well, this blog’s for you. Especially if you just keep trying day after day, month after month, year after year. Because that’s what the Fat Girl Hustle is all about: Trying to get things moving in positive direction no matter how long it takes, dammit! So in celebration of amazing imperfection, I thought I’d share what I’ve done right and wrong these past few days…

Doin’ It Right #1: The Gym
When the Hubs and I were talking about joining the gym, which cost a whopping $45 per month, we took a moment to compare that figure to how much we spend going out to eat during the same amount of time. That was such a ridiculous comparison that it was almost funny. Just to keep things interesting, we went ahead and figured up how much we usually spend  in a four week time period on soft drinks, chips, and pure granulated sugar. Sure enough, that number was also higher than $45. So we went and joined the gym. #SMARTWIN

Doin’ It Right #2: Unsweet Teausa
This might not seem like a big deal for you if you aren’t from the South but if you are, then you understand what a colossal accomplishment this is. The Hubs and I have tried to ditch the sugar many, many times before and we always ended up the same way: Sitting at the table clutching our frosty glasses of sweet tea and saying things like, “I’d rather DIE than drink my tea any other way.” Well, we stuck it out this time and now we’re almost embarrassed it took so long. #STILLAWIN

 Doin’ It Right #3: Magical Snack-time Improvements
Quaker Oats Pops in cheddar or ranch are probably a little better than multiple bags of Lay’s Potato Chips in wavy BBQ, unwavy BBQ, Dill Pickle, & Plain plus a tub of French onion dip and maybe some Tostitos and Gordo’s white cheese. Probably Macadamia Clif Bars and Caramel Peanut Fart Bars-oops I mean Fiber One Bars might be a tad bit healthier than Reece’s Cups and Snickers. I think I’ve already mentioned my new yogurt and granola habit (still can’t believe my luck on that one). And I actually like all this stuff, which is why these improvements are classified as #MAGICALWIN.

 Doin’ It Right #4: Reading a Magazine on the Treadmill
Distracting myself from the complete misery of the treadmill equals #HELLTOTHEYESWIN

Doin’ It Right #5: Turtle-pace Jogging
Sure, I occasionally get passed by a Snow Bird on the track, but I don’t give a shit. I’m running, dammit! I’m running! Really slow, but I’m doing it. #SLOWBIRDWIN

The downside of amazing imperfection is that sometimes I feel like a real loser. But I’m keepin’ it real on the Fat Girl Hustle so here’s all the ways I’ve been effin’ up this past week:

Doin’ It Wrong #1: Doughnuts at Work
Just say no? Not hardly. If there’s a damn doughnut around, I’ll have one. Or two. Maybe three… Depends on how many there are. #MUCHODELICISIOFAIL

 Doin’ It Wrong #2: Piggin’ Out at Dinnerdiet fail
On the days there weren’t doughnuts at work, I would f—k it all up once I got home. I’m guessing it’s not healthy anymore after three damn platefuls. #SHITNOTAGAINFAIL

 Doin’ It Wrong #3: Pizza! Pizza!
On Friday night, we usually have pizza. This past Friday night, we didn’t have pizza and I’ve been crabby as shit ever since. #DAMMITIWANNAFAIL

 Doin’ It Wrong # 4 Water Me Please
All my life, I’ve drank lots and lots of water. But tell me I need to drink water and all I want is f–kin’ coffee or a Diet Mountain Dew. #MENTALFAIL

 Doin’ It Wrong #5 Birthday Party Like a Rockstar
Ten ounce steak for dinner? Yes, please. Extra bread? Yes, please. Baked potato with butter & sour cream? Yes, please. Birthday King’s Cake? I’ll eat it until I find the baby! Count me in, suckers!

I could go on and on with the things I do wrong, but I’ll just stop here because, like Daryl on the Walking Dead, I ain’t got all day. And I’m sure you don’t either.


I guess what I’m really trying to say here is that when I said I was going all out, I didn’t mean with my fork but that’s how it ended up this week. And so on Monday (because it should be federal offense to start or re-start or re-re-re-restart a diet on Saturday afternoon), I will start again and try to do better. Thank goodness I’ve been going to the gym, otherwise I would’ve gained ten pounds this week.

Fat Girl Hustle. I’m just gonna keep on keepin’ on. Maybe I’ll get somewhere someday…


Oh me, Oh my, Oh Mysterious Work-Out Machine #FatGirlHustle #ScaleBackAlabama



There is this one machine that, every time I’m in the fitness center, I can’t stop looking at it. I’d take a picture of it but after today, I would not be caught dead near that thing never ever no not ever again. It looks like a cross between a gyno chair and that thing George Clooney built in his basement in Burn After Reading. You know the one (don’t act like you don’t). So you can all understand my curiosity which, speaking of curiosity, haven’t I already acknowledged on here that I’m well aware of what that did for the cat?

One day last week, after studying this mystery machine from afar, I walked over and took a look at the microscopic instructional label. As I suspected, the purpose of this particular machine was to work the inner and outer thighs. I turned and walked away, but my curiosity had been piqued and I knew that, at some point, I would get on that machine. Well, Day Ten of the Fat Girl Hustle happened to be that day.  It was almost time for the Rec Center to close and hardly anyone was in the fitness center. I looked around to make sure no one was looking before switching the knob to the lightest possible level of resistance. I mean, my thighs are big and chunky, but that doesn’t mean I can move a dump truck with them. After checking again to make sure no one was around, I eased my fat beautiful ass onto that skinny little worse-than-a bicycle seat. All I can say is, thank the goodness that thing was facing a wall.

Did I mention that I’d set the resistance to the lowest (lightest) possible level? I mentioned that? Good, because now you won’t be surprised by what happened next.

1358538306-burn-after-readingI positioned the padded gyno-stirrup things so I would be pushing out because I couldn’t bring myself to go full-on spread eagle even though I was facing a wall and there was no one was around. When I pushed outward with my thighs, there was no resistance so the padded gyno-stirrup things flew out in opposite directions before bouncing back against my thighs. Well, this scared the living shit out of me, so I jerked my knees together which allowed the weights to slam back into place and if someone fired a cannon ball through the glass wall overlooking the pool, it wouldn’t have made more noise. The padded parts of the gyno-stirrups were swinging back and forth and I realized that maybe I’d had them turned around backward and was supposed to be doing a thigh-master-style thighs-in-move rather than a just-sit-down-and-see-what-happens thighs-out move. When I finally got everything to stop clanging around, I very carefully got up and made a beeline for the machine for dummies in the corner. You know the one where you just sit down and push with your feet. Yeah, that one.


If I try out that bitchin’ mystery thigh machine again, I’ll be sure to let you know. But I might watch a few thousand “how to” youtube videos on it first. Just as soon as I figure out what the damn ridiculous thing is really called. I’ll also let you know when I get those papers from Scale Back Alabama telling me not to use their hashtag anymore.

Fat Girl Hustle. Holla!



The Official Initial Weigh-In at #ScaleBackAlabama #FatGirlHustle

The Fat Girl Hustle is all about getting things moving in a positive direction. We’ve established that. It’s also a support group for crazy people who want to improve their health in a sane way. It’s me wanting to run in a 5K with my kid. It’s Scale Back Alabama. It’s All About That Bass. It can be whatever it needs to be. The Fat Girl Hustle is all relative. And last night, it was me standing next to a set of public scales and not really wanting to take that next step. Which was onto the scale.


Y’all already know how last Friday’s DIY weigh-in went. And y’all already know I fell off the pitiful little metaphorical wagon this past weekend. And y’all already know how I feel about scales.


scalesI will say that I was glad I didn’t have to step onto one of those giant metal contraptions. You know the ones. They look like some kind of execution tool from the Dark Ages with that long metal bar and a weird little square chunk of metal that you have to balance just right. Those things creep me out. Getting on the scales in general creeps me out because I already know what the situation is, you know?


So I’m standing there behind the desk in the fitness center where the floor scale is conveniently located out of sight. Per the Guidelines for Participation, I’d taken off my jacket and my shoes so, technically, I was ready. Thankfully, the lady who was in charge of recording my weight (on a page of permanent record with an INK pen) was a lovely plump damsel as well. She’s from the Ukraine and I can’t pronounce her name yet but she gives off this wonderfully comforting grandmotherly aura. I was there with the Hubs and Little Man and she let Little Man step on the scales first, just for fun. Then it was my turn and, to be perfectly honest, I was terrified. Being terrified is very out of character for me so that was just as confusing as it was weird. I swear, sometimes it’s hard being so damn crazy!


Sensing my apprehension, Mrs. Sweet-hearted Ukrainian Granny with her thick Russian accent said, “C’mon, mama. It’s okay. You start here and do good.”

Sometimes a kind word can go a long way and this was definitely one of those times.I stepped on the scale, she wrote down my weight (in ink on paper), and I stood there with my absolute knowledge of the truth.

The truth is that I need to lose 20 pounds. Then, I need to lose 20 more pounds three or four more times. Actually, I need to lose about 40 pounds just to get back to being chunky. I know some people start programs like this with big plans to get skinny but, honestly, I would be ridiculously happy just to fit my fat beautiful ass back into a size 12.


So I’ve got my work cut out for me. I’ll be going all out for the next ten weeks as Scale Back Alabama officially ends on April 12, 2015.

Fat. Girl. Hustle.