Monday, July 28, 2003

“Too much booty in the pants” or “You know you gotta big booty if….”
By Tia


I’m a thicky-thick girl. I’d have it no other way. Thick girls are coming back in style. (Thanks go out to Beyonce for putting us back on the map.) I have thighs that Colonel Sanders could only dream about. My hips guarantee me brief child labor. (No one in my family has EVER had a double-digit hour delivery time. Eight hours or less, thanks to the hips.) Sir Mix-a-lot had girls like me in mind when he said, “Little in the middle, but she got much back.” However, recent events have required me to re-assess my thickness. Before I begin let me preface the following stories with these statements.

1.I have no shame, as you will come to realize as you read.
2.Toya ASSURES me that the statue of limitations has run out on the Matt Morris story. Matt nor his publicist or ANYONE connected to him have reasons to check the site further. PROBABLY. Unless they have become fans, in which case all I can say is, “Oh well.”
3.I have no intentions of foregoing my thickness in its entirety.

As aforementioned, recent events have caused me to rethink my current level of thickness. I’ll tell you the stories and let you decide for yourself.

I recently went to see Matt Morris, former Mouseketeer, perform at a record label showcase. First, let me say that it took EVERYTHING in me not to hurl myself at him when I walked into the club. He was standing by the door looking MY-T fine and my first inclination was to throw myself at him and snatch him up around his ankles. But lest I have a Rick Springfield moment (if you don’t know what that is, please check our archives) I decided to keep my cool. Anyway, the venue was a small, dark smoky bar. I loved it. Intimate gatherings are totally my thing. Somehow, we struck up a conversation with Matt’s publicist. Toya was telling her about the review that she’d written about Matt’s cd. (If you haven’t already, take a look at the review. It’s quite good.) Matt’s publicist was genuinely excited about the fact that we’d referenced Matt on the site and called him over to introduce us. After all the hellos, thanks and nice to meet yous, Matt went off to talk to some other people. This is where it gets interesting. Somehow, in the process of leaving, Matt Morris touched my booty. Twice. Now in his defense, it was a small club and there were a lot of people there AND I have a big booty. But since it happened twice, it really got me to thinking. How much is too much? Booty that is. If someone cannot get around your booty without brushing up against it, twice, is it safe to say you may have too much?

I tell this second story only because Toya said I HAD TO share it with the world. Even though it takes a lot to embarrass me, (when you’re a dork your embarrassment tolerance level is really high) this story has me teetering on the brink of embarrassment and detached indifference.

Yesterday, I was helping out the hospitality department at church. I was running around doing various errands while simultaneously trying to coordinate getting my younger brother picked up for church later that evening. My phone was on vibrate so as not to disturb the various meetings that were going on around me. Before I go on I must say that I was wearing a HEAVY denim skirt. That tidbit of information will come into play shortly. As I was running hitherto and yon trying to get things done, I was given a job that required both hands. I slid my phone into my back pocket, vibrating battery part facing out away from the gluteus, and went to task. Mid-power walk/run, I was struck with a vague sensation. I had this feeling that my phone might be ringing. Here’s the thing, I WASN’T SURE!!!! Now if something were VIBRATING next to your butt, you’d think you’d be pretty SURE about that. My phone was in fact ringing which put my mind somewhat at ease, because that meant I wasn’t going crazy, but at the same time the whole situation was a bit unnerving because that meant that I have SO MUCH booty that a vibrating electronic in my pocket could conceivably go unnoticed. This scenario again poses the question: How much is TOO MUCH?

I’m headed to the gym this evening (and many evenings to come) and I’m looking into a kick boxing class later in the week. I have no intentions of getting rid of the booty or any other element of the thickness. However, I do intend to shape them up a bit. I figure the booty, and thickness in general, is like a Chia pet. Love it and care for it and it will grow to a manageable shape that you can contain, foster and admire. But if you let it go or love it TOO much the booty is like fungus. It will grow wildly out of control and there will be nothing you can do to contain it.

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