Celia Rivenbark
Author of We're Just Like You, Only Prettier: Confessions of a Tarnished Southern Belle
About the Author
Celia Rivenbark is the author of Belle Weather; Stop Dressing Your Six-Year-Old Like a Skank; We're Just Like You, Only Prettier; and Bless Your Heart, Tramp. She lives in Wilmington, North Carolina. Visit www.celiarivenbark.com.
Image credit: Photo by Gray Wells
Works by Celia Rivenbark
We're Just Like You, Only Prettier: Confessions of a Tarnished Southern Belle (2004) 544 copies, 13 reviews
Stop Dressing Your Six-Year-Old Like a Skank: And Other Words of Delicate Southern Wisdom (2006) 423 copies, 17 reviews
You Don't Sweat Much for a Fat Girl: Observations on Life from the Shallow End of the Pool (2011) 132 copies, 10 reviews
Rude Bitches Make Me Tired: Slightly Profane and Entirely Logical Answers to Modern Etiquette Dilemmas (2013) 83 copies, 8 reviews
Tagged
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- female
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- journalist
columnist
essayist - Awards and honors
- SIBA Book Award (2005)
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- USA
- Birthplace
- Duplin County, North Carolina, USA
- Places of residence
- Wilmington, North Carolina, USA
- Associated Place (for map)
- North Carolina, USA
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Reviews
You Don't Sweat Much for a Fat Girl: Observations on Life from the Shallow End of the Pool by Celia Rivenbark
The essays in You Don't Sweat Much for a Fat Girl leave no stone unturned as they poke fun at everything and everyone from snuggies to crazed science fair parents to all the "Loonies on the Learning Channel" to society's weird obsession with cuteness that threatens to put Rivenbark's trademark snark out of business while everyone tunes into the latest YouTube viral video. In just a few pages each, Rivenbark's essays can have readers laughing out loud at a variety of topics as we try to keep show more up with Rivenbark's stream-of-consciousness rantings that swing rapidly from Oprah to the art of writing discipline with the sort of lengthy attention span that only a gnat could envy. Rivenbark never lingers too long on harpooning any one subject, which is refreshing.
You Don't Sweat Much for a Fat Girl is the perfect antidote for too much deep, dark reading. Rivenbark's writing is compulsively readable, entertaining, and, at times, downright laugh out loud funny. If you've got a bitter sarcastic streak, a cynical eye for some (most?) of the clowns on TV these days, or you just need a breather from books that take themselves too seriously, definitely pick up a copy of You Don't Sweat Much for a Fat Girl! show less
You Don't Sweat Much for a Fat Girl is the perfect antidote for too much deep, dark reading. Rivenbark's writing is compulsively readable, entertaining, and, at times, downright laugh out loud funny. If you've got a bitter sarcastic streak, a cynical eye for some (most?) of the clowns on TV these days, or you just need a breather from books that take themselves too seriously, definitely pick up a copy of You Don't Sweat Much for a Fat Girl! show less
You Don't Sweat Much for a Fat Girl: Observations on Life from the Shallow End of the Pool by Celia Rivenbark
In this book of hilarious essays, Rivenbark, a Wilmington, NC native who used to write a syndicated column, writes about the joys of yoga, Twitter for Southerners, dropping off children in Nebraska, the Learning Channel, the Snuggie, Chinese bachelors, Menopause, and other topics.
Rivenbark signs up for yoga just to have an hour where no one is asking her do something, like clean the house, cook meals, or help with homework. However, she discovers an interesting study from Denmark "that women show more who have skinny thighs have twice the risk for heart disease as us normal women." This study came out at about the same time as a "Time magazine cover story on "The Myth of Exercise" in which a very learned scholar wrote that, while it's good for you, exercise won't make you lose weight. If fact...exercise can actually lead to weight gain because of the notion that you're entitled to wolf down a platter of nachos the size of a hubcap at On the Boarder after a half hour workout on the Spawn of Satan, I mean, elliptical machine."
As a Southerner, Rivenbark, has had a lot of trouble in the land of Twitter. "Because everyone knows that Southerners lean toward being a bit long-winded, verbose, wordy, overwrought, and dense when it comes to written communication." How do you confine yourself not to 140 words, but 140 characters? She compares tweeting to trying to write haiku "the Japanese art of hair weaving in thirteen words." She also talks about how she once had fashion model Kathy Ireland as a tweet follower, until something she said upset her.
For a while, in Nebraska, you could drop off your child, of any age, to a designated area, such as a hospital, and leave them for others to take care of. This became a problem when people from as far away as Florida began dropping off their surly teens off and the system became overwhelmed. She suggests using this as a threat for your kids when they act up, because what is there in Nebraska, but lots of corn?
In the Learning Channel essay, she talks about Octomom looking for a show for her and her brood. "Ok, she's got fourteen kids, no job, and no husband, but she's going to council others? This is like getting relationship advise from Chris Brown." They would fit right in with some of the other crazy things they show, like the Duggers, where the sex advise is "sex is a lot like Legos", My Monkey Baby, and I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant. "TLC, which used to stand for The Learning Channel but now stands for Titillating Losers for Cash."
The South doesn't take the cold very well. They'll close school for one threat of a snowflake or delay it if its too cold outside. "We Southerners aren't built to endure cold. We are gently creatures that look best in sundresses and skin that is dewy with humidity." Also, there's like only one guy with a truck to shovel the snow from the streets, which is why when it snows everything comes to a standstill. When she receives a Snuggie for a gift, she scoffs, until she tries it on and realizes how warm it makes her feel in the coldest of winter days.
In China, the one child per household, set up to lower birthrates in a country that is overpopulated, has now backfired. "...in about ten years, there will be approximately twenty-four million Chinese men who won't be able to find a wife." Also, Chinese elderly population will explode. The Chinese women must be loving this, because now they hold all the cards. So, Rivenbark suggests that Chinese men up their game and follow in the footsteps of Barack Obama who on date night, takes his wife out to dinner and the opera. Even on his night out with the guys when he's going to go to an NBA game, he still takes Michelle out for a very fancy dinner out.
Today, the church is crossing a line and telling parishioners to make love with their spouses every night. "Now I totally get you'd do that in Kansas, because once basketball season winds down, really what else is there to do?...But Florida? Did they shut down Disney and nobody told me." But the church isn't the only ones dealing with sex. The CIA is dealing Viagra to Arab Princes for information on the Taliban. The Princes, with all of their wives to satisfy, eat it up.
Rivenbark, in peri-menopause, says that "many women in my situation try to learn as much as they can about this stage of life. Some even embrace and try to celebrate this phase, which can include insomnia, memory loss, night sweats, fatigue, and memory loss (ha). I like to call these women crazy."
This book, as all are her books, is funny as hell in a very Southern way. She touches on subjects that everyone can relate to, even if they don't admit it. I still have one Celia Rivenbark book to read and I can't wait. I hope she writes more, since her she quit writing columns to write books. She is a true Southern Belle. show less
Rivenbark signs up for yoga just to have an hour where no one is asking her do something, like clean the house, cook meals, or help with homework. However, she discovers an interesting study from Denmark "that women show more who have skinny thighs have twice the risk for heart disease as us normal women." This study came out at about the same time as a "Time magazine cover story on "The Myth of Exercise" in which a very learned scholar wrote that, while it's good for you, exercise won't make you lose weight. If fact...exercise can actually lead to weight gain because of the notion that you're entitled to wolf down a platter of nachos the size of a hubcap at On the Boarder after a half hour workout on the Spawn of Satan, I mean, elliptical machine."
As a Southerner, Rivenbark, has had a lot of trouble in the land of Twitter. "Because everyone knows that Southerners lean toward being a bit long-winded, verbose, wordy, overwrought, and dense when it comes to written communication." How do you confine yourself not to 140 words, but 140 characters? She compares tweeting to trying to write haiku "the Japanese art of hair weaving in thirteen words." She also talks about how she once had fashion model Kathy Ireland as a tweet follower, until something she said upset her.
For a while, in Nebraska, you could drop off your child, of any age, to a designated area, such as a hospital, and leave them for others to take care of. This became a problem when people from as far away as Florida began dropping off their surly teens off and the system became overwhelmed. She suggests using this as a threat for your kids when they act up, because what is there in Nebraska, but lots of corn?
In the Learning Channel essay, she talks about Octomom looking for a show for her and her brood. "Ok, she's got fourteen kids, no job, and no husband, but she's going to council others? This is like getting relationship advise from Chris Brown." They would fit right in with some of the other crazy things they show, like the Duggers, where the sex advise is "sex is a lot like Legos", My Monkey Baby, and I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant. "TLC, which used to stand for The Learning Channel but now stands for Titillating Losers for Cash."
The South doesn't take the cold very well. They'll close school for one threat of a snowflake or delay it if its too cold outside. "We Southerners aren't built to endure cold. We are gently creatures that look best in sundresses and skin that is dewy with humidity." Also, there's like only one guy with a truck to shovel the snow from the streets, which is why when it snows everything comes to a standstill. When she receives a Snuggie for a gift, she scoffs, until she tries it on and realizes how warm it makes her feel in the coldest of winter days.
In China, the one child per household, set up to lower birthrates in a country that is overpopulated, has now backfired. "...in about ten years, there will be approximately twenty-four million Chinese men who won't be able to find a wife." Also, Chinese elderly population will explode. The Chinese women must be loving this, because now they hold all the cards. So, Rivenbark suggests that Chinese men up their game and follow in the footsteps of Barack Obama who on date night, takes his wife out to dinner and the opera. Even on his night out with the guys when he's going to go to an NBA game, he still takes Michelle out for a very fancy dinner out.
Today, the church is crossing a line and telling parishioners to make love with their spouses every night. "Now I totally get you'd do that in Kansas, because once basketball season winds down, really what else is there to do?...But Florida? Did they shut down Disney and nobody told me." But the church isn't the only ones dealing with sex. The CIA is dealing Viagra to Arab Princes for information on the Taliban. The Princes, with all of their wives to satisfy, eat it up.
Rivenbark, in peri-menopause, says that "many women in my situation try to learn as much as they can about this stage of life. Some even embrace and try to celebrate this phase, which can include insomnia, memory loss, night sweats, fatigue, and memory loss (ha). I like to call these women crazy."
This book, as all are her books, is funny as hell in a very Southern way. She touches on subjects that everyone can relate to, even if they don't admit it. I still have one Celia Rivenbark book to read and I can't wait. I hope she writes more, since her she quit writing columns to write books. She is a true Southern Belle. show less
You Don't Sweat Much for a Fat Girl: Observations on Life from the Shallow End of the Pool by Celia Rivenbark
I had a lot of issues with You Don't Sweat Much for a Fat Girl (which I received at no cost from the publisher via the Goodreads First Reads program). First, Mrs. Rivenbark doesn't appear to be terribly bright. At one point she goes on about how she became anemic, which she apparently thinks means that she has hardly any blood. Some of her ignorant statements made me cringe but some of them she was clearly just proud of. For example:
"I got news for the New Yorker: I don't even get half those show more black-and-white cartoons you're so proud of."
Congratulations. I'm not sure you should be bragging about that, though.
She's also a huge fan of racially profiling Muslims at the airport. At one point she defended her stance with some kind of dog/tiger metaphor, which didn't make much sense.
"Hey I know that the overwhelming majority of Muslims in this world are kind, decent folk who only want to work hard, worship peacefully and raise happy, healthy families. Everybody knows that. But look at it this way: you're walking down the street and you see a tiger on one side and a dog on the other. OK, it can be Mickey Rourke's Chihuahua for the sake of illustration. Which side do you want to walk on? I'll give you a hint: It ain't the tiger's."
Yes, I would certainly rather pass a dog on the street than a tiger. But what the hell do tigers have to do with Muslims?
She further explains her enlightened stance thusly:
"But what of the trampling of individual rights, you ask? Hey, like Gandhi or somebody said, you can't make an omelet without breaking a few eggs. And if those eggs happen to be stamped U.S. CONSTITUTION, well, that was written way before air travel so it's not all that relevant."
In general, I just didn't find her jokes to be funny. She calls her husband 'Duh-Hubby' and her daughter "The Princess." She thinks a t-shirt that says: "Ask Me About My Explosive Diarrhea" is super hilarious. There were a ton of pop culture references and a lot of her trying to use slang that just felt kind of gross considering she's, well, not a teenager. I'm a fan of snarky commentary but this went well beyond the point of being snarky and was just mean, plus not funny - which is a really bad combination.
Overall, I was extremely disappointed in this book and would not recommend it to anyone. show less
"I got news for the New Yorker: I don't even get half those show more black-and-white cartoons you're so proud of."
Congratulations. I'm not sure you should be bragging about that, though.
She's also a huge fan of racially profiling Muslims at the airport. At one point she defended her stance with some kind of dog/tiger metaphor, which didn't make much sense.
"Hey I know that the overwhelming majority of Muslims in this world are kind, decent folk who only want to work hard, worship peacefully and raise happy, healthy families. Everybody knows that. But look at it this way: you're walking down the street and you see a tiger on one side and a dog on the other. OK, it can be Mickey Rourke's Chihuahua for the sake of illustration. Which side do you want to walk on? I'll give you a hint: It ain't the tiger's."
Yes, I would certainly rather pass a dog on the street than a tiger. But what the hell do tigers have to do with Muslims?
She further explains her enlightened stance thusly:
"But what of the trampling of individual rights, you ask? Hey, like Gandhi or somebody said, you can't make an omelet without breaking a few eggs. And if those eggs happen to be stamped U.S. CONSTITUTION, well, that was written way before air travel so it's not all that relevant."
In general, I just didn't find her jokes to be funny. She calls her husband 'Duh-Hubby' and her daughter "The Princess." She thinks a t-shirt that says: "Ask Me About My Explosive Diarrhea" is super hilarious. There were a ton of pop culture references and a lot of her trying to use slang that just felt kind of gross considering she's, well, not a teenager. I'm a fan of snarky commentary but this went well beyond the point of being snarky and was just mean, plus not funny - which is a really bad combination.
Overall, I was extremely disappointed in this book and would not recommend it to anyone. show less
After I finished this book and headed to Goodreads, I considered writing a review to explain my one-star rating. In the end I decided that I need to because a) dammit, I wanted humor but was handed 242 pages of stale personality and b) I simply feel the need to justify a low rating when the average is higher.
Note that before I requested this book from the library, I read the title and thought, Witty. I don’t judge books by their covers, but I often judge them by titles before I get around show more to reading the summaries. In essence, the title alone tickled my fancy because you have to admit: it’s not only a catchy phrase but it’s also pretty amusing, and I assumed the text in between the front and back covers would match. I was wrong.
It’s been some time since I read a book that made me laugh out loud, and that is what I was hoping for (and expecting). So naturally I opened Rivenbark’s book with enthusiasm only to read the first few pages and feel… disappointed. Well that’s okay. Maybe it gets better after this point, I thought, which then became, No. Okay. Maybe it will pick up after this, then? But it didn’t, at least not for me and here’s why:
Rivenbark presents a general characterization of the South that, I feel, detracts from her writing. Examples:
and
(Apologies, as there are probably better quotes to use as examples, but I don't particularly feel like scoping the book once more.)
Rivenbark's talk of the South bordered between pride and, at times, a little something like, "Well, you know. This is the South, after all: home to rednecks, grammar degeneration, and food that'll make you plumper than a Thanksgiving turkey. We rock, but please excuse us." It felt too embellished with excessive exaggeration. Given that all regions have their own unique personalities and quirks, I think of people I know and have met who are from the South and are nothing like Rivenbark's depiction. The constant mentioning of it felt shoved in my face in just about every part of this book, as in, "No, this is not the North, West, or even the East--this is the motherfricking South, all right?"
And just in case I didn't understand that the first five dozen times, there was plenty more of this throughout my read.
Adding on, I have a behemoth-sized squabble over what some might consider small detail, and that's with Rivenbark's way of addressing not just the reader, but her family. Every time I spotted "duh-hubby" (which she sometimes shortens to just "Duh" or "hubby"), I thought my body would combust from an explosion of full-blown annoyance. For a short time I even wondered if his name actually was Duh until I read it's Scott. This annoyance, however, also erupted each time I read "the Princess," which is the name she often uses in reference to her daughter. No, I'm not a parent, so I can't partake in that affection and pride a mother may feel. I can understand it, though, but it didn't stop me from wishing my eyes could roll backward a full 360 degrees. The nickname alone sent bad shivers across my skin, and every time her daughter or husband were mentioned I found myself thinking, Oh no. Is this supposed to be funny? As for the manner in which readers are addressed: "hon" does not sit well with me, and the repetitious "y'all" grew on my nerves.
Y'all, hons, and duh-hubby all together, which sums up a great distaste I have. It's as simple as that. Subjective, yes, but it's the truth. Even if these elements were removed, I would still find myself dissatisfied because what I read hardly touched my funny bone.
I would look at reviews and ratings around the Internet and wonder what the hell I'm not getting. By the time I finally reached the last page, I felt glad it was over. This is not the emotion I like to have after I finish reading something. I want to be hit with What? You mean this is the last page? What am I going to do with my life now that it's over? and then I'll proceed to re-read my favorite parts and shove it in the face of everyone I know, because I want them to love as much as I love it. You Can't Drink All Day If You Don't Start in the Morning was difficult to get through, but I'm one of those people who prefers to finish a book once I've dug into it. Besides, what good is a rating at all when I didn't finish the book?
This isn't to say that I am entirely humorless and didn't find one part of this book entertaining. There are, in fact, several parts; albeit, there are fewer than I had hoped for and none managed to do mare than crack a small smile on my face. (Hence my disappointment.)
and
are just a couple of examples.
I can imagine anyone reading this who is a devout Celia Rivenbark fan, or merely just a fan of this book, feeling discontent with an urge to shake me by the shoulders and shout, "What a clearly inadequate taste in humor! How can you not find this funny?" I know, I have read the reviews of praise, but I am not meant for this book. It might find a spot in the hearts of other people, but Celia's humor and I do not seem to click. show less
Note that before I requested this book from the library, I read the title and thought, Witty. I don’t judge books by their covers, but I often judge them by titles before I get around show more to reading the summaries. In essence, the title alone tickled my fancy because you have to admit: it’s not only a catchy phrase but it’s also pretty amusing, and I assumed the text in between the front and back covers would match. I was wrong.
It’s been some time since I read a book that made me laugh out loud, and that is what I was hoping for (and expecting). So naturally I opened Rivenbark’s book with enthusiasm only to read the first few pages and feel… disappointed. Well that’s okay. Maybe it gets better after this point, I thought, which then became, No. Okay. Maybe it will pick up after this, then? But it didn’t, at least not for me and here’s why:
Rivenbark presents a general characterization of the South that, I feel, detracts from her writing. Examples:
Southern daughter guilt is the worst of all. We are raised to make sure everyone around us is comfortable, happy, included. I had failed miserably with this woman.
Southern men are raised to be polite. At least most of them are.
and
And, yes, it says 'Dink' on his birth certificate. This is the South; pay attention.
(Apologies, as there are probably better quotes to use as examples, but I don't particularly feel like scoping the book once more.)
Rivenbark's talk of the South bordered between pride and, at times, a little something like, "Well, you know. This is the South, after all: home to rednecks, grammar degeneration, and food that'll make you plumper than a Thanksgiving turkey. We rock, but please excuse us." It felt too embellished with excessive exaggeration. Given that all regions have their own unique personalities and quirks, I think of people I know and have met who are from the South and are nothing like Rivenbark's depiction. The constant mentioning of it felt shoved in my face in just about every part of this book, as in, "No, this is not the North, West, or even the East--this is the motherfricking South, all right?"
And just in case I didn't understand that the first five dozen times, there was plenty more of this throughout my read.
Adding on, I have a behemoth-sized squabble over what some might consider small detail, and that's with Rivenbark's way of addressing not just the reader, but her family. Every time I spotted "duh-hubby" (which she sometimes shortens to just "Duh" or "hubby"), I thought my body would combust from an explosion of full-blown annoyance. For a short time I even wondered if his name actually was Duh until I read it's Scott. This annoyance, however, also erupted each time I read "the Princess," which is the name she often uses in reference to her daughter. No, I'm not a parent, so I can't partake in that affection and pride a mother may feel. I can understand it, though, but it didn't stop me from wishing my eyes could roll backward a full 360 degrees. The nickname alone sent bad shivers across my skin, and every time her daughter or husband were mentioned I found myself thinking, Oh no. Is this supposed to be funny? As for the manner in which readers are addressed: "hon" does not sit well with me, and the repetitious "y'all" grew on my nerves.
There are two kinds of people in this world: those who drive convertibles and, well, the rest of y'all.
That's right, hons. Thanks to a whopping birthday surprise from duh-hubby...
Y'all, hons, and duh-hubby all together, which sums up a great distaste I have. It's as simple as that. Subjective, yes, but it's the truth. Even if these elements were removed, I would still find myself dissatisfied because what I read hardly touched my funny bone.
I would look at reviews and ratings around the Internet and wonder what the hell I'm not getting. By the time I finally reached the last page, I felt glad it was over. This is not the emotion I like to have after I finish reading something. I want to be hit with What? You mean this is the last page? What am I going to do with my life now that it's over? and then I'll proceed to re-read my favorite parts and shove it in the face of everyone I know, because I want them to love as much as I love it. You Can't Drink All Day If You Don't Start in the Morning was difficult to get through, but I'm one of those people who prefers to finish a book once I've dug into it. Besides, what good is a rating at all when I didn't finish the book?
This isn't to say that I am entirely humorless and didn't find one part of this book entertaining. There are, in fact, several parts; albeit, there are fewer than I had hoped for and none managed to do mare than crack a small smile on my face. (Hence my disappointment.)
Extreme mom jeans even come in odious pale blue washes and feature an elastic waist that tells the world: 'Why, as a matter of fact, my idea of a good time is dinner at the Cracker Barrel at four p.m. followed by a Murder, She Wrote marathon on TNT.'
and
Marathon runners squirt little packets of brown gel into their mouths every few miles to give themselves a burst of protein. I'll join them as soon as they can condense that to tiny little lasagna casseroles.
are just a couple of examples.
I can imagine anyone reading this who is a devout Celia Rivenbark fan, or merely just a fan of this book, feeling discontent with an urge to shake me by the shoulders and shout, "What a clearly inadequate taste in humor! How can you not find this funny?" I know, I have read the reviews of praise, but I am not meant for this book. It might find a spot in the hearts of other people, but Celia's humor and I do not seem to click. show less
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