Well I finally did it. I went back on the "crack". By crack I am of course referring to the second best diet drug in the world. The first being Ephedra which the evil government took away. Why is government interfering with the fatties anyway? Don't they have enough problems? It would stand to reason that if the fatty crowd lost weight we would put less strain on the health care system. So we lose a few to heart attacks and some will grow extra appendages but all in all, crack saves! That's why you shouldn't give people like me drugs. I get way to happy. Don't worry, I'm not trying to jump over to the other side. There won't be pictures of me doing vinegar shooters in the Post or random sightings of me asking for a salad instead of fries. I haven't lost my mind for Gods sake! I just needed a little mask to get me through a rough patch. Boy if that doesn't sound like an addict I don't know what does!
So basically when I take the crack I don't look at food in the same way that I normally would....in other words I don't attack and inhale! I can look at a french fry and walk away. I know...this shit is good, right?! I also don't crave anything. Why just the other day I looked at a cookie, walked past it and then came back for two! I said I didn't crave anything...that doesn't mean I can walk past a warm oatmeal cookie and not show deference. In just three days I'm down 3 lbs. Yes, it's water weight but a SIF never questions a tip in the scale when it leans in the right direction. In fact, when I went to the doctor to get weighed for slaughter, I noticed something interesting about "doctor scales". If you lean slightly to the left, the numbers go down. I can't be sure my left butt cheek just doesn't weigh less than the right but I wanted to pass on the info anyway. We SIF need all the tricks we can get. Scales are evil after all. Just when you think you are down a pound or two along comes a new scale to tell you that you have gained 10! Scales were obviously invented by men.... Inconsistent, irritating and liars...who else could be responsible.
Sometimes when I blog "greatness" I can almost hear your cries through the computer. To this I say the following...No I will not tell you what the drug is! It's FDA approved for the fattest of the fatties, it does come with some risks and I probably shouldn't be allowed to take it as I do not fit the morbidly obese guidelines that accompany the script. I am a very careful diet drug person. Why just today I bought a blood pressure machine to monitor myself while on the pills. Now I feel like an 80 year old obese person. Next I'll be sticking my finger for glucose. The drug is perfectly safe. I just happen to be a psycho. So as I get ready to go home for lunch I'm left to wonder what I'll eat. I know I'm hungry but I want for nothing. It's very strange. Being skinny kinda sux. If there's no joy in eating...there's no joy! And don't try and convince me that turkey burger tastes like beef or that salad is a great substitute for fries. No, no and more no. Fat is fat. Once you've had it, nothing can replace it! I think my husband said that.
What the hell is a Sister in Fat? It's a bond uniting women everywhere. The inner fatty living deep within all of us. She convinces us supersizing is acceptable as long as we wash it down with a Diet Coke. Here at SIF we celebrate "New Me Monday" EVERY Monday, eat lunch at high noon and hide food from those who judge us. It's not about size sisters. If you have an inappropriate relationship with food and obsess over weight loss/gain...you ARE a SIF! Welcome Home!
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Monday, October 27, 2008
"World's Fattest Man is Getting Married"
All my hopes of a soul mate gone in one headline. Yes, I am already married but that will sour as my size increases. I've always held out hope for the perfect back up and I found him in the form of the World's Fattest Man. I've never gone so far as to confess my love for this larger than life creature but apparently someone else has. Call me crazy but I didn't imagine anyone would be beating down the door of a man who weighs over 1200 pounds and can't get out of bed. Brad Pitt, yes. World Fattest Man, not so much. Here's why this is such a big loss (no pun intended)... I'm a big fan of "marrying down." While few will admit to doing so, it's quite common. You find a mate that accepts you for "who you are...no matter what" bcs to him you are a step up from every other scandalous ho he's dated. If you don't understand the concept, you aren't qualified to carry out such elaborate schemes. Stay with me....No matter how fat you get, no matter how much of a bitch you become...you are his Angelina Jolie. That is until some dumb ass hoochie comes along and fills his head with lies about how hot he is and how he deserves better than your fat ass. Confused at first he stays the course. Given a second round of complimentary BS, the SIF are in trouble. Big trouble.
I'm not saying I've been in this situation nor will I admit to condoning such trickery when selecting a mate. Ok yes I will. Think about it. Men choose their mate by the size of their tits and by the size of their tits. Is it so wrong to choose a man by the size of his expectations? Thank you. The key is in the back up plan. Every good thing will come to an end so preparation is crucial. As SIF we are aware of what brings any good marriage down....food! Oh we may marry you as a size 2 but you can go ahead and put a 1 in front of that in the first year! 12 is tolerable. It's when we take out the charge card at Lane Bryant that things start to go South. We have sent a clear message..."It's a one way ticket on the Fatty Train. Aint no turnin back!" According to what I am reading, TWFM is setting up his new bride in much the same way that I have described. In preparation for the wedding he's lost 500 lbs. Let's have a processing moment for that last statement. Ok. He hopes to be able to actually get out of bed for the wedding. I ask you one thing..."How bad must HER self-esteem be that she found it necessary to marry a man who cannot in fact walk and whos claim to fame is being fatter than anyone in the WORLD?" Way worse than mine! He's dreamy!
I'm sure he's a nice man. All fatties are nice people with pretty faces. We know this. But deep down inside we just want to eat and be happy. Oh it's all fun and games when he gets down to 897 pounds but what happens when he balloons back to the world record holder that she fell in love with? I guess she either resigns to living the rest of her life in bed with fat rolls and bed sores OR...she sucks up the publicity for being the catalyst that made him lose the weight and then bails before People Magazine exposes the fact that she left him for the Worlds Skinniest Man! Typical hussy. Don't do it WFM! Hold out for a real SIF! Don't trust the skinnies. They aren't real people. They don't consider Little Debbie a delicacy or appreciate the contributions Ranch Dressing has made to...well everything! They swallow vinegar and tell you that you look good when you don't. I have some advice for TWFM....leave her at the alter and run for the border....Taco Bell won't let you down! Yo Quiero Taco Bell!
I'm not saying I've been in this situation nor will I admit to condoning such trickery when selecting a mate. Ok yes I will. Think about it. Men choose their mate by the size of their tits and by the size of their tits. Is it so wrong to choose a man by the size of his expectations? Thank you. The key is in the back up plan. Every good thing will come to an end so preparation is crucial. As SIF we are aware of what brings any good marriage down....food! Oh we may marry you as a size 2 but you can go ahead and put a 1 in front of that in the first year! 12 is tolerable. It's when we take out the charge card at Lane Bryant that things start to go South. We have sent a clear message..."It's a one way ticket on the Fatty Train. Aint no turnin back!" According to what I am reading, TWFM is setting up his new bride in much the same way that I have described. In preparation for the wedding he's lost 500 lbs. Let's have a processing moment for that last statement. Ok. He hopes to be able to actually get out of bed for the wedding. I ask you one thing..."How bad must HER self-esteem be that she found it necessary to marry a man who cannot in fact walk and whos claim to fame is being fatter than anyone in the WORLD?" Way worse than mine! He's dreamy!
I'm sure he's a nice man. All fatties are nice people with pretty faces. We know this. But deep down inside we just want to eat and be happy. Oh it's all fun and games when he gets down to 897 pounds but what happens when he balloons back to the world record holder that she fell in love with? I guess she either resigns to living the rest of her life in bed with fat rolls and bed sores OR...she sucks up the publicity for being the catalyst that made him lose the weight and then bails before People Magazine exposes the fact that she left him for the Worlds Skinniest Man! Typical hussy. Don't do it WFM! Hold out for a real SIF! Don't trust the skinnies. They aren't real people. They don't consider Little Debbie a delicacy or appreciate the contributions Ranch Dressing has made to...well everything! They swallow vinegar and tell you that you look good when you don't. I have some advice for TWFM....leave her at the alter and run for the border....Taco Bell won't let you down! Yo Quiero Taco Bell!
Saturday, October 25, 2008
Strike a Pose
Have you ever discovered something about yourself that you, oh say, just failed to notice for the last 36 years? Well I did. I was hanging out on the deck with some friends drinking a beer (or 12)and having casual conversation. They were dressed very relaxed in skinny jeans and tops that doubled as dresses. No I was not wearing skinny jeans and a top that doubled as a dress. That alone would have been enough of a discovery to call the authorities. No I'm talking subtleties here. As we were laughing and talking I realized something... I was "posing." Pause for shock factor. There I was... standing tall, clothes perfectly positioned to cover the problem areas with my hands placed slightly above the muffin top. I was in fact, posing. The girls were too involved in random conversation to notice that standing in front of them was a bonified poser! I was visibly horrified but apparently not enough to stop. I found it necessary to promptly interrupt the smoking, drinking and laughter to acknowledge the red elephant in the room....me!
Who does this? I can't be sure. It's one thing to be a starving, statuesque model type who's qualified to strike a pose at any given moment. It's quite another to be an overweight, starving fatty type who poses to cover up the fact that her jeans are about to spontaneously combust. After acknowledging that they were in the presence bonified poser, they convinced me to go to dinner. Perhaps convinced is too strong of a word. Yes, yes it is. Let's just say we headed off to PF Changs and leave it at that. Does it really matter who's idea it was? We sat down to dinner and promptly ordered wine...a bottle. As the conversation picked up where it had left off, I was again amazed to notice that while the skinny chicks were flailing their arms across the table I was once again posing. I was sitting sideways, legs neatly tucked under my chair, top button of my jeans popped open, shirt pulled down over the jeans, hands neatly placed on the hips and head tilted slightly at a 90 degree angle. If one were looking to debunk the pose they would only have to look as far as what lay underneath the table... fat rolls, cankles and a button that use to belong to my jeans. Once again, I drew them into the pose. We laughed and got down to business...ordering food.
I was sure the more wine I drank the less likely I would be to continue this new found phenomenon called posing. This was a theory that would prove to be false. With one bottle down, I was still giving Madonna a run for her money. "Strike a pose there's nothing to it"... fact, not fiction. Here's a SIF revelation...it's quite possible to consume an appetizer, your entire meal, a bottle of wine and still make the overindulgence look good given the right pose.I won't lie and say that posing takes away the pain of jeans that shouldn't have left the closest. No. In fact, the "inner SIF" was screaming for relief from the jeans, the pose and the fiction but the "outer SIF" was whispering, "I am one of you." Whisper being the key word. If you were wondering about the "head tilted slightly at a 90 degree angle" comment...that's actually from the SIF rule book. SIF rule #7654....when posing always title the head slightly at a 90 degree angle. Doing so is guaranteed to eliminate at least one chin. I got more chins than a Chinese phone book so this is one rule I never break! At the end of the day, this new poser person that I am isn't so bad. I dare say fat never looked so good!
Who does this? I can't be sure. It's one thing to be a starving, statuesque model type who's qualified to strike a pose at any given moment. It's quite another to be an overweight, starving fatty type who poses to cover up the fact that her jeans are about to spontaneously combust. After acknowledging that they were in the presence bonified poser, they convinced me to go to dinner. Perhaps convinced is too strong of a word. Yes, yes it is. Let's just say we headed off to PF Changs and leave it at that. Does it really matter who's idea it was? We sat down to dinner and promptly ordered wine...a bottle. As the conversation picked up where it had left off, I was again amazed to notice that while the skinny chicks were flailing their arms across the table I was once again posing. I was sitting sideways, legs neatly tucked under my chair, top button of my jeans popped open, shirt pulled down over the jeans, hands neatly placed on the hips and head tilted slightly at a 90 degree angle. If one were looking to debunk the pose they would only have to look as far as what lay underneath the table... fat rolls, cankles and a button that use to belong to my jeans. Once again, I drew them into the pose. We laughed and got down to business...ordering food.
I was sure the more wine I drank the less likely I would be to continue this new found phenomenon called posing. This was a theory that would prove to be false. With one bottle down, I was still giving Madonna a run for her money. "Strike a pose there's nothing to it"... fact, not fiction. Here's a SIF revelation...it's quite possible to consume an appetizer, your entire meal, a bottle of wine and still make the overindulgence look good given the right pose.I won't lie and say that posing takes away the pain of jeans that shouldn't have left the closest. No. In fact, the "inner SIF" was screaming for relief from the jeans, the pose and the fiction but the "outer SIF" was whispering, "I am one of you." Whisper being the key word. If you were wondering about the "head tilted slightly at a 90 degree angle" comment...that's actually from the SIF rule book. SIF rule #7654....when posing always title the head slightly at a 90 degree angle. Doing so is guaranteed to eliminate at least one chin. I got more chins than a Chinese phone book so this is one rule I never break! At the end of the day, this new poser person that I am isn't so bad. I dare say fat never looked so good!
Monday, October 20, 2008
Those Pants
Ahhh...the change of seasons. The leaves in all of their autumn splendor, the crisp fall air, the buzz of the holidays...oh yeah...and all of the clothes from last season that don't freakin fit! Traumatic. Every SIF can relate to what I'm about to say. As we gain and lose weight, we tend to make a crucial SIF error. Rule #2315...don't throw away the fat clothes! Yes, it's nice to think that once we've lost the weight that we will not in fact "find" it again. Unfortunately, it always finds it's way back to us via our thighs and our closets. Riddle me this...I look at myself every day in the mirror. I'm no Angelina Jolie but she can't hope to be this good looking. Anyway, as I stare at myself, I always look for signs that I am may be putting on the pounds. Either I have trick mirrors or Steve Wonders vision bcs I just don't see it coming! Nope. I look for an extra chin, a neck roll, a banana roll or any sort of roll that shouldn't be there. Don't see a thing. Perhaps denial. Perhaps not. It's not until I switch out last seasons clothing that all hell breaks loose!
If there's one thing every SIF knows it's how "those pants" use to fit. I am no exception to this rule. Today was our first "cold" day here on the beach...(can't wear flip flops). So I reached into the closet for my black cords. When I last left them, they were hanging off of me. So I guess part of me knew to grab them bcs they would either make my day or confirm what my lying ass mirror would not. The latter would be the case. They certainly fit. However, that's not a good thing when they are 2 sizes bigger than you thought you wore! F'n mirror! Where is the disconnect between what I see and reality? Have I trained my eyes to see what I want them to see? All of my "friends" tell me I look great. Liars...all liars. Perhaps I need to break out my sales skills on them..."When you say I look great what do you mean? Spill it bitches." I tend leave off the latter portion when actually making a sales call. It's not nice to call the clients bitches. I reserve that for my friends. Anyway, so I stood in my closet frozen with shock. Part of me was happy that I had something to wear and the other part of me was apparently alot bigger than I remembered! So I did what any SIF would do...I found a nice top to match my pants and took my big ass to work.
More trauma is on the horizon. I have yet to pull down the rest of my fall clothing. Nothing good can come of this. I must have 20 pairs of cute, viable, fall pants. Apparently put there by someone I haven't seen in a while! As you might expect, I have a plan. A plan that involves me not eating. While never a good plan, a much needed one. I'm out of control. The "season" doesn't help the situation. Allow me to describe fall with the first words that come to a SIF's mind: Halloween candy, Thanksgiving dinner, Christmas cookies and my personal favorite...New Years Resolutions! So basically it's...eat, eat, eat and plan to never eat again. If I were to take those words and form a plan, I'd be as fat if not fatter until Jan 1st. While I would enjoying eating my way from September to December I fear I need a more viable plan. Like only eating foods that rhyme with skinny or chewing my food and spitting it out. Something like that. In the meantime, I'm getting a new mirror. A non-lying one. Perhaps one of those circus mirrors.
If there's one thing every SIF knows it's how "those pants" use to fit. I am no exception to this rule. Today was our first "cold" day here on the beach...(can't wear flip flops). So I reached into the closet for my black cords. When I last left them, they were hanging off of me. So I guess part of me knew to grab them bcs they would either make my day or confirm what my lying ass mirror would not. The latter would be the case. They certainly fit. However, that's not a good thing when they are 2 sizes bigger than you thought you wore! F'n mirror! Where is the disconnect between what I see and reality? Have I trained my eyes to see what I want them to see? All of my "friends" tell me I look great. Liars...all liars. Perhaps I need to break out my sales skills on them..."When you say I look great what do you mean? Spill it bitches." I tend leave off the latter portion when actually making a sales call. It's not nice to call the clients bitches. I reserve that for my friends. Anyway, so I stood in my closet frozen with shock. Part of me was happy that I had something to wear and the other part of me was apparently alot bigger than I remembered! So I did what any SIF would do...I found a nice top to match my pants and took my big ass to work.
More trauma is on the horizon. I have yet to pull down the rest of my fall clothing. Nothing good can come of this. I must have 20 pairs of cute, viable, fall pants. Apparently put there by someone I haven't seen in a while! As you might expect, I have a plan. A plan that involves me not eating. While never a good plan, a much needed one. I'm out of control. The "season" doesn't help the situation. Allow me to describe fall with the first words that come to a SIF's mind: Halloween candy, Thanksgiving dinner, Christmas cookies and my personal favorite...New Years Resolutions! So basically it's...eat, eat, eat and plan to never eat again. If I were to take those words and form a plan, I'd be as fat if not fatter until Jan 1st. While I would enjoying eating my way from September to December I fear I need a more viable plan. Like only eating foods that rhyme with skinny or chewing my food and spitting it out. Something like that. In the meantime, I'm getting a new mirror. A non-lying one. Perhaps one of those circus mirrors.
Sunday, October 19, 2008
Red Red Wine...
Saturday was a big night on the town for this SIF. My friend Leslie took me out for a belated birthday dinner. I love Leslie bcs her and I are pretty much on the same wave length...good food, good wine...good times. Before we went to dinner we had a few cocktails at my crib. For some reason I felt the need to get all gussied up. Can't be sure what that was all about. Oh and Mom...wore the necklace and earrings you bought me...lovely! Except the part where my neck is so fat that it looks like the ring of diamonds is providing me life support. The "good" clothes are tight and that alone should have disqualified them. My sole mission for the evening was to eat well and get drunk. Gotta have goals. We went to a local fav...JK's. The food and wine are to die for. We didn't waste any time ordering up a nice bottle of red wine and an appetizer...most yummy! I should mention that I have no shame about adjusting said clothing to match said agenda. In other words...if one were so advantageous as to look under the table, they would have found my gut hanging out in disgust. I have to qualms about unzipping the pants to partake in more pleasure than the said outfit will allow. None at all. By the end of dinner I must say that even I was disgusted with me.
On that note....we called a cab. As if that weren't bad enough (showing up to a nice restaurant in a car and leaving in cab...hello ghetto fabs) I decided to meander by the bar and have a little chat with the bartender. You see my normal staple at JK's is their apple martini. It's beyond words. I asked them if ordering a bottle of fancy wine threw them off. Apparently not. They told me that when they saw me walk in they immediately made an Appletini....um...that's all I have to say about that but....My poor Appletini was still sitting there with no one to love it...to drink it...to make it feel wanted. Well I couldn't let that happen. While waiting for the shameful cab I threw back said Appletini. It was after all my civic duty...or something. To make matters worse, they didn't even charge me. Shameful....just shameful. Let's check the scoreboard shall we? 3 beers before dinner, bottle of wine at dinner and post dinner martini. I can't add at this point. Which presents a problem when leaving a tip. I distinctly remember being at the bar hugging people that I'm quite sure I didn't know when the waitress walked by, winked and thanked us for the tip. That's never a good sign. Let's face it, we can't add on a good day much less on a bottle of red and beer. I fear 20% may have taken on new meaning last evening...can't be sure. These are the casualties of friends letting friends tip drunk. SIFATWD....it's my new charity....Sisters in Fat against Tipping while drunk. Support the cause will you?
So we jumped in the cab and were off to see the husband at Awful Arthur's. There are advantages to having a bartender for a husband! We proceeded to terrorize him for a few hours until we passed out. It's now Sunday and time for redemption. I always feel guilty rolling into church with a hangover. My theory...better to flaunt your flaws than to drive around with a Jesus Fish on your trunk while nursing a hangover at home. Nothing a quick trip to McDonald's and a little prayer can't solve. I'm healed! Lot's of me taking a nap and doing a whole lotta nothing for the rest of the day. Oh except cooking my husband Thanksgiving dinner bcs he'll be gone for the holiday. Problem being...he's at work. Darn...have to eat it all by myself. Closet eating...something new...or not!
On that note....we called a cab. As if that weren't bad enough (showing up to a nice restaurant in a car and leaving in cab...hello ghetto fabs) I decided to meander by the bar and have a little chat with the bartender. You see my normal staple at JK's is their apple martini. It's beyond words. I asked them if ordering a bottle of fancy wine threw them off. Apparently not. They told me that when they saw me walk in they immediately made an Appletini....um...that's all I have to say about that but....My poor Appletini was still sitting there with no one to love it...to drink it...to make it feel wanted. Well I couldn't let that happen. While waiting for the shameful cab I threw back said Appletini. It was after all my civic duty...or something. To make matters worse, they didn't even charge me. Shameful....just shameful. Let's check the scoreboard shall we? 3 beers before dinner, bottle of wine at dinner and post dinner martini. I can't add at this point. Which presents a problem when leaving a tip. I distinctly remember being at the bar hugging people that I'm quite sure I didn't know when the waitress walked by, winked and thanked us for the tip. That's never a good sign. Let's face it, we can't add on a good day much less on a bottle of red and beer. I fear 20% may have taken on new meaning last evening...can't be sure. These are the casualties of friends letting friends tip drunk. SIFATWD....it's my new charity....Sisters in Fat against Tipping while drunk. Support the cause will you?
So we jumped in the cab and were off to see the husband at Awful Arthur's. There are advantages to having a bartender for a husband! We proceeded to terrorize him for a few hours until we passed out. It's now Sunday and time for redemption. I always feel guilty rolling into church with a hangover. My theory...better to flaunt your flaws than to drive around with a Jesus Fish on your trunk while nursing a hangover at home. Nothing a quick trip to McDonald's and a little prayer can't solve. I'm healed! Lot's of me taking a nap and doing a whole lotta nothing for the rest of the day. Oh except cooking my husband Thanksgiving dinner bcs he'll be gone for the holiday. Problem being...he's at work. Darn...have to eat it all by myself. Closet eating...something new...or not!
Friday, October 17, 2008
Forgot one thing...
Tricia looks amazing and the baby is pratically perferct in every way! I'll see if I can post a picture. I fear I'm not that smart but I'll try!
It's a Girl!
No, I did not have a baby. While I have in fact been accused of harboring a small child in my gut, this particular baby belongs to Tricia! She gave birth to a bouncing baby girl named MaKenna on 10/16. Very exciting! Of course that means I lose out on a free pedicure bcs I bet her that it was a boy. Let's face it...what makes you eat, stress out, retain water and generally angry...a man. Not a sweet baby girl. Tricia ended up having a C-section. Let's see...hours of painful labor that could result in an evil Dr. cutting my hoo hoo like a loaf of bread OR good drugs and out comes a baby sans cone head. Sold! Not to mention...you get two extra weeks of leave for going under the knife. Ghetto bonus. There's one thing every SIF counts on after after a delivery...weight loss. Even if you don't lose all of the weight...you lose the demon seed weight right away. That's 5-10lbs depending on the size of the critter! The last delivery I made was to the porcelain patio. I don't think I lost that much weight as a result of the said delivery. I tried weighing myself before and after. The scale read as follows..." Gross." Whatever. I don't do metrics.
For a brief moment it sounded like a good plan. I would trick my husband into having sex with me (that's the only hope I have of getting some), steal the seed, eat everything I wanted for 9 months (or forever..haven't worked that out yet) and then lose all of the weight in one glorious push! Reality set in. I realized something about that plan seemed too easy. Here's how it would roll out in my world: I would get a bad seed, gain 400 lbs, the baby would be a "tranny" and in the rarest of rare I would be the one mother known to have mutated her genes during childbirth resulting in the inability to lose weight...ever. That's the kinda shit that happens to me. So I decided to stay on the sidelines as a spectator fatty. Now I have my work cut out for me. I've been gaining sympathy weight throughout Tricia's pregnancy. Or maybe that was just the excuse I was going with bcs I knew it was good for 9 months. Now it's on! Tricia has an unfair advantage when it comes to losing weight...breast feeding. That's 500 calories a day! I can squeeze my saline sacks for months and not get those kind results! I'll need a real plan to keep up with her. I'm sure it will involve me giving up stuff. Why? Why is that always the plan?
As I mentioned in my previous posts, Tricia was kind enough to let me in on her pregnancy weight as she tipped the scale into SIF territory. It makes fatties feel better when new people come to town. Yes, I realize she was pregnant and shamefully the fatties are not. We are Equal Opportunity Fatties. You can move in and move out as needed...we aint mad at ya! So now I have one less excuse to be "me." However...it is comfort season (cold weather, football, crock pots, holidays) and that throws a serious wrench in any sort of real weight loss agenda. I guess I'll go with the pregnancy plan. I can see it now...me on Oprah...not as a famous writer...but as me. My intro would go something like this: "Today we welcome a very special guest. The mother is a morbidly obese woman who gave birth to tranny twins while shopping at Walmart. Since having the babies she has tripled in size and now requires a crane to lift her from her bed on the rare occasions she's able to go outside. Before today she hadn't been outside in 3 years. Here's Kelly, her twins Little Debbie & Capn' Crunch and the 90 year greeter from Walmart that delivered them."
-- be on the lookout for me!
For a brief moment it sounded like a good plan. I would trick my husband into having sex with me (that's the only hope I have of getting some), steal the seed, eat everything I wanted for 9 months (or forever..haven't worked that out yet) and then lose all of the weight in one glorious push! Reality set in. I realized something about that plan seemed too easy. Here's how it would roll out in my world: I would get a bad seed, gain 400 lbs, the baby would be a "tranny" and in the rarest of rare I would be the one mother known to have mutated her genes during childbirth resulting in the inability to lose weight...ever. That's the kinda shit that happens to me. So I decided to stay on the sidelines as a spectator fatty. Now I have my work cut out for me. I've been gaining sympathy weight throughout Tricia's pregnancy. Or maybe that was just the excuse I was going with bcs I knew it was good for 9 months. Now it's on! Tricia has an unfair advantage when it comes to losing weight...breast feeding. That's 500 calories a day! I can squeeze my saline sacks for months and not get those kind results! I'll need a real plan to keep up with her. I'm sure it will involve me giving up stuff. Why? Why is that always the plan?
As I mentioned in my previous posts, Tricia was kind enough to let me in on her pregnancy weight as she tipped the scale into SIF territory. It makes fatties feel better when new people come to town. Yes, I realize she was pregnant and shamefully the fatties are not. We are Equal Opportunity Fatties. You can move in and move out as needed...we aint mad at ya! So now I have one less excuse to be "me." However...it is comfort season (cold weather, football, crock pots, holidays) and that throws a serious wrench in any sort of real weight loss agenda. I guess I'll go with the pregnancy plan. I can see it now...me on Oprah...not as a famous writer...but as me. My intro would go something like this: "Today we welcome a very special guest. The mother is a morbidly obese woman who gave birth to tranny twins while shopping at Walmart. Since having the babies she has tripled in size and now requires a crane to lift her from her bed on the rare occasions she's able to go outside. Before today she hadn't been outside in 3 years. Here's Kelly, her twins Little Debbie & Capn' Crunch and the 90 year greeter from Walmart that delivered them."
-- be on the lookout for me!
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
Meet me in Fattyville
Meeting. A dirty word. I am of course speaking of a business meeting. As a fatty, I look for "food" in everything. So when I was told that I would be required to sit through a meeting on RESPA (evil mortgage laws) my first thought was to stick pins in my eyes until such time that I could obtain a Dr.'s note to relieve myself from said meeting. Realizing that blindness was not a viable option I decided to focus on managing my expectations. Being the stellar employee that I am, I arranged a meeting with my Manager to obtain crucial details that would be imperative to the successful completion of said oppressive meeting. I ran down my list of questions in order of importance. First, what's for lunch? Second, what time do I have to wake up? Third, when can I go home? I think that about covered the success related portion of my concerns. As you might imagine, I am often nominated for employee of the year.
Bottom line...I had to be up at the crack of my ass, the food was going to be heavy ass pasta and there was no hope of me getting home before happy hour. Perhaps I should refrain from managing my own expectations. Shock has it's benefits...like a non-pre-planned shitty attitude. Imagine you work in an industry that already hangs it handcuffs at the door and you are asked to attend a meeting where you are told that shackles are now all the rage! Polly Positive aint showin up for this meeting. Any fatty in this situation will revert to primal instincts. Eat as much as humanly possible and refrain from any sort of participation. Why talk when you could be eating brownies covered in powdered sugar or Tiramisu? My feral fatty gig worked well until the speaker asked us to close our eyes and imagine various scenarios where we were happy and successful. Unfortunately my imagination isn't quite that active so I closed my eyes and envisioned my own version of a happy place...Nap Time in the Land of Fatties. It's a wonderful place where you eat yourself into a food coma and no one asks you to wake up and listen to dumb suggestions like being successful. I wasn't too far into my happy place when the presenter commanded us to wake up....I mean open our eyes. In lieu of bitch slapping her, I smiled and pretended to be a new person. Actually I was a new person. I was now angry. Never wake a fatty from a food coma. Might lose a digit.
Now that I was awake, I realized that I had broken a crucial SIF rule. Rule #4321...never spill food on required reading material at a business meeting. Too late. My RESPA book now looked like a an ingredient from the chicken parm I had for lunch. Skinnies "doodle"...fatties spill food. What can I say. I tried to wipe it off but that just made it look like evidence from the scene of a mass murder. Sitting next to the manager probably wasn't a good plan given the current situation. I did what most guilty folk do, I pretended not to notice. Hard not to notice sauce on your book, the tablecloth oh and the back of your hand. The neat thing is, when you pretend it's not there, others pretend it's not there as well. It's a defense mechanism. I hated to break out my mad psych skills but it had to be done. So there I sat, covered in sauce pretending to be the newest resident in the Land of Happy and Successful People. I was kinda bitter that even in the land of everything good I was still fat. Seems like you'd get a break being that we all willed ourselves there. Apparently not the case. I knew this meeting was a bad idea. I decided to day dream my pain away. I wasn't too far into that when we were asked to close our eyes again. Damn! Who is this bitch? Miss Cleo?!
Around 3pm the presenter loosened the shackles and agreed to set us free. Although she had indicated that the torture would continue until 5 pm or later, we were being released on good behavior. I grabbed my saucy books and ran for the parking garage. She seemed the type to change her mind and I wasn't waiting around for that. In fact, I had dreams of tackling her and showing her what really happy people do when forced to dream of things that will never come to pass. Bad career move. Instead I drove to the Border Station to obtain lottery tickets from 2 states. I figured I had put in my time and Lady Luck might be shining on me. Yeah well Lady Luck must have been in her happy place bcs I didn't win big...or at all for that matter. I would make a great lottery winner. I'm semi-fat so people would instantly like me bcs of my imperfections and I would give money to starving people bcs that is just unimaginable. I have my posse in place for just such an occasion...Susan would be my PR person saying things like, "Kelly respectfully requests that you respect her privacy during this very difficult time." Not sure what that means but all of the important people say it. Emily would make sure that I am on page 6 with the likes of Brangelina....that's right cause I stole him from that baby buying freaky deek! Ok. I realize I have lost control of myself. Only one thing to do...eat.
Bottom line...I had to be up at the crack of my ass, the food was going to be heavy ass pasta and there was no hope of me getting home before happy hour. Perhaps I should refrain from managing my own expectations. Shock has it's benefits...like a non-pre-planned shitty attitude. Imagine you work in an industry that already hangs it handcuffs at the door and you are asked to attend a meeting where you are told that shackles are now all the rage! Polly Positive aint showin up for this meeting. Any fatty in this situation will revert to primal instincts. Eat as much as humanly possible and refrain from any sort of participation. Why talk when you could be eating brownies covered in powdered sugar or Tiramisu? My feral fatty gig worked well until the speaker asked us to close our eyes and imagine various scenarios where we were happy and successful. Unfortunately my imagination isn't quite that active so I closed my eyes and envisioned my own version of a happy place...Nap Time in the Land of Fatties. It's a wonderful place where you eat yourself into a food coma and no one asks you to wake up and listen to dumb suggestions like being successful. I wasn't too far into my happy place when the presenter commanded us to wake up....I mean open our eyes. In lieu of bitch slapping her, I smiled and pretended to be a new person. Actually I was a new person. I was now angry. Never wake a fatty from a food coma. Might lose a digit.
Now that I was awake, I realized that I had broken a crucial SIF rule. Rule #4321...never spill food on required reading material at a business meeting. Too late. My RESPA book now looked like a an ingredient from the chicken parm I had for lunch. Skinnies "doodle"...fatties spill food. What can I say. I tried to wipe it off but that just made it look like evidence from the scene of a mass murder. Sitting next to the manager probably wasn't a good plan given the current situation. I did what most guilty folk do, I pretended not to notice. Hard not to notice sauce on your book, the tablecloth oh and the back of your hand. The neat thing is, when you pretend it's not there, others pretend it's not there as well. It's a defense mechanism. I hated to break out my mad psych skills but it had to be done. So there I sat, covered in sauce pretending to be the newest resident in the Land of Happy and Successful People. I was kinda bitter that even in the land of everything good I was still fat. Seems like you'd get a break being that we all willed ourselves there. Apparently not the case. I knew this meeting was a bad idea. I decided to day dream my pain away. I wasn't too far into that when we were asked to close our eyes again. Damn! Who is this bitch? Miss Cleo?!
Around 3pm the presenter loosened the shackles and agreed to set us free. Although she had indicated that the torture would continue until 5 pm or later, we were being released on good behavior. I grabbed my saucy books and ran for the parking garage. She seemed the type to change her mind and I wasn't waiting around for that. In fact, I had dreams of tackling her and showing her what really happy people do when forced to dream of things that will never come to pass. Bad career move. Instead I drove to the Border Station to obtain lottery tickets from 2 states. I figured I had put in my time and Lady Luck might be shining on me. Yeah well Lady Luck must have been in her happy place bcs I didn't win big...or at all for that matter. I would make a great lottery winner. I'm semi-fat so people would instantly like me bcs of my imperfections and I would give money to starving people bcs that is just unimaginable. I have my posse in place for just such an occasion...Susan would be my PR person saying things like, "Kelly respectfully requests that you respect her privacy during this very difficult time." Not sure what that means but all of the important people say it. Emily would make sure that I am on page 6 with the likes of Brangelina....that's right cause I stole him from that baby buying freaky deek! Ok. I realize I have lost control of myself. Only one thing to do...eat.
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
Cart Attack
I'm not sure you'll buy this statement but...I don't like grocery shopping. It seems like a good venue for a fatty but it just doesn't thrill me. Who needs food shopping when there's take out? Let's face it, me alone in a food store...no good can come of this. I spend too much money on healthy food that I'll never eat and buy the bad stuff "for my husband." Riiiiiiggghhht. This in turn leads to me gaining weight, my husband starving and wasting of said healthy items. Perhaps this is why I am slightly cart aggressive. I find myself getting angry when other shoppers are blocking my path. Why would you park your cart in the middle of the aisle while you feel up the avocados? Why? To make me angry that's why. I realize that shopping for vegetables is a "process" that requires a fair amount of labor but that being said...park your cart off to the side and let the fatties through! I'm on your turf for maybe 2 minutes. As soon as I grab bananas for my hot fudge sundae, I'm outta there! Why must we make this a confrontational experience? Why?
There's a unspoken rule in the war of fatties vs. skinnies, as it applies to grocery store etiquette. The skinnies rule the outer aisles and the fatties reign over the inner aisles. It makes sense. On the outside aisles you'll find veggies, dairy and meat. On the inner aisles....paradise...donuts, cookies and Coco Puffs. I think we see who's living the good life here. Unfortunately we have to cross paths from time to time. For example, in my store they moved all of the organics to an inner aisle. While I don't appreciate the invasion, fine. I'm willing to give up one aisle because I like to go through that neck of the woods from time to time. I personally believe that organic Cheetos are a step in the right direction. And not to be whatever but I've seen my share of organic fatties. I suppose they are eating the Cheetos as well. That's neither here nor there. When I'm on their turf, I get my shit and roll out. Cheetos and Newman's Organic Oreos...check.
I'm not saying that I don't need to purchase meat and dairy. I rather enjoy a good fillet sauteed in butter. However, sensing the impending battle, the grocery stores have separated the meat into fat ridden and cardboard. You stay on your side and I'll stay on mine. I like cutting my steak with a fork...not a chain saw. However, there are the "dumb ones" who need the butcher to explain the difference between 80% and 93% fat. Simple....to the two "F's." Flavor and false teeth. 80% gets you flavor...93% gets you false teeth. Now roll on about your way. But that would be too simple now wouldn't it? Now we have to have organic meat and finer cuts of organic meat and meat raised by organic meat! Let me tell you that I always end up 1 cart behind the person getting their PHD in meatology! If your family is so meat sensitive that they can tell what the f'n cow ate before he was slaughtered, you should trade them in for a new family. A family of fatties perhaps. We like nice low end cuts of meat....no hassle.
Then comes the most controversial part of food shopping... check-out time. I work the check out like a NASCAR race. I make lap after lap analyzing the amount groceries in the carts of ahead of me x the perceived speed of the checkout person divided by the amount of time before they call for another cashier to come to the front. As soon as the ratios are in line, I come in for a pit stop. Just like a public toilet, people tend to take the line closest to where they are at the time. Simpletons. If I did that I'd be in line all day. You need tricks....like counting a 6 pack as one item to get in the Express Lane or playing dumb when they turn off the light to let the cashier take a break. You gotta be quick and angry. I've been known to run over some toes in my day. Hey, I can spend time buying food or spend time eating food. I think the choice is clear. I can feel the sneers from the other cart owners as I speed through the checkout. Don't hate the player hate the game. If you were paying closer attention to the "math" and less attention to the gossip mags on the check out aisle, you would be cool like me! I don't have time for these amateurs. Hate me bcs I'm fat...not bcs I reign victorious in the land of my people! If it involves food you better know I have a game plan. If you aint in it to win it...stay in your aisle!
There's a unspoken rule in the war of fatties vs. skinnies, as it applies to grocery store etiquette. The skinnies rule the outer aisles and the fatties reign over the inner aisles. It makes sense. On the outside aisles you'll find veggies, dairy and meat. On the inner aisles....paradise...donuts, cookies and Coco Puffs. I think we see who's living the good life here. Unfortunately we have to cross paths from time to time. For example, in my store they moved all of the organics to an inner aisle. While I don't appreciate the invasion, fine. I'm willing to give up one aisle because I like to go through that neck of the woods from time to time. I personally believe that organic Cheetos are a step in the right direction. And not to be whatever but I've seen my share of organic fatties. I suppose they are eating the Cheetos as well. That's neither here nor there. When I'm on their turf, I get my shit and roll out. Cheetos and Newman's Organic Oreos...check.
I'm not saying that I don't need to purchase meat and dairy. I rather enjoy a good fillet sauteed in butter. However, sensing the impending battle, the grocery stores have separated the meat into fat ridden and cardboard. You stay on your side and I'll stay on mine. I like cutting my steak with a fork...not a chain saw. However, there are the "dumb ones" who need the butcher to explain the difference between 80% and 93% fat. Simple....to the two "F's." Flavor and false teeth. 80% gets you flavor...93% gets you false teeth. Now roll on about your way. But that would be too simple now wouldn't it? Now we have to have organic meat and finer cuts of organic meat and meat raised by organic meat! Let me tell you that I always end up 1 cart behind the person getting their PHD in meatology! If your family is so meat sensitive that they can tell what the f'n cow ate before he was slaughtered, you should trade them in for a new family. A family of fatties perhaps. We like nice low end cuts of meat....no hassle.
Then comes the most controversial part of food shopping... check-out time. I work the check out like a NASCAR race. I make lap after lap analyzing the amount groceries in the carts of ahead of me x the perceived speed of the checkout person divided by the amount of time before they call for another cashier to come to the front. As soon as the ratios are in line, I come in for a pit stop. Just like a public toilet, people tend to take the line closest to where they are at the time. Simpletons. If I did that I'd be in line all day. You need tricks....like counting a 6 pack as one item to get in the Express Lane or playing dumb when they turn off the light to let the cashier take a break. You gotta be quick and angry. I've been known to run over some toes in my day. Hey, I can spend time buying food or spend time eating food. I think the choice is clear. I can feel the sneers from the other cart owners as I speed through the checkout. Don't hate the player hate the game. If you were paying closer attention to the "math" and less attention to the gossip mags on the check out aisle, you would be cool like me! I don't have time for these amateurs. Hate me bcs I'm fat...not bcs I reign victorious in the land of my people! If it involves food you better know I have a game plan. If you aint in it to win it...stay in your aisle!
Saturday, October 11, 2008
Trick no Treat
After escaping the "Zone" I decided to celebrate by ordering Papa Johns from the Comfort Zone...my bedroom! I feel like I'm gettin one over when I can order up a pizza, pay for it and lay in wait for it's arrival. Even the husband was impressed by my keen ability to put food on the table. That's the kinda wife I am. Remember yesterday when I quoted the noted guru "Dr. Keith Abalow?"...bla bla what you are running from will appear in front of you? Well I was running from running...quite literally. All "too many pounds of me" (you're not getting my weight) is getting ready to run a series of two back to backs marathons. While I don't mind running marathons, the training sucks ass! Dr. Keith says I should tell you how I really feel. That's how I really feel. You may be scratching your head and wondering, "I thought she was fat? How can she run marathons?" Much like a gallon of gas can move a truck, a good pair of sturdy running shoes and a division called "Clydesdale" can move even the fattest of the fatties. Trust me...I've seen women with some serious junk in the trunk beat me to the finish. It's disturbing. The bottom line... you can burn over 3000 calories running a marathon! Imagine the joy of eating that back! I can't get to the drive-thru fast enough! As you might expect...there's skinny people trickery involved in everything that seems to good to be true. Bitches!
My friend Jen was kind enough to wake up early and ride her bike on my oppressive 13 mile training run. She carried the beverages and I carried my fat ass. Trust me when I tell you she got the better end of the deal! It had to be humid. I can't catch a break. There's nothing worse than a fatty all dressed up in running gear, dripping in sweat by mile 1. It started out just fine. In fact, I was wondering if someone had taken over my body. Well if they did they gave it back around mile 9! Jen was doing her job and making small talk to take my mind off of the pain. You see, it's usually the half way point in any run that triggers the "why the hell am I doing this" response. My answers to her questions got shorter and shorter. Finally the demon came out....I confessed that I didn't have enough energy to be fat, social and athletic. She understood and followed the trail of sweat leading to my ultimate demise. Somehow things got skewed and I thought I was done much earlier than my stupid lying ass GPS said I was. Invented by skinnies I'm sure. Nothing like running by your house for the 4th time. F'n torture. Jen's GPS had me at a full marathon so I was inclined to go with her figures! But like a good little egg I pressed on. Did I mention how evil I get when I'm tired? Yeah...yeah. So this guy from church (never a good start to any statement) sees me and says, "You're still running?" Much like someone asking you if you are having twins when you are not in fact pregnant....these statements require you to be witty and condescending all at the same time. I dug deep and found enough energy to say, "Yup...all 13 miles worth." It's the shock factor that thrills me. Besides, I was almost done and I needed to aquire a fan or two before I finished.
Here's the trickery part....somewhere along the way Jen asked me what I would eat when I finished. Running low on air it would have been easier to tell her what I wouldn't eat. However, this is where things get tricky. When you run any sort of distance you learn to dream of how you will replenish your fat stores. It keeps you happy in an otherwise painful situation. Not that my fat stores need replenishing but it seemed fair to play along. In fact, my fat stores should say "Closed for Inventory!" So I told her my favorite staple post run was PBJ. I could taste the chunks in the peanut butter as it rolled off my tongue. That's most likely why my tongue was then stuck to the roof of my mouth! I decided it was time to let the cat out of the bag...there would be no eating when I finished. I heard the brakes on the bike squeal like a whore in heat. Yes, I knew she wouldn't understand and that would have me using precious air to splain. It's pretty easy to understand when you really think about it. Your blood has been redirected from your stomach to your muscles to keep you moving. As much as I would like to command it back so that I can house some fries, it doesn't work that way. It's trickery.
As if the confession wasn't enough drama for one day, the husband has to add to my misery with his own version of torture. I was in the shower washing away the stench when my phone rang. Being a slave to the man I answered it. This is what came from the other end, "Hey honey I'm at McDonald's do you want anything?" We've been married 4 years. He knows I'll settle for anything from the left of the menu over. However, on this day, he got the following response "No thanks, I'm not hungry." Things got sketchy but I think he said, "Oh sorry wrong number!" Fries delivered for the asking and I say I'm not hungry. Second time today someone has invaded my body. So I started thinking...instead of all of these diet drugs that make your ass leak, why not find a way to drive all of the blood out of your stomach for a few hours and kill the hunger! Oh without the exercise part. I'd like to go on record and say that I will officially give up running when that drug hits the market. We may look pasty white and we may not have alot of energy BUT...I dare say it's a far cry better than Olestra running down your thong!
So now that I have solved the worlds problems it's time for me to get some food in me. I think the blood has officially re-entered the stomach thus opening the flood gates for whatever I can get my hands on. Oh and another thing....running kills the urge to nap! I know...skinny and awake....amazing! I did my best to overthrow the nap thing. I laid in bed and forced myself to sleep. You gotta give me something here! So the next time you feel a hunger pain, grab your running shoes and run until you are ready to puke. It's not ideal but neither is a frequent shopper card at Lane Bryant.....ooookkkkay!
My friend Jen was kind enough to wake up early and ride her bike on my oppressive 13 mile training run. She carried the beverages and I carried my fat ass. Trust me when I tell you she got the better end of the deal! It had to be humid. I can't catch a break. There's nothing worse than a fatty all dressed up in running gear, dripping in sweat by mile 1. It started out just fine. In fact, I was wondering if someone had taken over my body. Well if they did they gave it back around mile 9! Jen was doing her job and making small talk to take my mind off of the pain. You see, it's usually the half way point in any run that triggers the "why the hell am I doing this" response. My answers to her questions got shorter and shorter. Finally the demon came out....I confessed that I didn't have enough energy to be fat, social and athletic. She understood and followed the trail of sweat leading to my ultimate demise. Somehow things got skewed and I thought I was done much earlier than my stupid lying ass GPS said I was. Invented by skinnies I'm sure. Nothing like running by your house for the 4th time. F'n torture. Jen's GPS had me at a full marathon so I was inclined to go with her figures! But like a good little egg I pressed on. Did I mention how evil I get when I'm tired? Yeah...yeah. So this guy from church (never a good start to any statement) sees me and says, "You're still running?" Much like someone asking you if you are having twins when you are not in fact pregnant....these statements require you to be witty and condescending all at the same time. I dug deep and found enough energy to say, "Yup...all 13 miles worth." It's the shock factor that thrills me. Besides, I was almost done and I needed to aquire a fan or two before I finished.
Here's the trickery part....somewhere along the way Jen asked me what I would eat when I finished. Running low on air it would have been easier to tell her what I wouldn't eat. However, this is where things get tricky. When you run any sort of distance you learn to dream of how you will replenish your fat stores. It keeps you happy in an otherwise painful situation. Not that my fat stores need replenishing but it seemed fair to play along. In fact, my fat stores should say "Closed for Inventory!" So I told her my favorite staple post run was PBJ. I could taste the chunks in the peanut butter as it rolled off my tongue. That's most likely why my tongue was then stuck to the roof of my mouth! I decided it was time to let the cat out of the bag...there would be no eating when I finished. I heard the brakes on the bike squeal like a whore in heat. Yes, I knew she wouldn't understand and that would have me using precious air to splain. It's pretty easy to understand when you really think about it. Your blood has been redirected from your stomach to your muscles to keep you moving. As much as I would like to command it back so that I can house some fries, it doesn't work that way. It's trickery.
As if the confession wasn't enough drama for one day, the husband has to add to my misery with his own version of torture. I was in the shower washing away the stench when my phone rang. Being a slave to the man I answered it. This is what came from the other end, "Hey honey I'm at McDonald's do you want anything?" We've been married 4 years. He knows I'll settle for anything from the left of the menu over. However, on this day, he got the following response "No thanks, I'm not hungry." Things got sketchy but I think he said, "Oh sorry wrong number!" Fries delivered for the asking and I say I'm not hungry. Second time today someone has invaded my body. So I started thinking...instead of all of these diet drugs that make your ass leak, why not find a way to drive all of the blood out of your stomach for a few hours and kill the hunger! Oh without the exercise part. I'd like to go on record and say that I will officially give up running when that drug hits the market. We may look pasty white and we may not have alot of energy BUT...I dare say it's a far cry better than Olestra running down your thong!
So now that I have solved the worlds problems it's time for me to get some food in me. I think the blood has officially re-entered the stomach thus opening the flood gates for whatever I can get my hands on. Oh and another thing....running kills the urge to nap! I know...skinny and awake....amazing! I did my best to overthrow the nap thing. I laid in bed and forced myself to sleep. You gotta give me something here! So the next time you feel a hunger pain, grab your running shoes and run until you are ready to puke. It's not ideal but neither is a frequent shopper card at Lane Bryant.....ooookkkkay!
Friday, October 10, 2008
Job Opening...The Comfort Zone
I just finished eating a Zone Bar. I'm not sure what Zone but I can't imagine it was from the Comfort Zone as it was kin to apple flavored cardboard. Who eats this crap? Here's the thing....I'm trying to be "normal." While I don't fully understand the job description, I am willing to accept my new position on a temporary basis. If things go as planned, I'll be a "no show" by Monday, living amongst the fatties in the Comfort Zone. Let's face it, things aren't so bad in the land of fried chicken and Ho Ho's. My first big outing as a normal person was FGLH. You can imagine the angst. Much to my own amazement, I followed the rules and ordered seared Mahi Mahi with beans and rice. Very civilized and quite tasty. Here in lies the problem....I was hungry exactly 12 minutes after leaving the restaurant! As if the healthy meal wasn't bad enough, I've been downing the Slimming Formula that I pedal by night (www.imreadytogetfit.com). I think that makes me a moonlighter but I'm willing to risk it. It's an all out push to the top just in case I like it here. So picture this....fat girl ordering said healthy meal downs drugs exactly 2 minutes prior to consumption while dreaming of fries and slurping Diet Coke. It's not a pretty picture.
Here's the crazy thing...drugs are legal in my new position. In fact, the normal people encourage them in an attempt to get you through the day. Translation...they cover their cravings with diet drugs while smiling and pretending to like the Normal Zone. Whatever. I've been in this position less than 2 hours and I have these people all figured out. Just like most minions...my level of intelligence has far surpassed the man at the top. I'll be running the Normal Zone by Tuesday...that's if I change my mind about "no show" Monday. If I do come back....fried chicken for everyone! Employee retention...a problem no more! Anyway, the not so filling lunch led to the Zone Bar which in turn led to anger. I decided to take advantage of another staple of the normal crowd....therapy. I tuned into an interview with Dr. Kieth Abalow to see what he knew. Apparently not so much as his TV show was cancelled a while back. I like the "down on their luck crowd" so I listened for anything I could use to get me through to quitting time. Prepare for greatness...or not. He said the following..."That which you run from will appear in front of you." Snap! Problem solved! Fries, candy bars and Helluva Good Dip should be arriving at any moment! I can get into this kind of running!
I waited, and waited, and waited but that which I was running from did not in fact appear in front of me, behind me or beside me. The only thing that made an appearance was a very loud growl from my stomach. Now I see why he was cancelled. He lies...he's a liar. I suppose it could have been worse as I am typically running from more than one venue. Perhaps ex-boyfriends, previous employers or my dentist will make an appearance. I'd prefer food but I am low on entertainment right about now so anything will do. Not to be whatever but if "they" don't fire me from my new position, I'm going to have to take an early retirement. That's what temps do...we come in and out of retirement for the right opportunities. The Normal Zone appears to be just another place that miserable fatties hide... under the cover of peer pressure. That's not any healthier than the fried chicken and Ho Ho's we serve up over in the Comfort Zone! At least we are happy people. We may have greasy lips and big thighs but the turnover is low and the benefits are good! I haven't made my decision on "no show" Monday but I'm leaning in the other direction. That could be gravity...can't be sure.
Here's the crazy thing...drugs are legal in my new position. In fact, the normal people encourage them in an attempt to get you through the day. Translation...they cover their cravings with diet drugs while smiling and pretending to like the Normal Zone. Whatever. I've been in this position less than 2 hours and I have these people all figured out. Just like most minions...my level of intelligence has far surpassed the man at the top. I'll be running the Normal Zone by Tuesday...that's if I change my mind about "no show" Monday. If I do come back....fried chicken for everyone! Employee retention...a problem no more! Anyway, the not so filling lunch led to the Zone Bar which in turn led to anger. I decided to take advantage of another staple of the normal crowd....therapy. I tuned into an interview with Dr. Kieth Abalow to see what he knew. Apparently not so much as his TV show was cancelled a while back. I like the "down on their luck crowd" so I listened for anything I could use to get me through to quitting time. Prepare for greatness...or not. He said the following..."That which you run from will appear in front of you." Snap! Problem solved! Fries, candy bars and Helluva Good Dip should be arriving at any moment! I can get into this kind of running!
I waited, and waited, and waited but that which I was running from did not in fact appear in front of me, behind me or beside me. The only thing that made an appearance was a very loud growl from my stomach. Now I see why he was cancelled. He lies...he's a liar. I suppose it could have been worse as I am typically running from more than one venue. Perhaps ex-boyfriends, previous employers or my dentist will make an appearance. I'd prefer food but I am low on entertainment right about now so anything will do. Not to be whatever but if "they" don't fire me from my new position, I'm going to have to take an early retirement. That's what temps do...we come in and out of retirement for the right opportunities. The Normal Zone appears to be just another place that miserable fatties hide... under the cover of peer pressure. That's not any healthier than the fried chicken and Ho Ho's we serve up over in the Comfort Zone! At least we are happy people. We may have greasy lips and big thighs but the turnover is low and the benefits are good! I haven't made my decision on "no show" Monday but I'm leaning in the other direction. That could be gravity...can't be sure.
Thursday, October 9, 2008
Fitness or Fatness
I'm back from my big "Bring your friend to Day" gig in DC. While there is no such official holiday, Susan and I like to make up holiday's that are convenient to our own agendas. When we last "spoke" I was hiding between three man made walls while spying on Susan's employees so as to have material for our lunch date. Lunch was CPK...I ordered pizza while good little egg Susan ordered salad. My pizza had lettuce and ranch on it. That's my version of salad...with crust...or something. I managed to hog down the entire thing with my signature Diet Coke in hand...all while giving Susan my take on the slackers vs. the workers. Then, after my big day in Cubeville it was time for a nap and then on to the Fitness Party. I needed to rest before presenting the anti-fat agenda to the crowd...which consisted of random employees of Susan's. Ahhh...there's nothing like being a boss and inadvertently forcing your employees to attend stupid parties bcs they live in fear of you. Good times!
Is it wrong to have beer, liquor and sandwiches at a Fitness Party? Not if you want people to come! You see in theory everyone wants to be "into" fitness as long as it means they can eat more! As close as two days before the party we were low on RSVP's. We made an Executive Decision and sent out an emergency email that went something like this: There will in fact be no working out...and we'll have lots of Booze!Amazingly...the RSVP's came rolling in. Needless to say the Fitness portion lasted about 20 minutes and the drinking portion lasted until midnight! I wore all black so as to confuse people. I have a theory about my body....everything is in the right place....there's just too much of it. Much like my plate I fear. I threw in alot of references to me exercising. When you say that you've run 50 miles, no one cares if you shop at Lane Bryant. Which I don't by the way but I am working on that. They have the cutest clothes. It's how the fatties revolt. They open cute clothing stores that the skinny chicks aren't allowed to shop at. Revenge at it's finest...I'll see your Forever 21 with Forever 2X! Needless to say the hostesses put away about 400 beers and I think maybe a shot. The highlight of the evening came in the form of this creature named Fitzy. Allegedly a client of Craig the trainer, we were confused as to whether he was in fact human or animal. He drank alot, had entire conversations in the bathroom and clearly settled for his hand after being turned down by every woman at the party. He was HIGHLY entertaining.
After fearing that all of the "cool people" had left, I started binging on chips. If they weren't going to buy anything, the remaining few might as well know that I was a sham! I prefer Closet Eater. I was counting on the fact that they were drunk and wouldn't remember details...like me dunking my head in the ranch dressing. My favorite person left at the party (aside from Fitzy) was Kim. She looked like your average housewife. Not so much. She was in fact the shocker of the evening! She sat on the couch looking like she could possibly break out a knitting needle at any time. Instead of knitting she threw out topics like sex and offered to find us all new husbands if our current ones were lacking! Loved her! After Fitzy and Craig left it was Susan, myself, alot of empty beer bottles and a table of fitness products. Downright shameful.
I left Susan's in the morning and headed to Virginia. I was off to present Fitness to the running club. Unlike the drinkie social types in MD, the VA crowd would have expectations. Luckily they meet in a pizza pub so my eating disorder would remained camouflaged in a table of hungry runners. True to form I downed 3 glasses of wine while telling everyone they were slackers. Mind you these people run about 100 miles a week. They all smiled and looked at me like most people do...very confused. I met up with my old running pal Ernie. He and I decided to do a run in the morning. He's the sweetest southern man you would ever want to meet. Oh and he has a smokin bod for an older guy. That's not why I ran with him...I just happen to know this bit of information. We ran around Burke Lake and it was great! Poor Ernie is bald and the weather was such that his head was steaming. So was my ass from all of the drinking but lucky for both of us I was able to conceal the bomb if you know what I mean. Then in a sad sort of way it was time for fatty to go back home. I enjoy road trips bcs I get to go through drive-thrus. Fries, fries and more fries. I think I may have even grossed myself out. But I am back now and fully prepared to torture you with my issues. Issue #1...new diet scheme.
Is it wrong to have beer, liquor and sandwiches at a Fitness Party? Not if you want people to come! You see in theory everyone wants to be "into" fitness as long as it means they can eat more! As close as two days before the party we were low on RSVP's. We made an Executive Decision and sent out an emergency email that went something like this: There will in fact be no working out...and we'll have lots of Booze!Amazingly...the RSVP's came rolling in. Needless to say the Fitness portion lasted about 20 minutes and the drinking portion lasted until midnight! I wore all black so as to confuse people. I have a theory about my body....everything is in the right place....there's just too much of it. Much like my plate I fear. I threw in alot of references to me exercising. When you say that you've run 50 miles, no one cares if you shop at Lane Bryant. Which I don't by the way but I am working on that. They have the cutest clothes. It's how the fatties revolt. They open cute clothing stores that the skinny chicks aren't allowed to shop at. Revenge at it's finest...I'll see your Forever 21 with Forever 2X! Needless to say the hostesses put away about 400 beers and I think maybe a shot. The highlight of the evening came in the form of this creature named Fitzy. Allegedly a client of Craig the trainer, we were confused as to whether he was in fact human or animal. He drank alot, had entire conversations in the bathroom and clearly settled for his hand after being turned down by every woman at the party. He was HIGHLY entertaining.
After fearing that all of the "cool people" had left, I started binging on chips. If they weren't going to buy anything, the remaining few might as well know that I was a sham! I prefer Closet Eater. I was counting on the fact that they were drunk and wouldn't remember details...like me dunking my head in the ranch dressing. My favorite person left at the party (aside from Fitzy) was Kim. She looked like your average housewife. Not so much. She was in fact the shocker of the evening! She sat on the couch looking like she could possibly break out a knitting needle at any time. Instead of knitting she threw out topics like sex and offered to find us all new husbands if our current ones were lacking! Loved her! After Fitzy and Craig left it was Susan, myself, alot of empty beer bottles and a table of fitness products. Downright shameful.
I left Susan's in the morning and headed to Virginia. I was off to present Fitness to the running club. Unlike the drinkie social types in MD, the VA crowd would have expectations. Luckily they meet in a pizza pub so my eating disorder would remained camouflaged in a table of hungry runners. True to form I downed 3 glasses of wine while telling everyone they were slackers. Mind you these people run about 100 miles a week. They all smiled and looked at me like most people do...very confused. I met up with my old running pal Ernie. He and I decided to do a run in the morning. He's the sweetest southern man you would ever want to meet. Oh and he has a smokin bod for an older guy. That's not why I ran with him...I just happen to know this bit of information. We ran around Burke Lake and it was great! Poor Ernie is bald and the weather was such that his head was steaming. So was my ass from all of the drinking but lucky for both of us I was able to conceal the bomb if you know what I mean. Then in a sad sort of way it was time for fatty to go back home. I enjoy road trips bcs I get to go through drive-thrus. Fries, fries and more fries. I think I may have even grossed myself out. But I am back now and fully prepared to torture you with my issues. Issue #1...new diet scheme.
Monday, October 6, 2008
Fatties on the move
So I'm in MD visiting Susan for the weekend. While here, I will be in charge of what else but a Fitness Party! <shameless plug: www.imreadytogetfit.com> Tonight I get to play skinny healthy person. Luckily I not only have the agenda to pull it off but the crazy workout regimen to back it up. The confusing part will come when they see me slamming beer and eating chips all while telling them they are lazy slackers who need to workout more and buy my products. Not to mention they get to stare at my big fat ass while I show them the life changing PowerPoint that I created. It hasn't in fact changed my life but I'm a "special case" now aren't I? I ride the short bus to fatville if you will. It would appear that my bus has a governor set at warp speed with a no return to skinnyville feature. On the flip side, I'm the thinnest one on the bus and I'm not required to wear a helmet. Fatties and helmets...not good. Fat neck rolls...unattractive.
Sometimes I think I'm the only one out there who has inappropriate relationships with people in the food industry. Susan has in fact proved me wrong. Let's go there...so I arrived at Susan's house late Sat. The plan was to order out and eat said food while lying on couch. Happens to be one of my favorite venues. While Susan was retrieving the food from the Asian delivery man, I was privy to some unusual banter. It went something like this: (Asian man) "Long time no see." (Susan)"Yeah." (Asian man) "Ok honey, have a good night." Where to begin. (A.) The fact that he remembers Susan would indicate that she orders way to much Chinese food. (B.) He called her "honey." Given the amount of money I spend on food and the fact that no one has ever called me "honey" is disturbing! Taking the evidence at face value one can only assume that Susan has been getting a little "beef" with her broccoli! All of this wouldn't be so bad if she wasn't shoving the skinny agenda down my throat 24/7! Bla bla we must hike, go to gym, eat bars instead of real meals and be healthy. I guess you can do that when you are banging the Chinese delivery man on the side! 1o minute!
Being with Susan is actually good for my health. Even before I pull into her parking space she has whole agendas that involve me not eating and not napping. It's like a trip to the fat farm disguised as fun. She'll allow drinking from time to time but you better be up at the crack of dawn ready to function. Today is in fact "Bring your friend to work day." We've declared it as such bcs Susan in fact borrows Internet from her neighborhood which doesn't work well with the banking laptop. Not that I have any banking to do but appearances are everything. So I'm here in corporate land mingling with the movers and shakers. We did the early morning gym workout, showered with the ladies who never shave their bush and then swapped parking garages to arrive at said destination exactly 1 hour after the hard working people. Here in the real world you can't even enter an office without a super secret code...very scary. Once you have broken the code, you enter the land of 40 flavors of coffee, water and 15 kinds of tea. If that isn't enough, there's a massage room and some sort of game room. Translation...you will be at work for a VERY LONG TIME and we recognize the need to entertain you so that you don't come back with your 9 and kill all of us. Or something to that effect. Who wants to get caught playing Guitar Hero between 8-5? Not me....I'll be in the kitchen with the vending machine.
So my plan is to "work" from 9:15 to 12:00 at which time the militant diet master will be taking me to the California Pizza Kitchen. That's almost a three hour stretch without food. I hope I can make it. I've been holding in my pee for fear of forgetting the super secret bathroom code and being trapped in the hall with the commoners. I could starve out there before Susan finds me. She offered to loan me her GPS so that I could roam around the big city and find my way back to militant diet central. I may need the GPS to get from the kitchen to my cube. Yes, I have my very own cube. I can't actually see anyones face, I can't see the outside and I hear voices. Lots of voices. I'm am oppressed in cube land. In my keen analysis of the various people that work here, I've identified a keeper. Lots of activity flowing from her cube. I like her. If I needed a job (which I very well may) she would be the one chosen to pimp my wears. One of those that could make a Lean Cuisine sound like fine dining at it's best. Perhaps I will grow so accustomed to my life as a cube dweller that I won't eat, sleep or leave. Ever. Yeah that's not happening. Within a week my cube would be filled with crumbs, wrappers and empty Diet Coke bottles. I don't do cubes. Ice cubes yes.
It's almost FGLH. You can imagine my angst. I need a break from the voices. Being a cube dweller is hard work. Maybe I'll have to get an appetizer to make me feel better. Then our day will end abruptly at 1pm to prepare for the fraudulent fitness party. I'll need to find something to wear that hides the lies. Can't be sure how I'll pull that off. Lots of me standing with my back to the wall I suppose. At an angle works best bcs the thighs look better when they aren't casting shadows. It's never a good thing when there's a giant shadow of my ass covering the slide noting my commitment to health and fitness. Scary. Alright I'm outa here. It's way to close to FGLH to function.
Sometimes I think I'm the only one out there who has inappropriate relationships with people in the food industry. Susan has in fact proved me wrong. Let's go there...so I arrived at Susan's house late Sat. The plan was to order out and eat said food while lying on couch. Happens to be one of my favorite venues. While Susan was retrieving the food from the Asian delivery man, I was privy to some unusual banter. It went something like this: (Asian man) "Long time no see." (Susan)"Yeah." (Asian man) "Ok honey, have a good night." Where to begin. (A.) The fact that he remembers Susan would indicate that she orders way to much Chinese food. (B.) He called her "honey." Given the amount of money I spend on food and the fact that no one has ever called me "honey" is disturbing! Taking the evidence at face value one can only assume that Susan has been getting a little "beef" with her broccoli! All of this wouldn't be so bad if she wasn't shoving the skinny agenda down my throat 24/7! Bla bla we must hike, go to gym, eat bars instead of real meals and be healthy. I guess you can do that when you are banging the Chinese delivery man on the side! 1o minute!
Being with Susan is actually good for my health. Even before I pull into her parking space she has whole agendas that involve me not eating and not napping. It's like a trip to the fat farm disguised as fun. She'll allow drinking from time to time but you better be up at the crack of dawn ready to function. Today is in fact "Bring your friend to work day." We've declared it as such bcs Susan in fact borrows Internet from her neighborhood which doesn't work well with the banking laptop. Not that I have any banking to do but appearances are everything. So I'm here in corporate land mingling with the movers and shakers. We did the early morning gym workout, showered with the ladies who never shave their bush and then swapped parking garages to arrive at said destination exactly 1 hour after the hard working people. Here in the real world you can't even enter an office without a super secret code...very scary. Once you have broken the code, you enter the land of 40 flavors of coffee, water and 15 kinds of tea. If that isn't enough, there's a massage room and some sort of game room. Translation...you will be at work for a VERY LONG TIME and we recognize the need to entertain you so that you don't come back with your 9 and kill all of us. Or something to that effect. Who wants to get caught playing Guitar Hero between 8-5? Not me....I'll be in the kitchen with the vending machine.
So my plan is to "work" from 9:15 to 12:00 at which time the militant diet master will be taking me to the California Pizza Kitchen. That's almost a three hour stretch without food. I hope I can make it. I've been holding in my pee for fear of forgetting the super secret bathroom code and being trapped in the hall with the commoners. I could starve out there before Susan finds me. She offered to loan me her GPS so that I could roam around the big city and find my way back to militant diet central. I may need the GPS to get from the kitchen to my cube. Yes, I have my very own cube. I can't actually see anyones face, I can't see the outside and I hear voices. Lots of voices. I'm am oppressed in cube land. In my keen analysis of the various people that work here, I've identified a keeper. Lots of activity flowing from her cube. I like her. If I needed a job (which I very well may) she would be the one chosen to pimp my wears. One of those that could make a Lean Cuisine sound like fine dining at it's best. Perhaps I will grow so accustomed to my life as a cube dweller that I won't eat, sleep or leave. Ever. Yeah that's not happening. Within a week my cube would be filled with crumbs, wrappers and empty Diet Coke bottles. I don't do cubes. Ice cubes yes.
It's almost FGLH. You can imagine my angst. I need a break from the voices. Being a cube dweller is hard work. Maybe I'll have to get an appetizer to make me feel better. Then our day will end abruptly at 1pm to prepare for the fraudulent fitness party. I'll need to find something to wear that hides the lies. Can't be sure how I'll pull that off. Lots of me standing with my back to the wall I suppose. At an angle works best bcs the thighs look better when they aren't casting shadows. It's never a good thing when there's a giant shadow of my ass covering the slide noting my commitment to health and fitness. Scary. Alright I'm outa here. It's way to close to FGLH to function.
Friday, October 3, 2008
Retaliation...brown shirt style
Last night I had a strange craving for McDonald's. Unusual only because I had just eaten there the night before. I like to think that I am equal opportunity craver. Apparently not. I can only assume that my body was still celebrating the overthrowing of the chili from the previous night and wanted to go back for a victory lap. By the way, I didn't hear a peep from Tara after I posted the blog. I assumed she had read it and disowned me accordingly. Not the case. It seems she was busy and hadn't yet gotten around to reading it. I conveniently walked the dog by her house in order to have the privilege of watching her read about the coup in person. The shock factor was worth it's weight in burgers. SIF 1....Tara 0. I knew there would be retaliation, but I wasn't prepared for it to begin on my turf...24 hours later.
Before I get to the pay back, I must tell you how rude the little drive thru man at McDonald's was. Now I know he must hate his job... and wearing that nasty brown shirt with his name on it had to be enough to make him postal BUT...he took mad to another level. He was the condescending mad male drive thru person. Not my favorite among the mad genre. When I placed my order I was told to produce $5.73 at the first window. When I arrived at window #1...no one. I was willing to overlook the "no show" as I could smell the fries waffling through the parking lot. I pulled up to window #2 prepared with exact change. I handed angry, brown shirt condescending man the money. He looked at it and handed it back. He proceeded to tell me that $5.73 doesn't equal $6.14. Really? His keen math skills were surely responsible for landing him the management job at the drive thru window. That's what the brown shirt signifies...management. I know this. I got mad skills. So anyway, I told him that on this we could agree however, the chick who took my order said $5.73. He proceeded to tell me that they don't have any value meals that are that cheap. I'm sorry...that cheap? As he was schooling me on the pricing for every combination on the menu, I realized this was my punishment for being fat. I handed him $6.14 to shut him up. He gave me my bag full of goodies sans straw. When I asked for the straw he told me it was in the bag. I assured him there wasn't a straw in the bag. He assured me that he always puts a straw in the bag. I decided to call in the big guns and come at him with my own brown shirt skills. I picked up the bag, smiled, showed him the contents and said: "While I'm sure your record for straw stuffing is impeccable, you have surely tarnished it with this transaction...see no straw!" He handed me a straw with a look that said, "I know it must be in your car somewhere you evil, redheaded, overweight fast food eater. " That's me. Have a nice night.
It's now Friday and lunchtime. Emily and I decided we needed a little Mexican. Not "a" Mexican, Mexican food. We've eaten it every day this week and we didn't want to break the streak. We had our usual: chips, queso, salsa, guacamole and vegetarian combo #3. Muy Bien. I should mention that my neighbor owns the joint. Not that that's ever gotten me a free meal or a discount for that matter. I have to look at his pink house every day and not even a free cerveza. Whatever. About an hour after we left the restaurant my phone rang. It was the chili cook...Tara. She proceeded to tell me that she knew where I ate today and what I ate. Yeah and? Apparently she went to the Mexican joint after we did and my neighbor spilled the frijoles. He told her that I was just in for lunch and how great I looked after losing all the weight. Let's stop right there. I know I didn't pay him to lie and he doesn't wear glasses so he surely must have mistaken me for someone else! A. I've gained back about 10 of the pounds I lost. B. No one ever thought I looked that bad (I thought) and C. I'm on a strict don't ask don't tell policy with all the restaurants in town! So Tara (in an attempt to outwit me) proceeded to ask him what I ordered. Good move...I'll give her that. He told her Vegetarian Combo #3. Tara was excited by the news. She thought, "At least she ate healthy." Yeah, and I'm a blonde too! The word "Vegetarian" made it seem as though I had jumped over to the other side. What's next, vinegar shots?
I wanted to let her have her moment...but that's not my style. I "put on my brown shirt" and delivered the bad news in much the same way the belligerent McDonald's guy had done the previous night: "While I'm sure you think the VC #3 was a good thing, it wasn't. It's beans, cheese and basically grease smothered on a tortilla. Just no meat. Carne' less if you will. (Spanish) Oh and he left off the appetizer: the guacamole, the queso and the salsa although I suppose salsa plays for your team." Translation...I may have handed you a straw but the one I gave you is sitting on the car floor! I'll give her a point for keen interrogation skills but I'm taking away 1/2 a point for preying on the non-English speaking man who was only trying to call me skinny. Who by the way I will be having a talk with. Don't be tellin people what I eat! You never saw me hombre! Yo no se! Que? Rosita Moreno don't live here anymore! I plan to make the following deal with my neighbor: You get to keep your pink house pink AND your mouth shut! Are we are "good." I think that's fair. As for the score board: SIF 1...Tara 1/2. You could have earned extra points for digging a little deeper into Combo #3 but once again you placed your trust in a fatty....big mistake!!
Before I get to the pay back, I must tell you how rude the little drive thru man at McDonald's was. Now I know he must hate his job... and wearing that nasty brown shirt with his name on it had to be enough to make him postal BUT...he took mad to another level. He was the condescending mad male drive thru person. Not my favorite among the mad genre. When I placed my order I was told to produce $5.73 at the first window. When I arrived at window #1...no one. I was willing to overlook the "no show" as I could smell the fries waffling through the parking lot. I pulled up to window #2 prepared with exact change. I handed angry, brown shirt condescending man the money. He looked at it and handed it back. He proceeded to tell me that $5.73 doesn't equal $6.14. Really? His keen math skills were surely responsible for landing him the management job at the drive thru window. That's what the brown shirt signifies...management. I know this. I got mad skills. So anyway, I told him that on this we could agree however, the chick who took my order said $5.73. He proceeded to tell me that they don't have any value meals that are that cheap. I'm sorry...that cheap? As he was schooling me on the pricing for every combination on the menu, I realized this was my punishment for being fat. I handed him $6.14 to shut him up. He gave me my bag full of goodies sans straw. When I asked for the straw he told me it was in the bag. I assured him there wasn't a straw in the bag. He assured me that he always puts a straw in the bag. I decided to call in the big guns and come at him with my own brown shirt skills. I picked up the bag, smiled, showed him the contents and said: "While I'm sure your record for straw stuffing is impeccable, you have surely tarnished it with this transaction...see no straw!" He handed me a straw with a look that said, "I know it must be in your car somewhere you evil, redheaded, overweight fast food eater. " That's me. Have a nice night.
It's now Friday and lunchtime. Emily and I decided we needed a little Mexican. Not "a" Mexican, Mexican food. We've eaten it every day this week and we didn't want to break the streak. We had our usual: chips, queso, salsa, guacamole and vegetarian combo #3. Muy Bien. I should mention that my neighbor owns the joint. Not that that's ever gotten me a free meal or a discount for that matter. I have to look at his pink house every day and not even a free cerveza. Whatever. About an hour after we left the restaurant my phone rang. It was the chili cook...Tara. She proceeded to tell me that she knew where I ate today and what I ate. Yeah and? Apparently she went to the Mexican joint after we did and my neighbor spilled the frijoles. He told her that I was just in for lunch and how great I looked after losing all the weight. Let's stop right there. I know I didn't pay him to lie and he doesn't wear glasses so he surely must have mistaken me for someone else! A. I've gained back about 10 of the pounds I lost. B. No one ever thought I looked that bad (I thought) and C. I'm on a strict don't ask don't tell policy with all the restaurants in town! So Tara (in an attempt to outwit me) proceeded to ask him what I ordered. Good move...I'll give her that. He told her Vegetarian Combo #3. Tara was excited by the news. She thought, "At least she ate healthy." Yeah, and I'm a blonde too! The word "Vegetarian" made it seem as though I had jumped over to the other side. What's next, vinegar shots?
I wanted to let her have her moment...but that's not my style. I "put on my brown shirt" and delivered the bad news in much the same way the belligerent McDonald's guy had done the previous night: "While I'm sure you think the VC #3 was a good thing, it wasn't. It's beans, cheese and basically grease smothered on a tortilla. Just no meat. Carne' less if you will. (Spanish) Oh and he left off the appetizer: the guacamole, the queso and the salsa although I suppose salsa plays for your team." Translation...I may have handed you a straw but the one I gave you is sitting on the car floor! I'll give her a point for keen interrogation skills but I'm taking away 1/2 a point for preying on the non-English speaking man who was only trying to call me skinny. Who by the way I will be having a talk with. Don't be tellin people what I eat! You never saw me hombre! Yo no se! Que? Rosita Moreno don't live here anymore! I plan to make the following deal with my neighbor: You get to keep your pink house pink AND your mouth shut! Are we are "good." I think that's fair. As for the score board: SIF 1...Tara 1/2. You could have earned extra points for digging a little deeper into Combo #3 but once again you placed your trust in a fatty....big mistake!!
Thursday, October 2, 2008
Chile..an
So I was invited over to Tara's house for dinner and Beach Body training last night....shameless plug for fitness business: www.imreadytogetfit.com. Anywho, Tara offered to cook dinner in exchange for said information. Deal. So Renee and I called her about 5:30 to see what was on the menu. Did you catch that SIF trick? Call ahead thus allowing for strategic planning should the menu not agree with your pallet. Let's face it...Tara is known for cooking things I can't pronounce much less eat! Figs stuffed with mold and good wholesome melons suffocated by the Italian version of bacon! It's a crime is what it is. My pre-dinner call found Ms. Tara at the grocery store with our Chilean friend Jen. I figured Jen would convince her to cook some sort of cross-cultural, spicy number that would send me back to the porcelain patio for the 2nd time this week. Sort of but not exactly. I don't think "Chili" came across any border that I'm aware of! As I know it, it's the food of cowboys, truckers and football fans. None of these remotely describes Tara or Jen. I deduced that they must have been at a loss for something quick/easy and decided that a "Chilean"(said with a random Spanish accent for effect) should be able to cook "Chili" (said with a random Spanish accent for effect). All's I know...I was off to McDonald's!
I'll just say it, I'm a gassy person. The doctor said it's just how my body processes food. I take that to mean it aint my fault and expel as much gas as possible (in the comfort of my home of course). So medically speaking, me eating Chili could possibly solve the gas shortage in the south. Renee and I decided (out of respect for the invite) that we would sneak off to McDonald's and fill our bellies with selections that didn't pose such hazards to my health. We ordered at the drive-thru and pulled around like good citizens to retrieve our food when the unthinkable happened...they gave us an extra cheeseburger. Snap! Everyone knows as soon as the food crosses the window they can't take it back without throwing it away. As my loyal readers know, I am into the "green" movement and do not waste. So we would just tuck that extra burger away for a crisis...or not. True to SIF form we hid in the parking lot and housed our meals as quickly as possible. I was on my last bite when the phone rang. Can you guess who it was? Tara! Busted! I didn't answer. She's good. She would hear my chewing and know what I was up to. As soon as I finished I called her back. She was still at the grocery. Damn! That's one block from the McDonald's. This was a crisis! We quickly packed up and headed out the back entrance in hopes of getting home before she did. Did you expect any less of me?
Now that we were free of any evidence (except a little salt around the mouth) we could rest easy. It went off without a hitch. She suspected nothing. That is until I didn't eat the chili. A SIF not eating...I don't think so! I thought of eating a little bowl to avoid the interrogation that was about to unleash itself upon me but I just couldn't do it. One because I was full and two because I'd been holding in a toot all night! Surely the chili would release the demon from it's cave! Then it started... I was accused of unthinkable crimes...in front of the dog no less! She accused me of not eating bcs I was going to leave and go to Taco Bell. Nope. That's not it. Try again. Then the guilt angle. She apologized for cooking something I couldn't eat and offered to cook me a Lean Cuisine. Ummmm....I'd rather stick pins in my eyes thank you! I was starting to feel really bad. I had to get out of there. The guilt was eating at me. Or maybe it was the wine. Can't be sure. Either way, I had pulled off the coupe of century and I couldn't even celebrate. Other than some random eye contact with Renee, there was no mention of the crime. Luckily Renee ate the chili so random conspiracy theories were overted.
Renee and I agreed to keep our "outing"on the "dl" bcs telling Tara in person wouldn't have the same effect as seeing it on the web. That effect being a long "Tara lecture" on eating bad food and possibly being hit by various pots and pans. Yes Tara I am the master. Perhaps you didn't think I was that good. I am. I have all sorts of eating tricks up my sleeve, down my pant leg and and many other places you wouldn't want to go! Let's pontificate shall we? When someone invites you over for dinner, is it disrespectful to make a fast food run prior to your arrival? Quite the opposite. Sometimes it's necessary to be a little rude to spare others a from a situation that could erupt....well you get the picture. Riddle me this...Had I not been proactive, the scene would have looked as follows: there we were eating the Chili (accent) with the Chilean (accent) and suddenly the room was overcome by odoriferous emanations. I aint talkin Glade Plug In's sisters! It would have been tragic! Just tragic! So as to spare Tara her worst fear I ate greasy fast food in the parking lot with Renee. I think it's clear who's committed to this friendship. There's nothing I won't do for a friend...except Chili.
I'll just say it, I'm a gassy person. The doctor said it's just how my body processes food. I take that to mean it aint my fault and expel as much gas as possible (in the comfort of my home of course). So medically speaking, me eating Chili could possibly solve the gas shortage in the south. Renee and I decided (out of respect for the invite) that we would sneak off to McDonald's and fill our bellies with selections that didn't pose such hazards to my health. We ordered at the drive-thru and pulled around like good citizens to retrieve our food when the unthinkable happened...they gave us an extra cheeseburger. Snap! Everyone knows as soon as the food crosses the window they can't take it back without throwing it away. As my loyal readers know, I am into the "green" movement and do not waste. So we would just tuck that extra burger away for a crisis...or not. True to SIF form we hid in the parking lot and housed our meals as quickly as possible. I was on my last bite when the phone rang. Can you guess who it was? Tara! Busted! I didn't answer. She's good. She would hear my chewing and know what I was up to. As soon as I finished I called her back. She was still at the grocery. Damn! That's one block from the McDonald's. This was a crisis! We quickly packed up and headed out the back entrance in hopes of getting home before she did. Did you expect any less of me?
Now that we were free of any evidence (except a little salt around the mouth) we could rest easy. It went off without a hitch. She suspected nothing. That is until I didn't eat the chili. A SIF not eating...I don't think so! I thought of eating a little bowl to avoid the interrogation that was about to unleash itself upon me but I just couldn't do it. One because I was full and two because I'd been holding in a toot all night! Surely the chili would release the demon from it's cave! Then it started... I was accused of unthinkable crimes...in front of the dog no less! She accused me of not eating bcs I was going to leave and go to Taco Bell. Nope. That's not it. Try again. Then the guilt angle. She apologized for cooking something I couldn't eat and offered to cook me a Lean Cuisine. Ummmm....I'd rather stick pins in my eyes thank you! I was starting to feel really bad. I had to get out of there. The guilt was eating at me. Or maybe it was the wine. Can't be sure. Either way, I had pulled off the coupe of century and I couldn't even celebrate. Other than some random eye contact with Renee, there was no mention of the crime. Luckily Renee ate the chili so random conspiracy theories were overted.
Renee and I agreed to keep our "outing"on the "dl" bcs telling Tara in person wouldn't have the same effect as seeing it on the web. That effect being a long "Tara lecture" on eating bad food and possibly being hit by various pots and pans. Yes Tara I am the master. Perhaps you didn't think I was that good. I am. I have all sorts of eating tricks up my sleeve, down my pant leg and and many other places you wouldn't want to go! Let's pontificate shall we? When someone invites you over for dinner, is it disrespectful to make a fast food run prior to your arrival? Quite the opposite. Sometimes it's necessary to be a little rude to spare others a from a situation that could erupt....well you get the picture. Riddle me this...Had I not been proactive, the scene would have looked as follows: there we were eating the Chili (accent) with the Chilean (accent) and suddenly the room was overcome by odoriferous emanations. I aint talkin Glade Plug In's sisters! It would have been tragic! Just tragic! So as to spare Tara her worst fear I ate greasy fast food in the parking lot with Renee. I think it's clear who's committed to this friendship. There's nothing I won't do for a friend...except Chili.
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
It's Holiday Time!
Well today brought about a very difficult decision for me. No I didn't divorce my husband. I laid the aforementioned 80's birthday cake to rest. Very sad. The only thing that remained was a tiny "L" shaped corner with a few random pieces of confetti stuck to the butter cream icing. I could have saved it and eaten the rest later but the novelty has worn off. Much like the novelty of marriage wears off. You still love the husband and the cake but they have more than worn out their welcome. The husband made out better than the cake which is currently swimming amongst coffee grounds in the bottom of my trash can. Where's the justice?
I decided to drown my sorrows over lunch with some friends. It started off with a big score...rock star parking! I was so close to the door that I could have hooked a tray to the window and placed my order. I use to love going to A&W for that very reason. You sit in the car, they hook a tray to your window, you order everything from the comfort of your car and some chick on skates rolls it right up to your mouth. Very civilized. That wasn't the case today. I actually had to remove my fat ass from the car, reach out and open the door. Man, the things I do for food. Then the real kicker, they only have healthy food. Who picked this place...person who's name rhymes with Kemily! My Diet Coke came in a bottle (unacceptable as I like tons of refills) and no fries. Ok you can pay extra for fries but 1. That's just embarrassing...trading healthy for fat and 2. They are glorified McCain waffle fries. I think not! If I'm going to walk the fatty road of shame those puppies better be the real thing. So I did what's been done to me on numerous occasions, I ordered healthy and stole fries from others. Score....SIF 1....others: 0
I should mention that I swallowed about 50 diet pills before I ate. They claim to help you lose weight 30% faster. I can't be sure how but does it really matter? 30% is way more than I'm willing to give! I think you are suppose to take 2 with your meal but I did some SIF math and figured out a way to make them 100% faster...I took 3.5. That's about as close to 100 as my elementary math gets me. That little stunt got me something else...a trip to the porcelain patio! Gheez! My hope is that everything I ate came out in the end. My fear is that I poisoned myself and my body revolted! Either way I was hungry again like 10 minutes later. The only thing in reaching distance was a powerbar. Fine. It's all about relative location now isn't it? Tonight I'm having dinner with some friends. Notice there is little to no reference involving me, a kitchen and actual cooking. That's how I like it. Fatties going out on the town.
So while I mourn the passing of the tacky 80's cake, have no fear... I will replace it with another sugary confection of my choosing. Do I just randomly keep cakes, pies and whatnot in my home? Of course not! Only for holidays and special occasions. After all it is Rosh Hashanah! Am I Jewish? In spirit of course! L'Chia'um! I can't back that up...
I decided to drown my sorrows over lunch with some friends. It started off with a big score...rock star parking! I was so close to the door that I could have hooked a tray to the window and placed my order. I use to love going to A&W for that very reason. You sit in the car, they hook a tray to your window, you order everything from the comfort of your car and some chick on skates rolls it right up to your mouth. Very civilized. That wasn't the case today. I actually had to remove my fat ass from the car, reach out and open the door. Man, the things I do for food. Then the real kicker, they only have healthy food. Who picked this place...person who's name rhymes with Kemily! My Diet Coke came in a bottle (unacceptable as I like tons of refills) and no fries. Ok you can pay extra for fries but 1. That's just embarrassing...trading healthy for fat and 2. They are glorified McCain waffle fries. I think not! If I'm going to walk the fatty road of shame those puppies better be the real thing. So I did what's been done to me on numerous occasions, I ordered healthy and stole fries from others. Score....SIF 1....others: 0
I should mention that I swallowed about 50 diet pills before I ate. They claim to help you lose weight 30% faster. I can't be sure how but does it really matter? 30% is way more than I'm willing to give! I think you are suppose to take 2 with your meal but I did some SIF math and figured out a way to make them 100% faster...I took 3.5. That's about as close to 100 as my elementary math gets me. That little stunt got me something else...a trip to the porcelain patio! Gheez! My hope is that everything I ate came out in the end. My fear is that I poisoned myself and my body revolted! Either way I was hungry again like 10 minutes later. The only thing in reaching distance was a powerbar. Fine. It's all about relative location now isn't it? Tonight I'm having dinner with some friends. Notice there is little to no reference involving me, a kitchen and actual cooking. That's how I like it. Fatties going out on the town.
So while I mourn the passing of the tacky 80's cake, have no fear... I will replace it with another sugary confection of my choosing. Do I just randomly keep cakes, pies and whatnot in my home? Of course not! Only for holidays and special occasions. After all it is Rosh Hashanah! Am I Jewish? In spirit of course! L'Chia'um! I can't back that up...
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