Fat is for lovers....sorry Virginia!

I'm re-working my license plates as we speak. Just when I think fat is "out" and death by donut to be a viable option, television once again saves the day. If you are fat, thick, obese or any combination thereof...I highly recommend you watch the episode of "Taboo" called "Fat."This once again falls into the category of " I can't make this shit up." It's becoming quite a lengthy chapter in my writing career. So I was clicking around trying to find something on TV that would compliment my jelly filled Krispy Kreme, and there it was. A large blond woman with braids, who's clearly the morbidly obese stunt double for "Hedi." ..."The Grandfather" would be none to pleased by the way. From the size of this bitch, one too many HO' HO's went in and not enough"Yo da lay HO-HO's" came out. Buried beneath piles of rubble, was a pretty face. I fear the challenge of unearthing it might be more work than the common man could handle. Apparently not... she not only has a boyfriend...she has a boyfriend who weighs less than I do and she's trained him to say things like, "I really believe this is the best I can do." He really said that....on TV...for everyone to mock. The only upside I could imagine for him would be to turn "Dahmer" on her ass. She would make for quite the feast. You could Ziploc and freeze enough to feed 2 or 3 3rd world countries. My giving soul always shines through.

After picking my jaw up off the floor in order to position it back on my donut, I realized I had to DVR this shit. I needed proof that there was hope for me... after such time that my husband realized I was never going to be the woman he married. Just a large version of something he once banged. Once, being the key word. They say life is a journey not a destination. I say marriage is quite the opposite. As soon as you say, "I do," you have arrived. The journey was short and full of just enough lies to get you to the alter...yeah that was fun. Couldn't have led me to Brad Pitt's house....nope...led me to misery. As it were, I waited years for Brad Pitt to dump Jennifer Aniston. I figured he was waiting just long enough to make the numbers work after that $5 mill wedding, but then I got tired of waiting. So I went to my destination certain they'd stay married forever. I kid you not, literally, the first day of my honeymoon I clicked on the TV (cause that what all people do on their honeymoon) and there it was...."Brad & Jenn separating." I screamed in anger...or maybe that was the fake "O" I had been perfecting for the time frame I'll call "dating"...dunknow. Either way, it set the tone for what was to come....not me and alot of eating. Ok, back to the Fat show....

Did you know there's an official name for fatties throughout the world? Apparently eating is a multi-cultural problem...thus spawned the term "Globesity." I freakin love it! I will name my first born, "Globesity." Her nickname shall be "Beesee." It has a ring to it. According to the kill joys who make up this crap, 2/3 of the US is overweight. Really? Cause I feel so alone in my caloric quest to conquer the world. Even the flippin Chinese have jumped on board...they once boasted little to no obesity...not anymore...1/3 of their peeps are fat and happy! I feel like they could make a comeback if they stopped frying the cats...broiled is the way to go. It takes more than "10 minute" but it's better for you. What do I know...if it aint fried I don't eat it. Mostly bcs I want to make sure it's cooked properly...yeah that's it. Frying kills the ills and I'm OCD so it's medically necessary for me to fry my food...or something. It would seem my SIF have taken over the world. It makes this blog all the more powerful, quite frankly. And we aren't going away. As long as we can get a meal for $5 in less 5 minutes, eat 1400 calories via 1 donut and summons someone to bring almost anything to our door, we will remain SIF...Globesity Goddesses if you will. It's time to wake the inner fatty on the hold outs...Let this serve as your motivation to take your 2/3rds share and turn it into 3/3rds!...I'm no good at math, but I think that's the whole pie. I like pie. I feel like pie could be motivating to this crowd. I'll work on it.

Let me tell you how the Moratimyea's feel about this situation....who are they? I don't know...some peeps in the Middle East who think fat is where it's at! I've secured a one way ticket to their country, fyi. In their culture "skinny" is akin to having 2 heads, 8 legs and a husband who actually does something. Unimaginable. Shame and scandal is brought to your family if your BMI is less than 30. Your status in society is tied to your size....the bigger the better! Fat equals health, wealth and beauty. Amen!! Women must be prepared at a young age to take on a husband....and the husbands want fatties! They use a technique called "gavage" to force feed little girls who think it's cool to be skinny. Where'd they get an idea like that? It's actually borderline child abuse. Watching someone not want to eat was almost as disturbing as watching the forced feedings. Granted they aren't getting takeout from McDonald's, but I'm sure the road kill I saw them gnawing on was quite tasty. I mean....this sounds like the land of milk and honey right? Hold your forks....there's one tidbit of underlying trickery that I have a problem with...they believe that how large you are represents the amount of space you take up in your husbands heart. That's great n all if you are married to someone with enough room to accommodate such a commitment. I however am not. My husband has given his heart to cigarettes and fat back. No room at the Inn. Looks like it's time for a journey to Mortamayea... and a new beau who appreciates a SIF.

As if all this scandal weren't enough...I leave you with the scariest of the scary....the organized fatties. The National Association to Advance Fat Awareness...hide your children. Their members are fat and thin. The fatties are the fatties and the skinnies are called "FA" or Fat Admirers. Picture a dance floor with woman so fat(visual aide- 8 chins, an ass where a gut once was, a couple of vagina's and a few cankles....yummy) they can barely bust a move... and then thin men doing the moon walk around them. This would be a fat mixer. These "fat admirers" admit to being "Bi-sizeual." You kiss your mama with that mouth? Yes. They claim to have a unique ability to just see the person for who they are....underneath layers of molten, wrinkled, festering fat. I may have added that last tidbit. In any event, we all know who they really are. The oddballs who smell like old people, play video games at 45 and think the Simpson's deserve and Academy Award. As a fatty I think we need to recruit some more viable candidates to the group. I plan to email Brad Pitt after I finish this and tell him his services are needed at NATAFA. He saved New Orleans...surely he can save the fatties. Not to mention he owes me. That whole..."I'll never leave Jenn" incident has cost me valuable years of sex. I haven't decided how to get rid of all those crumb snatchers he acquired...perhaps I'll take them to a NATAFA and tell the fatties they are Kabobs. Or I could send them to Mortamiyea...I think at least 2 of them are from there anyway. If he would agree to all of that, I can take him places Angelina won't go...literally.

Exhibit "I"

In the event any of you were wondering if my unhealthy relationship with food was a farce...I give you Exhibit "I"...for ice cream. In the past, I've stated this disorder began at birth. However, I sensed doubters amongst us...so I felt it necessary to provide you with a visual aide...I give you a softball celebration.... circa 1980 something. The Panthers won the division title and were tricked into partying with the devil... aka ice cream. You may be wondering...which one of these little rats is the SIF? A true SIF could spot me a mile away...thank you very much. You'll note how others are randomly chatting happily with appropriately sized ice cream cones...and then there's me..suckin down an entire banana split looking irritated by the photo op. Truth be told...I've always been bitter that the cost accounting God who created the pricing index for the nectar aptly called "Banana Split"... didn't give more weight to the cherry. I prefer 3-4 as opposed to the 1-2 provided. Perhaps why I am slightly fruit aggressive to this day, can't be sure. Or maybe I knew that I was to marry and be miserable for the rest of my life. One can only speculate this far back. One thing is for sure, I played a mean right field. Granted, they usually stick the fatties far enough out field to make them appears thinner, but I worked that job. I knew one thing for sure...the more balls I grabbed, the bigger the reward. It's a shame adult life had to ruin that. In any event, I caught alot of balls and ate alot of ice cream. As much as I wanted to be the pitcher or the catcher...I was banned to the outfield. Cast out like the fatty I am. That's fine. Nothing can break my spirit. I still eat banana splits and bitch about the lack of cherries, I still hate pictures when I'm eating and to this day no good has come of my efforts to ball snatch. What's a girl to do alone in right field with all those balls and no game....eat I suspect. Your honor, I rest my case.

Losing the ones you love....

It's never easy saying goodbye to those responsible for shaping our lives, making us who we are... never realizing how much they mean to us until they are gone. Today I mourn the loss of a dear friend. Though I didn't even know her name, I feel like we had a bond...that special something that brings two people together when they need each other most. She was always there for me. When I was hungry... she provided, when change was needed...she provided, when I asked for anonymity....she provided. My only solace, knowing her death was quick and painless. She was gone without warning...right after I declared her, the drive-thru lady at McDonald's, officially dead to me.... as part of my New Year's Revelations of course. I'm not sure if this makes me a murderer but call it what you like...the bitch had to die. Her ability to sense my lust for sinful treasures lurking about the Dollar Menu (from inside her glass cage) was a talent known to few. It literally kept me in bondage for over 37 years! Die bitch die! RIP

Yes, this is what dieting does to me...makes me a little "off." I dare say I walk on that side more often than I care to admit. However, comma, I speak only the truth. It's been a week since I've been to the drive-through and I'm a little overcome with grief quite frankly. French Fries, Pomme Frites, Nectar of the Gods....call it what you like...the forbidden fruit is weighing on me....quite literally... on my ass thank you. Maybe if I threw out the mirrors and the scales I could have spared my smiley faced shift worker. Nah. There's always a doctor to keep you down. He claims I have some annoying "gene" that's attempting to over throw my right to a happy and healthy life. Yeah...I married him, so what do you propose I do? He had no good answers. We spent most of the visit arguing over the fact that my $15 co-pay still hasn't produced an accurate set of scales. They said I gained like 10 lbs. Clearly faulty. Blah Blah...eat whole grains...they will fill you up in a healthy way. So will Brad Pitt...why don't I munch on him? I'm sorry but whole grains taste like ass. Dirt to be precise. I wonder if there's a whole grain french fry? Gotta look into that. In the meantime I spend most of my New Years days angry. What is there to look forward to? Protein shakes and brown rice. My, my...why not throw in an enema?

In my new life, I watch a lot of TV.... so I can look at food I can't eat. According to the Dr., this "gene" is responsible for making me salivate in these situations. Add to that list...responsibility for the ability to eat 6 honey buns in as many seconds, generalized over eating and alcohol induced cravings. I like when there's someone to blame. I like it better when it's my husband but this will do for now. This "gene" is most likely derived from the male side of my family. I completely made that up... but in my mind it's fact. So yeah, watching TV. I watched Bear Grylls survive life at sea by giving himself an enema....ummm....yeah...I'd prefer death to shoving a make shift pipe up my ass in hopes of hydration. I bet he's good in bed. Seems kinky. Anyway, so after that little "TV" watching incident, I didn't really have an appetite to speak of. That worked...for a minute. Then my husband took over the remote. By now you know that means one thing...Discovery Channel. Yippee. Discover how I can eat whatever I want and not get fat...that's good solid TV. Instead, I watched two men climb to the top of some huge mountain carved to look like a woman's head. They were European and said things like "lest" and "whilst"...which made me happy...can't be sure why. Then they ruined it all by saying the following, " If we can manage to mount her, I think we make it to the summit." I started to panic and sweat profusely. Is this what my husband says about me when he attempts to "trip my light fantastic?" Mounting me in hopes of reaching my summit? It's a large woman's fear and I know it well. It seemed like a real possibility. Except for the part where he mounts me. You'll recall we work on the "You can just come and get it anytime you want it" system in our household. When the mountain is built on that kinda rock, the only one reaching the summit is me...thank you very much.

Other than all of that, dieting is just great. I'm back on the "house arrest" system. Nothing like having an evil band report in on what you do and don't do every day. The key to this system is in the lying. I have to enter what I eat. No good can come of this. You can't be on house arrest stealing and smoking crack. Nor can you be on "house arrest" eating honey buns and and cake...but I do. I'm on the gradual let down program....I gradually let myself down so the blow isn't so big when I'm still fat this summer. The best part of the new season of "house arrest"...I've assumed my husbands ID. Yes, he is now a slightly overweight, extra good looking woman. I'm sure he would be thrilled to know that. Now if I can just give him my period...working on that. Anyway, I did it bcs you get 3 months free on the "system" and we know I've used up all chances of being me! The worst part...I fear I weigh more than he does. Oh well....he should enjoy being me for a while...I put out for the asking, I don't leave my underwear on the floor and I happen to know the location of the dishwasher. Not easy being me. I guess I'll keep working the system as it appears I'm in for life.

New Years Revalations

Let's face it....September-December is crunch time for a SIF. We have 4 acceptable months to eat as much as we can before we have to resolve to never do it again. As soon as the leaves turn, it's time to start storing the ole winter fat. Given the economy in 2009, I decided to store a little extra in the event of whatever event would warrant me to do so. I get highly excited during these 4 months. There's my birthday, Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Years. It angers me when September rolls in and it's still warm. Cold weather means comfort foods like pot roast, macaroni & cheese and chicken pot pie. Hard to fire up the oven for such delicacies whilst the A/C is running. I mean....I don't wait on the weather to get my seasonal eat on, but it seems more feasible to be a hog in the cold. Cold weather hogs are much more accepted by their peers than warm weather hogs. Saw that on Discovery. I pretty much throw in the towel when fall hits. Whenever I eat something bad during this 4 month period I remind myself...I'll do better next year. That might work if I wasn't dropping this line at every meal. However comma, by the time New Years roles around, it still seems a little too sudden. Where did September go? Why is society forcing me to make resolutions? I can't be sure. I decided my resolution this year was to make revelations. I'm good at that....bringing excuses to light is what I do best. If somewhere along the way I lose a few pounds....so be it. I will find them again. Watch for the Amber Alert...I hate losing anything.


Revelation #1: Holidays = Holiday travel which equals fast food. Normally that would excite me. However, when one is forced to eat "Turnpike Trash" the glamour fades. If you've ever traveled along the PA turnpike you may have had the occasion to stop at one of those Vegas like mini-cities along the way. Picture this....driving for hours around curvy mountain roads with no sign of gas, human life or food....until...out of nowhere you see neon lights and signs denoting civilization. You are forced to stop out of fear you will never see life again...ever. After exiting via a road that exclusively delivers you into this new found wonderland you begin to feel the excitement that only food and urination can bring. Any jubilation brought on by the thought of a Starbucks and a Roy Rogers right smack next to each other is quickly put to rest by the "wildlife" that lurks amongst this fine roadside penitentiary. I ask you this....where can you find illegal aliens, convicts, child molesters and that kid who wore the helmet on the short bus all in one place? At the PA Turnpike Vegas Style Roadside Stop. I will say one positive thing. I peed and was not murdered. That's about it. My Roy Rogers roast beef smelled like dog shit. Perhaps the English as a first language classes put me at a disadvantage and there was some sort of mix up. Can't be sure. I know this...Roy Rogers would have fallen off his horse had he seen who was in his employ. So I moved on to Starbucks. Their sign read "Open 24 Hours." A sure bet right? It's coffee. Who fucks that up? Don't answer that....allow me. I made a simple request: 1 cup of Decaf and 1 Decaf Skim Latte. The answer, "We don't have any decaf but I can make you the Latte." Just how would that be possible? Well, it seems they stop brewing Decaf after 9pm but the Latte was $10 Decaf so it was feasible. I was beyond confused. Had I asked for Decaf coffee at a 24 hour burger joint, telling me they weren't brewing it after 9pm would have made perfect sense. Asking for coffee at a 24 hour coffee joint and being told that they aren't brewing it made me Larry David style angry! Had I not felt my life to be in danger, I may have indulged the Barrista in a game of "Here's your Sign." Instead, I decided to leave, dial 1-800-CrimeTV and let John Walsh have a field day with this 24 hour freak show. I fear mountain people. I vow to never go to PA again. Sorry. I like Decaf after 9...and my life.

Revaluation #2: Fat girls shouldn't wear sequins. One would think this would go without saying. However comma, there's always that fatty (me) who thinks it's cute to wrap 787 pounds of cellulite in tiny gold disks and show it off at the holiday party. There's nothing like watching the light rebound off of a super-sized figurine perched at the buffet. Blinding. That's what it is. Unless there's music. In which case we have an instant disco ball. So aside from illumination and humiliation, I can't think of one reason going naked wouldn't be a better decision. That's all I have to say about that.

Revaluation #3: Biting the candy as opposed to referring to label on the box is acceptable. My personal favorite. Allow me to splain...why take time to read what's in the box when you can just bite it and see for yourself. Saves time. Not to mention....a true SIF already knows by the shape and texture just what she's about to eat. The real reason this works...no one will attempt to eat your candy if you bite half of every piece. That's a fact. Russell Stover really needs to change the line up. I got it mastered. Oh and Russell, no one likes the lemon ones. They taste like chocolate Pinesol. Stop being cheap and throw in some more nugget filled ones. Bastard.

Revaluation #4: Don't pretend to like gifts that suck. I'm over it. Getting a plastic bird in a cage at 37 is no laughing matter. Even when it comes from an 87 year old woman who calls herself Grandma. If she's that senile she should be in a home. Locked away...no key. So this year I decided to tell her what I thought. "Thanks for the bird. You do realize I'm 37. I already live in a cage with something that doesn't listen and is basically useless...but thanks for providing me a replica of my miserable life." She can't hear so it works as long as I'm smiling. Then she has my Mom tell me, " Tell her I got her the bird bcs she's a Byrd." I in fact heard her say it, so why it had to go through the chain of command I'm not quite sure. This is why it's not always advantageous to marry someone with a last name that can be used against you. I want to plot a similar gift for her next year but she's been married 8x...makes the joke kinda tricky.

Finally my favorite day of the year... New Years-diet Sunday (that's the Monday after New Years. It's bad luck to diet on the first). I've vowed for the 37th time that this will be the year I jump to the other side. I've been binge eating all day. In fact, when I'm done with this post, I have some Tirmisu waiting for me. ** Pause....I just got up and ate it. Typing it put the taste in my mouth and I had to have it. I can see tomorrow is going to be a breeze.** I vow to eat until midnight, at which time I go back to the house arrest band that monitors my every move. That's the only way I'll ever lose a pound...24 hour supervision. As soon as I lose that pound it's coming off. Maybe I should take Grandma's warped analogy and make it work for me...I'm a Byrd so I should eat like a bird. Yeah but I'm like....Big Bird and I fear he gets in his calories. I'll keep trying. How many days til I have to show skin again? I have time!