A Midsummer Night's Diet

Just when you think there isn't a diet left on the market that my chubby little hands haven't touched....think again. I found one... in Fitness Magazine (ya know....the magazine of choice for verging fatties) complete with a coupon. We all know how I love to save a buck...especially on gross diet food! I placed my order...and actually contemplated paying $10 extra for the expedited shipping...it was a Sat and I wanted it by Monday....New Me Monday to be exact....take 2,182. Who knows, this might be the time it all comes together! However comma, common sense kicked in and I was gently reminded paying $10 extra to get a diet by Monday that I will clearly be cheating on by Tuesday is like pre-paying for a hooker and opting out of the sex part. It just doesn't make much sense. Not to mention...everyone knows faster shipping is a scam to call out the big girls. They laugh all the way to the bank with that $10 as they send your package out with all the other closet fatties. So I went with standard shipping and laid out my plan for massive binge eating until such time I could see the faint brown color of the UPS truck grazing my block. With a deadline like that, you can only imagine the amount of calories consumed between the time of impulse diet purchase and arrival of said impulse diet purchase. Ughum...



Said diet product arrived on a Wednesday....exactly 3 business days after I ordered it....without the extra $10....thank you very much. Everyone knows you don't keep a verging fatty waiting...we know the return policy when it's time to jump the fence!It was the Wednesday my husband was graduating from the fire academy. No way I could start it then. I would be expected to participate in post graduation consumption. I wouldn't want to be a party pooper. That leaves Thursday. Ughum. Thursday was his birthday. By now anyone who has read this blog knows of my inappropriate relationship with sugar....birthday cake to be exact. Does anyone think I was going to start my diet on a day when I had an excuse to take him out to dinner AND eat cake!? I think not! In fact, those around us were questioning who's birthday it was. Like a good wife I took him to a nice dinner, proceeded to get drunk, made him drive home and ensured I got the piece of cake with the most frosting. Wife of the year...creeping up on me again. In my defense, a woman getting ready to start her period or a diet can't be held accountable for her actions within 7 days of any sort of offense. At least one of those excuses was applicable. Then there was my next dilemma, leftovers. Oh...I should clarify....not my leftovers ( I don't even know what that word means quite frankly)....his leftovers. I could care less about the ribs he brought home. I find the eating of someone else's rib cages a bit barbaric...I meant the cake. Had it been a regular grocery store cake with the sugary icing that I love so, the problem would have had an expiration date....about 2-3 days. But no, the husband likes ice cream cake....as discussed at length in previous blogs. That shit lasts forever....unless no one knows it's there but me....then it's got an hour or two max. But he not only knew it was there, he knew how much he ate thus leaving me vulnerable to rationing. Damn! Diets, rationing, husbands....you kiss your Mama with that mouth?! So I was left with a counter full of diet food and a freezer full of cake. It's like choosing between having an affair with Brad Pitt or doing the right thing- getting a divorce, chasing down Brad Pitt and hoping he not only likes fat divorced chicks...but has given back all of those offspring with what's her name! It's just easier to sneak in the freezer for a quickie.

This brings us to Friday. I ask you, who starts a diet on a Friday. No one I know. Then again, no one I know weighs under 650. Friday's are for beer, pizza and sex. 2 out of 3 of those things happens 4 out 4 Friday's at my house. Let just say I never go thirsty or hungry and leave it at that. Friday was out....even though there was a very large woman I barely recognized staring back at me screaming for an intervention....it would have to wait until Saturday when I was off work and could focus. Who starts a diet on a Sat? No one I know. Saturday is for eating as much as possible and cooking as little as possible. I would put it off one more day....the Lord's day to be exact. Surely God would intervene and prescribe diet and rest on the 7th day. Not so much. If he did, he clearly should have stopped me prior to the chicken biscuit combo on my way to church. I'm a good person. I tithe. Can't a sister get a break!? The Lord spoke to me at church and told me that all good things happen on Monday (which I knew...duh!). That settled it. The new me would once again have to start on Monday. If only I had tithed a dollar for every calorie I ate that day....world hunger would be no more. Well except for my world hunger...I will NEVER stop being hungry. NEVER..NUNCA.

Monday morning arrived and I was all fired up. The new me was ready to come out and play. I woke up, walked 4 miles and drank one of the shakes from my new packet of astronaut food. It read, "Creamy Orange Shake." It should have read, " FRAUD." It was like drinking watered down Sunny D....minus the Sunny, the D and anything in there that would have made it taste good. Being a trained fatty, I have work arounds for these situations....no I didn't add ice cream (although that would have done the trick). I plugged my nose and swallowed. A technique that can be used for various painful experiences. The good news....I got to eat more crappy food in 2 hours. I literally watched the clock until it was time to eat again. I decided I would try a "bar." Who fucks up a bar? The instructions said, "Do not eat more than one of these bars as they are high in calories." 110 to be exact! Gheez! I expected to get a granola sized bar with some sort of flavor. I got the flavor...in the one bite it took me to finish it! It was the size of a postage stamp! Clearly this is the trick starvation diet! As you would expect, it took me exactly 2 hours, 34 minutes and 16 seconds to cheat. I carried my big ass to Subway for a footlong turkey. That shit was calling me! Food is my crack and I was back on the corner with Pookie! You know where this is going....as soon as I mess up....the flood gates open. I went on to eat non-stop until I went to bed at 10pm. New Me Tuesday?

Yes, I was so disgusted Tuesday that I promised myself I would try and get at least 1 day in without cheating. That's the cool thing about promising yourself something, I can only let me down and frankly I am quite forgiving! As long as I am rewarded with some "hair of the dog" things can once again be made whole. I sucked it up and ate as much of the nasty diet propaganda that I could stomach. I plugged my nose for the shake, pretended to love the one real food I got to eat....salad (sans Ranch...I know...unfair!) and tried to figure out a way to make 1.13 ounces of a somewhat tasty snack bar last longer than 1 second. I got an "A" until
9 pm. What happened at 9pm you ask? Well....of course the fat demon that lives inside me decided to started "speaking" to me. "There's no way you are eating enough. You are gonna pass out. You can't do any form of exercise and be on this diet. Your blood sugar will fall and you will convulse. You better add up the calories and make sure this is safe." I was in an all out panic. Because clearly my body couldn't tolerate any sort of calorie reduction! Gee....I might have enough fat stores to last me until...Oh I don't know....2017! But I listened to the Demon and started to add....feverishly. "I'm going to die. Being fat isn't so bad. I choose life!" Those were just some of the things going through my head when I reached my total caloric input for the day.....950! What?! My dogs eat more than that and they are lazy sluggos! I knew what had to be done. Popcorn. Air popped...light on the butter. A small sacrifice to keep me alive long enough to see Wednesday. Oh...and there was a bit of emotional eating in the mix. This weeks episode of Deadliest Catch was airing Captain Phil's death. It was very sad. He was a good man....not that I know him, have met him or know anything about him. It's just that we have been sharing Tuesday's nights from spring to summer for several seasons and I'll miss seeing him chain smoke and shake. Can't believe he's dead. RIP Phil.

So I almost made it through 1 day on this diet. That being said, it was time to jump on the scale and look for results! Keeping ones expectations in line is key to success on any diet. There it was...I had lost 3 pounds. Must have been the chicken biscuit I "let go of" at my am bowel movement. Good stuff. Now that I had confirmation it was working, it would be easier to follow through. Here we are at Wednesday. I have thrown out the boxed diet oatmeal, scrambled eggs and 1 thing of soup. I went online and ordered the fake fatty chips and brownies. If I have to eat cardboard I should at least pretend it started as something I would normally eat, right? Should be here in 3 days. At that point, my diet shall consist of shakes, chips, brownies and bars. Almost like it's not a diet at all! In the meantime, I will stay the course with what remains on my counter. Well...on my end of the counter. The other end has all the cool people, Lil' Debbie, Keebler, Cap'n Crunch and so on. I had to get new friends....and my new friends suck ass! In the end my new friends will make me a better person but I prefer to live on the edge and bear the consequences....such as clothing that ends in X and buying two seats on an airplane. It's so old me.

I know....you want to know what diet I'm on. I shall torture you until such time as 1 of 2 things happens: 1. I lose weight or 2. I fall off the wagon. I'd put my money on 2. It's a sure bet. I have my high school reunion in 25 days. I can't show up as twice the woman I was in 1989. It's not even cool to be fat right now. I'm so out. I guess if I can't lose my ass in 25 days I'll have to concoct some elaborate story of a genetic mutation causing me to double in size....I shall call her "Mother!" Kidding Maaa....and no I'm not telling you what diet I'm on. Keep counting your points and leave me to 950 calories of cardboard. Time for a bar....and not the kind with alcohol unfortunately.

Wife of the Year

This just in... the award for "Fatty Wife of the Year" .... goes to...my ass, (literally and figuratively) hands down. I'm fairly confident when it comes to categories such as "Use of Food as a Weapon, a Crutch, and a Friend...there isn't even a runner up. I feel like there should also be an honorable mention for the various forms of trickery I gracefully execute on a daily basis. Let's revisit some of my finer moments of the year and revel in all that is me, shall we?


2010 began with none other than a New Year's Revelation. My Revelation...If my husband accepts me 6 sizes bigger than when he married me, 2 things are very clear: 1. He has no other options 2. He's suppressing "fat stores" that will one day result in his spontaneous combustion ...thus leaving me free to marry Brad Pitt. Happy New Year to me.


In 6 months I have been on 6 diets and gained 6....tee pounds. 666. Clearly the diet God's are not hearing my prayers (male God's I'm sure). I know I'm a slutty, trash talking Rabbit lover...but these are Diet God's....they should only curse me for eating Taco Bell and Fried Twinkies....not judge me for colorful language and plastic "man friends." If I have to break up with Little Debbie, bury the Rabbit AND stop saying, "fuck" ....I'm fucked. Much like marriage, dieting gets more painful with age....I've single handily cussed out the fine folks at Weight Watchers ( Points suck! 22 points? I eat that in my f'n sleep!), went crazy on "crack" (for the record...the Phen in Phentremine that's "safe" is great if you enjoy staying up all night, never eating and a heart that beats more than Ron Jeremy- I choose life and rabbit) and spent 1 day carb free....(1 long painful day where I was forced to break up with the one thing my "whoo whoo" hates and I love...yeast.) If being fat is a crime, trying not to be fat is pre-meditated fucking murder. Sorry Diet God's. Where's Little Debbie when I need some defense? Back where I started....Forever 2x


I decided to sign myself up for Mission Impossible...find a place on my body that wasn't fat. Even if it was just a tiny crevice on the road map of me...I had to find it. When I located the aforementioned part, I decided it should available for viewing, unveiled if you will. That is why I no longer wear panties. Why keep the only thing on me that has remained unscathed for 37 years (give or take a few bad decisions) covered up? Why? I just don't know....thus why she is now free to roam about the cabin. I decided to attend a party (a coming out party of sorts) wearing a dress that allowed "her" to breath whilst the rest of me suffocated from random displaced fat. What's a fatty to do whilst wearing a flapper dress to hide what flaps whilst her very own "flapper" flapped in the breeze....stand there and look cute. 1 inch to the left, right, up or down and "Leave it to Beaver" would be an instant prime time hit once more. I don't know what scared me more...someone seeing my dimpled thighs or my "Chucky." Either way, someone would clearly be losing an eye. Good thing I'm not famous. The papz would have been all up in my pink taco. The only thing surrounded by fat that's good and good for you.

Now to my worst offense of the year. If you are close to a sink, wash your hands before reading. It's down right dirty and shameful. As many of you know, I am a frugal fatty. Why pay full price for Doritos when the simple use of a coupon can double the quantity, the calories and thus the pleasure . It's just common sense shopping. So... whilst I was out on one of my various grocery runs, I noticed not only were ice cream cakes on sale...but I also had a coupon! Who says the average girl can't win the lottery! Top that off with the perfect excuse for purchasing said cake....hubby's birthday. Here's where it gets dicey. Captain's logbook...February....Husbands birthday....June. We all know where this is going. In the cruelest form of trickery, I bought the cake as a "surprise" well ahead of the curve. Much like many of the "surprises" I bring home for "him," he would never see it. I have good intentions...just very bad morals. Fire/Ice. About the end of February (the start of ice cream season), I decided my husband might not like that cake after all. It was adorned with pink flowers. What was I thinking? What man would eat a cake with feminine undertones? No man of mine. So...I decided it would be best if I spared his masculinity by eating the section with the pink flowers. Allow me to scale that to size for you....that would be half the cake. Objects in mirror appear just as big as they are, thank you! Damn that frosting was good. What? It was February. Winter sucks and the spring flowers were calling. Then I got my period. Taking a sharp knife to a very frozen ice cream cake allowed me to release a certain amount of negative energy that I attribute to...marriage....and that was the end of the cake. I bring you to June. The birthday is 2 days away, we have no cake and no coupons. I'm torn. Should I just tell him how good the cake was back in February or come out of pocket with another $20 knowing he might see 1 piece of that cake before it enters the confines of my gut only to be seen again as a small (or large) pock on my ass. I got it...I'll get him a card and me a cake. Yes, I'm am the whore of the earth. Happy Birthday Honey.

I can't think of anything I've done in the last 5 minutes that tops that one. I did get drunk on Saturday (at the Beaver's coming out party...these things happen) and binge eat all day Sunday. That's so...common. Well, except for the part where I broke my long standing McDonald's record by going back 2 x in 2 hours. I know...even I get sick reading that. This is why fat people shouldn't drink....they could be eating.

Is it 2011 yet?

Drivers Education SIF Style

I decided to test a theory I have that technology is making me fat. Leave it to me...when I run out of people to blame, I start blaming the smart people. It's what I do. I give you the drive up window. Everyone who's anyone has one. I decided to be a "fatlosipher" and see how many things I could accomplish in one day without prying my fat ass from the drivers seat of the 4Runner...here goes:

* I started the day off like many Americans do.... with a coffee and donut from none other than Dunkin Donuts! Drove up, placed my order and drove off. I steered clear of the donut holes as my local DD likes to get a head count on each one....I'm not into that....but....it felt good knowing I was consuming what "Keeps America Running"....to the cardiologist. And currently that would be the only running I'm allowed to do....bitter at best. Moving on...

* Then it was time to turn over my slave wages to the evil bank. I drove up, handed off the money and bam.... I'll never see it again. Good thing they pay me .00000125% interest. Makes it all worth while. Super bonus score....I didn't have to wait behind any of the usual idiots who drive up sans deposit/withdrawal slips. They must be related to the people who think you have to wait until the cashier has scanned everything before you can swipe your card at the grocery store and then act like they've never used one before. Get a clue... technology is for people who graduated pre-k! Still bitter....still driving....

* Now it was on to the fuel that keeps me going....drugs! Walgreen's here I come! A dose of happy pills to take me to my special place, baby be gones to ensure this never happens again and a little allergy medicine to keep me from sneezing when my husband is around. Seems I might be allergic to....him. Interesting. I don't think they make a shot for that....other than a 9mm...which seems a little drastic at present.

* What to do next...well...all of this running around has given me an appetite...let's hit McDonald's! This is always a fun experience for several reasons....I like when the teleprompter chick says, "Welcome to MacDonalds would you like to cool off with a delicious Frappacino?"...makes me salivate but nope....I'd like to cool off with a delicious Double Quarter Pounder with cheese and fries...super sized please. What? It's all very logical when you think about it. Coffee makes you run to the bathroom. That would mean I would have to leave the comfort of my car. Not in the cards Sisters! 3000+ calories just makes you tired. I can deal with that from the confines of the 4Runner....moving on....

* All of the saturated fat has made me sleepy....time for a nap! Any parking lot will do. Find you a shade tree, park the car and bam...instant womb! I like to park where no one would expect to find me....yup....there's a lovely space reserved just for my slar phase at the local YMCA. What? It's very unassuming. Might I add it's mid-afternoon and I have yet to leave the vehicle. No goal is beyond my reach.

* Time for some gas...not too many places south of the border that still offer full service. That's why the north won y'all...we get that certain people like to be pampered and are willing to pay for it! (that was pay back for all of the times I've been called a Yankee since moving here). So anyway, down here in the land where the South truly believes they will rise again....You have to do a little work to get full service. Ya gotta press the mic, give them some random reason you need assistance (Like...I'm 450 lbs over weight and lazy!) and slip them a few bucks for their silence. I feel compelled to say that I like the state of NJ for one reason....and one reason only....they do not pump their own gas. Random sign of the cross.

* Now that the tank is full, I'll need something to wash down the baby be gones, the happy pills and the husband zappers. Nothing a quick trip through the Brew Thru can't cure! This is where the South gets credit...single greatest invention ever...drive up beer joint. It's a lazy fat drunks paradise. So, I drive in, place my order (Double Deuce in a brown paper bag....classy aren't I?) and pop the pills that keep my life harmonious. No babies, no problems and no itching from spousal unrest. Wait...why I am taking baby be gones? Rumor has it you have to have sex to make babies. I think I may be safer than Mother Theresa. Sign of Cross.

So, as you can see, my theory has proven itself factual.... the fine art of convenience is clearly what's keeping me fat. I can literally get everything I want without lifting my fat ass from the seat of my vehicle. Yes, this means sex too. Don't think I can't pull up on some hotties and score me a little sompin sompin if I need to. Hell I look good from the waist up. By the time they realize what's going on south of the border, they are trapped! 911 won't find a deprived SIF on the move! Lookout! I think if I am ever going to be thin I will need to replace my car with a bike. It would be hard to pull off my tricks in plain sight. Not to mention I would be burning calories whilst sabotaging myself. It's a theory worst testing. I bet I can eat and steer with one hand. I'm good like that....

Sex and the Fat City

I realized something this weekend, when men decide to do something they go all the way. Yes, that includes sex...not that I would know anything about that post marriage. In any event, my husband decided he wanted to get in shape. Great. Nothing like a buff hot husband to make me and my rabbit closer than we already are. What's the point of looking good without intent? I can't be sure I know the answer to that. I do know this, my husband is popping all sorts of look better pills, working out and self tanning whilst I ponder which "Ho-Ho" is likely to have the most cream in it. All I have to say for myself is, "It's not my fault." Did I ask to be hit by a Census worker thus rendering me unable to do anything but keep pace 75 year old woman on my morning walks? I think not. And all this walking is getting old (no pun intended). It takes forever to get where I'm going and I feel very exposed. When I run, things are moving around, jiggling, bouncing...bruising...you get the picture. There's trickery involved...you can't really see where everything lands and that has allowed me to run under the cover of fat for years. When I walk, passers by have plenty of time to size up all that is me. No good can come of that. I almost feel them telling me to pick up the pace as they drive by. I got one tip for ya: Don't stare directly into the bootie...it's been known to talk back. Oh and don't let me see any sort of fat reference rolling off your lips. I know sign language...well one sign...and I aint afraid to use it.

So as I was saying, my husband is getting all buff and coating his new muscles in spray tan. Seems a bit strange to me. If I was all buffed out, I would buy a super small thong and lay on the beach....a sort of a "coming out party." But he looks good and hides it under his clothing whilst his 2 ton wife parades around in a bikini hoping the angles of the sun reach all of the creases. Something is very wrong here. Here's what's more annoying than living with a hot guy who has enough energy to lift a small car but not his (ughum)...he has now taken to telling me how to work out. "You know, they say you should only work out every other day. You know, most of the protein you eat isn't absorbed." I'm sorry.....I've been working out for 30 years (yes I started when I was 7...shut up)...you've been working out for 5 minutes and you are going to tell me how it's done!? Granted, the results he's achieved in 5 minutes far surpass my 30 years of nightly runs....to Taco Bell. Isn't that a bitch. A guy decides to work out and he can drop all his weight in a week whilst every woman in America has to buy People, Star, US, Jenny Craig and Weight Watchers to try and figure out how it's done... and maybe we get 1 pound in 6 months. If the key to losing weight is having a dick...sign me up! Currently, that would solve both of my problems. Thank you.

In an attempt to take some time off from being me, I went to see SATC this weekend with Kimo. I had already seen it once, but I prefer to do things in 2's....2 donuts, 2 helpings, 2 of everything is always better than one. Portion control is for "1/4 pounders." I NEVER go to the movies without getting popcorn. To me, that's like going to bed without your rabbit. It's just not comfortable without someone to love. However, comma, prior to deciding to go to the movies I drank about 900 beers and ate about 3000 calories....I can accomplish alot in an hour. There was no room at the inn. When we walked into the movie theater, I was pleased to see 2 other souls in the room. We took the "rock star" seats and got cozy. Then, like it always happens (and only to me)...the fatties rolled in! 4 of them to be exact. As you might imagine, with exactly 56 seats left in the theatre they decided to bring it home and sit right in front of this beer burping SIF and her cousin. Perhaps I could have forgiven them if they didn't have heads the size of water melons and tons of popcorn and candy to pass between them. In fact, they even left a seat open between 2 of them for....well I don't know what it was for....perhaps to squash the large shadows they were casting on the screen, maybe for spillover fat or maybe just as a table for the freakin buffet they had going on! Since I had seen the movie I became obsessed with watching their every move. Picture greasy buttered lips laughing whilst popcorn rolled into boob crevices so deep it would never to be seen again...random sucking and slurping of giant sized Cokes that were depositing about 4567 grams of sugar on each of their enormous asses. Every once in a while I heard laughter....I think that's when they came up for air. They also seemed to have a fetish for "Big" ....of course they did. As if sisters....as if.

Because we were too inebriated to drive ourselves to the movies, Kimo's husband picked us up after it was over. I felt exactly 13. I saw the fatties as we were leaving. They were smoking cigarettes and reliving the movie. I realized, at that moment, we had something in common....sex. Food is our sex. Let's face it, without food I might as well be a nun. If food is my sex I am certainly giving Ron Jeremy a run for his money! I would have gone over to smoke a post "sex" cig with them but that's where the fork divided us....I do not smoke. I make up for killing my lungs by killing....well everything else. A part of me wishes I could have run over there with my portable blood pressure machine (what? everyone should have one) and taken their numbers. Between the salt, the fat, the sugar and the smoking...I fear they would have thrown up some major digits. And let's face it, those digits are the only ones anyone will ever ask them for. Mean just mean. But I'm a nice person....so I just stood there and made fun of them until "Dad" showed up to take us home and remind us, for bigger or worse we have men who will bang us...one day....when the mood strikes them. It's no SATC but it beats being the "Rabbit Lady"for the rest of my life. I fear our odds of getting real sex are far better than the smoking fatties but who knows. That one was sucking the hell outa some Coke. All it takes is only lonely man who can overlook the fat for the sucking and she's in there. There's hope sisters....there's hope.