Thursday, April 28, 2011

Got some new SIF!

Not only do I watch my waistline...grow...I watch for new Sisters in Fat following the blog. We had 4 new SIF join this week! Nice! We should go out to dinner y'all! I fear there's not a buffet in the world that could keep up....oooookkkkkay! I'm going out for ice cream to celebrate. Thanks for providing me with a reason to emotionally eat! Cheers Sisters!

Sunday, April 24, 2011

Fat on a Hot Tin Roof

It appears this epic tale is a biography based on my life as a summer fatty. Time for a revelation. It is Easter after all. Thank the Lord I wasn't chosen as the savior. I have trouble rising on a good day. In any event, the revelation... I fear I am larger than last summer. How is that possible? I can't be sure. It's not socially acceptable to be fat between June and August. Or anytime for that matter. However, if one were clever and good looking, such as myself, you could get away with it in the off season. Personally I feel summer should be the off season. I'm so much happier in the winter. There's Halloween, Thanksgiving and Christmas. What's summer got to offer but annoying half dressed skinny bitches and people pressuring me to bare all so they can feel better about themselves. Whatever. Heathens. I'm ashamed to even call you out on Easter. But I will. Because I can. Summer is clearly a 3 month skinny girl holiday. Overzealous whores. Given the revelation I'll be shopping at Forever 2X for my swimwear, I got myself a new bathing suit cover up...aka Dad's old car cover. It's like putting a band-aide on blunt force trauma to the head. Not so much...


Whilst out and about in the land of misfits sizes, I noticed something rather alarming and offensive all in the same gasp. Three pronged hangers. Why? When did 2 prongs go out? Whose idea was this? I realize I'm bigger than the average bear but it's not like a tank top warrants more than 2 prongs! Yet there it was....supported by multiple prongs screaming loud and clear, "You are a fat whore." Fuckers. Before rushing to judgment (ughum) I ran over to the juniors section to see what kinda hangers they were using. 1 prong. Of course they were. Teenage mutants and Forever 56ers wantin to be 21. I decided to take action. I grabbed a handful of fatty apparel (to include a size 22 tank top and biker shorts) and headed for the juniors fitting room. 3 prongs n all. On my way I grabbed a bunch of junior sized onsies. My reasons will become clear shortly. Wouldn't ya know it...their fitting room has its own bathroom! Clearly for purging when the sizes two’s get a little tight. Sick. I squeezed my fat ass in one of the tiny cubby holes realizing I had transcended into Wizard of Oz Land. Who chooses this lifestyle? Clearly not me. Relax. I wasn't there to try on size 2's and slit my wrists in the skinny girl urinal. I was on a mission. Operation Hanger Switch. I hung as many Junior onesies on 3 pronged hangers as time would allow. This is how the other half lives....

WWJD? Well it's Easter, its 85 degrees and I'm whiter than baby's ass so I vote go to the beach! That's just what I did. The unthinkable. I went to the beach in a bikini. It's April. The skinnies haven't come out of the closet yet. Just as dark meat has more flavor, my meat looks better slightly well done. It was horrific. Sand flies landing in my crevices, fat spilling out around me...I lasted an hour and had to exit the beach before regurgitating my breakfast. Bacon doesn't taste good the second time around. Yum. After I inhale my biblical feast of the day I'm sure I'll need to be on some random diet. New Me Monday represents an opportunity to rise again. I need a diet that won't kill me... with a side of I can lose 60 lbs in a week. If y'all know of one like that hit me up. In the meantime, I have put the bikini back in the drawer and am denying any reports of a killer whale sighting in Nags Head!



You might recall a slight mention of all that is me running a half marathon a few weeks back. Obviously I'm not dead, so yes, it is feasible to move 856lbs 13.1 miles and live to tell about it. I could spend hours telling the tales of a plus sized runner. But why? I don't care to rehash the horrific lengths I go to in order to justify the amount of calories I consume in one hour. You want to know how it feels? Wrap your ass in some Saran Wrap, walk outside, hoist your vehicle on your back and run for 2.5 hours. That's pretty much how it feels. It's always nice when your brother (running his first ever half marathon) and your Father (currently a card carrying member of AARP & Medicare) beat you. Yeh. Feels good. Thank God Mother was along for the trip. She is a constant reminder that skinny doesn't give you common sense. I give you race day. Mother is not running. Yet she is up 24 hours earlier than us in order to prepare her face for the finish line. Apparently Mary Kay has several stages of beauty that must be adhered to. In any event, my brother and I left to drop the car at the finish and come back to the house to pick up my Dad. A woman who appeared to be my Mother (wearing a turbo genie head towel) was privy to the following conversation, "I'll be right back. Just dropping the car and we'll be back to get Dad." To this she replied, "Ok." - signaling a mutual understanding. As Dad came out of the bedroom wondering where we went,  Mother looked straight at him and said, "Are they coming back for you?" No Mother. They are coming for you!...

Moving right along...

Mother had 1 job and it didn't involve running or thinking. Allegedly we were safe. Allegedly OJ is innocent, ughum. Her job was to get to the finish line with an extra shirt for my Dad to wear post race. I even threw her a bone. We live .50 mile from the finish...yet I had my friend pick her up and take her there out of fear she would be kidnapped. You don't understand...this is completely plausible. I'm not saying she wouldn't be returned within th hour....but you get my point. So, Mother gets dropped at the finish holding Dad's shirt and waits for us. All appears to be in order. That is until Dad asks for his post race shirt. Imagine if you will what kind of shirt you would want after running in the hot sun for 13.1 miles. Are you getting a visual? A tank top? A nice cotton tee? Yes, that would have been nice. I give you a dress shirt. A button down full on striped dress shirt. Yup. That's what she brought him. A dress shirt. To go with his sweaty ass running shorts. You have to wonder, what crossed her mind when she grabbed it? Perhaps she thought we would be going out to dinner afterwards? Yeah...it's was 9:30am. Maybe she thought he would win his age group and would want a glamour shot? Perhaps. I'm going with she wanted him to do a post race strip tease to pay for gas on the way home. At least this option indicates brain activity. Love you Mother. If this keeps up I swear I'm going to put her on the road with Charlie Sheen and the Goddesses....Duh Winning!

Monday, April 18, 2011

New Blog this week...

No good can come of this...

Tuesday, April 5, 2011

Irony...

I find it ironic my Google login for this blog is "imreadytogetfit." I'll leave that one alone. In addition to failed cyber committments, all 867lbs of me is getting ready to run a half marathon. Why? Can't be sure.Why does anyone run? Post race consumption of course. I'm bankin at least 1000 calories. I'm a banker now n all. I can eat that back before noon easy. That's why those races start at 7am...need time to replenish whilst still socially accpetable to do so. Since the doctor made me break up with beans I've been whoring around town paying top dollar to graze on carbohydrates. I still don't know why the beans revolted. I'll find out next week when we get back together. Look..I have exactly 60 days to lose as many pounds. Bikini or a pine box? Either way I'll be comfortable. Actually I would prefer to be charbroiled upon my demise. The blacker the berry the sweeter the juice. Who knows who I'll meet on the other side. Could be chilly could be hot. Can't be sure. I wonder if they serve fries in Heaven? Sounds like a good book.

Allegedly it's going to be 150 degrees on race day. You know what that means? Spandex shorts. I apologize in advance to the spectators. Vanity goes out the window after 85 degrees. Me, my muffins and my honey buns will be showing all sorts of love. It's like a train wreck. Just stare, ask the appropriate questions and then remind yourself your fat ass is watching me run. Thank you. In any event, there's always a good story to follow plus sized running. Check back next week for "Fatty runs with a side of beans." HIde the children.

Sunday, April 3, 2011

Revelations...

And not of biblical proportion. So...as discussed I have been on the evil bean diet. Thus why it has taken me 4 weeks to blog. You try getting off the toilet to blog after baggin 20lbs of beans. It aint pretty. The good news is that I lost 10 lbs in 3 weeks. The bad news is I almost bit the big one. Apparently in addition to shitting out no fat and carbs, I also released the oil that keeps the engine running. Not ideal for life. However comma, ideal when stepping on the scale. So things were a bit blurry and 3Dish. I can be dizzy for a size that doesn't end in X. Visual. Fat chick hooked to electrodes sipping on cab. It screams dying to drink. What can I say? Apparently my heart rate wasn't syncing with my blood pressure. And? Nothing about me is in sync. So they hooked me to a bunch of shit only to determine I'm fat minus some crucial potassium. Instead of losing inches I lost the very gas I was ingesting. I'm no Toyota. Story of my life.

I was all about the evil beans until they tried to kill me. This is why I'm convinced I need to stick with the fatties. As a SIF I never complained of palpitations or dizziness. That's a 1/4 pounders disease. Life on the other side aint so grand. Since my impending doom I've gone back to my old ways. If it aint broke...leave it the fuck alone. So I'm at the McDonald's drive thru this morning with my husband. Why? I can't be sure. I prefer to binge alone. All I wanted was a decaf coffee black. Well...All I really wanted a biscuit but he was in the car so I went skinny on his ass. Black coffee no sugar no cream. Not only a song (thanks Heavy D) but my skinny girl anthem. Some dumb ass in front of me decided to order 2 parfaits and hold up the line. If you want yogurt...carry your ass to the grocery! I don't go to subway for french fries....don't be holdin me up at Mickey D's for some damn yogurt! My husband hears the voice behind the drive thru and decides she's of Asian decent. That's where I broke bad on his ass. Racial profiling in the drive through aint cool. Especially when I know the woman to be of Latino decent. So I went there. I told him not only was she not Asian, she was a middle aged Mexican woman, possibly from Jalisco, who wears her hair in a pony tail, she's about 4' 8" and does not like fried rice. To that I added, the woman who would be handing us our food would be one over friendly African American lazy eyed black woman who never puts the lid on the Coke tight enough. 1 outa 2 aint bad. Apparently my lazy eyed food lady was off for the day. He was visibly frightened. Yet, no divorce. There's always tomorrow... and Burger King.

So I'm working on a theory. Hole closing. You know how if you get your ears pierced and you don't wear earrings your hole closes? What if you don't get enough sex? What's up with that hole? I'm just sayin is all. It's a legit concern. I don't want to pierce it. I would prefer it be pierced. However comma, that doesn't seem to be in my control. My doctor says there is no threat of hole closure. He's the same one who hooked me up to electrodes and let me run and drink red wine. I fear he can't be trusted. I have my own theories. El Conejo is very reassuring at times like this. He's like a "clip on earring." Classless but sometimes necessary. So 10 lbs less isn't that impressive. It's like switching from Diet Coke to water. You feel somewhat better but no one cares. No one is running up to me to declare me skinny. Yet I see bones in my face that haven't surfaced in years. My muffin top has transformed into Sponakopeta. Figure that one out. If I wasn't running a half marathon this weekend I might take my chances with death and go back to the beans. Dead and skinny beats fat and alive. Scratch that. Fat and alive would be fine if it were acceptable. Although I must admit dents and dings would make me want a new model. I fear no amount of fat loss, botox and bullshit can fix this problem.

When you don't have the answer, switch jobs. That's what I did. I start a new one tomorrow. In my world I'm writing screen plays, doing stand up and making fun of fatties everywhere. In the real world I'll be happy to open your checking account. Bankers are fat. That's why I'm the perfect candidate. Open an account and I'll give you a toaster or a blender. Not a shake or a salad. That's how I roles. I come complete with candy on my desk and chocolate on my lips. If you can't trust a fat banker with toasters, candy and chocolate lips who can you trust?