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!
Saturday, August 27, 2011
Fategory 3
In case you are wondering...I am sitting in the strike zone of hurricane Irene. What does that mean for this SIF? Chocolate chip cookies, chili, bacon & eggs, Mimosas and anything else I can get my hands on. SIF Rule #2345: All diets are off in a time of natural disaster. If I die, don't let my husband get the cookies. They should go to someone who will actually gain weight eating them. SIF out for now...
Sunday, August 21, 2011
Fatty Goes to Bootcamp...
And not this fatty. The only orders I take involve food. That being said, one of our most faithful SIF has debriefed me on her latest attempt to quiet her inner fatty. For reasons of anonymity (and bcs she's so sweet) we shall refer to her from here on out as "Honey bun." "Let sleeping fatties lie" is the moral of this story and it goes a little something like this...
Are you there God? It's me Fatty. Clearly calling in a favor before heading off to Fat Camp sounded like a good plan. "Pack a duffel with a change of clothes, a towel and some water," said the evil short man tasked with morphing muffins into muscle. Seemed reasonable. Honey bun could barely sleep the night before fat camp. She could sleep when she was dead. Which would surely come to pass at some point in the next 6 weeks. Perhaps sooner rather than later. She followed shorties instructions to a "T." One large plush white hotel towel. Check. Comfy yet fashionably coordinated outfit to include matching shoes. Check. Gallon of water to replace years of pent up bodily fluids sure to be lost during impending demise. Check. 20lb bag of M&M's for post workout carb loading/celebration of life. Check. Baby wipes to remove evidence of said chocolate from face. Check. Toothbrush to mask peanut breath from said short man trainer. Check. Hand sanitizer to remove any evidence of hanging with the 1/4 pound crowd. Check. Inhaler for treatment of "Fatasthma." (that's asthma brought on by non fat like behavior). Check. Success was eminent.
5:00am. Whilst all the feral fatties were asleep in their beds with visions of chocolate covered sugar cones dancing in their heads....Honey bun was taking on "New Me Monday" for reals this time. She arrived at boot camp proudly carrying her satchel of goods. "Can you run from here to there" asked the short man. "Sure!" belted Honey bun. It was New Me Monday. Anything was possible. Off she went...running with her suitcase of sustenance heading for her burial at sea. When she arrived on the beach one thing was clear...this was gonna get ugly fast. Everyone was broken into 3 groups: #1 Fat chicks, #2 Less Fat Chicks & #3 Why are you even here Chicks. Honey bun did not aspire to be anywhere but with her fellow SIF in group #1. Some, less committed to the cause of fatness, strayed into Group #2. I have your names. You are officially out of the club. Take that and slap in on your fried Bologna biscuit. That's not a random reference by the way...Bo Jangles is runnin a special on um right now. Get chu one. Anyway. I don't appreciate you leavin Honey bun hanging. Moving right along...
The first day was all about breaking up fat clusters. Running, swimming, pulling...so many words ending in in "ING" and not one sounded remotely appealing. Sleeping, eating and binging. Now those were some "ING'ers" she could get down with. Focus! New me Monday means new "ING's." Honey bun made it through the first day with a smile on her face. I fear it was shock and awe but it appeared genuine nonetheless. She raced back to base camp to shit, shower, shave and show off what she had been hiding in the backpack. (Minus the unmentionables of course). She asked short trainer man, "So where do we get changed?" "Changed, " he said in his tiny wanna be 6 foot voice. "We don't get changed." "Then why on earth did you have me pack a bag?" A former SIF (who shall remain nameless bcs she has since moved to the other side *random sign of the cross* RIP) jumped in to save said short man from losing another inch at the hands of Honey bun. Tip: Never tell a woman who's taller than you (in his case any woman over the age of 2), bigger than you and who missed a meal to spend time with you... there isn't a light at the end of the tunnel. No good can come of this. This is also applicable in sexual situations. No one like an aggressive feral fatty at 5am. No one. The transformed SIF removed Honey bun from the scene to let her in on a little secret. The backpack was to weigh you down. If there ever were an expert in weighting down it would be a SIF! The former SIF unzipped the backpack to see what she was dealing with. *Insert gasp & dropped jaw*. After removing said kitchen sink from backpack she advised Honey bun to pack a thong, a lace bra and some flip flops. If there wasn't a threat of actually having to wear this get up....it was all good. The minute she was asked to transform from SIF to beach hooker, the drop out rate for short mans boot camp would surely sky rocket. That is, unless, 6 weeks was enough time to transform from beer gut to beach slut. Who knows...it's possible.
If nothing else, the next 6 weeks proved one thing. The Devil is a short man sans manners. Day after day he would scream at Honey bun calling her by the wrong last name. In true SIF form she lashed out, challenging his every command. I for one, couldn't be more proud. "Wrong last name, get your ass to the ground. It's sticking too far up," screamed short man. "My ass doesn't go down any further than this dickhead. I'm laying flat on my stomach... which you might have noticed aint so flat!" screamed Honey bun. "Run faster Wrong Last Name." "I have asthma asshole. I'm going as fast as I can." As Honey bun lagged behind, short man forced the "Why are we even here" crowd to come back for her. He joked about his "No Twinkie Left Behind" policy. In an attempt to quiet his vertically challenged ass she looked around for something to stab him with. Better yet, why didn't she have duck tape in her back pack. She could have rallied the others and silenced him for good. Where was Little Debbie when she needed her. Clearly no one was stupid enough to leave her behind after a family beach outing. The birds would have devoured that bitch anyway. She pressed on.
As Fat Camp came to a close, everyone wore the same look on their face. Kool Aide Trance. Had a passer by been so bold as to sell Coca Cola and fried Twinkies on the beach, I fear the pledges would have gone AWOL. Honey bun was just days from graduation. Time to order a shirt for the "let's look like we had fun and love each other" graduation picture. Although it had been 6 weeks of hell, Honey bun still carried the one thing that won't shrink with exercise..."The Twins." These DD's weren't going away for nobody. She instructed short man to order her an XL. When the time came to transform from plebe to graduate, Honey bun was shocked to received a L shirt. She questioned short man and he instructed her to wear the L. Beach Hooker it is. As she ran the last run to meet her classmates atop the hill where they would all graduate, she had much to be proud of. She remained true to her SIFness while accomplishing things no SIF should ever have to. She could run 3 miles, do 60 sit ups in 2 minutes and more importantly she had understanding of why short man acted the way he did around the fatties. Clearly he feared for his life. Roll him in some flour, fry him up and you have the makins for a tasty little appetizer. And he knew it. Of course he would taste a little better with some fat on him but she was trying to be more health conscience n all.
So what did Honey bun get for waking up at 5am two times a week for six week whilst listening to a short man call her by the wrong last name while simultaneously torturing her....a blinking bracelet. Yes, a blinking bracelet. You can't eat it. You can't hang it on the wall. You can't snuggle up with it at night. The only thing you can do with this bracelet that makes it worth it's weight in gold is to look at it and remember: FAT IS WHERE IT'S AT! NO MORE WALKING ON THE OTHER SIDE! Nice job Honey bun!!
Are you there God? It's me Fatty. Clearly calling in a favor before heading off to Fat Camp sounded like a good plan. "Pack a duffel with a change of clothes, a towel and some water," said the evil short man tasked with morphing muffins into muscle. Seemed reasonable. Honey bun could barely sleep the night before fat camp. She could sleep when she was dead. Which would surely come to pass at some point in the next 6 weeks. Perhaps sooner rather than later. She followed shorties instructions to a "T." One large plush white hotel towel. Check. Comfy yet fashionably coordinated outfit to include matching shoes. Check. Gallon of water to replace years of pent up bodily fluids sure to be lost during impending demise. Check. 20lb bag of M&M's for post workout carb loading/celebration of life. Check. Baby wipes to remove evidence of said chocolate from face. Check. Toothbrush to mask peanut breath from said short man trainer. Check. Hand sanitizer to remove any evidence of hanging with the 1/4 pound crowd. Check. Inhaler for treatment of "Fatasthma." (that's asthma brought on by non fat like behavior). Check. Success was eminent.
5:00am. Whilst all the feral fatties were asleep in their beds with visions of chocolate covered sugar cones dancing in their heads....Honey bun was taking on "New Me Monday" for reals this time. She arrived at boot camp proudly carrying her satchel of goods. "Can you run from here to there" asked the short man. "Sure!" belted Honey bun. It was New Me Monday. Anything was possible. Off she went...running with her suitcase of sustenance heading for her burial at sea. When she arrived on the beach one thing was clear...this was gonna get ugly fast. Everyone was broken into 3 groups: #1 Fat chicks, #2 Less Fat Chicks & #3 Why are you even here Chicks. Honey bun did not aspire to be anywhere but with her fellow SIF in group #1. Some, less committed to the cause of fatness, strayed into Group #2. I have your names. You are officially out of the club. Take that and slap in on your fried Bologna biscuit. That's not a random reference by the way...Bo Jangles is runnin a special on um right now. Get chu one. Anyway. I don't appreciate you leavin Honey bun hanging. Moving right along...
The first day was all about breaking up fat clusters. Running, swimming, pulling...so many words ending in in "ING" and not one sounded remotely appealing. Sleeping, eating and binging. Now those were some "ING'ers" she could get down with. Focus! New me Monday means new "ING's." Honey bun made it through the first day with a smile on her face. I fear it was shock and awe but it appeared genuine nonetheless. She raced back to base camp to shit, shower, shave and show off what she had been hiding in the backpack. (Minus the unmentionables of course). She asked short trainer man, "So where do we get changed?" "Changed, " he said in his tiny wanna be 6 foot voice. "We don't get changed." "Then why on earth did you have me pack a bag?" A former SIF (who shall remain nameless bcs she has since moved to the other side *random sign of the cross* RIP) jumped in to save said short man from losing another inch at the hands of Honey bun. Tip: Never tell a woman who's taller than you (in his case any woman over the age of 2), bigger than you and who missed a meal to spend time with you... there isn't a light at the end of the tunnel. No good can come of this. This is also applicable in sexual situations. No one like an aggressive feral fatty at 5am. No one. The transformed SIF removed Honey bun from the scene to let her in on a little secret. The backpack was to weigh you down. If there ever were an expert in weighting down it would be a SIF! The former SIF unzipped the backpack to see what she was dealing with. *Insert gasp & dropped jaw*. After removing said kitchen sink from backpack she advised Honey bun to pack a thong, a lace bra and some flip flops. If there wasn't a threat of actually having to wear this get up....it was all good. The minute she was asked to transform from SIF to beach hooker, the drop out rate for short mans boot camp would surely sky rocket. That is, unless, 6 weeks was enough time to transform from beer gut to beach slut. Who knows...it's possible.
If nothing else, the next 6 weeks proved one thing. The Devil is a short man sans manners. Day after day he would scream at Honey bun calling her by the wrong last name. In true SIF form she lashed out, challenging his every command. I for one, couldn't be more proud. "Wrong last name, get your ass to the ground. It's sticking too far up," screamed short man. "My ass doesn't go down any further than this dickhead. I'm laying flat on my stomach... which you might have noticed aint so flat!" screamed Honey bun. "Run faster Wrong Last Name." "I have asthma asshole. I'm going as fast as I can." As Honey bun lagged behind, short man forced the "Why are we even here" crowd to come back for her. He joked about his "No Twinkie Left Behind" policy. In an attempt to quiet his vertically challenged ass she looked around for something to stab him with. Better yet, why didn't she have duck tape in her back pack. She could have rallied the others and silenced him for good. Where was Little Debbie when she needed her. Clearly no one was stupid enough to leave her behind after a family beach outing. The birds would have devoured that bitch anyway. She pressed on.
As Fat Camp came to a close, everyone wore the same look on their face. Kool Aide Trance. Had a passer by been so bold as to sell Coca Cola and fried Twinkies on the beach, I fear the pledges would have gone AWOL. Honey bun was just days from graduation. Time to order a shirt for the "let's look like we had fun and love each other" graduation picture. Although it had been 6 weeks of hell, Honey bun still carried the one thing that won't shrink with exercise..."The Twins." These DD's weren't going away for nobody. She instructed short man to order her an XL. When the time came to transform from plebe to graduate, Honey bun was shocked to received a L shirt. She questioned short man and he instructed her to wear the L. Beach Hooker it is. As she ran the last run to meet her classmates atop the hill where they would all graduate, she had much to be proud of. She remained true to her SIFness while accomplishing things no SIF should ever have to. She could run 3 miles, do 60 sit ups in 2 minutes and more importantly she had understanding of why short man acted the way he did around the fatties. Clearly he feared for his life. Roll him in some flour, fry him up and you have the makins for a tasty little appetizer. And he knew it. Of course he would taste a little better with some fat on him but she was trying to be more health conscience n all.
So what did Honey bun get for waking up at 5am two times a week for six week whilst listening to a short man call her by the wrong last name while simultaneously torturing her....a blinking bracelet. Yes, a blinking bracelet. You can't eat it. You can't hang it on the wall. You can't snuggle up with it at night. The only thing you can do with this bracelet that makes it worth it's weight in gold is to look at it and remember: FAT IS WHERE IT'S AT! NO MORE WALKING ON THE OTHER SIDE! Nice job Honey bun!!
Sunday, August 14, 2011
Fatties...we have a problem
My guest SIF blogger wasn't able to meet up on Friday. "Fatty goes to Bootcamp" will be up next week. As for this SIF...I'm down 6lbs. Clearly getting kicked out of the club. I'm sure it will find it's way back to me. It always does. Stay tuned!
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
Coming soon....
Yes....I am well aware it's been 1 month since I've blogged. I get it. However comma, I've had major drams. In any event, Friday I have a special interview in store. "Fatty Goes to Bootcamp" will be up by Sunday night. And it's not me. I know better. Nobody orders this fatty around. Unless they super sizin...oooohhhkay! Check back Sunday night!
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