Life aint Fair...

You’ll be happy to know that the militant hate leader of yesterday has put away her crown for the time being. Make no mistake, I remain quasi evil. However comma, it’s time to get back to the matter at hand...vacation debrief. So far we have learned that people slightly under 200lbs and slightly over the age of 30 shouldn’t ride pocket rockets, people with age spots should be put down and fat people shouldn’t sell fitness products. Now it’s “feel good” time! Are you ready for the big fair? Hide the children.

Every year my husband and I plan our vacation around the town fair for no reason other than straight logistics. We can walk there from Mom’s house, we can get drunk off $5 and there’s enough fried dough to go around. Or so I thought. Prior to opening night there was lots of talk around town about the best night to go, who’s in town and any the sharing of any pertinent gossip to enhance the experience. Big gossip via Aunt Kathy this year. Seems one of the Carnies (Carnival Workers for the non ghetto fabs) is a convicted pedophile. Is this shocking? Do we honestly think that the HR department at Carney Central is running background checks on the Ferris Wheel operator?! If you think about it, felons are perfect candidates for the job. They avoid re-arrest by moving from town to town, they don’t need housing (as they sleep in tents) and the available women are about as pretty as you get in jail! Hired!

On the morning of opening night, Dad and I took a quick run through the fair grounds to assess the situation. I was a little disappointed to see that the fair had shrunk in size. Where’s the damn Tilt a Whirl and how about that trailer with the largest rat in the world? It was only a $1 for a peep. I would have paid 2. Could economic woes be keeping the Carnies down? Can’t be sure. Just in time to lift my spirits, one of the Carnies popped out to tell us that he doesn’t “get into running”. Riiiiiiiight. Let’s paint a portrait with words, shall we? Skinny, mullet, greasy, wife beater T and teeth the color of a strong bowel movement. Needless to say I ran like a Kenyan. I knew that soon enough the smell of fried ass and sausage would fill the air and paradise would once again be mine.

Sean and I headed down to the big event just as soon as it was dark enough to do so. No, I wasn’t ashamed to be seen. Just like wearing black makes you look thin, going out after dark makes one appear a little less robust. I need all the help I can get. First move, beer tickets. My Dad…well, we’ll save an entire blog for him but God love him he saved the extra beer tickets we had leftover from the year before in an envelope marked “Sean, Beer Tickets.” He hates to see us waste money and I’m sure he can’t figure out why one would buy whole rolls of beer tickets. Because we are drunks with no sense. I knew better than to take those tickets. You see the Carnies are tricky folk. They change the color of the tickets every year so as to cut down on the low budget folks like myself. At $1 a pop I wasn’t worried about having to make an ATM run.

So I go up to buy my 400 beer tickets and I’m greeted by what appeared to be some sort of wild animal. He was large in size, had to teeth for gnawing and much to my surprise he was even behind a cage. As he processed my request, I could clearly see how he killed his prey. The top tooth was for grabbing and the bottom for tearing. Interesting. He smiled a lot which helped me pass the time while he calculated change for a $20. Nice round, even numbers are tricky at times. I was off to the beer tent to spend the king’s ransom. As I approached the “bar” I had to make a quick decision on my selection. Would it be Bud Light or Milwaukee’s Best? Observation time. If beer is $1, given those choices, who’s choosing the beast? Apparently everyone but me! I kept quiet and decided to people watch. Standing at the beer tent observing, is about as priceless as it gets. You have all the cool people from high school who are now 400lbs with 20 kids, the guy with the rat tail and the AC/DC t-shirt who still thinks he’s cool and the infamous “Cabbage” (so named for the size of his head) who has lost enough weight to re-qualify himself under the heading of “Lettuce.” Classic. Since it was raining n all, the crowds were down. There were the die hards (like Sean and I) but other than that you were mostly subjected to the whorey girls and guys who drove trucks with bug strips denoting the names of their bitches respectively. We decided (after a loaded hot sausage or 12) that it was time to call it a night.

We walked home and resisted the urge to relieve ourselves in various yards along the way. We did that last year and poor Aunt Milly hasn’t seen a blossom on her bush since. I don’t think Aunt Milly’s bush gets any action if you know what I mean! Sorry! As you can see, day one was a novel in itself! I’ll have to fill you in on day three tomorrow as I didn’t make an appearance on day two. I needed some recovery time. As I laid my head down on the Vagina bed I wondered, “What do these people think when they see me?” I know what I think….Is that Angelina Jolie’s twin sister? Do they have a secret blog about me? Maybe they laugh and call me fatty? So be it. I have all my teeth and my husband’s head is not named after a vegatable. I reign victorious. Stay tuned…

Pocket full of sunshine...or not!

I'm sure you are all wondering what happened to my fat ass, right? Well never fear I'm still here. I've been having what I call a "challenging" week. The man is clearly keeping me down. It's hard to be creative, funny and highly entertaining when you do mortgage by day. Actually, the mere fact that I haven't killed myself, killed someone else or eaten myself into a food coma is quite a miracle. I've been watching re-runs of "Snapped" in hopes that I can find someone worse off than me. Hmmm....women who kill their husbands. Are they worse off than me? Can't be sure. I like it when they get away with it. Sick I know.

I haven't forgotten that you are all waiting to hear about the big fair. I promise to get to it soon. I feel it's better to keep you waiting than underwhelm you with my cynical attitude. On that note...so I'm having a really bad day and I call one of my homies for a beer or 12. Those who know me know this doesn't happen often as I typically chose sugar & hibernation over booze. I dialed the number only to be bombarded with annoyingly loud music while it's waiting to connect me! Hate this! To make matters worse....it's some stupid song about having a pocket full of sunshine! Kiss my Cooter! I got yer pocket full a sunshine. And then I get voicemail that's not even personalized! So you take the time to play me some lame ass song and you can't even identify yourself on the voicemail? On second thought that makes perfect sense. If you have annoying "on hold" music on your cell phone, take it off immediately if not sooner! No one wants to hear your stupid favorite song while you avoid coming to the phone!

As you can see I am disturbingly bitter. There is something you can do to help. I am currently accepting donations to my charity... "Dumbasses who don't know when to get out of Real Estate because we they are greedy behaaatches who think the market will come back" Foundation. That's "DWDKWTGOREBTAGBWTTMWCB" for short. The money goes to a good cause. Cause I need it! I am working on my "happy face." I'm hopeful that it will return on Wednesday so that I can tell you about the fair. If it doesn't, perhaps I can turn this blog into a militant hate site. I think I could reign supreme with that agenda in mind. I hope you are having a lovely day. I'm going to drink beer and pretend I got sex. It's all about the fantasy.

Professor of Fat...

Before we go back to Mayberry, I need to elaborate on a few details from yesterdays blog. Some of you were asking about Aunt Doris' hair. Yes, she does wash it. Seasonally. It smells like Funions. Satisfied? Yes I do play tricks on old people. It's fun and I bore easily. Now that we have that straight...

I'm straining to remember what happened on day two. Let's chalk that one up to a post pocket rocket hangover and call it a day. I'm also skipping day three bcs I worked out alot and no one wants to here about that crap. By third day I was back to my old self. I went to hang out with my childhood pal and lay by her pool. It was the moment I dread...the unveiling of the bikini. It's always an issue. She weighs about 100lbs and I weigh...well let's just say alot more and leave it at that. I had on a 2 piece and clearly needed an 8 piece! I swear I have no shame. I whipped off my clothing and created a shadow big enough to cover the entire pool and surrounding area. I was laying in one of those zero gravity chairs. Clearly not made for the fatties. Gravity meet your match! My friend didn't even take off her shorts. If I was that skinny I'd run around naked! Probably why I'm fat. No one wants to see that.

Later that night she hosted a fitness party for my online business. Did I mention she is an awesome cook?! I think the secret plan was to fatten everyone up, make them feel guilty and hope they'd buy lots of diet pills. Clearly the menu catered to the agenda. We had cheese dip, beer, eclairs and fruit salsa (most yummy). My contribution to the table...power bars. Can't be sure anyone bit on those. True to form I drank lots beer and ate bad food all while telling the crowd how America was fat and we should all be ashamed! They looked a bit confused. Here's a buzzed up heavy weight with cheese dip hanging off her chin telling us to by diet pills? Did I mention the average weight in the room was 110? I was sweating profusely by the end of the presentation. Fat people do that. Only one thing to do...drink more.

A few people expressed interest so I immediately went into super spin mode. Hey, I do mortgage by day. I gotta make a livin somehow! The best part about skinny people...they always want the hardcore stuff. They grab at body parts and ask, "What do you have to help this?" They all want to lose that last 5 lbs. Whatever! 5 lbs on me is like taking a bucket of water from the ocean! However, I treat every fatty situation equally. It's a crisis. They all like to know what I'm using. Umm...are you blind? I'm currently using Krispy Kreme, McDonald's and Taco Bell. How's that workin for ya?! My solution to overcome these sort of situations is to speak in the past tense. Allow me to use some Fatty 101 technique in a sentence. "I used the Slimming Formula and it was great! I lost 30 lbs." I just leave out the part where 20 of it has since found me. No one notices my keen use of the English language and it makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside. Does anyone think I should be the Professor of Fat? I'm thinking so...

So we wrapped up the party without the promise of a sale. It's all good. I drown my sorrows in a few eclairs washed down with a Mich Ultra. Low carb n all. I cleaned up the kitchen stealing food here and there when no one was watching. What?! There's always that last dab that you have to throw out bcs you can't close the lid on the storage container. I was simply overcoming that obstacle by storing it on my fat ass! I drove home wondering...how do those girls weigh 110 and eat cheese dip? Is it portion control? Where they purging? Maybe they didn't eat all day in anticipation of the party? Wish I could say the same. I hit 3000 calories by noon and it's usually downhill from there. So like every night, I went to bed fat, happy and broke. All in all a good day. Stay tuned as the town folks are getting ready to make another appearance. Hint...the big fair came to town. I don't there are enough colors in the pallet to paint that picture!

Fatties vs. Fogies

Now that you are up to speed on my traumatic childhood, I can get to the vacation details. So it's Saturday morning and I've now had exactly 6 hours of sleep before my big 2.5 mile race. As a fatty, I normally wouldn't roll out of bed for such a short event. I mean, if I'm going to run there needs to be a certain ratio of calories burned to calories consumed that will allow for random binge eating throughout the day. 2.5 miles doesn't even cover liquid gratification. I was still burping up onion rings from the night before and that served as a gentle reminder to get my ass out of bed! My husband stayed in bed as he feels that "watching me run is boring.” Don’t over exert yourself hard charger. Bla Bla...the race went good and was over in exactly 21 minutes. Kudo's to Aunt Kathy for coming through with the Little Debbie’s at the finish! She's kin to Mother. Oh and like Mother, the Little Debbie’s were in the trunk of her car and offered up on an invitation only basis! Love it!

After 21 minutes of hard labor I was looking forward to a nap. Not so much. We had a date at a 50th anniversary party. It was being held at the local VFW. I told you this was Mayberry. So we get there and the first thing I notice is the average age in the room...256! Ok that was the 2nd thing. We all know what I saw first....food! Anyway, if one were a funeral director you could do some heavy prospecting in this room! I looked at my husband and said, "Do you think we'll be married 50 years." True to form he responded, "It's possible." Not a lot of comfort in that statement. I decided to go for a sure bet...the food. I got in line only to discover that the plates were disproportionately small compared to the spread. Could it be that they subscribe to the smaller plate weight loss theory? Doesn't mater. I can carry up to 6 at a time. It's a talent. Now I'm in line behind "Mother, Father Time" and all of their siblings. My Mother always taught me to respect my elders and let them ahead in these situations. Had I followed that nugget of wisdom I'd be the last one to eat....unacceptable! It was on....Fatty vs. Fogies round 1.

After wolfing down 5 or 6 mini plates of food I decided I need something to wash it down. Draft beer was free...sold! In my excitement I failed to notice the man standing by the tap. Had he smiled prior to my decision to get a drink, I may have paid for liquor and gone in another direction. Why you ask? Hmmmm...how can I say this....he had what I call "summer teeth." Ya know sum are here and sum are there. I believe there were more "there" than "here." As hot as I am, his smile only produced 4 that I could see! Scary. He informed me that the tap was producing a lot of head. Hoping that wasn't a sexual innuendo I politely thanked him for the information and quietly hope he'd never smile again!

I get back to the table and like a 2 year old my husband was covered in food. He dumped his beer and his plate of food all over himself. I have no idea how and I was too traumatized to care. I didn't bring the diaper bag so I suggested he have a chat with the toothless wonder and gain back his self esteem. It was mean yet effective. As the day went on I think the head on the tap got better as I downed about 560 cups of beer. What did I have to lose? 99.9% of the crowd was deaf and or blind. It was my moment to shine. At one point it started to get really hot in there. The smell of death was lingering. I was in a pickle. In the next room over there was A/C (not common in my hometown) and in this room there was cake! Cake or Cool? Ugh! I ran over to the next room, cooled off and got back just in time for the cutting of the cake. I wasted no time when the server asked, "Would anyone like a piece of cake?" "I would and I'll take that big one with all of the frosting." I may have elbowed a few elders to get to the cake but they didn't seem upset. I have this cute trick I use to win over the hard of hearing. I mouth words to them as they are looking at me and they get this look of "Wow, I'm really deaf." It's usually followed by a smile and a dash a panic. Good party game. You should try it. The only thing that could top that moment was a quick chat with Aunt Doris. God love her. She's a very sweet lady that doesn't often wash her hair and doesn't have much fashion sense. That's being kind. She proceeded to ask me if I ever watch that show "What Not to Wear". Umm no, but if you tell me that you do I may have a seizure right here on the spot. Yup. Watches it all the time ...yet comes to the party sporting matching plaid from head to toe. Mind boggling and possibly the highlight of my evening.

As usual I over stayed my welcome. The guests of honor were packing up the car so I kindly offered to finish off the keg. Most would offer to help with the packing but I know how to really go above and beyond! In attendance at the informal after party created by me, my old lunch lady from elementary school! Just looking at her brought back the smell of ham patties and tater tots. Maybe it was still lingering in her beehive hairdo. Can't be sure. It was time for a feeding so we headed back to the house to grill out. By this point I was absolutely tanked! Dad and Sean were going to grill out with no help from me. Nope. I had something better to do....

There, in the garage, was my nephews pocket rocket! It stands about knee high and holds up to 200 lbs. Score! At last check I was still less than 200 lbs so why not take it for a spin? Because I'm 35 and drunk was the obvious answer! I had a hard time figuring out how to maneuver my legs so that they wouldn't drag on the ground. Sober this would have been challenging. Drunk it was down right ugly! Finally I decided that riding it on my stomach would work. So there I was, riding around the yard like a super giant on a motorcycle that I could have sucked into my crotch given a deep breath! My mother was setting the picnic table yelling at me to stop, my Dad was laughing and I'm quite sure my husband was calling his attorney. But there was my brother videotaping the whole thing! Gotta love kin! I was giggling and crashing into everything. I was covered head to toe in dirt wearing my Sunday best. Suddenly I was 2 again.

I think I passed out about 9pm. The last thing I remember was my mother reminding me to wash the dirt off my legs before I got into bed. Yes, Mother. Yeah I never did that. I fell asleep in the bed that rolls to the middle. You have to work to stay on the edge. When you are drunk it's just not possible. It's like sleeping in a vagina. You end up in a crease where you lay until you can't get up anymore. Comforting. No Mother I don't need a new bed. All in all a good first night. I felt strangely young. I ran great, I had my teeth, my hearing, my vision and I was intoxicated. How would day two stack up? Stay tuned....

Crack House...

Did you miss me? I’ll never be away from my fatlet for that long again. Never fear…I'm back from vacation and full of fatty commentary. Yes, I have returned from the land that time forgot....my hometown. We don't have traffic lights, some don't have internet and most don't have a full set of teeth...but they are my people. They say hello when they see you on the street and honk when passing by your home. It’s like Mayberry minus that dumbass Opie. You’ll be happy to know that in one week I’ve obtained enough material to keep you entertained for months. For fear of random topic jumping, I will attempt to organize my "material" chronologically. I’ll spare you the details from the ride up except to say that I didn’t disappoint my fans. I ate breakfast, lunch and dinner at McDonald’s, Hardees and Burger King! I like to call them “The Big 3.” Supersize with a diet please…let the vacation begin!

So yeah, I always have this “moment” when I go back to the hold house. You know how the smell of home brings back old childhood memories? I’d like to tell you that those “smellories” include Mom’s home cooking but Chef Boyardee tends to dissipate after it’s eaten. For me it’s all about walking into my room (also the land time forgot...everything is exactly as it was when I was 13.5) and remembering the evenings I spent there. You may be thinking..."Oh she remembers Mommy tucking her in at night and reading her bedtime stories." Ah, yeah, no. This memory involves my Mother but in much more sinister way. It’s all about the little brown desk that I used for achieving straight A’s in school.

**Side Note…much like most things in my life the little brown desk let me down as I was in fact a straight C student.***

***Side Note 2…my Mother reads this blog so I’ll attempt to be gentle****

My Mother is a food hoarder! Was that gentle enough? I just had to get it out. Wondering where the little brown desk comes in? Good! So as I was saying, I would sit at this desk and try to do anything but study. On occasion I would have to reach into the top right hand drawer and look for a protractor or something. Much to my surprise…no protractor. However comma, there was a 10lb bag of M&M’s! What the hell?! Within moments of my discovery my Mother (wearing her green fat jacket…more to come on this later) would arrive promptly at my door. I swear she could hear that drawer open from any room in the house! She was on a mission. Before I could even see if we were dealing with Peanut or Plain, the bag was snatched away from me. I think she would say something like, “Don’t tell your father.” Oh I won’t tell Daddy Mother! It’s time to barter. This deal would require 50% ownership! That’s 5 lbs for you and 5 lbs for me.





Food hoarding wasn’t limited to my little brown desk. There were stashes everywhere. Don’t be fooled…that women knew what she put where and how much was there! If you ate a cookie, you found out real quick that she had a head count on the Oreo’s! That woman could have run “crack” for Little Debbie 24/7! Let’s see…some of her favorites…Heavenly Hash (put away about 2 gallons a week), Apple Fritters (at .50 a pop the supply was endless!) and of course the M&M’s. Why did she hide them? Well for starters she hid herself in the green jacket so why not hide the evidence that goes along with it? It was the ultimate cover up. She was always on a diet and torturing my Dad with the, “Do you think I’m fat” rhetoric. My Dad was supposed to think that she was on top of the fatty situation. Sorry Dad, the house was riddled with “drugs”! Had CPS known that my desk was a storage facility for her “stash” I may have been taken away. Perhaps my silence was responsible for a few pounds here and there and possibly the green jacket that over stayed it’s welcome but what did I care?! My house was every child’s dream. It was the ultimate scavenger hunt! With a little clever prospecting you’d strike gold! This was the beginning of fatness.

Being that science has never worked in my favor, Mother’s hoarding genes were passed on to me. I too “hide” food from my husband. However, I am a bit more clever about it. Instead of hiding the food I leave it out in the open. When approached I simply say, “I bought that for you.” Sometimes I even get a, “Thank you!” Then we he’s not looking I eat half of whatever is there and tell him some friends came over and ate it. He then yells and asks me to buy more. “Sure honey, anything for you!” Its pure genius is what it is. Am I the new age hoarder perhaps? Can’t be sure. I can tell you that I do not wrap myself in a green jacket. Nope! Much like my treats, everything is out in the open. I wear a thong to the beach and proudly show off the house the Krispy Kreme built. Nothing to hide…I’m fat and proud!

Before I leave you I should tell you that my Mother has since overcome her addiction to sugar and is now skinny. Real nice. When does that gene kick in?! Stay tuned….

Busted!

I have it on good authority that the infamous Skinegars read my Blog yesterday! OMG! The skinny ones wasted no time finding the fatty blog spot! In light of this new development, I offer the Skinegars these words:

Dear Mr. & Mrs. Skinegar,
Thank you for visiting my site. I'm sure you are appalled at the not so fat free conversation. I must tell you that the vinegar is clearly working for you. You are thin and hot. Something I can only....yeah whatever...I'm hot...just not thin. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the your rock star status here at the SIF blogspot. I can't tell you that I'll be doing vinegar shots anytime soon but I will be staring at Mr. Skinegar because he's bone hot. Sorry.
SIF

I'm going on vacation for a week so that means you'll have to find some other fatty to entertain you for a week. I'll be too busy finding material to keep you entertained. Yes, that means eating. I thought for fun I would go on a tirade of sorts. Here goes:

* I do spellcheck on my blog every day yet I find misspellings upon re-reads. Disturbing.
*I just ate (2) 100 calorie packs of cookies. Portion control? I fear not.
* I washed that down with (2) beers. Light of course.
* Is beers a word or is it like fish?
* I still can't figure out how to subscribe to my own blog.
* I have 2 dogs that eat, sleep and fart. Disturbing.
* My dogs get more action than I do. Should be illegal.
* Bags of garbage are only visible to women apparently. Interesting.
* I've gained 10 lbs but where the same size. Ironic.
* I"m on Weight Watchers yet they haven't heard from me since I signed up. I'm on a break.

Ok....until we meet again, stay fat and proud.
Your SIF

A hole in One...

Quick follow-up note on Skinegar...I saw her running on my way to work this morning and she was sporting some nice eye candy...Mr. Skinegar! Apparently the vinegar gives you a hot body and a hot husband! I almost wrecked the car trying to call Tara to tell her to look out the window. I was also trying not to get donut crumbs on my work clothes but they couldn't see that thank God. What have we learned from this? A. Skinny hot people drink vinegar. 2. Skinny hot people have hot vinegar drinking husbands and B. Don't eat donuts while driving....or any other time for that matter.

It's raining today and we all know what that means...mindless eating take 1. I started the day with a 4 mile run and then promplty headed to the new Dunkin Donuts. What?!I had to get donut holes for a business meeting....and of course a treat for me. I was waiting in line at the drive through (SIF rule #432...never go in for the food. It's too much effort and others will see you) when a septic truck decided he was going to make my worst fears come true...I would die eating donuts and everyone would know I went out a fatty! No, he couldn't wait for me to pull up before he tried to plow into the back of me bcs apparently sucking shit was more important than eating it! Where would he be without the SIF? Alone in an empty shit truck that's where! Per capita I would imagine that fatties account for more of what he sucks up than any other group of people. Luckily I pulled up in time to save myself the embarassment of my ashes being sprinkled over a Boston Cream.

On to the next annoying moment...the deaf and annoying drive through lady. I had to scream my order so that she could hear me. When is it appropriate to yell, " I'll have 50 donut holes and a large decaf?" Never! That's as bad as, "Gimme a super sized fry and a Diet Coke!" The damn holes weren't for me but all of Kill Devil Hills didn't need to hear me order 50 freakin donut holes! Then she asked, "Do you want an assortment?" No. I'd like to tell you hole by hole which ones I want! As she handed me the holes I noticed "that look" on her face. That..."you ordered 50 holes and there's no one else in the car look." Sure did! I may be fat but at least I can hear! I pulled away wondering how many holes make up one donut? Can't be sure...

I headed off for my meeting wondering why places like Dunkin Donuts and McDonalds don't offer disocunts to overweight patrons? I mean...when you go to Costco you get a discount for buying in bulk yet these sort of establishments refuse to show some love to the fatties! If the average person buys one donut and a SIF buys 50, I think we deserve a break! I'm not talking one of those frequent vistor cards that the normal people get. I'm talkin a straight up fatty discount for weighing too much and eating too much! It could be like those trucker sacles on the highway. When you pull up to the drive through it registers your weight. Anything over 250 gets an automatic 25% discount! Anything under 100 and you get charged double. It's Genious!

And I'm spent! By the end of the morning I was exhasuted by my own creative genious. The only bad news... No one showed up to the semniar and I was left staring 50 donut holes in the face. Yes, I could have donated them, or left them for the other people in the office but that just wouldn't be "sisterly" now would it? No, I had to eat my way into a double digit hole count just to see how many it would take to stop me. I won't be sharing that number for fear of utter shock. I'll will leave you with this thought though, "When is it ok to eat 50 donut holes?" Answer...when you can wash them down with a Diet Coke! One cancels out the other. Stay tuned...

A spoonful of vinegar...

Helps everything apparently! My worst nightmare confirmed...the skinny girls are douching their fat away! Allow me to splain...So there I was on my normal 4-5 mile morning run with my friend Tara. We make a good running team bcs I provide the service of weighing a metric ton which in turn compliments her 5'8'' 120 lb ass! I'm not sure what she does for me other than make me look fatter and provide me with more drama than a Daniel Steel novel. We were almost finished with our run when out of nowhere appears this deathly skinny runner chick. I gave her a subtle wave and thought, "Damn she looks hungry!" My inside voice added to that thought... "I would never want to be that skinny." That's why you are the inside voice. Work with me here...

I was about to bring Tara into agreement on the matter when out of nowhere she calls Skinny McSkinny by name. You know her?! Now I was standing two feet from someone who couldn't even spell french fry let alone eat one! The ratio of SIF was out of alignment. I needed a fat chick on a bike with one of those stupid dogs post haste. How would I explain my saddle bags, my muffin top, my banana roll when skin and bones were all around me! I'm a quick thinker but I aint that quick! As they were cactching up I tried thinking of something witty to say like, " It feels so good to be back running just a week after giving birth to my 10 lb baby boy." In fear she wouldn't believe me I decided to listen attentively to the fat free conversation. Bla Bla so good to see you. You look great. So do you...hello! Oh, this is my friend Fatty McFatty. I believe she used my real name but I'm sure Skinny McSkinny translated it as such.

Then out of nowhere she offers an ephinany of sorts...."I'm still doing those vinegar shots and I feel great." Como? I was hoping she didn't mean vaginally and tried not to appear too curious. She decdied to run the rest of the way with us and elaborate. ***Insert thought--- does she know that I am not a Kenyan and will she adjust her pace to fatty speed?*** Yes and Yes. She proceeds to tell us that she and her skinny husband have been taking shots of vinegar for the past few months. Apparently it is revilutionizing their life. Tara and I were perplexed. She went on to say that it makes perfect sense when you think about it. Ummm no it doesn't. She proceeded to tell us that just as vingear cleans your coffee pot, it also cleans your system in the same manor. Pause for shock factor.

I know what vingear does for the coffee pot and I know what vinegar does for those not so fancy fresh days but now I'm to believe that drinking it gets me to 90lbs and an oil change?! This so would have been on HSN if it were true! She added to the madness by stating that it had to be apple cider vinegar. Why? Can't be sure. Just mix it with water or shoot it straight if you have the stomach for it. Now I just wanted to pin her to the ground and force feed her fatback. Here's this hungry looking runner who clearly doesn't eat and now her answer to my banana rolls is to does vinegar shooters? Vinegar and bananas don't mix...nor do muffins for that matter. Not sure about the saddle bags but I'm guessing no.

I left her ass with Tara and ran home to process this new information. I wanted to tell Tara that we shaved 10 seconds off our time but in light of the vinegar story, it paled in comparsion. I started to worry...Would I lose Tara to Vinegar girl? Instead of inviting me over for a drinks would she now invite me over for vinegar shots? Would there be whole skinny vinegar parties that I wouldn't be invited to until I was out of the triple digits? "Sorry we are having a skinegar party for 99lbs or less." Won't be gettin an invite to that one. So I threw down my running clothes and wondered if it was worth it to change who I was in order to hang out with people who douche fat away. Hell no! I don't want to smell like apple cider...I want to smell of Krispy Kreme and bacon fat like my people!

I leave you with this thought, "Is it better to cleanse away who we really are or put our stank ass out there for all to see?" Stay tuned....

Waiting to Inhale...

Not only will that be the title of my first feature film, it also describes my 4th of July. Before you ask, yes I am on vacation from the militant points. Let's face it, if I logged all of the beer I drank, WW would most likely make me Fatty of the Week. My 4th of July always starts on the 3rd. All true SIF find a pre-binge necessary to put the holiday's into full swing. We had some friends over for drinks and I got to meet my friend Susan's new man! He's not really new but he's new to me as I hadn't met him yet. Luckily there was no food involved so she wouldn't have to explain my eating disorder....or would she...

So I wake up on the 4th prepared to go for a run (clearly to balance out the day to come). Yeah that never happened. Instead I ate my new "find"...a WW apple carmel muffin. Just three points for what I assumed would be heaven. Not even purgatory...straight hell in fact! Take a bite of cardboard, then bite an apple dipped in caramel. I give you the WW apple caramel muffin...gross! I packed my lunch and headed off to the beach to spend the day with the Belvin's. Possibly the coolest family ever. They love to eat, drink and have a good time. Right up my alley! Every year they throw a party on the beach and I invite myself accordingly. While I am not in fact a family member, I make a bid for adoption at every opportunity. Note to Belvin's....when choosing a spot on the beach I typically check for fatties in the area. I prefer a few on each side to make the bikini reveal a bit more tolerable. The 20 year olds without a dent or dimple...where ya going with that?! I had to call upon my inner supermodel and bring out a whole other personality to deal with the situation! I call her "Ginny" bcs she rhymes with skinny....

On to the next part of my day! My other friend (I have 2) Tara, agreed to host a cookout at her house. I made some comfort food for the occasion as that is the only kind I know how to cook. The party started at 5:30 so I starved myself in anticipation (I didn't eat from 3:00 on....I know...crazy!) Every SIF knows better than this! SIF rule #321...eat before functions so you don't look anxious. **INSERT*** There is now a sub rule #321B...Eat before functions in the off chance you won't be eating before 10pm*** Susan and her boyfriend came to the party, my husband, my friend Renee and some other peeps. We were drinking for an hour when I heard a rumble. No the fireworks were not in jeopardy of being washed out...it was my stomach! It's 6:30 and big girl was getting restless. Then out of nowhere an appetizer appeared. That worked for a minute. I tried to cover up my angst but I was starting to consider the cat food a real possibility! I know...I know...parties are all about fun, drinking and socializing. But that's after you feed the cattle! I decided to dance and drink to keep my mind off the hunger pangs. At one point I jumped on the counter with Tara as if that was a good idea! Her husband reminded me not to stand on the seam as it may break. Hmmm....no warning for Tara....just the fatty! So I jumped down and decided his punishment would be to cook me some food. If I was going to bring down the house it was going to be on a full stomach. I supervised the introduction of the meat to the grill. While I couldn't literally hear it...I felt the crowd take a deep breath. Fatty takes one for the team...that's how I rolls.

It's now 8:30! Not only is it waaaaay past FGDH (Fat girl dinner hour- 5pm)it's almost FGBT (Fat girl bed time)! I started to yearn for my onesie and my bed. It was time for a sanity check. I walked over to another guest to inquire as to her hunger level. My worst fear confirmed, she replied "I'm not hungry." Mental note...don't ask someone who weighs 95lbs to jump on the fatty band wagon! I saw Susan and it appeared she too may be hungry. She had a valid reason. She hadn't eaten since noon and not much of a lunch at that. I kept the pressure on the cook to get the meat to the table. At 9:00 panic struck...still haven't eaten and almost time for fireworks. While others questioned their loyalties, I knew my loyalty was cooking on that grill! Leave all of this food to watch some pyromaniac blow colors through the sky...I think not! Luckily, as the food was ready we were able to see the fireworks from the dinner table. It was fat girl Utopia.

As the night came to a close, my food coma was in full swing. Add to that a buzz and you have the makings of another sexless evening. It dawned on me that the word starving can be used many ways. People who have no food to eat are starving. People who have food to eat but aren't eating it are starving (that one was for you Susan). People on WW are starving! I'm starving. I could go on all day. However, I don't think there is anything worse than waiting to inhale. It brings me to my usual line of questioning, "Why don't the skinny people listen to their hunger pangs? Do they not pang? Are they running on super charged skinny girl batteries? Is it possible that the SIF are the voice of the starving? The ones charged with mission to bring what everyone wants to the table? Could this be the calling of SIF everywhere...to feed the skinny and mute? Stay tuned...

Tricks are for...

Before I go off on my daily tangent...let me update you on two things. A. I will not be discussing the man gene today and 2. Counting points is about as much fun as sticking pins in my eyes! First to the man gene...I have a great tirade on this subject that must be saved for a later date. I'm too crazed by the points to focus. Yes, I'm one day in and the freakin points are making me insane! I've already taken it upon myself to email WW and tell them of my displeasure. The source of my frustration surrounds the activity log. If you log in a run you have to choose between a 5 and a 9 minute mile. I told them (and I quote) "There aint no Fatties on WW running 5-9 minute miles! Score...WW 0 SIF 1! Then they emailed and said I was using it wrong. Whateva. Anything to keep the fatties down. $65 don't go but so far. Anywho, on to today's rage...

Before every new diet plan a little binge must fall. What's a SIF to do? You call a friend who's currently dieting and attempt to suck them into your emotional food tryst. It's never appropriate for a SIF to eat alone. You might as well wear a sign that says. "Who's your Diner?" Last night I called a friend who is doing a very good job on her diet unlike myself. I won't mention her name except to say that it starts with an R, ends with an E and sounds like Janay. She was hip to the WW2 battle and agreed to have one "last" dinner with me. It was never my intention to "take her down" but these things just happen. Fat is contagious in case you didn't know. So we get to my favorite EEJ (Emotional Eating Joint) and the place was jammin. This disturbed me bcs I didn't want people I know to see me eat my way from the left to the right side of the menu. Luckily we sat in the back. It's because I'm white. I know this.

Anyway, I suggested the spinach dip and we agreed that would be a good "start." Replacing the tortilla chips with pita points will cost you about 145 grams of fat but who's counting? My friend appeared strong even as I spoke of steak n cheese with fries dipped in ranch. Would she break? Of course! Emotional eating is the HIV of the fatty world. Just sit next to someone and you're infected! To her credit she only ate half of her meal. Hell you couldn't even tell there was anything on my plate. I feel a connection to the minimum wagers so I like to save them time by licking my plate clean. Our waitress... skinny and annoying. She didn't bring us forks as if to imply that we would be inhaling! Whateva. I only do that at lunch. And when I ask for a side of ranch I mean a side not a squirt! Asking for more it makes me look not so good. Make me raise my voice n sh...

I thoroughly enjoyed my emotional eating tryst until the food coma struck. That's the point where your eyes focus on one thing, you can hear everything around you but you can't speak, it's not so fun anymore and the check takes 4 hours to get to the table. In addition to that crisis... my little dinner buddy was violating 2 HUGE SIF rules in plain site: 1. Never get a to-go box! Emotional eating cannot know where you live! 2. Never hang around the table when you are done. It draws attention to the fact that you ate your way from appetizer to dessert and it aint pretty! Bonus info...Make them clear the table, check the surrounding area for onlookers and only order dessert if no one is watching.

I waddled my way to the car feeling like a hooker who turned a record number of tricks and got robbed on the way home! Take a moment to feel that will you? I immediately took a shower to cleanse my guilt. I jumped into my Pj's and I must admit they were a little snug. I suppose to remind me that I was a ho. I climbed into bed alone and fat. Somehow it wasn't worth it. I couldn't get the taste of garlic out of my mouth so I did what any SIF would do. I downed 2 Krispy Kremes. Works better than toothpaste, FYI. I had to ask myself, "Is one night of pleasure worth so much pain?" Depends on the "dish" that's being served....stay tuned...

What's the point...

Today I've decided to rage war on my scales. They are secretly plotting against me. Yes folks it's time for the semi-monthly diet search where you too can be a loser! This months winner is Weight Watchers. When it comes to overthrowing the scales, you need to bring in the big guns...the points! I'm not a big fan of points but let's face it, I'm not a big fan of pounds either! Enough of the eat less and excersise more theory. Some dumb guy obviously made that up after he started taking the stairs and switched to light beer.

If I were to list every diet I've been on, not only would you be visibly frightened, I may send myself into shock. Let's just say I've done my homework and leave it at that. So I go online and it's roughly $65 to lose wieght with points. That's 4 #3's, supersized over a month, carry the one, divided by 3....oh hell it seemed reasonable! After prompt payment the evil little point system demanded to know my weight, height and when I wanted to weigh in. Seemed very cattle herding esk and I wanted no part of handing over this information. I had to laugh when the sub-question popped up "Do you suffer from bulimia?" Duh! I'f I did I'd be puking not counting points! Then it asked me if I was pregnant and another sub-screen popped up that said, "Only answer if you are a woman?" What, now that the gays can marry we fear that they are going to get pregnant and take over Weight Watchers?! I'm starting to question the strength of these points but I'm in for $65 so I continue...

I inidicated that I wanted to weigh in on Friday bcs, well if I screw up on the weekend I'll have til next Friday to fix it and let's face it, I'm re-born every Monday and I won't even being doing this stupid diet by next Friday! Deep breath....I would have prefered it to ask me when I wanted to start as I typically need a day to gorge before starting the next assult. The big question was...how many points would I be given and would the system know how active I am and give me extra ammo? Yeah, 22 points and 6 extra for the exercise! Hardly seems fair. I could eat 22 points parked at the drive-through! My healthy breakfast would eat up 6. It's getting ugly.

Instantly I became overwhelmed and asked my lunch buddy out for Fat Girl Lunch Hour. All matters of fat are discussed this way. She assured me she knew of several fatties that have lost on this plan. But you see...I am a closet fatty. That's an extra layer of complexity. I decided to do what I do best and worry about that tomorrow. Very Scarlett O'hara of me. Yes, tomorow I will be militant point girl along with ever other overweight woman in America. I will not however be going to the FA (Fatties Anonymous) meetings. It's too shameful. The scales, the confessions, the fatties. It's just too much.

As I close out this Tuesday I know that tomorrow will be a better day bcs I have planned my battle with $65 worth of ammunition and 22 strategic victory points. I will have to take a break on the 4th bcs there's not enough points for me to drink my way into the Weight Watcher record books. I have named my battle WW2. That's Weight Watchers 2. I tried it a while back but I was emotionally unavaiable for battle at that time. Thought for tomorrow...If we are comparing notes on our men and they all do the same stupid things, "Is it possible we have isolated a dumb guy gene?' Stay tuned...