Thursday, August 28, 2008

Game On...

So much to talk about today. First and foremost….breaking news. The “powder” is a scam. Shocking, I know right? Mother sent me a link to Consumer Reports and they debunked the solution to all of my madness. So that means I had to call and cancel my order. When the order taker person picked up on my call, she sounded as disappointed as I was. She asked me if I had tried Sensa. Well that’s think about that. I’m calling you to cancel an order that hasn’t been shipped. You do the math. I gave her no reason other than, “I changed my mind.” She didn’t press me and it was a good thing. I may have gone crazy on her. Thinking you can fool a fatty. Shame on you. I have a fat network that spans the globe. My people let me know when I’m at risk of a fat attack. Thas right.

So I did what any true SIF would do, I began researching new drugs. Mostly bcs the Consumer Reports page said, “Click here for the good stuff,” or something to that effect. I began looking at drug after drug that could potentially cure the ills that live deep within me. Hoodia…pure Hoodia seemed to be the answer. But…when I clicked on the click that led to the click…someone had debunked that too. I did happen upon one person who shares my love of Ephedra. For those of you who thought I was crazy….meet my twin:

sirenofstyx: Can't I get Ephedra anywhere anymore? Nothing gives me a rush like that stuff did. I swear. I don't care about the side effects of it, and I don't need to cut back on calories. I just need to get myself pumped up that’s all.

I think I smell a SIF out there! That stuff is the jam. It be callin me! So the short answer to my problem is to stop eating. Short answer… not a viable answer. I did have a true SIF moment today. These moments are priceless. So it’s pouring rain here and everyone in the free world goes out to lunch when it’s raining. And you call me an emotional eater?!
I pulled into the parking lot of one of my favorite restaurants. I was stopped in my tracks by (someone I actually knew…scandal) a car waiting to pull into a parking spot. The spot she was waiting on was being vacated by a man that mastered the 56 point turn. It literally took 4 hours for him to leave. By this point I’m not only hungry but anxious! So I grabbed a spot on the other side of the building. Little did she know I had a plan. I would race her to the door, sneak in from the side and get seated before her! The place was packed…I needed a game plan. As I exited the vehicle I saw her car door open. Game on. I ran through the bar, almost slipped on the wet floor and greeted the hostess exactly 2.3 seconds before her. The hostess asked, “Two for lunch?” How dare she think we were together?! I just beat this hussy through the parking lot, in the rain and across the bar. At least acknowledge my victory! I kindly said, “Table for two but we aren’t together.” She said, “I only have one table left, in the corner.” “I’ll take it!” I smiled in the face of my opponent and told her to have a nice lunch. That’s what you call winning with dignity.

I would have appreciated a little more deference to my winning status however I failed to remember that “normal” people don’t think like this. They could never imagine that someone would be able to pull off such an elaborate scheme all while they are shoveling food into their face. Dummies. My friend Emily was in the car on her cell phone while all of this went down. Not even an audience. Sister can’t catch a break. So I sat at the victory table alone waiting for Emily so that we could have a good laugh. I had my infamous “That’ll teach ya” look on my face. Don’t mess with the fatties. We are “on” 24/7, ready to pounce on any opportunity to get better food faster than the average Joe. I don’t like to brag but I’m 2 and 0 this season. Don’t suppose the IOC will be calling me up to compete in London. They should. I can take on anyone. Fatty or not. That’s how I roles. Well it’s time for me to get off of my ego trip and play mortgage again. Until next time, take a lesson from my teachings….it’s perfectly ok to run for your food. No one really knows that what you are doing. Especially when the weather cooperates.

Wednesday, August 27, 2008

It Makes Perfect Sensa

So my friend Angie sent me a link to this new weight loss "thing" that you sprinkle on your food. It's called Sensa. Apparently it works on your sensory neurons to make you feel full. While I don't in fact think I have a working set of sensory neurons (as evidenced by my size), I went ahead and clicked on the link bcs...well bcs what else do I have to do. Apparently it's been advertised on 20/20 and Extra. What that means to me, I can't be sure. So they have 2 types of sprinkles. One for salty foods and one for sweet foods. They claim that if you sprinkle this potion on your food you will feel full, only be able to eat half of your food and will lose 30 pounds in 6 months. Oh and if you order in the next 5 shipping! **This is where I wish you could hear me recite all of that in my cheese infomercial voice. It's really quite good.** So I ordered it. Of course I did. I'm a SIF! I'm not in the business of disappointing my readers.

I like to consider myself the unofficial tester for most weight loss products. I’ve tried them all. I won’t horrify you with the laundry list. The next time you go to GNC, check out the weight loss shelf. I tried those. The only one that works without fail (drum role please)…good ole Ephedra! Yes, I know people die and grow 3rd limbs BUT do they lose weight? The answer is an unequivocal …YES! Personally, I think the FDA needs to reinstate that one. I took it via Herbalife back in the 90’s. Believe it or not, you couldn’t pay me to eat! I know…it’s hard to imagine. I could be at happy hour, smack drunk with Nachos on the table and walk away. I know. Crazy. These days I hover over the Nachos to make sure no one else gets the ones with all of the cheese and sour cream. I failed to mention that the owner of Herbalife died at 30. Natural causes n all. Hey, who am I to question the coroner? I say bring it back and we immediately cure the obesity crisis in America. Yeah we’ll lose a few along the way but sometimes you have to sacrifice for the good of others…like me…and the fatties!

Back to the stuff that’s going to save me from myself. So I call up the makers of “the powder” to harass them a bit. I asked the lady on the phone if I could really lose 30 pounds. She said yes so I guess it’s true. We’ll know in 5-7 days when it arrives. I was thinking…if I took the powder along with the 22 points I get from WW, sprinkle that on some Jenny Craig Food and pop an illegal Ephedra, I could blow this thing out of the water. Not only could I take over for that fat ass, trench coat wearin Kirstie Alley, I would most certainly be the new Sensa spokesfatty. Its sort like psycho weight loss meets Hollywood. I love it! I’m losing weight just thinking about it. The closest I’ve come to my love of Ephedra is a drug called Phentramine. It’s quite lovely. It’s one of the Phen’s in the Phen-Phen clan. I suppose it was the well behaved one as I can still get it without calling up Earl Jenkins for a hit. It gives you this warm sensation followed by a burst of energy. Who needs to eat when you are warm and jumpy? Not me! 20 pounds down from that one! 20 pounds back when I went off! Seems my friend Phentremine was some form of legalized crack. I’m fine with that. Except the part when I have to give it up and gain all of the weight back. So unfair.

As you can see my life is 100% controlled by my love to eat vs. my quest to find drugs that will keep me from eating. I think they call that insanity. Crazy is not the worst thing I've been called so I’ll press on. My Mother phoned last night. She said the following, “Honey I read your blog everyday and it’s very good. However, I’m very concerned. Do you really do all of those things that you say? I’m worried. I feel like it’s all my fault.” Mother, I want to set you free. Yes I really do all of the things I say in my blog and yes I blame you for all of it. Feel better? Ahh a mothers love. So tender. Remember…this woman hid 10lb bags of M&M in my desk! CPS should have carted her off long ago. I kid Mother. I am to blame for my behavior. It’s a job hazard. Just think, if I was skinny who would write my blog? See…now don’t you feel silly? I’m off to stalk the mailbox for the powder!

Monday, August 25, 2008

All hail Queen Fatty

In the midst of my pregnancy rantings I failed to mention my first (known) fat related injury. It all happened while I was attempting to rid my home of contraband over the weekend. Having been raised in a trailer (ok just for a year or so), you learn not to waste. Translation...that meant that I would have to "eat" the house free of the bad stuff! Mother raised me right and sometimes you have to do what you have to do. So we had these Cinnabons left over from our last house guests. They had been "calling out to me" for weeks. Sweet sticky buns of cinnamon covered with rich sugary icing. OMG! Can you tell I am on my Monday diet?I'm about to lose control. Deep breath. Anyway. So I got up early Saturday morning and made the executive decision not to run. Nope. I was going to make these sticky buns of loveliness husband. Yeah that's it. He was still asleep when I went to remove them from the oven. I reached in, grabbed for the pan and OUCH...burned my damn hand on the oven rack! Instant blister. That in turn caused one of the buns to slide around in the pan. Well no one likes a messy looking sticky bun so I decided I would eat that one bcs...well bcs I wanted it but the story I am going with was that it made the others look bad...or something. Ok I ate two. One for me and one for my new blister!

I placed the remaining 3 buns on a paper plate. They fit just nicely. I figured if he saw 3 he would assume 1 of 2 things: (1.) That there were originally 4 and I ate one or (2.)That there were originally 3, I didn't eat one and I was back from my run in time to bake him these lovely treats. I surveyed his face for a clue. I think what I saw was a cross between "my wife is a big fat hog who clearly ate 2 of these buns" and "at least she left me three to work with. " Either way, he ate 3 for a grand total of 900 calories! I think he still weighs more than me but I can't be sure. I just tell him that I'm all muscle and it throws him off. After our nutritious breakfast, we headed off to tidy up the rental house. Of course the entire way over I was thinking about what I wanted for lunch. I knew there wouldn't be time to go back home and those buns would only hold him for a few hours. I started plotting...BK, Wendy's or McD's. Hmmm. Generally whomever has the shortest line wins. That's what happens when you are ADD and Fat. After I cleaned the pool I decided I'd be a good wife and get him some lunch. Translation...biggie needed a feeding!

I headed to Hamburger alley only to see all of the "good" drive-thru's packed with people. I ended up settling for Burger King. I don't care for our BK bcs it's evidenced by the short line. But I needed a quick fix so it would have to do. Also at issue with BK...the manor in which you order. At McDonald's I can say "#2 with a large Coke" and they get the subtle undertone...large everything! They appreciate the fact that I don't need every other car in line knowing that I'm a closet fatty! When attempting to perform the same stunt at BK I get the following rebuttal, "So you want to King Size it all the way." What about that sounds good? How does one respond? "Yes, feed me like a King and throw in one of those stupid paper crowns while you are at it so the whole world knows I am eating for two or three! Crown me Queen of the Fatties! Luckily there was no one in line behind me so I think I just said "yeah...(asshole under my breath)." Did you notice that I never go inside for my food? Why get out of the car when God created the perfect system for closet eaters. I keep my shades on and unless they are looking at my plates or have some sort of frequent buyer discount card (cause a sister loves some discounts) they had no way of tracking my visits. It's a beautiful thing. Except when your credit card company sends you those "end of the year...this is how you spent your borrowed money summaries." Needless to say, food is about 89.9% of the pie.

I returned to the rental house prepared to gorge. Immediately I was faced with another issue...why you gotta call it a Whopper? Now I am tasked with eating a King Sized Whopper Combo all while attempting to call myself a lady. I was planning on laying in the sun when I was done but the thought of everything I had eaten was making me sick. I headed to the tanning shack where I could get some shameless sun. After that a king size nap and some double stuffed Oreo's. They were on the disposal list as well. Has anyone thrown up yet? My God! My back was starting to hurt from the weight of the load I suppose. Later that night I went to see my friend Tara and she asked if I was hungry. She hadn't eaten all day. What's that like? I said no and left the reasoning to her imagination. Besides, I planned on ordering a pizza when I left anyway! Did you know you can order that jam right online, pay for it with a credit card and it's at your house in like 30 minutes! God is good! All of this is what led me to the Lord's house on Sunday with that laundry list I told you about yesterday. I don't think he was prepared for the likes of me. Pray for me!

So that's about the most disgusting weekend one could imagine, right? I was going to weigh myself on Sunday but then I thought, "why?" What did I expect to see? According to my math I should have gained exactly 7lbs over the weekend. Ah heck, my clothes still fit so I left well enough alone. So far so good today. My friend Emily tried to lead me astray but I resisted her enticing offer to go to lunch. She doesn't understand why I can't go to lunch and order a salad. For the same reason a drunk can't go to a bar and order a Coke. It's just not in our genes. Salad means cheese and ranch dressing. The vegetables are an afterthought. I fear going home for the evening. Home alone with myself and no treats. I may go septic. Check on me will you? Later

Sunday, August 24, 2008

"Are you there God, it's me Fatty?"

I'm sitting here watching that movie "What Women Want." It frightens me. Imagine if men could really hear what I was thinking. It would sound something like this: "Fries or Onion Rings? Are you going to finish that? He'll never know I ate all the Ho Ho's." Not only would I be an unmarried mother to 40 stray cats, I would most likely be committed. In fact, after a record breaking weekend of binge eating my stomach looks like one of those starving kids on the television. Only instead of being hungry I'm giving birth to the Taco Bell twins. I think there should be a law against this sort of behavior. Ya a nice wanted poster of me at all of the fast food joints in town...stuffing nachos in my face, cheese dripping down my chin and empty taco wrappers all around me. Classic. "Wanted....serial eater. Known to frequent Taco Bell for the 4th meal." I find that little tag line (4th meal) quite catchy as well as effective. However, I fast for the 4th meal. It's a sacrifice. I know this.

So I went to church today with my usual laundry list of requests. On the top of that list was a sign from God that I should stop my uncontrolled eating. My pastor always says, Gods gives us signs but we aren't always paying attention. He's right! There's been a sign as bright as Vegas following me around for 35.998 fat ass! Had I chosen to honor God and use this "sign" to educate others about the bible, I'm confident I could have displayed all of the scriptures from the old and new testament with a little room left for interpretation. Clearly I am a sinner who will burn in hell... fat ass and all. Hope they stoke the fire. That's alot of burnin. So while I wasn't paying attention in church, I whispered to my friend Tricia, "I have been eating like a horse all weekend." Now she knows me well enough to know that I don't need a reason to eat. However, as sweet as she is, she responded, "Are you getting ready to start?" Ahhh...I wish I could use aunt Flo as an excuse but unless she has taken up permanent residence in me, no. Who knows, maybe I'm pre-pre-pre- menstrual. It's possible.

To drive home the point that I have clearly gone over the edge, I'll share a tidbit about Tricia that you'll appreciate. She is the queen of self control when it comes to eating. She just won't eat bad. It's fascinating. I've tried to bring her over to the "other side" but she won't budge. So we do this "thing." Every time she comes back from the doctor I ask her how much she weighs. A few weeks ago she surpassed me by 10 whole pounds! Confused? Oh did I fail to mention she's pregnant! I'm reaching. I realize this. There's another potentially fatal error that I have managed to avoid....pregnancy. I already eat for 2 or 3, can you imagine that I have to up that to 4? While the thought of eating with a purpose intrigues me, I just can't go there. I don't even want children...well bcs I already have a 37 year old and I can't imagine why I would duplicate something I have yet to comprehend. Not to mention my one rule about getting pregnant was that I had to be in shape and eating like a human before I would try on that shoe. Well that shoe still doesn't fit and I prefer to go barefoot, thank you. I figure if I keep eating at this pace I can just tell people I'm pregnant and see how that works out. There are clear benefits to the plan. I could start taking advantage of the "Mothers with Children" parking at the supermarket. Every time I see that damn space I wonder why they are given special treatment. Personally I think people with binge eating disorders should park up front. Let's face it, we keep the place in business. But unlike the Mothers with Children, we would be to ashamed to park there. Yup. Looks like I'll be riding with Tricia and the baby to get the rock star parking.

I'm not sure what it's going to take to stop me at this point. Tomorrow is Monday. That's always a safe plan. Maybe someone can spray Windex on my ass to make it go worked in My Big Fat Greek Wedding. It's plausible. So there I have two possible solutions. Anyway, it's time for me to go to bed. Distended belly and all. Tricia... take comfort in knowing that we have alot of the same issues. I can't sleep on my stomach, or on my back and my belly is putting pressure on my bladder. We both have someone to blame for our discomfort. Difference being your someone is 4 lbs and was made out of love. My someone weighs alot more than that was made out of beans, tortilla chips and cheese. My someone will come out of me with little to no effort and....ok I'm stopping. God help me!

Thursday, August 21, 2008

I must be butter cause I'm on a roll!

Ahh... fresh off a trip from Taco Bell AND Dairy Queen I am left to wonder if there's any hope for me! I would almost be better off snorting coke. While more expensive I would clearly weigh less and have more energy. I'll have to stack that up against my current program and see how it all plays out. All things being equal, the similarities are shocking. Let's take tonight for example... the husband drags me out of the house braless in my pj's for a DQ run. He's an enabler. I agree to go as long as I can stay in the car and not be seen. He plays the role of drug runner while I provide payment for said goods. Time for a random bad memory...It happened on a late night DQ run. I was alone. I went through the drive-thru. I got a banana cream pie Blizzard. I left said drive-thru unnoticed. Aforementioned banana cream pie Blizzard pie crust chunk got caught in throat. I remember my first and possibly last thought, "I can't go down like this." Imagine my funeral. "She died doing what she loved...sneaky binge eating!" My friends would all tell stories of trying to save me from myself...all while laughing.Nobody should have to die choking on fake pie crust smashed up in bad ice cream from the DQ while their alleged friends laugh in the face of death! Did that stop me? I think not...

Yes I think dying on a street corner strung out from a bad hit would be much more dignified. At least people feel sorry for you when your habit resides on the other side of the law. We assume prostitutes must have been molested as children, murders must have...been married and drug addicts married. What do we assume about over eaters? They are big fat slobs with no self control! While accurate, not exactly what one might want in the way of a Hallmark card. Foodies can't call up friends for advice before they down 8 Ho-Ho's. But give a quit shout out before you hit the pipe and it's an all out intervention! Maybe instead of going the route of Foodie turned Druggie, I'll start an Eaters Anonymous for closet over eaters! Yeah that's what I'll do. I'll hang out in the dark at random drive-thru's waiting for closet fatties to roll up. I can spot em a mile away. They are alone yet they order enough for 2 or 3, they don't appear to be "fat", they usually have a pretty face, they don't need any time before placing their order and they listen attentively for what I call the "free calories..." they wait for the drive-thru person to forget to ask them if they want a drink and they can cash in on a free Pepsi! Normally, if thirsty, they would come right out and order a diet soda to wash down the fat. However, given the momentous occasion of cashing in on a free beverage...well that calls for the real stuff! It's just sick!

As you can see, I am very good at diverting attention away from the fact that I ate out exactly 3x today and none of those outings involved the words grilled, steamed or broiled. If forced to replace those words with more accurate portrayals of the truth, one might say....fried, dipped and battered. I think I may puke. Besides, I've been back from DQ for 30 minutes so I think it's safe to take a "make me not remember this pill" and go to bed. Fatties need their rest. Let's hope tomorrow will bring a new me. That usually works until the magic hour....FGLH! High Noon Behatches! I live one more day to eat more than I imagined I could, worse than I imagined possible and just enough to keep you reading! This fatty is out!

Tuesday, August 19, 2008

Free Willy

Fatty is back in the hisouse! As many of you know, I am a mortgage broker by day. Translation...I do a whole lot a nothin! If anyone knows of a good job for a talented writer with an eating tell. This new position must have full respect for fat girl lunch hour and my need for constant snacking. I hear Jenny Craig fired that fat ars Kirstie Alley so perhaps I can shoot for that job. They wouldn't know what to do with the likes of me. " run marathons, ultra marathons, work out 2x per day and box. And you are 400 lbs bcs?" Because I like to eat behatch! Let's face it, my whole life is an oxymoron. I love to workout yet I eat like a pig. I love money yet I am a mortgage broker. I love to write and hate to read. Must I go on? I do however have a breakthrough of sorts in the drama that is my eating disorder...

My new friend Andrea (the nurse) informed me that there is actually a name for people like me. People who eat non-stop and have no trigger to say "Yo fatty...put down the Oreos and step away from the bag!" It's called Prader Willie. Apparently the body lacks an enzyme to let the brain know you are full. They can literally eat themselves to death. I may be going out on a limb here but...sold! What else can be responsible for someone consuming: a peanut butter bar, a Dove Bar and 6 Oroes' in 1 sitting? Oh and a bite of a glazed donut. Luckily it was stale. Normally that wouldn't stop me but I had other resources. Yes, I did that Tara! Add about 3000 more calories to that and you have my day in a nut shell! Horrified? As you should be. I don't think I lack the enzyme. I think the enzyme is present. It's just in total shock. Speechless if you will. I hear distant screams telling me I'm full. Much like my husband, I ignore them. Pleasure takes over and the enzyme is silenced. Victory is once again mine.

As much as I would love to group myself with the PW peeps, I feel I would be doing them a disservice. Yes, if I eat myself to death the autopsy will clearly prove that all of my enzymes were firing at full speed. They just weren't prepared for my weapons of self destruction. Did I mention I am completely high on caffeine right now? It seems the anorexic at the coffee shop ignored my request for a DECAF SKIM LATTE (oxymoron). Why would I trust someone who shops at Forever 21 when she's 45? I tried shopping there but they don't make clothes in a junior 2x. Hussies. Clearly her enzymes are running her life. Turn them off sister! Come over to other side! Lane Bryant has cute me! 16 is the new 2!

So as you can see I put my dysfunctional life out there to save all of you from falling into my trap. In rare cases such as the Skinagers, my rantings offer a another reason to shoot vinegar and laugh with fatties. While I may not be suffering from a known disorder I am confident that one day my dysfunctional eating will get it's own name. Until then I will continue to feed the symptoms as well as my face. Hate to run but it's FGLH!

Sunday, August 17, 2008

All good things must end..

Ok so I lied and said I would be posting a couple of days ago. Clearly I can't be trusted. Last week was a long week and that's all I have to say about that! A lot of my friends are going through "stuff" right now and I want to give them all a big shout out. My something, you'll feel better. Crack kills. Food fills. This economy is personally responsible for the latest 6lb addition to my family. No I haven't been shagging the hubby and producing offspring. God help me no! It's a nice sized fat pocket above my ass. Thanks! Now let's get the last day of vacation out of the way bcs frankly even I'm getting tired of it!

I woke up on that last day ready to go back to my bed! Let me clarify, the vagina bed! Even that was a step up from the air filled sack I had been sleeping on for the last two days. Dad and I were going for a trail run that morning and I was pretty excited about that. Strike that. It's time for a confession of sorts. While I enjoy running, I often envy those who wake up and drink coffee in their jammies while reliving the tales of the night before. There's something very militant about waking up to torture yourself. That being said, it was trail running and I actually like that. Oh and our friends were cooking us breakfast so running got me out of cooking, breaking down the tent and all sorts of other things I didn't want to do. As we ran by Borats abode I noticed that he was all packed up. All packed up and missing! I figured if he hadn't killed us by now we must be in the clear. It was a beautiful morning. It wasn't that sticky and there was a wet coat of dew on the grass. We began our climb to the top of the trail. Water was falling off the rocks and the streams were flowing full with water. Very cool. As we were running, I said to my Dad "Wouldn't it be funny if we saw Borat out here." No sooner did I say that and guess who's coming down the trail in the opposite direction? It was a Borat! It was my first chance to get an up close look at the actor turned serial killer. I noticed he had his backpack. Hmmmm. Must have been burying his kill. As he passed by I said hello. He had no idea that I'd been having all of these "thoughts" about him and I certainly didn't want to convey that in my first verbal exchange. Dad and I both agreed one thing... much uglier up close. Ewww.

The run was great. As we got closer to the campsite we could smell bacon waffling through the air. Even better than that, no Borat! He was gone! We headed over to our friends campsite to get our eat on! These were the friends I told you about before...camper, electricity, screened tent...very civilized! I headed to the buffet armed with the knowledge that I had earned my grub. The rest of those hussies were just storing fat! There was eggs, bacon, sausage, donuts and more. I pretty much ate myself into a coma. After that it was time to finish packing and get back to reality. I headed back to the house to prepare for the big parade that signifies the last night of the fair. Best part of the parade, they throw candy. Fat girls paradise. Yes I sit at the edge of my driveway and beat off small children to get to the goods. Allow me to clarify....I allow the chilluns to have the hard candies and I take everything else. Love the Carmel's. Hey, it's my house. Well my parents house. You can't throw food at me and expect me look the other way...much less share!

We headed off for the last night of the fair. Big disappointment. The dang donut and fry tent closed early. Hello! We were over it and headed home. My husband decided that bcs there was a tropical storm looming in the OBX that we better stay another day. Yeah, that's what I said. Nice excuse! But we stayed and took the opportunity to attend a pig roast on Sunday. My brother invited us and made sure to let me know how much food would be at my disposal. Sold. For $20 you got all the beer you wanted and all of the food you could eat. I ate my share, his share and everyone else's share. I even packed a to go box! SIF Rule #325255...don't invite fatties to an all you can eat buffet. We always get our monies worth. You won't win this battle. Shocker...I didn't drink a drop. My husband on the other hand got his monies worth drinking everything in site.

That's a wrap! We survived a week with a serial killer and lived to tell about it. I'm excited to say that I'll be back talking about all the latest fatty news very soon. Hope you enjoyed the vacation. We did!

Tuesday, August 12, 2008

State of my Union

Just wanted to give a quick shout out to anyone who's been looking for my blog and wondering if I had succumb to a fat attack. I am in fact amongst the living, still eating like it's an Olympic sport and have yet to log a freakin point on that militant hate site WW. I haven't been posting as frequently bcs we live at the beach and it's summer. For those who rode the short bus to school and still don't know there "goesintas", we've had alot of company. However comma, I have no shortage of material. In fact, my latest guest may have finally found a label for my random eating disorder. A big shout out to Andrea the nurse! She may have saved fatties everywhere. I have one more day of the vacation that took 3 weeks to "paint" and then it's back to the fat at hand.

Until then, I hope you all checkout the site, leave a comment and allow me to berate you accordingly should you not agree with my agenda. If you get the posts via (pronounced "V EYE A" bcs it sounds better), go to website. It's pink and I threw some pics on there for effect. See you tomorrow!

Friday, August 8, 2008

The $55 frog...

On the run from an actor turned serial killer, I was sure one of us would be dead by dusk. The whole group headed off to the Omish diner for some breakfast. I didn't have a solid grasp on the whereabouts of Borat but I knew he was off somewhere with his backpack and alleged body parts. With that knowledge it felt safe enough to eat. We were seated in a booth facing the window. Like a true mafioso, I always choose the seat that backs up to the wall and faces the window. This way I am safe from a sneak attack and I can see the enemy before it sees me. Paranoid? Perhaps, but who woulda thunk I'd be camping next to the killer from Khasigstan, right?! I'm not a big breakfast eater but I do like a dose of "Shit on a Shingle" every now and again. That's chipped beef for those who have yet to experience the SOSgasm. No sooner did I put a bit shit covered biscuit in my mouth and Borats head appeared in the window! My worst fears confirmed, I instinctively grabbed for my knife. I think I screamed something like, "I am seeing a Borat in Omish Diner!" By the time everyone looked up, he was gone. He would appear one more time in that very same window before he snuck off to plot his next move. I did manage to give him my "You betta not even think about touchin my peeps or I'll roast your dick over the camp fire" look. It's effective.

Everyone was starting to wonder if I was right about Borat. We decided it would be best to split up. Translation, the chicks were going to the lake and the guys to a car show. On our way to the lake we drove through town. As we stopped at the four way stop, guess who was sipping on a serial cappachino? It was a Borat! I decided to ignore this sighting for fear I was going insane. If I saw his hairy ass at the lake, he was going down! My aunts, my mother, myself and some cousins make this trip every year. We bring lots of junk food, lay in the sun and swim. Good times. I clearly go for the food. There's nothing like hanging out in a bikini while eating Heleva Good French Onion dip. It throws people off. One year I decided it would be a good idea to eat as much dip as I could and then run a half marathon later that night. Not a good plan. The weeds are still about 5 inches higher in the spot where I deposited that dip. I think it was about mile 10. It didn't help that someone along the way offered me water and I guzzled it. Did I mention it was sulfur water?! Doesn't mix well with running, heat and Heleva Good dip. That incident cost my Dad his tank top. I don't think he wants it back...can't be sure.

The day at the lake went of without a hitch. No Borat. We headed back to the camp site to cook dinner and head off for the "big Friday night at the fair." Did I mention that this camper made a pit stop at the house for a power nap? As you can see, camping at a Marriott is much more my speed. While I was counting sheep, hubby dearest was marinating pork tenderloin for the grill. Yummy. I like when I sleep and dinner is being planned without my help. Makes me happy. As soon as I woke up and showered, I called for my driver. Yeah Mom had to come and get me. When I got back to the camp, dinner was in full swing. There was pork tenderloin on the grill and macaroni salad in the cooler. Of course I needed to get an update on Borats locale. He was wandering around talking to some campers that had the unfortunate experience to be camping next to him. He still managed to keep one eye on us. My hope was that the new neighbors would take one for the team and he would let us live. Once again Dad thought we should invite him to dinner. Why couldn't he see that if something didn't change one of us was going to be his dinner! Am I the only logical one here? Perhaps.I did what I always do when presented with a challenge. I sat down with my good friend Bud Light and plotted out a game plan. I came up with the following...leave in the cover of night, run off to the fair and leave the others to die. I have a keen ability to separate family from logic in these situations. Appreciate that for a moment. Now be thankful we aren't related.

The fair seemed quite tame for a Friday night; until I saw "her." I would like to tell you that she was fat and sitting on a picnic table but we all know I am a bit more colorful than that. There she was propped up about as close to the donut booth as one could safely get without losing a finger. I know there was a picnic table under her somewhere bcs I think I saw a corner of it sticking out of her ass! She was (to the best I can tell) 896 lbs of pure lard! I don't wish to be mean but let's think about this shall we? Let's take me for starters. I gain 10 lbs and that's likely to slip by unnoticed until I put on something I want to wear and realize it's a little tight. How does 789 lbs slip by you?! Do you wake up one day and go, "Hmmmm, something looks different?" Seriously! She was clearly at the point where the fire dept had to knock out walls in order for her to come out and play. My husband was literally in shock. I think I saw him throw me that "You betta not eva get that fat" look. Whatever. Here's the best part...she had a man! Note to can be replaced by someone with less stringent requirements. I kid you not, when she got up, the picnic table literally came back to earth. I think I heard it say, "Thank you Jesus." And they all said Amen.

My husband went on to win me a $55 stuffed frog. It's tradition. Much like many dumb things that males do, he believes he can beat the carnies at their own game. They may be fugly but I think they have one up on you honey! The game of choice was darts. In our basement this man can throw a bulls eye with his eye closed, on one leg, backwards. With $55 on the line he was like Stevie Wonder at the carnival! The "dart operator man" suggested that I throw the last shot. Finally a man with some sense. I think he could see the potential in my eyes. Or maybe he saw my dialated pupils from the Bud Light. I'll never know for sure. I put on my carney thinking cap. I knew the big money balloons would be on the top row. Bam! Nailed it and won the frog....for which I got no credit. Apparently the $54 that proceeded my money shot led up to the level that allowed us to win such a coveted prize. Pure propaganda. So, I went back to the beer tent where I always reign victorious. I had $40 in beer tickets to squander before my father put them back in the envelope for next year.

We headed back to camp in hopes that we could survive one more night with the Killer from Khasigstan. I had left him alone with 3-4 victims for at least two hours. Surely they would have tired him out. Our last night in the tent was uneventful. That is other than my random peeing in the bushes, my mothers midnight Mary Kay runs and my husbands attempts to have sex with me whilst (new fav word) my entire family was in arms length of us. Nice honey. I wait all year for sex and this is your plan. Stay tuned for the last day of camping. I come face to face with the infamous Borat on the trails with his backpack.....scary. Spoiler...he let me live.

Monday, August 4, 2008

Off Topic...

Tonight my Boxing buddy Tom, gets the floor. Tom was an older man (I think close to 80) who came in and boxed with all of the crazies at Knuckleup. He enjoyed boxing and being around young people with lots of energy. He made me laugh when he would tell me that he thought I could kick every girls ass in the gym! From what I knew of him he lived life to the fullest, had great memories with his wife and children and wouldn't trade any of it for more time on earth. Late in the spring he was diagnosed with Pancreatic Cancer. He went in for chemo but he knew if it didn't work the first time that he was basically on borrowed time. I went to see him in May and he was in great spirits as always. He and his wife told us stories about their children and were kind enough to give us a glimpse of their life that we wouldn't have known otherwise.

Last Monday Tom lost his battle with cancer. I just found out today from my trainer. Tom wanted one last picture with David & his boxing belts. When David got to the house Tom's family informed him of his passing. It was probably for the best. David said he weighed about 82 lbs and knew he was in pain. May God bless his family and friends during this very difficult time.

Tom...every punch from now on is for you buddy! Now that you are gone I'll let you in on a little secret...I don't think I could hurt a flea!

Sunday, August 3, 2008

Camping in Khasigstan

When I last left you, I was running from the feral beer ticket agent while observing my hometowns finest. As much as I wanted to go back for more on night two, even I needed a break from over stimulation. I should bring you up to speed on some logistics. It's now day 5 of my vacation and I am living out of a tent exactly one mile from my home. Yeah, that was my bright idea. I loved to camp as a child so in theory that should have carried over into adulthood, right? Not so much. Yes, back in the spring I arranged for my family to pop a squat at this beautiful state park where I run trails. In my mind I would stumble home from the fair drunk, get up and run through the woods and sing stupid camp songs by the fire. Exactly none of that happened. This is where we have to remind ourselves that some ideas are best left to fantasy so as not to reveal who we really are. Sometimes it's just too scary!

It was at least one million degrees when we decided to set up camp. As I looked at the savvy vacationers across the way, I suddenly found myself coveting thy neighbors RV. While they were sipping beer in their air conditioned house on wheels, I was shoving poles up my ass trying to figure out what man wrote the directions on tent assembly! I decided it would be best if I left the tent to my husband while I worked on blowing up the air mattress. Yes, I said air mattress. To be precise, I was sleeping on one queen sized, pillow top mattress that blows up and deflates in exactly 1 minute. It's not and RV but at least I would be sleeping in comfort...or so I thought. Stepping back to observe our luxurious accommodations, we weren't sure if we should have pitched the tent around the mattress or vice versa. As soon we unzipped the front door,the mattress basically popped out at us. Kinda like when they cut your skull open to release brain pressure...without the life threatening part. It's was high time for a beer...and food...and more beer.

Before we got too intoxicated we decided to take a dip. The pool in this particular park, is made from a natural waterfall. Ahhhh...yeah....ahhh until you stick your feet in 65 degree water with real live fish swimming around! As I looked up at the lifeguards, I noticed that they were watching us. What the F? Suddenly I had a random childhood memory of having to pass a swimming test before being allowed to swim here. At 35 would they make me relive this traumatic childhood experience? Apparently not. They must have just thought I was hot or something. I get that a lot. Of course knowing that we were going to take a dip would imply that we had on swimming attire, right? Wrong. We hiked all the way back to camp (about.0008 of a mile) to get changed. We grabbed Mom & Dad and left out the part about the cold water, the fish and the swimming test. I think we used words like refreshing and you'll love it. We got back to the pool prepared to jump in and take our body temperature down about 400 degrees. I didn't even have one toe in the water when I heard, "You can't swim here." Snap! He really was going to make me take the test. He had no idea that I was open water certified (God help whoever I tricked into that one). I was reaching for my YMCA Scuba credentials when he informed me that the pool was closed bcs the water was too murky. What exactly does that mean? Did little Jimmy take a crap in the water or are we talking straight up pollution? Bla bla too much rain and you can't see the bottom. Personally I was fine with that. It was so hot, there could have been turds floating on the surface and I would have jumped in. In the end he won and we carted our butts off to the kiddie pool where we could in fact see the bottom as it was 2 feet deep! There we were... Mom and Dad watching Sean and I splash around in the kiddie pool. It was official..I was 2 again.

As if I hadn't had enough drama for one day, I got back to camp only to find that we were shacked up next to a real live movie star. There he was in plain site, Borat! I wasn't aware that Borat drove a beat up 1979 Camry, lived in NJ and slept in a pup tent but these are the things you don't read about in the Enquirer. He was just as I imagined him. He was tall, thin, had dark hair and he talked to himself. The more I studied him I realized that he was a strange combination of Borat and the Green River Killer. Comforting. Luckily my tent was furthest from him. He had an odd way about him. He traveled light, he re-arranged a little alot and his body language screamed, "I'm in search of my next kill." Dad thought we should invite him for dinner but frankly that wasn't what I had in mind. Little did he know that I had already called his plates in to my brother the cop. As we ate our dinner I could feel him staring at me from behind. I decided that passing gas would be an appropriate way of letting him know that he would not in fact enjoy my company in any way shape or form. That made me think, who was he really eying as prey? It wasn't the men bcs they would put up a fight. That left my Mom, me, my two aunts and a 12 year old boy. Hmmm. I know for fact that if he did "take" my Mother he would return her promptly and she probably would be unaware that a crime had been committed. So I was thinking no on her. He didn't seem like a pedophile so that ruled out the boy. That left my 2 aunts who have at times been mistaken for lesbians. There's no real reason for that judgement other than that they both have short hair and are always together. It was like a 2 for 1. A BOGO. That was it...he was after the Bitties! (Oh that's the loving name I gave to those two)

Later that night, my Mother made the drive back home to shower and take her "face off." We had a great bathhouse at the camp but the scare of Borat and seeing her without makeup sealed the decision to sneak her off in the dark. I knew we would all sleep with one eye open that night. I looked over at Borats crib right before I went to bed. I wanted to see if he was out stalking or rubbing himself to sleep. He was in his tent and his flashlight was roaming all over inside. Yup. I knew it was the latter of the two. I wasn't even going to think about what or who he was using as motivation. I was just hoping that his extracurricular activities would knock him out for the evening. Much to my dismay, I would be up most of the night listening for movement, berating myself for not putting enough air in the mattress and peeing. I didn't dare venture off to the bathhouse to pee as I watch to much Dateline and I was living next to a serial killer. I just peed in the bushes like a lady.

Soon it was morning and I was awakened to the sound of my Mother speeding home to put her "face on." I looked at my watch and it was 5am. What the F?! Apparently the putting on and taking off of the face has to happen in "non-prime" hours. I climbed out of the tent and took a head count. It appeared we had all survived. Borat was out somewhere doing whatever it is that he does. We decided to be real campers and go into town and fetch our breakfast from the local diner. I will leave the story there as too much shock in one day is not healthy. Shock as in me seeing Borat 3 more times that day outside of the campsite! Was he following us? Was he plotting the kill? You know what I'm going to stay next...stay tuned...