Monday, August 31, 2009

Sniff on this...

As you are well aware, the grocery store is not a safe place for a SIF. I've made my position on cart aggression, inner vs. outer aisle and impulse eating prior to checkout quite clear. I had no immediate plans to revisit this issue, as I find it far too traumatizing. Thanks to a random "meat sniffing fatty", we are "going there" one last time. I warn you, what you are about to read is not appropriate if you are eating, want to eat or just ate. Names have been changed to protect the innocent who may have been in the process of binge eating whilst bearing witness to this crime. We must never speak of this again...

I bring you to Monday morning...the day I go to the supermarket for sandwich meat. Sound strategic? Good, because it is. Monday, as you know, is "New Me Monday" aka " Diet Day." Everything good begins and ends on Monday. What better day to buy sliced sandwich meat? In my world, no one else would be buying sandwich meat on Monday bcs they did their shopping on Saturday or Sunday. Or maybe their version of "New me Monday" involves salads or even worse not eating! My version...sandwiches instead of burgers. Simple yet effective. Whatever the case, I don't expect to hear a cattle call at the deli counter whilst I am in ear shot on "New me Monday." Remember me telling you what "Dr. So & So" said back whenever...."That which you run from will appear in front of you"...well SHE did! Let me be clear, as much as I love a good fatty, I don't seek them out on their turf! That's asking for trouble. That's how you get bit! Not to mention, I can easily hideout somewhere between FAT and PHAT if I wear the right outfit (CYAC-- Cover Your Ass and Cankles-- yes I have a dance to go with it just like the YMCA but no one likes to see a fatty get her groove on now do they?) However, if you get too close to FAT when you are PHAT...well then you are just fat. No two ways about that. That's why I keep at least 12 lbs of distance at all times. All times...except this time!

What disturbs me more than Splenda? I'll tell ya... the lack of an organized line at the meat counter! For the most part I believe that all people want to do the right thing most of the time. That is except when it involves food. Believe me when I tell you this particular moral dilemma crosses the line into skinnyville. I don't know what happens to people when they are waiting on food but I liken it to the feral fatty in all of us. No matter what the outside appearance, we all want our food NOW! Believe me when I tell you that I know precisely who got in line when, how long we've been waiting and who's most likely to jump the line. For that reason I prepare for battle long before the brawl. I typically hang back, grab some free bread and cheese samples and make small talk with the shift workers in an attempt to gain favor. That works about 22.5% of the time, fyi. As any good fatty would, I keep one eye on the line to make sure my scandalous behavior doesn't result in someone jumping ahead. I think we all know I'd sooner bitch slap the Pope than allow someone to eat before me! *Pause for random sign of cross** Let's talk about how this plan can backfire. I was gabbing with the chick who has my dream job (cake decorator) and thinking about how nice it would be to have her job (until I got fired for licking the icing off the knife), watching the potential line jumpers with one eye and rotating the other eye between the meat cutters (they must be watched at all times...they are known for picking the wrong person for the next round of slaughter). It always feels like I'm in complete control. In my mind the only potential hazard is ME line jumping for a cake. However, I soon learned that danger can lurk from behind!

As my tactical warfare was playing out, I heard random sniffles coming from just behind my neck. I wanted my meat as bad as the next fatty but tears? Nope. Not tears. Sniffles. Nope. Not sniffles of sadness. Sniffles of pleasure and I was the pleasure! What the F?! I turned around half hoping Brad Pitt had come to his senses only to find 274.3 pounds of woman sniffing my neck! "Mmm you smell good," she said. I assumed she was what I call a "Double Whopper" (Lesbian Fatty) and said, "Thanks." I turned back around hoping she would...I don't know...see the cake lady, figure it was her version of a BOGO and lose interest in me?! Not so much. Moments later, the sniffing...again. "You smell fresh... like you just got out of the shower," she said. Great. Now she was picturing me naked smelling good! "I did," I said. I figured if she was that into me I'd let her have her moment. "It's so light and fresh," she persisted. Finally I just went straight (no pun intended) 5th Avenue on her ass and said "It's Versace," and quickly turned my head. No one likes an snooty fatty, right? Wrong. She loved me even more.

I soon realized that whilst we were both in search of meat, one of us would be going home empty handed! My sticky note said "Honey Ham and Turkey" but when called upon to order I simply said, "I'll take 10 pounds of the thickest all beef wieners you have." It was a signal to the "Double Whopper" that I was not a "Vagatarian" no matter how good it smelled! I gave her a wink as I walked away from the meat counter. She returned my wink with a look that said, "Have it your way." If your a true'll get that one!

Tuesday, August 25, 2009

Making Sense....

Just when I think I am running low on material for the blog, I manage to stumble upon someone or something that makes me stop eating long enough to take notice. That's no small feat. I'm known for watching FIT TV while consuming Taco Bell...I aint no rookie. So the husband was watching one of those dumb science shows the other night. If ever I needed a reason to binge eat, I certainly found it via the Science Channel! I don't really care to see the latest discoveries unless they directly benefit me. Allow me to elaborate: "Chocolate covered multi-vitamins", "Brad Pitt flavored Popsicles", the "do it himself husband"...just to name a few. But they never talk about cool stuff like that. They go on and on about a robot that vacuums (I think they call her "a woman!") and how they can grow appendages. I got news for you...I can grow appendages! Me and Little Debbie figured that one out years ago... Einstein! I can go from no ass to ghetto bootie in 30 days...yet the Science Channel has yet to ring me. Interesting how the fatties are shunned by the left brain community. Fatscrimination is what it is.

If I actually sit through an entire hour of the Science Channel, I do so for one reason and one reason only. The very reason I do everything as it relates to my While I am typically left holding an empty bag of Doritos and a rabbit, a girl can hope for change now can't she? However, this one night they did a bit on something that actually caught my attention. Apparently there are these people who senses are all jacked up. They hear in color. So if I say something like "Excuse me, are you going to eat that?"they see a big fat ribbon of colors. I assume fat translates across the senses anyway. To make matters worse (hold onto your ho-ho's), there are even people who hear in taste! If ever there was an affliction that had my name written all over it...this was it! For years I just knew I'd get AIDS or Cancer or worse yet...Cankles. Never did I dream of a genetic disorder that would allow me to taste words! Let's face it...words are the only thing on the menu I haven't tried! Being that I was born to the "Heavenly Hash Queen," it seemed I was a perfect candidate for this mutation! No such luck. The man being profiled said that when spoken to, he gets certain tastes in his mouth. He claimed the interviewer tasted like pineapple. I found that statement a bit racy for cable but I assumed he was speaking of her voice. I wondered what I would taste like. Grizzle. Clearly. I just couldn't imagine walking around all day tasting different flavors every time someone spoke to me. I guess it wouldn't be much different than my current daily routine... imagining what I'm going to eat every second of the day! Tasting it would just be a bonus! Mmmm.

I was only a few days into recovering from watching the Science Channel, getting no sex and realizing that I would never taste words when the left brainers bitch slapped me a second time. I was watching the news and praying for the announcement that my Asian pal Phen-Fen would be allowed back into the country, when they announced what was sure to be a blow to the fatty community....a tree that smells like chocolate chip cookies. Wonderful. Who da thunk Mother Nature to be a SIF? Perhaps this was her way of bringing the universe full circle. What better way to get the fatties to walk off some calories...why we'll line the woods with trees that smell like chocolate chip cookies! She's good! So if you happen to be out on a lonely trail in the woods and come across a large woman licking bark, you have your answer!

Monday, August 17, 2009

Food Fight

I never understood the concept of "the food fight." Who wastes calories by throwing food at someone for pleasure? Sure if it's something I don't like to eat, but that narrows the playing field down to brussel sprouts and blue cheese. Food is not a weapon. Food is the ultimate pleasure(aside from shagging Brad Pitt). If I happen to be eating (which I usually am) and a food fight breaks out, you can bet I'll be the first one to leave the room. I do not fear authority. I do not fear the schmear of green peas sliding down my gorgeous face. I FEAR...someone taking the food I intended to eat away from matter what the reason. If I have mentally prepared myself to eat said food, it shall not leave my plate until it enters the cavernous hollows of the back of my throat. End of story. If someone were to take said food off of my plate, proceed to chuck it across the room and allow it to land anywhere in close proximity to another human, the feral fatty in me would take over. Picture Sissy Spacek in "Carrie"...replace prom scene with cafeteria scene, turn blood into catsup and imagine someone has just stolen my ham patty. Don't make me go "Carrie" on your ass.

As you can see, food is near and dear to my heart. However, I did not realize that food would be there for me in my time of need. I need you to stay with me on this one. I'm going to ask you to picture something that may seem like a bit of a stretch. Something that you may not imagine possible. Ready? Reach deep here...pretend that sometimes... for no apparent reason...your husband acts like an asshole. I never happens...but it me. I had just left church after praying for single digit returns. I know God isn't vain but I can't imagine heaven is big enough for the entire fatty clan. I wonder if Little Debbie will go to heaven... lying whore. Anyway, I decided I would cook my husband a really nice dinner not bcs he had done something to deserve it... bcs I was hoping to get a little "sompin sompin" later and I definitely needed this dinner to use in the bartering process. That's what sex becomes when you get married...a trade off. I feed bang me. Somehow that part wasn't explained to me at the alter when I was refusing to say "obey." Anyway, I figured the worst thing that could happen was that I would eat well and pass out from a food coma. Happy wife happy life.

Where there is a good deed in the making there's a man waiting to throw his wrench into the plan. Little did I know that my subliminal fatty had my back when it came to planning this meal. I had just returned from the store when said husband asked me to do him a favor. No, not that kind of favor. It's never that easy. I had $60 worth of food that would bring that fantasy to life...or so I thought. No, the husband wanted me to proof read something for him...and thank God he asks for help in that area. We all love a little spellcheck... but I'd venture to guess Stevie Wonder would have had more success correcting this document! Anyway, I didn't want to do it bcs I thought what he was doing was pointless. Imagine that, a man doing something pointless. Again, we are in our "special place"...stay with me. I must have been mumbling under my breath (so unlike me...hee hee) and he finally broke. "Don't F'n do it then!" Hark! Did my husband just drop the "F" bomb in my presence? He knows better. That word is only to be used as a verb....that's the standing rule in our house! How dare he? I began to panic. No not bcs of the looming tension. Put on your fatty cap...I just spent $60 on food and now who's gonna eat it?! Well I am of course! Problem solved. Except the part where the sex comes in. Oh well. Looks like Bugs Bunny and I will be meeting up in the spare room again.

As I prepared dinner I realized something....I was ready for this battle. The "enemy" had no idea that the very food I was preparing would be the perfect outlet for my anger. Let's review the menu shall we? Filet Mignon topped with jumbo lump crab meat, corn on the cob, twice baked potatoes, asagio cheese bread and a nice bottle of Chilean red wine. If you're not salivating, you are not human...or are skinny. Find another blog sista! I prepared his steak to perfection..."raw" just like his mouth and his attitude. Watching the blood drain from such a fine slab of meat made my eyes get all big and I chuckled in that "crazy" sort of way. To top off this menstruating piece of beef...Jumbo lump crab meat. Who says you can be a crab and eat it to? Not me! Moving onto the potatoes. I took great pleasure in scraping the guts out of his spuds only to return said parts to the respective potatoes laced with skim milk and low fat cheese. Yummy. He so loves the low fatties. I sampled the Asagio bread only to be left with a sour taste in my mouth. How fitting. As I boiled the water for the corn I wondered how it would fit into the scheme of things. Why yes, I would just imagine that I was shoving it up his ass while he shouted "F, F." Not in the verb form either. Why not? Everyone knows corn doesn't digest anyway. Might as well stick it where it ends up and save some strain on the ole digestive tract. Last but not least there was the Chilean red wine. I knew exactly how this particular piece fit into this puzzle. If one were so advantageous as to translate the name on the bottle, it would read as follows: "Cellar of the Devil." Where else would one find such a fine wine for the occasion?

He ate the bloody steak, the low fat baked potatoes, the bread and even the corn. Turns out he likes it raw, cuts his corn off of the cob and doesn't mind a sour taste in his mouth. Shocker. He did not, however partake in the wine. That's fine. I sat silently, ate my meal , drank with the Devil and met up with the rabbit sans a sour taste in MY mouth. Fatties: 1 Husbands: 0

Tuesday, August 11, 2009

Dead Weight

Last week was a very strange and busy week in Fattyville. Being a binge eater I can only take some much stress before I just about anything I can shove in my mouth. I've often wondered if I was a true stress eater or just an all out fatty looking for any excuse to gorge. So... I got a call on Monday night informing me that I guy I knew was killed while running (struck by lightening). That's three people I know who have died running in the last 7 years. Ummm...yeah. Not so random anymore. It's only gonna take 1 more of those phone calls before I trade in the running shoes for my fantasy sport of choice... competitive eating. My back up plan is to give the "Black Widow"a run for her money. For those of you who don't keep up on competitive eating ( and you should) the "Black Widow" is a champion on the hot dog eating circuit. Much like me, she weighs in at around 100 pounds and can pack away about 50 hot dogs in 10 minutes. Ok so maybe we only share in the latter part of that statement but if she's 100 pounds and can eat like that...I hereby crown her an official SIF! And not for nothing...if I was famous and in need of an alternative name..."Black Widow" would be high on my list. Any "woman" who's signature move is to have sex with her mate and then "dispose" of him is ok in my book. You go spida!

After receiving the news of the 3rd death in my running circle, I reacted much as you might expect. I made a huge bowl of popcorn, loaded it with butter/salt, engulfed the whole thing and topped it off with a Krispy Kreme. Tears are overrated in my world. When I woke up the next day, I decided to blow off some steam and go for a run. Given my desire to stay amongst the living, I'm not sure why running seemed like a good option but I went with it. Perhaps it was the Krispy Kreme burps that stuck with me from the night before that motivated me. Can't be sure. I was only about 1/4 mile down the road when I almost became "one of those phone calls." As I was crossing the street and a large dog decided to befriend me in the form of a tackle! There's only one person that's allowed to greet me in that fashion...Brad Pitt. Reality set in and I realized that unless Brad Pitt had rank smelling dog breath and walked on a leash with a woman quite a bit less attractive than Angelina, I was in trouble! There I lay in the middle of Bay Drive wondering what kind of car was going to take me out. I always wanted a Porsche so maybe that would be it. I would be killed by the car I always wanted to buy. Sorta fair I guess. Stress level high. If only I had a candy bar, I would have been eating it. Better yet, if I had been running with someone else they would have been in the middle of the road with everyone staring at their "wears." (Tip--I always run on the's like wearing black...makes you look thinner). Imagine that in one moment, through no fault of your own, the whole world could see your muffin top, banana rolls and cottage cheese thighs. Certainly enough to spoil anyone's appetite. Traumatized but not dead. Fatties: 1 Grim Reaper: 0

After that incident I decided that the rest of the week had to get better. That's what people say when they know it's about get worse! Since blowing off steam in the form of exercise was proving to be dangerous to my health, I decided to blow off steam by meeting my girlfriends for lunch. Ranch dressing has yet to harm me. *sign of the cross* So we met at one of my favorite places and even get a hot waiter. Score! I placed my usual order....bla bla with a side of ranch. When lunch came the hottie waiter started losing points as soon as he opened his mouth. He brought me this anorexic size side of ranch as if that was acceptable. Duh! Being that I was going to all but bathe in it, this was going be an issue. I asked that he come to his senses and rectify this situation immediately if not sooner. And he did....until he said the following, "Here's your BIG side of ranch." Perhaps this doesn't sound disturbing to you, but I don't like to hear the word big from a hot guy in relation to anything that pertains to me. However, there was no way around it. I needed the ranch worse than I needed his affection. Oh and I'm married so we were doomed from the start. Besides my husband loves me... ranch n all. I let the incident slide and continued dipping everything but my face into the BIG side of ranch. I ate until it hurt and summoned the hottie back to the table for the check. He couldn't just be a good hottie and do as I asked. He had to speak. "How about another diet?", he asked. Why? Is the diet I'm on not working for you?! Bastard! I proceeded to tell him that in the span of 40 minutes he had used the word "big" in my presence and suggested that I opt for another diet. He was confused....and hot...and that's just how a SIF likes them. I don't find any of this a coincidence by the way. A true fatty can pick out these subtle digs. And for the record I like everything BIG and I'm always in need of another diet! Hot guys should never speak and SIF should get all meals delivered to their home. Ughum.

I managed to survive the rest of the week thanks to M&M's...not the peanut or the plain...I speak of Martini's and McDonald's. There's nothing like paying $50 for Vodka and washing it down with a $5.99 #2 combo. I think more rich people would eat this way if they knew of the fine cuisine prepared by Ronaldo McDonald. They really need to get out more. In any event I've decided to keep running until I get run over by a car I can't afford to buy (translation...I'm being taken out buy a 89 mini van) or Brad Pitt. I can only hope Brad brushes his teeth before our next chance encounter!