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 crack....open 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 inside...it'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!