Saturday, April 24, 2010

Chewin the Fat

So....Mother came for a visit and managed not to tell me, "I don't look that bad." It's a small victory but one worth celebrating. Mothers Day is just around the corner so I suspect that played into her agenda. What exactly do you say whilst gazing upon 456 lbs of what was once small enough to exit your body gracefully? Ahhh....thanks for getting out in the nick of time, perhaps? Wanna know what I got her for Mother's Day? It's the gift that keeps on giving...An "Ass Blaster" from QVC! It's a hand me down. Not because she needs it...because my husband, in his infinite male wisdom (aka...stupidity), decided it was the perfect gift for his not so perfect wife. Thanks Honey! I wanted to reciprocate but they don't currently have a gadget for the dumb man gene. I'm sure it's in the doubt by a man....who is putting it off until after football season....who will set it down somewhere and forget where he put it...probably 2 inches from where it belongs....then his wife will throw it out thinking it's it may take a while but there's always hope.

I'm changing things up a bit to share some things I observed/experienced over the past few weeks:

1. Dunkin Donuts tag line "Keeps America Running"....I can't be sure the Presidents Council on Physical Fitness would agree that coffee and donuts keeps American running. Running to the cardiologist maybe.....or back to Dunkin Donuts....but literally running after eating donuts is nearly impossible....unless you are a SIF! I ate 3 this morning and while I did not go for a post consumption run...I could have. Commitment at it's finest. Strength in the face of adversity.... I give you.... a SIF

2. Running a Half Marathon whilst Fat...Not only have I been doing this for years....I'm getting quite good at it. I dare say I am the Queen of the Clydesdale Division....but I can't....bcs the tricky part about being a fat runner is...the fatter you are the faster you are! I kid you not...I'm what I like to call "middle of the road fat." You know...I can pass on either side of the double line when I have to. So the skinnies always like to ask me my time at the finish. Rude. Does it matter? I just ran 13 freakin miles with 2 of you strapped to my ass! Is there a time goal associated with dragging 1/4 pounders 13 miles?!!! I think not. So stop asking...bitches. When you are noticeably one asks these questions. You are simply congratulated on a job well done. UNFAIR! Here's the thing....they usually beat me! Perhaps they are fueling up at Dunkin Donuts pre-race...I don't know! Maybe they are reading into the slogan and running with it! All I know...I have yet to run a race where I am not passed by some chick in screaming spandex with an ass large enough to post her family tree dating back to...oh say...Jesus! *Pause for random sign of cross* Top that with my 67 year old Dad beating me by like an hour and winning 1st place in his age group's just shameful. One of two things needs to happen...I need to get fatter or find a new hobby.

3. Running Expos...they irritate me beyond belief. No... I don't need any extra butt paste or nipple protectors. My ass has enough fry grease to keep it lubed and my nipples are the only part of my breasts that are real...I shant hinder them from shining. Perhaps I can buy some new running shorts that say "Runner Chick" on the ass. Yeah...that would keep people guessing. It would look like "Running for chicken" plastered on my ass....lovely. Mother came with Dad and I to the running Expo. This nice young man asked her if she wanted to make a sign for her runners. She obliged, handed him back the sign and walked off. Interesting. Thank God there was an egg AND a sperm involved in my creation. After explaining that we were in fact her runners and we would not be able to see the sign from the EXPO....something clicked, she went back for the sign and we were on our way.

4. Being Poor = Being first this didn't seem logical. If you are broke... you can't afford to eat so that makes you skinny, right? Not. You can't afford GOOD food. Everything bad for you is affordable. Little Debbie (love you)...low class whore at just under a buck, Jimmy Dean...typical man...lures you in with the promise good things and ends up on your ass and my personal favorite Cap'n Crunch....he might wanna crunch some numbers bcs that sugar ferry will take you on a one way trip to Fattyville! Everywhere you look there's a Dolla Menu calling out to the poor! Hell, I clip coupons to save money and the only thing I can get dirt cheap is ice cream and soda. Nobody's handing out coupons for apples and lettuce....which by the way cost more than half of what a minimum wage worker make in one hour. Let's see....I worked all week, made $67 and now I need food...spend it on a one night stand with a Golden Delicious or enjoy a week long tryst with that no good hooka Little Debbie. The choice is clear. We are fat bcs we can afford it! Here's some food for thought: I don't like being poor, I don't like being fat but I do so enjoy eating the poor man's diet which in turn makes me fat. One word: Intervention. Make the call.

Well, it's high noon and you know what that means....Fat Girl Lunch Hour! My God it's like Christmas in April!!! SIF out!

Sunday, April 11, 2010

The Final Countdown

As usual, I waited until the last minute to notice I went from Forever 21 to Forever 6x in just one winter. I don't get it. I look in the same damn mirror for 12 months and nothing "looks" different. I'd still "do" me...according to my mirror. However, I have come to realize that mirror is a lying little bastard. My closet is the only truthful functioning thing in the house. When I want to wear my skinny jeans it quietly reminds me, "that's not in the cards" and I swiftly move to the "big girl" section. Don't even pretend you don't have a "big girl" section in your closet. Why throw out the size 22 's when the next crisis is right around the corner? Personally, I can't wait to get back in my not so biggie jeans. I hate the fat ones. The waist comes up to my throat and I feel like a fat nerd. But they support all the junk in my trunk and that's no small feat. So my plan is as follows: Find someone with Swine Flu and or HIV and consummate the union. That is the only 1.5 month diet plan guaranteed to make me Forever size 2....until fall.

As much as I hate buying "temporary fat clothes" 1985 size 26 jeans just weren't gettin it. There's nothing worse than seeing people you know whilst shopping and holding 8 sizes larger than their worst day. When caught, I like to pretend I grabbed the wrong everything. I'm known to do a little, " Oh my Gosh I grabbed the wrong size. Silly me." Or, when caught with too many items, "Yeah, all the size 0's were gone so I thought I'd try on the 24's and order the 0's online." Deceptive yet effective. Then we move on to my next issue. If the clothing rack dictates a size 24, why does the fitting room mirror make me look like Angelina Jolie? F'n mirrors again! I'd suggest it was my eye sight, but I already wear contacts strong enough to make Stevie Wonder see things clearly. The way they make these sizes today (sound like my mother in the 80's) put your leg in what feels like a tarp, only to be strangled at the thighs with enough room to throw quarters down your ass! Now there's a visual. Here's a clue Mr./Mrs. designer persons...when someone is a don't need to call them skinny jeans and cut them for supersized fit models! Grab you a beach ball and start shaping! Gheez.

So as you can imagine, bikini shopping is impossible. Where to put it all? I refuse to wear onesies or tankinies. That would make me fat. (no disrespect to those who are thin and wear them...I just hate you is all...except you Turtle...cause you look great in yours!). Thongs are out so that leaves alota skin and a little material. It's matter how big I get....big girl rocks a bikini! Mostly bcs my friends have been trained to tell me I look great. I didn't train them...they just do it. They must be in cahoots with my mirror. Enablers at their finest. My favorite amongst the offenders, my mother of course. Her signature line, "You don't look that bad." Thanks mother...that's typically what they tell people when they've been malled by a bear or hit by a bus. A real compliment I'm sure. She's about to visit. If you are reading this Mother, I know I'm fat so could you maybe say, "How's my big fat daughter? Dad and I almost didn't recognize you since you gained back all the weight." That right there should be enough for me to leave you at the airport and tell people I was raised by wolves.

I put myself back on house arrest in an attempt to take off 1 trillion pounds in a month and half. I fear not even jail can jump that hurdle. The part where I tell it what I eat is always the issue...who goes on a diet and lies to themselves? Me. I like the numbers to look good. I'm truthful about what I eat....just not how much. Here's the reason...1 serving looks great on paper...12 is where it gets ugly. I need to look good on paper if nowhere else. It's amazing how it all adds up. Perhaps how I got into this situation. Maybe I should look before I eat? Nah...what fun would that be? While I'm on the lying subject, my husband grabbed my ass the other day after admiring it... in fat jeans. I don't think he realizes how many sizes it takes to hold all that ass but he sure was liking what he saw. Dumb guy. So...what did I do to return the favor? I apologized. Yup. Told him I was sorry it was soo big.. note to self....when one gets laid about as often as a Preist (excluding the Catholics...they get way more action than they should...random sign of the cross) you should run with the compliment and use it to your advantage. my defense it was broad daylight and I never get naked at my size in broad apologies were in order.

I feel sorry for my husband...mostly bcs he's a man... but also for the things he's forced to complaining about my weight whilst guzzling Krispy Kreme's like liquid crack, random 400 lb weigh fluctuations, naked killer whale sighting in the shower...and so on. He's a trooper. He hangs in there bcs he knows the "new me" is always right around the corner. Oh and if he left me...he'd just get sucked into some other woman's fat trauma. Might as well stick with what he knows. Aint marriage grand? That should be a standard vow for every marriage, "I vow to stick around through "thick and thin" bcs where else would I go." I now pronounce you a husband for life. You may kiss the bride...any hurry up about it....there's a buffet waiting!

Saturday, April 3, 2010

Silly Rabbit....Tricks are for Fatties

I was laying in "the womb" contemplating how I would top last Easters post, "A Crack in the Eggs," when I felt my heart racing. No, not from angst. It was the foot long sub I just inhaled prior to laying down. I guess it's alot to ax your body to digest 3,000 calories just in time for a mid-day siesta but....shouldn't it be use to me ask for such things by now? Yes, on this bright sunny day whilst everyone in the free world was out enjoying Mother Nature, I was in fact binge eating and napping. My commitment is such that I don't take time off for holidays. I couldn't sleep, so I started thinking about how angry I was that Subway is no longer offering your pick of $5 Foot longs. Imagine stepping up to the register with exact change (a dead giveaway that I spend far too much time there) only to be axed for a $1.50 more. Guess it's back to the dolla menu and Ronaldo McDonald. The stress of the day left me wondering what I had to look forward to aside from McNuggets comprised of 37 ingredients sure to kill me. Then it hit me...tomorrow is the day when Jesus rose... I too shall rise....right off my fat ass! Not as prophetic but an effort all the same. So I got out of bed around 3pm and the womb was without it's savior....

I failed to mention, whilst laying in the womb digesting and meal planning, I was also reading the 12 Steps of Over Eaters lie. You know how sometimes you read something and it jumps right off the page bcs you feel like it's speaking to you? That was pretty much the entire had me at hello kinda thing. However comma, there was one line that made me feel like an all out addict...."Do you dream of how perfect your life would be as a thin person whilst in the process over eating?" Ummmm yeah.... it goes something like....Me as a size 0, (bcs there's always enough of that size left on the rack) with mustard & ketsup on my face, shagging Brad Pitt whilst explaining to my husband he must have known this day was coming when I broke it off with Little Debbie. Something like that. It went on to talk about the guilt associated with post-binge eating. That's where the fried chicken breast split....I do not own that emotion. So I decided to focus on that little Fuckin Crack Rabbit who would be appearing on my door step in less than 24 hours. Luckily, "New Me Monday" comes after "Hide the candy Sunday." Timing is everything for addicts.

Here's my take on Easter:

1. Whilst a Cadbury Egg is somewhat lacking in protein, it goes "right nice" (southern vernacular) with bacon. You should try it. Be thankful...the fake yoke is saving you from swallowing chicken menstruation. Are we clear on my thoughts about eggs? I think so.

2. Jelly Beans are laced with crack. It's a fact. Have you ever found yourself, over the age of 30, digging for jelly beans between layers of fake grass only to be pissed off when you couldn't find any? That's how Ray Ray Jenkins feels when he's lookin for a hit. Have you ever eaten just one? Ray Ray neitha. And Ray Ray is white so don't go there. White people hit the pipe too. Crack is after all and equal opportunity offender.

3. Peeps. What the fuck are Peeps? Refined Sugar Rabbits laced with bad food coloring. That's what they are. If you want to be one of my "peeps" you gotta come harder than marshmallow melt in your mouth bullshit. No thanks. I prefer chocolate eggs dripping in fake yoke and biting appendages off unsuspecting sugar creatures in pretty boxes. I have no use for these Peeps. None at all.

Let this serve as a warning to the Easter Bunny (who isn't real by the way....stop reading my blog crumb snatchers....that'll serve ya right!)...if you come to my house...don't be hidin shit. Nothing pisses a fatty off more than a scavenger hunt for sweets. I can carry my ass to K-mart and get everything I need without the extra work, thank you. However comma, I have a sniffer of canine proportion... so don't mess with me. If there's chocolate in this house I'll find it. Just ask my husband. Each trip to the grocery store brings hope of goodies he'll never eat. I "say" they are for him....that simply means he must beat me to the punch. I'm fast and motivated. He's...a guy. Need a say more. His lips have yet to touch a Krispy Kreme. Shoulda married a skinny girl. I have no interest in your sob stories.

Before I close out this tirade I have one question...who turned Easter into bunnies and candy when it's suppose to be about Jesus rising from the grave to save us? *pause for random sign of the cross* Hallmark takes every opportunity to jump in and commercialize any holiday they can get their hands on? Do any of us think Jesus would be proud to see the Easter Bunny waving at us from the bypass whilst encouraging us to buy over-priced foot long subs? Shameful. Instead of painting eggs and hiding baskets from future SIF, how about explaining the true meaning of Easter over a nice meal. Jesus loves fat people and he knows we gotta eat. He also knows we do not have the cardiovascular stamina to find hidden sweets and fight small children for chocolate. If you are not a Christian....I aint mad at ya but DAMN...stop celebrating our holidays! Watching children in burkas sit on Santa's lap and pose with the Easter Bunny is beyond disturbing. If you don't believe in Jesus I hereby declare no ham, no bunnies and no candy until Monday at 4pm...when I fall off the wagon and join you. Happy Easter!