Wednesday, May 26, 2010


That would be my current diet plan after spending the weekend with my skinny friends. They say MERSA is everywhere, yet I can't seem to contract it. I need just enough to get off these last 400 lbs. But no....some schmekel from the burbs who weighs 110 lbs soaking wet can easily get my virus, die and I can't even get a solid week! Damn! Don't these people know how to work the system? Just enough to puke and lose the appetite. Dying is a clear sign of over achievement. Yes, things have taken a turn for the worse. The "sisters" came down for the weekend and failed to tell me they no longer eat OR shop at Forever 6x! A post card would have sufficed! Gheez. Lots of them wanting to go to the beach and pretend to eat. Whatever. I stuck to the sun coffin and naps in the womb. I can't be broken. Whilst I was awake, I held firm to my agenda by making small cuts to various appendages and rubbing them against public door knobs and such. Mersa. Perhaps my fat inhibits such lethal viruses from entering my body. Perhaps. Can a fatty get a break?!

You should know I haven't been able to run in over 6 weeks. Why? Oh bcs some nice man from the Census (as if stalking me in my home wasn't enough) decided to rear end me thus causing damage to the only place I should have been ass! One would think there was enough fat there to cover the SI joint/ligament whatever it is....but apparently not. 30 days from bathing suit season let's hit fatty and make her unable to do any form of cardio...unless you count inhaling as cardio in which case I am still going strong. So....I have been asked by the medical profession to "walk" as opposed to run. I'm sure some of my readers are walkers....and for that I am truly sorry. I am not a fan. Much like everything in my life, I like any form of cardio to be over quickly. If you give me too much time to think, I'll be the divorced cat lady in a week. Who wins in that scenario? The cat....until I have a craving for General Tsaos and then things just go down hill quickly. Anywho, walking. I have been walking. There I said it. The Dr. said I could "walk." To me, that means 5+ miles. To the Dr....1 mile. Who gets out of bed to walk a mile? Well maybe to KFC but not at 7am....unless they started serving breakfast and no one told me. Clearly the Dr. doesn't realize the kind of calorie deficit I'm up against! I'd have to walk to NY and back to get in the green! I'll have you know I once walked 31 miles....1x....never again. Walking sucks. To help ease the pain I enlisted Axel Rose. Most people walk to Bach...I walk to Axel..."Welcome to the Jungle" is the current theme of my life. Anywho, so today I'm moving along at what I believe to be Olympic speed when a 75 year old woman approaches me and motions me to take off my headphones. She better be dying. Nope. She decided it would be nice to tell me that we were walking at the same pace. Lovely. From marathon runner to Senior Games competitor in just 6 weeks. Only I would get hit by someone working for the gov't thus aging me 100 years and 100 lbs.

This is exactly what I mean...this shit only happens to me! Normal people get rear-ended by Johnny Redneck with no insurance...I get "Bob Smith" annoying Census worker. I shoulda popped a cap in his ass when he came to the house....I wouldn't be in this situation. So I have some free time on my hands for the sport of surfing. Did you hear the one about the 2 chicks who tazed the Wendy's worker for not putting pickles and mayo on their sandwich?! Just hearing that makes me want to run out to the drive thru and score some free food with my 9! I'm a trained FATASSaign. I may be the only one taking their side. Leaving off key items such as pickles and mayo is...well it warrants violence quite frankly. Sisters....if you need me to testify....holla. Makes me wish I had a tazer for that F'r that hit me. His car is fixed and 60 days later I'm running from Dr. to Dr. getting my ass rearranged. I had to start wearing underwear to spare the medical profession shock blindness. Yes, I grew all of this on my own. I like the chiro assistant the best. She rearranges my thong just so before applying shock therapy to my nether region. I appreciate her defference to the amount of pressure that 1 inch piece of cloth I call "thong" is under. Anyway...

I've been trying to watch my carbs in light of my current situation. Watching them is annoying so I just eat them. It's easier to keep track of them when we are "one." All of this walking/thinking has me wondering...what idiot created the institution of marriage? Hmmm....I'm gonna go with "man" as they seem to be the primary beneficiary. Let's can we get our laundry done, blow jobs AND a clean house....WE SHALL CALL HER "WIFE!" I told good can come of this walking. Why just today someone asked me why I wasn't wearing my wedding ring. *Pause for "PC" answer"...oh it's so tight on my finger with this heat....or's being re- sized or....I simply forgot as I was in a hurry. Common man isn't prepared to hear: " I have broken free of bondage if only for 1 day!" I need to get back to running... soon. It's like the more I walk the more I see. I have been shit "at" by birds and accosted by old ladies but nothing compares to the 20/20 marriage vision that comes with walking. If you are happily married...I recommend a gym membership. Time to sue the government for the demise of my ass and my marriage. In an odd twist of girlfriends husband told me if I needed a boyfriend his 2 friends think I'm hot. Translation: they are either kin to Stevie Wonder or they just don't care how fat they fuck. I think I'll stay married.

I guess for now I'll keep walking and rubbing elbows with MERSA. I wonder if MERSA is like too scared to be with me for fear of Brad Pitt. Maybe that's it. If you happen to be a reader who's currently infected, email me and I'll send you my address. I am set up to accepts specimens via email.

Friday, May 14, 2010

Jail Break

As you might imagine, I have broken free of the chains that bind me. Yes. For exactly the 3rd time (in as many weeks), I have cancelled my little house arrest diet band. No worries. When I decide it's time to go back to jail, I will simply sign up under another name. You would think the peeps running this "quasi jail for fatties" would catch on to another 750lb redhead member who loses exactly no weight, cancels and reappears days later as a man. Why would I do that? It's called a free 30 day trial people! Let's face exactly 30 days...scratch that...3 days I'll be back in cahoots with Little Debbie...why bother spending $12.95 when I already know the outcome. My inner Miss Cleo enables me to predict such failures and plan properly for post let down consumption. When it comes down to it, there are 2 reasons I hate the house arrest band: 1. Too many questions and 2. Lies

Too many questions: I don't like to think anyone knows I'm fat. Whilst I know this is about as impossible as bringing back the King of Pop (RIP), let me have my fantasies. Lord knows I don't have much in the way of real action...anyway. Where was I going with this...ahhh when I wear the house arrest band, everyone wants to know what it is. Nosey fuckers! Do I walk up to you and ask you why you are so ugly? Then don't ask me about my "fatsessories." "Oh, is that one of those things that counts your steps?". "No, it tazes people who ask me dumb questions. Would you like to see how it works?" - inside voice. When I try to explain what it really does, I find myself defending my little band. How dare they call this state of the art fat zapper a pedometer! No one likes an angry fatty so I usually just say, "Yes it counts my steps." But there's always that closet fatty who has to tell me how much she knows about "exercise" as she's wiping hot fudge from one of her 3 chins. "You know, they have phones with pedometers in them. Then no one can see it." "Thank you for that technology update. Maybe you should look on your phone and see if it has an application for "Go away you annoying bitch." I'm sure it's there....IPhone must have that. you can see....interrogation looks about as good on me as the fat band.

Lies: Lots of them. Tell me, what is the point of paying $12.95 to wear a device to help you lose weight if you are going to spend $30 a day at McDonald's and tell the device you had salad? I feel like it knows I'm lying bcs when I start typing, it immediately wants to tell me my personal bests for the week. So I'm thinking it will say, "Hey, you ran 5 more miles than you did last week or ate 1200 less calories...but this is me...a SIF we are dealing's what I get: My personal best for the week...I spent more hours lying down today than I have in the last 30 days.... 18 hours to be exact. Who thinks this should even be included in the PB categories? Clearly a man put it there....lying down means having sex.... which means burning calories. Clearly an unmarried man. Lying down in my house means watching the Science Channel and praying the batteries in my rabbit don't burn out before I fall asleep. And I wonder why I'm fat? Maybe if that band would slap a libido into my husband I'd actually use the thing! Hell I'd pay $12.95 a day! No lies! Where was I? Oh yeah...PB. You would think that after weeks of telling it I'm a man eating salad, a woman eating salad and a tranny eating salad and still no weight loss...there would be a box that pops up saying, "What gives fatty?" But no...I am rewarded for lying down. Story of my life...

There's actually a 3rd reason I hate that band...tan lines. Even after I have broken up with the damn thing, I am left with a constant reminder of another relationship gone sour. Don't worry, I'm not subjecting the general public to the sight of me in a bikini. I'm a fake n baker. Whilst the thought of skin cancer may be scary....seeing my fat dimpled ass in a thong is like an instant death ray! Not pretty. I'll take my chances in the sun coffin, thanks.

Now that I'm not under constant surveillance, I have some time on my hands. Time spent not lying is way less stressful. So here are some things I have learned this week:

1. If one were to order fries from McDonald's and those fries were to actuallybe hot upon arrival...there's a trick to keeping them that way until you get back to your "special place" to gorge. Gotta leave the bag open....I KNOW...CRAZY RIGHT?! All these years the masses have been closing the bag and coming home to soggy fries. Leave it to a SIF to solve on of the great problems plaguing the fat world. You're welcome.

2. Cheddar vs. Cheddar....all cheddar is not equal. I knew this girl (we'll call her Kelly for fun) who liked to go to Arby's for roast beef and McDonald's for fries. Anyway, she always orders a side of cheddar (from Arby's) for her roast beef. What's left after bathing her meat in guessed it...goes on the fries. Well, just last week, the stupid drive-thru guy misunderstood and put a slice of cheddar on the sandwich. Ahhh...unacceptable. A. It doesn't melt and 2. You can't dip your fries in it. Since "Kelly" was accustomed to dealing with men who don't listen (very accustom....very), she knew to look in her bag before pulling away. Sure enough, the man who had been calling her "Sweetie" exactly every time she patronized the drive-thru, had screwed up. When she made him aware of his error he refused to fix it bcs he in fact included the side of cheddar in the bag. Typical. To a man...Cheddar is Cheddar and to a woman a dick is a dick. However comma, if the cheddar or the dick don't serve their intended purpose then they are essentially a garnishment for which one gets no pleasure. My life in a brown paper bag. It's all quite clear now. No more Arby's.

3. Birthday Cake has a shorter shelf life than expected. I bought my husband a birthday cake well in advance of his actual birthday. It was on sale...or maybe on I was on my period. It's all a little fuzzy. In any event, I decided about 3 days into my cycle that he might not like the pink flowers blooming on the frosting. I would just eat that make it look more manly. Seemed like a good idea. Eating someone else's birthday cake 60 days before their birthday is always a good idea. Anyway, well....after eating the floral section I noticed some vines that didn't look right without their flowering companions, so I disposed of those as well. At this point I'm half way through the cake and birthday boy is none the wiser. He doesn't like sweets....should have found that out pre-nuptial. My immediate plan was to make the cake appear homemade by transferring it to a small pan , licking the sides down to make them equal thus having the appearance that I was something other than an out of control feral beast.'s the real reason I had to eat the cake...I had hot fudge and whipped cream in the fridge, no freakin ice cream and I was a raging PMS bitch! Yes, I put the hot fudge on the already fattening cake....and it was quite good thank you. Anyway, when I tried to piece together my downsizing plan, things didn't exactly turn out. You could definitely tell I licked the cake...oh and ate the other half. So I did what any SIF would do, I disposed of it for good. What cake? Silly husband, it's not your birthday yet.

As you can see, I am raging out of control. No shackles, no morals and no conscience. I left those at the alter thank you. Here's hoping "New Me Monday" brings an impostor playing on the appropriate team. For now, I have to get ready for my girls to come for a visit this weekend. As usual, they've all lost weight...and I found it.

Wednesday, May 5, 2010

Fatty on Death Row

I can't think of a more appropriate place to keep decent food from an otherwise decent person. House arrest is far too liberal for the likes of me. Oh I wore the arm band but that didn't keep me from lying about what went down the hatch. Who pays $12.95 a month to lie to themselves.... nice to meet you! I'm convinced anything short of all out incarceration will result in a lifetime membership to Lane Bryant. I'm am spinning out of control...well spinning may not be the appropriate term at my size....wobbling perhaps. There's like 4 days til summer and I am still at my hibernation weight. Wake up fatty and smell the heat! Even if they make bathing suits in a 17X, I can't imagine anyone except the NIFA mixer freaks want to see that! (National Institute for Fat Awareness) How did I let myself get to this point? Well....if I knew that... I most likely wouldn't be at this point now would I?! I liken it to hair growth. When you are letting your hair grow out it seems to take forever. You look in the mirror each day and wonder if you have some mutated gene that keeps your hair from growing past your ears. You look and look... still nothing. And then one day you see a picture of yourself from 6 months ago and realize your hair is in fact growing! It works the same for fat....except my friends have been trained NOT to do 2 things....EVER....take pictures of my ass AND show them to me. I realize time is not on my side and much like my hair...whilst I don't see it happening...I am confident growth is imminent. With that, I called in the big guns.

I decided I needed a Warden of sorts....a gate keeper....a militant friend who wouldn't listen to my bullshit. Someone who would throw me in solitary confinement after hearing me bitch "my husband made me do it." Actually that might work. Scratch and save for future use...after listening to me complain about stress, the weather and any other reason I could come up with to land my ass at Taco Bell. Ughhum....I must point out that today is Cinco de Mayo. Whilst I am not Mexican, I plan to celebrate their holiday much like they celebrate the 4th of July and the Jews celebrate Christmas. I aint mad at ya....just pass me a cerveza and don't double dip in the queso and we are all good. So "New Me Monday" will actually be "New Me Thursday" this week as I have learned the Mexicans favor lard. I really need to defect. Wouldn't that be a American running south of the border...and not bcs I killed my husband...yet! I fear I would be stopped dead in my tracks bcs that's how the system works....against me...always. Anywho, back to the Warden. Whilst Susan lives exactly 5 hours from me, she has a talent for making me see I am an idiot without getting herself in trouble in the process. I'm not sure if it's the tone of her voice or the fact that the things I do are so blatantly fucked up that she's not in fact dead to me by now. She is very much alive....and in charge!

In true SIF form, I called her to talk about my psychotic behavior....on my way to a binge. That's the thing about a SIF...we think we can get away with anything! I live exactly 6 miles from Hamburger Alley. That would allow for 5 minutes of chatting about how I needed saving and 1 minute of, "Ooops I have a call coming in let me call you back," so that I could swing through the drive-thru unbeknowst to her. Then...6 miles back to the womb and, "Oh...damn another call. Let me call you back." 5 minutes to inhale and then resume fixing me. Who does this? For someone without a college degree I really should look in to the strategic development of something other than my ass! It's just sick! Sooo....I pulled into Arby's and cut the phone off just in time....hearing "Welcome to Arby's may I take your order" wouldn't have gone over really well. Had it ended there, I might have even let myself slide for slightly sane. But no. MacDonald's (that's what the drive-thru lady says) is about 2 blocks away and that's where I get my fries...oh and Coke...they have the best Coke. After ordering my usual large fry medium Coke, I felt guilt ridden. I called the Warden back to tell her what I was up to. I think she was extra bitter as she was forcing herself to eat fat free pudding and whipped cream while I was whoring myself across town! Sorry!

While she was very understanding of my "issues" she wasn't having any of my excuses. She did let me get off the phone for consumption. I fear the sound of hearing me slop down fries and cheddar laden roast beef would have been a bit much for anyone! I told her I'd call her back. When I didn't she text doubt thinking I'd gone back for round 2. I was in the shower. I felt like a dirty whore who had just cheated on her husband with Osoma Bin Laden. At least if that had really happened we'd know where he was and could cut his balls off. You think with as many wives as he has one of them would have done that by now....anyway. I was dirty. I finally did call her back. She agreed to be my keeper. I honestly think she has NO idea what she's getting herself into. I need to be on Death Row...locked contact with anyone...anything...throw away the only food choices....raw veggies and sodium free chicken broth. Let's face it...I can't afford those fancy weight loss centers and I've paid enough in taxes to afford jail. I agreed to strap on the arm band and allow her full access. I haven't heard from her in a few days....I fear she may have been traumatized after seeing what I really weigh. Great...she most likely fell off her chair, sustained a massive head injury and now her death would be on my hands. Blunt force trauma to the head...Dr. Henry Lee would be proud. Worse yet...she would be a vegetable...the things she told me to eat more of and I didn't. I will eat them from now on in memory of my friend, the Warden who was only trying to save me from my fat.

Actually, we did speak on Monday. I believe the conversation went something like this, ME: "I have no desire to eat healthy." HER: "One meal at a more veggies." ME: "Can I start on New me Tuesday?" HER: "Oh I have something funny to tell you. I went shopping for new appliances and much like a SIF I was overly concerned with the size of my refrigerator. I wanted to make sure it would hold all my food." ME: "Are you there God, it's me Fatty." Whilst I can relate to the fear of an under-sized fridge, this was akin to the Warden telling me he did time for murder and has since been reformed. I can't have someone with criminal tendencies watching over me! Or could I? This could be the prefect plan. I will dig deep for hidden fat and allow myself an opportunity to break free of her....when the time is right. Look out!