Fatsourcing

The word of the day is Fatsourcing. The outsourcing of fat if you will. A true SIF knows full well where I am going with this. I've tried everything imaginable to lose weight...that is except for hard work and sacrifice. I find those two items to be highly overrated. From the grease expellers to the legalized crack...they've all been employed by this SIF at one time or another. I like the idea of outsourcing my weaknesses to others. It's empowering...except for the fact that it has yet to work. I've even gone so far as to call in the King of outsourcing himself...the big "JC." ** Pause for sign of cross***"Give your burdens to him" the bible says. So I did. If he can turn water to wine he can surely turn me into a size 6 right? Apparently not. I guess he didn't have his miracle ear tuned to Fatty 101.1 bcs I have yet to lose a pound. Not one. In fact, I have since gained 10. Maybe I am too evil to go that route. Yeah that must be it. That's why I love the SIF. They are always on top of the latest tricks and treats.

I was having lunch with my friend Sharon...bitching about weight loss...eating fries....bitching about eating fries/weight loss when she started telling me about this Fatty GPS gadget thingy. You strap it on your arm and it tracks everything you do. Interesting. It calculates every step, every calorie and well everything! Intriguing and frightening at the same time! Here's where it gets good...I have to tell it what I eat! Thank God! Lord knows if it could see down my throat that thing would spontaneously combust! I think this could work for me bcs I actually like to exercise. In theory...the little machine and I would be great friends. It would send all sorts of positive information to the computer about what a good little egg I am...blah blah ran 5 miles...took 10,000 steps... burned 4500 calories. That is until I have to do my part in the outsourcing master plan and enter the intake of calories. That's where it's gonna get ugly! Real ugly. Like..slap yo mama ugly! No worries... got that all figured out. It's a little something I like to call, "lie." I mean really...if I were to enter what I actually ate, the damn computer would flash the following message: "CLEARLY THIS IS WHY YOU ARE FAT! ASK FOR A REFUND NOW BEFORE IT'S TOO LATE!"

Even though I am an unemployed, starving writer, with no job prospects, dwindling assets and a family to support, I managed to find some room on the ole credit card for this one! What if this was the sign from "JC" I'd been waiting for? The thing that would revolutionize my life? Clearly the odds weren't in my favor given my track record but who likes track anyway? I am in receipt of the said gift from heaven and am currently loading the program on to my computer. So far I find it very intrusive. How much do I weigh? How tall am I? ..."5'10"/ 120...just bought you for kicks dumb ass!" I decided to be honest mainly bcs I know that my husband cannot find the program on the computer. If he saw my real stats I'd be ass out! I mean... I can use a Sharpie to get rid of the 1 in the size 12's and hide Ho Ho's in the sock drawer due to like consistencies... but if he saw the numbers I was really puttin up...divorce would be immanent. Which may could work(southern ghetto vernacular...frightening yet noteworthy) to shed a few pounds but seems a bit drastic. Anyway, as is always the case, I will start the "new tech savvy me" tomorrow. I don't want to have to log the 400 beers I plan to drink at happy hour. No good can come of that. I wouldn't want to overwork the system the first day n all.

Successful weight loss is around the corner. Not sure which corner, which state or even if I have enough gas to get there but I will continue to have faith that someone else will do it for me! How does that saying go? There's no I in team. Together Everyone Achieves More! Nope..no I in there! See..I've had it right all along. This whole weight loss thing doesn't belong on my back at all! It belongs on the back of others...these people they call teams! I will continue my quest to oppress others with a solution to my fatness. Fatness after all is next to greatness....no "I" in there either. I'm just sayin is all...

Checkin Out

We all know how dangerous it is for a SIF to go grocery shopping. However, at least once a week it must be done. I try and follow the rules: Don't go food shopping while hungry, stay away from the inner aisles and read all labels carefully. However, these rules don't exactly work on a SIF for all of the obvious reasons: A. We eat when we aren't hungry B. Our carts gets better mileage on the inner aisles and C. Labels are designed to trick the fatties! Allow me to elaborate. I can walk into a supermarket fresh off hours of grazing at the Western Sizzlin and still purchase everything from the left over! As for the carts...that's a whole nother matter. I swear those damn carts have fatty GPS! No matter how hard I try to stay within the outer aisles, my cart always ends up somewhere between the Twinkies and the Capn' Crunch. That brings up another issue with those damn carts...I always seem to get the squeaky cart...always. Personally I think "they" position the squeaky carts for the fatties so that "they" know where we are at all times. How would "they" know which cart we were going to choose in attempt to fat track you ask? Easy. The carts closest to the door on the inside are dead giveaways. Two reasons: 1. Aint no fatty walkin in the store with a cart (makes us appear anxious) and 2. Aint no fatty walking too far to find a cart once she's inside the comfort of the grocery store. Hell, it's all we can do to pass up the motorized ones...ooooookkkkay! Theory proven.

Moving on to my next point...labels. It's felony trickery. It's assault with a deadly weapon... full intent to kill. Riddle me this...if the label says: "low fat," "no trans fat" and "a good source of calcium" one would assume this particular product to be part of a healthy and balanced diet, no? Allow me to reveal the identity of said product...A FLIPPIN $1.29 BOX A HO HO'S! Correct me if I'm wrong but the last time I checked out the food pyramid (circa 1972) I don't recall seeing Little Debbie hanging out with the legumes?! Maybe if the label read: "Look you fat Bitch, you eat this, you sho enough gonna die" I might think twice about tossing it in the cart! Or maybe not. Addicts do crazy things for their vices. If Little Debbie is the devil I'm ready for hell! She's an evil little behatch. The only labeling that seems to go against the grain is Diet Coke. I find the label to be honest and quite enchanting....Mostly bsc it says diet and I know it to still taste good but that's besides the point. The ingredients are pretty straight forward: Color, Chemicals and Caffeine...sans sugar sans calories. Yet, "they" (in an attempt to take away any pleasure from the fatties) warn of trickery. Trickery?! Selling me artery clogging ho hos' disguised as health food packaged with a "Hedi" clone for under $1.50...that's trickery! Diet Coke is innocent of all charges! "They" say that it contains sodium and drinking too much may spike your blood sugar thus making you hungry. Hungry? If you are drinking something that starts with the word "diet" you were hungry before you started and furthermore...if the sodium content in a bucket of fried chicken aint killed me yet, I doubt the Diet Coke is takin me down. The prosecution rests...

If you have yet to buy into my conspiracy theories...I give you one last piece of evidence that will surely win you over. ** Pause for mental preparation** When the store has been cleared of everything "Low in fat", "sans trans fat" and "full of calcium" I proceed to the checkout lanes with a certain level of excitement. In a ritualistic sort of fashion I usually go in front of the cart, empty it from back to front and then step to the side of the cart so that I can pull it back in front of me. I say usually bcs lately that tactic hasn't been working so well. It seems I've gained some weight...as evidenced by my fat ass getting stuck between the cart and the candy rack! It's...well....it's not pretty. Luckily the Snickers are very forgiving. Anyway, you know how most grocery stores require a "shopper card" to participate in the weekly specials right? Another example of "Big Brother" looking into my fridge but that's ok...I have no shame. I present my card with pride and watch the dollars dwindle down to a somewhat respectable total. From there, I pay the cashier and prepare to take my food to the car. But wait...Big Brother has a present for me....coupons! I'm usually quite excited to receive such gifts but one day I happened to actually look at the coupons they gave me. I was shocked and appalled! One would think that the coupons would mirror the purchases made. If that rang true I should have been looking at an assortment of Little Debbie discounts and at least $1.00 off some Tater Tots. Not so much! There were all sorts of Weight Watcher frozen meal Coupons, Skim Milk coupons and even a coupon for Diet Coke....which confused me bcs I thought that was on my team?! So obviously the register has been pre-programmed to combat fat! Say it aint so! Do "they" think if they give me a deal on healthy food I will become on of them?! Not! I'd spend my last dollar at Taco Bell and wipe my ass with the coupon for Skim Milk before I'd let Big Brother transform this fatty! Maybe it's time I started shopping with the Skinagers and the Quarter Pounders. If my theory holds true, we could trade coupons and all would be right with the world. Down with Big Brother!

Crack in the eggs

If little Johnny wakes up on Easter Sunday to a chocolate bunny that's missing certain critical appendages, what can one assume from this? Mommy is a SIF I suspect! Yes, I fear many SIF children wake up on Easter Sunday to find Cadbury Eggs over easy and Peeps minus one of their Peeps! It's one of the worst in a series of "Fat Girl Holiday's" and the seriousness of the occasion shouldn't be overlooked. Where was Daddy whilst Mommy stayed up until 2am "hiding Easter Baskets?" Surely he must have smelled her chocolate peanut butter breath when she climbed into bed after her big debut as Peter the "Crack" Rabbit! Nope. Daddy didn't even hear the premature cracking of the eggs or the rabbits screaming as their ears were being sucked into the jaws of a sugar crazed mother drooling on her footed pajamas. Nope. Instead, Daddy broke SIF rule #4567...never trust a crack addict to play drug dealer. Lesson learned.

My father often made the same mistake over the years. Little did he know, every day was "Easter" in my top desk drawer. That's where mother hid the peanut M&M's and whatever else she could fit in between my algebra and history books. And they wonder why I wasn't the smartest egg in the basket? Mommy gave me crack Daddy. **pause and process** In an attempt to repent for said crimes, Mommy always took us to church on Easter Sunday. We were Catholic and guilt was met with open arms in the Catholic church. When I say "we" were Catholic I may not be able to include myself...**pause for confession**...

"Forgive me Father for I have sinned (and continue to do so daily)it's been 36 years since my last confession. Here's the problem: I think I may not exactly be Catholic based on one incident in particular. Ummm...yeah... I sort of "took" first communion in the sense that one "takes" but I didn't exactly "take it" per say. Let me break it down for you father: I love me some bread but unleavened aint my thing. I'm quite sure If Jesus were to rise again he'd switch to Ciabatta or French. Anyway, I may have taken the body of Christ upon making my first communion but I sorta wiped it under the first pew...right side. **sign of cross** I didn't mean to but it could have used some butter or olive oil and well... I couldn't seem to get it down. It kept sticking to the roof of my mouth. Mother taught me not to chew with my mouth open and my tongue couldn't pry the unleavened disc away from the retainer that I was forced to wear in an effort to straighten the teeth that I'm confident I inherited from George Washington... So I reached in, peeled it off with my fingers, pretended to swallow and discretely wiped it under the pew. No one noticed a thing. I looked so cute and innocent in the white dress I borrowed from my cousin that no one saw the pasty body of Christ dangling underneath my butt. I guess the Catholic guilt thing never really worked on me bcs I smiled for the pictures and pretended to be one of the chosen ones. Forgive me Father."

Wheeew! A weight has been lifted. I do believe that to be the only time in my life that I have walked away from food...willingly. Even back then I could spot a SIF from a mile away...even in church. There was this one lady who always sat right up front, took up 2 spots in the pew and carried a large purse. All signs that she was a SIF. Why you ask? Gotta be closest to the bread and wine at church? Is your big ass holdin up seats from other sinners? You got snacks in your over sized purse and crumbs to prove it?....you a SIF! Anyway, I know for a fact that she took at least two bodies of Christ every Sunday! Now I'm all for over eating and known for trying two of everything but never have I gone so far as to take more than my fair share of the body of Christ! SIF, we must pray for her. Now that I am older and of independent mind, I have chosen a church that better suits my needs. They offer unlimited sourdough and grape juice sans guilt! Thank you Jesus! I think we have learned an important lesson here. If you give a SIF an inch she'll gain an inch! How did the significance of Easter go from the Resurrection of Christ to Cadbury Eggs and Peeps? I dare say the SIF are to blame! Give us a holiday, we'll give you a reason to hide food and binge eat! Thanks Easter Bunny!

Kimo's Wedding

I traveled to SC for the wedding of my cousin Kimo. I've waited 39 years for this wedding and I was highly pleased with the outcome. I will share my stories of binge eating and wedding cake stalking later... but first...here is the speech I gave as her MOH. Enjoy...


Wedding Speech

Scott, I’m sure you have your reasons why you feel Kimo will be the perfect wife. What you may not know is that she has been training for quite some time. In fact, I dare say she learned all she knows from Barbie. The story goes something like this… Back in the day, Kimo and I played Barbie and Ken every weekend. We learned many valuable lessons about marriage from our Barbie experiences. For example, when they first met, Ken/Barbie had nothing but the clothes in their box. As time went on they acquired a Winnebago, a mansion and more designer clothing than they knew what to do with. If this was marriage, Kimo were sure to be the perfect wives! However, we would soon learn that the hard times are what make or break a marriage. One day we came home to find that vandals had set the Winnebago on fire. As if that wasn’t bad enough, Barbie’s Jordache coat was missing. Being young and naïve we weren’t prepared to handle such a marital crisis. So we did what any girl would do in this situation, we gave Barbie a new haircut, took her shopping and sent Ken packing. Maybe we weren’t ready for marriage just yet.

As we grew, Kimo maintained a healthy relationship with Barbie. She collected every Barbie ever made and stored them in their respective boxes. We never really worried about her until she started cooking in heels and refused to date any man who wasn’t named Ken. As you can imagine, the prospects for marriage were bleak. Then, she did what no single woman (not even Barbie) dared do…she began to build a hope chest with items she would need when she married. There were pots, pans, dishes, sheets…you name it. She refused to use any of the items in the chest until she married. While we found her enthusiasm for the future charming, we were a bit worried about “Ken” in this equation, as he had yet to surface. As time went on the hope chest followed her from Moravia, to Auburn, to Virginia, to NC…and well let’s just say it was a well traveled chest. Eventually, she gave up on finding Ken and removed items from the chest as she needed them. It started with the lasagna pan, then the wine glasses and before long she was sleeping on the sheets. It just didn’t seem like her Ken would ever find her. Kimo gave up cooking in heels and stopped making her signature dishes like homemade macaroni and lasagna. Instead guests at her table would be forced to eat things like boiled hot dogs and boxed macaroni. Kimo had given up.

Then, one day while lying by the pool, Kimo had a thought. What if her Ken was right in front of her but she didn’t know it bcs his name wasn’t Ken? It was an epiphany! Now she just had to figure out who Ken really was. A quick glance across the pool provided the following options: 3 gay men, 6 girls, 12 children and a handsome man named Scott. The girls and the gays were out and the kids were not even close to marrying age. That left Scott. Her friend Scott? Whatever. There’s no way he would be the one. They were just friends. That’s not how it happens in Kimo’s world. She has full control over these situations and there’s no possible way she wouldn’t have known that he was the one. Kimo decided to confront Scott directly, “Are you my Ken?” she said in her commanding Kimo voice. Scott was stunned and ran away for the weekend to escape the interrogation. When he returned he went directly to her home and knocked on the door. Shaking he confessed that he was in fact Ken. Scott was just his street name. Kimo was speechless for the first time in her life! She didn’t know what to say so he said it for her, “Kimo…will you be my Barbie?” She let out her signature hyperventilating “yes” in response to the question she had waited 39 years to hear. He went on to promise to never put her in a box and to play with her whenever she wanted. As was often the case in these situations, Kimo tucked and squeezed in order that she might avoid peeing her pants on the most special day of her life. Kimo and Scott…may you have a “Grand Fabulous” life together always.

Parole Violation

I ask you...if your babysitter (and her accomplice) killed your child, would you then ask them back to watch little Frankie's new sister?! Perhaps if you are Casey Anthony or Tara as it were. Poor Liz hadn't even had a chance to acclimate to her new surroundings (over the balcony and into the swamp) when Mommy dearest called and asked me to babysit Connie for the weekend! Damn! Someone alert the nominating committee for Mother of the Year...I think I found our winner! Apparently the murdering Chilean is out of town so who better to call upon than her con artist cover up pal! I mean I'm always up for a little "fishing" but I wasn't expecting an invitation so soon. I'm sure Dave aka "Frankie" was thrilled to hear that I would be in charge of he and Connie's safety for the weekend. On my torturous agenda....binge feeding (gotta stay true to the SIF), a field trip to visit Liz (gotta show um what happened to the last fish that acted up) or maybe I'll let Frankie and Connie share a bowl (gotta keep the babysitter amused). Yes, this should be interesting.

You know...the weather is suppose to be unusually warm this weekend. Maybe the fish would enjoy some time on the grill...I mean the deck. Technically the grill is on the deck so I guess I could work that angle. Or maybe they would like to swim in some lemon juice. I do so love ceviche...I mean a lemony fresh bowl. Whatever activities I plan for the fish, know this...they are in high danger of a play date with Liz! I guess you'll have to check back to see what becomes of the babysitter, the fish and their lovely mother. When I say "lovely" I'd like to wet your taste buds with a scandalous story to follow about Mommy Dearest. It involves holy water that was mistaken for lube. *Pause for sign of the cross*- stay tuned for that one!

Murder on the Arc...

Yes, I write about fatties and food. However, from time to time I need to expand on my conceptual greatness to include death and murder as these things also intrigue me. It's a darker side of this SIF but as we all know, dark is where the flavor lies. As you might have guessed, this "crime" involves the adopted Chilean. Perhaps I am in this situation bcs I failed to follow a Golden Fatty Rule:"Never shop hungry." Had I followed that rule I may have wound up with a German or a Russian. Why do you suppose I was drawn to Chile'? That's right...it sounds like chili and I happen to love chili in the winter. "Fatliminal" thoughts are an ever present force in my life. Little did I know that my very own fatty issues were about to make me an accessory to murder!


One night, as I was eating my Swanson Hungryman and watching Fit TV, the Chilean came to me with a promising prospect for employment. She explained that back in her native Hagerstown, she was known as the Chilean Dog Whisperer. Often she would care for 10, 20...sometimes 50 pets at once. She said it was a gift from Jesus Cristo. Who am I to argue with a reference like that? *Pause for the sign of the cross* Anywho, some local amigas had asked her to care for their animals while they were away. I was a bit concerned. There was Hannah Y Zoe Y Sage Y Puerco Y Saucey Y Dave Y Liz. In total that would make 4 dogs, 1 cat and 2 fish! What started as her first job in the Estados Unidos was quickly turning into a rebirth of the Chilean Arc! I should have listened to my insincts. They told me that something bad was to come and it would soon involve me!

Everything was going quite well with the Chilean and her Arc. She would rise before the sun, feed and potty all of animals and then head off to color little airplanes by the coast. It seemed as though her gift was genuine until the day before her amigas were to arrive home. She had been drinking a little too much "water" and asked me to drive her to the Arc so that she could feed the animals. On our last stop, we were taking care of the fish (Dave Y Liz) when I noticed a problem. Liz was floating at the top of her bowl. She had a slight gray tinge to her and I must say she didn't smell at all like a lady. Upon further observation I noticed that her lips looked like JJ from Good Times...not at all attractive. She was...dead. When I told the Chilean the bad news, she insisted that Liz was just playing dead. Apparently she liked to do that in order to confuse Dave in the next bowl. I didn't understand why they couldn't live in one bowl...something about killing each other. Well, somehow Liz was dead and it wasn't at the hands of Dave! The Chilean tried to bring her back to life. She chanted random Spanish prayers and pleaded with Dave to help. Dave just laid at the bottom of his bowl content to be alone. Then things got ugly....

Faced with Liz's death, we had to make a decision. When I say "we" I'm not sure how "I" became part of "we." I was just the driver. The one responsible for taking the Chilean to her Arc. This was my first visit with Dave and Liz. Clearly I had nothing to do with the death. Or did I? Was being there enough to imply guilt? I started to worry. The Chilean was in sort of a drunken panic. Picture laughing, frantic rambling and Dave swirling in his bowl. Something had to be done. While the Chilean put Dave back on the shelf, I knew it was time to dispose of Liz. I tried to be respectful of Liz in her death, by placing her back in her natural habitat...I threw her over the balcony, into the swamp. I knew that by disposing of Liz I was now an accessory to something. I'm not sure of the crime but whatever went on, I was now involved.

The next morning I noticed that the Chilean was missing. She left a set of keys on the coffee table along with her credit card. I called her right away to see what was going on. She said she had to go and color small planes on the coast to clear her mind. She asked me to take the credit card and purchase a new fish at Wal-mart. As soon as I had done that, I was to take the new fish to her amigas house and place it in the bowl next to Dave. I had until 5pm to make the switch or her amiga would know of the crime. I quickly jumped in the car and headed to Wally World. I ran up and down every aisle looking for fish. In a panic, I stopped the manager and asked where I could find a chubby red fish like Liz. He delivered a blow...this Wally World doesn't carry fish. Que! Now what? I guess I was feeling guilty bcs I went on to explain the crime and the cover up to him. While shocked, I saw a willingness to help me in his eyes. He told me to go to the pet store a few miles down and they should have what I needed. I didn't have time to silence him so I gave him a stern look that imlpied we were now bound by the same lies. I was hoping that would keep him quiet.

As I walked into the pet store I could feel the sweat building on my forehead. I called the Chilean to see how much I should spend on replacing Liz. Apparently she was worth no more than $10. Damn!I'm going down for $10! I looked frantically around the store for a new Liz. I stumbled upon a 20 ft Reticulated Python that stopped me dead in my tracks. I knew it to be a sign from Jesus Cristo that my actions were of the devil. Just like a car wreck, I couldn't help but stare at his nasty, shedding ass! Gross! As soon as I could pry myself from the cage, I resumed my search for Liz. I didn't want to ask for help. I had already screwed that up once. Then, I stumbled upon a zit ridden little pet store geek who was too dumb to see that I was in the process of a cover up. I asked where I could find another Liz. Turns out...she was on sale! A $6 cover up was in the works. There were blue Liz's....no, green Liz's...no, and then I saw her as if she was a ghost in my midst....RED LIZ! She came with her own bowl and everything. Yeah well a bowl wasn't part of the plan. Put the fish in the bag and keep the evidence! I failed to mention that waiting in my car was a bucket of warm tap water that I had prepared for the "new Liz." This was quickly going from manslaughter to murder!

I grabbed the key to the house and ran up stairs with the new fish. I took the fish from the bag and placed it in the bowl with the water from my bucket. Hmmm...I wondered if the water could be traced to me thus linking me to the crime. Oh hell...I was all over this place! I watched the new Liz swim around in her bowl, content to be out of her Ziploc bag. Dave looked at her as if to say, "I always knew Liz would come back from the dead to haunt me!" Whatever Dave. This wasn't about you. I watched the new Liz swim around the bowl with a sort of a sick satisfaction. I was quite proud of myself for finding what I believed was Liz's evil twin. After a few minutes of gloating, I called the Chilean to let her know the deal was done and with $4 to spare. She was most pleased. She kept asking me if the new Liz looked like the old one. Jes! She couldn't even remember what Liz looked like. I was irritated by that bcs...well bcs I wanted someone to revel in my keen cloning abilities! I needed to get out of there. I threw out the bag in the amigas trash can and headed home. This is why I do not make a good criminal....evidence disposal is not my strong suit.

Later that evening, the Chilean arrived home after a long day of coloring small planes on the coast. Once again she interrogated me as to the similarities between new and old Liz. I told her to relax and have some "water." We agreed that we would never speak of the switch after that day. Apparently her amiga often accused her of murder and this was the first time she was actually guilty. All we could do was wait. Then, about 9pm the phone rang. It was the amiga. I think she said something like, "This isn't my fish!" The Chilean ran into my room panicked. She said that her amiga knew this wasn't Liz bcs Liz was much fatter. I was afraid of that. You can't exactly by a fish based on weight! I was hoping the color and the fact that she was alive would be enough! The Chilean was distraught. She ran over to comfort her amiga. When she arrived she was shocked by what had taken place. Dave was smitten with the new Liz. He preferred her svelte girly figure to that of the old Liz. I think that must have been enough to make it all ok bcs there was no talk of finding the evidence in the trash can. Wheeew!

Everything is back to normal and the Chilean has since decided to right size her Arc. She hadn't bargained on Liz's death and it was all too much for her. We have since named the new Liz Connie...short for Conspiracy or maybe it was Cover up. Dave also has a new name bcs "Dave" just didn't work without Liz. We now call him Frank...short for frankly. And they all said...amen!

Chili Reeee laaaay NO!

We all need a little spice in our life, right? You may not know this but, I consider myself an honorary Latino of sorts. I speak a bit of the native tongue and God knows I can throw down on some salsa con queso! However I realized that being an honorary Latino was more than late night trips to "the border" and saying "Hola" when greeting others. I wanted to learn about the culture so I did what anyone seeking such knowledge would do....I adopted a Chilean! I know...genius right!? I was sitting there one night when one of those infomercials flashed a special on rowdy Chileans. I adopted one online...free shipping and everything! It was sort of a blind order in that I didn't know exactly what I was getting. Someone to cook me enchiladas? Someone to tell me Chilean bedtime stories? Maybe someone who could do both! I should have known there was a BIG problem when my Chilean showed up sans packaging vino in hand. No turning back now. A dios mio!

I was committed to making my little Chilean feel welcome even though it appeared she had plenty of social skills under her belt. She told me stories of her familia back in Chile. I'd never heard of Hagerstown, Chile but she said her whole family lived there along with her two cats. She offered to take me there and make me a true honorary Chilean. That sounded good until she told me of the indoctrination process. I would be required to drink the blood of a sterile llama, have relations with her eldest brother and eat goat tortillas with spermiasada. Loosely translated my response went something like, "Muchas Gracias." I thought perhaps if I could mimic her behaviors I might be able to understand a bit more about her life in Hagerstown, Chile. For the first month after her arrival I watched for any sign of common ground. Day after day bottle after bottle I started to wonder if she knew that Chardonnay was not in fact our drinking water. When she drank too much "water" she would yell "Bailamos" and dance on the counter top. I assumed this to be some sort of cultural statement so I smiled and yelled "Bailamos" along with her.

She was a little thin for my taste and I looked forward to the opportunity to fatten her up. I tried all of my usual tricks....donuts, candies, fries. These techniques have proved successful around the world. However, the Chilean wasn't falling for it. I refused to give up. I saw my opportunity one night when she was dancing on the counter top, yelling "Bailamos" and then jumped down to declare her hunger. I told her McDonald's was open and we were off. Little did I know she was about to create the greatest crime against fatties since taking away trans fats! She ordered a #1 combo and didn't eat the fries. *Pause for shock factor* I heard her say something like, "No me gusta Papas Fritas." I took that as..."I want you to have my fries" and instantly she was forgiven. When I weighed her crime against 2 all beef patties, special sauce, lettuce, cheese, pickles, onions on a sesame seed bun...I gave her credit for time served. Still...her size 2 frame was disturbing and something needed to be done. It seemed the only time I could get her to eat like an American was when she was on her menses (yes mother that was for you). So I resigned myself to the fact that once a month we could bond as fatties and that was that.

I encouraged my little Chilean to get out and meet people. I thought if she could find some friends maybe she would put away the vino and stop dancing on the tables. Perhaps this plan would have worked had she not met the girl down the street. If my Chilean thought Chardonnay was water, her new friend thought Merlot ran through her veins! I decided to run recon and join them for a night on the town. I won't go into detail except to say that I was asked NOT to dance on the counter tops as I was standing over the seam. Fatty discrimination...unacceptable. I started to feel like there was no hope for my Chilean here in America. One week, when her friend went away, I agreed to spend some time with her. I was hoping for an intervention and what I got was a whole new set of problems. Picture me drinking the vino, dancing on the counter tops and yelling random Spanish slang. Which by the way is never a good idea unless you know exactly what you are saying. Asking the waiter "What do you want" when you thought you were saying "What do you have" doesn't always sit well. Perhaps it's better than calling someone an F'n Bitch when you thought you were saying little witch. It's hard to forgive across culture barriers now isn't it?

So I have given up hope that my little Chilean will join the convent and become a good citizen of the Estados Unidos. Instead I have moved into the basement to live with my dogs so that she can Baila the night away. Guess I should have read the return policy.

1/4 Pounder vs. Whopper

No I'm not talking about two all beef patties special sauce lettuce cheese pickles onions on a sesame seed bun. * Pause for breath* I'm talking about two tall no patty havin lettuce eatin pickers... hold the bun! Yes, these creatures I refer to are the ones in front of you at McDonald's holding up the line bcs they can't decide which salad has the least amount of fat. Be gone Bitches! You are in fatty land and we don't appreciate waiting for food on a good day much less behind a 35 year old who still shops in the children's section! How dare you enter our turf? There's plenty of grass outside..."graze on" and stop trying to turn our heaven into your hell. Aint happenin sisters. We have "people" in "places" to ensure that we can always turn a good fat trick when needed. This is why I am a strong believer in the drive-thru. I wouldn't know if a 1/4 pounder was in the car in front of me as long as they ordered expeditiously and from the menu. However, they tend to give themselves away by removing key items from the carefully thought out combinations prepared by the master chefs at McDonald's. "Hold the sauce, hold the bun, extra lettuce"...again...pull away from the drive thru and graze. It's ok...we understand. It's takes dedication to wear a 9 month onesie at 35. Only a 1/4 pounder could pull that off. Besides crotch snaps are so out.

If the 1/4 pounders continue to frequent McDonald's, we'll be forced to head next door. In fact, it seems more appropriate. I'm willing to give the skinnies the title of 1/4 pounders as long as the fatties align themselves with the Whopper. The similarities between a fatty and a Whopper are uncanny...too big, over indulging, mysterious, deadly and quite yummy. Everything making sense but the mystery part? Here's the thing...I don't understand why the cheese doesn't come standard. It's the biggest item on the menu and we are forced to ask for more?! Is this an attempt to shame us? I intend to get an answer on that very perplexing issue very soon. Perhaps the cheese pushes it from 2,999 calories to 3,065. Anything to stay below the daily caloric allowance in one sitting I suppose. The Whopper Jr. is always an option...or not. It's just not in the fatty DNA to half step. If we want a burger we want "the" burger not it's evil shrunken down twin ridden with half the guilt. Guilt is guilt. Murder 1, Murder 2...still guilty....still murder. It boils down to intent. I never intend to eat less so why would I knowingly stop in for a Jr. and a Diet Coke when I can premeditate my plan to eat a Whopper (with cheese) and go down like the true criminal I am. Serial Killer...Serial Eater. Something must be killed to satisfy. I'm just sayin is all.

A war is brewing between the fatties and the 1/4 pounders. I'm not sure how it will all play out but for now we need to stay on our respective turf. Fatties...stay clear of McDonald's and children's clothing stores. 1/4 Pounders...stay away from Burger King and any clothing racks above a size 8 bcs 10 is the new "plus size." Say it aint so! The 1/4 pounders keep pushing the chart further into their territory. We need to rage war and take back 1o before they move in for 8! Calling all 22's and above...you have been drafted into an impending battle. Let's unsnap those onesies and show them how the big girls role...lookout!

And the Wiener is....

Happy New Year Fatties! This is our time of year! It's game on! Who will win the Fatty Oscar? Will the cream of the fat crop rise to the top and stop eating in time for the summer reveal?Can't be sure. I just know I got a pair of velour pants from 89' with tags on um that pretty much guarantees I'll be going home empty handed! Why is that? Because one day I will fit into them. One day when the 80s come back I'll be ready. That's my goal. Who needs an Oscar with the 80's hanging tough in my closet? When it comes down to it it's an all out war. It's Oscar vs. Oscar Meyer... and I'm walking away a "wiener"...thas how I roles! The New Year does nothing but reinforce my commitment to not committing. That's about as healthy as it gets.

I like to go against the grain whenever possible...bcs I don't do grains...whole or otherwise. I officially started my New Year's diet on...well I haven't exactly started per say but I'm verging. In order to start I need to decide what I'll be giving up. Let's see...I've already given up sizes 2, 4, 6 and 8 and I'm working on 10 soooo...not sure where to go from here. Why must I part with the things I love to ring in the new year? Why can't I expand on the list of things that further my expansion ? Like instead of giving up of fries (which is akin to giving up a kidney in my world) why not vow to upgrade to loaded fries or fries with ranch dressing? Let's expand on that shall we? If there were an award for contributions by a condiment for enrichment of others...Ranch Dressing is bringing home the Cecil B. Demille. That's just a fact. Like it or not. I'll break it down like this...Ranch Dressing is banging Brad Pitt and Ketchup can't even keep Vince Vaughn entertained. Feel me?

Who will walk away a wiener? It's just too early to tell. A good fatty will sneak up on you. We are only 15 days into the new year after all. At two pounds a week...time is on our side! Speaking from experience, I can go from an all out fatty to not too shabby in about 8 weeks. So I think I'll role with that plan. That allows my fries a few extra months to bang Brad Pitt while the overachieving fatties put Ketchup on their baked potatoes and brag that Wendy's has healthy alternatives. Whatever. I don't "go out" for baked potatoes. I can get that crap at home. The mere sight of that red-headed Wendy's girl and I'm biggie sizin my fries all the way to the front of the line. NEVER will you hear me order a baked potato with fries on the ready. It's like gettin an Oscar for a movie you weren't in. It's un-American. I think I speak for the Academy when I say that fries take home the prize every time!

Fat is where it's at in 2009!

I'm back! Yes, I know I've been missing in action for quite some time. Fatty had to go to the Nations capital to make some money for food. Now I'm back so look out! I will have my first Fat Report online soon! I'm sure you are all on a diet of some sort. Me...not so much! Stay tuned...