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 fatty...you'll get that one!
What the hell is a Sister in Fat? It's a bond uniting women everywhere. The inner fatty living deep within all of us. She convinces us supersizing is acceptable as long as we wash it down with a Diet Coke. Here at SIF we celebrate "New Me Monday" EVERY Monday, eat lunch at high noon and hide food from those who judge us. It's not about size sisters. If you have an inappropriate relationship with food and obsess over weight loss/gain...you ARE a SIF! Welcome Home!
Monday, August 31, 2009
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 husband...sex. 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!
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 husband...sex. 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 me....no 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 know...it never happens...but it did...to 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 bcs....no 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 you...you 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 worse...you 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
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 know...it never happens...but it did...to 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 bcs....no 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 you...you 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 worse...you 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 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!
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!
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
MIA...in 80's
I know...where have I been?! Sorry for the lack of fat deposits. I've been...verging. I have so much going on and yet I seem to get nothing done. Translation...I've been over eating and hiding from you. Here's a rundown of my latest ventures:
Def Leppard Concert
If you think this is a musical ensemble of mute jungle creatures...you are partially right! Every year when Def Leppard comes to town I transform into the ultimate groupie. 80's hair bands are right up there with apple fritters... and if you don't like them... you are clearly stupid and skinny! My plan was to lose weight, bust out my leather pants, get back stage tickets and leave my husband for...well any one of them that would have me. I would profess my undying love for whichever one bit and live the rest of my life a rock stars wife. Let's see....I ended up in section 202, wearing jeans, weighing in at about 350, peed my pants, lost my friends and left a bartenders wife. Much like the rest of my life, a big FAT disappointment! I did manage to touch Phil Collin's hand (the guitar player) however I'm sure he washed his hand within 2 months of the event unlike me. I make no excuses for myself. There are just certain things from the 80's I refuse to part with: aforementioned Apple Fritters & 80's hair bands, Long John Silvers and Boo Berry cereal. Yes, I am quite a catch.
The Motherland
After barely surviving the Def concert, I headed to upstate NY with my Pork Chop (no I didn't transport the "other white meat" across state lines...he's my dog) to...well I'm not sure what we hoped to accomplish other than some E&E...exercise and eating. The combination of champions.
I always go home when the big fair comes to town because it provides me endless entertainment with a side of self-esteem! When I say "big fair" I should give you a visual: dilapidated rides operated by the "pens" finest, booths that fry everything from Oreo's to small children and a beer tent where the patrons out number the teeth. *Pause for puking in back of mouth* As gross as that sounds...I went every night! I love fried everything and not for nothing...I was actually one of the skinnies in that crowd! So, as I was wandering around the grounds I noticed that the fried dough peeps were looking for someone to travel with the show and make people fat up and down the east coast. The temptation was great but...after much thought (and a funnel cake) I realized that a fatty selling fried dough would be like Magic Johnson selling sex. Just doesn't work. On the last night of the fair there is a big parade that comes right by my parents house. So I plopped my lawn chair in the front yard, grabbed a beer and waited for the passing entertainment to start throwing candy. It's not often a fatty can get away with sitting on her big ass while someone chucks candy at her...and it's perfectly acceptable ta boot! That is until you start shoving small children out of the way to snag a Cow Tail...man I love those things! I must admit I shed a tear when the fair pulled out. Mostly bcs I knew it would be a whole year before I could enjoy funnel cakes and felons again. My Mom (you'll recall her as the M&M hoarding Heavenly Has Queen of the 80's) gave me some good material whilst I was home. Her new saying "I'm still burning." My Mother feels that if she walks 4 miles on Monday and wants a Ho Ho on Friday it's perfectly acceptable bcs...you guessed it "She's still burning." I'm not sure calorie burning extends over a week but I felt like I might could (southern vernacular) use that to my benefit at some point or another so I let it slide. Still burnin Maa!
Writing
So I stopped working in February because the voices in my head told me to do so. I'm not certifiable (well depending on who you ask)...just a writer. I want to write books about all of the crazy thoughts that flow freely through that little area I call my brain. So far the score is Book: 0 Fat: 350. I had one of my friends call a bunch of publishers thinking that if someone expressed interest in me it would get my big ass in gear! Kinda like when you see Jenny Craig commercials and think if she comes into your home you will lose weight. Secret: The food taste like wallpaper, you starve and those lying little bitches on TV gain all the weight back soon after you make the call. Some of the publishers wanted to see a manuscript and others weren't taking on new writers. That baffled me. What if I wrote the fatty version of Harry Potter...."Cherry Cobbler." Bet they wouldn't be turning down that money would they? The worst offenders were the trickster publishers. They act interested, call you, get you all excited and then inform you that you will have to pay THEM to get published! I mean to tell you it psychologically damaged me for a week! It took me back to that day in the 80's when I wanted to be a model. I applied to all of the top agencies. Of course they all said, "No" except one....Barbizon. They wanted me. I convinced myself that they knew they were in the presence of the next Cindy Crawford...sans mole add red hair and freckles. Well...sure enough when it came time to do my portfolio...you guessed it...they wanted $$$! I got news for you Publishers...nobody puts Baby in the corner and I aint paying to get published bcs this time I know I gots the goods! That being said I'm sure I'll be stroking a check any day now. "Deflected childhood model writes best seller"- look for that headline in your local paper.
From Here
I am sending my first 5 book concepts to 2 top publishers this week. As soon as they turn me down I'll be setting up a PayPal link to fund the publishing of my book...kidding! The books will be about women, the issues we face and always have a comedic spin. If you enjoy the blog, send me some feedback. It's your feedback that keeps me consistent. I try to blog (only) when I have something funny to say but I plan to blog at least 1x per week while I'm writing the book. You guys will be the first to know when it's finished and where to get it. I plan on the first one being a biggie...complete with a line of merchandise and errrything! Love you guys!
Def Leppard Concert
If you think this is a musical ensemble of mute jungle creatures...you are partially right! Every year when Def Leppard comes to town I transform into the ultimate groupie. 80's hair bands are right up there with apple fritters... and if you don't like them... you are clearly stupid and skinny! My plan was to lose weight, bust out my leather pants, get back stage tickets and leave my husband for...well any one of them that would have me. I would profess my undying love for whichever one bit and live the rest of my life a rock stars wife. Let's see....I ended up in section 202, wearing jeans, weighing in at about 350, peed my pants, lost my friends and left a bartenders wife. Much like the rest of my life, a big FAT disappointment! I did manage to touch Phil Collin's hand (the guitar player) however I'm sure he washed his hand within 2 months of the event unlike me. I make no excuses for myself. There are just certain things from the 80's I refuse to part with: aforementioned Apple Fritters & 80's hair bands, Long John Silvers and Boo Berry cereal. Yes, I am quite a catch.
The Motherland
After barely surviving the Def concert, I headed to upstate NY with my Pork Chop (no I didn't transport the "other white meat" across state lines...he's my dog) to...well I'm not sure what we hoped to accomplish other than some E&E...exercise and eating. The combination of champions.
I always go home when the big fair comes to town because it provides me endless entertainment with a side of self-esteem! When I say "big fair" I should give you a visual: dilapidated rides operated by the "pens" finest, booths that fry everything from Oreo's to small children and a beer tent where the patrons out number the teeth. *Pause for puking in back of mouth* As gross as that sounds...I went every night! I love fried everything and not for nothing...I was actually one of the skinnies in that crowd! So, as I was wandering around the grounds I noticed that the fried dough peeps were looking for someone to travel with the show and make people fat up and down the east coast. The temptation was great but...after much thought (and a funnel cake) I realized that a fatty selling fried dough would be like Magic Johnson selling sex. Just doesn't work. On the last night of the fair there is a big parade that comes right by my parents house. So I plopped my lawn chair in the front yard, grabbed a beer and waited for the passing entertainment to start throwing candy. It's not often a fatty can get away with sitting on her big ass while someone chucks candy at her...and it's perfectly acceptable ta boot! That is until you start shoving small children out of the way to snag a Cow Tail...man I love those things! I must admit I shed a tear when the fair pulled out. Mostly bcs I knew it would be a whole year before I could enjoy funnel cakes and felons again. My Mom (you'll recall her as the M&M hoarding Heavenly Has Queen of the 80's) gave me some good material whilst I was home. Her new saying "I'm still burning." My Mother feels that if she walks 4 miles on Monday and wants a Ho Ho on Friday it's perfectly acceptable bcs...you guessed it "She's still burning." I'm not sure calorie burning extends over a week but I felt like I might could (southern vernacular) use that to my benefit at some point or another so I let it slide. Still burnin Maa!
Writing
So I stopped working in February because the voices in my head told me to do so. I'm not certifiable (well depending on who you ask)...just a writer. I want to write books about all of the crazy thoughts that flow freely through that little area I call my brain. So far the score is Book: 0 Fat: 350. I had one of my friends call a bunch of publishers thinking that if someone expressed interest in me it would get my big ass in gear! Kinda like when you see Jenny Craig commercials and think if she comes into your home you will lose weight. Secret: The food taste like wallpaper, you starve and those lying little bitches on TV gain all the weight back soon after you make the call. Some of the publishers wanted to see a manuscript and others weren't taking on new writers. That baffled me. What if I wrote the fatty version of Harry Potter...."Cherry Cobbler." Bet they wouldn't be turning down that money would they? The worst offenders were the trickster publishers. They act interested, call you, get you all excited and then inform you that you will have to pay THEM to get published! I mean to tell you it psychologically damaged me for a week! It took me back to that day in the 80's when I wanted to be a model. I applied to all of the top agencies. Of course they all said, "No" except one....Barbizon. They wanted me. I convinced myself that they knew they were in the presence of the next Cindy Crawford...sans mole add red hair and freckles. Well...sure enough when it came time to do my portfolio...you guessed it...they wanted $$$! I got news for you Publishers...nobody puts Baby in the corner and I aint paying to get published bcs this time I know I gots the goods! That being said I'm sure I'll be stroking a check any day now. "Deflected childhood model writes best seller"- look for that headline in your local paper.
From Here
I am sending my first 5 book concepts to 2 top publishers this week. As soon as they turn me down I'll be setting up a PayPal link to fund the publishing of my book...kidding! The books will be about women, the issues we face and always have a comedic spin. If you enjoy the blog, send me some feedback. It's your feedback that keeps me consistent. I try to blog (only) when I have something funny to say but I plan to blog at least 1x per week while I'm writing the book. You guys will be the first to know when it's finished and where to get it. I plan on the first one being a biggie...complete with a line of merchandise and errrything! Love you guys!
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
"Biggie Biggie Biggie can't you see...
Combo #2 just Hypnotized me." Ok so I'm no Biggie Smalls (RIP) but I do know a thing or two about hypnosis. When I said I've tried every weight loss strategy out there, I meant it! Actually there's one I haven't tried bcs the evil doctor won't let me...good ole bariatric surgery. Apparently my BMI hadn't quite tipped the scale far enough in the appropriate direction for such drastic measures. I'm working on that. However, the "crack" and the tremors were getting old so I sought out a new method in the battle of the bulge..... I went Holistic on yur ass! What? Yeah I said it. I decided (back about 2 years ago) that it would be way easier for me to blame my subconscious mind for all of my problems as opposed to me taking responsibility. After all, mother always said, "When in doubt cast blame about." Not my mother per say, but I'm sure someones mother said that at some point. Maybe one of those Lifetime TV cheerleader Mom's. Yeah that's it.
Anyway, this whole "revelation" came about on Valentines Day 2007. Or maybe it was 2006. Do we really care? Valentines Day = chocolate and no good can come of that. So instead of being a good wife and planning an elaborate shag fest starring me as an overweight, deranged Victoria Secret model...I opted for something much more creative.... hypnosis. Was my plan to hypnotize my husband into loving me at any size? Ahh no. Clearly he bears that burden on the regular. No, this was to be the Valentines Day when my husband and I would cast our burdens into the hands of a professional mind manipulator extraordinaire. Yup. I saw his ad right there in the free paper they give out at the Food Lion. Funny that everything would come full circle at the Food Lion but I guess it's an appropriate venue given the circumstance. My husband had no idea we would be giving up chocolate, wine and shagging for mind games but being a wife involves such trickery and I like to think of myself as the resident expert in that area. I should mention that my husband isn't in fact over weight. Actually we are both about the same size. Good for him... bad for me. No, his vice is the cig. Have you ever shared a passionate kiss with a really hot guy only to feel like you just chain smoked a pack of Marlboro's? Then, clearly you have made out with my husband and I don't appreciate it...not one bit...thank you very much!
So this hypnotist man was traveling from northern Virginia for one night only to revolutionize my life and the lives of all the fatties and smokers on the Outer Banks. Clearly he wanted a weekend at the beach and this was a good way to write it off but whatever. If my house smelled less like grease and cigarettes upon his departure, it was a well earned vacation of sorts. When I signed us up for the session I was most pleased to see that it was cheaper to transform one into a non-eater than into a non-smoker. Chalk one up for the fatties! I broke the news to my husband as gently as I knew how. To the best of my recollection it went something like this, "You have two choices for Valentines Day: Stop smoking or divorce." And we were off! I made him take a separate car. All you fatties out there know exactly why I did that! The last supper of course! If I was going to be duped into a life of non-eating I needed to say goodbye to someplace near and dear to my heart....Taco Bell. I knew it wouldn't be easy but it had to be done. I binged, shed a few tears and cleared the evidence from my teeth before entering the building. When I got out of my car, I saw what I thought was my husband exiting his truck. After the plume of smoked cleared I could see that yes, it was in fact him. Our demons were about to be behind us....or were they?
As the Marlboro Man and I entered the Ramada Inn (very sterile/clinical environment for mind trickery), we noticed that there was quite a crowd waiting to get in. I decided it was best to tell people I was there for the non-smoking portion and then run into the fatty session when no one was looking. Sad but true...it's way cooler to be a smoker than a fatty. Turns out...it was all in the same room. Fatties first and then the smokers. I'm sure they wanted to get the fatties in before the dinner bell and allow the smokers one last puff...or 12. Now when I say I'm fat it's true and not true. One wouldn't look at me and say I was "fat." However, if one were to watch me eat and take random dictation as to the number of times I referenced food from sun up to sun down, I think I could pass for a fatty no problem. So when I walked into the room I wasn't greeted with open arms by the other fatties. For once, I was the "skinny one." Doesn't mean all that much when the average weight in the room is 680! I had a plan. Full disclosure. No matter what the traveling mind man asked I would make a full confession and win over the fatties thus securing my right to be in their presence. Worked like a charm. His first question, "Did any of you binge eat today." I raised my hand and confessed that I downed 2 Chalupas, 3 Taco Supreme's and a Mexi-Melt about 30 minutes ago. The fatties sat slient quietly giving me the "eye of approval." The teacher wasn't as pleased with my full disclosure strategy. Nope. He kindly asked that we just raise our hands bcs he wasn't out to embarrass anyone. Ummm teacher....when you weigh a metric ton embarrassment is part of the deal! Freaky traveling mind man!
The mind man assured us that we wouldn't even know we were sitting on hard metal chairs when he was through with us. Nope. We would be so blissfully unaware that we would instantly forget we even had asses! I loved this guy! In my mind I had pictured all sorts of scenarios as to how this would play out: Laying hands on my head as I fall to the ground (no that was a crazy church experience...sorry), talking low and dirty until we all said, "Yes master", making us chant random phrases until we were comatose ...just to name a few. Luckily he gave us a bathroom break before the actual "knock you out" phase began. I didn't have to pee but I remembered I had a mini Snickers in my purse that needed to be "disposed" of. So I went into the bathroom to "dispose" of it. While I was taking care of business I made a bathroom fatty friend! She was alot like me in that she wasn't what one would call "fat." She would be my new hypno BFF. That is until she started interrogating me. "Where do you work? Where do you live? How long have you lived here? Why are you here?" Damn...can't a fatty get some anonymity?! I was very vague and suggested that we go back into the room before all of the good seats were taken. I use the term "good seats" very loosely. I chose to sit in the back of the room where people should sit when they plan to burp up Taco Bell for the next hour. I am, after all, a considerate fatty.
Bla bla ...the actual witch doctor portion was very disappointing. No hitting, no punching, no calling us fat slobs....very uneventful! A little action would have been nice for my $80! I will say that I was very relaxed and did not in fact feel the metal chair as promised. Full disclosure: My ass was asleep along with my brain. We signed a contract to never eat again and were given a CD that we were to listen to every night before we went to bed. Mind games...clearly. I left all my fatty friends promising to stay in touch with random progress reports. We all know that was NEVER going to happen. I would later find that letters and phone calls wouldn't be necessary as I would see them every where I went! Have you ever met someone for the first time and then realized that you have seen them every day for the last 10 years but just didn't know them? Now picture a large herd of cattle crossing the street in front of your house that you didn't notice until the day you chose hypnosis over sex! This is my life. I didn't wait for hubby to finish his anti-smoking torture. I decided it was imperative that I go out into the world and see if food was really dead to me. As I exited the "clinic" aka the Ramada....I was sure my husband would be sleeping with a new woman this evening. Translation...either the mind games worked or I was about to find out he was banging the neighbor!
When hubby arrived home I was happy to report that this fatty was food free! He said he hadn't smoked but...yeah he can't be trusted. That trickery costs more for a reason! We got ready for bed and popped in the traveling mind man CD. It went something like this: "Listen to the rhythm...the rhythm of your life." Umm... the rhythm of my life sounds something like an African drum core so maybe that's not the best venue for relaxing away the food noise! He kept on in his soothing sort of pervy voice and I started to get confused. I wasn't sure if I should grab my rabbit or make a mad dash to bathroom and start flushing Ho-Ho's down the tank! It's a fine line with these witch doctors. Before I knew it we were asleep. Nothing like waking up with big ass Re-Run headphones on and a witch doctor in your ear. I wondered what went on while I was sleeping and he was talking. Was he mentally molesting me? Perhaps. Let's face it... that's more action that I usually get....so I played it on my runs, at work, in the car and when I was alone. Even if I gained 1000 pounds...money well spent.
The end result....hubby is still smoking, I'm still fat and I'm on my 3rd rabbit. We would go back for another round of trickery a year later, pay our $80, see the same people and....well read the first sentence of this paragraph again and you are pretty much up to date! Oh except change the rabbit to 5. I highly recommend it his services.
Anyway, this whole "revelation" came about on Valentines Day 2007. Or maybe it was 2006. Do we really care? Valentines Day = chocolate and no good can come of that. So instead of being a good wife and planning an elaborate shag fest starring me as an overweight, deranged Victoria Secret model...I opted for something much more creative.... hypnosis. Was my plan to hypnotize my husband into loving me at any size? Ahh no. Clearly he bears that burden on the regular. No, this was to be the Valentines Day when my husband and I would cast our burdens into the hands of a professional mind manipulator extraordinaire. Yup. I saw his ad right there in the free paper they give out at the Food Lion. Funny that everything would come full circle at the Food Lion but I guess it's an appropriate venue given the circumstance. My husband had no idea we would be giving up chocolate, wine and shagging for mind games but being a wife involves such trickery and I like to think of myself as the resident expert in that area. I should mention that my husband isn't in fact over weight. Actually we are both about the same size. Good for him... bad for me. No, his vice is the cig. Have you ever shared a passionate kiss with a really hot guy only to feel like you just chain smoked a pack of Marlboro's? Then, clearly you have made out with my husband and I don't appreciate it...not one bit...thank you very much!
So this hypnotist man was traveling from northern Virginia for one night only to revolutionize my life and the lives of all the fatties and smokers on the Outer Banks. Clearly he wanted a weekend at the beach and this was a good way to write it off but whatever. If my house smelled less like grease and cigarettes upon his departure, it was a well earned vacation of sorts. When I signed us up for the session I was most pleased to see that it was cheaper to transform one into a non-eater than into a non-smoker. Chalk one up for the fatties! I broke the news to my husband as gently as I knew how. To the best of my recollection it went something like this, "You have two choices for Valentines Day: Stop smoking or divorce." And we were off! I made him take a separate car. All you fatties out there know exactly why I did that! The last supper of course! If I was going to be duped into a life of non-eating I needed to say goodbye to someplace near and dear to my heart....Taco Bell. I knew it wouldn't be easy but it had to be done. I binged, shed a few tears and cleared the evidence from my teeth before entering the building. When I got out of my car, I saw what I thought was my husband exiting his truck. After the plume of smoked cleared I could see that yes, it was in fact him. Our demons were about to be behind us....or were they?
As the Marlboro Man and I entered the Ramada Inn (very sterile/clinical environment for mind trickery), we noticed that there was quite a crowd waiting to get in. I decided it was best to tell people I was there for the non-smoking portion and then run into the fatty session when no one was looking. Sad but true...it's way cooler to be a smoker than a fatty. Turns out...it was all in the same room. Fatties first and then the smokers. I'm sure they wanted to get the fatties in before the dinner bell and allow the smokers one last puff...or 12. Now when I say I'm fat it's true and not true. One wouldn't look at me and say I was "fat." However, if one were to watch me eat and take random dictation as to the number of times I referenced food from sun up to sun down, I think I could pass for a fatty no problem. So when I walked into the room I wasn't greeted with open arms by the other fatties. For once, I was the "skinny one." Doesn't mean all that much when the average weight in the room is 680! I had a plan. Full disclosure. No matter what the traveling mind man asked I would make a full confession and win over the fatties thus securing my right to be in their presence. Worked like a charm. His first question, "Did any of you binge eat today." I raised my hand and confessed that I downed 2 Chalupas, 3 Taco Supreme's and a Mexi-Melt about 30 minutes ago. The fatties sat slient quietly giving me the "eye of approval." The teacher wasn't as pleased with my full disclosure strategy. Nope. He kindly asked that we just raise our hands bcs he wasn't out to embarrass anyone. Ummm teacher....when you weigh a metric ton embarrassment is part of the deal! Freaky traveling mind man!
The mind man assured us that we wouldn't even know we were sitting on hard metal chairs when he was through with us. Nope. We would be so blissfully unaware that we would instantly forget we even had asses! I loved this guy! In my mind I had pictured all sorts of scenarios as to how this would play out: Laying hands on my head as I fall to the ground (no that was a crazy church experience...sorry), talking low and dirty until we all said, "Yes master", making us chant random phrases until we were comatose ...just to name a few. Luckily he gave us a bathroom break before the actual "knock you out" phase began. I didn't have to pee but I remembered I had a mini Snickers in my purse that needed to be "disposed" of. So I went into the bathroom to "dispose" of it. While I was taking care of business I made a bathroom fatty friend! She was alot like me in that she wasn't what one would call "fat." She would be my new hypno BFF. That is until she started interrogating me. "Where do you work? Where do you live? How long have you lived here? Why are you here?" Damn...can't a fatty get some anonymity?! I was very vague and suggested that we go back into the room before all of the good seats were taken. I use the term "good seats" very loosely. I chose to sit in the back of the room where people should sit when they plan to burp up Taco Bell for the next hour. I am, after all, a considerate fatty.
Bla bla ...the actual witch doctor portion was very disappointing. No hitting, no punching, no calling us fat slobs....very uneventful! A little action would have been nice for my $80! I will say that I was very relaxed and did not in fact feel the metal chair as promised. Full disclosure: My ass was asleep along with my brain. We signed a contract to never eat again and were given a CD that we were to listen to every night before we went to bed. Mind games...clearly. I left all my fatty friends promising to stay in touch with random progress reports. We all know that was NEVER going to happen. I would later find that letters and phone calls wouldn't be necessary as I would see them every where I went! Have you ever met someone for the first time and then realized that you have seen them every day for the last 10 years but just didn't know them? Now picture a large herd of cattle crossing the street in front of your house that you didn't notice until the day you chose hypnosis over sex! This is my life. I didn't wait for hubby to finish his anti-smoking torture. I decided it was imperative that I go out into the world and see if food was really dead to me. As I exited the "clinic" aka the Ramada....I was sure my husband would be sleeping with a new woman this evening. Translation...either the mind games worked or I was about to find out he was banging the neighbor!
When hubby arrived home I was happy to report that this fatty was food free! He said he hadn't smoked but...yeah he can't be trusted. That trickery costs more for a reason! We got ready for bed and popped in the traveling mind man CD. It went something like this: "Listen to the rhythm...the rhythm of your life." Umm... the rhythm of my life sounds something like an African drum core so maybe that's not the best venue for relaxing away the food noise! He kept on in his soothing sort of pervy voice and I started to get confused. I wasn't sure if I should grab my rabbit or make a mad dash to bathroom and start flushing Ho-Ho's down the tank! It's a fine line with these witch doctors. Before I knew it we were asleep. Nothing like waking up with big ass Re-Run headphones on and a witch doctor in your ear. I wondered what went on while I was sleeping and he was talking. Was he mentally molesting me? Perhaps. Let's face it... that's more action that I usually get....so I played it on my runs, at work, in the car and when I was alone. Even if I gained 1000 pounds...money well spent.
The end result....hubby is still smoking, I'm still fat and I'm on my 3rd rabbit. We would go back for another round of trickery a year later, pay our $80, see the same people and....well read the first sentence of this paragraph again and you are pretty much up to date! Oh except change the rabbit to 5. I highly recommend it his services.
Weigh in on this....
I must thank my good friend Susan for some of the material in this particular blog. Anyone who knows Susan knows there's no shortage of material when she's around! Luckily for me, Susan and I have a pre-arranged custody agreement to make sure I get enough time and material. Work gets her Monday- Friday, boyfriend gets her Tuesday's and every other Saturday and I get her in the summer for weeks at a time. It works out quite nicely. We share a love/hate relationship with food and fat. We both love food and we both hate being fat. As of late, the similarities are beginning to get a little sketchy. For example, she has lost her weight and well...I haven't. As if that weren't reason enough to put her up for adoption, it gets worse! On her most recent visit she actually went to McDonald's, ordered a burger and DIDN'T order fries! She's officially dead to me. No more Skinny Girl Martini's for you Fry Felon!
Do you enjoy going to the doctor? Did you ever notice that no matter why you go to the doctor they always want to weigh you? What's up with that? "Ummm yeah...I just crammed a stick up my ass and I think I may be bleeding internally." "Please step on the scale!" Bastards! I have compiled a list of ailments that should not require a weigh in. It is my full intention to present this list along with my copay upon my next office visit ...drum role please...
Now that we have that cleared up. I mean really! I'd rather stay home and die than share my digits for drugs. Ok that's just not true. For the right drugs I would have to say the humiliation could be overlooked. Pain killers, muscle relaxers, "baby be gones" just to name my Top 3. In case you were wondering... the drugs named were in sequential order to the tune of my life: Pain Killers allow me to be married, muscle relaxers take me to my special place where I have sex with Brad Pitt...and that brings us to the "baby be gones." Unfortunately when I wake up Brad Pitt has been replaced by my husband, I feel violated and the vicious cycle starts again. I know what you are thinking...Yes, my diet drugs use to make the Top 3...however, since the evil Feds cracked down on the Ephedra and my legalized crack tried to kill me...I found it too scandalous to list.
Just once I want to go to the doctor and not have to worry about the "BMI conversation". If I have a stick crammed up my ass....what about a balanced BMI is going to make that better?! A quicker exit perhaps? In any event, I started thinking back to see if maybe there was a time in my life when I went to the doctor and he suggested that I gain weight. No, I am not hyped on drugs 1 & 2 and yes I realize I'm reaching here. In fact, I do recall a time! Yes! It came to me whilst I was hypnotized (a blog in itself) to correct my issues with eating. I was 9....yup....9 months old and apparently I was losing weight like crazy. Learning to walk and crawl will do that to you. So the doctor told my mother to feed me more in order that I might gain back the weight that I lost. See I'm not crazy. Mother...you can stop feeding me now. I can walk, talk, got the eating down pat and oh...I weigh a metric ton. Thanks!
So poor Susan goes to the eye doctor thinking bad thoughts for all of the obvious reasons. She wanted laser eye surgery and fully expected to be called to slaughter for the evil weigh in. However, the tide seemed to be turning in her favor where these matter were concerned. Not only did she NOT have to step on the scale, she was given quite a compliment. The doctor informed her that her Corneas were too thin for the surgery! Yippee....too thin! Hold your applause. In this case being too thin is a bad thing! Trickery! Always trickery! SIF wait years to hear the words "too thin" but not from the eye doctor! Hey, I got an easy fix for this one. If I'm telling the story it goes something like this, "Yeah I went to the doctor today to see about that surgery. He said I was too thin." End of story. New topic starts now!
The moral of the story is as follows: Make no mistake...Doctors play for the other team. In laments terms MD could mean any of the following: More Drama, More Drugs and/or Mean Doctors! SIF head my warning...behind that sliding glass window is your ticket to hell! Unless you need the Top 3 drugs on my list, you are sick enough to purge thus losing a quick 5 or if you are known to have thin corneas...stay away from the MD!
Do you enjoy going to the doctor? Did you ever notice that no matter why you go to the doctor they always want to weigh you? What's up with that? "Ummm yeah...I just crammed a stick up my ass and I think I may be bleeding internally." "Please step on the scale!" Bastards! I have compiled a list of ailments that should not require a weigh in. It is my full intention to present this list along with my copay upon my next office visit ...drum role please...
Never.
Now that we have that cleared up. I mean really! I'd rather stay home and die than share my digits for drugs. Ok that's just not true. For the right drugs I would have to say the humiliation could be overlooked. Pain killers, muscle relaxers, "baby be gones" just to name my Top 3. In case you were wondering... the drugs named were in sequential order to the tune of my life: Pain Killers allow me to be married, muscle relaxers take me to my special place where I have sex with Brad Pitt...and that brings us to the "baby be gones." Unfortunately when I wake up Brad Pitt has been replaced by my husband, I feel violated and the vicious cycle starts again. I know what you are thinking...Yes, my diet drugs use to make the Top 3...however, since the evil Feds cracked down on the Ephedra and my legalized crack tried to kill me...I found it too scandalous to list.
Just once I want to go to the doctor and not have to worry about the "BMI conversation". If I have a stick crammed up my ass....what about a balanced BMI is going to make that better?! A quicker exit perhaps? In any event, I started thinking back to see if maybe there was a time in my life when I went to the doctor and he suggested that I gain weight. No, I am not hyped on drugs 1 & 2 and yes I realize I'm reaching here. In fact, I do recall a time! Yes! It came to me whilst I was hypnotized (a blog in itself) to correct my issues with eating. I was 9....yup....9 months old and apparently I was losing weight like crazy. Learning to walk and crawl will do that to you. So the doctor told my mother to feed me more in order that I might gain back the weight that I lost. See I'm not crazy. Mother...you can stop feeding me now. I can walk, talk, got the eating down pat and oh...I weigh a metric ton. Thanks!
So poor Susan goes to the eye doctor thinking bad thoughts for all of the obvious reasons. She wanted laser eye surgery and fully expected to be called to slaughter for the evil weigh in. However, the tide seemed to be turning in her favor where these matter were concerned. Not only did she NOT have to step on the scale, she was given quite a compliment. The doctor informed her that her Corneas were too thin for the surgery! Yippee....too thin! Hold your applause. In this case being too thin is a bad thing! Trickery! Always trickery! SIF wait years to hear the words "too thin" but not from the eye doctor! Hey, I got an easy fix for this one. If I'm telling the story it goes something like this, "Yeah I went to the doctor today to see about that surgery. He said I was too thin." End of story. New topic starts now!
The moral of the story is as follows: Make no mistake...Doctors play for the other team. In laments terms MD could mean any of the following: More Drama, More Drugs and/or Mean Doctors! SIF head my warning...behind that sliding glass window is your ticket to hell! Unless you need the Top 3 drugs on my list, you are sick enough to purge thus losing a quick 5 or if you are known to have thin corneas...stay away from the MD!
Monday, June 1, 2009
BMI...you kiss your mama with that mouth?
Since we last spoke, I was nabbed by the Fatty Police. My crime...2 counts over legal BMI with plus size intent. My BFC (blood fat content)... was over 50%... not pretty. I've been committing said crime for... oh...36 years... so getting caught with my fat ass hanging out was no surprise. As you are well aware, I enjoy eating more than....well anything, so this was bound to happen sooner or later. I plead guilty and asked to be sentenced post haste for a few very logical reasons: A. My "court suit" doesn't exactly fit anymore B. Exhibit A, B and C would surely pass their expiration dates by time of said trial and C. It's hard to say you aren't guilty when they have to haul you into court on a flatbed pick-up!!! Hello! I found the punishment a bit harsh for a first time offender (OK so it's the first time I've been caught). I was given the death sentence...House Arrest. Make no mistake...it's a pain much worse than death. I was hoping for a lethal injection of used KFC grease pumping through my veins whilst the faint taste of fried chicken passed through my mouth until such time that my arteries clogged causing my untimely death and an end to the madness! * Pause for dramatic effect* But no...I was forced to live in my house amongst the crack with my repeat offender husband and "the arm band."
I know what you are thinking...."They made you live with your husband?!" Yes, yes they did. Clearly fatty discrimination at it's best. So now I get to watch him eat Little Debbie and I can't even get on rotation for missionary sex! Where's the justice in that? She's a ho...ho. Anyway, let's discuss the 2nd part of my new torturous existence. It's an arm band called "Go Wear Fit." Sounds yippee skippy right? Wrong. It should be called "You Fat Bitch." Its an arm band that calculates every step, every calorie burned and get this...even how well I sleep. It doesn't have to be turned on, it's useless without me and I hardly know it's there. So...I re-named it "Dick." Anyway, every morning I download piles of useless information about myself. For example...did you know that on a seemingly normal night I sleep for 7:15 at 68% effectiveness? Add a little Vodka to my "Dick" and I shoot up to 8:03 at 85% effectiveness. Amazing. Here's a little SIF trick to keep drinking while on fatty probation: Skinny Girl Martini's: 1/2 pack sugar free black cherry Koolaide, 6 oz water, 4 oz Vodka, ice, shake and top with diet Black Cherry Soda. Don't let the name scare you...it's a cross over drink.
So here's the best part of this whole crime & punishment scenario...I am my own keeper. Picture it this way....you walk into a prison and all of the inmates are wearing a "band" to monitor where they go, give them boundaries and set daily goals for production. No guards. Just pre-set goals calculated into the "band." At the end of the day, said criminals must tell the "band" what they did all day so that the "band" can decide if they are on their way to a life a freedom or solitary confinement. If you were "Ray Ray Levi Crip" would you tell the little "band" how you shanked 4 inmates and came out of the closet or would you give yourself extra points for exceeding your license plate quota? Exactly. So when the little "band" wants to know what I ate for the day what do you suppose I tell it? *Pause for shocker** I went for a lifetime of freedom....I was honest. Which, by the way, is overrated. "They" say that honesty makes you feel better. Whatever! Like everything else, honesty makes me hungry!!!
I tried logging extra hours of good behavior in the form of running, biking and even weight lifting. Do you think early parole was in my future.... no. It seems that the calories I've been eating add up much quicker than the good behavior. I feel I am a victim of fatty profiling. How else can a ham sandwich, a few chips and a diet Coke add up to 2000 calories?! It's "the man" keeping me down. Yeah, that's it. The "band" has been pre-programmed by "the man" to make me think I am overeating so that I will give up hope of life on the outside therefore forcing me to have an affair with Little Debbie fulfilling my husbands wildest fantasy. Sick F'r. How is it possible that I work out 3 x a day, eat less and gain a pound when the calculations of the band say I should have lost 4?! Huh? Tell me! Diga me! Trickery! Being that the "band" cost a small fortune I couldn't very well throw it out. So I opted to throw out the scale. Vindicated for now.
I know what you are thinking...."They made you live with your husband?!" Yes, yes they did. Clearly fatty discrimination at it's best. So now I get to watch him eat Little Debbie and I can't even get on rotation for missionary sex! Where's the justice in that? She's a ho...ho. Anyway, let's discuss the 2nd part of my new torturous existence. It's an arm band called "Go Wear Fit." Sounds yippee skippy right? Wrong. It should be called "You Fat Bitch." Its an arm band that calculates every step, every calorie burned and get this...even how well I sleep. It doesn't have to be turned on, it's useless without me and I hardly know it's there. So...I re-named it "Dick." Anyway, every morning I download piles of useless information about myself. For example...did you know that on a seemingly normal night I sleep for 7:15 at 68% effectiveness? Add a little Vodka to my "Dick" and I shoot up to 8:03 at 85% effectiveness. Amazing. Here's a little SIF trick to keep drinking while on fatty probation: Skinny Girl Martini's: 1/2 pack sugar free black cherry Koolaide, 6 oz water, 4 oz Vodka, ice, shake and top with diet Black Cherry Soda. Don't let the name scare you...it's a cross over drink.
So here's the best part of this whole crime & punishment scenario...I am my own keeper. Picture it this way....you walk into a prison and all of the inmates are wearing a "band" to monitor where they go, give them boundaries and set daily goals for production. No guards. Just pre-set goals calculated into the "band." At the end of the day, said criminals must tell the "band" what they did all day so that the "band" can decide if they are on their way to a life a freedom or solitary confinement. If you were "Ray Ray Levi Crip" would you tell the little "band" how you shanked 4 inmates and came out of the closet or would you give yourself extra points for exceeding your license plate quota? Exactly. So when the little "band" wants to know what I ate for the day what do you suppose I tell it? *Pause for shocker** I went for a lifetime of freedom....I was honest. Which, by the way, is overrated. "They" say that honesty makes you feel better. Whatever! Like everything else, honesty makes me hungry!!!
I tried logging extra hours of good behavior in the form of running, biking and even weight lifting. Do you think early parole was in my future.... no. It seems that the calories I've been eating add up much quicker than the good behavior. I feel I am a victim of fatty profiling. How else can a ham sandwich, a few chips and a diet Coke add up to 2000 calories?! It's "the man" keeping me down. Yeah, that's it. The "band" has been pre-programmed by "the man" to make me think I am overeating so that I will give up hope of life on the outside therefore forcing me to have an affair with Little Debbie fulfilling my husbands wildest fantasy. Sick F'r. How is it possible that I work out 3 x a day, eat less and gain a pound when the calculations of the band say I should have lost 4?! Huh? Tell me! Diga me! Trickery! Being that the "band" cost a small fortune I couldn't very well throw it out. So I opted to throw out the scale. Vindicated for now.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Nailed
In addition to my not so healthy eating and exercise, I like to add a bit of relaxation to the mix every now and again. In case you haven't "had the pleasure,"unemployment is quite a job in itself. From time to time I need something cheap and satisfying to take the edge off of whatever it is I do. I'm too ADD for the beach, naps are already part of the daily regime and internet porn is...ummm...expensive. I decided a trip to the nail salon was in order. I use the word "salon" lightly. After all, when $25 buys you someone nice enough to drill your calluses while you relax in a massaging chair, there's not much left in the way of expectations. I could have gone to the fancy salon, dipped my dogs in wax and had some woman in a smock tell me how nice my feet are, but let's face it...A. My feet are often mistaken for paws B. Smocks are soooo 7th grade art class and C. I don't like liars... even when I have paid them for their services. So....off to the Asian nail salon it was!
You may be wondering why someone who's unemployed would chose to part with $25 just to get their nails done. Allow me to splain: Getting your nails done when you are unemployed...$25, upgrading to a French Manicure...$30, being an overweight unemployed fatty with great feet....priceless. Moving on...as discussed, I don't have high expectations when it comes to a $25 pedicure. I have no need for said manicurist to speak the Kings English nor do I care to speak to her at any time. Nope. I'm happy to sit silently in the massage chair in attempt to get a back rub and great feet all for under $30. That being said, I do have some rules: A. It must be sanitary B. They are not allowed to talk about me in their native tongue and C. They must pretend to like me. That being said, I would expect them to greet me with open arms....not so much.
I walked into said nail salon promptly at 9:30am. Being that they open at 9am I didn't want to appear anxious by arriving too soon. My 9:30am arrival was intended to send the following message: " Take some time, fire up the incense, put some fruit around the Buddha statue and relax before the customers arrive . Apparently it doesn't work that way. As I made my way through the door I was greeted as follows: "Why you here?" Far from the Kings English and a bit bitchy if I do say so myself but as a lover of words I understand the language barrier and responded politely with, "A pedicure please." Without so much as a smile, I received the next in a series of orders "You sign in." Right. Because I'm the only one here and I wouldn't want to confuse the 8 nail ladies (and the 1 guy who is clearly the husband of one of the nail ladies who is too meek to divulge said information thus allowing me and endless game "guess who's the wife"for the next few visits) that are waiting to bust their drill bits on my dogs. In a very militant fashion, I signed my name on the list just in case their was a rush. Fully prepared for these situations I started to sit down and rummage through gossip mags for entertainment. Not so much. Before my unusually large ass could brush the seat cushion I was again called to duty. "You pick polish." This was starting to seem like work. Maybe they didn't get the memo...I'm unemployed.
After picking my polish I decided to wait for further orders before preceding with "my" plan. Good thing bcs as soon as the polish was in hand...the next order came. "You sit here." Well at least I was sitting and doing so without the fear of additional duties. After all, what could be asked of me in this position?" You pull up pants, give me foot...no other foot, turn on chair...too strong" just to name a few. I was exhausted. I decided to play a quick game of "Guess who the wife is" while my feet were being filed down to human proportions. There was really only one choice...the cute young girl who always smiled and said "Hi Kelly" when she saw me. If she was nice to me there had to be a reason...profit. In fact, I know for sure that they only way she could have known my name was bcs the militant worker made me put it on the sheet. Trickery. That's what that's all about. Pretending to know me so I'll like you and come back. I invented that one.
Now that I had mastered the"wife game" and the "general" was busy sawing away, it was time to fire up the chair. I prefer a the rolling massage to the kneading. Actually it didn't seem to matter bcs every setting I tried felt like large women was doing the River Dance on my back. Bored, I decided to incorporate my daily nap into this experience. Bad idea as I was about to get in trouble. No, not for sleeping on the job. Apparently I cut my toenails wrong thus causing the General extra work. "Ouch!" No, I wasn't screaming. The General said it for me in preparation for the surgery she was about to perform on my ingrown toenail. Correct me if I'm wrong but the cosmetology licenses hanging on the wall don't include an MD! I smiled bcs she was smiling but clearly I was delusional. My smile was in response to a glimpse of joy from the General. Her smile was in response to the joy she would take in causing me great pain! Once again...language barrier. YOU don't say ouch before something is about to hurt ME....I say ouch to let you know that it hurts! Mentally mailing a copy of Rosetta Stone to said nail salon.
In any event, the pain would end up being a result of my inability to "Cut nail straight across." That's when the "chatter" started. You want to know how you know when someones talking about you even when you don't speak the language? Simple. Listen for random laughter and sporadic eye contact followed by the burying of heads. In response to this attack, I decided I would seek revenge on the checkout lady (who I know for a fact doesn't speak a lick of English yet has been entrusted to money handling). They definitely trained her to say "No Credit...Cash Only" bcs I heard that no less than 14 times while under the command of the General. They like to refer to the handwritten 4x4 plaque posted on the wall that says, "No Credit...Cash Only." As if that's feasible when 9 out of 10 women in the salon are spending money that don't have. Nonetheless, they will gladly hold your child hostage while you run to the ATM. Luckily I had cash. When I got to the "register" (there really isn't a register...all the money goes into the drawer of the lady who sits closest to the front... who I'm convinced speaks fluent English and will one day make a break for it) the Money Lady" said, "25." I responded, "Que? Quanta Cuesta?" She looked around for help but the General and her troops were too busy giving orders to notice. Not sure what to do she placed a 20 dollar bill and a 5 dollar bill on the table. I politely responded, " Yo no se." Desperate, she picked up the 20 and the 5 and placed it in my palm. "Oooooh, gracias", I said as I handed her back the $25 and walked out the door.
Being a fat girl who wants great feet...$25, being a fat girl who wants great feet while being treated like crap...$25, being a fat girl with great feet who was treated like crap and speaks another language....FREE!
You may be wondering why someone who's unemployed would chose to part with $25 just to get their nails done. Allow me to splain: Getting your nails done when you are unemployed...$25, upgrading to a French Manicure...$30, being an overweight unemployed fatty with great feet....priceless. Moving on...as discussed, I don't have high expectations when it comes to a $25 pedicure. I have no need for said manicurist to speak the Kings English nor do I care to speak to her at any time. Nope. I'm happy to sit silently in the massage chair in attempt to get a back rub and great feet all for under $30. That being said, I do have some rules: A. It must be sanitary B. They are not allowed to talk about me in their native tongue and C. They must pretend to like me. That being said, I would expect them to greet me with open arms....not so much.
I walked into said nail salon promptly at 9:30am. Being that they open at 9am I didn't want to appear anxious by arriving too soon. My 9:30am arrival was intended to send the following message: " Take some time, fire up the incense, put some fruit around the Buddha statue and relax before the customers arrive . Apparently it doesn't work that way. As I made my way through the door I was greeted as follows: "Why you here?" Far from the Kings English and a bit bitchy if I do say so myself but as a lover of words I understand the language barrier and responded politely with, "A pedicure please." Without so much as a smile, I received the next in a series of orders "You sign in." Right. Because I'm the only one here and I wouldn't want to confuse the 8 nail ladies (and the 1 guy who is clearly the husband of one of the nail ladies who is too meek to divulge said information thus allowing me and endless game "guess who's the wife"for the next few visits) that are waiting to bust their drill bits on my dogs. In a very militant fashion, I signed my name on the list just in case their was a rush. Fully prepared for these situations I started to sit down and rummage through gossip mags for entertainment. Not so much. Before my unusually large ass could brush the seat cushion I was again called to duty. "You pick polish." This was starting to seem like work. Maybe they didn't get the memo...I'm unemployed.
After picking my polish I decided to wait for further orders before preceding with "my" plan. Good thing bcs as soon as the polish was in hand...the next order came. "You sit here." Well at least I was sitting and doing so without the fear of additional duties. After all, what could be asked of me in this position?" You pull up pants, give me foot...no other foot, turn on chair...too strong" just to name a few. I was exhausted. I decided to play a quick game of "Guess who the wife is" while my feet were being filed down to human proportions. There was really only one choice...the cute young girl who always smiled and said "Hi Kelly" when she saw me. If she was nice to me there had to be a reason...profit. In fact, I know for sure that they only way she could have known my name was bcs the militant worker made me put it on the sheet. Trickery. That's what that's all about. Pretending to know me so I'll like you and come back. I invented that one.
Now that I had mastered the"wife game" and the "general" was busy sawing away, it was time to fire up the chair. I prefer a the rolling massage to the kneading. Actually it didn't seem to matter bcs every setting I tried felt like large women was doing the River Dance on my back. Bored, I decided to incorporate my daily nap into this experience. Bad idea as I was about to get in trouble. No, not for sleeping on the job. Apparently I cut my toenails wrong thus causing the General extra work. "Ouch!" No, I wasn't screaming. The General said it for me in preparation for the surgery she was about to perform on my ingrown toenail. Correct me if I'm wrong but the cosmetology licenses hanging on the wall don't include an MD! I smiled bcs she was smiling but clearly I was delusional. My smile was in response to a glimpse of joy from the General. Her smile was in response to the joy she would take in causing me great pain! Once again...language barrier. YOU don't say ouch before something is about to hurt ME....I say ouch to let you know that it hurts! Mentally mailing a copy of Rosetta Stone to said nail salon.
In any event, the pain would end up being a result of my inability to "Cut nail straight across." That's when the "chatter" started. You want to know how you know when someones talking about you even when you don't speak the language? Simple. Listen for random laughter and sporadic eye contact followed by the burying of heads. In response to this attack, I decided I would seek revenge on the checkout lady (who I know for a fact doesn't speak a lick of English yet has been entrusted to money handling). They definitely trained her to say "No Credit...Cash Only" bcs I heard that no less than 14 times while under the command of the General. They like to refer to the handwritten 4x4 plaque posted on the wall that says, "No Credit...Cash Only." As if that's feasible when 9 out of 10 women in the salon are spending money that don't have. Nonetheless, they will gladly hold your child hostage while you run to the ATM. Luckily I had cash. When I got to the "register" (there really isn't a register...all the money goes into the drawer of the lady who sits closest to the front... who I'm convinced speaks fluent English and will one day make a break for it) the Money Lady" said, "25." I responded, "Que? Quanta Cuesta?" She looked around for help but the General and her troops were too busy giving orders to notice. Not sure what to do she placed a 20 dollar bill and a 5 dollar bill on the table. I politely responded, " Yo no se." Desperate, she picked up the 20 and the 5 and placed it in my palm. "Oooooh, gracias", I said as I handed her back the $25 and walked out the door.
Being a fat girl who wants great feet...$25, being a fat girl who wants great feet while being treated like crap...$25, being a fat girl with great feet who was treated like crap and speaks another language....FREE!
Friday, May 8, 2009
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...
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...
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