Losing the ones you love....

It's never easy saying goodbye to those responsible for shaping our lives, making us who we are... never realizing how much they mean to us until they are gone. Today I mourn the loss of a dear friend. Though I didn't even know her name, I feel like we had a bond...that special something that brings two people together when they need each other most. She was always there for me. When I was hungry... she provided, when change was needed...she provided, when I asked for anonymity....she provided. My only solace, knowing her death was quick and painless. She was gone without warning...right after I declared her, the drive-thru lady at McDonald's, officially dead to me.... as part of my New Year's Revelations of course. I'm not sure if this makes me a murderer but call it what you like...the bitch had to die. Her ability to sense my lust for sinful treasures lurking about the Dollar Menu (from inside her glass cage) was a talent known to few. It literally kept me in bondage for over 37 years! Die bitch die! RIP

Yes, this is what dieting does to me...makes me a little "off." I dare say I walk on that side more often than I care to admit. However, comma, I speak only the truth. It's been a week since I've been to the drive-through and I'm a little overcome with grief quite frankly. French Fries, Pomme Frites, Nectar of the Gods....call it what you like...the forbidden fruit is weighing on me....quite literally... on my ass thank you. Maybe if I threw out the mirrors and the scales I could have spared my smiley faced shift worker. Nah. There's always a doctor to keep you down. He claims I have some annoying "gene" that's attempting to over throw my right to a happy and healthy life. Yeah...I married him, so what do you propose I do? He had no good answers. We spent most of the visit arguing over the fact that my $15 co-pay still hasn't produced an accurate set of scales. They said I gained like 10 lbs. Clearly faulty. Blah Blah...eat whole grains...they will fill you up in a healthy way. So will Brad Pitt...why don't I munch on him? I'm sorry but whole grains taste like ass. Dirt to be precise. I wonder if there's a whole grain french fry? Gotta look into that. In the meantime I spend most of my New Years days angry. What is there to look forward to? Protein shakes and brown rice. My, my...why not throw in an enema?

In my new life, I watch a lot of TV.... so I can look at food I can't eat. According to the Dr., this "gene" is responsible for making me salivate in these situations. Add to that list...responsibility for the ability to eat 6 honey buns in as many seconds, generalized over eating and alcohol induced cravings. I like when there's someone to blame. I like it better when it's my husband but this will do for now. This "gene" is most likely derived from the male side of my family. I completely made that up... but in my mind it's fact. So yeah, watching TV. I watched Bear Grylls survive life at sea by giving himself an enema....ummm....yeah...I'd prefer death to shoving a make shift pipe up my ass in hopes of hydration. I bet he's good in bed. Seems kinky. Anyway, so after that little "TV" watching incident, I didn't really have an appetite to speak of. That worked...for a minute. Then my husband took over the remote. By now you know that means one thing...Discovery Channel. Yippee. Discover how I can eat whatever I want and not get fat...that's good solid TV. Instead, I watched two men climb to the top of some huge mountain carved to look like a woman's head. They were European and said things like "lest" and "whilst"...which made me happy...can't be sure why. Then they ruined it all by saying the following, " If we can manage to mount her, I think we make it to the summit." I started to panic and sweat profusely. Is this what my husband says about me when he attempts to "trip my light fantastic?" Mounting me in hopes of reaching my summit? It's a large woman's fear and I know it well. It seemed like a real possibility. Except for the part where he mounts me. You'll recall we work on the "You can just come and get it anytime you want it" system in our household. When the mountain is built on that kinda rock, the only one reaching the summit is me...thank you very much.

Other than all of that, dieting is just great. I'm back on the "house arrest" system. Nothing like having an evil band report in on what you do and don't do every day. The key to this system is in the lying. I have to enter what I eat. No good can come of this. You can't be on house arrest stealing and smoking crack. Nor can you be on "house arrest" eating honey buns and and cake...but I do. I'm on the gradual let down program....I gradually let myself down so the blow isn't so big when I'm still fat this summer. The best part of the new season of "house arrest"...I've assumed my husbands ID. Yes, he is now a slightly overweight, extra good looking woman. I'm sure he would be thrilled to know that. Now if I can just give him my period...working on that. Anyway, I did it bcs you get 3 months free on the "system" and we know I've used up all chances of being me! The worst part...I fear I weigh more than he does. Oh well....he should enjoy being me for a while...I put out for the asking, I don't leave my underwear on the floor and I happen to know the location of the dishwasher. Not easy being me. I guess I'll keep working the system as it appears I'm in for life.

New Years Revalations

Let's face it....September-December is crunch time for a SIF. We have 4 acceptable months to eat as much as we can before we have to resolve to never do it again. As soon as the leaves turn, it's time to start storing the ole winter fat. Given the economy in 2009, I decided to store a little extra in the event of whatever event would warrant me to do so. I get highly excited during these 4 months. There's my birthday, Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Years. It angers me when September rolls in and it's still warm. Cold weather means comfort foods like pot roast, macaroni & cheese and chicken pot pie. Hard to fire up the oven for such delicacies whilst the A/C is running. I mean....I don't wait on the weather to get my seasonal eat on, but it seems more feasible to be a hog in the cold. Cold weather hogs are much more accepted by their peers than warm weather hogs. Saw that on Discovery. I pretty much throw in the towel when fall hits. Whenever I eat something bad during this 4 month period I remind myself...I'll do better next year. That might work if I wasn't dropping this line at every meal. However comma, by the time New Years roles around, it still seems a little too sudden. Where did September go? Why is society forcing me to make resolutions? I can't be sure. I decided my resolution this year was to make revelations. I'm good at that....bringing excuses to light is what I do best. If somewhere along the way I lose a few pounds....so be it. I will find them again. Watch for the Amber Alert...I hate losing anything.


Revelation #1: Holidays = Holiday travel which equals fast food. Normally that would excite me. However, when one is forced to eat "Turnpike Trash" the glamour fades. If you've ever traveled along the PA turnpike you may have had the occasion to stop at one of those Vegas like mini-cities along the way. Picture this....driving for hours around curvy mountain roads with no sign of gas, human life or food....until...out of nowhere you see neon lights and signs denoting civilization. You are forced to stop out of fear you will never see life again...ever. After exiting via a road that exclusively delivers you into this new found wonderland you begin to feel the excitement that only food and urination can bring. Any jubilation brought on by the thought of a Starbucks and a Roy Rogers right smack next to each other is quickly put to rest by the "wildlife" that lurks amongst this fine roadside penitentiary. I ask you this....where can you find illegal aliens, convicts, child molesters and that kid who wore the helmet on the short bus all in one place? At the PA Turnpike Vegas Style Roadside Stop. I will say one positive thing. I peed and was not murdered. That's about it. My Roy Rogers roast beef smelled like dog shit. Perhaps the English as a first language classes put me at a disadvantage and there was some sort of mix up. Can't be sure. I know this...Roy Rogers would have fallen off his horse had he seen who was in his employ. So I moved on to Starbucks. Their sign read "Open 24 Hours." A sure bet right? It's coffee. Who fucks that up? Don't answer that....allow me. I made a simple request: 1 cup of Decaf and 1 Decaf Skim Latte. The answer, "We don't have any decaf but I can make you the Latte." Just how would that be possible? Well, it seems they stop brewing Decaf after 9pm but the Latte was $10 Decaf so it was feasible. I was beyond confused. Had I asked for Decaf coffee at a 24 hour burger joint, telling me they weren't brewing it after 9pm would have made perfect sense. Asking for coffee at a 24 hour coffee joint and being told that they aren't brewing it made me Larry David style angry! Had I not felt my life to be in danger, I may have indulged the Barrista in a game of "Here's your Sign." Instead, I decided to leave, dial 1-800-CrimeTV and let John Walsh have a field day with this 24 hour freak show. I fear mountain people. I vow to never go to PA again. Sorry. I like Decaf after 9...and my life.

Revaluation #2: Fat girls shouldn't wear sequins. One would think this would go without saying. However comma, there's always that fatty (me) who thinks it's cute to wrap 787 pounds of cellulite in tiny gold disks and show it off at the holiday party. There's nothing like watching the light rebound off of a super-sized figurine perched at the buffet. Blinding. That's what it is. Unless there's music. In which case we have an instant disco ball. So aside from illumination and humiliation, I can't think of one reason going naked wouldn't be a better decision. That's all I have to say about that.

Revaluation #3: Biting the candy as opposed to referring to label on the box is acceptable. My personal favorite. Allow me to splain...why take time to read what's in the box when you can just bite it and see for yourself. Saves time. Not to mention....a true SIF already knows by the shape and texture just what she's about to eat. The real reason this works...no one will attempt to eat your candy if you bite half of every piece. That's a fact. Russell Stover really needs to change the line up. I got it mastered. Oh and Russell, no one likes the lemon ones. They taste like chocolate Pinesol. Stop being cheap and throw in some more nugget filled ones. Bastard.

Revaluation #4: Don't pretend to like gifts that suck. I'm over it. Getting a plastic bird in a cage at 37 is no laughing matter. Even when it comes from an 87 year old woman who calls herself Grandma. If she's that senile she should be in a home. Locked away...no key. So this year I decided to tell her what I thought. "Thanks for the bird. You do realize I'm 37. I already live in a cage with something that doesn't listen and is basically useless...but thanks for providing me a replica of my miserable life." She can't hear so it works as long as I'm smiling. Then she has my Mom tell me, " Tell her I got her the bird bcs she's a Byrd." I in fact heard her say it, so why it had to go through the chain of command I'm not quite sure. This is why it's not always advantageous to marry someone with a last name that can be used against you. I want to plot a similar gift for her next year but she's been married 8x...makes the joke kinda tricky.

Finally my favorite day of the year... New Years-diet Sunday (that's the Monday after New Years. It's bad luck to diet on the first). I've vowed for the 37th time that this will be the year I jump to the other side. I've been binge eating all day. In fact, when I'm done with this post, I have some Tirmisu waiting for me. ** Pause....I just got up and ate it. Typing it put the taste in my mouth and I had to have it. I can see tomorrow is going to be a breeze.** I vow to eat until midnight, at which time I go back to the house arrest band that monitors my every move. That's the only way I'll ever lose a pound...24 hour supervision. As soon as I lose that pound it's coming off. Maybe I should take Grandma's warped analogy and make it work for me...I'm a Byrd so I should eat like a bird. Yeah but I'm like....Big Bird and I fear he gets in his calories. I'll keep trying. How many days til I have to show skin again? I have time!

Ummmm.....yeah....so this how you become a Supermodel in an instant...know a great graphic artist! I prefer fat but it's fun to play around!

Fat Broke

As a SIF, I break all the rules. You only have to look as far as my last post...I used the "F" word and referenced buggars...all whilst hacking up a lovely Christmas Carol. It's just what I do. I take the "norm" and fatten it up a bit. I'm good at it...like it or not. We all pick our nose...even Santa. I can't help it if that particular piece of gossip didn't make the lyrics, but trust me, even Santa gets his dirty on. Furthermore, whilst I don't like using the "F" word in non verb form, when I'm hard pressed for a rhyme, I do what I gotta do. There, the guilt of my "Caroling" has left the building. The only person that blasted me was my Mother....for using the "F'" word of course. She still thinks I'm a virgin. Sorry Maa. Whilst I'm not clear on how long it's been since my initial deflowering, or his name or what he looked like... I'm quite sure I thought I would marry him. That counts right? Um...yeah...on to the business at hand....fat and broke...

It would stand to reason that if one didn't have alot of money, one would be thin, right? Wrong! Have you seen the clientele at Walmart?! Yes, I shop at Walmart. Leave it to the Culinary King himself, Ronaldo McDonald to help out the less fortunate by providing a simple solution for the low budget hungry types like myself. I give you the $1 menu. Clearly one of the greatest inventions....EVER! A family of 12 can eat for like $2...for 4 days...all at the expense of their arteries. But when you're broke there are two things that are always for sale: Your soul and your arteries! It's just how it is. Now, I love me a cheeseburger but DAMN...a Double Quarter Pounder with Cheese for a $1! For those of you who were held back in kindergarten, allow me to break this down for you....A Double Quarter Pounder for $1 in "Fatty" translates as follows: Double = more. More = value. Quarter Pounder = quarter of a pound...that's less than half so it's like...portion control. $1 = all of the change from husbands pants...so free. You see, fast food requires fast thinking. Add to that an entire menu of fine dining for $1 and you've gotta make some quick decisions. No time for putting sentences together...Double Quarter Pounder with cheese...that's so 1st grade and not for nothin...there aint even no verb in there. I got schoolin. I'm not suggesting that $1 for all of that meat isn't a deal... it's a deal until it shows up on your ass! I prefer the 2 cheeseburger meal myself. It'll cost you a few bucks more but the trickery of eating 2 little cheeseburgers instead of one huge cheeseburger that barely fits in your mouth...it's...well it's basically the same....it just looks and sounds better. Not to mention you can always pretend that you are taking one of the burgers to someone back at the office....yeah right! Not only does no such person exist, that cheeseburger won't outlast the parking lot. So there are some dangers in non-$1 menu selections but looks are way more important in these situations. So is hiding. Here's the hidden danger in cheap food: recognition by said shift workers. I always feel like I have to explain why I'm back...again. There's Mc'Muffin Monday, Two Cheeseburger Tuesday, Western Wrap Wednesday, Two Cheeseburger Thursday and my personal favorite....French Fry Friday! So I've got a reason to be there but it just gets weird when there's direct eye contact. Hence, the new shades.

Another trick of the down at out whilst patronizing McDonald's...the peely game piece thingies. Sometimes the fatty crowd gets soo excited to eat that we forget there is free food amongst us. Granted it's usually trash like "free small fries" but 6 or 8 of those are you're in business! You have to order the large size stuff to get the peely things to win the small fries, but it's not like ordering small was on the agenda anyway. I like waiting for the skinnies to throw out their trash bcs they NEVER remember to look at the peely things. Oh I'll jump in a trash can for some free shit. Hells ya! One foot in the garbage...one foot in the grave. Here's something only a classy fatty will admit...when you are broke and hungry it's best to eat at home. Why? Random grunting. If you've ever sat next to an obese person that's missed a meal (defined as more than 3o minutes without eating), you know what I'm talking about. There's this noise that resonates from their being that should be outlawed in all 50 states. It's an audio visual nightmare. It sounds like a hog feeding as seen on Animal Planet and it looks like something from Dirty Jobs on the Discovery Channel. Time to turn off the "TV" and get your shit to go....oookkkay! I eat at home for one reason. Well maybe two: 1. If you didn't see it it didn't happen and 2. I tend to bite my lip when I eat...excitement. Exiting the building with salty, bloody lips whilst pieces of napkin hold what little dignity I have left together...yeah....more than enough reason to use the drive through. *Random sign of the cross**

So why am I at McDonald's when I should be cooking healthy food at home? *Pause for laughter* So many reasons so little time. I'll stick with the theme...food is expensive. Let me give you my fiscally economic budgetary breakdown: 2 Quarter Pounders with Cheese = $2. You can't even buy 1/2 pound of ground beef without getting another 1/2 pound that you don't want thus forcing you to pay $4 for more meat than you need...and then you gotta cook that shizzle yo self! I aint even addin in the cheese. I think that makes me fiscally conservative. Can't be sure. Here's another example of why eating crap is all the rage amongst the poor....have you ever compared the price of Cheerios to the price of Fruity Pebbles? Uhuh. If it's whole grain it's a whole lotta money! Sugas cheap! $4 for a quart of fresh strawberries or $1 for a strawberry pie fully cooked and ready to be eaten in the car? The choices is clear. There's another Pioneer amongst us that is to the grocery store what Ronaldo is to fast food....I give you Lil' Debbie. *Pause for moment of silence.* Without this $1 version of Betty Crocker I dare say I'd never have a baked good in my home. Nutty Buddies, Ding Dongs....the bitch does it all! She's a SIF for sho! Hell she even bakes season appropriate goodies. Yup. Right around November the Ho's Ho's start showin up with red filling. I hope to meet her someday.

Let's recap....poor people are fat bcs: They shop at Walmart, eat at McDonald's and idolize Lil' Debbie. Seems to me it's a cultural thing. We should really feel sorry for rich people. They pay more and get less. Rich people eat rich food and claim that it fills them up faster. I got news for ya, if it only "comes" at a great expense, makes you think you are satisfied when you aren't and leaves you with a false sense of happiness....I do believe you may have eaten a man! Stick that in Pomme Frites and dip it!

Christmas...Fatty Style

So I've made an executive decision....since getting in the mood does me little to no good, I'm getting into the spirit....specifically the Christmas spirit. From now until Christmas, as the spirit moves me, I will slaughter traditional Christmas stories/songs for my amusement. Tis the season for the truth...

Twas the night before a Fatty Christmas

Twas the night before Christmas and all thru the house, the fatties were stirring popping seams on their blouse.

Their stockings were hung by the new Frigidaire, in hopes St. Nicholas would be bringing eclairs.

Then what to their sugar filled eyes did appear, a miniature Santa and eight plus sized reindeer.

A skinny ass Santa, what a cruel trick, they knew in an instant he must be a dick .

As reindeer go they pretty much sucked, they listened to him shouting knowing they were fucked.

Up to the housetop the reindeer did fly, sucking and tucking holding onto their thighs.

Down the chimney he came looking so mean, dressed in all fur like a Santa Drag Queen.

He spoke not a word but went straight to his work, rationing candy like a skinny ass jerk.

And laying his finger deep inside his nose, he pulled out a buggar that rivaled a hose.

I heard him exclaim as he hid it from site,"I'd leave you this buggar but it wouldn't be right. "

A Big Fat Lie...

Tis' the season for a fatty on the move. Wild holiday parties....shopping sprees....that's why everyone else travels between November and December. Me....not so much. I prefer to overeat/drink in the "womb" and I do my shopping online... it allows for anonymity when the numbers don't add up. My holiday traveling revolves around the gift that keeps on giving....my Vajayjay. Late November/Early December is when I head to the big city for my annual tune up. 5 hours of driving in exchange for months of riding. It's a fair trade off. I'm often asked, "Why do you insist on choosing a doctor that's so far away?" My response, "Do you service your Mercedes at Jiffy Lube?" Me either. Come on honey! In the grand scheme of things, it's the most important piece of equipment on this over sized frame! That thing harbors all sorts of magical powers. Not just anyone is qualified to work on it! Gheez. The way I see it, $30 (co-pay) gets me more action in 20 minutes than I get all year. And it's far enough away from home for me to enjoy it without making headlines. "SIF pays for sex." No one likes a scandal.

Add to the aforementioned equation one hot doctor and you have the makings for an all out affair. Except the part where he couldn't be less interested in me and he knows all of my dirt...and that my uterus is tipped backwards. That can't be attractive. Top that off with a mandatory weigh in, and it's safe to say the only affair we are having is the one I dream up whilst my ovaries are being realigned. However, comma, on this particular trip, the weigh in went from traumatic to tremendous without any help from me! Typically, I find a way to shed a few pounds before I see the mechanic. It excites him when the numbers go down and there's nothing like an excited Gyno now is there? Needless to say, he's very rarely excited when I come to town. In fact, I usually get the "Why aren't you doing your self breast exam/why are you soo fat" lecture. Why would I feel my own boobs when it's included in the co-pay? I'm just sayin is all. As far as why I'm soo fat....because I like to eat. It's really quite simple. I usually try and spice it up a bit with some tears and a random fake story to make him feel sorry for me. Last year's Emmy Nominated performance was, "I eat because I'm unhappy. I'm afraid if I was happy I'd be thin. Thin chicks are annoying and I don't want to be annoying. They also have way better lives. Starting over at my age is out of the question. Brad Pitt is already spoken for. I've missed my window. Besides...I rock miserably fat like no other." To that I usually get an extra squeeze on the ole saline sacks. Damn I'm good.

Before I get to the weigh in, I have to back up. Part of the allure of traveling is eating out. Having a legitimate excuse to eat at McDonald's is always better than my usual excuse, "Because I like the fries." On the way out of town I stopped by to pay a visit to an old friend...Ronald McDonald. As I was shoving Mc'loveliness down my throat, my phone rang. Damn! Why do people always call when I'm eating....umm maybe bcs I'm always eating. It was the Neurologist. No good can come of that. For him, I set down the nuggets and answered the phone. After all, he might reveal that I was dying. I would then have the prefect excuse to eat myself into the grave. Little did I know he had the best news ever. It seems my latest test results showed that I have low blood sugar. Really? I figured over saturation to be the case. It seems my body just plows right through sugar leaving me famished. I knew there was a medical reason I was hungry 24/7....this guy is a freakin genius! The cure? Eat more! He said it... and I almost wrecked the car in jubilation! I love this guy! Personally, I think he was rewarding me for not wearing underwear to the visit. What? I didn't think he'd be looking "there" so why dress her up? I learned that all Dr.'s do 2 things: #1 make you strip and #2 weigh you. I'm OK with #1 but #2 is downright disturbing. I hung up the phone wishing I had more to eat. Dr's orders n all.

I felt overly prepared for the "Why are you so fat" question when I arrived at the mechanic's office. There was now a medical reason for my insane obesity. My body needed a constant stream of everything to do anything....something like that. Imagine my surprise when "Dumb Nurse" came out to get my vitals. "Dumb Nurse" is the one I get about every other visit. I had lost track between her and "Mother Time"--she's no less than 156 years old and I get no benefit from her bad vision. That bitch can read a scale! Anyway, "Dumb Nurse" is sweet and....well dumb. She's so busy asking you about things that don't matter that she forgets about things that DO matter...like oh say your blood pressure and weight! But she sure knows where you are spending Christmas! After removing everything but my kidneys, I got on the scale. I knew the number, so I watched to see if maybe my scale was off by a few hundred pounds. No such luck. They use one of those old scales with the sliding bar and I find it doesn't err in my favor. As I turned to dismount the slaughter box I heard "Dumb Nurse" announce my weight to be 10 lbs lighter than what the scale actually said. I didn't think much of it considering her title. So I proceeded to the little white room to don the lovely paper robe that barely covers half a butt cheek. Luckily the damn thing ties in the front. I don't look so bad from that angle. I paid good money to look better up there...oookay! Anyway, the Dr. came in and said the following, " I am so proud of you!" My immediate thought was that he was finally coming around and this was his attempt to show interest. "Why," I asked. "You lost 10 lbs," he exclaimed! Oh good Lord. He went on to ask what I attributed my weight loss to. Ummm....your dumb ass nurse! That seemed harsh so I went with running....lots of running. "No changes in your eating," he asked. "Nope, not one single change." That would be the only factual part of our conversation that day. I wanted him to have his moment. Come on....I'm not gonna lose 10lbs again for at least 2 more years when "Dumb Nurse" comes back on rotation!

As he rearranged my innards, he reassured me that I had perfectly normal anatomy. Perhaps in my girly cavern, but behind that uterine wall lies about 6 buckets of fries that don't look too pretty without a paper robe covering them! He told me my eggs were good for about 7 more years. Really. I told my husband that carton expired a long time ago. Won't be sharing that tidbit. I don't even like eggs. Particularly ones that like fish and produce problems. As he exited the room, he winked at me and told me this was my best visit in years. Why? Did my "shit" look that good? I guess bcs of the 10 lb weight loss "Dumb Nurse" hooked me up with. I wanted to be happier about the weight loss but it was all too easy taking advantage of the system. I did what Mother made me do whenever I told a lie...I went to be alone and think about what had transpired. I came up with the following: A. A lie isn't a lie if you aren't the one who started it...B. It's ok to follow through on someone else's lie to spare them their dumb job and C. In the last 2 days I was told to eat more and that I lost 10 lbs....HOT DAMN!

You can only imagine what happened next...I went to Dunkin Donuts to celebrate! Don't worry, I got the holes. A dozen of those are only like 4 donuts. I couldn't imagine a better road trip...until it hit me....Next year, I would have to lose 20 lbs to make up for the 10 lbs that I didn't lose this year! That is, unless, I could somehow find a way to get "Dumb Nurse" promoted to full time liar. So I decided to write a letter commending her on a job well done. What should have read, " Dear Nurse, Thank you for being dumber than I am thin. Please continue to be outgoing and blind. Love, 10 ponds Less." Ended up as, "Dear Dr. Hottie, now that I am down 10, what do you say we kick that dumb ass nurse out of the room and work on crackin some of those rotten eggs?" I haven't decided if I'll mail it or not. I figure I've got 7 years to think about it. If you're wondering if I make this stuff up....step away from the computer and wash your mouth out with soap. There are 2 things I never lie about: Weight Loss and Vajayjays'. I have learned that with careful planning, they can come at the same time.

Leave it to Beaver

Ironically, that's how I describe modern day Thanksgiving. For a brief moment I was under the impression that Thanksgiving...aka "Fatty Freedom Day" was all about eating and napping. I have since learned otherwise. Rest assured... I am no June Cleaver. In fact, she would be right mortified (southern English) to meet the likes of me! I'm sorry to report that I do not run around the house in heels, pearls and a fluffy skirt whilst waiting on men folk as they sit on their lazy asses. Nah...my version of "Cleaverage" involves sweatpants, a gravy stained t-shirt and lots of me complaining about having to cook all freakin day whilst the men do what they do best....a whole lota nothin! I can't imagine the Pilgrims were this chauvinistic...and if they were, at least the chicks got to wear decent clothing. Do you have any idea how much of me I could fit into a Pilgrim frock? Hell, I could eat for days and still look like a supermodel...being that I have such a pretty face n all.

Let's revisit my Thanksgiving Day shall we? I went for a nice 6 mile run so that I could add a few hundred extra helpings of....everything. That went well. I came back hoping to get a nap before consumption. Nope. It seems that if you have a "beaver," you are required by law to work on the holiday...as an indentured servant to the penis living amongst you...and all his friends and family. Not that that varies so much from a normal work week... but the part where I spend hours cooking whilst men sit around and do whatever it is they do...well... it's almost enough to set off a round of random bitch slappin with the pearls I wasn't wearing but was willing to put on for ammunition. Instead of resorting to violence, I did what I do best....I complained about it ALL DAY AT THE TOP OF MY LUNGS. June Cleaver would be right proud (southern English again)...you know that bitch would have thrown a heel if she wasn't so damn oppressed. I got your back gurl...and for the record....it does exactly no good to retaliate. Men don't listen....not even to a beaver. Only for a beaver I fear.

I shant tell a lie...Mother did 99.9% of the cooking....except the super fattening stuff which I had to cook bcs...well let's just say bcs I'm highly qualified for the job. My Thanksgiving table is all about starch. All kinds of potatoes, bread and basically anything that sets me up for my post consumption slar phase (that's a nap to all you non Conehead fans). I need to sleep after I eat. If I remain awake I might be forced to kill myself...for various reasons:

1. It would be an easy way to lose weight. After they pull out your organs, your certain to shed a few pounds . I've been watching "Dr. G" (medical examiner) to learn how much my organs weigh so I can subtract that number from the erroneous digits produced by my lying ass scale....clearly I have no control over how much my liver weighs so why should I have to take on the extra pounds? I shouldn't.

2. I would have to listen to dumb men yell at the TV about a stupid ball carried by more dumb men who are too dumb to work together as a team. Imagine that.

3. I would have to do the dishes. That's all I have to say about that.

4. I would have to be alive to bear witness to this atrocity again next year. It's more than I can bear...even for 4,000,000 calories in a 24 hour period. There must be a binge eating corner in Heaven with my name on it.

So as you can see, what should have been my Caloric Christmas turned into a warped version of what life has become sans Cleaver's. Maybe I should move to TV Land. Life seemed ideal there. The men work. The women stay home and bang the Gardner...I mean cook and clean... and the children are all well behaved. I wasn't alive when all of this "fake life" crap was happening but I can't imagine the women back then were happy to have "Man Waiter" listed on their resume in exchange for watching Days of Our Lives on the regular. We all know what was really going on...Dad was nailing the Secretary, Mom was taking prescription crack to suppress her submissive role in life and the kids were smokin pot behind the garage. Now that's the show I want to see! Can you imagine Thanksgiving in that household! Little Johnny would be eating all of the food and giggling uncontrollably, Mother wouldn't eat a thing bcs she would too busy running laps around the house and Dad would have to "step out" for a quickie business meeting around dessert. That's reality TV. I'm pitchin that one to the networks.

Perhaps I haven't done my job in explaining to you the rage that takes over my body when dinner is finished and the men just up and leave the table whilst the women fall into place in the kitchen scrubbing and slaving over dirty dishes left behind by the Ward Cleaver's who still think it's ok to "Leave it to Beaver!" Well this Beaver aint havin it! See that shiny box over there...it's called a "dishwasher"....she right sized my ass and I'm O'freakin K with it so go ahead and introduce yourself bcs you're gonna become right good (more southern English) friends when you are single again! If that relationship doesn't work out...I'll introduce you to my other friend "Dixie"- she's a real "dish"-- paper plate to be exact! She's less work....just use her and throw 'er out. Should work out well for ya! As for who's gonna cook the dinner you place on your "dish"...better call the one responsible for making you so "chivaless"...Mama! Perhaps the longest run on paragraph in history. Made possible by the penis...forgive me.

When all is said and done, there's always dessert. Like the icing on the cake, having dessert after a rage filled Thanksgiving somehow returns life back to normal. It's easier to make, easier to clean up and easier to throw. I would never disrespect a pie by throwing it at a worthless cause. I'd rather put it towards a meaningful cause.... my mouth...cause I like it! If you are under the impression that I'm a man hater who overuses the word whilst, you are wrong. The word whilst is a beautiful word, that sounds way better than while and should be used as often as possible. That settles that. I hope you enjoyed your Thanksgiving. I did..in spite of my militant
anti-Cleaver views on the subject. I've moved on... to Christmas. My kinda holiday....fat man gets little slaves to make toys whilst random endangered species fly him across the world to eat cookies, drink milk and make Merry. Bout time a man did something worthwhile!

I swear I'm not a man hater...Thanksgiving was just a bit traumatic. If you are a "man fan" take notes and act right next year! SIF out!

Don't Eat and Drive...

Words cannot describe the joy I feel on this momentous day. I realize that there are many days of the year when we pause to reflect on greatness....Boxing Day... Flag Day....but when the world pauses to allow for uncontrolled binge eating...that my friends is Fatty Freedom Day!!! I vote to change the name of Thanksgiving to Fatty Freedom Day post haste! Pilgrims Smilgrims....I'm sure they were PIF (Pilgrims in Fat)...who else could be responsible for such a holiday! History isn't kind to the fatties....full disclosure would be nice for a change....hello. Before things get too out of control, let's take a moment to reflect on the true meaning of the day by putting some ridiculous rumors to rest:

1. Being the first one in the Thanksgiving line is rude. NOT. It's a sign of effective time management and careful execution. These are the qualities great world leaders. Go fatty.

2. Exercise portion control. In my opinion....those three words should never be used in a sentence, around each other or ever again. You kiss your mama with that mouth?

3. Chew your food slowly putting your fork down between bites. Not only is this quite possibly the dumbest thing I've ever laid ears on...it almost sounds like #2 and I'm not quite over the shock of that statement.

4. Don't be the 1st one to get 2nds. Huh....well we heavier sets don't come in first much, so let us have this one, ok? Yeah....we win!

One personal word of warning...don't let the excitement of the day lead to needless injuries: Biting of the lip, random fork wounds, roof of mouth burns and unexpected bouts of choking...chew SIF chew. Remember....it's a marathon not a sprint! Should anyone around you happen to fall into food coma....do not fear. Simply wave the gravy under the nose until such time that the fat once again rises. Happy Day!!!

Lost in the Crowd...

I promised you greatness and I shall deliver. From what species must one originate to possess the following DNA disaster...binge eater, marathon runner and Valium addict? Can't be sure but I do know the previous sentence pretty much brings you up to speed on my comings and goings over the last few weeks. As much as I like keeping you abreast of all my ridiculous behavior....I often get lost somewhere between eating to forget, forgetting to eat (umm yeah that just never happens but I've always wanted to say that so let's go with it) and just forgetting in general. I tried adding Yoga to the mix, hoping to improve my focus. I can't be sure there's room in my genes for Yoga. Let's face it, there's not much room in my "genes" period. I do try and give myself "focus type" projects every now and again...hoping it will help me with my Chi and Yang....or whatever. Take today for example....I spent 6 hours baking 4 dozen Christmas cookies and 2 loaves of bread... exactly 45 days before Christmas. That's planned, productive and premeditated behavior. Focus people focus. No one stares down an oven window like a fatty. I can single handily sense the browning of a cookie long before the buzzer goes off. Namaste.

One thing you should know about me....I may be fat but I don't often sit still. From a young age I learned that chasing the ice cream truck was the key to cancelling out calories....thus spawned my love of running. However, once again, Mother never told me that it wasn't appropriate to chase the ice cream truck at 37....oh and that I would basically have to chase it about 400 miles as my metabolism would come to a screeching halt after the age of 10! Thanks Mommy. You play the hand you are dealt so I kept up with the running. Except now, instead of chasing ice cream trucks, I run from my fat ass. I have yet to leave it in the dust... but that's a lot of dust. I fear public works isn't quite prepared for such a crisis. I like to run marathons. Why? Bcs then I can say, "I run marathons." It's that simple. It's especially fun to say it when you weigh a metric ton. You get the usual look of, "Wow, you ran a marathon" coupled with a look akin to Oprah revealing both of her parents are actually white. Yup. Just doesn't fit. So it's fun for me....in a painful sort of way. I pretty much use it as my response to, "What did you do this weekend?..for about 6 months. If I keep my audience limited to the reality TV/Crumbs in the Recliner Crowd, I can squeeze a good half a year outa one race. Productive, planned and premeditated.

Marathon logistics are no joke. At the start, runners are corralled like cattle according to their predicted finish. Much like fatties lie about their weight...the skinny types LOVE to lie about their estimated finishing time.... "Ah....yeah....I've been running half marathons in about 4 hours so put me down for 2:05 to finish the full!" Unless you are blacker than an Ace of Spades or running from the law....I call BS! The fatties....we play it cool. We position ourselves waaaaay in the back where one might expect to see spandex being worked over like a whore in church. However, I'm here to tell you that a fatty will come from behind and rise to the top, like a donut floating on top of the oil ready to be taken from the pot! Oh we may start in the fat pack but we know that 26.2 miles down the road awaits 3000 calories that need to be replenished! I'm not saying we'll get there with the Kenyans...but we'll scoot past a few quarter pounders along the way. When I say "we" I don't mean "me" per say. I'm working on tweaking my feral fatty gene to accommodate speed in relation to relative approximate time of maximum consumption as it relates to completion of satisfaction . You can't be expected to follow such technical runner jargon.

I must admit, I was thrown for a loop in the last marathon. Typically, I hang back with the "real" fatties....you know the ones who usually die in the marathon bcs they didn't realize they were actually too fat to go 2.62 miles much less 26.2...but it never occurred to them before race day....them. About half way in, I decided to take a look around for some "motivation"....maybe someone in biker shorts screaming to be set free or someone on their cell phone calling the "can't finish cab" and then I realized...there wasn't a fatty in sight. Umm....had I died and gone to Purgatory? Heaven isn't ready for all this ass so that's the best I could hope for at the time. I remember the confusion confusing me. That happens. I was fixated on this woman who may have weighed a buck o' five soaking wet. She kept walking. I'm no Rocket Scientist, however comma, some sort of rule must state that if I can keep all 678 lbs of me running...she can certainly do the same! It's not nice to judge but...I'm not nice and I always wanted to be a judge. So then I started thinking....hmmm...I must be running pretty fast bcs everywhere I look I see skin and bones. No old people...no fatties. It was the land of misfits and I was highly agitated. Where were my people? I, unlike most, don't mind when a fatty passes me. I only ask one thing of her/him, save me some fries. Being surrounded by so much skin and bones gave me cravings for fried chicken! That, in turn, gave me a side stitch bcs...you guessed it...we ran right by KFC! Could I snag a biscuit unnoticed? Hell no. These twigs on rubber would never appreciate such a fine maneuver.

Long story short....it was all trickery as usual. While my time oozed fat, I finished with skin, bones and vinegar. For once in my life, I had no appetite. Either I need to get fatter or faster. Working on both. I managed to injure my rib running the marathon. I have no answer except that being surrounding by so much bone damaged the only visible bone on my body. That costs me a shot in each butt cheek leaving me with what appears to be 2 black eyes on my ass. That'll help the sex life I'm sure. I think try my hand at Yoga one more time. Guys like fat and flexible. They don't really care for a fatty who can outrun them. Too often we have trouble letting go and it makes for an ugly scene. Yup...back to Yoga...story to follow. Namaste.

Fat is alive and well....

Hello to all! No worries...I have not eaten myself into a food coma (although the thought pleases me greatly)....just been a little busy. Will be posting again this week. What's to come? Fatty runs a marathon and does Yoga...lookout!