Crack in the Eggs...4/15/09

I am going through all of my blogs as I put the book together. I found this one and was literally cracking up. Since it's so close to Easter I thought I would re-post it....enjoy

If little Johnny wakes up on Easter Sunday to a chocolate bunny that's missing certain critical appendages, what can one assume from this? Mommy is a SIF I suspect! Yes, I fear many SIF children wake up on Easter Sunday to find Cadbury Eggs over easy and Peeps minus one of their Peeps! It's one of the worst in a series of "Fat Girl Holiday's" and the seriousness of the occasion shouldn't be overlooked. Where was Daddy whilst Mommy stayed up until 2am "hiding Easter Baskets?" Surely he must have smelled her chocolate peanut butter breath when she climbed into bed after her big debut as Peter the "Crack" Rabbit! Nope. Daddy didn't even hear the premature cracking of the eggs or the rabbits screaming as their ears were being sucked into the jaws of a sugar crazed mother drooling on her footed pajamas. Nope. Instead, Daddy broke SIF rule #4567...never trust a crack addict to play drug dealer. Lesson learned.My father often made the same mistake over the years. Little did he know, every day was "Easter" in my top desk drawer. That's where mother hid the peanut M&M's and whatever else she could fit in between my algebra and history books. And they wonder why I wasn't the smartest egg in the basket? Mommy gave me crack Daddy. **pause and process** In an attempt to repent for said crimes, Mommy always took us to church on Easter Sunday. We were Catholic and guilt was met with open arms in the Catholic church. When I say "we" were Catholic I may not be able to include myself...**pause for confession**..."Forgive me Father for I have sinned (and continue to do so daily)it's been 36 years since my last confession. Here's the problem: I think I may not exactly be Catholic based on one incident in particular. Ummm...yeah... I sort of "took" first communion in the sense that one "takes" but I didn't exactly "take it" per say. Let me break it down for you father: I love me some bread but unleavened aint my thing. I'm quite sure If Jesus were to rise again he'd switch to Ciabatta or French. Anyway, I may have taken the body of Christ upon making my first communion but I sorta wiped it under the first pew...right side. **sign of cross** I didn't mean to but it could have used some butter or olive oil and well... I couldn't seem to get it down. It kept sticking to the roof of my mouth. Mother taught me not to chew with my mouth open and my tongue couldn't pry the unleavened disc away from the retainer that I was forced to wear in an effort to straighten the teeth that I'm confident I inherited from George Washington... So I reached in, peeled it off with my fingers, pretended to swallow and discretely wiped it under the pew. No one noticed a thing. I looked so cute and innocent in the white dress I borrowed from my cousin that no one saw the pasty body of Christ dangling underneath my butt. I guess the Catholic guilt thing never really worked on me bcs I smiled for the pictures and pretended to be one of the chosen ones. Forgive me Father."Wheeew! A weight has been lifted. I do believe that to be the only time in my life that I have walked away from food...willingly. Even back then I could spot a SIF from a mile away...even in church. There was this one lady who always sat right up front, took up 2 spots in the pew and carried a large purse. All signs that she was a SIF. Why you ask? Gotta be closest to the bread and wine at church? Is your big ass holdin up seats from other sinners? You got snacks in your over sized purse and crumbs to prove it?....you a SIF! Anyway, I know for a fact that she took at least two bodies of Christ every Sunday! Now I'm all for over eating and known for trying two of everything but never have I gone so far as to take more than my fair share of the body of Christ! SIF, we must pray for her. Now that I am older and of independent mind, I have chosen a church that better suits my needs. They offer unlimited sourdough and grape juice sans guilt! Thank you Jesus! I think we have learned an important lesson here. If you give a SIF an inch she'll gain an inch! How did the significance of Easter go from the Resurrection of Christ to Cadbury Eggs and Peeps? I dare say the SIF are to blame! Give us a holiday, we'll give you a reason to hide food and binge eat! Thanks Easter Bunny!

I believe I can fly...maybe not

Flying...you kiss your mama with that mouth? Unfortunately that's what flying has become....a 6 letter word. For real! Who really enjoys flying these days? Anyone? The airlines do... I'm sure of that! For a few million dollars you can fly two hours away complete with a bitchy Flying Waitress, over priced cans of shitty beer and if you want to bring along extras like.... oh I don't know...clothes....that's another hundred! Sounds lovely, I'll have that! I mean really! I tried switching to 1st class thinking behind that little curtain was a friendly smile, a Bloody Mary and some decent eats...NOT! I got a bitchier Flying Waitress (in a dress as opposed to a skirt..and sometimes a bitchy gay guy which I prefer), Chex Mix instead of peanuts and a can of tomato juice I was able to convert to a Bloody Mary as soon as I unsnapped the bottle of Vodka fit for Mini-Me. Why pay double for a curtain to separate yourself from the commoners when they don't even close the damn thing! Apparently it's imperative that we see the terrorists entering first class so we can stab them with our sporks before they attempt to get at Kernel Saunders in the cockpit. Thanks Homeland Security...you're real pals. So instead of hob-nobbing with the other idiots who thought this was a good plan, I had to witness Daryl and his other brother Daryl relieving themselves in my 1st class Porta-John! How dare they cross the line into my over-priced kingdom? What does all of this have to do with being fat...apparently alot. It seems the airlines are now partaking in Fatscrimination....bastards!

By now you've seen the news about that famous Hollywood Director/Producer type being denied a seat on an airplane bcs he was too fat. Normally I could care less what happens to men but being that he's fat...I'll allow for an exception. So he books a seat on the plane and just when he gets all nice and cozy... the bitchy little Flying Waitress informs him that unless he buys 2 seats he will have to exit the plane....from either the front or rear exit (complete with the index finger hand signal)...ok I made up that last part but I'm at least 2.18% sure it happened. What's a guy to do? Stay and fight for his love handles? I think not! You exit gracefully and cause a scene over the phone where the evidence is "weighted" in your favor. You can't exactly defend your 765 lb ass whilst staring seats that barely hold a 1/4 Pounder! FYI, the other passengers will not rise to your defense. I got news for ya...they were all secretly hoping you'd be booted from the aircraft before they had to squeeze in between you, your 8 chins, back fat and cankles. It doesn't make for a pleasant ride. I know...I've had occasion to be stuck in the middle of "my people" and it can be down right painful. Forget the seat dividers....they were swallowed up at, "Hello." There'll be no napping unless you enjoy curling up with an appendage that has more crevices than the Grand Canyon. Whilst fat may appear comfy...it's not. I distinctly remember setting my allotted can of Coke on what I thought was a tray...not so much...it was a leg...I think. I believe my husband was on the other side of the adipose creature but I can't be sure bcs I didn't in fact see him until we landed and fatty deplaned. It's exhausting being fat. No matter which side of the aisle your on.

Whilst I don't condone how the airline handled the situation, what are they suppose to do? Place scales in the seats and weigh everyone prior to take off? Or maybe the mandatory line of questioning should include, " Have your saddle bags been in your possession at all times?" or "Did anyone unknown to you tell you you were too fat to fly?" I don't know...just a thought. Maybe they could ax when you make the reservation if you'll be needing an additional seat for your ass? Oh wait...can't make reservations over the phone...that's an additional $100. So maybe when you go online there could be something that states the weight limit of the seat you chose and then you could enter your weight and watch the screen blow up in your face and re-direct you to http://www.jennycraig.com/ or something. That might work. Seriously...so let's say you are one of the 2 fatties in the world who actually understands they are too fat to fly. How do you go about booking your "ass" a ticket? You would have to name it, buy it a passport and be prepared to show it at the gate. On the up side...that's another snack, can of Coke an a carry on. I'd show my fat ass for that.

You may be shocked to learn that I, too, was the victim of Fatscrimination whilst flying the not so friendly skies. I was headed out for a weekend on Martha's Vineyard...she's an old friend of mine. Anywho, you can either go by boat or plane. Fat people don't float so well, so I chose the plane. Long story short, this conglomeration of tin they called a plane was big enough for 6 people...under normal circumstances. We were instructed to give the pilot our luggage so he could arrange it in such a way that we wouldn't crash and die. So comforting. I should mention...I don't travel light...nothing about me is light...not my ass...not my luggage...and at that time...not my boyfriend! TMI. Anywho, when we stepped outside to board the plane the pilot summonsed me to the side. I was sure he was about to tell me that I needed to take some shit out of my suitcase or get a white boyfriend...I wasn't sure. Discrimination in this day and age...bastards! Much to my surprise it was neither. Thank God...can't live without my clothes or my dick....sorry. Anyway, he informed me that I would be sitting next to him on the plane. Surely he thought I was hot and this was his way of putting the moves on me. Exactly 1 second later... the fantasy was over as he stated, "It's a weight issue." Excuse me! I convinced myself I was either the skinniest one on the plane or that this was his cover up for membership into the mile high club. I wasn't amused. So much so, that upon take off I informed the passengers that there would be no in flight beverage service as I needed to keep my fat layers still or the plane would fall out of balance thus resulting in our untimely deaths. There were some looks but whatever...I got to wear the headset and pretend I was flying the plane. That made up for not hooking up with the pilot and him calling me fat n all. Not for nothing....no one should ever have to watch a plane land. I know one thing for sure....all 879 lbs of me was as still as 879 lbs can be and that damn plane was flying about as straight as Richard Simmons....okaaaay!

I don't know...maybe I should just drive from now on. If I get a bigger rental car no one will think it's bcs I'm fat...they'll just assume I have alot of junk...and I do...it's just in my trunk as opposed to the vehicles. Ah F it! I'm gonna fly and order up a seat for my fat ass! I'll make demands for my ass in the 3rd person and no one will be the wiser. "Ah yes, I would like a blanket. My ass is cold. And I'll need a Coke no ice...my ass hates a cold drink. Oh and can I have some nuts? My ass loves nuts." Whilst my flying neighbors will think there is an empty seat between us, I will be quick to inform them that my ass paid for this seat and no... they can't put their bags on my ass . Yup. That's what I'll do. Not sure about the passport and the whole gate thing so I'm open to suggestions. Does my ass have to think of everything?!

Why didn't Mother buy me this doll?

If I were to re-create Barbie, this is exactly what she would look like...me as a blonde!

Cap'n Phil

By now you know I am obsessed with random TV shows that I am forced to watch as a result of a small yet complex commitment I call "Marriage." Whilst the shackles most often bind me, on occasion I've been known to actually like a show or two. Mostly bcs I derive blog material after realizing I will once again be denied sex. Anywho I am a big fan of that show "Deadliest Catch." I have unexplained feelings for Sig and Andy ( you are hot as balls...except when you wear the Cowboy hat...not into that scene). Let's leave that alone. One of my other fav's is a salty seamen named Phil Harris...Captain of the Cornelia Marie. Unfortunately he passed away today. I was most sad to hear the news. He was a chain smoking, Red Bull drinking fisherman who cussed like a sailor and made no excuses for any of it. Kinda like me when I down a barrel of Krispy Kreme's. Anywho, when someone I like dies....I give them the floor on the SIF blog. I know Tara won't understand a word of this...except the no sex chain smoking part. It's ok girl. Enjoy your vacation.

Cap'n Phil....may God welcome you into Heaven where you can fish forever~!

As thick as I use to be 9/10/08 re-post

Today is a high drama day for the SIF. It’s raining here on the Outer Banks. In fact, with the passing of “Hanna” the beaches have been temporarily “Red Flagged” due to the threat of Rip Currents. I have my own version of the“Red Flag” system. This website has been put on permanent "bad weather" alert due to the high threat of binge eating! Think about it...rainy days present serious obstacles for the SIF. You wake up, ready to start fresh with your “new diet” and then…rain. You can’t go outside so why not cook yourself a nice comfort meal like bacon and eggs. Sure! It’s low carb. So you change your old diet to the new diet bcs everyone loves Dr. Atkins! After pouring a vat of grease into your gut, it’s time for a mid-morning nap. After all, cooking is hard work. As you wake from your mid-morning siesta, you peer out the window to make sure the enabling rain is still keeping you down. Score…it’s a down pour! Now what? Mindless television perhaps? Hmmm….better shower first. A bacon smelling weave is the first sign of a SIF. Since we like to roll incognito, a shower it is. Well lookie here…it’s high noon! We all know what that is….Fat Girl Lunch Hour! Out of respect for the sisterhood, you must eat...even if you are not hungry. It's the law. Then Days of Our Lives comes on so it's off to the sofa to see who Stephano is stalking. We all know it's the Brady's but a SIF needs a little drama to settle her stomach. Downfall of drama... it's a prelude to slar phase #2 (nap). By now the sun has emerged but you choose not to acknowledge it. You have planned to be fat and lazy. Nothing will deter you from your mission. It's madness. Glad I got that off my chest. If your rainy days don't "look" like that, you better check out the Skinny Bitch website. They run on their treadmills, eat carrots and pray for sunshine! They are clearly to blame for ruing my rainy day agenda. Luckily I have a job that won't allow me to call in sick for "weather related trauma." In fact, I have to go into a real office and pretend something is going on...that's how mortgage works in 2008. I must say it's hard work. So instead of thinking about the fun I could be having at home, I had a realization.... I am out of control. I know I said that 18 posts ago but rainy days bring revelations to the forefront. This week was the week I would gain back control. My grand master plan for dieting was what I'll call "cut back." No formal take aways just less of the bad stuff. Seemed realistic. By Monday night I had downed about 15 mini Butterfingers. Nectar of the Gods I tell ya. Anyway, they weren't full sized candy bars so I was on track for success. Tuesday I only ate ten. Wed, well I ran out. I may go into convulsions. I think I may be addicted to food...sugar in particular. Do you know anyone who works out 2x a day and then heads for the drive-thru? Allow me to introduce myself! I decided to steer clear of my demons (home) and went to lunch with my friend Sharon. She wanted salad which of course traumatized me. Tell me what's so delicious about a bunch of lettuce with chicken on it when I could wrap that jam in a tortilla, throw in a side of fries and wash it down with a Diet Coke? Oh and don't forget a side of ranch for dipping. If you ask me, same amount of calories. No one really likes salads, do they? Are we rabbits people?! All things considered, I decided to take the plunge. I went against every SIF rule, and ordered a salad. I even got the dressing on the side like the skinny ones do. I ate "it" relatively unenthused. I was hungry like 5 minutes later. There's no convincing me that carbs are the enemy. I had to down 15 pieces of salt water taffy to stop the shakes. Shakes are not so attractive....kinda like the bacon smelling weave. Dead give away to some form of addiction. Here's the other thing....I eat everything as though I will never eat again! I watch people eat salads and it fascinates me. They talk, they take a bite, they hover over the salad, they talk some more... it's a crime is what it is! My food has 4 maybe 5 seconds tops before it's on the fork and headed down the hatch. I don't care what it is...salad, Krispy Kreme...doesn't matter. Well if it was vinegar (sorry Skinegars) I might let it linger. I don't have time for talking. I'm on a mission! Someone needs to call that show Intervention and tell them they are missing a large group of addicts right here on SIF! Next I did what all SIF do when they need some cheering up, I called my Mom. She offered the following motivational statement, "I think you look fine. I've seen you heavier." Somewhere hidden deep within that statement was a compliment. It made me hungry so I went looking for something to eat. If she's seen me heavier I might as well give her a flashback. I thought I would set my trainer up for failure by getting his opinion of my girly figure. (remember I'm a highly active fatty) He told me I was "thick." Tell me, did mother ever prepare you to be called "thick." It's thin minus the "n "add a "ck" but that offers little comfort when you envision men calling you "Thicky Ricardo." In some parts of the ghetto thick is a good thing. Translated loosely by a SIF, it's "I've seen you heavier!" Let's reflect on what I've done right as a "not as heavy as I use to be thick person." I had a salad. I should get an F'n Academy Award for eating that! Yes, I had to act like I liked it. I may have even thrown in "I'm so full. That was great." That was the only good thing I did. The rest of the day I've been sniffing for food like a blood hound on the trail of a triple homicide! There will be blood. No mother I'm not mad at you for calling me not as heavy as I use to be. I prefer lies when possible but your not my husband so I'll let it slide. One day...one day I will buy clothes in the single digits again! Watch out Forever 21...fatties comin!

Nostalgia

I've been going through my old blogs on preparation for the assemblance of my soon to be best selling novel....ughum...and I came across a 2008 blog that made me laugh. I will re-post it for those of you who weren't smart enough to know me back then. Toodles

Dionne Warwick said...."That's what friends are for"

When 2 of my running friends decided to bail on our run and not bother to call (no names... Jen and Tara...ughum)...they thought this peace offering would make up for it! Might I add this sign was posted on the back of their Jeep for all the world to see...


This SIF is officially out of the closet!!

Andrea in the His...ouse!

I have my very own "guest blogger" right here next to me in womb! Yup...she's sitting about 2 feet west of Napoleon Dynamite and due north of my Casierllo del Diablo (that's cellar of the devil for all you non ESL peeps). Andrea is a down home SIF! She's loves some suga and some "suga" if you know what I mean! I've asked her to share some SIF stories from up yonder (which would be PA) so that y'all know eating is not just a Southern disorder....oooookkkay!I'll have you know that on her way to the OBX...she had occasion to pass the infamous PA Turnpike Vegas Style Penitentiary! Even after heeding my blogamous warnings, brave Andrea stopped to take a pee and a peek. Apparently Starbucks is worth dying for even when they stop brewing at 9pm! She ran into some convicts, was denied decaf and safely peed without incident. Sound familiar?

SIF around the globe...we must unite to help Andrea. She is the victim of a violent and unthinkable crime...FOOD THEFT! Yes my people someone stole Andrea's most prized possession...her Italian Cream cake...straight off the boat from....Wal-mart! No sooner did Andrea return home from said Italian bakery and place her most valuable creation on the counter when a food thief appeared ready to make a swap...guilt for pleasure! The worst part...she brought this little heathen into the world....her own child was attempting to make off with the Wally World Cream Cake! Say it aint so! As he removed the cake from the counter he axed, "Did you buy this for me?" ....um yeah...cause SIF are known for sharing! Not! Then he did the unthinkable, "Aren't you on a diet?" "You kiss you mama with that mouth boy!" It was a first degree felony and death would be his sentence. Andrea decided she would bust out SIF rule #1457...when you've already eaten a burger and fries on your diet you should immediately wash it down with Italian Cream Cake. Everyone knows that...except this little felon she calls, "son!" Much like a commoner he pleaded, "So just bcs you messed up you are going to eat cream cake?" Andrea replied, "Yes mother fucker (sorry I took some liberty)...."Yes, I am" was the answer. He went on to tell her that's not how it works. In true SIF style Andrea told this demon from another mother, "Look, I squeezed your 130 pound ass out of hole that's currently not getting alot of attention. Unless you have a solution to that problem, I suggest you pass me the cream cake bitch!" Damn Gina!

Then Andrea did what every SIF does when backed into a corner with Italian Cream Cake from Wal-mart on the line...she asked nicely, begged, and then threatened the little vermin! Let's break that down, "Please give me my cake"... "Give me my cake... I need my cake"... and then "Look, I may not have a period anymore but I still PMS...give me the fuckin cake!" Ouch....do I smell mother of the year or is that Italian Cream Cake?!! Knowing he was defeated, the child she calls "son" relented with one final comment, " Fine but I don't want to hear you talk about being fat again!" Then he exited the residence and she began her quest to conquer said Italian Cream Cake. Was it worth the battle? Hell yeah! She's salivating whilst telling me the story. "Shaved white chocolate, walnuts, thick cream icing"....pause she has to relieve herself after reliving said story. Unfortunately the story has a sad ending...after only 6 helpings, the felonious child and his accomplice re-entered the residence, ate the remaining layers of cake and told said mother in detail of their crime. Make you wanna get a hysterectomy. Me too.

Here's the best part...when someone attempts to steal your joy...be it cake...a man (yeah whatever...I got one with a "Free" sign on him)...what would you do to save face? Here's a more in depth look at Andrea's keen hostage negotiation skills:

"You can keep the cake, I'll just drive back to Wal-mart for another one." Small boy states he will hide car keys.

" I'll just call Aunt Beck and she'll take me to Wal-mart." Small boy states...fine take the cake.

I'd have to say Andrea won by TKO! 2 rounds and that little punk went down! Clearly no match for a SIF. 10 minutes after the criminal left the crime scene, Andrea lept from her bed to eat her victory. MMMMM.

As if I haven't provided enough reasons to stay single, I feel like I've taken a step towards birth control with the help of Andrea. Pregnancy makes you eat, kids steal your food and not for nothing your vajayjay suffers greatly at the hands of men and children... enough! Eat, drink, be merry and if you must have sex...remember this blog and wrap that dog accordingly!

Fat is for lovers....sorry Virginia!

I'm re-working my license plates as we speak. Just when I think fat is "out" and death by donut to be a viable option, television once again saves the day. If you are fat, thick, obese or any combination thereof...I highly recommend you watch the episode of "Taboo" called "Fat."This once again falls into the category of " I can't make this shit up." It's becoming quite a lengthy chapter in my writing career. So I was clicking around trying to find something on TV that would compliment my jelly filled Krispy Kreme, and there it was. A large blond woman with braids, who's clearly the morbidly obese stunt double for "Hedi." ..."The Grandfather" would be none to pleased by the way. From the size of this bitch, one too many HO' HO's went in and not enough"Yo da lay HO-HO's" came out. Buried beneath piles of rubble, was a pretty face. I fear the challenge of unearthing it might be more work than the common man could handle. Apparently not... she not only has a boyfriend...she has a boyfriend who weighs less than I do and she's trained him to say things like, "I really believe this is the best I can do." He really said that....on TV...for everyone to mock. The only upside I could imagine for him would be to turn "Dahmer" on her ass. She would make for quite the feast. You could Ziploc and freeze enough to feed 2 or 3 3rd world countries. My giving soul always shines through.

After picking my jaw up off the floor in order to position it back on my donut, I realized I had to DVR this shit. I needed proof that there was hope for me... after such time that my husband realized I was never going to be the woman he married. Just a large version of something he once banged. Once, being the key word. They say life is a journey not a destination. I say marriage is quite the opposite. As soon as you say, "I do," you have arrived. The journey was short and full of just enough lies to get you to the alter...yeah that was fun. Couldn't have led me to Brad Pitt's house....nope...led me to misery. As it were, I waited years for Brad Pitt to dump Jennifer Aniston. I figured he was waiting just long enough to make the numbers work after that $5 mill wedding, but then I got tired of waiting. So I went to my destination certain they'd stay married forever. I kid you not, literally, the first day of my honeymoon I clicked on the TV (cause that what all people do on their honeymoon) and there it was...."Brad & Jenn separating." I screamed in anger...or maybe that was the fake "O" I had been perfecting for the time frame I'll call "dating"...dunknow. Either way, it set the tone for what was to come....not me and alot of eating. Ok, back to the Fat show....

Did you know there's an official name for fatties throughout the world? Apparently eating is a multi-cultural problem...thus spawned the term "Globesity." I freakin love it! I will name my first born, "Globesity." Her nickname shall be "Beesee." It has a ring to it. According to the kill joys who make up this crap, 2/3 of the US is overweight. Really? Cause I feel so alone in my caloric quest to conquer the world. Even the flippin Chinese have jumped on board...they once boasted little to no obesity...not anymore...1/3 of their peeps are fat and happy! I feel like they could make a comeback if they stopped frying the cats...broiled is the way to go. It takes more than "10 minute" but it's better for you. What do I know...if it aint fried I don't eat it. Mostly bcs I want to make sure it's cooked properly...yeah that's it. Frying kills the ills and I'm OCD so it's medically necessary for me to fry my food...or something. It would seem my SIF have taken over the world. It makes this blog all the more powerful, quite frankly. And we aren't going away. As long as we can get a meal for $5 in less 5 minutes, eat 1400 calories via 1 donut and summons someone to bring almost anything to our door, we will remain SIF...Globesity Goddesses if you will. It's time to wake the inner fatty on the hold outs...Let this serve as your motivation to take your 2/3rds share and turn it into 3/3rds!...I'm no good at math, but I think that's the whole pie. I like pie. I feel like pie could be motivating to this crowd. I'll work on it.

Let me tell you how the Moratimyea's feel about this situation....who are they? I don't know...some peeps in the Middle East who think fat is where it's at! I've secured a one way ticket to their country, fyi. In their culture "skinny" is akin to having 2 heads, 8 legs and a husband who actually does something. Unimaginable. Shame and scandal is brought to your family if your BMI is less than 30. Your status in society is tied to your size....the bigger the better! Fat equals health, wealth and beauty. Amen!! Women must be prepared at a young age to take on a husband....and the husbands want fatties! They use a technique called "gavage" to force feed little girls who think it's cool to be skinny. Where'd they get an idea like that? It's actually borderline child abuse. Watching someone not want to eat was almost as disturbing as watching the forced feedings. Granted they aren't getting takeout from McDonald's, but I'm sure the road kill I saw them gnawing on was quite tasty. I mean....this sounds like the land of milk and honey right? Hold your forks....there's one tidbit of underlying trickery that I have a problem with...they believe that how large you are represents the amount of space you take up in your husbands heart. That's great n all if you are married to someone with enough room to accommodate such a commitment. I however am not. My husband has given his heart to cigarettes and fat back. No room at the Inn. Looks like it's time for a journey to Mortamayea... and a new beau who appreciates a SIF.

As if all this scandal weren't enough...I leave you with the scariest of the scary....the organized fatties. The National Association to Advance Fat Awareness...hide your children. Their members are fat and thin. The fatties are the fatties and the skinnies are called "FA" or Fat Admirers. Picture a dance floor with woman so fat(visual aide- 8 chins, an ass where a gut once was, a couple of vagina's and a few cankles....yummy) they can barely bust a move... and then thin men doing the moon walk around them. This would be a fat mixer. These "fat admirers" admit to being "Bi-sizeual." You kiss your mama with that mouth? Yes. They claim to have a unique ability to just see the person for who they are....underneath layers of molten, wrinkled, festering fat. I may have added that last tidbit. In any event, we all know who they really are. The oddballs who smell like old people, play video games at 45 and think the Simpson's deserve and Academy Award. As a fatty I think we need to recruit some more viable candidates to the group. I plan to email Brad Pitt after I finish this and tell him his services are needed at NATAFA. He saved New Orleans...surely he can save the fatties. Not to mention he owes me. That whole..."I'll never leave Jenn" incident has cost me valuable years of sex. I haven't decided how to get rid of all those crumb snatchers he acquired...perhaps I'll take them to a NATAFA and tell the fatties they are Kabobs. Or I could send them to Mortamiyea...I think at least 2 of them are from there anyway. If he would agree to all of that, I can take him places Angelina won't go...literally.

Exhibit "I"

In the event any of you were wondering if my unhealthy relationship with food was a farce...I give you Exhibit "I"...for ice cream. In the past, I've stated this disorder began at birth. However, I sensed doubters amongst us...so I felt it necessary to provide you with a visual aide...I give you a softball celebration.... circa 1980 something. The Panthers won the division title and were tricked into partying with the devil... aka ice cream. You may be wondering...which one of these little rats is the SIF? A true SIF could spot me a mile away...thank you very much. You'll note how others are randomly chatting happily with appropriately sized ice cream cones...and then there's me..suckin down an entire banana split looking irritated by the photo op. Truth be told...I've always been bitter that the cost accounting God who created the pricing index for the nectar aptly called "Banana Split"... didn't give more weight to the cherry. I prefer 3-4 as opposed to the 1-2 provided. Perhaps why I am slightly fruit aggressive to this day, can't be sure. Or maybe I knew that I was to marry and be miserable for the rest of my life. One can only speculate this far back. One thing is for sure, I played a mean right field. Granted, they usually stick the fatties far enough out field to make them appears thinner, but I worked that job. I knew one thing for sure...the more balls I grabbed, the bigger the reward. It's a shame adult life had to ruin that. In any event, I caught alot of balls and ate alot of ice cream. As much as I wanted to be the pitcher or the catcher...I was banned to the outfield. Cast out like the fatty I am. That's fine. Nothing can break my spirit. I still eat banana splits and bitch about the lack of cherries, I still hate pictures when I'm eating and to this day no good has come of my efforts to ball snatch. What's a girl to do alone in right field with all those balls and no game....eat I suspect. Your honor, I rest my case.