So....Mother came for a visit and managed not to tell me, "I don't look that bad." It's a small victory but one worth celebrating. Mothers Day is just around the corner so I suspect that played into her agenda. What exactly do you say whilst gazing upon 456 lbs of what was once small enough to exit your body gracefully? Ahhh....thanks for getting out in the nick of time, perhaps? Wanna know what I got her for Mother's Day? It's the gift that keeps on giving...An "Ass Blaster" from QVC! It's a hand me down. Not because she needs it...because my husband, in his infinite male wisdom (aka...stupidity), decided it was the perfect gift for his not so perfect wife. Thanks Honey! I wanted to reciprocate but they don't currently have a gadget for the dumb man gene. I'm sure it's in the works....no doubt by a man....who is putting it off until after football season....who will set it down somewhere and forget where he put it...probably 2 inches from where it belongs....then his wife will throw it out thinking it's trash....so it may take a while but there's always hope.
I'm changing things up a bit to share some things I observed/experienced over the past few weeks:
1. Dunkin Donuts tag line "Keeps America Running"....I can't be sure the Presidents Council on Physical Fitness would agree that coffee and donuts keeps American running. Running to the cardiologist maybe.....or back to Dunkin Donuts....but literally running after eating donuts is nearly impossible....unless you are a SIF! I ate 3 this morning and while I did not go for a post consumption run...I could have. Commitment at it's finest. Strength in the face of adversity.... I give you.... a SIF
2. Running a Half Marathon whilst Fat...Not only have I been doing this for years....I'm getting quite good at it. I dare say I am the Queen of the Clydesdale Division....but I can't....bcs the tricky part about being a fat runner is...the fatter you are the faster you are! I kid you not...I'm what I like to call "middle of the road fat." You know...I can pass on either side of the double line when I have to. So the skinnies always like to ask me my time at the finish. Rude. Does it matter? I just ran 13 freakin miles with 2 of you strapped to my ass! Is there a time goal associated with dragging 1/4 pounders 13 miles?!!! I think not. So stop asking...bitches. When you are noticeably fat....no one asks these questions. You are simply congratulated on a job well done. UNFAIR! Here's the thing....they usually beat me! Perhaps they are fueling up at Dunkin Donuts pre-race...I don't know! Maybe they are reading into the slogan and running with it! All I know...I have yet to run a race where I am not passed by some chick in screaming spandex with an ass large enough to post her family tree dating back to...oh say...Jesus! *Pause for random sign of cross* Top that with my 67 year old Dad beating me by like an hour and winning 1st place in his age group and....well....it's just shameful. One of two things needs to happen...I need to get fatter or find a new hobby.
3. Running Expos...they irritate me beyond belief. No... I don't need any extra butt paste or nipple protectors. My ass has enough fry grease to keep it lubed and my nipples are the only part of my breasts that are real...I shant hinder them from shining. Perhaps I can buy some new running shorts that say "Runner Chick" on the ass. Yeah...that would keep people guessing. It would look like "Running for chicken" plastered on my ass....lovely. Mother came with Dad and I to the running Expo. This nice young man asked her if she wanted to make a sign for her runners. She obliged, handed him back the sign and walked off. Interesting. Thank God there was an egg AND a sperm involved in my creation. After explaining that we were in fact her runners and we would not be able to see the sign from the EXPO....something clicked, she went back for the sign and we were on our way.
4. Being Poor = Being Fat...at first this didn't seem logical. If you are broke... you can't afford to eat so that makes you skinny, right? Not. You can't afford GOOD food. Everything bad for you is affordable. Little Debbie (love you)...low class whore at just under a buck, Jimmy Dean...typical man...lures you in with the promise good things and ends up on your ass and my personal favorite Cap'n Crunch....he might wanna crunch some numbers bcs that sugar ferry will take you on a one way trip to Fattyville! Everywhere you look there's a Dolla Menu calling out to the poor! Hell, I clip coupons to save money and the only thing I can get dirt cheap is ice cream and soda. Nobody's handing out coupons for apples and lettuce....which by the way cost more than half of what a minimum wage worker make in one hour. Let's see....I worked all week, made $67 and now I need food...spend it on a one night stand with a Golden Delicious or enjoy a week long tryst with that no good hooka Little Debbie. The choice is clear. We are fat bcs we can afford it! Here's some food for thought: I don't like being poor, I don't like being fat but I do so enjoy eating the poor man's diet which in turn makes me fat. One word: Intervention. Make the call.
Well, it's high noon and you know what that means....Fat Girl Lunch Hour! My God it's like Christmas in April!!! SIF out!
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!
Saturday, April 24, 2010
Sunday, April 11, 2010
The Final Countdown
As usual, I waited until the last minute to notice I went from Forever 21 to Forever 6x in just one winter. I don't get it. I look in the same damn mirror for 12 months and nothing "looks" different. I'd still "do" me...according to my mirror. However, I have come to realize that mirror is a lying little bastard. My closet is the only truthful functioning thing in the house. When I want to wear my skinny jeans it quietly reminds me, "that's not in the cards" and I swiftly move to the "big girl" section. Don't even pretend you don't have a "big girl" section in your closet. Why throw out the size 22 's when the next crisis is right around the corner? Personally, I can't wait to get back in my not so biggie jeans. I hate the fat ones. The waist comes up to my throat and I feel like a fat nerd. But they support all the junk in my trunk and that's no small feat. So my plan is as follows: Find someone with Swine Flu and or HIV and consummate the union. That is the only 1.5 month diet plan guaranteed to make me Forever size 2....until fall.
As much as I hate buying "temporary fat clothes"...my 1985 size 26 jeans just weren't gettin it. There's nothing worse than seeing people you know whilst shopping and holding 8 sizes larger than their worst day. When caught, I like to pretend I grabbed the wrong size....in everything. I'm known to do a little, " Oh my Gosh I grabbed the wrong size. Silly me." Or, when caught with too many items, "Yeah, all the size 0's were gone so I thought I'd try on the 24's and order the 0's online." Deceptive yet effective. Then we move on to my next issue. If the clothing rack dictates a size 24, why does the fitting room mirror make me look like Angelina Jolie? F'n mirrors again! I'd suggest it was my eye sight, but I already wear contacts strong enough to make Stevie Wonder see things clearly. The way they make these sizes today (sound like my mother in the 80's)....you put your leg in what feels like a tarp, only to be strangled at the thighs with enough room to throw quarters down your ass! Now there's a visual. Here's a clue Mr./Mrs. designer persons...when someone is a 26....you don't need to call them skinny jeans and cut them for supersized fit models! Grab you a beach ball and start shaping! Gheez.
So as you can imagine, bikini shopping is impossible. Where to put it all? I refuse to wear onesies or tankinies. That would make me fat. (no disrespect to those who are thin and wear them...I just hate you is all...except you Turtle...cause you look great in yours!). Thongs are out so that leaves alota skin and a little material. It's funny...no matter how big I get....big girl rocks a bikini! Mostly bcs my friends have been trained to tell me I look great. I didn't train them...they just do it. They must be in cahoots with my mirror. Enablers at their finest. My favorite amongst the offenders, my mother of course. Her signature line, "You don't look that bad." Thanks mother...that's typically what they tell people when they've been malled by a bear or hit by a bus. A real compliment I'm sure. She's about to visit. If you are reading this Mother, I know I'm fat so could you maybe say, "How's my big fat daughter? Dad and I almost didn't recognize you since you gained back all the weight." That right there should be enough for me to leave you at the airport and tell people I was raised by wolves.
I put myself back on house arrest in an attempt to take off 1 trillion pounds in a month and half. I fear not even jail can jump that hurdle. The part where I tell it what I eat is always the issue...who goes on a diet and lies to themselves? Me. I like the numbers to look good. I'm truthful about what I eat....just not how much. Here's the reason...1 serving looks great on paper...12 is where it gets ugly. I need to look good on paper if nowhere else. It's amazing how it all adds up. Perhaps how I got into this situation. Maybe I should look before I eat? Nah...what fun would that be? While I'm on the lying subject, my husband grabbed my ass the other day after admiring it... in fat jeans. I don't think he realizes how many sizes it takes to hold all that ass but he sure was liking what he saw. Dumb guy. So...what did I do to return the favor? I apologized. Yup. Told him I was sorry it was soo big.. note to self....when one gets laid about as often as a Preist (excluding the Catholics...they get way more action than they should...random sign of the cross) you should run with the compliment and use it to your advantage. Well...in my defense it was broad daylight and I never get naked at my size in broad daylight...so apologies were in order.
I feel sorry for my husband...mostly bcs he's a man... but also for the things he's forced to witness...me complaining about my weight whilst guzzling Krispy Kreme's like liquid crack, random 400 lb weigh fluctuations, naked killer whale sighting in the shower...and so on. He's a trooper. He hangs in there bcs he knows the "new me" is always right around the corner. Oh and if he left me...he'd just get sucked into some other woman's fat trauma. Might as well stick with what he knows. Aint marriage grand? That should be a standard vow for every marriage, "I vow to stick around through "thick and thin" bcs where else would I go." I now pronounce you a husband for life. You may kiss the bride...any hurry up about it....there's a buffet waiting!
As much as I hate buying "temporary fat clothes"...my 1985 size 26 jeans just weren't gettin it. There's nothing worse than seeing people you know whilst shopping and holding 8 sizes larger than their worst day. When caught, I like to pretend I grabbed the wrong size....in everything. I'm known to do a little, " Oh my Gosh I grabbed the wrong size. Silly me." Or, when caught with too many items, "Yeah, all the size 0's were gone so I thought I'd try on the 24's and order the 0's online." Deceptive yet effective. Then we move on to my next issue. If the clothing rack dictates a size 24, why does the fitting room mirror make me look like Angelina Jolie? F'n mirrors again! I'd suggest it was my eye sight, but I already wear contacts strong enough to make Stevie Wonder see things clearly. The way they make these sizes today (sound like my mother in the 80's)....you put your leg in what feels like a tarp, only to be strangled at the thighs with enough room to throw quarters down your ass! Now there's a visual. Here's a clue Mr./Mrs. designer persons...when someone is a 26....you don't need to call them skinny jeans and cut them for supersized fit models! Grab you a beach ball and start shaping! Gheez.
So as you can imagine, bikini shopping is impossible. Where to put it all? I refuse to wear onesies or tankinies. That would make me fat. (no disrespect to those who are thin and wear them...I just hate you is all...except you Turtle...cause you look great in yours!). Thongs are out so that leaves alota skin and a little material. It's funny...no matter how big I get....big girl rocks a bikini! Mostly bcs my friends have been trained to tell me I look great. I didn't train them...they just do it. They must be in cahoots with my mirror. Enablers at their finest. My favorite amongst the offenders, my mother of course. Her signature line, "You don't look that bad." Thanks mother...that's typically what they tell people when they've been malled by a bear or hit by a bus. A real compliment I'm sure. She's about to visit. If you are reading this Mother, I know I'm fat so could you maybe say, "How's my big fat daughter? Dad and I almost didn't recognize you since you gained back all the weight." That right there should be enough for me to leave you at the airport and tell people I was raised by wolves.
I put myself back on house arrest in an attempt to take off 1 trillion pounds in a month and half. I fear not even jail can jump that hurdle. The part where I tell it what I eat is always the issue...who goes on a diet and lies to themselves? Me. I like the numbers to look good. I'm truthful about what I eat....just not how much. Here's the reason...1 serving looks great on paper...12 is where it gets ugly. I need to look good on paper if nowhere else. It's amazing how it all adds up. Perhaps how I got into this situation. Maybe I should look before I eat? Nah...what fun would that be? While I'm on the lying subject, my husband grabbed my ass the other day after admiring it... in fat jeans. I don't think he realizes how many sizes it takes to hold all that ass but he sure was liking what he saw. Dumb guy. So...what did I do to return the favor? I apologized. Yup. Told him I was sorry it was soo big.. note to self....when one gets laid about as often as a Preist (excluding the Catholics...they get way more action than they should...random sign of the cross) you should run with the compliment and use it to your advantage. Well...in my defense it was broad daylight and I never get naked at my size in broad daylight...so apologies were in order.
I feel sorry for my husband...mostly bcs he's a man... but also for the things he's forced to witness...me complaining about my weight whilst guzzling Krispy Kreme's like liquid crack, random 400 lb weigh fluctuations, naked killer whale sighting in the shower...and so on. He's a trooper. He hangs in there bcs he knows the "new me" is always right around the corner. Oh and if he left me...he'd just get sucked into some other woman's fat trauma. Might as well stick with what he knows. Aint marriage grand? That should be a standard vow for every marriage, "I vow to stick around through "thick and thin" bcs where else would I go." I now pronounce you a husband for life. You may kiss the bride...any hurry up about it....there's a buffet waiting!
Saturday, April 3, 2010
Silly Rabbit....Tricks are for Fatties
I was laying in "the womb" contemplating how I would top last Easters post, "A Crack in the Eggs," when I felt my heart racing. No, not from angst. It was the foot long sub I just inhaled prior to laying down. I guess it's alot to ax your body to digest 3,000 calories just in time for a mid-day siesta but....shouldn't it be use to me ask for such things by now? Yes, on this bright sunny day whilst everyone in the free world was out enjoying Mother Nature, I was in fact binge eating and napping. My commitment is such that I don't take time off for holidays. I couldn't sleep, so I started thinking about how angry I was that Subway is no longer offering your pick of $5 Foot longs. Imagine stepping up to the register with exact change (a dead giveaway that I spend far too much time there) only to be axed for a $1.50 more. Guess it's back to the dolla menu and Ronaldo McDonald. The stress of the day left me wondering what I had to look forward to aside from McNuggets comprised of 37 ingredients sure to kill me. Then it hit me...tomorrow is the day when Jesus rose... I too shall rise....right off my fat ass! Not as prophetic but an effort all the same. So I got out of bed around 3pm and the womb was without it's savior....
I failed to mention, whilst laying in the womb digesting and meal planning, I was also reading the 12 Steps of Over Eaters Anonymous...no lie. You know how sometimes you read something and it jumps right off the page bcs you feel like it's speaking to you? That was pretty much the entire book.....you had me at hello kinda thing. However comma, there was one line that made me feel like an all out addict...."Do you dream of how perfect your life would be as a thin person whilst in the process over eating?" Ummmm yeah.... it goes something like....Me as a size 0, (bcs there's always enough of that size left on the rack) with mustard & ketsup on my face, shagging Brad Pitt whilst explaining to my husband he must have known this day was coming when I broke it off with Little Debbie. Something like that. It went on to talk about the guilt associated with post-binge eating. That's where the fried chicken breast split....I do not own that emotion. So I decided to focus on that little Fuckin Crack Rabbit who would be appearing on my door step in less than 24 hours. Luckily, "New Me Monday" comes after "Hide the candy Sunday." Timing is everything for addicts.
Here's my take on Easter:
1. Whilst a Cadbury Egg is somewhat lacking in protein, it goes "right nice" (southern vernacular) with bacon. You should try it. Be thankful...the fake yoke is saving you from swallowing chicken menstruation. Are we clear on my thoughts about eggs? I think so.
2. Jelly Beans are laced with crack. It's a fact. Have you ever found yourself, over the age of 30, digging for jelly beans between layers of fake grass only to be pissed off when you couldn't find any? That's how Ray Ray Jenkins feels when he's lookin for a hit. Have you ever eaten just one? Ray Ray neitha. And Ray Ray is white so don't go there. White people hit the pipe too. Crack is after all and equal opportunity offender.
3. Peeps. What the fuck are Peeps? Refined Sugar Rabbits laced with bad food coloring. That's what they are. If you want to be one of my "peeps" you gotta come harder than marshmallow melt in your mouth bullshit. No thanks. I prefer chocolate eggs dripping in fake yoke and biting appendages off unsuspecting sugar creatures in pretty boxes. I have no use for these Peeps. None at all.
Let this serve as a warning to the Easter Bunny (who isn't real by the way....stop reading my blog crumb snatchers....that'll serve ya right!)...if you come to my house...don't be hidin shit. Nothing pisses a fatty off more than a scavenger hunt for sweets. I can carry my ass to K-mart and get everything I need without the extra work, thank you. However comma, I have a sniffer of canine proportion... so don't mess with me. If there's chocolate in this house I'll find it. Just ask my husband. Each trip to the grocery store brings hope of goodies he'll never eat. I "say" they are for him....that simply means he must beat me to the punch. I'm fast and motivated. He's...a guy. Need a say more. His lips have yet to touch a Krispy Kreme. Shoulda married a skinny girl. I have no interest in your sob stories.
Before I close out this tirade I have one question...who turned Easter into bunnies and candy when it's suppose to be about Jesus rising from the grave to save us? *pause for random sign of the cross* Hallmark takes every opportunity to jump in and commercialize any holiday they can get their hands on? Do any of us think Jesus would be proud to see the Easter Bunny waving at us from the bypass whilst encouraging us to buy over-priced foot long subs? Shameful. Instead of painting eggs and hiding baskets from future SIF, how about explaining the true meaning of Easter over a nice meal. Jesus loves fat people and he knows we gotta eat. He also knows we do not have the cardiovascular stamina to find hidden sweets and fight small children for chocolate. If you are not a Christian....I aint mad at ya but DAMN...stop celebrating our holidays! Watching children in burkas sit on Santa's lap and pose with the Easter Bunny is beyond disturbing. If you don't believe in Jesus I hereby declare no ham, no bunnies and no candy until Monday at 4pm...when I fall off the wagon and join you. Happy Easter!
I failed to mention, whilst laying in the womb digesting and meal planning, I was also reading the 12 Steps of Over Eaters Anonymous...no lie. You know how sometimes you read something and it jumps right off the page bcs you feel like it's speaking to you? That was pretty much the entire book.....you had me at hello kinda thing. However comma, there was one line that made me feel like an all out addict...."Do you dream of how perfect your life would be as a thin person whilst in the process over eating?" Ummmm yeah.... it goes something like....Me as a size 0, (bcs there's always enough of that size left on the rack) with mustard & ketsup on my face, shagging Brad Pitt whilst explaining to my husband he must have known this day was coming when I broke it off with Little Debbie. Something like that. It went on to talk about the guilt associated with post-binge eating. That's where the fried chicken breast split....I do not own that emotion. So I decided to focus on that little Fuckin Crack Rabbit who would be appearing on my door step in less than 24 hours. Luckily, "New Me Monday" comes after "Hide the candy Sunday." Timing is everything for addicts.
Here's my take on Easter:
1. Whilst a Cadbury Egg is somewhat lacking in protein, it goes "right nice" (southern vernacular) with bacon. You should try it. Be thankful...the fake yoke is saving you from swallowing chicken menstruation. Are we clear on my thoughts about eggs? I think so.
2. Jelly Beans are laced with crack. It's a fact. Have you ever found yourself, over the age of 30, digging for jelly beans between layers of fake grass only to be pissed off when you couldn't find any? That's how Ray Ray Jenkins feels when he's lookin for a hit. Have you ever eaten just one? Ray Ray neitha. And Ray Ray is white so don't go there. White people hit the pipe too. Crack is after all and equal opportunity offender.
3. Peeps. What the fuck are Peeps? Refined Sugar Rabbits laced with bad food coloring. That's what they are. If you want to be one of my "peeps" you gotta come harder than marshmallow melt in your mouth bullshit. No thanks. I prefer chocolate eggs dripping in fake yoke and biting appendages off unsuspecting sugar creatures in pretty boxes. I have no use for these Peeps. None at all.
Let this serve as a warning to the Easter Bunny (who isn't real by the way....stop reading my blog crumb snatchers....that'll serve ya right!)...if you come to my house...don't be hidin shit. Nothing pisses a fatty off more than a scavenger hunt for sweets. I can carry my ass to K-mart and get everything I need without the extra work, thank you. However comma, I have a sniffer of canine proportion... so don't mess with me. If there's chocolate in this house I'll find it. Just ask my husband. Each trip to the grocery store brings hope of goodies he'll never eat. I "say" they are for him....that simply means he must beat me to the punch. I'm fast and motivated. He's...a guy. Need a say more. His lips have yet to touch a Krispy Kreme. Shoulda married a skinny girl. I have no interest in your sob stories.
Before I close out this tirade I have one question...who turned Easter into bunnies and candy when it's suppose to be about Jesus rising from the grave to save us? *pause for random sign of the cross* Hallmark takes every opportunity to jump in and commercialize any holiday they can get their hands on? Do any of us think Jesus would be proud to see the Easter Bunny waving at us from the bypass whilst encouraging us to buy over-priced foot long subs? Shameful. Instead of painting eggs and hiding baskets from future SIF, how about explaining the true meaning of Easter over a nice meal. Jesus loves fat people and he knows we gotta eat. He also knows we do not have the cardiovascular stamina to find hidden sweets and fight small children for chocolate. If you are not a Christian....I aint mad at ya but DAMN...stop celebrating our holidays! Watching children in burkas sit on Santa's lap and pose with the Easter Bunny is beyond disturbing. If you don't believe in Jesus I hereby declare no ham, no bunnies and no candy until Monday at 4pm...when I fall off the wagon and join you. Happy Easter!
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Aspirations
Some aspire to become President. Some to become famous. Me...I just want to be Mrs. Brad Pitt. Obviously my goals are directly in line with my God given talents whilst the general population is just reaching for things they can't hope to achieve...but that's beside the point. My point is...who aspires to be fat? Nobody I know. I mean....I will admit to aspirations of inappropriateness with the likes of Little Debbie and trysts with everything from Helluva Good to Ho-Ho's... but never with the forethought I would be packing on the pounds. In fact, I believe in non-consequence eating. It's my Scarlett O'Hara diet plan..."I'll worry about that tomorrow." I'm not trying to be fat....just failing to be thin. Yeah that's it. I'm sort of a go getter like that. If you think it's inconceivable someone would aspire to be fat...think again. There's always someone out there ready to prove to the world the "pull out method" is not an effective way to produce intelligent offspring. I give you Donna Simpson.
Apparently life at 532 pounds was a little dull so Donna decided she needed to dream big. Wearing a size 7x wasn't big enough for you Donna? How does one dream bigger than that exactly? It seems she has set her sights on becoming the largest woman in the world. What can I say? When one is faced with losing 400 lbs or gaining 200 hundred...you do the math. It's much easier to eat your way into the record book than it is to be hailed the biggest loser. I never understood why anyone would want that title, "Biggest Loser." Just being the biggest sounds better to me...and apparently Donna agrees. Here's where the road splits....her grocery bill is over $3,000 a month! That's a mortgage! It gives new meaning to the term "Eat you out of house and home."....I think so Donna. However comma, Donna is a fatty entrepreneur at heart. She has come up with an ingenious way to fund her massive grocery bill. She has a website where men pay to watch her eat fast food.. Ughum. I always knew men were the weaker sex and um...not that smart... but really! Could they not hang out in the Taco Bell parking lot and achieve the same orgasmic pleasure for free? Hell I'm there 6 nights a week...I'd give um a BOGO! I bet Donna don't make deals like that! Once again proving my theory that ineffective birth control makes it possible for all of us to have a dream.
If you aren't having a "visually ill moment" by now, allow me to give you one. Donna holds the record for being the fattest woman to give birth. Congratulations. It took 30 medics, an industrial strength crowbar and a strong gag reflex to get that baby out! Damn. I have only one question, "Who's banging this 532lb Internet sensation?" It takes alot a man to enter into something like that and come out with....well with his life quite frankly. I'm not trying to be mean but... I've been trying to get with Brad Pitt for years. I'm half her size and I aint gettin no play. If I can't get with Brad Pitt how is a woman who wears a 7x, weighs 532 lbs and eats enough to pay my mortgage having a baby? How is it that she's famous, fat and fucked? I'm just curious is all. I hate to sound cliche but she does have a pretty face. Maybe that's it? Maybe she goes to those NAAFFA mixers I told you about? Either way...Donna is clearly getting more action than me. Reason #3324 to end my life immediately if not sooner.
I have a plan for Donna. I think she should start hanging out with Lecrecia. Remember her? The Surrrday morning drinker who got shot at the bar and now wants to gain as much weight as she can to protect her life. Remember her? I think they would get along great. Donna could web cast from the bar whilst she eats wings and fries and Crecia can pound shots whilst getting shot. I bet her profits would triple! Hell I might even tune in for that. Here's the trailer, "Two fatties alone in the ghetto on a Suurrday morning. Not sure what to do they head out for drinks and a few thousand calories. They enter the bar. Shots are fired and bones start flying." I may have to pitch that one to the networks. I'm starting to get a bit jealous of the fame I've created for Donna and Cre Cre. You better at least give me credit bitches.
What can we learn from people like Donna? Use birth control. An 'X" on your clothing label may be your ticket to fame. Being fat is expensive. Men will fuck anything. And no dream is too big...literally.
***Yes I "bit" (ghetto for stole) this story from the press at large. They have done me exactly no favors so they aint gettin no credit. I took your story and added some fat! That's why I am a SIF and you are ...not. ****
Apparently life at 532 pounds was a little dull so Donna decided she needed to dream big. Wearing a size 7x wasn't big enough for you Donna? How does one dream bigger than that exactly? It seems she has set her sights on becoming the largest woman in the world. What can I say? When one is faced with losing 400 lbs or gaining 200 hundred...you do the math. It's much easier to eat your way into the record book than it is to be hailed the biggest loser. I never understood why anyone would want that title, "Biggest Loser." Just being the biggest sounds better to me...and apparently Donna agrees. Here's where the road splits....her grocery bill is over $3,000 a month! That's a mortgage! It gives new meaning to the term "Eat you out of house and home."....I think so Donna. However comma, Donna is a fatty entrepreneur at heart. She has come up with an ingenious way to fund her massive grocery bill. She has a website where men pay to watch her eat fast food.. Ughum. I always knew men were the weaker sex and um...not that smart... but really! Could they not hang out in the Taco Bell parking lot and achieve the same orgasmic pleasure for free? Hell I'm there 6 nights a week...I'd give um a BOGO! I bet Donna don't make deals like that! Once again proving my theory that ineffective birth control makes it possible for all of us to have a dream.
If you aren't having a "visually ill moment" by now, allow me to give you one. Donna holds the record for being the fattest woman to give birth. Congratulations. It took 30 medics, an industrial strength crowbar and a strong gag reflex to get that baby out! Damn. I have only one question, "Who's banging this 532lb Internet sensation?" It takes alot a man to enter into something like that and come out with....well with his life quite frankly. I'm not trying to be mean but... I've been trying to get with Brad Pitt for years. I'm half her size and I aint gettin no play. If I can't get with Brad Pitt how is a woman who wears a 7x, weighs 532 lbs and eats enough to pay my mortgage having a baby? How is it that she's famous, fat and fucked? I'm just curious is all. I hate to sound cliche but she does have a pretty face. Maybe that's it? Maybe she goes to those NAAFFA mixers I told you about? Either way...Donna is clearly getting more action than me. Reason #3324 to end my life immediately if not sooner.
I have a plan for Donna. I think she should start hanging out with Lecrecia. Remember her? The Surrrday morning drinker who got shot at the bar and now wants to gain as much weight as she can to protect her life. Remember her? I think they would get along great. Donna could web cast from the bar whilst she eats wings and fries and Crecia can pound shots whilst getting shot. I bet her profits would triple! Hell I might even tune in for that. Here's the trailer, "Two fatties alone in the ghetto on a Suurrday morning. Not sure what to do they head out for drinks and a few thousand calories. They enter the bar. Shots are fired and bones start flying." I may have to pitch that one to the networks. I'm starting to get a bit jealous of the fame I've created for Donna and Cre Cre. You better at least give me credit bitches.
What can we learn from people like Donna? Use birth control. An 'X" on your clothing label may be your ticket to fame. Being fat is expensive. Men will fuck anything. And no dream is too big...literally.
***Yes I "bit" (ghetto for stole) this story from the press at large. They have done me exactly no favors so they aint gettin no credit. I took your story and added some fat! That's why I am a SIF and you are ...not. ****
Monday, March 22, 2010
Fatty in the Middle
Yes.... I know I haven't made a fat deposit in a couple weeks. I'm working on it in between meals. Be back soon....
Sunday, March 7, 2010
Girl Scouts...
Evil little green midgets is more like it. Back in the day, being a GS was a respectable way to earn a living outside the confines of parental slavery. In fact, parents did most of the work. They had to take that oppressive form, pass it around to unsuspecting co-workers in hopes that the guilt of having crumb snatching offspring forced into early labor was enough to secure an order. That transformed into tactical warfare via the home front...at just under 4'8" the peep hole proved an ineffective means of keeping the enemy off your front porch. What's a SIF love more than cookies delivered to the home? Not much... other than a naked Brad Pitt delivery boy. Now they have morphed into tiny prostitutes pedaling their wears at the precise spot where a box of Thin Mints is equivalent to Kryptonite....the grocery store! I know this because I almost hit one of those green rodents with my car. I won't go on record and say if it was intentional or unintentional but either way they should know better than to block a SIF from the front door of any establishment that carries food. Warning...objects in car appear as large as they actually are and can do serious bodily harm when hungry....back away from the door green bitches!
Now that I got that off my chest....I will admit to buying a box....or 5! Yes! Yes, I broke SIF rule #34567...shopping whilst hungry. I was a prime target. Before I even broke the threshold of the sliding glass door to the Food Palace, I had spent my entire grocery budget on Thin Mints, Samoa's and Tagalongs. The Mom's took one look at my ass and started telling me all about the healthy new options in GS cookies. Shut it Mommy....I'm a SIF...I know the menu, I don't need suggestions and by the way... your kids are butt ugly and yes they look just like you! Bag um and cut the small talk. No, I'm not a very nice person when it comes to healthy alternatives. I'll let you know when I jump on that band wagon. I do recall another rage filled trip to the grocery ruined by the likes of the GS. I was living in VA and had made a quick run to the store for...whatever I was craving. As is usually the case this time of year, the little green prostitutes were out in full force. This time, they got me on the way out. Had I seen it coming, I may have had a snack to offset the impending drool that follows the sighting of a box of Samoa's. But no, they got me head on. "You wanna buy some GS cookies," they said. "I want you to crawl back in the womb and make everyone happy," I said with my ever present inner voice. And then I bought 8 boxes. However, comma, hiding in the shadows cast by my size 53 figure, was a reporter...waiting to ask me why I chose what I chose. Lovely, busted. Luckily it was only the local paper. He asked, "Why Thin Mints?" "Because I'm going to take the home, dip them in the carton of ice cream I just bought, down some Diet Coke and pretend Brad Pitt is on the way over," my inside voice said snarkily. Luckily, my outside voice came to the rescue with, "Because they are thin and minty." Hey, the only thing I sugar coat are my cookies. I saved the article as proof that I was famous for being fat long before any of y'all knew me (southern vernacular creeping up on me again).
I hold no ill will toward the GS. They provide me with a sugar high like no other. Perhaps I should start referring to them as drug dealers instead of prostitutes. No...I'm confident they would sell their bodies for cookie sales. I can see it in their whorey little pre-pubescent eyes. I got news for ya girls: having a period sucks, getting married sucks worse and if you want to be a good little whore...stay single! If not them, I'm sure "Mom" would take one for the team. After all, mother's are just hookas with commitments. Hmmm...I do need sex and....well I do love cookies so maybe I can work something out with these little green cookie pedaling vermin. Perhaps a deal can be had. I do have experience. As you might expect...I was a member of one of these "cover groups for local pedophiles." I was in fact a BROWNIE! It was my dream job! I could actually be what I love most in this world...brownies! I don't recall having to act as a prostitute but who was banging me in that nasty brown dress anyway? Exactly no one. I had no aspirations of being a GS. Why would I? No one wants to eat a GS but everyone wants to eat a Brownie. Fat girls get all the action!
Have I lost it? Clearly...and long ago thank you. If only this brownie had known the following prior to marriage: Brownies with husbands are like leftovers....whilst they taste better everyday they are most often left to wilt and very rarely eaten. Isn't it amazing what one can learn from being a part of a group? Calling the GS as we speak....
Now that I got that off my chest....I will admit to buying a box....or 5! Yes! Yes, I broke SIF rule #34567...shopping whilst hungry. I was a prime target. Before I even broke the threshold of the sliding glass door to the Food Palace, I had spent my entire grocery budget on Thin Mints, Samoa's and Tagalongs. The Mom's took one look at my ass and started telling me all about the healthy new options in GS cookies. Shut it Mommy....I'm a SIF...I know the menu, I don't need suggestions and by the way... your kids are butt ugly and yes they look just like you! Bag um and cut the small talk. No, I'm not a very nice person when it comes to healthy alternatives. I'll let you know when I jump on that band wagon. I do recall another rage filled trip to the grocery ruined by the likes of the GS. I was living in VA and had made a quick run to the store for...whatever I was craving. As is usually the case this time of year, the little green prostitutes were out in full force. This time, they got me on the way out. Had I seen it coming, I may have had a snack to offset the impending drool that follows the sighting of a box of Samoa's. But no, they got me head on. "You wanna buy some GS cookies," they said. "I want you to crawl back in the womb and make everyone happy," I said with my ever present inner voice. And then I bought 8 boxes. However, comma, hiding in the shadows cast by my size 53 figure, was a reporter...waiting to ask me why I chose what I chose. Lovely, busted. Luckily it was only the local paper. He asked, "Why Thin Mints?" "Because I'm going to take the home, dip them in the carton of ice cream I just bought, down some Diet Coke and pretend Brad Pitt is on the way over," my inside voice said snarkily. Luckily, my outside voice came to the rescue with, "Because they are thin and minty." Hey, the only thing I sugar coat are my cookies. I saved the article as proof that I was famous for being fat long before any of y'all knew me (southern vernacular creeping up on me again).
I hold no ill will toward the GS. They provide me with a sugar high like no other. Perhaps I should start referring to them as drug dealers instead of prostitutes. No...I'm confident they would sell their bodies for cookie sales. I can see it in their whorey little pre-pubescent eyes. I got news for ya girls: having a period sucks, getting married sucks worse and if you want to be a good little whore...stay single! If not them, I'm sure "Mom" would take one for the team. After all, mother's are just hookas with commitments. Hmmm...I do need sex and....well I do love cookies so maybe I can work something out with these little green cookie pedaling vermin. Perhaps a deal can be had. I do have experience. As you might expect...I was a member of one of these "cover groups for local pedophiles." I was in fact a BROWNIE! It was my dream job! I could actually be what I love most in this world...brownies! I don't recall having to act as a prostitute but who was banging me in that nasty brown dress anyway? Exactly no one. I had no aspirations of being a GS. Why would I? No one wants to eat a GS but everyone wants to eat a Brownie. Fat girls get all the action!
Have I lost it? Clearly...and long ago thank you. If only this brownie had known the following prior to marriage: Brownies with husbands are like leftovers....whilst they taste better everyday they are most often left to wilt and very rarely eaten. Isn't it amazing what one can learn from being a part of a group? Calling the GS as we speak....
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Nailed- another repost bcs I can..I AM the SIF
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!
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Fat Saves Lives
"I can't make this shit up" is wearing out it's welcome on the SIF blog! I swear, every time I turn around my SIF are providing me with enough material to re-write War and Peace as "Too Fat to Be True!" Good work sistas! So there I was...working like the enslaved wife my husband always wanted , when my home page popped up a story about a woman who was saved by her fat. Quite frankly, I think all things technical are pre-programmed to secretly let you know "they are watching." Like when I go to the grocery and buy a cart full of goodies only to be rewarded with register coupons for all things healthy. I don't appreciate it and I don't find it funny. Much like my homepage preparing me for random gang fire by beefing up my love handles, I wasn't amused...that is until I read the article. What? Did you think I was going to let such a treasure slip through my sodium swollen fingers? I shant!
Honestly, I don't know where to begin. I think the article was maybe 200 words, yet I felt like I was witnessing someone being hit by a train, head-on, one limb at a time and I couldn't look away. I just stared at the computer in amazement. I'm not sure if it was the ghetto fabulousness of it all or the fact it was a true story that will legitimately keep this woman from ever losing a pound...ever. I only wish someone would shoot me in the fat, thus sparing my life so I would have a legitimate excuse to maintain my inappropriate relationship with Little Debbie. But good things like that never happen to me... and even if they did, the bullet would be lost forever offering no proof of the crime and no defense for the victim. So unfair.
So...I give you "Lecrecia"(names have been changed to protect the fat)...your average SIF who simply wanted to have her a little drinky poo at the local watering hole one Saturday morning. Note...I said "morning." Hey, some like bacon some like booze...who am I to judge? As she walked into the bar, "BAM!" sista gets shot in the love handles! Bartender, make that a double! In true SIF form she didn't feel a thing...until she reached down and discovered blood coming from her side. Knowing she wasn't on her "menses" (for you mother), she wasn't quite sure what to make of the Type A situation. If it wasn't for those two pops she heard, she may not have even known her abdomen was equipped with handles. It's par for the course being a SIF. She told the police (and I quote), "I could have been dead." Yes, yes Lecrecia you could have. You also could have been thin... but you weren't. Thus, your life was spared. Cree Cree credits her love handles with saving her life. Oh for the Love of God! Who says that? Do you honestly think if I was shot in the ass I'd run around telling the press "The junk in my trunk was responsible for saving my life?" Ahh yeah I would bcs I'm a publicity whore... but I wouldn't be happy about it....
"Lecrecia" went on to say that she had been "Hollerin" about losing weight but now she wants to be as big as she can if it's going to stop a bullet. Ughhum. Take a moment and process that, will you? There are so many layers of dysfunction...allow me to break them down:
A. Who "Holla's" about losing weight. I prefer to whisper.
2. Who..at 350lbs...aspires to be as big as they can? Newsflash...you are already there.
B. Who thinks this is happening again? Apparently there is a hidden danger in Sat am drinking.
It's all so...real. There is actually someone out there who drinks on Saturday mornings whilst getting shot... before her shot... and endorses fat as a first line of defense in the war against being in the wrong place at the wrong time. What's next? Mary's Muffin Top saves her from Mayhem? Perhaps. As the story goes...the shooting suspect is still at large and Cree Cree is still...you guessed it...livin large...and Hollerin I suspect.
***Sidebar*** I'm not a biter (ghetto for plagiarism) so if you feel like you want to read the story you can go to http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/35545244/?gt1=43001 and see for yourself that I don't make this stuff up. There's even a picture to help you jump start that diet you've been putting off for fear of your life. Enjoy!
Honestly, I don't know where to begin. I think the article was maybe 200 words, yet I felt like I was witnessing someone being hit by a train, head-on, one limb at a time and I couldn't look away. I just stared at the computer in amazement. I'm not sure if it was the ghetto fabulousness of it all or the fact it was a true story that will legitimately keep this woman from ever losing a pound...ever. I only wish someone would shoot me in the fat, thus sparing my life so I would have a legitimate excuse to maintain my inappropriate relationship with Little Debbie. But good things like that never happen to me... and even if they did, the bullet would be lost forever offering no proof of the crime and no defense for the victim. So unfair.
So...I give you "Lecrecia"(names have been changed to protect the fat)...your average SIF who simply wanted to have her a little drinky poo at the local watering hole one Saturday morning. Note...I said "morning." Hey, some like bacon some like booze...who am I to judge? As she walked into the bar, "BAM!" sista gets shot in the love handles! Bartender, make that a double! In true SIF form she didn't feel a thing...until she reached down and discovered blood coming from her side. Knowing she wasn't on her "menses" (for you mother), she wasn't quite sure what to make of the Type A situation. If it wasn't for those two pops she heard, she may not have even known her abdomen was equipped with handles. It's par for the course being a SIF. She told the police (and I quote), "I could have been dead." Yes, yes Lecrecia you could have. You also could have been thin... but you weren't. Thus, your life was spared. Cree Cree credits her love handles with saving her life. Oh for the Love of God! Who says that? Do you honestly think if I was shot in the ass I'd run around telling the press "The junk in my trunk was responsible for saving my life?" Ahh yeah I would bcs I'm a publicity whore... but I wouldn't be happy about it....
"Lecrecia" went on to say that she had been "Hollerin" about losing weight but now she wants to be as big as she can if it's going to stop a bullet. Ughhum. Take a moment and process that, will you? There are so many layers of dysfunction...allow me to break them down:
A. Who "Holla's" about losing weight. I prefer to whisper.
2. Who..at 350lbs...aspires to be as big as they can? Newsflash...you are already there.
B. Who thinks this is happening again? Apparently there is a hidden danger in Sat am drinking.
It's all so...real. There is actually someone out there who drinks on Saturday mornings whilst getting shot... before her shot... and endorses fat as a first line of defense in the war against being in the wrong place at the wrong time. What's next? Mary's Muffin Top saves her from Mayhem? Perhaps. As the story goes...the shooting suspect is still at large and Cree Cree is still...you guessed it...livin large...and Hollerin I suspect.
***Sidebar*** I'm not a biter (ghetto for plagiarism) so if you feel like you want to read the story you can go to http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/35545244/?gt1=43001 and see for yourself that I don't make this stuff up. There's even a picture to help you jump start that diet you've been putting off for fear of your life. Enjoy!
Sunday, February 21, 2010
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!
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!
Thursday, February 18, 2010
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?!
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?!
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