Spooge Bob Stupid Pants

Being fat in the middle of summer sucks. You would think the heat alone would be enough to scare off thoughts of fried chicken and macaroni...but no (just had it for dinner and the heat index is 120). I'm thinking that would take a hurricane....Cat 5. Scratch that...being trapped inside with death starring me in the face is more reason than ever to binge eat. I went through a Cat 3 and I gotta tell ya, I did not go hungry. Hubby made sure we had a generator and I made sure 2 things were hooked up post haste...the fridge and the TV. I'm a survivalist like that. In any event, there are no hurricanes in sight and no diets looming. I tried the crazy "you'll never chew again" diet and...well what can I say, I like to chew. I will reveal for the first time the name of said diet (drum roll please)...Medifast. Medi- implies doctors concocted this train wreck of starvation and fast means just that.....no eating! It was literally the only one I hadn't tried and now I know why. The food tastes like ass and I was literally starving. Which I suppose was the point...but you don't go from Pamela Anderson to Mother Theresa on a spur of the moment decision to abstain from sex and move into a convent. You have to carry a bible around for a while...see how it feels. Have sex with guys every other day and work your way back from Tommy Lee sized proportions (major withdrawals). Slowly drain the silicon sacks from EEE to A. That's all I'm saying.

So my immediate plan to lose 50 pounds by my 20th class reunion next Friday is as follows: buy a big dress. I can hide at least 20 with a fitted waist and flared bottom. Top that with the random genetic mutation story and I'm good until the 25th. That reminds me....my annual Vajay Jay appointment is right around the corner and I don't think I'll luck out and get dumb nurse 2 years in a row. That means I'll have to lose the 10 she lied about, the 10 I lied about and the 10 I gained since all the lying began. Or maybe I'll just get a new doctor. Seems easier. But...he's hot and I like it when he tells me I have a perfect uterus whilst rearranging my eggs. At least something on me is perfect. Too bad my uterus is the most unused part of my body...aside from the entrance. I'm getting off track. So I confided in my non-uterus loving husband that I was feeling a bit "off." I was getting ready to say, "Maybe it's bcs we haven't had sex this year," when he interjected, "Are you taking a multi-vitamin?" How soon I forget... since he decided to start working out at 39, he's now Mr. GNC. "Yes, I am. Prenatal to be exact. I figure I would let my body figure out why it's preparing to have a baby when it hasn't seen sperm since we started dating." That usually shuts him up. If not, I show him my back fat...ya know right under the bra clasp. One lump on each side....the twins. Maybe a multi-vitamin can help that.

It's bad enough when the law says you have to put up with shit from your husband (biblical law that is) but no where in any book does it suggest I have to put up with shit from random male assholes without appetites. Before heading to the beach (in my thong) to scare tourists, I stopped at Subway for some sustenance. Just what every beach goer needs to see....the latest thong from Lane Bryant plastered on a plus sized pale ass wolfing down a 12 inch sub with all the trimmings. Yummy. Hey, at least I get the $5 foot longs. I am a frugal fatty. So I'm ordering up lunch for me and the hubster... just minding my own business whilst Suzie (not her name at all...far too many vowels) from Slovakia cheaps me out of as many toppings as she can. It's disturbing. Has the price of lettuce and pickels gone up from the oil spill bcs Suzie sure thinks they have! I can't call her out bcs then I look like the fatty I'm trying to hide. I mentally bitch slapped the shit out of her though. That's why you go early in the morning....no one is in there and you can raise holy hell without calling attention to your fat stores. I'm gonna need a new paragraph for the rest of this story....

So...as I was saying, Svleka was depriving me of pickles when I heard someone order a sub from behind. Normally I like to turn at an angle when someone is that close...makes things appear more even. Some dumb guy ordering a 6 inch turkey with "spooge" of mayo. A. 6 inch subs are so last year. 2. "Spooge"- what are you a pedophile out for lunch....nasty word that should never be used around innocent food! So already I'm not liking this asshole. Meanwhile....Big Bertha (aka me) is bellied up to not one but 2 foot longs in the making. Being the nice fatty that I am, I told him he could go ahead of me since his mini-man pedophile sub was already prepared...spooge n all. (puking in back of mouth). He thanked me and for a minute I thought he was kinda cute. A minute....just a minute. A. I realized we could never be together due to his lack of appetite and fondness of spooge. C. I'm married (in theory) and E. He almost got tackled by this fatty for opening his spooging pie hole and saying the following: "Can you eat all of that?" (referring to just 1 of my 2 foot longs) My inside voice said, "Yes asshole. Or I can cram it up your ass and watch the mayo spooge out." My outside voice said, "Oh no, it's not for me."- I may be fat but I'm quick to deflect any remnits of it away from it's owner.....how dare he! This is a classic example of why men are so dumb! You NEVER ask a woman (fat or thin) if she can eat all of anything! Do I ask you that when you come face to face with my "Chuckie?" I think not. At the end of the day who really cares! A taste, a nibble an all out feast....leftovers...spooge....it's all good...until you start asking questions ....dumb ass stupid 6 inch man who will NEVER get laid with a mouth like that!

Now I was angry. I had to act "smuggy" or he would clearly know I was lying. Hell, all he had to do was peer under my bathing suit cover up and he would have answered his own question without opening his dumb guy mouth! Deep breath. The militant Subway worker ordered him back in line behind me (clearly some sisterly love) and I was most pleased. They have a system and as a customer you do not attempt to overthrow it.....got that spooge boy! I was keeping a keen eye on the "subs for others" when I noticed "Tupac"(he looks like him...RIP) put my BMT in a bag with a turkey sub. The turkey was for the girl in front of me who was thin and clueless....always keep your eye on the food sister! I let this go on until she was about to pay and walk out with my husbands sub. That can't happen....he would want to eat mine and I don't share. Mother taught me well. I quietly called this error in judgement to Tupac's attention. I forget the foreigners like to yell and quickly knew I was being outed. I don't know what it is about Subway but if you break the system they go Saddam on your ass! He decided to argue with me about the location of the BMT. Yeah...I have fatty GPS and you...you are a dumb guy. He swore he was right and made a scene only to find out....Fatty knows best. Do you think he apologized. No. In his country not only would a woman never speak up....my cover up would be covering up way more than in currently was. Whatever...I win hands down. Sister ahead of me thanked me...that was enough. That and knowing I wasn't getting her lame as 2 topping sub or spooge boys 6 inch meat molester.

I'll have you know I only ate half of my sub. I wanted to leave room for beer and ice cream. And that's how I ended my day...in the ice cream aisle of the grocery store explaining to my neighbor why I was buying 2 half gallons of full fat ice cream, hot fudge and whipped cream......party. Yup...party for the person who ate the subs I was buying earlier. I need to start ordering in again. I need privacy until such time that I can meet up with this thing they call self control. I don't even like how it sounds. See Mother, I made it through an entire blog without saying, "Fuck...or rabbit." You raised me up right....except for the eating disorder part... you were a real June Cleaver. See you Thursday for my 20 pound reunion!

"The Woman who can't gain Weight"

Talk about a headline that will never...ever follow my name. So I woke up the other morning like I usually do...hungry. In an effort to calm the demons, I flipped on the Today Show and started guzzling water. Typically that combo holds off a random early morning binge for at least 2 0r 3 minutes. That is unless the formerly fat Al Roker and his clan happen to be chowing down on the random creations of a guest chef. Do I need to see a wanna be weatherman eating ribs at 7:30 in the morning whilst I have to walk 10 miles and drink liquid shit in an effort NOT to look like the former version of him? I think not. Clearly I need to start watching cartoons....scratch that...they make me crave Froot Loops and footed PJ's. Anyway, so I click on the TV and see her...."The woman who can't gain weight." Fascinating. She's 21 and weighs 61. Personally I would take any combination of that. None of those numbers exist in my world...unless we are recounting my personal best for trips to the buffet. Apparently she has some genetic disease that won't allow her to gain weight. "Excuse me, can a fatty get a transfusion around here?!" At birth she weighed 2 lbs. I fear I weighed that at conception. As usual, in an effort to check out quicker...I ended up in the wrong line.

I had an idea....if I could find this chick and befriend her, perhaps her issues would cancel out mine. At a combined weight of 460...we would look great together! I found out we have something in common...we both eat 5000 calories a day! Of course that is where the fork splits...whilst my calories hop on board the first train to Assville, I'm not quite sure where hers go. Maybe they are hitching rides from others. Does this make her a Fatimposter??! I think so! In any event, can you even imagine a life where you could eat that many calories and still shop at Gymboree? It's amazing at best! Froot Loops and Krispy Kreme's for breakfast (whilst watching Scooby Doo), McDonald's for lunch, a shopping spree for under $100 and a sleepover at Brad Pitt's house. It's my freakin dream life! I can live the life of a child, eat as much as I want without gaining a pound and bang Brad Pitt in my spare time! Who says Fatties can't win the lottery???!
Sidebar- whilst on my new diet I was confronted by an old demon that morphed into a superdemon...I give you the Cherrywine Krispy Kreme....limited edition. Being a fan of donuts and cheap soda, who was I to pass this up. After eating 3 I decided I should post a warning on my blog.....DANGER! THEY ARE SMACK GOOD AND YOU CANNOT EAT JUST 1 DOZEN...DO NOT BUY....IT'S CRACK SISTERS....CRACK! COVERED IN CHOCOLATE, FILLED WITH THE NECTAR OF CHERRYWINE AND COATED WITH RED, WHITE AND BLUE SPRINKLES...WHERE'S THE DEA (Don't Eat Alarm) WHEN YOU NEED IT?!

Sorry...I had to get that off my chest. Just saying Krispy Kreme in the last paragraph made me want to dig the other 3 out of the garbage. They are still in the box....24 hour rule. Anyway, clearly this Today Show story opens up doors for fatties everywhere. If doctor's can isolate the gene and get someone like big booty Kim Kardashian (or any of her big assed sisters for that matter) to market it....it's liquid gold I tell you. I won't hold my breath...since I've been banned from running I don't have that much to hold. Existing is taking every ounce of free oxygen I have....or maybe that's marriage. The lines get blurred after a few years of wedded bliss.

Diet update....yeah the pre-packed food from said diet didn't make it past day 2 in my world. I am now on a quasi diet...part what they tell me to do, part what Dr. Atkins tells me to do and part what the demons tell me to do. It's pure chaos. But it's working. Down 5 pounds. So, when I feel like behaving I eat the cardboard soaked in water with a splash of cinnamon, when I need fat I get back together with Dr. Atkins and when I pass Cherrywine Krispy Kreme's....all hell breaks loose. It's sort of like wearing elastic waist pants....if you cover them with a cute top no one knows and you have a little extra room to be you. That's my secret diet...elastic waist pants. I fear my 20 year reunion is in 2 weeks and I haven't quite made it to the aforementioned size 2. Guess I'll have to start concocting my story....rare genetic disorder...after 30 I can't lose weight....on Medicaid....and so on. I did have a nice bout of binge drinking last week. Whilst I thought Vodka was my friend...I think it may have to be dead to me. Thinking it had very few calories I found the need to drink it by the bottle. At 100 calories a shot I feel... dirty. Oh well. What one doesn't remember didn't necessarily happen now did it?

Let's hope this week brings less drinking, better morning TV and and the flu...I need to lose 30 pounds in 1.5 weeks. Come on MERSA...tell me where you are hiding!

A Midsummer Night's Diet

Just when you think there isn't a diet left on the market that my chubby little hands haven't touched....think again. I found one... in Fitness Magazine (ya know....the magazine of choice for verging fatties) complete with a coupon. We all know how I love to save a buck...especially on gross diet food! I placed my order...and actually contemplated paying $10 extra for the expedited shipping...it was a Sat and I wanted it by Monday....New Me Monday to be exact....take 2,182. Who knows, this might be the time it all comes together! However comma, common sense kicked in and I was gently reminded paying $10 extra to get a diet by Monday that I will clearly be cheating on by Tuesday is like pre-paying for a hooker and opting out of the sex part. It just doesn't make much sense. Not to mention...everyone knows faster shipping is a scam to call out the big girls. They laugh all the way to the bank with that $10 as they send your package out with all the other closet fatties. So I went with standard shipping and laid out my plan for massive binge eating until such time I could see the faint brown color of the UPS truck grazing my block. With a deadline like that, you can only imagine the amount of calories consumed between the time of impulse diet purchase and arrival of said impulse diet purchase. Ughum...



Said diet product arrived on a Wednesday....exactly 3 business days after I ordered it....without the extra $10....thank you very much. Everyone knows you don't keep a verging fatty waiting...we know the return policy when it's time to jump the fence!It was the Wednesday my husband was graduating from the fire academy. No way I could start it then. I would be expected to participate in post graduation consumption. I wouldn't want to be a party pooper. That leaves Thursday. Ughum. Thursday was his birthday. By now anyone who has read this blog knows of my inappropriate relationship with sugar....birthday cake to be exact. Does anyone think I was going to start my diet on a day when I had an excuse to take him out to dinner AND eat cake!? I think not! In fact, those around us were questioning who's birthday it was. Like a good wife I took him to a nice dinner, proceeded to get drunk, made him drive home and ensured I got the piece of cake with the most frosting. Wife of the year...creeping up on me again. In my defense, a woman getting ready to start her period or a diet can't be held accountable for her actions within 7 days of any sort of offense. At least one of those excuses was applicable. Then there was my next dilemma, leftovers. Oh...I should clarify....not my leftovers ( I don't even know what that word means quite frankly)....his leftovers. I could care less about the ribs he brought home. I find the eating of someone else's rib cages a bit barbaric...I meant the cake. Had it been a regular grocery store cake with the sugary icing that I love so, the problem would have had an expiration date....about 2-3 days. But no, the husband likes ice cream cake....as discussed at length in previous blogs. That shit lasts forever....unless no one knows it's there but me....then it's got an hour or two max. But he not only knew it was there, he knew how much he ate thus leaving me vulnerable to rationing. Damn! Diets, rationing, husbands....you kiss your Mama with that mouth?! So I was left with a counter full of diet food and a freezer full of cake. It's like choosing between having an affair with Brad Pitt or doing the right thing- getting a divorce, chasing down Brad Pitt and hoping he not only likes fat divorced chicks...but has given back all of those offspring with what's her name! It's just easier to sneak in the freezer for a quickie.

This brings us to Friday. I ask you, who starts a diet on a Friday. No one I know. Then again, no one I know weighs under 650. Friday's are for beer, pizza and sex. 2 out of 3 of those things happens 4 out 4 Friday's at my house. Let just say I never go thirsty or hungry and leave it at that. Friday was out....even though there was a very large woman I barely recognized staring back at me screaming for an intervention....it would have to wait until Saturday when I was off work and could focus. Who starts a diet on a Sat? No one I know. Saturday is for eating as much as possible and cooking as little as possible. I would put it off one more day....the Lord's day to be exact. Surely God would intervene and prescribe diet and rest on the 7th day. Not so much. If he did, he clearly should have stopped me prior to the chicken biscuit combo on my way to church. I'm a good person. I tithe. Can't a sister get a break!? The Lord spoke to me at church and told me that all good things happen on Monday (which I knew...duh!). That settled it. The new me would once again have to start on Monday. If only I had tithed a dollar for every calorie I ate that day....world hunger would be no more. Well except for my world hunger...I will NEVER stop being hungry. NEVER..NUNCA.

Monday morning arrived and I was all fired up. The new me was ready to come out and play. I woke up, walked 4 miles and drank one of the shakes from my new packet of astronaut food. It read, "Creamy Orange Shake." It should have read, " FRAUD." It was like drinking watered down Sunny D....minus the Sunny, the D and anything in there that would have made it taste good. Being a trained fatty, I have work arounds for these situations....no I didn't add ice cream (although that would have done the trick). I plugged my nose and swallowed. A technique that can be used for various painful experiences. The good news....I got to eat more crappy food in 2 hours. I literally watched the clock until it was time to eat again. I decided I would try a "bar." Who fucks up a bar? The instructions said, "Do not eat more than one of these bars as they are high in calories." 110 to be exact! Gheez! I expected to get a granola sized bar with some sort of flavor. I got the flavor...in the one bite it took me to finish it! It was the size of a postage stamp! Clearly this is the trick starvation diet! As you would expect, it took me exactly 2 hours, 34 minutes and 16 seconds to cheat. I carried my big ass to Subway for a footlong turkey. That shit was calling me! Food is my crack and I was back on the corner with Pookie! You know where this is going....as soon as I mess up....the flood gates open. I went on to eat non-stop until I went to bed at 10pm. New Me Tuesday?

Yes, I was so disgusted Tuesday that I promised myself I would try and get at least 1 day in without cheating. That's the cool thing about promising yourself something, I can only let me down and frankly I am quite forgiving! As long as I am rewarded with some "hair of the dog" things can once again be made whole. I sucked it up and ate as much of the nasty diet propaganda that I could stomach. I plugged my nose for the shake, pretended to love the one real food I got to eat....salad (sans Ranch...I know...unfair!) and tried to figure out a way to make 1.13 ounces of a somewhat tasty snack bar last longer than 1 second. I got an "A" until
9 pm. What happened at 9pm you ask? Well....of course the fat demon that lives inside me decided to started "speaking" to me. "There's no way you are eating enough. You are gonna pass out. You can't do any form of exercise and be on this diet. Your blood sugar will fall and you will convulse. You better add up the calories and make sure this is safe." I was in an all out panic. Because clearly my body couldn't tolerate any sort of calorie reduction! Gee....I might have enough fat stores to last me until...Oh I don't know....2017! But I listened to the Demon and started to add....feverishly. "I'm going to die. Being fat isn't so bad. I choose life!" Those were just some of the things going through my head when I reached my total caloric input for the day.....950! What?! My dogs eat more than that and they are lazy sluggos! I knew what had to be done. Popcorn. Air popped...light on the butter. A small sacrifice to keep me alive long enough to see Wednesday. Oh...and there was a bit of emotional eating in the mix. This weeks episode of Deadliest Catch was airing Captain Phil's death. It was very sad. He was a good man....not that I know him, have met him or know anything about him. It's just that we have been sharing Tuesday's nights from spring to summer for several seasons and I'll miss seeing him chain smoke and shake. Can't believe he's dead. RIP Phil.

So I almost made it through 1 day on this diet. That being said, it was time to jump on the scale and look for results! Keeping ones expectations in line is key to success on any diet. There it was...I had lost 3 pounds. Must have been the chicken biscuit I "let go of" at my am bowel movement. Good stuff. Now that I had confirmation it was working, it would be easier to follow through. Here we are at Wednesday. I have thrown out the boxed diet oatmeal, scrambled eggs and 1 thing of soup. I went online and ordered the fake fatty chips and brownies. If I have to eat cardboard I should at least pretend it started as something I would normally eat, right? Should be here in 3 days. At that point, my diet shall consist of shakes, chips, brownies and bars. Almost like it's not a diet at all! In the meantime, I will stay the course with what remains on my counter. Well...on my end of the counter. The other end has all the cool people, Lil' Debbie, Keebler, Cap'n Crunch and so on. I had to get new friends....and my new friends suck ass! In the end my new friends will make me a better person but I prefer to live on the edge and bear the consequences....such as clothing that ends in X and buying two seats on an airplane. It's so old me.

I know....you want to know what diet I'm on. I shall torture you until such time as 1 of 2 things happens: 1. I lose weight or 2. I fall off the wagon. I'd put my money on 2. It's a sure bet. I have my high school reunion in 25 days. I can't show up as twice the woman I was in 1989. It's not even cool to be fat right now. I'm so out. I guess if I can't lose my ass in 25 days I'll have to concoct some elaborate story of a genetic mutation causing me to double in size....I shall call her "Mother!" Kidding Maaa....and no I'm not telling you what diet I'm on. Keep counting your points and leave me to 950 calories of cardboard. Time for a bar....and not the kind with alcohol unfortunately.

Wife of the Year

This just in... the award for "Fatty Wife of the Year" .... goes to...my ass, (literally and figuratively) hands down. I'm fairly confident when it comes to categories such as "Use of Food as a Weapon, a Crutch, and a Friend...there isn't even a runner up. I feel like there should also be an honorable mention for the various forms of trickery I gracefully execute on a daily basis. Let's revisit some of my finer moments of the year and revel in all that is me, shall we?


2010 began with none other than a New Year's Revelation. My Revelation...If my husband accepts me 6 sizes bigger than when he married me, 2 things are very clear: 1. He has no other options 2. He's suppressing "fat stores" that will one day result in his spontaneous combustion ...thus leaving me free to marry Brad Pitt. Happy New Year to me.


In 6 months I have been on 6 diets and gained 6....tee pounds. 666. Clearly the diet God's are not hearing my prayers (male God's I'm sure). I know I'm a slutty, trash talking Rabbit lover...but these are Diet God's....they should only curse me for eating Taco Bell and Fried Twinkies....not judge me for colorful language and plastic "man friends." If I have to break up with Little Debbie, bury the Rabbit AND stop saying, "fuck" ....I'm fucked. Much like marriage, dieting gets more painful with age....I've single handily cussed out the fine folks at Weight Watchers ( Points suck! 22 points? I eat that in my f'n sleep!), went crazy on "crack" (for the record...the Phen in Phentremine that's "safe" is great if you enjoy staying up all night, never eating and a heart that beats more than Ron Jeremy- I choose life and rabbit) and spent 1 day carb free....(1 long painful day where I was forced to break up with the one thing my "whoo whoo" hates and I love...yeast.) If being fat is a crime, trying not to be fat is pre-meditated fucking murder. Sorry Diet God's. Where's Little Debbie when I need some defense? Back where I started....Forever 2x


I decided to sign myself up for Mission Impossible...find a place on my body that wasn't fat. Even if it was just a tiny crevice on the road map of me...I had to find it. When I located the aforementioned part, I decided it should available for viewing, unveiled if you will. That is why I no longer wear panties. Why keep the only thing on me that has remained unscathed for 37 years (give or take a few bad decisions) covered up? Why? I just don't know....thus why she is now free to roam about the cabin. I decided to attend a party (a coming out party of sorts) wearing a dress that allowed "her" to breath whilst the rest of me suffocated from random displaced fat. What's a fatty to do whilst wearing a flapper dress to hide what flaps whilst her very own "flapper" flapped in the breeze....stand there and look cute. 1 inch to the left, right, up or down and "Leave it to Beaver" would be an instant prime time hit once more. I don't know what scared me more...someone seeing my dimpled thighs or my "Chucky." Either way, someone would clearly be losing an eye. Good thing I'm not famous. The papz would have been all up in my pink taco. The only thing surrounded by fat that's good and good for you.

Now to my worst offense of the year. If you are close to a sink, wash your hands before reading. It's down right dirty and shameful. As many of you know, I am a frugal fatty. Why pay full price for Doritos when the simple use of a coupon can double the quantity, the calories and thus the pleasure . It's just common sense shopping. So... whilst I was out on one of my various grocery runs, I noticed not only were ice cream cakes on sale...but I also had a coupon! Who says the average girl can't win the lottery! Top that off with the perfect excuse for purchasing said cake....hubby's birthday. Here's where it gets dicey. Captain's logbook...February....Husbands birthday....June. We all know where this is going. In the cruelest form of trickery, I bought the cake as a "surprise" well ahead of the curve. Much like many of the "surprises" I bring home for "him," he would never see it. I have good intentions...just very bad morals. Fire/Ice. About the end of February (the start of ice cream season), I decided my husband might not like that cake after all. It was adorned with pink flowers. What was I thinking? What man would eat a cake with feminine undertones? No man of mine. So...I decided it would be best if I spared his masculinity by eating the section with the pink flowers. Allow me to scale that to size for you....that would be half the cake. Objects in mirror appear just as big as they are, thank you! Damn that frosting was good. What? It was February. Winter sucks and the spring flowers were calling. Then I got my period. Taking a sharp knife to a very frozen ice cream cake allowed me to release a certain amount of negative energy that I attribute to...marriage....and that was the end of the cake. I bring you to June. The birthday is 2 days away, we have no cake and no coupons. I'm torn. Should I just tell him how good the cake was back in February or come out of pocket with another $20 knowing he might see 1 piece of that cake before it enters the confines of my gut only to be seen again as a small (or large) pock on my ass. I got it...I'll get him a card and me a cake. Yes, I'm am the whore of the earth. Happy Birthday Honey.

I can't think of anything I've done in the last 5 minutes that tops that one. I did get drunk on Saturday (at the Beaver's coming out party...these things happen) and binge eat all day Sunday. That's so...common. Well, except for the part where I broke my long standing McDonald's record by going back 2 x in 2 hours. I know...even I get sick reading that. This is why fat people shouldn't drink....they could be eating.

Is it 2011 yet?

Drivers Education SIF Style

I decided to test a theory I have that technology is making me fat. Leave it to me...when I run out of people to blame, I start blaming the smart people. It's what I do. I give you the drive up window. Everyone who's anyone has one. I decided to be a "fatlosipher" and see how many things I could accomplish in one day without prying my fat ass from the drivers seat of the 4Runner...here goes:

* I started the day off like many Americans do.... with a coffee and donut from none other than Dunkin Donuts! Drove up, placed my order and drove off. I steered clear of the donut holes as my local DD likes to get a head count on each one....I'm not into that....but....it felt good knowing I was consuming what "Keeps America Running"....to the cardiologist. And currently that would be the only running I'm allowed to do....bitter at best. Moving on...

* Then it was time to turn over my slave wages to the evil bank. I drove up, handed off the money and bam.... I'll never see it again. Good thing they pay me .00000125% interest. Makes it all worth while. Super bonus score....I didn't have to wait behind any of the usual idiots who drive up sans deposit/withdrawal slips. They must be related to the people who think you have to wait until the cashier has scanned everything before you can swipe your card at the grocery store and then act like they've never used one before. Get a clue... technology is for people who graduated pre-k! Still bitter....still driving....

* Now it was on to the fuel that keeps me going....drugs! Walgreen's here I come! A dose of happy pills to take me to my special place, baby be gones to ensure this never happens again and a little allergy medicine to keep me from sneezing when my husband is around. Seems I might be allergic to....him. Interesting. I don't think they make a shot for that....other than a 9mm...which seems a little drastic at present.

* What to do next...well...all of this running around has given me an appetite...let's hit McDonald's! This is always a fun experience for several reasons....I like when the teleprompter chick says, "Welcome to MacDonalds would you like to cool off with a delicious Frappacino?"...makes me salivate but nope....I'd like to cool off with a delicious Double Quarter Pounder with cheese and fries...super sized please. What? It's all very logical when you think about it. Coffee makes you run to the bathroom. That would mean I would have to leave the comfort of my car. Not in the cards Sisters! 3000+ calories just makes you tired. I can deal with that from the confines of the 4Runner....moving on....

* All of the saturated fat has made me sleepy....time for a nap! Any parking lot will do. Find you a shade tree, park the car and bam...instant womb! I like to park where no one would expect to find me....yup....there's a lovely space reserved just for my slar phase at the local YMCA. What? It's very unassuming. Might I add it's mid-afternoon and I have yet to leave the vehicle. No goal is beyond my reach.

* Time for some gas...not too many places south of the border that still offer full service. That's why the north won y'all...we get that certain people like to be pampered and are willing to pay for it! (that was pay back for all of the times I've been called a Yankee since moving here). So anyway, down here in the land where the South truly believes they will rise again....You have to do a little work to get full service. Ya gotta press the mic, give them some random reason you need assistance (Like...I'm 450 lbs over weight and lazy!) and slip them a few bucks for their silence. I feel compelled to say that I like the state of NJ for one reason....and one reason only....they do not pump their own gas. Random sign of the cross.

* Now that the tank is full, I'll need something to wash down the baby be gones, the happy pills and the husband zappers. Nothing a quick trip through the Brew Thru can't cure! This is where the South gets credit...single greatest invention ever...drive up beer joint. It's a lazy fat drunks paradise. So, I drive in, place my order (Double Deuce in a brown paper bag....classy aren't I?) and pop the pills that keep my life harmonious. No babies, no problems and no itching from spousal unrest. Wait...why I am taking baby be gones? Rumor has it you have to have sex to make babies. I think I may be safer than Mother Theresa. Sign of Cross.

So, as you can see, my theory has proven itself factual.... the fine art of convenience is clearly what's keeping me fat. I can literally get everything I want without lifting my fat ass from the seat of my vehicle. Yes, this means sex too. Don't think I can't pull up on some hotties and score me a little sompin sompin if I need to. Hell I look good from the waist up. By the time they realize what's going on south of the border, they are trapped! 911 won't find a deprived SIF on the move! Lookout! I think if I am ever going to be thin I will need to replace my car with a bike. It would be hard to pull off my tricks in plain sight. Not to mention I would be burning calories whilst sabotaging myself. It's a theory worst testing. I bet I can eat and steer with one hand. I'm good like that....

Sex and the Fat City

I realized something this weekend, when men decide to do something they go all the way. Yes, that includes sex...not that I would know anything about that post marriage. In any event, my husband decided he wanted to get in shape. Great. Nothing like a buff hot husband to make me and my rabbit closer than we already are. What's the point of looking good without intent? I can't be sure I know the answer to that. I do know this, my husband is popping all sorts of look better pills, working out and self tanning whilst I ponder which "Ho-Ho" is likely to have the most cream in it. All I have to say for myself is, "It's not my fault." Did I ask to be hit by a Census worker thus rendering me unable to do anything but keep pace 75 year old woman on my morning walks? I think not. And all this walking is getting old (no pun intended). It takes forever to get where I'm going and I feel very exposed. When I run, things are moving around, jiggling, bouncing...bruising...you get the picture. There's trickery involved...you can't really see where everything lands and that has allowed me to run under the cover of fat for years. When I walk, passers by have plenty of time to size up all that is me. No good can come of that. I almost feel them telling me to pick up the pace as they drive by. I got one tip for ya: Don't stare directly into the bootie...it's been known to talk back. Oh and don't let me see any sort of fat reference rolling off your lips. I know sign language...well one sign...and I aint afraid to use it.

So as I was saying, my husband is getting all buff and coating his new muscles in spray tan. Seems a bit strange to me. If I was all buffed out, I would buy a super small thong and lay on the beach....a sort of a "coming out party." But he looks good and hides it under his clothing whilst his 2 ton wife parades around in a bikini hoping the angles of the sun reach all of the creases. Something is very wrong here. Here's what's more annoying than living with a hot guy who has enough energy to lift a small car but not his (ughum)...he has now taken to telling me how to work out. "You know, they say you should only work out every other day. You know, most of the protein you eat isn't absorbed." I'm sorry.....I've been working out for 30 years (yes I started when I was 7...shut up)...you've been working out for 5 minutes and you are going to tell me how it's done!? Granted, the results he's achieved in 5 minutes far surpass my 30 years of nightly runs....to Taco Bell. Isn't that a bitch. A guy decides to work out and he can drop all his weight in a week whilst every woman in America has to buy People, Star, US, Jenny Craig and Weight Watchers to try and figure out how it's done... and maybe we get 1 pound in 6 months. If the key to losing weight is having a dick...sign me up! Currently, that would solve both of my problems. Thank you.

In an attempt to take some time off from being me, I went to see SATC this weekend with Kimo. I had already seen it once, but I prefer to do things in 2's....2 donuts, 2 helpings, 2 of everything is always better than one. Portion control is for "1/4 pounders." I NEVER go to the movies without getting popcorn. To me, that's like going to bed without your rabbit. It's just not comfortable without someone to love. However, comma, prior to deciding to go to the movies I drank about 900 beers and ate about 3000 calories....I can accomplish alot in an hour. There was no room at the inn. When we walked into the movie theater, I was pleased to see 2 other souls in the room. We took the "rock star" seats and got cozy. Then, like it always happens (and only to me)...the fatties rolled in! 4 of them to be exact. As you might imagine, with exactly 56 seats left in the theatre they decided to bring it home and sit right in front of this beer burping SIF and her cousin. Perhaps I could have forgiven them if they didn't have heads the size of water melons and tons of popcorn and candy to pass between them. In fact, they even left a seat open between 2 of them for....well I don't know what it was for....perhaps to squash the large shadows they were casting on the screen, maybe for spillover fat or maybe just as a table for the freakin buffet they had going on! Since I had seen the movie I became obsessed with watching their every move. Picture greasy buttered lips laughing whilst popcorn rolled into boob crevices so deep it would never to be seen again...random sucking and slurping of giant sized Cokes that were depositing about 4567 grams of sugar on each of their enormous asses. Every once in a while I heard laughter....I think that's when they came up for air. They also seemed to have a fetish for "Big" ....of course they did. As if sisters....as if.

Because we were too inebriated to drive ourselves to the movies, Kimo's husband picked us up after it was over. I felt exactly 13. I saw the fatties as we were leaving. They were smoking cigarettes and reliving the movie. I realized, at that moment, we had something in common....sex. Food is our sex. Let's face it, without food I might as well be a nun. If food is my sex I am certainly giving Ron Jeremy a run for his money! I would have gone over to smoke a post "sex" cig with them but that's where the fork divided us....I do not smoke. I make up for killing my lungs by killing....well everything else. A part of me wishes I could have run over there with my portable blood pressure machine (what? everyone should have one) and taken their numbers. Between the salt, the fat, the sugar and the smoking...I fear they would have thrown up some major digits. And let's face it, those digits are the only ones anyone will ever ask them for. Mean just mean. But I'm a nice person....so I just stood there and made fun of them until "Dad" showed up to take us home and remind us, for bigger or worse we have men who will bang us...one day....when the mood strikes them. It's no SATC but it beats being the "Rabbit Lady"for the rest of my life. I fear our odds of getting real sex are far better than the smoking fatties but who knows. That one was sucking the hell outa some Coke. All it takes is only lonely man who can overlook the fat for the sucking and she's in there. There's hope sisters....there's hope.

MERSA

That would be my current diet plan after spending the weekend with my skinny friends. They say MERSA is everywhere, yet I can't seem to contract it. I need just enough to get off these last 400 lbs. But no....some schmekel from the burbs who weighs 110 lbs soaking wet can easily get my virus, die and I can't even get a solid week! Damn! Don't these people know how to work the system? Just enough to puke and lose the appetite. Dying is a clear sign of over achievement. Yes, things have taken a turn for the worse. The "sisters" came down for the weekend and failed to tell me they no longer eat OR shop at Forever 6x! A post card would have sufficed! Gheez. Lots of them wanting to go to the beach and pretend to eat. Whatever. I stuck to the sun coffin and naps in the womb. I can't be broken. Whilst I was awake, I held firm to my agenda by making small cuts to various appendages and rubbing them against public door knobs and such. Still...no Mersa. Perhaps my fat inhibits such lethal viruses from entering my body. Perhaps. Can a fatty get a break?!

You should know I haven't been able to run in over 6 weeks. Why? Oh bcs some nice man from the Census (as if stalking me in my home wasn't enough) decided to rear end me thus causing damage to the only place I should have been protected....my ass! One would think there was enough fat there to cover the SI joint/ligament whatever it is....but apparently not. 30 days from bathing suit season let's hit fatty and make her unable to do any form of cardio...unless you count inhaling as cardio in which case I am still going strong. So....I have been asked by the medical profession to "walk" as opposed to run. I'm sure some of my readers are walkers....and for that I am truly sorry. I am not a fan. Much like everything in my life, I like any form of cardio to be over quickly. If you give me too much time to think, I'll be the divorced cat lady in a week. Who wins in that scenario? The cat....until I have a craving for General Tsaos and then things just go down hill quickly. Anywho, walking. I have been walking. There I said it. The Dr. said I could "walk." To me, that means 5+ miles. To the Dr....1 mile. Who gets out of bed to walk a mile? Well maybe to KFC but not at 7am....unless they started serving breakfast and no one told me. Clearly the Dr. doesn't realize the kind of calorie deficit I'm up against! I'd have to walk to NY and back to get in the green! I'll have you know I once walked 31 miles....1x....never again. Walking sucks. To help ease the pain I enlisted Axel Rose. Most people walk to Bach...I walk to Axel..."Welcome to the Jungle" is the current theme of my life. Anywho, so today I'm moving along at what I believe to be Olympic speed when a 75 year old woman approaches me and motions me to take off my headphones. She better be dying. Nope. She decided it would be nice to tell me that we were walking at the same pace. Lovely. From marathon runner to Senior Games competitor in just 6 weeks. Only I would get hit by someone working for the gov't thus aging me 100 years and 100 lbs.

This is exactly what I mean...this shit only happens to me! Normal people get rear-ended by Johnny Redneck with no insurance...I get "Bob Smith" annoying Census worker. I shoulda popped a cap in his ass when he came to the house....I wouldn't be in this situation. So I have some free time on my hands for the sport of choice...channel surfing. Did you hear the one about the 2 chicks who tazed the Wendy's worker for not putting pickles and mayo on their sandwich?! Just hearing that makes me want to run out to the drive thru and score some free food with my 9! I'm a trained FATASSaign. I may be the only one taking their side. Leaving off key items such as pickles and mayo is...well it warrants violence quite frankly. Sisters....if you need me to testify....holla. Makes me wish I had a tazer for that F'r that hit me. His car is fixed and 60 days later I'm running from Dr. to Dr. getting my ass rearranged. I had to start wearing underwear to spare the medical profession shock blindness. Yes, I grew all of this on my own. I like the chiro assistant the best. She rearranges my thong just so before applying shock therapy to my nether region. I appreciate her defference to the amount of pressure that 1 inch piece of cloth I call "thong" is under. Anyway...

I've been trying to watch my carbs in light of my current situation. Watching them is annoying so I just eat them. It's easier to keep track of them when we are "one." All of this walking/thinking has me wondering...what idiot created the institution of marriage? Hmmm....I'm gonna go with "man" as they seem to be the primary beneficiary. Let's see....how can we get our laundry done, blow jobs AND a clean house....WE SHALL CALL HER "WIFE!" I told you....no good can come of this walking. Why just today someone asked me why I wasn't wearing my wedding ring. *Pause for "PC" answer"...oh it's so tight on my finger with this heat....or maybe....it's being re- sized or....I simply forgot as I was in a hurry. Common man isn't prepared to hear: " I have broken free of bondage if only for 1 day!" I need to get back to running... soon. It's like the more I walk the more I see. I have been shit "at" by birds and accosted by old ladies but nothing compares to the 20/20 marriage vision that comes with walking. If you are happily married...I recommend a gym membership. Time to sue the government for the demise of my ass and my marriage. In an odd twist of fate...my girlfriends husband told me if I needed a boyfriend his 2 friends think I'm hot. Translation: they are either kin to Stevie Wonder or they just don't care how fat they fuck. I think I'll stay married.

I guess for now I'll keep walking and rubbing elbows with MERSA. I wonder if MERSA is like too scared to be with me for fear of attachment...you know...like Brad Pitt. Maybe that's it. If you happen to be a reader who's currently infected, email me and I'll send you my address. I am set up to accepts specimens via email.

Jail Break

As you might imagine, I have broken free of the chains that bind me. Yes. For exactly the 3rd time (in as many weeks), I have cancelled my little house arrest diet band. No worries. When I decide it's time to go back to jail, I will simply sign up under another name. You would think the peeps running this "quasi jail for fatties" would catch on to another 750lb redhead member who loses exactly no weight, cancels and reappears days later as a man. Why would I do that? It's called a free 30 day trial people! Let's face it....in exactly 30 days...scratch that...3 days I'll be back in cahoots with Little Debbie...why bother spending $12.95 when I already know the outcome. My inner Miss Cleo enables me to predict such failures and plan properly for post let down consumption. When it comes down to it, there are 2 reasons I hate the house arrest band: 1. Too many questions and 2. Lies

Too many questions: I don't like to think anyone knows I'm fat. Whilst I know this is about as impossible as bringing back the King of Pop (RIP), let me have my fantasies. Lord knows I don't have much in the way of real action...anyway. Where was I going with this...ahhh yes....so when I wear the house arrest band, everyone wants to know what it is. Nosey fuckers! Do I walk up to you and ask you why you are so ugly? Then don't ask me about my "fatsessories." "Oh, is that one of those things that counts your steps?". "No, it tazes people who ask me dumb questions. Would you like to see how it works?" - inside voice. When I try to explain what it really does, I find myself defending my little band. How dare they call this state of the art fat zapper a pedometer! No one likes an angry fatty so I usually just say, "Yes it counts my steps." But there's always that closet fatty who has to tell me how much she knows about "exercise" as she's wiping hot fudge from one of her 3 chins. "You know, they have phones with pedometers in them. Then no one can see it." "Thank you for that technology update. Maybe you should look on your phone and see if it has an application for "Go away you annoying bitch." I'm sure it's there....IPhone must have that. So...as you can see....interrogation looks about as good on me as the fat band.

Lies: Lots of them. Tell me, what is the point of paying $12.95 to wear a device to help you lose weight if you are going to spend $30 a day at McDonald's and tell the device you had salad? I feel like it knows I'm lying bcs when I start typing, it immediately wants to tell me my personal bests for the week. So I'm thinking it will say, "Hey, you ran 5 more miles than you did last week or ate 1200 less calories...but this is me...a SIF we are dealing with...here's what I get: My personal best for the week...I spent more hours lying down today than I have in the last 30 days.... 18 hours to be exact. Who thinks this should even be included in the PB categories? Clearly a man put it there....lying down means having sex.... which means burning calories. Clearly an unmarried man. Lying down in my house means watching the Science Channel and praying the batteries in my rabbit don't burn out before I fall asleep. And I wonder why I'm fat? Maybe if that band would slap a libido into my husband I'd actually use the thing! Hell I'd pay $12.95 a day! No lies! Where was I? Oh yeah...PB. You would think that after weeks of telling it I'm a man eating salad, a woman eating salad and a tranny eating salad and still no weight loss...there would be a box that pops up saying, "What gives fatty?" But no...I am rewarded for lying down. Story of my life...

There's actually a 3rd reason I hate that band...tan lines. Even after I have broken up with the damn thing, I am left with a constant reminder of another relationship gone sour. Don't worry, I'm not subjecting the general public to the sight of me in a bikini. I'm a fake n baker. Whilst the thought of skin cancer may be scary....seeing my fat dimpled ass in a thong is like an instant death ray! Not pretty. I'll take my chances in the sun coffin, thanks.

Now that I'm not under constant surveillance, I have some time on my hands. Time spent not lying is way less stressful. So here are some things I have learned this week:

1. If one were to order fries from McDonald's and those fries were to actuallybe hot upon arrival...there's a trick to keeping them that way until you get back to your "special place" to gorge. Gotta leave the bag open....I KNOW...CRAZY RIGHT?! All these years the masses have been closing the bag and coming home to soggy fries. Leave it to a SIF to solve on of the great problems plaguing the fat world. You're welcome.

2. Cheddar vs. Cheddar....all cheddar is not equal. I knew this girl (we'll call her Kelly for fun) who liked to go to Arby's for roast beef and McDonald's for fries. Anyway, she always orders a side of cheddar (from Arby's) for her roast beef. What's left after bathing her meat in cheese...you guessed it...goes on the fries. Well, just last week, the stupid drive-thru guy misunderstood and put a slice of cheddar on the sandwich. Ahhh...unacceptable. A. It doesn't melt and 2. You can't dip your fries in it. Since "Kelly" was accustomed to dealing with men who don't listen (very accustom....very), she knew to look in her bag before pulling away. Sure enough, the man who had been calling her "Sweetie" exactly every time she patronized the drive-thru, had screwed up. When she made him aware of his error he refused to fix it bcs he in fact included the side of cheddar in the bag. Typical. To a man...Cheddar is Cheddar and to a woman a dick is a dick. However comma, if the cheddar or the dick don't serve their intended purpose then they are essentially a garnishment for which one gets no pleasure. My life in a brown paper bag. It's all quite clear now. No more Arby's.

3. Birthday Cake has a shorter shelf life than expected. I bought my husband a birthday cake well in advance of his actual birthday. It was on sale...or maybe on I was on my period. It's all a little fuzzy. In any event, I decided about 3 days into my cycle that he might not like the pink flowers blooming on the frosting. I would just eat that section...to make it look more manly. Seemed like a good idea. Eating someone else's birthday cake 60 days before their birthday is always a good idea. Anyway, well....after eating the floral section I noticed some vines that didn't look right without their flowering companions, so I disposed of those as well. At this point I'm half way through the cake and birthday boy is none the wiser. He doesn't like sweets....should have found that out pre-nuptial. My immediate plan was to make the cake appear homemade by transferring it to a small pan , licking the sides down to make them equal thus having the appearance that I was something other than an out of control feral beast. Ok...here's the real reason I had to eat the cake...I had hot fudge and whipped cream in the fridge, no freakin ice cream and I was a raging PMS bitch! Yes, I put the hot fudge on the already fattening cake....and it was quite good thank you. Anyway, when I tried to piece together my downsizing plan, things didn't exactly turn out. You could definitely tell I licked the cake...oh and ate the other half. So I did what any SIF would do, I disposed of it for good. What cake? Silly husband, it's not your birthday yet.

As you can see, I am raging out of control. No shackles, no morals and no conscience. I left those at the alter thank you. Here's hoping "New Me Monday" brings an impostor playing on the appropriate team. For now, I have to get ready for my girls to come for a visit this weekend. As usual, they've all lost weight...and I found it.

Fatty on Death Row

I can't think of a more appropriate place to keep decent food from an otherwise decent person. House arrest is far too liberal for the likes of me. Oh I wore the arm band but that didn't keep me from lying about what went down the hatch. Who pays $12.95 a month to lie to themselves.... nice to meet you! I'm convinced anything short of all out incarceration will result in a lifetime membership to Lane Bryant. I'm am spinning out of control...well spinning may not be the appropriate term at my size....wobbling perhaps. There's like 4 days til summer and I am still at my hibernation weight. Wake up fatty and smell the heat! Even if they make bathing suits in a 17X, I can't imagine anyone except the NIFA mixer freaks want to see that! (National Institute for Fat Awareness) How did I let myself get to this point? Well....if I knew that... I most likely wouldn't be at this point now would I?! I liken it to hair growth. When you are letting your hair grow out it seems to take forever. You look in the mirror each day and wonder if you have some mutated gene that keeps your hair from growing past your ears. You look and look... still nothing. And then one day you see a picture of yourself from 6 months ago and realize your hair is in fact growing! It works the same for fat....except my friends have been trained NOT to do 2 things....EVER....take pictures of my ass AND show them to me. I realize time is not on my side and much like my hair...whilst I don't see it happening...I am confident growth is imminent. With that, I called in the big guns.

I decided I needed a Warden of sorts....a gate keeper....a militant friend who wouldn't listen to my bullshit. Someone who would throw me in solitary confinement after hearing me bitch "my husband made me do it." Actually that might work. Scratch and save for future use...after listening to me complain about stress, the weather and any other reason I could come up with to land my ass at Taco Bell. Ughhum....I must point out that today is Cinco de Mayo. Whilst I am not Mexican, I plan to celebrate their holiday much like they celebrate the 4th of July and the Jews celebrate Christmas. I aint mad at ya....just pass me a cerveza and don't double dip in the queso and we are all good. So "New Me Monday" will actually be "New Me Thursday" this week as I have learned the Mexicans favor lard. I really need to defect. Wouldn't that be a switch....an American running south of the border...and not bcs I killed my husband...yet! I fear I would be stopped dead in my tracks bcs that's how the system works....against me...always. Anywho, back to the Warden. Whilst Susan lives exactly 5 hours from me, she has a talent for making me see I am an idiot without getting herself in trouble in the process. I'm not sure if it's the tone of her voice or the fact that the things I do are so blatantly fucked up that she's not in fact dead to me by now. She is very much alive....and in charge!

In true SIF form, I called her to talk about my psychotic behavior....on my way to a binge. That's the thing about a SIF...we think we can get away with anything! I live exactly 6 miles from Hamburger Alley. That would allow for 5 minutes of chatting about how I needed saving and 1 minute of, "Ooops I have a call coming in let me call you back," so that I could swing through the drive-thru unbeknowst to her. Then...6 miles back to the womb and, "Oh...damn another call. Let me call you back." 5 minutes to inhale and then resume fixing me. Who does this? For someone without a college degree I really should look in to the strategic development of something other than my ass! It's just sick! Sooo....I pulled into Arby's and cut the phone off just in time....hearing "Welcome to Arby's may I take your order" wouldn't have gone over really well. Had it ended there, I might have even let myself slide for slightly sane. But no. MacDonald's (that's what the drive-thru lady says) is about 2 blocks away and that's where I get my fries...oh and Coke...they have the best Coke. After ordering my usual large fry medium Coke, I felt guilt ridden. I called the Warden back to tell her what I was up to. I think she was extra bitter as she was forcing herself to eat fat free pudding and whipped cream while I was whoring myself across town! Sorry!

While she was very understanding of my "issues" she wasn't having any of my excuses. She did let me get off the phone for consumption. I fear the sound of hearing me slop down fries and cheddar laden roast beef would have been a bit much for anyone! I told her I'd call her back. When I didn't she text me...no doubt thinking I'd gone back for round 2. I was in the shower. I felt like a dirty whore who had just cheated on her husband with Osoma Bin Laden. At least if that had really happened we'd know where he was and could cut his balls off. You think with as many wives as he has one of them would have done that by now....anyway. I was dirty. I finally did call her back. She agreed to be my keeper. I honestly think she has NO idea what she's getting herself into. I need to be on Death Row...locked up...no contact with anyone...anything...throw away the key...my only food choices....raw veggies and sodium free chicken broth. Let's face it...I can't afford those fancy weight loss centers and I've paid enough in taxes to afford jail. I agreed to strap on the arm band and allow her full access. I haven't heard from her in a few days....I fear she may have been traumatized after seeing what I really weigh. Great...she most likely fell off her chair, sustained a massive head injury and now her death would be on my hands. Blunt force trauma to the head...Dr. Henry Lee would be proud. Worse yet...she would be a vegetable...the things she told me to eat more of and I didn't. I will eat them from now on in memory of my friend, the Warden who was only trying to save me from my fat.

Actually, we did speak on Monday. I believe the conversation went something like this, ME: "I have no desire to eat healthy." HER: "One meal at a time...eat more veggies." ME: "Can I start on New me Tuesday?" HER: "Oh I have something funny to tell you. I went shopping for new appliances and much like a SIF I was overly concerned with the size of my refrigerator. I wanted to make sure it would hold all my food." ME: "Are you there God, it's me Fatty." Whilst I can relate to the fear of an under-sized fridge, this was akin to the Warden telling me he did time for murder and has since been reformed. I can't have someone with criminal tendencies watching over me! Or could I? This could be the prefect plan. I will dig deep for hidden fat and allow myself an opportunity to break free of her....when the time is right. Look out!

Chewin the Fat

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!