Lost in the Crowd...

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

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

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

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

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

Fat is alive and well....

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

Scary Politics- Re-post from Oct 2008

I don’t know what disturbs me more…Halloween or Politics. Both scare me. Both require you to disguise who you are so that people will give you things. So it boils down to what disturbs you less…votes or candy. If you are reading this blog, I can only assume your vote has been cast in favor of candy. At least candy gives you some sort of pleasure without all of the drama. Just unwrap, savor and swallow. I guess the same could be said for Politics… except when you get caught unwrapping, savoring and swallowing, drama is surely going to follow! Maybe we should have the candidates dress up and trick or treat for votes. Think about it….if we just knew them for their agendas, we could make a legitimate vote on the issues. My sources tell me (gossiping at the office) that in the history of the Presidency, the better looking candidate has always won. This is why I think Brad Pitt should get on the ballot. He could ban junk food, sex and napping and still get my vote! I would make a wonderful First Fat Lady. So no matter who or what you voted for just know there’s always candy. I know bcs I am still eating my way through a “pumpkin” of Halloween candy that was given to me undoubtedly bcs I am slightly over my BMI. You can’t hide everything under a Halloween costume. In fact, I don’t even dress up. No matter what I put on, I’d always be the fat version of it. “Oh yeah, it’s Plus Size Cinderella or maybe it’s The Wicked Witch of Weight Watchers.” Yeah. I don’t need that. I prefer to answer the door, give out some candy and eat my share until the next victim arrives. I can’t imagine what would happen if a real live politician showed up at my house. I guess I would push my own agenda…like taking the calories off of labels and telling me there’s no trans fat in Ho-Hos. If I’m eating something bad I don’t really need an actual breakdown of how bad it is. If found on an inner aisle, I assume no good can come of it. To that I add, no trans fat in a Ho-Ho implies that I am making a healthy choice. It should just say, “You won’t die as quickly.” Perhaps that’s what labels should do…list the years that will be added or subtracted from your life upon consumption. Umm…I think I’d be on my 14th life. I am glad both Halloween and the Election are over. I am in full on preparation for Thanksgiving. Screw the pilgrims. This is a fatty holiday through and through! Whilst we are on my political agenda…I think triptaphan(sp) overload and Thanksgiving Coma should both be enough of a reason to make the day after Thanksgiving an official holiday. Can someone see to it that we get that on the ballot?

I'm about to...

Re-post my blog from last Halloween. Partly bcs I am very busy working on a large article that's due Friday... and partly bcs it happens to be one of my favorite blogs. You'll recall, last year at this time we were in the midst of an election that would change history. That's great n all but I don't appreciate it when news takes away from the true meaning of the October-November season...food. That's being said, I give you last year's post.

I'll be back over the weekend with more stories of over eating and stealing candy from the crumb snatchers. Until then, don't forget to stock up on the Halloween candy. Lock your door, turn off the lights and enjoy!

Trix are for Kids...

...and so are Froot Loops, Apple Jacks and Frosted Flakes! Says who? Why must everything I love be taken from me? What started with the demise of a solid sugar filled breakfast has now manifested itself into the banishment of adult pleasures. I'm more than willing to forgo my current life in exchange for the acceptable consumption of Pop Tarts and Tater Tots at any age. What happened to Saturday morning cartoons over a bowl of sugared cereal, toast and OJ? It's unheard of after the age of 2. Let's start teaching our children that sugar and carbs are the enemy whilst they are young, so that they can be fat, obsessed, overeating little f'rs before they enter kindergarten! I say, let the little bastards eat what they want and send them out to play until such time that you have to let them back in for fear of the law....I mean until they've worked off their meal...ugghum. Because of parents like you, I'm forced to wake up at the crack of my ass, run a few hundred miles and eat whole grain cardboard just to stay 100 pounds behind the Quarter Pounders (those are the skinny chicks in case you are a new reader). I can't take the pressure of having a love affair with the staples of my childhood. I know I should like baby calves reduced in a fancy sauces on a grassy plate...but I don't. Unless we are talking about 2 all beef patties, special sauce, lettuce, cheese, pickles, onions on a sesame seed bun... but I don't think those are baby calves....they taste pretty grown up.

It's a good thing I have a husband to blame for what appears in my grocery cart. "Uncrustables," Cheese Puffs, Nutty Buddies....I'm drooling all over the keyboard. Not only are these nostalgic nuggets of nectar considered classic treats of the worldly, the behind the scenes people have even started making them fat friendly. Yup. I can now enjoy whole grain Cheetos, French Fries and Beanie Weenies. Permission to side bar mid-paragraph? Riddle me this...is a fry is a fry by any other name. Perhaps. Apparently, if you call them by their socially acceptable name, Pomme Frites, you are looked upon as a cultured fatty with a distinguished pallet. However comma, when speaking of them in the "ghettonacular", French Fries, you are just plain...well, ghetto. I think the next time I go to McDonald's I'll ask them to super size my Pomme Frites and cringe when they shoot me a blank look...gold teeth glaring... Van Gogh nails scratching at the weave. Yes, that is what I'm going to do. Back on track now... You see what's going on here right? The snooty adult types are robbing the young at heart of their pleasures, turning around, renaming said treats in a foreign tongue and hoping that the we are too dumb to translate. I got news for ya....I'm fatlingual! If it involves food, I speak it sista.

For any of you doubters out there, I give you exhibit A: The rehearsal dinner. Recently I was asked to attend a rehearsal for a wedding I wasn't in. Translation...friendship = free food without laborious duties = happy SIF. As I sipped my beer and made small talk with people I believed to be looking upon me as "slutty" (not far off and proud of it, thank you), I noticed that we had been pre-seated with 2 couples and 2 kids. More beer please. I wasn't in the mood to drink but I also wasn't in the mood for pre-pubescent torture... so beer seemed the obvious choice to stabbing the midgets with my utensils. As I took my seat, I noticed that the kids had sippy cups filled, no doubt, with the likes of fruit punch....my personal favorite. Had I asked the waiter to replace my beer with Hawaiian Punch, I think we all know what would have happened...the looks...the gasps...the kiddie table for this SIF. So, I let it go. At some point, the waitress came over and asked what the adults would like to eat. The choices were slabs of beef, fish and potatoes. Fine. That is, until, without warning, the children were served pizza, fries and applesauce. Let me tell you how that felt to me....like watching the groom admit, in front of the entire wedding party that he's been shagging his 70 year mother-in-law and she's pregnant with their love child. Something like that. Are you freaking kidding me? That's a meal fit for a SIF who's tucked safely in her "womb" where she can't be judged. It took everything I had to watch those little rats dip their Pomme Frites in applesauce whilst eating the innards of their pizza and leaving the crust behind as a sign that they lead a much better life than I! Dammit! Shoulda stabbed um while I had the chance....

I dream of the days when I had "people" who would make me whatever I wanted whilst I watched Tom & Jerry and decided who would be the lucky recipient of my intolerable behavior.
The worst thing that ever happened to me was getting sent to my room. You'll recall, that's where Mommy stashed the peanut M&M's....not such a bad deal for a kid like me. Perhaps my "womb addiction" began in the days of Coco Puffs and Mac-n-Cheese. I'm no head shrink but I think someone should have a talk with Mother. I fear she may be to blame for my dependence on childlike substances. I'll leave you with a thought...I use to order fruit punch at business meetings whilst the professional types ordered coffee and tea. I thought they liked me enough to overlook my "Kool-Aid" issues. Apparently not...as I was terminated on the ride home with random strangers in the vehicle. "Your position has been eliminated," was the phrase of choice. Translation, "We gave your job to someone who drinks coffee, fatty." This is the corporate gospel according to "the man." Another day...another reason to binge eat.