A Little Rant Will Do Ya

Holy Crap. Where does the time go? I swear, I have a little time stealing monster living in my pocket. He likes to come out, take up all my time, package it and mail it to god knows where.

Anyway.

Long few weeks. Still working on the car thing, should be getting that back any day now. It really, really sucks to not have a car. If I were a smart person, I would use this as an opportunity to walk a bit more. You know, be healthy and all that crap.

But I don't. And speaking of health...my mental health is taking another dive. I really prefer to sleep a lot right now. I am so much skinnier in my dreams. Much easier to deal with then having to lose so much freaking fat.

Oh, bullshit.

Fat sucks. Seriously. I wish it was easy to get up, work out, eat less. Why does it have to be so hard? Ugh.

Well, I don't have anything brilliant to write at the moment, so I figured a little rant would do.

Signing off. Goodnight.

At Times Like This, You Need Chocolate. Or Pizza.

Ever have those weeks where you want to bury your head in the sand? Literally? Just to see what would happen? Knowing me I'd probably surface with some rare form of mold that eats all your hair. Anyway - I've just had one of those weeks.

Since I'm addicted to lists and firmly believe list posts are easier to read, let me list you my crappy week.

1. I'm addicted to food. I know it, you know it, the world knows it. My taste buds just refuse to listen. I wish I could just numb my tongue for a month and be done with it. remember when people used to wire their jaws shut and drink liquid for x amount of time? Yeah, I'd do that. then I'd probably break all my teeth trying to get to the Halloween candy. Such is life.

I really would do this to lose a few pounds...

2. Saturday morning at 1 am my neighbors were having a drunken idiot fest party across the street. I went to go get Wendy's (refer to item number one for why in god's name I left my house at 1 am for FOOD.) The rejects across the street saw me leave, saw me come back. Someone else (read: not me.) called the police on their loudness. Twice. Then at 3am, one of the drunk diptards walks up to my house, opens my screen door, and tries to open my door. Twice. Without knocking or anything. I thought someone was ready to add a new ventilation system to my forehead by way of the gun - so I creep to the side of the door and watch the jackwad go back to party central. I had never been so scared in my entire life. I run upstairs, wake up my ex-marine husband (just saying that makes me feel better...) and call the cops. Not 5 minutes later they come screeching up my street and start hollering at all the party animals. Hollering. Loudly. Hooray for police brutality. I'm all for it at this point - I wanted one of them to beat someone up. I was pissed. Anyway, party breaks up, I can't do anything about the pseudo break in because I didn't know which moron to point the finger at. Shame. The police and the retards left and I was up till 5 am trying to not have a heart attack from fear.

I felt like this was going to happen and I was going to die. Or be beat to a pulp.

3. Sunday morning, at 6 am , I am taking my brother to the hospital. He has kidney stones. Lots of 'em. I woke up, after about a half hour of sleep (because my husband snores. loudly. In stereo.) and crawl in the passenger's side of my car because frost has frosted my door super shut. After about 20 minutes of thawing we're on our way, and I'm thinking - "I hope I don't do anything stupid, because I'm really tired. My normal superhero-esque reactions are not up to par this evening night morning."  Five minutes later I run over a dead deer in the middle of the highway going 70 mph because I'm trying to get my poor brother to the hospital asap. A big dead deer. In my little 96 Honda Civic. I get to the ER, my engine is smoking, and I have a panic attack while trying to check my brother in and be there for him. My family is all sleeping, I have no one to call and I look like a moron in streaky left over mascara from the night before. To add to the fun and games, I hurt my shoulder and back muscles. Which I had to deal with for 6 hours while the moron doctors decided my brother had kidney stones. Um - to quote a favorite cartoon, "you just earned your - Uh, Der - badge."

ALL OF YOU.

So life is.....

I don't know. My car is in the shop, I'm broke, and I'm afraid of my neighbors. I'm not really complaining, mind you , I'm just in shock. Fortunately I have Xanax and Codene to cope for the week. And I ordered a pizza. Veggie Lovers from Pizza Hut.

Don't judge me.

Slap A Bitch

During all this time that I haven't blogged because I'm lazy for personal reasons, I have learned a few things about myself that I'd like to share.

1. "If there is food, I will eat it."

I hear this in my head throughout the day, with a Field of Dreams whisper - "If you cook it, Flabby will come." Truly. So now I have this weird baseball/Kevin Costner/food connection in my mind that just won't go away. I am now associating food with dead baseball players and corn fields. Lovely.

What I've learned, though, is not to buy snacky food and keep it in the house. Not for the husband, or the kid. They can all eat healthy right along with me - because if it's in the cupboard, I will eat it. Period.


2. Being fat colors every aspect of my life.

 Usually it's the color black. Anyway, I took my son to the movies Sunday for some mommy time. (I'm awesome. I know. That and I really wanted to see Real Steel again.) The whole time we were watching the movies, these horrible, awful , rotten teenage girls kept kicking my seat. I'm pretty sure they were using it for a footrest. It was extremely annoying, but I never said anything. The only, and I mean only reason I said nothing was this: I didn't want to hear her yell "fat bitch" at me. Or say anything that included the word fat in it. That is my singular fear at the moment. Being called fat when I stick up for myself. It plays out in my mind like this:

Me: Excuse me, could you stop kicking my chair please?

Stupid Teenage Girl: Shut up you fat bitch.

Then the scenario gets ugly because I punch her in the face and break her purty teeth. That part is fun to imagine.

You know you want to...

But it's sad I won't say anything because I'm scared of being called fat in public. Like they didn't already notice, because I wore my skinny jeans that day.

Whatever. The point is, I'm tired of being scared to live because of my weight. It's getting old, and the more I sit around at home, the fatter I'm gonna get.

Lessons learned.

A Brutally Honest Portrait

I have been up all night. I woke up at 10 pm yesterday - just in time to say goodnight to my son.

I sat down to my computer and started playing my video game. My husband was watching some good old Star Trek:Voyager on Netflix. After a few hours of that, he went to bed. So I caught up on some season 7 of Grey's Anatomy while I continue playing my game.

At about 3am, I realize I am hungry. So I fry up an entire can of corn beef hash, and eat the whole thing. With ketchup. Yummy, but I'm sure I just ate 30 gazillion grams of fat, and I'm not going to bother thinking about the sodium. After this "breakfast" I dish myself up a bowl of Cookies N' Cream ice cream.

As I'm eating, I realize that all I've done for the last week is sit here at the computer. I haven't showered in about 5 days, and my head itches. I smell. I brushed my hair yesterday for the first time in about 2 weeks, and only because it was getting so ratty I couldn't get a rubber band around it. I actually brushed my teeth - yesterday morning. At this point they're fuzzy and yellow. I haven't shaved in a month or so. I can't find a bra because I haven't worn one in 10 days.  The couch has an indent where my butt goes, and I think I've actually broken a board or two in there because my fat tush sets lower than the rest of the couch.

This could be my hair. And I'm not even trying.

And I realize there is something seriously wrong with me.

I didn't think I was depressed. Maybe I am. I don't know anymore.

All I know is that I need to care. About me. Because I really, really don't give a damn about myself at the moment. There's no way I can trick myself into thinking I do care about myself, because when I look in the mirror and see greasy hair and yellow teeth - it's obvious.

When did I stop caring? When did I stop feeling like a woman? What the hell happened to my life?

My title warns you that this is a brutally honest picture of what I have become. It's time to really change that. It's noon now, and I'm going to take a shower, shave, brush my teeth (and my hair!) and get off the couch for a while.

The World On Your Shoulders

I am so very frustrated.

I'm trying not to be. I'm trying to be positive, and upbeat.

It's not working very well.

You know that scene in a movie - where someone is standing on the edge of something very tall? Like a building, or a bridge, or a cliff. Then they close their eyes, spread their arms wide, and just sort of.....fall backward, into nothingness. All peaceful like, with a sad, strange smile on their face.

No? Well, I'm sure it's in some movie somewhere, and if it's not - it ought to be.

I feel like that person. Like I'm on the edge of nothing. I am nothing. I feel nothing. I accomplish nothing. And nothing is waiting for me at the bottom of the black hole.

I could try and list everything, but it may depress you. It involves money, lack of willpower, money, lack of motivation and...money. Yeah. I think we've all been there.

I need a plan. I'm just...lost. There's hundreds of little things swirling around in my brain but I just can't get a grip on any of them. Elusive little things - ideas. Where do I start? What do I do? Eat healthy - with a $200 a month grocery budget? Join a gym? When I can't even pay my rent? I feel weighted down with worries and cares, and I would like it to stop now.

Please, make it stop.


PS - I kid you not. As I finished typing this - my mom called. My sister is in the ER and I have to watch her 3 (small) children at 6am. And I watch my 1 year old niece today. And I have to homeschool my son, deal with my landlord, catch up on all the laundry that was in my flooded basement - and God knows what else. The hits just keep on comin'.

Petco Lets Animals Die In Flood

I live in NY, near Binghamton. If you haven't heard by now - our area was flooded this past week. We had a lot of rain from tropical storm Lee - which caused historical flooding throughout Broome County.

There is a Petco in Johnson City, NY. It's in a plaza that houses a few stores - Toys R' Us, Party City, Christmas Tree Shops - to name a few. This plaza has been flooded a few times, most memorably in the Flood of 2006. Keep that in mind as you read what I have to say.

We had had heavy rains that started the night of the 6th. By noon on the 7th of September, the schools were being dismissed and many areas of Broome County were bring evacuated. Highways were being shut down, some were losing power, and almost every store in the area was closing. Including Petco.

The one difference here is that Petco shut their doors - and left the animals inside to drown. We have several pet stores around here, but Petco obviously takes the cake. Pet Depot was flooded too - and were out rescuing the animals, kayaking them out of the store if necessary.

Pet Depot rescue, Vestal NY

Petco's response includes so much spin - it's making me dizzy.

They claim that:
"The flooding was not from the Susquehanna River itself but from a back up in the town’s sewage/drainage system."

Petco is between the blue sign and the red brick

Does it look like that to you? We had record flooding in areas that had never seen water. The places that usually flood saw much more water than normal. Anyone with half a brain could have figured out that Petco would flood. Businesses are required to have insurance, right? Then the insurance people would have surely told the company that the area was prone to flooding. And to place the burden of responsibility on the Johnson City? Shameful.

In the second paragraph of the blog entry, Petco says:
 "We want to stress that this was not carelessness on our associates’ behalf, but a communications lapse from the city to the store in evacuations orders."

Yet in the next paragraph they say:
 "We have a hotline for associates to use if they ever feel an animal is in danger and no calls were made to the hotline suggesting that the associates feared flooding would impact the store and endanger the animals."

So...were the employees careless, or weren't they? Is it their fault they didn't call, or Petco's fault for not making the decision themselves? Surely someone from Petco was aware of the flooding.

The thing that makes me the most angry is this gem:
 "An associate went by to check the store at 11:45 p.m. on Wednesday night and there were no signs of flooding or a flood warning in effect."

Are you kidding me? We had flood warnings in effect from the night before. The night before, people. By 11pm Wednesday night, the place had to have been flooded - so how could an employee check on it? And there were most certainly flood warnings in effect by 11pm.

I myself live in an area that never floods, yet I had 6 inches of water in my basement. So a flood-prone area.....you do the math.

Road at the bottom of my street

Shame on Petco for being so careless and irresponsible. Shame on them for not just issuing a simple apology. A nice heartfelt "I'm sorry" would have worked wonders. So now there is a Boycott Petco page on facebook. I believe there's a demonstration/protest coming up, and I'll be there. The local news is all over this, and I'm hoping national news will pick it up.

Articles can be found at WBNG, and Press and Sun Bulletin.

Hey, Petco...did you get the cash out?

Maggie Goes On A Diet

I saw an article on Yahoo news last week. It's about a new children's book, called - yep, you guessed it - Maggie Goes On A Diet.

The book summary, from Amazon.com, says,

"Maggie has so much potential that has been hiding under her extra weight. This inspiring story is about a 14-year-old who goes on a diet and is transformed from being overweight and insecure to a normal sized teen who becomes the school soccer star. Through time, exercise and hard work, Maggie becomes more and more confident and develops a positive self-image."

There's enough in the description alone to bug me. Kids going on "diets"? Teenagers aspiring to be "normal sized"? Come on. Can anyone tell me what a "normal" teenager is?

You know what though - I could handle that. Not the best choice of wording, but it's tolerable. What ticks me off the most is the reason for the weight loss.

According to the book:

"Maggie was teased and made fun of just about every day at school, she was called fatty and chubby and other names that were very cruel."
"Searching the refrigerator in hopes she would feel better, eating lots of bread and cheeses including some cheddar."

So Maggie decides to eat better, exercise and lose weight. All of a sudden, now that Maggie is "normal", kids like her and she has friends.

"Maggie looked forward to her Saturday morning game, more and more people were beginning to know Maggie by name. Playing soccer gave Maggie popularity and fame."

Oh, really? Is that all it takes to make friends and.......wait a second. Are we really ready to teach kids that being "normal" and skinny is the only way to make friends? Do we want them to think that we should give in to bullying - changing so much that the bullies stop bullying? Do we want to give our children self confidence issues?

It makes me slightly sick.

What do you think?

Where Did I Go?

Is it possible to loathe yourself in such a horrific way - that all you want to do is rip your heart from your chest and step on it, so you no longer have to breathe through the pain?

I believe it is.

That's all I feel lately. I have no wit, no charm, no life. I sit here, day after day, a lump on the couch - dreaming of better things, longing for a better life and yet here I sit.

Still.

Every day.

I feel like I'm in glue, I can't move, and I'm sick of wanting to. I'd like to be numb now, please God, so I can sit here without hating myself so much.

I know I'm so much more. So much more. There's more in here than a couch, and the chocolate, and the vicious cycle of eating to fill the void and hating the need to fill it.

I used to see and want and be so much. But I seem to have lost my muchness.

Where did it go?

And when can I stop hating myself? And how do I get off of the FUCKING COUCH?????

On Sleep, The Lack Thereof, and being a Good Girl.

I always have the best ideas for a post.

In the middle of the night.

I'll be half asleep, and pop awake with a gem of a post idea. I will tell myself to remember it, repeat it to myself 15 times, and then promptly forget about it as soon as I fall back asleep. When I wake up in the morning - I'm left with this vague feeling that I did something awesome yesterday, but I just can't quite grasp what it was.

And when I sit down to the keyboard and try to post something - I draw a huge fat blank. Usually I give up and write nothing. (Hence my month - (months?) - long absences)

But, I'm trying to post regularly, and I'm trying to get back on track.

Back on track. Hah. If I could find a way to type out 'snort and chuckle' on the computer, I would.

It's not that I don't try, I really do. I went out a few days ago for a food run, and got myself the Good Girl Subway Sub.

(i.e. Roast chicken on wheat, no cheese, all green veggies, hold the mayo and substitute mustard please.)

And then yesterday, I go out with my sister and manage to scarf 3 Jr. bacons and a large Chili with cheese. Yum! I mean, Bad Flabby McGee, BAD. Not to mention I can't seem to get near a gym. Although - to be fair - I'm sure there's an anti fat chick force field around the whole thing, repelling us chubbies by the dozens.

(I was looking for a picture of a cheeseburger - but they all made me hungry. So I stopped torturing myself.)

Still. I can't give up. I'd like to, but I can't. So I'm going to try again. Right now. I went shopping for all my Good Girl foods and I'm currently starving. I forgot to eat again.

Flabby Goes To The Hospital

Ok, so some of you have already read about my very long week.

Tuesday night (or Wednesday morning?) I went to bed at 5am. I couldn't sleep - I've been hacking up a lung. Not a pleasant experience. My brother wakes me up at 7:30 and tells me he has to go to the hospital. Now, my brother would never wake me up unless he's next to dying in pain, so I got up and we went to the ER.

Everyone was awesome. Almost unbelievable, I know, but the nurses got me coffee, they talked to us, the doctors were actually friendly, and they were kind to both of us. I was very impressed. They admitted my brother, he was passing a kidney stone - one from each kidney. So I spent the night with him. Now, I had thrown on my nasty, dirty gym clothes that I hadn't washed - so I ended up spending the day in them. By that evening - I had broken out in a skin rash (I guess I have sensitive skin) and was miserable. I had also gotten my period that morning while waiting in the ER. Great day.

I'm in pain, itching, dirty and starving - and I finally managed to fall asleep at 3AM. My brother had been passed out - thanks to the morphine they gave him - and I had been tiptoeing around all night, trying to be quiet while scratching myself to death. Of course the nurses had to check vitals at 5 AM, so that was all the sleep I got. I decided to go home and shower and change and then go back to the hospital - my brother was going to have to have surgery to remove the stones. I pried my eyelids open and drove home - and sure enough, as I walk in the door, my brother calls me and tells me he passes one of the stones and they were releasing him. No surgery. That was actually good news, so I threw on some clean clothes (minus the shower) and went back. We then proceeded to wait for 2 hours before he was finally released. I could have had my shower after all.

Later that evening, after a shower and a nap, I got Cramps From Hell. Literally. I was hollering and moaning and groaning. So I took almost 2 Vicodin and passed out. The same thing happened Saturday afternoon, so I finally went to the ER myself. Yeah, they recognized me but I was yelling so much I didn't care.

Here's where the story gets real good.

They put me in fast track, because I guess cramps aren't enough for them to really be worried about. I was alright with that, I just wanted the pain to stop. So they come in, ask me what I'm allergic to (compazine) and start an IV. They tried my hands first, because my veins are always deep, and they hit a valve.

I don't know if that has ever happened to you - but let me tell you, that's a pain you don't want. Someone shoving a needle around in your hand, hitting nerves that aren't supposed to be hit, making your feet fly off the bed and making you yell like a dying cow. Pain. PAIN. I started crying and bawling like a baby. I have a slight fear of needles to begin with, and my worst fear had just come true. I wanted to kill someone.

With my hubby holding my hand and trying to soothe me, they try my other arm, this time in the arm, not the hand. They fiddle around in there for a bit and get the IV in. The nurse comes in with pain medication and my anti-nausea medicine.

Now, I'm allergic to compazine, it gives me - in short - anxiety attacks. SO the nurse comes in, and because by now I'm terrified of anything this woman is going to do, I ask her if she has the right medicine. She says, yeah - it's compazine.

WHAT? I was only one short nanosecond away from ripping the needle out of her hand and kicking her in the nuts. If she had 'em. Then she laughs and says she's kidding. Um, ok. Do you see me laughing? I'm crying and hyperventilating and you want to crack jokes about a medicine I'm allergic to? I almost killed her. With my bare hands.

The rest of the visit was ok. I guess. I was still in some pain, and the nurse comes back in and asks me if I'm in pain, and I say yes - to which she replies, "You'll be in some pain, it doesn't all go away", and I'm like what the HELL?!?!? Why did you ask me to begin with - and I was under the impression that I had a right to pain management. Get me out of here, I'll go overdose on aspirin or something.

Then they send me to ultrasound, stick what looks like a very long dildo up my hoo-ha and ram it into all my innards. Fun, fun, fun. Then we go back and I get a pelvic exam, hoo boy howdy. I was all kinds of excited by then. Finally they tell me everything's normal, it's just hormones and I get to go home.

The doctor then proceeds to tell me to take Ibuprofen. I was like, come again? I came in here on heavy duty narcotics and you want me to go home with over the counter ibuprofen? Did you even go to medical school or did you get one of them there online degrees? Why do all the doctors want to give you ibuprofen?

Having a baby?

Take some Ibuprofen!

Broke an  arm?

Take some Ibuprofen!

Toothache?

Take some Ibuprofen!

I hate Ibuprofen. So we just left. And of course I was in pain agian last night, and did the Ibuprofen do anything? Nope. I guess I should be the doctor. Anyway, I'm home now - still coughing, still having pain, but I have my trusty Ibuprofen. I guess it's a good thing I have some Vicodin left over form last time. We'll see.

You Know What I Hate?

1. Wal-Mart and their parking lots. If I don't get killed trying to park, then I get run over by the the big fat woman glaring at you because you're taking to long to look at shampoo. Then you get to stand in line, wait for the pimply faced teenager to throw your eggs in the bag, whine if you ask him to bag your gallon of milk, and listen to him sigh when you ask him to come and scan the ginormous packs of bottled water in the bottom of your cart.

After all that, you get to try and cross the walkway while avoiding all the old people who don't know what a stop sign is, get your groceries stuffed in the car, and try back out of your spot without getting clipped by the redneck who thinks Wal-Mart is a race track. Oh, the fun.

Wal Mart is evil.

2. Hypocrites. I"m talking about the ones who are all nicey-nice to your face and talk crap behind your back. I thought I had cleaned those people out of my life - but they just keep popping back up like pimples on your butt. Both of those things - hypocrites and butt pimples - need to be popped. End of story.

3. All You Can Eat Buffets. Those things were built to make you feel like crap. If you're fat - then it's a black hole of stuff-your-face that never ends, unless you can't fit in the booth. If you're trying to lose weight - then it's still a black hole of stuff-your-face, only now you feel guilty about it. And if you're skinny - then you just paid fifteen bucks for lemon flavored lettuce and water. yay. I can do that for fifty cents at home.

4. Thank You cards. Since when did saying "thank you" become not enough? I opened the present, said thank you ,gushed a little, and moved on. Now I have to buy cards, write them all out, figure out all the addresses and who gave me what, and then I have to pay to say thank you? Uh, No Thanks.

5. And while we're on the subject, I hate Christmas cards. Not getting them, or even sending them out - that's not too hideous. I'm talking about the obligatory "my family is better than your family" yearly family letter. This is what I'm gonna write this year:

Dear People I Barely Know,

This year was ok. I got married last year, (by the way - thanks for the gifts) and it's been pretty good. I ate a lot of cake, got real fat, hate housework. I don't do my dishes often, and I wear the same shirt until it stinks or I spill kool-aid on it. I'm dealing with my in-laws a little better - but maybe it's because I don't feel like peeling my butt off of the couch to go and actually talk to them much. My family is fine, my kid sister got knocked up by some pissant little peckerwood that I can't stand. I may sic my husband on him - if the hubby can be convinced to put down the Xbox 360 Controller. We sit around all day, eating cheese and collecting food stamps. I was going to trade them for money - but my mom doesn't have any. We're all broke, but no one cares much because no one moves very much. We can sit around at home just as easily with money as without it. My kid is doing ok with school, and looks like a leftover hippie because he refuses to get his hair cut. I'm waiting until he gets lice so I can shave his head and be done with it. So, Merry Christmas and Happy New Year. Until next Christmas, LK and fam.

That would be funny. I exaggerate (I think) - but you get the point.

6. Humidity. As if I didn't feel fat and sweaty enough - I walk outside and there's already a layer of moisture in the air. Makes me want to stay inside and write thank you cards. Kinda.

I Need Some Cheese For This Whine....

I got this from Karen @ muffin fixation, who got it  from I go through life in inches and pounds. (Whom I didn't know - until now) And because I'm still getting over being sick, haven't been to the gym in a week and am scared to weigh myself. I'm going to repost this.

Ok, it's because I'm lazy today just lazy. I'm human, sue me.

Some great quotes from Jewel in the July 2010 Shape Magazine cover story:

On being called "the chubby Renee Zellweger" in the media years ago:

"My feelings were so hurt by that story, I ended up binging on an entire cake. Afterward, I actually tried to throw it all up, but thankfully I couldn't do it. It made me think, 'I can't go down this road.' I had seen so many performers develop eating disorders or try to control their weight with drugs, and I decided I would do no harm to my body."

Her advice to women:
"We should be more like men, God bless 'em. They can take their shirts off and show their man boobs, and they don't give a hoot. But women are so critical of themselves. We can be gorgeous and hot and still be embarrassed to wear a tank top. So if you can't stop looking in the mirror, at least try to not think badly about yourself when you do."

So let's all promise two things to ourselves today...

1.  I will do no harm to my body.

2. I will not think badly about myself when I look in the mirror.
 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Of course, when I was done reading - I went to the original article and found Jewel looking like this:

And I was like...pfft. Yeah. I'd be all "women shouldn't care about their bodies and be proud to show it off" if I looked like that. Heck. I'd be happy to be called the "chubby Renee Zellweger - because that would mean I weighed.....what? 122 pounds instead of 115. Whatever.

I'm not bashing the ladies that posted this, I'm just looking at the article through crap colored glasses. It's just who I am.

Just a little bit of my cynicism breaking through. It's still a good message, but for me - it just doesn't have the oomph it did before I saw the picture. Just sayin.

Unsexy?

I just read a great blog post over at Journey Beyond Survival. And it got me thinking -

I feel so unsexy. Most of the time, I feel lumpy and unattractive. I wander around the house in pj's, t-shirts, and stretch pants. I don't wear make-up. Not even to go out. I don't wear heels or fancy shoes of any kind, and I've even lost interest in switching purses to match my outfits. (gasp!)

Now, I used to be a sexy beast. Really - I was. I went from 305 pounds to 220 in one year. I felt amazing, looked amazing and knew it. I was a sexy beast. Rawr.

What happened to her? Well, she gained all that weight back, plus a few pounds. Gradually, over the last 2-3 years, I have packed on the pounds, and lost my interest in being good looking. I don't put lotion on my dry skin, don't wash my face, and I can barely muster up the strength to shave my legs. I'm beginning to think that I think that I don't deserve to be sexy. That fat must not be beautiful. That overweight people don't deserve to look good.

Screw that. I'm still hot. I still have an amazing rack, gorgeous eyes, and a beautiful face. My husband still wants to make love to me - so he must think I'm still good looking. Screw the world and their preconceived notions of what beauty is. I'm so sorry I don't have the body of an anorexic 12 year old - and I truly hope I never do. Bite me, Mary Kate Olsen.

I'm going on a date tonight. I'm dressing up. I'm shaving my legs and wearing the red lipstick my husband likes me to wear. And I'm gonna shake it like jello. You don't like it - close your eyes.

I'm back.

I'm Tired

I'm so tired.

Tired of not eating cake.

So I ate some.

Tired of not eating chocolate.

So I ate some.

Tired of not drinking soda.

So I drank some.

Tired of getting up and going to the gym.

So I didn't go.

Tired of worrying about what I eat.

So I ate everything I could.

And now I'm sick. And tired. Now I'm tired of being lazy. And I'm tired of not focusing, and I'm tired of not having any self control. I'm tired of being a bum. And I'm tired of being fat.

My mother always told me - Change only comes when the pain of staying the same is more then the pain of change. Looks like she was right.

Yeah, I'm tired of that too.

Coming Out Of The Big, Fat Closet

Right about now, after reading this title, I have some friends and family members going:

Say what?

But I'm not talking about that closet. I'm talking about coming out and stating that I'm fat. Yes, you heard me, fat.

Some people don't like fat people - simply because they're fat. Others like fat people, they just don't like talking about it. And still others claim to like us, but they certainly don't want to look at us.

I've been thinking about this post for a while, ever since I started trying to lose weight. My camera wasn't working, and I really wanted to put some pictures up here for everyone to see. So, while I had my mom with me on mothers day - I asked her to take some pictures of me for my blog. She did, but the look on her face was one of pity. She looked at my big, fat stomach and looked like she wanted to cry, gave me a little frown and what I like to call the puppy dog eyes. The "Oh, I'm so sorry that you're so pathetically fat honey" look. Later on, she was trying to email them for me, and they wouldn't come through. So I told her to slap 'em up on facebook, and I'd copy them, then tell her when to take them down. She asked me "are you sure" - as in " why would you want to let people see you like that"?

(In defense of you mom, cuz I know you're gonna read this - I love you and know you just have my best interests at heart. But don't give me the look if I ask you to take pictures, ok?)

And that's when it hit me. Yes, I'm fat. I'm overweight - but why am I so ashamed of it? I mean, why am I going to hide all the pictures, why post the picture of me at the "right angle" and hide the tummy and the big ole behind? Granted I'm not going to wear a thong and show my cellulite to the world - but I'm not going to hide form the full body shot, post the face shot and sit and pretend I look that good all the way down to my toes. It's not fair to myself to pretend I'm something I'm not. I am me, and I'm not going to be ashamed of myself just because I carry some extra weight. My fat is not who I am, it's just what's on me. I was reading logs and came across Dagny's article, entitled 'Considering Oprah and "Women, Food, and God"'... and she was writing about just that sort of thing, not letting your weight define who you are. It was an awesome post - I encourage you to read it.

The bottom line is though -

Here I am, fat and all - if you don't like it, don't look. 

That's it. I'm fat, and now I'm out of the big, fat closet.

You Know What I Hate?

1. People who come and leave crappy anonymous comments. Hit and Run Commentators - go do something useful with yourself. Like, playing in traffic.

2. Why in the hell do the clothing makers assume that big people are twice as wide, instead of  - oh, I don't know - twice as tall.

3. Since when is it ok to make fat women look like they're wearing tablecloths? Or Grandma's curtains?



4. Exercise. I mean, that's obvious, but I still hate it.

5. Kids that laugh at fat people. Really, your parents have provided you with video games, dvd players, snack foods, cell phones, and iPods. Do you really have so little to do that you feel the need to point and stare? Go tell your parents to beat you for a week please, you little jerks.

6. On that note - why do some adults feel the need to yell "Shamu!" at you while walking down the street? I'm not the one drunk on my porch yelling things at strangers, loser.

7. The way skinny people stare at you when you work out. How else am I ever supposed to get skinny? Working out at home isn't working out for me - obviously. Duh.

8. Fat people that go to a restaurant and order the teeniest salad possible. C'mon - you're either pretending to care, or starving yourself stupid. Neither one is very healthy for you.

9. Folding chairs. Hard. Small. Metal. 'Nuff said.

10. Chocolate, Cheesecake and Mashed Potatoes. The trifecta of flabby arms and large bellies. Actually, it's more of a love/hate relationship - but who's counting?

Ugly Cupcake

I'm an ugly cupcake.

Now before everyone starts going  -"oh no, you're so pretty", "think positive things!" and "hummina wha?", let me explain.

First off - you can read the ugly cupcake post over at The Fat Chick Weigh. If you don't feel like doing that, then.....oh well, I guess you're screwed. Now I'm supposed to blog about why I'm an ugly cupcake.

I ain't perfect (wow, ain't didn't show up in my spellcheck....just sayin') and I never have been. I have wiggle and jiggle and junk in the trunk. I have cellulite, and moles and skin tags (oh, my!). My flab has flab, and my stretch marks have stretch marks. To my credit, I have a pretty face. I'm one of the people that can take a great face shot - but you scroll down to the rest.....and BAM, fat girl surprise. I was always the "pretty sister" in a family of skinny people. I eat celery and gain weight, they eat chocolate and lose it. (thank you once again, universe) Now I'm at the point where, even if I lose my weight, I will still have stretchmarks and skin tags.

Yeah, that's me.

I used to cling to my beauty as hard as I could. It made me valid, made me worth something, even if my body was worth nothing. My mom once told me that you had to be thin to get a man, because men were attracted to women by how they look, not how personable they were. (I still love you, Mom.) But as I age and begin to realize I will never be that skinny girl - I can let go of holding on so hard to my face. It's not the only thing that makes me beautiful anymore. I am beautiful because I am. I am beautiful because even though I have a belly flap, I have the strength to admit that I need to change it. I'm stronger than most cupcakes, and that makes me valid and beautiful.

So I'll be an ugly cupcake, but this ugly cupcake is hawt.

The Universe Hates Me

"Once you make a decision, the universe conspires to make it happen."

I'm sorry, Ralph Waldo Emerson - but you are full of crap.

I've decided many things in my life - some are realistic, some are not. For example - "I want to do the dishes" (reasonable) and "I want to win the swimsuit competition at the Miss Universe pageant" (not so much). But the biggest, baddest, humdinger of a wish is usually - "I want to lose weight". Boy, if I had a nickel for every time..... you know how it goes.

My universe does not, in any way, shape or form, help me to accomplish anything. You want to know why?

My Future Home.

Let's start with gravity, shall we? Gravity is evil. If I lived on Mars, I'd weigh approximately 120.64 pounds. Such a beautiful number. But here on good ol' earth, I am a heavy and painful 320 pounds. It takes effort to get up in the morning, to make my food, and don't get me started on how hard it is to wash my back or shave my legs. Gross - but bluntly true. When the government finally does something with all the money it spends on space exploration - and we can live on Mars - I will be a happy person. Until then, I will keep fighting the universe.

The universe, ahh..the universe. The universe decided that my home should be ridden with bedbugs. Ew. Icky. Yuck. These little pests found their way to my home through some acquaintances  who decided to pull in a couch off the curb. Said acquaintances live above my in-laws house, and I believe that the nasty buggers found their way to me while I was over there. (how's that for trying to make sure I don't look like a a dirty person?) Either way - we got them here in my house. Then they decided to nest in my bed. So who do they bite? Me. Not my husband, but Me. I had bites covering my arms and legs. Wish I had taken pictures, I could have sold them to Guinness for the most bugbites on a single person. And if anyone's been bitten by bugs - you know they itch. And when you itch, you can't sleep. Not to mention - we had to get rid of our entire bed, and spent too much money on supplies to get rid of the nasty things. So I am sleeping on the couch, and my husband sleeps in a papa san chair. A chair! I'm 500 kinds of achy and tired. The universe is not my friend.

Food. Where do I begin here? I can't escape it, I can't run and hide from it. It's everywhere I look. You ever read magazines like Woman's day, or the ones they sell for around $2? Most of those give you "tips" on how to lose weight, and then - in the same issue - they give you 30 pages of recipes. And are they low - fat, fat - free, low - cal, low anything? Nope. It's all about fat, and butter and salt. And I just love TV. Oh boy - that's my favorite. I can't watch anything - ever. There's commercials for Wendy's, Applebee's, Baskin Robbins, TGI Friday's, I could go on forever. There's one food commercial I can watch - Subway. They motivate me. (5, 5 dollar, 5 dollar footlong..any,any,any...) Food is everywhere. Gas Stations, the mall, the movies, my own home. I have to have it to survive, but why did the universe have to come up with things like, sugar. Or chocolate.

The universe did not make anything plus size. Except caftans. Or beds. That's about it. The movie theater seats squish my hips. The seat belt in the car is a danger zone and I firmly believe it will kill me instead of save me if I ever got into and accident. It slides above my boobs and chokes me half to death. I have to put the chest strap back behind my head - if I can manage to buckle it. Gyms - don't get me started there. All the seats are tiny. The bicycle seat gave me a wedgie, and the equipment does not allow for anyone to have a belly. I have to be a contortionist to fit into some of those machines. Booths at restaurants are - 95% of the time - too small. I always have to check and see if the table slides before I sit down. Amusement parks - forget it. Last time I rode the bumper cars I almost gave myself a hernia.

Ok, this is not my butt. But this is how I feel when I go to the movies.

So, that's how the universe treats me. It's not nice, not friendly, and it's not exactly helping me achieve my goals. Thanks a lot, universe.