Rubber Ducky, You’re So Fine.


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As a child, I remember thoroughly enjoying bath time. It could have been due to the fact that I was able to go swimming in my own effing house, or the fact that I was able to splash everywhere, thinking I was making a mess, but in reality, I was just helping with the cleanup. I remember this one time, when Duffy and I took a bath together, he pooped in the bathtub and then started to cry. I don’t think I was supposed to tell anyone that story. Happens to the best of us, sorry Duff!

Over the years, I’ve grown to not liking bath time so much. As hot as I make the water, I still end up freezing my little tush off. I could blame the size of the bathtub, however, I have decided to blame myself, for the first time ever. I can’t remember the last time my entire body was able to be submerged into a bath all at once. When I try though, I need to stick my legs in the air, and then try to dunk my whole body. That doesn’t really work out, because the second I need to get up, my bath becomes a giant wave pool and before I know it, my entire bathroom has been flooded- lets just say the Asian family below me isn’t so happy. This past weekend, I tried to do a little experiment, and try to figure out how to take a real bath like a real human being, and really enjoy myself. After a lot of thinking, pruney hands, and ice cold water, I had finally figured it out. The only way I was able to do this was to lay flat on my stomach with my arms by my side and dunk my head under water. This was a sight to be seen… or not. Getting up was a challenge, and took a good five minutes.

Instead of having goals for myself, like I want to wear this pair of jeans, or to lose five pounds, my goal for this year is to immerse my entire body in a bathtub and enjoy my bath like I used to as a child. Except, maybe I won’t invite my brother to take a poop.

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A Note To Skinny Girls


You know what I don’t like? When I go shopping, and some snooty little salesperson tells me how good I look in something, when really I just look like a fat lard busting out of the seams. I’d rather just give you a few dollars to be honest with me than to lie to my face and tell me I look good. Like how can I possibly walk around in public when I have fat rolling out of every corner of my body.  Maybe you should go eat a giant bag of mini eggs, and tell me how you feel, while you’re busting out of a size 14 dress that’s two sizes too small. People think it’s crazy, but I would love it if someone told me I looked terrible in something. Like I remember this one time when Donald Chow asked me if I was serious when I busted out by jean shorts. I didn’t see anything wrong with them, but he said that it looked like I was wearing “a jean material bean bag chair” which was “falling off my ass”. I thought I looked good, but I appreciated the criticism. Actually, I’m lying, because I totally yelled at him, and wore the jean shorts anyway.

On another note, Monday, I plan on telling the world exactly how much I weigh…Maybe…depends on my mood

Thank You For Your Criticism


I would just like to take a post to be clear with everyone about my blog. My entire life, I was fat. I never got to experience the joys of feeling good about myself, and I never once got to feel like I loved myself. Excuse me for once in my life thinking of myself as “the skinnier girl” or feeling like “the skinny girl”. I appreciate everyones support in reading my blog, but to be honest, if you don’t like what I have to say, no one is holding a gun to your head forcing you to read this. One thing I have learned from the blogging world, is that the more attraction your blog gets, the more people will have things to say. So be it. Say what you want. Thanks for reading though.

For the first time in my life, I am happy. Even if I stay the weight I am at now, I will be happy. This is the healthiest I can ever remember myself, and I love myself. Did you hear that? Should I repeat myself? I LOVE MYSELF. I love the support from everyone around me. My relationships with friends and family, especially my mom, is better than it’s ever been. I finally gained the confidence to tell the bullies and the bi#$s exactly how I felt. I finally have the confidence to walk around in hot pink pants and not feel like everyone is staring at me. I finally have the confidence to hold my head high and feel proud of the person I have become.

This blog is my journey through weight loss. My stories, my experiences. I have been through so much being the fat girl, that I am entitled to call myself a former fat girl, or a soon to be skinny girl. I am entitled to make fun of myself, and if that offends anyone, I don’t apologize, because this is my forum. I don’t need to change the way I write for anyone. I shouldn’t feel ashamed to say how I feel, and I certainly shouldn’t hide how people tortured me. Yes, here and there I may make fun of fat girls, and skinny girls, but to be honest, we need to stop taking things so seriously. This blog is not to make anyone hate themselves, and certainly not to make anyone hate me.

Find yourself, and love yourself. Period.

I’m (almost) Sample Size!


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I work in the fashion industry, because I’m cool like that. I work for a company that sells clothes mostly to the skinnier, smaller demographic. Anyway, today is sample sale day, and I was all VIP and got to head to the front of the line to get all the fancy cool pretty stuff. So, while I’m walking around picking up things that I would love to fit into, I get a little bit excited, because I can actually see myself fitting into these things! I am so happy that I can buy normal(ish) sized clothing! I must admit though, the majority of the merchandise I picked up wasn’t exactly the most flattering at the moment, I know that these are inspirational clothes, and I was still able to fit it over my head and do up the zipper! Overweight girls usually always do the same thing. When they find something that fits them, they will buy the exact item in all colors it comes in. Take my closet for example. I have got 3 sweater capes, all different colors. 4 pairs of jeans, all different colors. It’s kind of sad when I say it out loud though. At this sample sale though, there was only one of each color, and size. So I felt super amazing about myself.

On another note, I know I’m getting skinnier healthier, because I’m starting to get the same clothes as other people in the office, and take part in “accidental dress like twins day”. Makes me feel so good about myself. Although, I’m not so sure how the skinny healthy girls feel about it.

I finally see a change and I have never been prouder in myself!

My Promises


I promise to not change the person that I am on the inside.

I promise to not let my looks get in the way (no matter how good or cocky I feel)

I promise that just because I’m changing the way I look, it doesn’t mean that I’m going to become a terrible, mean girl after I feel better about myself.

On that note, I promise not to be a bad friend, and to maintain friendships with people who were always my friend, even when I was fat(ter).

I promise not to neglect the friends that supported me while I was fat(ter), and leave them for the new skinny girls that make me feel super popular.

I promise to be the best daughter, sister, girlfriend, pet owner, and friend to everyone close to me.

I promise not to closet eat, and if I want to eat, I will do it in front of the world.

I promise to not lie.

I promise to work out at least 3x a week

I promise to be myself. If you don’t like it, too bad, leave me alone.

I promise to maintain my weight loss goals no matter how hard it gets.

I promise to love myself.

Tummy Jewels


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When I was a teenager, I was fat, not like I was six months ago, but like on my way. All my friends were getting belly button rings, and cool earrings and tattoos  and all I wanted was to fit in. One day, I politely asked my mom if I could get my belly button pierced, but she just gave me a face and didn’t really need to say anything. I knew the answer would be no. Instead of going out to the mall to get my belly button pierced behind my moms back, I decided to go to the jewelery store and buy my own tummy jewels. I came home one night and looked up on my dial up internet how to pierce your own belly button.  I got my needle, ring, and alcohol ready! I tried, and tried, but it didn’t work. I was such a chicken. I should have just gone to go see the creepy tattoo man that hits on twelve year olds and have him do it. He never carded anyone. Needless to say, I still have a scar, and it looks pretty funny.

One night I was frustrated because this friend girl knew got a belly button ring. Trust me, she didn’t need it. Her mother should have given her the same face Ronnie gave me, except her mommy went with her and held her hand through the process. Anyway, when she came over that night and showed me that she got one, I had had enough. How is that fair? How is a fellow plumper allowed to get her belly button pierced, but I’m not? Why couldn’t my mom be as cool? What’s up with that Ronnie? After much consideration, I came to the conclusion that Ronnie was right! Seeing a belly button ring on a fat girl was not a pretty sight. It was like a rhinoceros had eaten a hole in her stomach and then grew a little village on her belly. I can’t really explain it, but whatever it was, was a sight to see, or not.

Anyway, I think when I lose all my weight I’m still going to get one. Just for like a day or so. So I can see what it feels like, and so I can also feel confident wearing it and show it off, and not hide it under my sweater capes.

I Got A Divorce


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I love chocolate. I love chocolate plain, on bread, on pizza, on popcorn, on chips, on everything. I will eat any kind of chocolate, anywhere, any time. Chocolate is my addiction. Chocolate is the silent killer. Chocolate is the enemy; Helga’s enemy. Wait, chocolate, is not the enemy. Chocolate is the lover that never lets you down, listens to all your problems, but comes back to bite you in the fat ass when you step on to the scale.

Yesterday, while doing my oh-so healthy grocery shopping, I noticed that the unholiest of chocolates were on sale. You know those chocolates? The ones that are shaped like perfect little eggs, with perfect little candy coating, in that perfectly packaged purple wrapping? The ones that only come out around Easter, and then go half price the day after. MINI EGGS. Mini Eggs. MINI EFFING EGGS. I love mini eggs. Mini eggs are killer. If I could, I would probably marry mini eggs, but that would just be weird, because then I’d eat my lover and be single again. Weh. Anyway, so while I’m doing my grocery shopping, I notice this sinful cart of literally 300 bags of mini eggs staring at me in the face. The worst part about this cart, was the fact that there was a ginormous 50% off sale sticker on the front of it. How could I resist? My favorite chocolate, at 50% off. It was like meant to be. (shut up, Helga). Anyway, there was a small bag, and then the bigger bag with 5x the chocolate in it for 50 cents more. I put the bigger bag in my cart and didn’t think twice. As I approach the cash, I look in my cart, I put the eggs away and say goodbye. Two seconds later, the eggs magically appeared in my cart again. This happened a total of four times, until the hideous Bulky Bernard tapped on my shoulder and says to me in his animalistic voice:” either take them or put them back lady”. I was mortified, and put those bad boys down. The mini eggs and I, we’re through. I just signed the divorce papers.

Celeste and Simone are standing around me now, and we are describing the perfectness of a Cadbury Mini Egg. It’s the crunch, the amount of chocolate, the right amount of candy to chocolate ratio. OK, seriously, shut Helga up, she’s getting in the way of my healthy thoughts.

Anyway, I’m strong, and I can walk away from mini eggs. Be strong people! Eat a normal egg!