I’m Fat, I’m Fat, Off To The Gym I Go


Ok, so I need to talk about something that I am sure so many people struggle with. How can I still look good while going to the gym? When I workout, I start with beautiful, long non-greased up hair, a beautiful outfit, and pants that cover my gluge* (Gluge is my tire shaped stomach which is usually formed in a gross flabby, very moveable form of stomach). How come, ten minutes into a workout, I look like a sweaty ferocious beast, losing my pants, and struggling to breathe properly. This can’t be right. Sometimes, when I’m sick, I watch the Paid for Programming TV and watch the workouts that the interesting people do. No one on there is sweating. I mean, ok, it’s right for everyone to sweat, but I just look scary. It’s like my gym attire and the aftermath of it all is a permanent Halloween costume. I feel bad for the people around me.

Just last week I moved into a castle. Yes, it really is a castle, no I am not a princess yet. This castle is magnificent and both me and Donald live together- big Stairmaster step for us! Anyway, in our castle, we have such a cute gym, and I absolutely adore it! The other day, during my first workout there, I realized that no one ever comes to visit. At this point, I decided that I wasn’t going to lift my pants every time they fell off my tire, and I wasn’t going to care if my hair looked mediocre. Halfway into my halfassed squat, I looked up to the left of my sweaty ass head, and noticed that there was a security camera staring right at me. Now, going back to the whole castle thing. In my building, we have 24 hour security, and it is a very well respected building. These cameras aren’t fake, and I know that people are watching me. For some reason, I decided that I was going to do my ass-to-mat squat and really do it for real, because I knew I had an audience watching me. I kind of felt like I was on one of those infomercials and people were watching me and learning from me. Although I did look like crap, I looked like crap while acting like a weight lifting champ.

I guess part of me always needs to be “babysat” in a way. I’ll never fully grow up and I love to be watched by the security team. Caramel has a crush on me*, I’m pretty sure- so I want to make sure that I do my bicep curls really well, especially so I don’t embarrass myself.

*(I love Donald, my boyfriend, however I can be flattered when someone has a crush on me. I don’t mean to say that as a bad thing, and I don’t want anyone to get mad at me for saying anything bad about Donald. Kk thanks)

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Screw You!


One thing I have learned post surgery, is learning to love me and learning to not let things that other people say, bother me. We all learned the sticks and stones in elementary school, we might as well practice what we were taught. When it comes to my blog, I have been told so many times that what I write  is offensive, or hurtful, or rude or mean. Frankly, I really don’t care. I also will not make this blog post to say the usual “it’s my blog, I’m going to say what I want” because I seem to say that a lot recently. But it is my blog, and I WILL say what I want.When it comes to my weight, I’ve been called every name imaginable, a pig, an oaf (I don’t even know what that means, it just sounds fat) lazy, dumb, stupid… everything.

The fat girl who used to be me, used to let people walk all over her. Used to be the person that cared too much what other people thought. I used to be so self conscious, I would bury myself in food because I didn’t want anyone to criticize me (look how that backfired, and look how far it got me! When someone insulted me, I would take it, and walk away without fighting back. Who does that? Who just takes that. Over the last nine months, I have learned to stand up for myself, and I have especially learned that the people who criticize, are the ones who have the most deep rooted issues. You see, friendly people of the blogging world, my so-called deep rooted issues, aren’t so deep. I’m not hiding anything, I’m not keeping anything a secret, or leaving it up to anyones imagination. I’m me, and shesjustpleasantlyplump.com is who I am! I say everything that comes to mind, every feeling, every emotion I have. I write it down. I truly believe that this has made me a stronger person and made me who I am today. Being able to openly discuss my struggles, and be comfortable enough to share my stories, and to share how I feel makes me a better person than anyone who has ever called me a name.

Whether it be someone on the street, a friend, a boss, whoever. People say hurtful things because they want to feel better about themselves. I’m no angel. I’ve spoken terribly about some people; but I will admit that the reasoning for that is because I’m masking something, and hiding other emotions. I’m not going to pull the Bully card out and feel bad for myself. I don’t choose to be bullied by those around me.

I use this post as one to stand up to those mean people. So here it goes, I don’t swear, so I will try to be as mean and tough as possible. To the people who are demeaning, and make you feel useless and worthless, screw you. To the people who sit behind their computer screens, and be bullies through e-mail or other social media avenues, screw you. To the people who choose to only see the bad in you, and the people who choose to believe that you’re nothing more than just a living thing, screw you.

 

I have made something of myself, and I have come so far. If you don’t like me, goodbye.

Moving In


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So, I realize that I have been absent for a while. While many might think that I have been busy stuffing my face with fried chicken, I have actually been busy in a new chapter in my life. Donald and I have decided to move in together. We signed our names on that paper (pretty much signing our lives away) and now we’re big fat roommates. This last few weeks has been hard on us, and I’ve turned to food for comfort. Which I know is totally wrong, but I’m admitting that I have a problem and I’m dealing with it- I threw out the frozen yogurt, and I’m only snacking on cucumber.  It seems as though Donald and I are mini fashionista interior decorators, and we didn’t even know about it. Our ideas have been clashing, thus leading to fights every five minutes. While I feel bad about it, it’s better that we fight now, than when we’re living together, right? We’re just going to get it all out now, because from this point, he’s pretty much stuck with me forever. We picked the most beautiful couch, ever! It’s a sectional, it’s gorgeous, and there’s a perfect little corner that will have my butt imprinted in it within 4 weeks of moving in to our new place. Speaking of couches, how come no one ever tells you how expensive a couch is when you’re a child? Like seriously, a couch is a serious expense, I had no idea. I feel broke just looking at couches.

While I know this is a good thing, to be moving in together, I’m also a little nervous; and rightfully so…I’ll have to start cooking for two now. I usually cook for just one, and I love having leftovers. I’m not good at sharing.  I’ve given myself mini nightmares, wondering how I’m supposed to share my delicious leftover crock pot recipes? Donald doesn’t usually like my crock pot creations; but I think this is mostly because of the reason that it comes out of a crock pot, and he thinks crock pots are weird. I think crock pots are genius inventions for the lazy. Also, another worry, is sharing the bathroom. I’ve lived with other people before, and sharing a bathroom is never fun. Now, I’ll be sharing one with a boy. I don’t mean to be rude to Donald and all, but his poop does not smell anywhere near the smell of roses. Sorry D! My Donald has very expensive taste, when it comes to furniture and home furnishings; and also when it comes to food. Maybe we’ll keep our fridge stocked with caviar and tongue and like some sort of pig meat and then I won’t want to eat any snacks when I’m sitting at home on the couch like a lazy slob.

At the end of the day, I am so excited to be moving in with my best friend. I get to move out of my first floor dungeon apartment, I get to have a sleepover every night, I get someone to wash the dishes (well I got a dishwasher, and the dishwasher is my new special someone). I have someone to play Scrabble with, rather than playing with my random Mexican friend Jorge at 3:00am (does he really know what a terrawatt is, or did he just Google that in the scrabble dictionary, because that is cheating, sir!) I’m so happy for this new adventure with my best friend!

 

 

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Just Say No To Cake, or Just 6 Bites!


Yesterday was my birthday, and the rest of the week is birthday week. In honor of birthday week, I gave myself the opportunity to go nuts. Well not really, because I didn’t eat the entire piece of cake. I guess I’m starting to see how this whole smaller stomach thing is working. I’ve trained myself to not finish the last bite, and to not eat until I want to throw up and die. My mom, for the first time ever, encouraged me to eat cake. She bought me my most favorite ice cream cake in the world. Mint Chocolate Chip. Just thinking about it kind of makes me want some more. I tasted it, had a couple of bites, and then was able to tell myself when to stop. I think that was my biggest accomplishment, and best birthday present to myself. Today at work, we had cake again for me, because I’m really special and people like to spoil me. I had Carrot Caramel Cheesecake. This cake is so delicious it needs its own blog post, but I won’t do that, because it’s an extremely fat thing of me to do. Anyway, this cake was the perfect combination of cheesecake and carrot cake. I ate six little bites. I savored each bite, and then I gave the rest of my leftovers to someone who was 2 pounds soaking wet and needed it more than I did.

I’m expecting candles in at least one meal per day until Sunday, considering this is birthday week. So far, I have accomplished a lot by not finishing the cake. It’s never the last bite, and at the end of the day, who needs an entire piece of cake– my fat bum sure doesn’t!

Happy Birthday To Me


Today is my birthday

I will eat cake

I will eat cake, because if I don’t, then it won’t be a true birthday

I won’t eat a whole piece

Just a bite

I don’t care about the looks I get

Because it’s my birthday

Have a nice day