Duffy


Duffy is my brother. Yes, that’s his real name, no he is not a puppy. Anyway, my little brother is one year, eleven months and one day younger than me, let me tell you, he wasn’t always so little. Anyway, this little kid stole all my parents attention when I was just two years old. When he was born he was so fat, he really looked like one of those Guiness World Record fattest babies of the year (sorry Duff). I think at one point when I was four and he was two he weighed more than me. Anyway, I love my brother, but I can’t stand him. He weighs I think 130 pounds, 5″10, and will only eat health food. He’s such a loser. I mean, if you’re that thin, go ahead and eat all the food you want! But it wasn’t always like that, he used to only eat greasy, fried, fat food, the healthy thing only started recently.

I’m pretty sure if it wasn’t for his muscles, he would weigh 110 pounds. Anyway, he got the good genes. Not fair…Image

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Those Damn Titties


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Last night, I was out for dinner with Ronnie and Auntie Candy Vagine to wish Duffy a great trip to Thailand. I’m really kind of jealous, now that I think about it- he’s going to be eating the best food for the next two months, and be losing weight too. Lucky kid. Anyway, while I was out, and watching those around me eat, I noticed that I had gotten rid of a problem that was bothering me since I was fifteen years old.

So, Auntie Candy was sitting and minding her own business, when I noticed that a little driplet of salad dressing had fallen off her fork and onto her busty mammary glands. I had advised her and she said in her loudest voice “Oh, those damn titties, always getting in the damn way”. I thought I was in a movie or something, but it actually really happened. It made me think, and I realized that this was a common occurrence in my life, and it had actually not happened in the last little while. I didn’t have boobies for bibs anymore, or maybe I’m just more careful. Who knows?

Let’s backtrack a little actually, I only got those “damn titties” when I turned fifteen. I was flat chested my entire life, and my mom kept asking when I would get them. She was really annoying about it. One day, they appeared. Either I ate something really fattening that got stuck at that part of my body, or my mom said I really HUGE prayer. Anyway. needless to say, those “damn titties” became such a big part of my life… literally. They were always in the way. I hardly fit into Victorias Secret, and I needed to wear those granny bras. Sometimes I thank God that I didn’t have to go so far as to get the bras that had the clasp in the front.

So here is my NSV (non scale victory) I am finally free of the evil boobie bibs! I have never been happier. Ronnie must also be happy, because there is way less laundry for her to do now!

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.

Ronnie Ginger


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Me and my mom never really got along when I was a child, or when I was a teenager. Actually, we only started getting along recently. It could have to do with the fact that I was a very needy child and she was left alone raising a one week old and a beautiful crazy two year old (me) when she was just 25. I mean, I’m stressed out at 25 just thinking about what kind of shoes to wear, who knew what she was going through.

I remember when I was eight, I weighed eighty pounds. My mom fought so hard not to get me to hit that 100 pounds mark, right now I would KILL to weigh 100 pounds. She took me to nutritionists, and Weight Watchers, and took me to see psycho brain therapists, once I hit that 100 pounds, it all went downhill. I think she thought that she was failing as a parent when she saw me gaining so much weight so quickly, but she shouldn’t have blamed herself, I just liked food. It wasn’t her fault, and she did the best she could.

I know that no matter how many times my mom told me to stop eating that cookie, or no matter how fat she said I was getting, she only said it because she loved me. No matter how many times we fought, or whatever mean things we said to each other, she was always there for me, and still is always there for me. I guess why she called me fat my whole life was because she didn’t know what to say to a fat kid, and didn’t know how to face reality that one of her children was becoming morbidly obese before her very eyes. If you tell a fat kid to stop eating, they’re going to eat- so I ate…a lot.

Mom, I love you. You are the best mother AND father anyone could ever ask for. You sacrificed everything for me and Duffy. Even though there are times we all fight, and we say mean things, you are my best friend and my inspiration.

FYI: For all you haters, my mom and I became best friends in 2010 when I moved out, not when I got skinny (er).