A Note To Loud Chewers


Dear Loud Chewers of the world,

It’s time I come clean, and stop sitting here in silence and taking this abuse…I’m still not over the whole chewing with your mouth open thing. It’s really bothering me, and has been for the last 25 years of my life. Why is it necessary to chew like a horse, breathe like a behemoth and lick your fingers like curly sue? Actually, you don’t sound or look like curly sue, just a buffalo who’s hungry and has resorted to eating fingers. It’s so ugly! Was I the only one that was brought up to chew quietly and normally. I am not interested in hearing what your loud mouth has to offer. I also, don’t like when you spit your food on me. It’s rude, and impolite, and you should not be marching over to me with a buffet of food in your mouth. I like Niagra Falls, not Foodagra Falls, thank you very much.

If my mom taught me how to chew properly, then you can do it too. I will be giving tutorials, at a low rate of $5 an hour. It’s called Hillarys-School-Of-Learning-To-Chew-With-Your-Gross-Mouth-Closed-School-Of-Etiquette.

Thanks so much, and have a lovely day.

Goodbye.

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A Note To Skinny Parents With Overweight Children


Dear parents of overweight children,

While you may think that telling your plump child not to take a bite of that delicious ice cream cone, I urge you to think about the words that are coming out of your mouth, and the consequences they may hold. I myself came from a place where I was always told no (Mom, I’m not mad at you, don’t take it personally- this is strictly for entertainment purposes, and I love you)

I will do my best to prepare a list of things us plump kids hate the most:

1) Do not, I repeat do not, lift our pants up to our chins, and stretch our shirts down to our knees. While you may think we look absolutely marvelous, and slim, we actually look like moronic buffoons. Pants are supposed to be worn at waist level, not boob level, and unless I’m buying a dress, a shirt should be worn just above my pants, and not down to my knees. If you want us to dress like we belong in the circus for overweight children, please dress us in moomoos and tie dye tights.

2) If I want that cheeseburger, I will eat it. Little Henrietta over there may want to devour a delicious yummy double bacon cheeseburger with extra sauce and more meat- and you should let her. If not, she will go and have ten more when you’re not looking. How would you feel about that one, Mama Josephine?

3) Sprinkles and chocolate chips. You know those build your own sundae places? The ones with chocolate chips and sprinkles and whatever else, oh ya, chocolate sauce, and butterscotch sauce, and sauce in general and more chocolate and stuff.  How come the skinny sibling gets to have as much sprinkles and chocolate chips, and the overweight one gets twelve lousy sprinkles! Share the sprinkles, you sprinkle demon! Sprinkles are just sugar, it’s in your benefit to give your overweight child an abundance of sprinkles. They’ll get really crazy, then really tired, and sleep really well, and like magic– you will have a quiet night. So don’t be so mean, and share the sprinkles.

4) Bathing suit shopping. As much as it hurts to tell your child how bad they look in a bathing suit, let them wear whatever they want. One day they will look back at pictures and say to themselves “what was I thinking”, and then they’ll blame themselves and not you. Also, maybe the kids at the pool will make fun of them, and then they’ll ask you for help in the swimsuit department…better that way actually. Now, today I look back at pictures from when I was twelve and ask myself what I was wearing because I looked like a pregnant child in an eighty year old’s bathing suit.

Let kids be kids, fat or skinny, tall or short. I complain a lot about everything, but that’s because I didn’t get a lot of sprinkles, and never got to wear a bikini.

I’ve done all my complaining for the day

Mr. Sun


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I love to tan. I know it’s not good for me, but it seems like it’s the only thing I do enjoyably that keeps me from running to the kitchen. In the summer, some people think I’m not white anymore, and I like to go by different, more ethnic names, because I’m cool like that. My face, shoulders, arms, legs and back are a dark shade of brown, which I like- because dark is slimming.

However, onto quite an important part of my body- my stomach. My stomach has never seen the light. No really. It’s actually whiter than the inside of an Oreo. When I wear nothing, while looking in a mirror (don’t picture it, sorry) I look like a giant Oreo. Seriously, I wish I could describe it, but I won’t. I think the last, or the only time I wore a bikini was when I was two, and was hanging out with my hot skinny self at the beach in Florida. Anyway, this past weekend, I decided that it was time that I expose this white ball of puff to the sunlight. Within minutes, I was instantly burnt. My stomach was instantly attracted to the sun, like they have never met before and they were soul mates. It was like a kid eating candy for the first time, like a skinny person enjoying deep fried food for the first time. It was magnificent. The shower after, however, was far from magnificent. I know I have dark skin, but I really should have put some type of protection on that white pasty bad boy.

Anyway, if I’m being honest. Seeing me with a half tankini on, probably wasn’t a sight to see. But it felt good knowing that laying down, floating in a pool, with half my fat hanging in the water and making me look half skinny, felt amazing.

I’ll keep floating on… with a higher SPF next time. I want to look like a Fudgee-O by next weekend!

Cheers To Water


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I only like water if its for boiling pasta, or to make water balloons. Other than that, I don’t really care for it. I have an addiction to Diet Pepsi, we all know how I feel about that bad boy. Anyway, I’ve finally come to the realization that not drinking water, at all, is causing me to stall. Like, I will go out of my way not to drink water. When my mouth feels like a desert in there, and it’s raining like a crazy thunder storm out there, instead of sticking my tongue out and taking some of that bad ass free fresh water, I decide that I will trek out in my cloth shoes just to get an iced tea or some type of juice.

I just feel like ever since this surgery, everything is so forced. I’m forced to not eat a lot, I’m forced to drink water, I’m forced to eat protein first- just lots of forcing. When it comes to drinks, I just need some taste. Water doesn’t really have taste. If I were to describe the taste of water as one thing, it would probably be just wet air. I know, this is a problem. If you’re going to judge me about this, shut up, seriously. Water is boring. I know, there are perks. Water is thirst quenching, and water is amazing, and water has nutrients. I know, water is good, water is great. I’m bored. I have ADD and I need something with a kick. I’m a very enthusiastic person, I love food, and can’t eat as much of it anymore, so if I can’t eat something extravagant, I want to drink it, get what I’m saying?

This last week, I headed over to the wonderful land of the Dollar Store; I go crazy in there. I saw a bag of dairy milk chocolate things that made me salivate,  Helga almost rose from the dead- but I just walked on by, over to the water bottle department. Getting to the water bottle department, I saw big ones, small ones , tall ones , short ones , green ones , blue ones . I picked up the green one that really resembled Shrek. I marked times on this bottle and made it a point to fill this water bottle up everyday. Every two hours was only one glass of water which came out to 1.65L during the day, which when you think about it that way, isn’t all that bad. 1.65L was way more than enough!

Today, this task was completed! I feel fantastic, and the bathroom has become my best friend.Just in case y’all were wondering, my pee came out crystal clear today! Go water!

Cheers!

The Fat Game


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Being skinny would just be too easy right? Like, eating double cheeseburgers with an extra Big Mac on the side, and not working out would just make my life extremely boring? I seem to think so. With this whole new way of life thing going on, it’s kind of like a crazy game. I’m going to eat one thing and see if it makes me fat the next day. Then I go to the gym, and it’s like I’m in pain from one squat. But it’s a fun game. Being skinny and not having to work for anything would just be boring. It’s also really fun when someone hasn’t seen you in a while and all they do is say “hey, wow sexy fit girl, you look amazing” and then I feel great, because I like a confidence boost every once in a while. I actually like a confidence boost all the time, but we don’t always get what we want.

This gramatically incorrect paragraph above, which really makes no sense, is not me hating on skinny people. More power to you if you can eat a chubby chicken burger and not gain a pound. But doesn’t it get boring? I’m getting off track and I’m being mean. Skinny people are people too. I’m just jealous but their amazing genes.

I should stop my fat thumbs from talking because I’m beginning to ramble about nothing now.

D Is For Doritos


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Doritos. Do I need to say more? Doritos are the cheesiest, crunchiest delicious little triangles of goodness. Seriously, no chip does it for me other than a Dorito. Also, who can really sit down and eat just one Dorito. They are all so perfectly traingularly shaped. Doritos have the perfect amount of cheese to crunch ratio. The cheese doesn’t taste like that cheap stuff, but I know that it is. There’s this kick to it that is kind of spicy, but then you take a moment to think about it, and it’s not spicy. It’s a magic tortilla crisp. I’m salivating and feeling fatter as I write this.

Yesterday was my first encounter with a family sized Coscto style bag of Doritos since surgery. I said hello, smelled it, and then I licked it. After licking it, I proceeded to bite its head off and really just enjoy the hell out of it. It being one chip, no, I shouldn’t lie– I had four chips. I didn’t feel guilty, even though my mommy would probably want me to be angry that I ate those four little triangular cheesy taste munchers.

Anyway, I’ll enjoy munching on my pickle for now. See you next summer Mr.Dorito.

Blame


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What I have learned these last few months, is that nothing comes easy. That, and if I lie to myself, things will only backfire and turn out worse for me than they were at the beginning. It’s very easy to blame others for your wrongdoings. It’s easy for me to wake up and say I’m fat, I hate myself, so and so did this to me. Nothing will ever change until I actually, really admit that I am my own problem. My entire life, I’ve been blaming others for my faults. I blamed my mom for not giving me enough attention, I blamed my “father” for not being around, which caused me great psychological pain, I blamed teachers for making fun of me and calling me stupid, and blamed kids for everything else that was wrong with me.

My mom, the one who I always fought with, the one who I told ruined my life, the one that I said I hated time and time again, now turns out to be my best friend. She may still give me those motherly looks sometimes, but I know, deep down, aside from all those stupid faces and comments she may give, she appreciates me for me, and sees me for what I really am; for that child model I should have been years ago. All jokes aside, she’s one of few who have pushed me to keep going, and who truly believes I can do this. What can I blame her for? Being honest? Telling me I was fat? She was just pointing out the truth. It’s not like I didn’t see it. Maybe she wasn’t saying it in the nicest way, but she did not cause me to be fat. Her words did not put the food in my mouth. My own greasy McDonalds fingers did.

“Father”, left when I was two. No idea who he is. He calls me to tell me he loves me and misses me regularly, but to be honest, I don’t really know him. While some people may be quick to diagnose me with “Daddy Issues”, I think I’m stronger than that. I had a mom who was a father to me as well. I didn’t have a dad to buy me a car, or to run to when my mom was mean to me. Doesn’t mean the lack of his presence is the reason I’m fat.  I think being the child of a single mother makes me stronger, and makes me learn from my strong mother. That man who calls himself my father, in the end- really did absolutely nothing for me. Didn’t teach me anything, didn’t teach me values in life. I guess if he didn’t have the power to do anything for me, how could he have had the power to make me fat? In my eyes, he was powerless- therefore, can’t blame him either.

Teachers and peers were not nice in school. While I was always tall for my age, I knew I stood out. I started to get bigger when I was younger, and while stealing lunch from little kids, I guess that’s when I start to balloon. I did it to myself. I asked to be called Hillary Germs, and I asked the teachers not to like me. Teachers really didn’t like me because I was awkwardly tall, and had to stand next to them in school pictures. I was a really cute kid, and probably took the attention off them which made them really upset and not want to like me. Just a thought. I stole snacks from kids lunches, I didn’t participate in activities because I was lazy.

It’s time I stop blaming others, and just beat this disease once and for all. Feeling sorry for myself won’t make me lose weight. Looking in the mirror, and telling myself that I am fat won’t make the weight fall off. I could have turned this all around and said my mom, absent father, teachers and bullies were the reason why I am fat. No one sat me down and forced cheeseburgers down my throat, no one told me I had to take snacks from kids. No one told me I had to closet eat. No one told me I had to sneak to a fast food chain at 2:00 am.

I did it to me. I have no one to blame but me. Now that I have accepted this, I know that I can do this weight loss journey. While I have stalled, a stall is not my reason for failure, a stall should be a reminder for me to wake the f!@ up and get back on track.