Eff The Scale


I’ve come to the conclusion that the scale is a big fat bully. This stupid, glass, square shaped ass looks at me every time I pee and just wants me to stand on it and upset me.  Donald bought this super fancy one that tells you you’re fat, tells you how much oxygen you have, and then sends a notification to your phone reminding you how fat you are. First of all, once I get on the scale, that’s enough, I don’t need to get a little reminder with that number on my phone! How rude… Oxygen? Really?…I’m fine! 

 

So, I started this new thing and I’ve been doing it for about a week and it’s magical! I’ve started to measure my weight loss in the form of compliments rather than in the form of a stupid number. This past week, I have had one person say “I can’t believe what you look like today compared to what you used to look like“, ( I mean, I know I look a lot better, but I was never so hideous you couldn’t look at me!) for that compliment, I will take off 2.1 pounds. Then two days later, someone else said how thin my face got- another pound there! Measurements in compliments is way more effective than getting on some stupid box. By the way scale making people, perhaps you should make a scale that gives you compliments like; ” Good Morning Beautiful” or “You Look Nice Today”, what’s the point of these mean numbers anyway?

So from now on, I will keep eating my vegetables, and all you nice friendly people around me can keep the nice comments coming… I’m listening!!

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My One Year Blogaverssary


 

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Today marks one year of my first blog post. One year ago, I was in a completely different place. I was just starting out by making people laugh about how fat I was and pretty much poking fun at myself. It’s been such an amazing year, and so many changes have happened. I’ve lost one of my triple chins, lost 6 pant sizes, and have smiled more this year than I have in the last ten.

I distinctively remember this day in 2012. November 26, 2012, I entered the hospital for my first ever INFO SESSION. Now, this info session, is a room full of plump people such as myself, with the nurses and doctors coming in to scare you with what to expect with your upcoming surgery. So what, they were going to cut my stomach open, big deal, I wasn’t scared. Then everything else started to sink in- the pills, my life after surgery, my clothes, my life in general.. everything. In the middle of the info session, I look up at the doctor, and he’s talking about all these complications, and I begin wondering if this surgery really is for me, or if I can actually do it on my own. I look around the room- a room full of overweight, discouraged people just like me, then back down at my stomach, while my triple chin hits my chest, and immediately I know that this is the last option for me.

I look down at my stomach now and still see the fat girl. I still am the fat girl. What people don’t realize is that it happens slowly. I don’t even realize it, and I’m trying to calm myself down everyday when I wake up every morning and realize that I’m still a fatass. Truthfully, I didn’t do all the research I should have done leading up to the surgery. I thought it would be a breeze, that I would lose all my weight by the summer, that I’d be able to wear a bikini. Truth is, I’m ten months out and I still am fat. I will be fat forever- maybe not physically, but mentally.

I’m so happy with what I’ve done, and I have learned to not let anyone judge me or make fun of me. I’ve learned that I am a special person, and I should be lucky for what I have. So what if I’m ten months out and haven’t lost all the weight, that doesn’t matter to me. I have come so far, and this has been the most magical year of my life.

During this whole blog life of mine, I’ve realized that people are asses. People are rude, and will really do anything to bring you down. In elementary and high school, I would hate writing, but look at me now- writing is my jam (I hate jam). I’ve learned that even if I’m losing weight, and even if I become 150 pounds, people will always have something to say or something to criticize about me. I’ve learned that no amount of weight loss will suffice to people who love me most. I have also learned that the young bullies from my childhood have and will always remain to be bullies forever. I have learned to love life, and to be happy. I have learned to love myself and learned to be happy with what I have. I have learned to realize who is really there for me, and to appreciate the love and attention I receive from my family and especially my boyfriend, and best friend, Donald. I have learned to taste food and not to devour it. I have learned to appreciate food and not devour it. I liked to devour food, what can I say.

Most of all, I have learned who I am, and I am proud of who I am. I can happily say that I am one hundred bajillion times happier today, than where I was on November 26 2012.

Thanks to everyone for their support and encouragement.

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

Diet Deliciousness


Today marks exactly six months since I gave up my severe addiction. I still carry many more addictions, but I was addicted to a delicious bubbly drink. Yes, as sick as it is to say, I was obsessed to Diet Pepsi. Not Diet Coke, because that stuff tastes like vomit and makes your teeth feel like they’re going to rot, but the real Pepsi stuff. And also, not the regular Pepsi. I preferred the taste of diet. After surgery, soda is a big no no, because the carbonated beverages stretch out the stomach, making the surgery completely useless in the end. If for some miraculous reason I was still allowed to drink it, I probably would. But I’m better off without it.

Diet Pepsi had the perfect amount of bubbles to taste ratio. It has a tangy yet sweet taste. It makes you burp when you’re feeling full. Pepsi is especially delicious when it’s on sale at the grocery store for $0.88 a bottle. I specifically remember this one time where there was a huge sale on DP, fat me ran to every single grocery store, and did rain checks, and bought the most that I was allowed. The cashier gave me a dirty look, and I was all like “Girl, yes, this is all for me, do you have a problem with that?”. I should have taken that face as a sign because I should not have had all that soft drink. That shit aint soft. I put on a good five pounds just from drinking it. DP always gave me the best burp at the best time, leaving me with more room in my deflated football sized stomach to eat more. It has crossed my mind to have a little sip here and there. I won’t lie and say I haven’t done it. I have. I mostly just smell it when other people order it- but just so I can smell the bubbles and then choke once they get stuck up my nose.

 

I’m so happy that I have cured that addiction.

I still want just one sip though.

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!

Maybe If I Wasn’t Fat


Maybe if I wasn’t fat, I would have had more friends.Maybe if I wasn’t fat, I would have been more popular. Maybe if I wasn’t fat, I would have had more clothes, leading me to have a stupid shopping addiction and having me enter rehab for being a shopaholic. Maybe if I wasn’t fat, I wouldn’t be where I am today. Maybe if I wasn’t fat, I would have been rich, instead of me spending all my money on boutique $5 sugar coffees and stupid food.

I firmly believe that everything happens for a reason. We are put on this earth to do something, and I guess my thing was being fat (and being pretty, and smart, and funny) I think that by being a fat kid, I was made a stronger person; not physically of course, because I can still only lift like three pounds. I feel that now I’m ready to conquer the world, and I now have the cocky confidence all those b!@es had in high school that I didn’t.

… but it’s time that I wake up and smell the turkey bacon, because I am fat. But I’m also happy. Maybe if I wasn’t fat, I wouldn’t have all my amazing friends, or have the best relationship with family. Good thing I am fat though, otherwise y’all wouldn’t have the giggles reading about it!

toodles!

I Feel Pretty


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I figured something out today, and again, it’s going to sound mucho cocky. I came to the realization that everything about me is amazing. I got the “fat genes” because I had everything else going for me. I had the looks, the personality, the humor,  the brains, and the whatever else is amazing that most people don’t get. I got the fat because I couldn’t have everything, right? Who would want to be friends with someone who had absolutely everything going for them? I sure as hell wouldn’t.

Along with the fat, came the lack of confidence. So I was lacking two things that the other kids already had. But whatever. I feel great now, and I’m so happy with  how far I’ve come.

On the confidence note, this morning I went to the gym, it was 7:00 am. (What the hell was I thinking? Had I absolutely lost my mind? Well, I lost that years ago, but whatevs, right?) Anyway, so even though it’s 7:00 am, I should still have even the tiniest bit of energy in my oh-so-large body, I look over at myself in the mirror at my sexy Zumba dance moves, and then look over to Bubby Yetta on my right. This bubby was moving in all sorts of ways imaginable, while I’m standing there on the side looking like a seizing squirrel doing the funky chicken. I don’t like to dance like a normal person because I’m always afraid that my belly rolls are going to pop out of my shirt and I’m actually going to look like something died in pants and I’m just moving in all sorts of stupid ways looking like a moron. Anyway, I immediately get this sudden burst of energy, after seeing this bubby. Well, it wasn’t exactly a burst of energy, it was more of an embarrassment thing, because I want to be dancing better than a 93 year old lady. But I shouldn’t hate, GO YETTA!

Anyway, my hard work paid off and I need a leg massage. Any takers?