Drivers LIEcense

I recently had to go to the DMV to get a new drivers license because I lost mine. That meant I had to take a new picture which sort of bummed me out because I liked my old picture. It made me look pretty and not so fat.

My old drivers license said I weighed 135. Obviously, this was a lie. So, while I was filling out the form to obtain a new license, I thought that I would be more honest and truthful, so I put 150.

Then I started to think, "What if something happened to me and they used my ID to describe me?" I could see it now on the 10 o'clock news about how this girl was missing, 5'7", brown hair, 150lbs... and no one would think it was me. Sadly, I didn't erase the 150 and took my chances that if they did use my ID, I'd never be found.

Last night I asked Lindsey how much her drivers license said she weighed. She said, and I quote, "150 pounds of course" and I replied, "Me too!"

So, Lindsey and I now weigh the same and we think we're hot shit.

Oh, So Tiny!

Last week I went to get my nails done. Nothing too eventful happened, until the manicurist, who I swear says mean things to me in a different language to her other peeps in the salon, commented on my hands.

I have little hands. Little, chubby, and I wear a rather large ring size (12.5). And, for some reason, I have tiny nails. My pinkie nail looks like that of a baby. Tiny and little...never thought I'd describe anything on my body like that.

While she was finishing my nails she called some other girls over to look. I thought it was because she had done such a good job. I've been going to her for about a year and have always enjoyed her work, but then all the girls started laughing and, in a thick Vietnamese accent, said:

"So tiny! Like baby hands! Chubby, little baby hands!"

I'm 20-something years old. I really don't think my hands look like that of a child's, but they couldn't get enough of it.

This brought me back to another time when I was getting a pedicure there. The pedicurist, (is that a real word?), told me that my legs, (which have a lovely shape I must admit), are like pillows!? I don't really understand what she meant, but I'm thinking that she meant that my calves are fat and therefore, like a pillow, nice and plump.

I'm wondering if I should switch places. I feel really uncomfortable there now. I don't really go there to get feedback on how pillow-like my legs are or how "little/chubby" my hands are. I know they're making fun of me and I know it's because I'm fat.

Stop The Insanity

About 4 holiday seasons ago, my brother and I went to shop for a gift for my mother. As we were shopping, my brother, who is 51/2 years older than me ran into a girl he went he was friends with in high school. I always liked this girl because she was, well, fat. But, when I saw her this time, she wasn't fat and I was floored. When we walked away I asked my brother what the hell was up and he told me that she had gone to Over-eaters Anonymous and that it had changed her life.

Now, I'm ready to jump on any sort of band wagon in order to lose weight. I'm still wondering why it can't be chopped off with scissors. So, of course I went online to find the closest OA meeting to my home and went.

I expected it to be a bunch of fat people lamenting about food, but what I found was quite different. There were some fat people there, but there were also skinny people, lots of them. I never really thought about skinny people having problems with over-eating because if I were thin, and eating didn't cause me to gain weight, then, well, I might never leave my room, but I guess that's why they were there.

I also never expected there to be classifications onto which you could be addicted. When the people got up there to speak, they'd introduce themselves and say what they were addicted to.

Mine would go something like this:

"Hi, I'm Emily and I'm addicted to food."

But theirs went something like this:

"Hi, I'm "so and so" and I'm a sugar, white flour, partially hydrogenated soy bean oil addict"

Huh?

I never thought my eating could be broken down into things that I was truly addicted to. I'd choose something savoury over sweet any day of the week. So, I guess I'm not a sugar addict. Probably a carb addict, dairy addict, fried addict, but not sugar, maybe white flour.

At one point during the meeting they ask all the newcomers to come up and say hi. Usually, I'm not so keen on this, but I felt a sort of solidarity with these people, so I went up and said hello. As I was walking back to my seat a guy even gave me a high five. Did I stumble upon a new hunting ground for vulnerable fat men?

As the meeting progressed we were introduced to that weeks speaker. She was a sugar addict, white flour addict and told us stories about how she would hit up different bakeries and say that she was picking up a dozen or so pastries for parties. I have to say that this was my favorite part of the meeting. I love, love, love stories about binging, but, it got me thinking about how food is actually an addiction and I had to stop and ponder.

Could an addiction to food be worse than an addiction to a drug or alcohol? I think so. An alcoholic can quit and never have to be around alcohol again. Same with a drug addict. But, we HAVE to eat everyday. Not matter what, I have to put a certain amount of food in my mouth in order to sustain life. And, I think that sucks. It's basically telling an alcoholic to only drink a certain amount of alcohol in a day and not to go over his allotted portion. That's hard.

Anyway, I really liked OA and I wonder why, now I don't go back. Probably because I'm a tad bit lazy and the only meeting I know of conflicts with my Weight Watchers. How ironic is that!?

I've Got A Brown Belt In Eating

So, I thought every fat girl had it, but according to Lindsey, she doesn't have one and therefore, not everyone does. What am I talking about? A brown belt. No, not like karate. Like, on my skin. I've dubbed this discoloration my brown belt for a long time, and after a talk with Lindsey yesterday, (whose computer is down and out), I realized that not only have I given myself this brown belt, but I've deformed my body.

My brown belt lies at the belly button part of my stomach. It looks, well, like a brown belt of some sorts. Lindsey, being the detective she is, finally told me that the reason I have a brown belt, is because my pants are too tight and therefore they are rubbing against my body and leaving their mark. And, because my pants are too tight, I've basically deformed my body. But, this didn't make any sense to me. I can button my pants and therefore they fit, right? Wrong. This seems funny to me because I've always had a problem with fat girls wearing clothes that don't fit. I hate seeing shirts where it looks like the buttons are holding on for dear life or pants that have a horrible popover of flesh. I didn't think I had this problem ever. I guess I was wrong.

What I have done is taken a lovely fat belly and made it into two fat bellies. I call them my 1st floor and my 2nd floor. My tits are the attic and well, my nether regions are the basement. I hate my 1st and 2nd floor. I wouldn't mind it so much if it was just a one story home, but a two story house, I'm not so thrilled with. Because I've worn tight pants, I have molded my body into having this 2 story home, like a balloon that has been squeezed in the middle and the markings and shape are left. Is it too late to mold my body back into a 1 story home? I don't know. But, I guess it's time to say goodbye to the Gap online section next time I need a new pair of jeans.

The thing I didn't understand about the way my pants were fitting was, at first, they were/are too tight, but, after a few initial squats, (yeah, you know what I'm talking about), my jeans would loosen up and after a few wearings without washing, they go on without me having to hold my breath in. So, I figured that's how pants are supposed to fit.

Cue the sound of the "Wrong" buzzer.

Because of this theory I had, I'm now left deformed and discolored. As a fatty, I should just know better...but now I'm basically screwed.

Wanted: Beer Bellies

These are a few of my favorite things:

Nice sheets with high thread count
Bad television
Vacations
Fat Men...I love fat men

I have always been attracted to fat men. I think that even if I was skinny, I'd still love fat men. I've tried to be open about this. I didn't think it was fair to discriminate based on weight. I mean, come on, how hypocritical would that be? But, when I tried to date a man who was much smaller than me, a whole world opened up.

I went out on a date with a very nice man. He was smart, funny and we had a very nice time together. We went to dinner and then went back to my house to watch a movie. It was when we started to make out when I had this realization. He took his shirt off and I caught a glimpse of his tiny waist, which obviously isn't a bad thing, but I just didn't find it attractive. And I got uncomfortable and thus, that ended our evening.

I thought about this for a while. He was very nice, but the attraction element was missing. I was still yearning and longing for a large man. And coming to this realization has helped me out a lot. I understand now that the men who don't find me attractive because of my weight are right in doing so because they just don't find that element of me attractive. If they're not finding me attractive because of social stigmas, well, that's just wrong and a different story. But, I have come to understand that people have different tastes and that fat girls might not be on their lists of things to do. It's nice to know what you like and anyone should feel free to go after what they want.

I feel very free about this new found look on life. It's very empowering. And, to all the fat men out there in Los Angeles: I'm single and looking to mingle. And, if you're in New York, give Lindsey a nice little shout out...she likes the biggens too.

Why Size 16 Should Not Be Allowed At Lane Bryant

I'm having a bit of a personal crisis. I have a baby shower to go to. Actually, I have two baby showers to go to and I'm the host of one of them. That's not the crisis per-say, the crisis is what I'm going to wear.

I recently raided my closet in an attempt to throw everything and anything that didn't fit out. I'm left with 3 t shirts, 2 pairs of jeans and 47 pairs of drawstring fat girl sweats. None of these are suitable for a baby shower. My heart rate increases just thinking about it and yesterday, while I was at work, it really started to freak me out. I'm about to go to a baby shower with nothing to wear and all the ladies that will be there are a size 6 and under...and they're all tiny. I don't know how my sister in law (who the baby shower is for), could find such tiny little friends, but, I'm starting to not like her for it.

I called Mary up and made an emergency plan to head to Lane Bryant after work. I had looked at their website and thought I could put something not too horrible together. I was pumped. So, when we got there, I picked up some items and headed for the dressing room. (Note to all the ladies out there, the LB has some really cute oxford shirts right now).

Anyway, I'm trying things on realizing that I'm no longer a size 20 when the girl in the next room starts celebrating and screaming to her shopping buddy.

It went like this:

"Stacey, I'm in a 16! Can you believe it!"

"Aw, Sam, I'm so proud of you, that's so awesome!"

And then I went in my head:

"Can't I just shop in fucking peace!"

I mean really, I just realized that my size 20 skirt was too damn tight and that I would have to be bumped to a size 22 and I was in a mini-depression from it. Last thing I needed to hear was two girls bragging about their awesome weight loss. And they kept going on, and on and on about all this weight loss. Weight loss this, weight loss that, drinking cranberry juice, fruits are nature's candy...blah blah blah.

I know I sound bitter. I know the girls weren't bragging, but were actually really proud of themselves. If it was me, I'd do the same. But, it wasn't me. And there I was 2 sizes up from what I thought I was and I was sad and nothing was fitting me right and I had visions of skinny girls in flowing skirts and tank tops pointing and laughing at me.

I must also add that they sell size 16 clothes at the Gap, etc. So, I don't think they should be allowed at Lane Bryant because it makes me feel badly. I know it wasn't a personal attack, but if they didn't sell a size 16 that wouldn't have happened, catch my drift?

I've decided that to look my best, I must be as comfortable as possible. So, I've decided to wear some jeans and if I can find a cute top, I'll try wearing that too. Actually, I've decided that I wanted to wear a cute polo, but the only polo's that fit me are men's polo's, so that sucks right off the bat. Seems that I can't keep up with the Joneses if I'm fat and I'm just going to have to accept that. How fucked up is that!

New Study: Chocolate Induces Amnesia

Everyday around the same time I get up from my desk and go get the mail which is in the office basement. Yesterday was like no other. I got up from my desk, grabbed the key and started to walk down my long office hallway to the elevators. But, on my way down the hallway, like being struck my lighting, I had an idea...I wanted a 3 Musketeers Candy Bar.

I thought about this chocolate bar all the way down the hallway, while waiting for the elevator, while in the elevator and finally, when I reached the office building's cafe. I was psyched. A whole chocolate bar all for me. I paid Jesse, the nice man behind the counter, and left promptly to eat my glorious chocolate.

As I stepped out of the cafe I viciously opened up the wrapper and started munching down, pressed the button for the elevator and hopped on. While devouring my chocolate, I reached my floor, got off and walked back into my office, mouth filled with milk chocolate and nougat. I was in heaven.

And then my boss asked me where the mail was.

I Might Have A Weight Problem

Yesterday I went to the gynecologist and boy what fun it was! Going to the doctor means one thing for me: Getting weighed in.

I always expect some sort of comment on my weight. I think this keeps me from being the full fledged hypochondriac that I know I could be if only I was at a decent weight. I’d go to the doctor for a hangnail if I didn’t think he’d tell me I had the hangnail because I was fat. Yesterday proved no different.

The first thing they did was weigh me. And, because I’m creepy, I started taking my flip flops off as if that would make me weigh any less. I noticed the nurse look at me, obviously thinking the same as me. Like these flip flops weigh 50 lbs or something and are really going to make a difference in my weight. So, I cracked a joke about the flip flops making me pounds lighter. The nurse didn’t find it funny. Obviously, she’s not as funny as I am. Poor her.

When I finally got into the examining room, the unfunny nurse handed me the paper dress that was supposed to fit but so, so, so obviously didn’t. I learned my lesson from last year that the short coat should be worn backwards so that it “closed” in the back. This didn’t help at all because the thing was so short that I looked like a football player with my tits covered but my big belly hanging out. Then I tried to cover my lap with tiny paper hand towel she gave me which I guess is supposed to wrap around my body? I’ve decided that my new business venture is going to be plus sized smocks. I’m going to be a billionaire!

So, the doctor finally came in and the first thing she asks me is if I’m comfortable at my weight. I told her the truth that no, I wasn’t and that yes, I was trying to lose the weight but everyday is a struggle…as if I’m an alcoholic…but I guess I’m an eataholic. She also went ape-shit when I told her that I was on weight watchers, (which isn’t true), and told me how many of her friends love it and have lost weight, blah blah blah. The doctor was skinny, so she can go fuck herself.

Sadly enough, she didn’t stop there. She went on to tell me that if I stay at my current weight and try to get pregnant, it will be very hard. And, because it will be so hard I will need to take insulin shots everyday to make my body think I’m diabetic because supposedly diabetics are more fertile. I already think I’m a diabetic, (see that part above about me being a hypochondriac), but I didn’t think things were this bad. Thankfully, I am in no way getting preggers any time soon, so I’m going to try to stash that info away in the back of my brain like I do with all unpleasant things like me ordering garlic bleu cheese fries this past weekend.

I do want to note, she was very, very nice and I think she's a good doctor, but I feel doctors bring my weight up as if I didn't realize I was fat. It's not invisible. It's not a tumor I can't see lodged in my gut...I'm fat. I know this.

All in all, having her stick things up me while I was spread eagle on the table turned out to be better than having her tell me I was going to be a diabetic mother…if I can conceive at all that is.

The SAVE LINDSEY CAMPAIGN

So, Lindsey has been hanging out with this guy we went to high school with and who recently moved to NY. Thing is, I hate this guy. Lindsey tells me not to hate because it's a waste of energy, but if I didn't put in any energy hating this guy, I'd never get any exercise.

This guy and Lindsey are just friends, and they've been friends for a long time. But, this guy is an asshole. Even she will confirm that he is an asshole. And he hates fatties!!!

How can a person who is fat hang out with a fatty hater? I asked Lindsey this, and she came back with the fact that I do hang out with Laura...but, at the same time, I feel that Laura, in a sick way, understands eating disorders, so, in your face Lindsey! This guy SO doesn't get it.

One time in high school I was at a party and was talking to the asshole. At this time I knew he was an asshole, but I didn't know what a fatty hater he was. It was then when he asked me, an equally fat person, why Lindsey was so fat? Couldn't she just stop eating?

First, I was like, are you seriously asking ME this? And then I thought, Lindsey is one of his best friends and he's acting like, surprise, an asshole. Lindsey never asked me why he was such an asshole and couldn't he just stop being an asshole? So, with that, I really started to hate this boy.

And now he lives in NY and has been hanging out with Lindsey. Funny enough, he's there to sell some kind of potato pastry he came up with and thinks he's going to make it big doing this. Funny how a fatty hater is going to try to sell food. What's he going to do, put up a sign saying fatties really shouldn't eat his potato concoction because fatties shouldn't eat?

So, I want to save Lindsey! Not only did she not call me this weekend because she was busy hanging out with the asshole, which hurts my fat feelings more than she will ever know, but I feel he's going to manipulate her into quitting school so she can work in his van mashing potatoes all day long.

Giddy Up, Fatty Part Deux

On my recent vacation, I also went to DisneyWorld. I was happy to learn that I had not yet outgrown the rides. This was a big relief considering I thought I was way over the limit and was eager to prove that hypothesis true. But I knew I was in good luck when I spotted a "larger than me" man in one of the rides while I was in line.

Also, and the basis for this post, I ate dinner at a restaurant in one of DisneyWorld's resorts. The theme of the restuarant was very laid back, very geared for kids and very cute actually. Waiters and waitress would yell across the room at each other, they'd play games with the diners and their children. I give the reastaurant a very high review also because the food was excellent.

In reference to the cuteness of the restaurant, a little girl was celebrating her birthday. The servers all came over with chocolate cake, did a cute bit and left. The chocolate cake looked amazing. My aunt thought so too.

Not 3 minutes later she was telling the waitress that it was my birthday in hopes for free chocolate cake.

And not 7 minutes later did our waitress come over to me with a hobby horse and a microphone announcing to the whole restaurant that it was my birthday. Then she demanded that I ride that hobby horse around the restaurant while I sing happy birthday to myself.

I looked at my aunt and wanted to kill her. I don't blame her for wanting the chocolate cake. We all wanted the chocolate cake, but are you kidding me?

I guess the bad karma of lying skipped my aunt and landed on me because not only did I have to ride a hobby horse around the restaurant while singing happy birthday to myself, but no chocolate cake was ever delivered to our table. It was a very sad meal.

Back and Much Fatter

How could I have ever complained about being fat before this cruise??? Whatever I was before sounds awesome compared to what I am now. 3 servings of food a day, each with 4 courses each, that's like, what? The equivalent to 80 meals a day. Not to mention the room service that had these amazing cookies. I could go on and on. But, I would say my favorite part of the cruise was the tureen of butter I was served, twice, when I devoured 4 lobster tails, on two separate occasions. Yummo.

Things I did on my cruise:

I wore a bathing suit in public. This wasn't that bad. I mean, it was bad, but things could have been a lot worse. Anyone who has ever been on a cruise knows what I'm talking about. It's like fatty nation there. I felt svelte compared to some I saw. I might move onto a cruise ship in order to feel like this forever.

But, I got a little cocky in my bathing suit. While at a resort in St. Thomas I was offered a free SCUBA lesson. Sounded great. If whales can be underwater, so could I. But, whales don't have to wear the SCUBA gear. I saw the equipment was too small immediately, but it was too late to refuse the instructors services. Instead, I tried to pretend it didn't fit because my boobs were too big. I showed him how it almost fit, and if my large boobs weren't so big, it would fit. I was coming from the logic of it's perfectly fine to have big tits, it's not okay to be fat. I went sort of like this:

"See Mr. SCUBA man, see...damn, I wish my boobs weren't so big so that I could learn to SCUBA dive...oh well."

Humiliation set in when he showed me that the equipment wasn't meant to fit around socially acceptable large boobs, it was meant to fit around my socially unacceptable fat belly. And it didn't fit. And he was embarrassed. And I was embarrassed. And that's all I have to say about that.

On my cruise I also wore a sleeveless shirt. This was a big deal for me. But, even surrounded by fatties much bigger than me, I still felt awkward and I don't think it's something that I could get used to. There is now also documentation that I wore a sleeveless shirt. I will do all I can to destroy this evidence.

On the topic of evidence, Carnival cruise lines is getting a letter. In another ploy to get you to spend more money, the cruise line video tapes all the goings-on on the ship, makes a vacation diary of it, packages and sells it to anyone willing to buy it. Things that are taped include all the ports you went to, some of the shows on the cruise, and the events they put on. Events they put on while people innocently try to get tan because darker skin makes you look slimmer and although they never get into a bathing suit they bravely did so thinking in no way would there be documentation of it that plays continuously on a loop in each stateroom to promote to all the other cruisers to buy this horrible idea of a cruise video diary! Whew. That was like a work out.


Speaking of working out, my cousin in law, who went on the cruise as well, is also getting a letter. Not really, but if I had the balls I would. Note to all the skinny folk out there: Don’t ask fat people on a seven day eating binge if they want to go work out on the ships gym. Don’t tell then how you ran up a hill for 45 minutes. Don’t discuss how when all of you get back we’re going to work out as a family. And don’t comment that lobster tastes just as good without the butter! It doesn’t. I’ve tried. Once.

Emily, Come Home

I, Lindsey, started school last week and am in the process of moving (yet again!!!), thus I have not had any time to write a posting. Emily needs to come home NOW! I miss her lots ... most of the time.

I just wanted to give a quick shout out to one of my favorite new TV shows ,"Weeds". I actually don't have TV of any kind, but I Tivo this show at my friends house and I enjoy it every week. It's about a single suburban mom who sells pot to sustain herself and her family. Why am I mentioning this on a blog about 2 fat girls? Well, this weeks episode used two of my favorite fat slang words: Fatty McFat AND Skinny-Fat! I nearly yelped when I heard it!

Skinny-Fat is a term to describe a fat person stuck in a skinny body. We used to tease our friend Laura and call her a skinny-fat. I believe that I can revoke Laura's use of the term. Honestly, she's just skinny. And no, that's not a compliment in our book.