Posts from — May 2009

“Why does revolting shit always happen to fat, ugly people?”

Extra Large Man, after hearing my obese coworker had a flea infestation in her bed.

I dreamt last night that my weight shot up to 141, a number my scale hasn’t seen in years. Now I don’t know if that number has some sort of significance for my subconscious mind, but for my conscious mind it signifies nothing but fat, which is probably why I woke up and did something completely out of character – I took myself and my puppy for a run. Then I went bathing suit shopping because apparently one nightmare isn’t enough.

Today I did a noble thing. I volunteered at a food drive. Of course I was getting paid because it was a work thing, but nevertheless, I helped feed the hungry and I did it responsibly. I gave the fat people cans of condensed vegetable soup and the thin people jars of peanut butter. My little way of making sure everyone stays within their BMI.

The danger of the occasional binge…Before you know it, you’ll be busting out of your favorite jeans and even a cute little makeshift bow won’t be enough to draw people’s eyes away from your fat ass that’s hanging out. I hope this picture serves as a lesson to others not to make the same mistakes I’ve made. I know I’ve learned mine.

Eating disorder is a vicious cycle of highs and lows, of realizations and relapses and tennis champ Monica Seles does a good job of capturing the viciousness of this cycle in her book Getting a Grip – On My Body, My Mind, My Self. Hers is a story that will resonate with anyone who has ever experienced the all-consuming power of eating disorder (and binge eating in particular), but one of the parts that resonated the most with me, though I’m not sure why, is when she comes to the realization that her eating habits resemble those of a sumo wrestler who eats 15,000 calories a day. The sumo diet can be summed up in five rules (four of which Seles finds herself guilty of):

1. Skip breakfast to slow the metabolism
2. Gorge late in the day
3. Sleep after you eat
4. Work out on a starving stomach
5. Eat socially

I’m guilty of 1, sometimes 2 and sometimes 5, depending on the day and my mood. I wonder if that makes me part-sumo…or just a pathetic excuse for an anorexic.

This recipe comes from one of my kindergarten classmates and appears in the same recipe booklet as our last anorexic recipe of the week. I haven’t tried it yet, but I’m considering it for dinner tonight. It’s Spaghetti, by Lawrence (who has probably grown up to be a very successful anorexic):

Put 4 noodles in a big pot. Cook on stove top for 5 seconds. Pour in 3 spoons of red sauce on the noodles. Shake in 1 black pepper. Stir in 2 teaspoons of salt. Add 4 tomatoes. Put in 2 pepperonies. Stir in 4 ice cubes. Add 3 slices of corn. Mix in 4 green beans and mix in 4 cups of ice.

Serves: 5

Someone is going to have to go without a noodle and a green bean, but maybe that person can have some of the extra ice.

Remember that dangerouly obese person I blogged about who praised bacon on Facebook? Well, in his latest update, he’s divulging his enjoyment of quinoa. I have two questions:

1. Why can’t he refrain from talking about food in a public sphere?
2. How much quinoa does a person have to eat to get that big?

My older sister was always the skinny one in my family, the one who would scold me for eating one too many Little Debbie’s. Now an almost 40 mother of two, she’s not got the figure you used to have but she is by no means fat. Today she was complaining about having a pot belly, which she never had and which is obviously a product of bearing two healthy children.

So to make her feel better, I acknowledged my own pot belly, which I wish I could blame on motherhood but instead have to chalk up to poor genetics (and the occasional french fry/pastry/fill-in-the-bad-for-you-food binge). She looked at me like a crazy woman and said my stomach looked like “that” – and she gestured to my fabulously fit 17 year old niece who was sporting a sexy zebra print string bikini. Obviously I have a gift for hiding my defects, so I looked to my husband to confirm my fat. I asked, “Don’t I have a pot belly?” And he confirmed, “It’s true, she’s got a belly.” At this point both my niece and sister broke out into a shocked laughter, one that wondered what kind of stupid husband would say such a thing. And in my mind I thought “mine.”