Posts from — July 2009

Skinny Lady and I can’t keep secrets from one another, so when she revealed that she’s back on her peanut M&M diet, I confessed that I had resorted to my Marlboro Lights. I had no choice. I smoked a pack last weekend in an attempt to curb my massive appetite. And Extra Large Man fully supports me because A. my appetite scares him and B. he needs to drop a few as well.

So I finished my two tiny meals a day with two delicious cigarettes that left me more satisfied than dessert. As a result, I’ve reduced my belly fat by 1/3 of an inch and lost over a pound. I don’t plan on becoming a regular smoker ever again, but when I’m feeling particularly desperate, I know what I can depend on.

My BMI is now in the “normal” zone, and this is unacceptable. So I’ve resorted to my tried and true diet plan: eating the candy coating off of peanut M&M’s. It sounds insane and it is, but it’s truly the only thing that works for me when I’m desperate to shed major pounds fast. The problem is that I can’t buy the bulk bags of peanut M&M’s because I have portion control issues, so I buy individual king size packs.

Several days ago, I bought 5 packs from the 7-11 to tide me over until I could get to the grocery store where they’re  usually cheaper. Too bad the closest grocery store only sells the super size bags, a fact which led me right back to the 7-11. Only this time I sent my husband in to do the dirty work. When he got back to the car with my loot, he was laughing and related the following conversation:

Store clerk: Are you going to eat all of these? [referring to the 4 bags he had placed on the counter]

Husband: No, but my wife is.

Store clerk: Is she the one who came in and bought 6 of these yesterday?

Husband: That’s her!

Store clerk: Is she pregnant?

Husband: No. Believe it or not, she’s on a diet. These are her meals.

Store clerk: ……….[crazy look]……….Sounds like she’s pregnant.

Um, bitch needs to get her facts straight. I bought 5, not 6, and it was the DAY BEFORE yesterday.

From any perspective save my own, I’m skinny. That’s only because I’m extremely adept at hiding my belly. But when you’re in a relationship, there’s always a moment of truth. You’re gonna get naked at some point, right? So I made the mistake of asking my husband when he first noticed I was hiding something. Now this is a bastard who can’t remember what I said to him five minutes ago, but of course, he remembers the precise moment he spotted my fat.  Apparently we were at a coffee shop, I was wearing a gray and black striped shirt, and he noticed something “hanging over my jeans.” ISN’T THAT SPECIAL? If only he could remember the date, we’d have another anniversary to celebrate.

I get online this morning to check my email and see one from my mother. The subject line reads: Read this, My Love.

Then she pastes this link in the body of the email:

She may be an Orange County housewife, but I still love her.

I saw the most unfortunate thing the other day. This attractive woman stood up from a table and I happened to look down. She had on black cotton coolots that fell to about her knees, and beneath that she was sporting what my mom would call ’stovepipes’ (what the cultured among us recognize as cankles). In all honesty, to call these things cankles or stovepipes is being generous. Her lower legs and feet had an almost elephantine appearance and I know this sounds mean, but in that moment I wished she had cancer or some other illness that might have caused swelling in her lower legs. Anything but for them to look like that naturally.

Some people welcome the weekend with alcohol. But my husband and I, we celebrate by eating like obese rock stars. We can put back some serious food and usually it gets ugly. Everything has to be equal and if it looks like either of us might end up with an extra bite, we start shoveling faster. There have been moments when I thought we would come to blows over a bite of food. Fortunately, this Friday night food rivalry of ours has not yet caused us to divorce.

But I have often wondered what onlookers must think when they see two skinnies like us woofing down food as though we’re in some kind of eating contest. The embarrassment doesn’t tend to set in until after the plates are clean, and then we wonder if someone is going to have the nerve to make a comment. Yesterday someone had the nerve. It was our waitress and when she came over to clean up our mess, she looked at my husband and exclaimed in disbelief, “YOU ATE THAT ENTIRE PLATE OF NACHOS?!” It was an appetizer of veggie nachos that could probably feed a family of 8, and I could see the red rising in his cheeks so I interjected with, “Impressive, huh?” She was impressed, and likely envious too, because her next comment was, “Where do you pack it all in? You must have starved yourself for 3 days!” Too bad he’s not the one who starves. That’s the lot that falls to me. Mother fuckers. I’m the one who deserves the praise!

I was talking to my 13 year-old brother on the phone the other day and discovered that he’s been hittin’ the weights at the gym. MY 13-YEAR-OLD BROTHER? When I asked him what the hell an 8th grader needs bulging biceps for, he casually mentioned that his main priorities include getting rid of his man boobs and developing a six pack. 

Either he is going to be another product of my fucked up parents OR a product of fucked up Southern California. I’m guessing he’ll end up a little bit of both since there are plenty of fat men with moobs running around here. 

“I’m pretty much the same as you, minus the buffet.”

– Me to Emaciated Lady, who had just confessed her recent non-anorexic eating habits, the worst of which is her newfound love of lunch buffets. This comment was my not-so-successful attempt at empathy.