Category — Food Issues

This post is for those of you who feel ugly and dirty after you eat. See those spots in the middle of my chest that look like moles? Those are bits of chocolate that fell down my shirt as I was eating the chocolate off of peanut m&ms, i.e. proof that 1) I need a bib when I eat and 2) I really am a dirty pig.

Emaciated Lady adopted a great dane “puppy” just days before my visit. Puppy my ass. This is the monstrosity that Skinny Man and I were greeted with upon entering her home:

A normal person might be intimidated by the size of this creature. But I’m less intimidated than I am hungry. To me, he looks like a giant Oreo blizzard. So if anyone should be afraid, it’s him.

Rather than doing something productive with my weekend, I went through hundreds of pages of cookbooks and nearly three years’ worth of Vegetarian Times magazines to create a repertoire of Skinny Man’s favorite recipes (read: food I cook and he eats). I ended up with four pages of recipes, which I enshrined in plastic paper protectors. Yes, this is how much I hate myself.

There was no avoiding a night out with the friends this week. I had postponed three times already – one more cancellation would have rendered me a total bitch and I prefer to be just 97 percent bitch. So the three of us headed to a Thai restaurant, where  I ordered garlic tofu over cabbage and my two friends ordered noodle dishes. 

No more than sixty seconds after my food was placed in front of me it was gone.  This is me snorting my dinner through a straw:

Meanwhile, an hour and a half later, my two friends are still picking away at their noodles, both of them eventually opting for a doggy bag to take home their half unfinished plates.

You know, I was trying not to be a bitch. But this is the type of shit that puts me over the edge, and those whorebags are lucky I’m nice enough to keep their faces out of my drawing.

I’ve been starving myself for the past two weeks, and the anorexic me had totally forgotten what a bitch the fat me is. That is until this morning when I found these on my desk. Apparently I placed the order back when I was eating everything within a 100 mile radius.  I hate myself, but not nearly as much as I do the little crack dealer who sold them to me.

After a miserable work function this afternoon, I thought I’d treat myself to food for lunch. I chose to go to an organic pizza place where I ordered a personal-size multigrain thin crust pizza with vegan rice cheese. The waitress told me I was a “champion” as she picked up my empty plate, but immediately realized how insensitive her comment was, so she followed it up with “you look great babe.” I can’t decide which is worse. Being called fat or babe.

 My dear, sweet Emaciated Lady gave me this book for Christmas. She must think me unrefined, but the reality is I already live like a lady. For the most part anyway. At the very least, I never go to buffets and that’s got to count for something.

Also, it seems like she’s sending me mixed signals with the second gift pictured below. While I would love to host a dinner party wearing nothing but that cute little houndstooth apron, I thought the whole point in life was to avoid dinner parties at all costs. That’s not to say I won’t wear it while pouring myself a glass of wine or boiling hot water to pour in my eyes as punishment for thinking about food, but still. I’m supposed to be starving over here.

P.S. – This photo has been cropped for your viewing pleasure. The fat in the original version was vomit inducing. Buf if you look close enough, you can still see vestiges of a muffin top.

P.P.S. – I love you, Emaciated. So much that I’m considering not breaking up with you if you get fat.

Since we opened up the dialogue about hate a couple of weeks ago, I thought I’d mention that one of our readers recently wrote to tell us he’d like to see more hate crimes against fat people on our blog. Apparently, we’ve simmered down in that department, which goes to say that RA has upped its moral integrity.

Okay, not really. The truth is, we currently fall into the fat category and we don’t want this to be a blog about self pity. I promise that as we lose weight, we’ll do our best to make people like Piddle suffer an intestinal hemorrhage more often. As for the rest of you, we hope our rants about the dangerously obese population serves as inspiration to never get fat.