I ran into an old friend at Wal Mart the other day. We’re ‘facebook’ friends, but we haven’t actually seen each other in real life in at least a decade or more. When I knew her she was very tall and strikingly beautiful.
She looks exactly the same.
Of course since it was just a quick Saturday trip to Wal Mart I looked like a homeless person.
This is how the conversation went:
Me – (cautiously waves)
Her – Smiling politely, waves back and stops in the isle, “Wow, I would have NEVER recognized you if we weren’t ‘friends’!!”
Me – “Ha, ha, How’s it going? These are my youngest, Jake and Lena.”
Her – “Oh, they are so cute! Where is the Hubby? Working?”
Me – “He’s at home, probably grading papers. He’s a teacher now”
(she didn’t know that because the hubby is super paranoid about putting anything on facebook and refuses to even acknowledge he’s my husband on there. So I started a blog. Heh.)
Her – “Oh, that’s nice. Your oldest seems like quite the firecracker from what I can tell from facebook!”
Me – “Yeah, she sure is.” So what have you been up to? Moved back, I see?"
Her – “Yes, moved back a while ago. It’s been great.”
Me – “It’s nice to see you again”
Her – “You too! Your kids are so cute. Better run. Bye!”
Me – “See you later!”
Isn’t that nice? Not really. Here is the sub-text transcript of this conversation:
Me: Ah, shit. There she is, looking striking and she’s coming my way. Doesn’t ANYONE else I know ever get fat? Fuck. I’m going have to acknowledge her.
Her: Why is that fat homeless chick waving at me? Oh, god! Is that,…..FoN?
“Holy SHIT! I could tell from your facebook pictures you put on a few, but I had NO idea! Is this for real? Seriously, are you really this fat or did Tyra Banks put you in a fat suit and hide a camera in your folds so you could record how people react to how totally HUMUNGOUS you are????”
Me: “Fuck you. Life hasn’t been a cakewalk and I eat my feelings, okay? Not everyone can be seven feet high and fifteen pounds you know.”
Her: “Yeah, I bet. I assume those two kids fighting over who gets to hold the mango are yours? Yikes. Good thing they’re cute. I assume you and whats-his-face broke up by now?"
Me: “As a matter of fact we got married and bought a nice little house in the south end. We both have great jobs and make a LOT more money than you. So, you moved back in with your parents after your marriage broke up, I assume?"
Her: “Yeah, but at least my kids aren’t saying ‘fuck’ every five minutes on facebook. You should be totally ashamed of your daughter. It’s too bad she can’t be like my kids. I’ve taught them to love Jesus and they are perfect in every way."
Me: “Well, your kids are 10 and 7, so call me when they’re teenagers and we’ll talk."
Her: “Hey, I gotta run and call everyone we knew from high school to tell them you’re a WHALE!! Bwwaaaahahahahahaha!!!!!"
Me: “Whatever. You’re divorced and poor”
THE END.
Monday, March 8, 2010
Friday, March 5, 2010
Just back for a quick sec to offend tons of people
This is the funniest 'motivational' poster EVER.
I really do love Jesus. He thinks it's funny too.
God bless.
Friday, January 8, 2010
RIP 2009....
Wow, it’s a New Year and decade – how do you like that? Before I launch in to my diatribe of my love/hate relationship with New Years (I actually have been writing, just not posting. Weird, huh? I’m a complicated soul), I thought I would reflect on 2009. It was a banner year in the old FoN household! I mean, it’s not like one of us won American Idol or anything, but a few pretty major things got checked off the giant ‘to do’ list of life. Here are some of the highlights -
January – I started blogging about my big fat ass in Fat Chick vs. Food, but what I remember most about that month is that it was so fucking cold I might as well have been living in the arctic circle. I came out to start my car each morning expecting penguins and polar bears to be lounging in the driveway. I bet there were a LOT of babies born in September around these parts, because you literally needed someone INSDIE you to stay warm. I was a miserable bitch that whole month. Freezing and starving to death (the new diet, remember) is a really bad combo. That must explain why most totally impoverished countries are hot; God didn’t want to be a total bastard.
February – After my application to obtain refugee status in Florida because of the unholy conditions I found myself living in was denied, I decided to pack up and go visit Politika in the much warmer province of British Columbia. The trip was awesome and aside from a 5 HOUR delay due to the fucking weather coming home, extremely successful. Guess how long you can keep a three year-old entertained in an airport? It’s significantly less than five hours, I assure you.
March – My career was not in a good place. While I loved my coworkers, it turned out that Jesus took over the head-honcho job at my workplace. Don’t get me wrong – I love Jesus as much as the next gal – but he should really just stick to curing leprosy and being a martyr and shit like that. Maybe a career modeling sandals or designing robes would be a good fit? A job as a walking tour guide, perhaps? But running a television station......not so much. I made the decision to move it along…..
April – So I jumped ship and joined a money-making government powerhouse and took a position coordinating the strategic planning and corporate reporting. I mean, who doesn’t love a job dripping in corporate bureaucracy? Nothing makes me wetter than having the exact same meeting, with the same people, discussing the same topic, over and over and over and over again, without actually ever accomplishing anything. Ever. Not even one time. Yeah….good call, FoN.
May – Fat Chick vs. Food commitment was starting to slip a little. I had dropped almost 30 pounds by this point, but summer was rapidly approaching and nothing confirms the imminent approach of summer quite like the lure of deck beer and meat on a stick. Each day the weather got warmer, my ‘fuck it, get me a pilsner’ attitude got a wee bit stronger.
June – Holy shit, this is the month that contains the day I never thought would actually happen. Ever. For SIX years, Hubby had been in school preparing to become a teacher. For all those years, everyone would say to me, “Don’t worry – it will go by fast”. Well, fuck you guys because that was the longest six years of my life. But in June, 2009, Mr. FoN donned the robe and graduated university. He was now able to mold young minds (read: indoctrinate them with left-wing socialist propaganda). I’m so proud.
July – Because we were a little light on funds this year, I whored out my family for a lake front cabin rental-for-trade for two weeks in July. It was a great vacation that taught my kids the value of a hard day(s) worked. That, and they better get their ass to university after high school and get a job making enough money to just pay for a holiday so they can skip all that yard work bullshit when they are older and want to go on vacation.
August – We returned from vacation to the grind of life. Then my daughter turned sixteen. This is pretty remarkable considering I’m only twenty-five myself. I also celebrated my 15th wedding anniversary. We were married on the playground during recess when I was in grade five, if you were wondering.
September – The kids returned to school, and Mr. FoN made his classroom debut. Godspeed, children. This is also the month it became clear to me I had made the wrong career move. Working for THE MAN is just not good for my street cred, you know? Resume building began in earnest.
October – We made our annual trip to Winnipeg, the bigger, meaner, dirtier version of Regina to see my mother. It was better than our usual trips to the ‘Peg. I got drunk and went shopping. Those things happened on two separate occasions; I didn’t get drunk and THEN go shopping. Although drunk shopping can actually be a pretty good time. Other than those silly ‘you puke on it you bought it’ rules stores seem to have. Pfft.
November – Have you ever seen the Simpsons episode where Homer saves up enough money to quit his job at the nuclear power plant in favor of his dream job at the bowling alley? Well, my bowling alley job went up for bid. A local non-profit culture organization posted an opening looking for someone to coordinate a new program they are developing that provides funding to children with social/financial barriers so they can participate in art and culture activities. Dance, music, theatre, writing, etc. Can you think of just the perfect candidate for that job? I’ll give you a clue…..she is a bittered government worker who feels like she’s trapped in a bad remake of GlenGarry Glen Ross on a daily basis. You are correct, it's ME! I sent them my resume by mail, email, messenger and carrier pigeon. Just to be on the safe side.
December – Christmas time! I love Christmas. I bought the most obnoxiously large Christmas tree you’ve ever seen, sang carols for the whole month, went totally overboard on the Christmas presents and put booze in my coffee every morning. Every day for the whole month of December. So I was a little tipsy when the non-profit group called and OFFERED ME THE JOB!! I start on February 1st. Thank, you baby Jesus, and happy birthday.
So, that was my year in a nutshell. What’s going to happen this year I wonder? I have some money for the first time in my life, so that should be pretty interesting. We have a couple of trips planned in the next few months, I’m going to start a brand new career, my husband will need to secure a new teaching contract, and in September my youngest will start her first year of school while my oldest starts her last year of school.
Oh, and I’m still fat so I guess I'll keep ringing the weight loss bell again for another year.
Sigh.
But, hey...I’ll do my best to keep you posted. HA! Get it?? I’ll keep you POSTED?!!
I’ll give up the bad jokes in 2011.
January – I started blogging about my big fat ass in Fat Chick vs. Food, but what I remember most about that month is that it was so fucking cold I might as well have been living in the arctic circle. I came out to start my car each morning expecting penguins and polar bears to be lounging in the driveway. I bet there were a LOT of babies born in September around these parts, because you literally needed someone INSDIE you to stay warm. I was a miserable bitch that whole month. Freezing and starving to death (the new diet, remember) is a really bad combo. That must explain why most totally impoverished countries are hot; God didn’t want to be a total bastard.
February – After my application to obtain refugee status in Florida because of the unholy conditions I found myself living in was denied, I decided to pack up and go visit Politika in the much warmer province of British Columbia. The trip was awesome and aside from a 5 HOUR delay due to the fucking weather coming home, extremely successful. Guess how long you can keep a three year-old entertained in an airport? It’s significantly less than five hours, I assure you.
March – My career was not in a good place. While I loved my coworkers, it turned out that Jesus took over the head-honcho job at my workplace. Don’t get me wrong – I love Jesus as much as the next gal – but he should really just stick to curing leprosy and being a martyr and shit like that. Maybe a career modeling sandals or designing robes would be a good fit? A job as a walking tour guide, perhaps? But running a television station......not so much. I made the decision to move it along…..
April – So I jumped ship and joined a money-making government powerhouse and took a position coordinating the strategic planning and corporate reporting. I mean, who doesn’t love a job dripping in corporate bureaucracy? Nothing makes me wetter than having the exact same meeting, with the same people, discussing the same topic, over and over and over and over again, without actually ever accomplishing anything. Ever. Not even one time. Yeah….good call, FoN.
May – Fat Chick vs. Food commitment was starting to slip a little. I had dropped almost 30 pounds by this point, but summer was rapidly approaching and nothing confirms the imminent approach of summer quite like the lure of deck beer and meat on a stick. Each day the weather got warmer, my ‘fuck it, get me a pilsner’ attitude got a wee bit stronger.
June – Holy shit, this is the month that contains the day I never thought would actually happen. Ever. For SIX years, Hubby had been in school preparing to become a teacher. For all those years, everyone would say to me, “Don’t worry – it will go by fast”. Well, fuck you guys because that was the longest six years of my life. But in June, 2009, Mr. FoN donned the robe and graduated university. He was now able to mold young minds (read: indoctrinate them with left-wing socialist propaganda). I’m so proud.
July – Because we were a little light on funds this year, I whored out my family for a lake front cabin rental-for-trade for two weeks in July. It was a great vacation that taught my kids the value of a hard day(s) worked. That, and they better get their ass to university after high school and get a job making enough money to just pay for a holiday so they can skip all that yard work bullshit when they are older and want to go on vacation.
August – We returned from vacation to the grind of life. Then my daughter turned sixteen. This is pretty remarkable considering I’m only twenty-five myself. I also celebrated my 15th wedding anniversary. We were married on the playground during recess when I was in grade five, if you were wondering.
September – The kids returned to school, and Mr. FoN made his classroom debut. Godspeed, children. This is also the month it became clear to me I had made the wrong career move. Working for THE MAN is just not good for my street cred, you know? Resume building began in earnest.
October – We made our annual trip to Winnipeg, the bigger, meaner, dirtier version of Regina to see my mother. It was better than our usual trips to the ‘Peg. I got drunk and went shopping. Those things happened on two separate occasions; I didn’t get drunk and THEN go shopping. Although drunk shopping can actually be a pretty good time. Other than those silly ‘you puke on it you bought it’ rules stores seem to have. Pfft.
November – Have you ever seen the Simpsons episode where Homer saves up enough money to quit his job at the nuclear power plant in favor of his dream job at the bowling alley? Well, my bowling alley job went up for bid. A local non-profit culture organization posted an opening looking for someone to coordinate a new program they are developing that provides funding to children with social/financial barriers so they can participate in art and culture activities. Dance, music, theatre, writing, etc. Can you think of just the perfect candidate for that job? I’ll give you a clue…..she is a bittered government worker who feels like she’s trapped in a bad remake of GlenGarry Glen Ross on a daily basis. You are correct, it's ME! I sent them my resume by mail, email, messenger and carrier pigeon. Just to be on the safe side.
December – Christmas time! I love Christmas. I bought the most obnoxiously large Christmas tree you’ve ever seen, sang carols for the whole month, went totally overboard on the Christmas presents and put booze in my coffee every morning. Every day for the whole month of December. So I was a little tipsy when the non-profit group called and OFFERED ME THE JOB!! I start on February 1st. Thank, you baby Jesus, and happy birthday.
So, that was my year in a nutshell. What’s going to happen this year I wonder? I have some money for the first time in my life, so that should be pretty interesting. We have a couple of trips planned in the next few months, I’m going to start a brand new career, my husband will need to secure a new teaching contract, and in September my youngest will start her first year of school while my oldest starts her last year of school.
Oh, and I’m still fat so I guess I'll keep ringing the weight loss bell again for another year.
Sigh.
But, hey...I’ll do my best to keep you posted. HA! Get it?? I’ll keep you POSTED?!!
I’ll give up the bad jokes in 2011.
Monday, November 30, 2009
Fat Chick vs. Food Update
Since I made my public declaration last week about reporting on the good and the bad in the fat ass department, I figured I better make good on that promise. Good or bad, I said I would blog about how I did with my three current goals. They were -
1. work out five times in seven days
2. no eating after supper
3. no booze
How did I do? Well, good and bad.
I did manage to make it to the gym for the first time in months, so that’s good. However I only made it there once when I promised myself I’d go five times, so that’s bad.
I managed to eat properly and lay off the snackage and beer, so that’s good. But I cheated three out of those seven days, so that's bad. But, in fairness to me I only drank beer one day out of seven.
I might have to stop here and preface this with the pronouncement that I am not a raging alcoholic, and knocking it off with the booze isn’t really that hard for me, provided there is no occasion closely associated with booze to contend with. The Grey Cup, for example. My team was in the championship game this weekend, so I was practically mandated by my province to drink beer.
Just as an aside, we lost in the worst possible way I’ve ever experienced in my whole football watching life. It was horrifying.
Anyway.
Let’s focus on some positives –
All of the occasions that I was eating like shit, I felt really guilty about it. I wasn’t rationalizing my indulgences like I have been known to in the past, telling myself a ‘deserve’ a treat because of stress, work, kids, etc. The whole time I was eating those chips I felt like a total failure, so that’s good right?
My guilt is in fact so pronounced that it has morphed into the most annoying bitch ever. She has taken up residence in my head and makes me feel like an asshole for not working out and eating garbage. I call her Pageant Mom because she is extremely judgmental, and is all, “Does your ass really need another one of THOSE?” when I’m eating something crappy. I hate her. She’s blonde with fake tits and for some reason has an American accent – one of those Texas/Georgia/Louisiana type accents. She wears a lot of glittery shirts and way too much blush.
Let me apologize right now to all of you Americans who are completely insulted by me stereotyping my split personality (I can’t help it – she just appeared that way), as well as the lumping together of probably three totally different accents. I’d love for you to hear her voice so you could identify what specific region she belongs to for me, but that would be difficult since she is, you know…imaginary.
I think this post has come off the rails a bit.
Let’s refocus.
A new week is upon me, and I am going to do my best to get Pageant Mom to shut the fuck up. My beloved boot camp class starts up again tomorrow, and this time there is a competition, a la the Biggest Loser – whoever loses the most percentage of weight wins SIX free sessions with Trainer Lady! She don’t come cheap, so I am totally in it to win it.
Wish me luck.
1. work out five times in seven days
2. no eating after supper
3. no booze
How did I do? Well, good and bad.
I did manage to make it to the gym for the first time in months, so that’s good. However I only made it there once when I promised myself I’d go five times, so that’s bad.
I managed to eat properly and lay off the snackage and beer, so that’s good. But I cheated three out of those seven days, so that's bad. But, in fairness to me I only drank beer one day out of seven.
I might have to stop here and preface this with the pronouncement that I am not a raging alcoholic, and knocking it off with the booze isn’t really that hard for me, provided there is no occasion closely associated with booze to contend with. The Grey Cup, for example. My team was in the championship game this weekend, so I was practically mandated by my province to drink beer.
Just as an aside, we lost in the worst possible way I’ve ever experienced in my whole football watching life. It was horrifying.
Anyway.
Let’s focus on some positives –
All of the occasions that I was eating like shit, I felt really guilty about it. I wasn’t rationalizing my indulgences like I have been known to in the past, telling myself a ‘deserve’ a treat because of stress, work, kids, etc. The whole time I was eating those chips I felt like a total failure, so that’s good right?
My guilt is in fact so pronounced that it has morphed into the most annoying bitch ever. She has taken up residence in my head and makes me feel like an asshole for not working out and eating garbage. I call her Pageant Mom because she is extremely judgmental, and is all, “Does your ass really need another one of THOSE?” when I’m eating something crappy. I hate her. She’s blonde with fake tits and for some reason has an American accent – one of those Texas/Georgia/Louisiana type accents. She wears a lot of glittery shirts and way too much blush.
Let me apologize right now to all of you Americans who are completely insulted by me stereotyping my split personality (I can’t help it – she just appeared that way), as well as the lumping together of probably three totally different accents. I’d love for you to hear her voice so you could identify what specific region she belongs to for me, but that would be difficult since she is, you know…imaginary.
I think this post has come off the rails a bit.
Let’s refocus.
A new week is upon me, and I am going to do my best to get Pageant Mom to shut the fuck up. My beloved boot camp class starts up again tomorrow, and this time there is a competition, a la the Biggest Loser – whoever loses the most percentage of weight wins SIX free sessions with Trainer Lady! She don’t come cheap, so I am totally in it to win it.
Wish me luck.
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Run out and buy stock in A5-35 immediately
It looks like we are going to take a family ski trip to Banff this year in February! For those of you unfamiliar, Banff is a gorgeous little resort town at the foot of the Rocky Mountains in Alberta that specializes in soaking every red cent out of anyone who visits. The town is so beautiful that you literally gasp whenever you set foot outside – every single time. The Banff area businesses take full advantage of the tourist’s wonderment because the cost of doing anything in that town is at least three times higher than doing it anywhere else. I once ordered a club sandwich and a coke at a Banff restaurant and my bill was $32.
However, we found a pretty good deal on accommodations at a little condo/resort type place about 5 miles from town and last week we confirmed our reservation. We’ll also be able to drive there from here, so all and all it shouldn't be too bad on the ol’ pocket book.
We are going to go skiing.
Me and skiing have somewhat of a sorted past. Unlike many of my friends who grew up in this country, my parents never took me anywhere so I never learned how to ski. I’m also not exactly the most naturally athletic or graceful person you’ve ever met, so at first glance skiing shouldn’t really be my thing. But, much like interior decorating and penning the next literary masterpiece, I have the desire to be good at it, but I’m not really.
I have baby pink plastic venetians hanging in my living room. And, you have clearly all read this blog.
Just call me Solieri. No, I don’t think that is entirely accurate. Solieri was good just not great. Call me Solieri’s nerdy little cousin who sucks at stuff.
The last time I went skiing in Banff was when I was sent there for a work conference about two years ago. When the conference was over, Politika flew in from Vancouver and joined me in Banff for a weekend getaway that did not include any husbands or children. Not knowing what do to with ourselves under such circumstances, we considered trying to get some of our Banff-jacked money back by hitting the bar to get hammered and dance topless for rich Japanese business men. But, good judgment and a fear of leaked facebook pictures managed to prevail and we decided to go skiing instead.
Politika can ski quite well (of course she can), and I…..I had a new jacket. So, after a lovely breakfast buffet at the hotel we loaded our stuff onto the bus and headed out to the gigantic mountain prepared and contented to strap skinny boards to our feet and hurl ourselves down the slopes at lightening speeds with little precision.
I like to take a ‘ski a little’ ‘drink a little’ approach to skiing. Since I’m not that great at it, the entire time I am on the mountain every muscle in my body is so rigid I’m bordering on rigamortis.
And don’t try talking to me because my mind is singular in its focus and determination to stay alive.
As you can appreciate that gets a little tiring, so after a few runs I like to have a beer or two. And no, it doesn’t matter if it’s only 10 am.
Politika is very nice and humoured me by slumming it at the green runs now and again, but mostly she was swooshing down the quadruple black double mogul plummet-to-your-death-at-any-moment runs. Of course she was.
All in all it was a lovely day and I only had one near death experience, but I was saved by a charming and handsome Aussie who rescued me from the clutches of my extremely uncooperative ski bindings and helped me limp by tired ass down the mountain. I was seriously considering resurrecting the dancing topless plan to express my gratitude, but alas, he just wanted to continue skiing. It was a little cold out for that kind of thing anyway.
We made it back to the room alive and I think we even ventured out that night for a bite to eat. Everything was just fine until the next morning.
OH MY GOD. My legs have never, ever, ever hurt that much in my whole life. I felt like the ‘I’ve fallen and I can’t get up’ lady. I was pretty sure that while I was sleeping someone had drugged me, split my legs open and practiced tying intricate boy scout knots with my leg muscles.
For the next solid week, whenever I was confronted with a flight of stairs I would retreat and decide that wherever I was originally intending to go could live without me. My two kids who have bedrooms in the basement? They could have been hosting raves and Texas hold ‘em tournaments down there and there was nothing I could have done about it.
It was way bad.
So! Skiing again for me in February!
I’m bringing some morphine and a flask of weed-laced moonshine this time.
However, we found a pretty good deal on accommodations at a little condo/resort type place about 5 miles from town and last week we confirmed our reservation. We’ll also be able to drive there from here, so all and all it shouldn't be too bad on the ol’ pocket book.
We are going to go skiing.
Me and skiing have somewhat of a sorted past. Unlike many of my friends who grew up in this country, my parents never took me anywhere so I never learned how to ski. I’m also not exactly the most naturally athletic or graceful person you’ve ever met, so at first glance skiing shouldn’t really be my thing. But, much like interior decorating and penning the next literary masterpiece, I have the desire to be good at it, but I’m not really.
I have baby pink plastic venetians hanging in my living room. And, you have clearly all read this blog.
Just call me Solieri. No, I don’t think that is entirely accurate. Solieri was good just not great. Call me Solieri’s nerdy little cousin who sucks at stuff.
The last time I went skiing in Banff was when I was sent there for a work conference about two years ago. When the conference was over, Politika flew in from Vancouver and joined me in Banff for a weekend getaway that did not include any husbands or children. Not knowing what do to with ourselves under such circumstances, we considered trying to get some of our Banff-jacked money back by hitting the bar to get hammered and dance topless for rich Japanese business men. But, good judgment and a fear of leaked facebook pictures managed to prevail and we decided to go skiing instead.
Politika can ski quite well (of course she can), and I…..I had a new jacket. So, after a lovely breakfast buffet at the hotel we loaded our stuff onto the bus and headed out to the gigantic mountain prepared and contented to strap skinny boards to our feet and hurl ourselves down the slopes at lightening speeds with little precision.
I like to take a ‘ski a little’ ‘drink a little’ approach to skiing. Since I’m not that great at it, the entire time I am on the mountain every muscle in my body is so rigid I’m bordering on rigamortis.
And don’t try talking to me because my mind is singular in its focus and determination to stay alive.
As you can appreciate that gets a little tiring, so after a few runs I like to have a beer or two. And no, it doesn’t matter if it’s only 10 am.
Politika is very nice and humoured me by slumming it at the green runs now and again, but mostly she was swooshing down the quadruple black double mogul plummet-to-your-death-at-any-moment runs. Of course she was.
All in all it was a lovely day and I only had one near death experience, but I was saved by a charming and handsome Aussie who rescued me from the clutches of my extremely uncooperative ski bindings and helped me limp by tired ass down the mountain. I was seriously considering resurrecting the dancing topless plan to express my gratitude, but alas, he just wanted to continue skiing. It was a little cold out for that kind of thing anyway.
We made it back to the room alive and I think we even ventured out that night for a bite to eat. Everything was just fine until the next morning.
OH MY GOD. My legs have never, ever, ever hurt that much in my whole life. I felt like the ‘I’ve fallen and I can’t get up’ lady. I was pretty sure that while I was sleeping someone had drugged me, split my legs open and practiced tying intricate boy scout knots with my leg muscles.
For the next solid week, whenever I was confronted with a flight of stairs I would retreat and decide that wherever I was originally intending to go could live without me. My two kids who have bedrooms in the basement? They could have been hosting raves and Texas hold ‘em tournaments down there and there was nothing I could have done about it.
It was way bad.
So! Skiing again for me in February!
I’m bringing some morphine and a flask of weed-laced moonshine this time.
Monday, November 23, 2009
Fat Chick vs. Food - Week..... ah fuck it
This whole diet/exercise plan thing has come off the rails a little. Okay, a lot. Okay, almost completely. Most of my new ‘I’m skinny now!’ clothes have now gone back to their oh-so-familiar home at the top of my closet. They are out of the way enough that they are not taking up valuable moo-moo space, but still close enough that they mock me every time I open my closet door.
Sigh.
It was pointed out to me a few weeks ago that I was far more successful at dropping the pounds when I was blogging about the whole being fat thing on a regular basis. That is true, but it’s kind of a chicken and egg thing. I stopped blogging about it regularly because I wasn’t really doing anything positive in that area, and reporting that I just plain ol’ sucked AGAIN each week makes for some tedious reading. That, and well…I’m not super proud of the fact that I fell off the diet wagon. Again. For about the 459th consecutive time.
So, good or bad I’m going to start blogging about my big fat ass again each week. I swear I mean it this time. I pinky swear. I even best-friends-forever swear. I just spit on my palm and wiped it on my monitor and everything.
I’m starting with a new sense of resolve today after having a horribly indulgent weekend covered in football, beer, and all the good food that goes so well with football and beer. Our team won, by the way, so I now have next weekend to contend with too, as our beloved Saskatchewan Roughriders are going to the Grey Cup on Sunday (for all you Americans, the Grey Cup is Canada’s answer to the super bowl). I really hope those fuckers win, otherwise my football, beer, and all the good food that goes so well with football and beer weekend will have all been for not.
There is an upside - the whole city is freaking right out about our football team and therefore huge jerseys are practically a mandated uniform right now. That is a great deal for us fat people.
So! Instead of announcing my poundage lost like I did the last Fat Chick reporting cycle, I’m going to adopt weekly goals/challenges for myself and report back at the end of the week on my progress. Trainer Lady (she has a website now – go check her out!) is on vacation this week so I set the following goals knowing I will have to live without her -
1. Work out five times in seven days
2. No eating after super
3. No booze
Just those three goals. Short…..sweet…..simple. I can do it.
Does a milkshake count as ‘eating’ after supper?
Sigh.
It was pointed out to me a few weeks ago that I was far more successful at dropping the pounds when I was blogging about the whole being fat thing on a regular basis. That is true, but it’s kind of a chicken and egg thing. I stopped blogging about it regularly because I wasn’t really doing anything positive in that area, and reporting that I just plain ol’ sucked AGAIN each week makes for some tedious reading. That, and well…I’m not super proud of the fact that I fell off the diet wagon. Again. For about the 459th consecutive time.
So, good or bad I’m going to start blogging about my big fat ass again each week. I swear I mean it this time. I pinky swear. I even best-friends-forever swear. I just spit on my palm and wiped it on my monitor and everything.
I’m starting with a new sense of resolve today after having a horribly indulgent weekend covered in football, beer, and all the good food that goes so well with football and beer. Our team won, by the way, so I now have next weekend to contend with too, as our beloved Saskatchewan Roughriders are going to the Grey Cup on Sunday (for all you Americans, the Grey Cup is Canada’s answer to the super bowl). I really hope those fuckers win, otherwise my football, beer, and all the good food that goes so well with football and beer weekend will have all been for not.
There is an upside - the whole city is freaking right out about our football team and therefore huge jerseys are practically a mandated uniform right now. That is a great deal for us fat people.
So! Instead of announcing my poundage lost like I did the last Fat Chick reporting cycle, I’m going to adopt weekly goals/challenges for myself and report back at the end of the week on my progress. Trainer Lady (she has a website now – go check her out!) is on vacation this week so I set the following goals knowing I will have to live without her -
1. Work out five times in seven days
2. No eating after super
3. No booze
Just those three goals. Short…..sweet…..simple. I can do it.
Does a milkshake count as ‘eating’ after supper?
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Careful with dem dare status updates y'all....
I have a sixteen year-old daughter who is currently in a "complicated" relationship with her "boyfriend" of a year. There are a lot of "quotation marks" flying around when she speaks of their relationship. For the most part, it's pretty much the same shit I remember dealing with when I was a sixteen year-old "in love", but this generation has the internet to contend with.
Social networking brings a whole new layer of bullshit to a relationship. To that end, I am posting a video that is nothing short of genius. This gets a straight up LMAO yo.
To all the lovers out there.........
Social networking brings a whole new layer of bullshit to a relationship. To that end, I am posting a video that is nothing short of genius. This gets a straight up LMAO yo.
To all the lovers out there.........
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