That's me. Pimpin ain't easy.

My big fat rant

I'm a fat lady. A big, soft hugging machine. My sweet boo husband loves all of it but I don't. I don't love it. I feel like I'm trapped inside this body and its getting bigger. I dream sometimes that I'm in the shower and while washing my back, I find a zipper that somehow I have never seen before. I grap the silver tab and unzip, and the fat suit falls away and there is my true body. Not thin and lithe, not perky porno titties, just a regular average size 10 ish body. I am so happy in this dream, I smash up the old fat suit between my toes and watch it go down the shower drain in little pink blobs. I get out of the shower and find my 'real' closet of size 10 ish clothes that have been hiding in the back of my fat closet. Its a fucked up dream and I know that. Here is the thing; I am attracted to larger bodies. I see other people and enjoy the softness and curves. I look at myself and see something that isn't me. It's some Violet Beauregard/Willy Wonka-oops-I-ate-the-blow-up-candy nightmare. I don't have crazy eating habits. I don't eat fast food. I don't eat lots of super processed foods. I love vegis and whole grains. I walk my dog, do occasional yoga and am on my feet nearly all day on a 10 hour shift at work. I cook healthy foods and my kids are all in good shape. WTF? I have considered Bariatric surgery, but the cost is so prohibitive. I giggle thinking about a go fund me page dedicated to shrinking my ass. Here is the kicker; I hurt. All over. my knees feel like they are filled with glass shards, my back kills me all the time. My skin is so thin over my post baby Buddha belly that it's delicate and tears easily. I recently had to have a partial hysterectomy and the belly scars only add to my shame. I feel so trapped.

It's Shark week here. Had a terrible bleed thru the pants kinda day. now the flu. perfect. I have been thinking a lot about blogging and how i miss it, so here it is. a post.

Hot Soup!

Today I played an important role at work. The kind of 'behind the scene' supporting job.


I was the soup bitch.

So,
I'll explain. I work at a well known restraunt chain that serves sammies, soup and salad. Our soup heating unit is, shall we say, fucked. That leaves me to find creative and sanitary ways to heat your soup. Let me also note that small quanties of soup heat much faster than gallons of soup. The bitch of the whole thing is the running back and forth with four cups of hot soup, from back of house to the line. I estimate that I made no less that 200 trips. No kidding. So hope you enjoyed your tomato soup. And I do really like the phrase 'freedom' onion. Rather than french onion, not due to any kind of political slur, just cause it throws my suburban housewife clientele into a dither. A soup bitch has to get her kicks someplace.

Lets play catch-up

Here is the skinny on Flea's blog. I've been on a little hiatus. I'll break it down nice and quick so we can move on to the good stuff. Past three years in a nutshell and in partialy correct order:

1. Shitty marriage imlpoded.
2. Divorce took forever.
3. Had job drama.
4. Met awesome new man. Nick. Did I mention the awesome bit?
5. Dropped my basket for a little while. Nick stuck around.
6. Nick asked me to marry him. Scary! And exciting! And I said yes!
7. Hilarity ensues.

So....

Here we are. I'm all a-flutter over the goodness of this man. He treats my children with love and kindness and treasures them as if they were his own. My daddy loves him. Hear that internet? Daddy thinks Nick hung the moon. I've gotten a job that I enjoy a fair amount of the time and my ex-es are on the tolerable side as of right now; although this fluxuates.

Right now, I'm not too bad.

ta da!

I'm back. I now have a phone that is smarter than me and allows me acsess to the world wide webs. Woot! Now on to the snarky comments. So, this morning, I farted in bed and I swear to sweet baby jebus it sounded like Donald Duck saying "Obama".

Back by popular demand...

In a fist fight, my money's on the bitch on the left. Glenn, meet Melissa.

What are you going to be for Halloween?

I'm going to be a witch. Just like every other day. But I'm going to wear a special hat.

Nate and Heidi are planning a truly fucked up Halloween spectacular. Zombie bride and groom.
That's right. brother and sister, bride and groom. I'm totally gonna let them.

I'm doing the make-up and costumes- I'm inspired from this Zombie Hotness:

Zombie Pin-Ups

Chloe is going to be a fairy/pixie/woodland princess. She's got little sparkle wings, and that's the whole point.

FYI: Today is Nate's birthday. He's 11. He weighed 11 pounds when he was born. At 11 in the morning. I love him so much. He's so awesome and inspiring. Here he is pickin peaches in the orchard this summer:

Happy birthday Baby. You are my favorite boy in the whole world.

The Post you have all been waiting for....

He's out.

He signed the lease on his ridiculously expensive apartment and spent the there night last night.

I got a call from him about 10:30pm, and it went something like this:

T: I got in and everything looks great. They got my accent wall painted a nice rust red color. You'll really like it. You and the kids will have to come up this weekend and I'll give you the tour.

Me: That's great.

T: Chloe's room is huge. She has her own bathroom and a big closet.

Me: That's great.

T: I haven't really unpacked much, cause I don't have any furniture yet.

Me: I know. Did you get you air mattress set up?

T: *long pause* It's a camping mattress.

Me: I know. You told me that. It came with an air pump right? You can use that to inflate it.

T: *yet another long pause* The air pump has to charge for 12 hours before it will work.

Me: *long pause to stifle laughter* So, you can't inflate the mattress?

T: No, not until tomorrow morning.

Me: Well, they say that the floor is good for your back.

Can I get a Karma Whoop Whoop?

I have discovered these things:

I really am bothered by anklets under pantyhose.

I prefer pants that require no button or zipper to pull down. I will wear jeans, but they have to be able to slip off.

The Dirt Mall is the best place ever. I could have bought a used set of tires, a Chinese umbrella and a Pomeranian puppy all in the same place. I would not, however, buy the eye-color-changing-contacts (only 15 bucks!) or the pseudo-gold and diamond-esque 'Grillz' ala Flavor Flav (also.... you guessed it, 15 bucks!). I draw the line with things that go into my body. That included the food. No Dirt Mall food.

I am trying to trudge thru The Mists of Avalon. Somebody lied to me. Yeah, it's technically good, I like the different viewpoint, but jeez. It is taking me forever. I read books like they are on fire and my eyes shoot water but this little fucker has me almost dreading to crack it open. It's been downgraded to a bathroom reader. I've got to finish the Twilight books instead before the damn movie comes out.

Here's a gratuitous boob/cake shot. I made it for Kelly's bachelorette party. I love the little boobie chocolates. Multicultural. I'm an equal opportunity boob aficionado.

Oh Horror!

Conversation with Nate:

N- Dad got a Webkinz bat! Guess what he named it!

Me- (totally distracted with reading) I have no idea. Tell me.

N- Lovecraft. What does Lovecraft mean?

Me (putting down book) What? He named it Lovecraft? Really? HP Lovecraft was a famous author who wrote some really great horror stories about bizarre monsters. Call of Chthulu, At the Mountains of Madness, Dream Quest of the Unknown Kadath; These are great! (In my head, I'm trying to remember how old I was when I read these. 13? 12? Is he old enough to dive into bizarro horror or will I fuck him up forever and make him into a lil' serial killer?)

N- HP Lovecraft? HP? His name was HP?

Me- Yep.

N- I bet it was short for 'hit points'.

best.nerd baby.evehYeah. He's getting the box set for Yule.

My people

Amazing find in England

This is the kind of thing that keeps my hopes alive. These are my people. These are my ancestors. We live now in America, the big culturally androgynous melting pot where nearly no one has a distinct grasp on their family's historical roots. Sure, you can trace back 3, 4, or 5 generations; But where do your people come from? Why do you have the characteristics that you do?

I envy other cultures with a firm grip on their heritage.