Porky McGorgealot...or was it Fatty McButterpants?

Anyone who has known me for more than...oh...5 minutes is aware that I have a teeny-tiny, eensy, little self-esteem issue. Overall I am not too hard on myself, but I am really unhappy and self-conscious about my weight. WHAT?! A girl? Unhappy with her weight?! Shock!

I think the reason I am so self-conscious about my weight is because I am kind of a mean person and when I see other fat people eating stuff they shouldn't be eating I get all snarky about it. You know the fat people I am talking about. That 450-lb guy driving down the freeway eating a King Size Snickers bar and drinking a 64-oz Coke while wearing a Geo Metro that is dragging the left fender on the asphalt and struggling to hit 50 miles per hour. We've all seen that guy. Or girl. Gender is fully interchangeable in this scenario. In fact, that guy might as well be a girl because you know he hasn't laid eyes on his package in so long it could very well have moved to Brazil to check out Carnival and the sandy, white beaches.

See? SNARK. Don't even lie though - I know you laughed.

Anyway, I own a mirror and do, in fact, look in it from time to time. I also buy my own clothes so I am fully aware that my fat ass really shouldn't be making fun of anyone. I was the girl that was 6 ft tall and 125 lbs with a six-pack and could eat an entire large pizza without batting an eye. I was the one who would never have a weight problem so I got really good at making snide comments about those people who did.

Little tip? Yes. Even skinny bitches can have a weight problem. Especially if you think you will always be able to eat an entire large pizza and don't learn to appreciate fish and vegetables. Keep eating the pizza and you too shall have an ass with its own zip code. It's karma.

So, because I am a snarky skinny bitch living in this lumpy, middle-aged body I find it impossible to be seen eating in my car. I don't want someone to be in their car watching me eating a donut on the way to work and think, "Sheesh. That fat girl really should be eating a banana." I don't go through fast food drive thrus because someone is going to see me pulling out and go, "She really SHOULD NOT be eating there. Fatty needs a head of lettuce and a colon cleanse."

You know how Wii came out with Wii Fit? I thought I was so cool cause I got a Wii Fit and I was going to be all trim and fit in no time because the Wii Fit is my friend and it loves me. Well, I got on my Wii Fit and did the little assessment where it tells you how much you weigh and what your Wii Fit age is and all that. You know what that little fucker did? It told me I am OBESE and OLD. And then? It made my Mii fat. The Mii that I use when I bowl or play golf or anything else. I can't even play a game and escape the fat. IT FOLLOWS ME. Sort of like how my big ole ass follows me. The Wii Fit? Not my friend. It is an evil beast that finds it necessary to remind me AT ALL TIMES that You. Are. Fat.

I know. I know. I am being a little mean to myself, but really? I'm not. I am being realistic. There are some things you just can't ignore. My arms have wings. WINGS. I could leap from a tree like one of those little flying squirrels and be perfectly safe. My butt has gotten so big I could use it as a shelf and more comfortably carry around...well...anything. It's horrifying. It's embarrassing. It's also really terrible that I am sharing this with all of you, but maybe by sharing I will be compelled to get up from the couch and do something about it. Obviously, owning a mirror hasn't been enough of a deterrent to staying in my current state of fattiness.

I have started working on improving things though. In an effort to be slightly less pitiful I am walking at work with my co-workers. We walk most days for a mile and a half at a very brisk pace. My stamina has improved over the last few months. I can now keep up with the group and carry on a conversation that includes actual words rather than just panting. Next step? Get back on the Wii and try to work my way to a thinner Mii. Get it? Mii? Me? HA!

I'll keep you posted on progress. But now, Fatty McButterpants is going to watch Stanley Cup hockey. Yea Penguins!

Oh...and anyone who makes comments like, "You should love yourself just like you are" or "Don't be so hard on yourself" or "You aren't fat" is going to get a big ole slap upside the head with my flying squirrel wing. I make fun of my weight because it helps encourage me to do something about it. Sick? Yes. Effective? Yes. So keep your Stuart Smalley Daily Affirmation to yourself.

I keep telling myself it could be worse

Do you ever wonder if maybe you ticked off someone powerful in a former life and are now paying the price for it? Only, the price isn't that bad things happen to you. The price is that nothing happens to you?

My life has always been one that is just interesting enough to avoid being boring, but not quite interesting enough to be interesting to anyone that isn't me. I, of course, find my life interesting. Well, interesting enough that I'd like to keep it for just a wee bit longer, thanks.

I just wonder sometimes when something is going to HAPPEN to me. Then I immediately give myself a mental head slap because I should probably specify what something is.

**sigh**

I guess, at the root of it all, I feel like I am being overtaken by the crazy. I have been weaning myself off my "quit being so crazy, Crazy" medication over the last month or so and I had about two weeks of happiness and then...well...THIS happened. My moody, bitchy, you all suck and I hate you side has reared its ugly head. At this point I am either having the world's worst case of PMS or I should consider upping the dosage. I'll keep you posted on that.

Oh yeah, the one interesting thing that has happened in the last few weeks? My poor Eric has shingles. SHINGLES, PEOPLE! I didn't know much about them until today, but what I have learned over the course of much googling is that shingles? They hurt. A. Lot. I suppose I could have just asked Eric what shingles are like, but...well, you know...digital age and all that. Gotta do the google.

The shingly one is currently stretched out on the couch trying to avoid having anything touch his abdomen because apparently? Everything hurts. AIR hurts. Breathing hurts. Being awake and devoid of pharmaceutical intervention hurts.

So, now I must go provide comfort and lots of sympathy to Darth Shingle. So, to keep you entertained, here are a couple of pictures.

This is my really awesome cat, Scooby-Doo.

This is my friend, Issa, her precious little girl, Addyson, and in the background is Issa's husband, Adam.

Here is my gorgeous husband at his birthday party. His 40th birthday party. A birthday that, clearly, leads directly to shingles.

My gorgeous husband playing hockey.

And last, but certainly not least entertaining...here is my husband in the penalty box.

I suck.

I am starting to wonder if I need to just give up on the blog. I just can't think of anything to talk about. I log in. I stare. I type a few words. I delete a few words. I stare. I log out. It is truly irritating. I feel like there is all this stuff rolling around in my head, but I can't seem to get any of it to turn into actual writing.

But...because I am a glutton for punishment I will see if I can come up with something just to try and get back in the swing of things...

1. Drew is almost out of school for the year and it is freaking me out that he is going to be in 1st grade next year. How does that happen? I mean, just yesterday he was a newborn and 5 minutes ago he started walking. Now, all of a sudden, he is this little man that can act out every scene from Star Wars and play every major role with gusto. And he's GOOD at it!! I just hope he doesn't suddenly ask for that fake Princess Leia bun-hair or a Wookie suit.

2. Today is Eric's 40th birthday and he is feeling old. I keep telling him he is nuts because he certainly isn't old and he looks younger than me when, in fact, he is older than me. Everytime we go out I am convinced everyone thinks I am a freaking cougar. It's a wee bit disturbing and I constantly feel compelled to pull out my ID and wave it in people's faces and scream "Ah-Ha! See! See! I'm younger! YUNG-GER! Sucka!"

3. I was informed, in the most trailer trash way imaginable, that I am the worst friend ever. I mean, EVER. As in, "would rather go to the zoo with the anti-Christ than ever speak to you again" worst friend ever. Oddly, I am not entirely sure how I earned the distinction. I could see being told that I am not the best at phone calls/emails/etc and that maybe my inattentiveness has led to the other party determining that I am not worth time/energy/effort/etc. BUT, I certainly didn't think I had slipped into "worse than the anti-Christ" territory. Maybe I need a chart or graph or something in order to keep track.

4. I am convinced I have gone completely insane, lost all ability to say anything of interest and must shut up immediately. If anyone has suggestions on how to break through the writer's block I have had for the last few months that would be great.

Until then...I'll keep trying. Maybe the more I write the more I'll write. Ugh.

This sucks.