Happy Monday, ya’ll! My latest post is up on Shopper Lottie. Check it out below:
5 Things That Happen When You’re On a Damn Diet
Let me know what you think over at Shopper Lottie. Did I forget anything? Let me know in the comments!
Photography credits for featured image go to Michael Artemis of Artemis Photo Works.
Tag: Cupcakes
Yoga and Cupcakes
Hello All! It is me again. I have some exciting news! The pictures I took for the magazine have finally been edited and sent to me to use on my blog! This was way back in November, and I thought the day that I would get to share these on my blog would never come!
These pictures are the ones I wanted to be featured in the magazine. They were not the ones chosen, but, oh well, because even more importantly, I get to share them with my lovely readers!
I believe I shared already that modeling ain’t for no punk bitch. Let me reiterate, I give massive props to models. They are incredibly resilient and strong. I was exhausted after 4 hours of shooting in the same position!
The photographer actually took my crazy venture seriously, and he took some 400 pictures. He spent an hour just setting things up to look ‘just right’. I am eternally grateful.
Because, obviously, I am no model, I assumed he would snap a couple pictures and then move on to more serious projects. No, he was incredibly professional and kind.
Without further ado, I present to you the fruits of my “modeling” labor.
Share this:
Fatty Fo' Life
Fatty McCupcakes here (well, no shit. Who’d I think you would think it would be? Freaking Richard Simmons? Come to think of it, a guest spot by Richard Simmons would be absolutely fanastic.
source
Well, that was weird.
I guess I’ll get to the point. For the past couple months I’ve been hiding behind the guise of Fatty McCupcakes. I’ve literally been living my tag line-I’ve been busily eating my way through all the baked foods I can find. It’s been delicious, but too much of a good thing gives you cankles.
I can’t do this to my body anymore.
Gone are the days when I could eat half a large pizza, a whole coop full of chicken wings, and steak-cut fries, dripping in ranch , and bounce back after eating a salad for lunch, for a week.
No.
Now, if I overindulge, I feel like a freight train hit me the morning after, and if I could, I’d attach myself to a Pepto IV. And, a continuous stream of calming pink bismuth would only make me feel half human.
I’ve been worried, lately, that if I stopped living the fatty life, Fatty McCupcakes would be gone. There’s no use for that kind of alter ego when your life revolves around kale salad and yoga. How can I be Fatty McCupcakes AND not slowly kill myself one delicious bite of cupcake after another?
In all seriousness, if I don’t emerge from winter break with diabetes, I’ll be damn impressed.
I have problems with food, guys, if you didn’t already guess that. Gee, what gave me away?
I don’t see why I can’t be Fatty McCupcakes AND get healthy, because the real meaning behind Fatty is that I aim to decriminalize the word ‘fat’. Yes, you’re practically a criminal when you’re fat. It’s also a “bad word”. Worse than ‘fuck’.
This fatty be like, “Fuck that.”
No matter how thin, fat, attractive, ugly, or willing to be flexible to the changing whims of society you are, you will never be enough something to someone, somewhere.
And, why is it anyone’s aim to be enough for anyone other than themselves?
I am loving the blog, When I Thought I was Fat, because there’s so much truth contained there. How many times have you looked, fondly, back on a time when you thought you were fat, but you would, maybe, give up bacon to go back to that body? Because you weren’t fat?!
source
So, what is fat? Who defines whether or not you’re fat? Who says the way you are isn’t good enough? No one should have that kind of control over your perception of self, but you.
Back “when I thought I was fat”, I went out, in a rather…creative outfit, to attend a superhero beer crawl. This was probably 40 pounds ago. I felt sexy, powerful, ready to take on the villains in my leather, fish nets, and cape (don’t ask). I felt great until some drunk creep, who was probably just growing pubes, called me, “Super Thighs”. Secretly I was just relieved he didn’t call me, “Super Double Chin” or “Mighty Double Belly”. Still, after that comment, I didn’t feel much like taking on the world that night.
Why did I let someone like that have control over my emotions and perception of myself? Why, after more than 4 years, I remember that comment?
Who cares if I have large thighs? “More strength to crush your head like a pimple, you assknuckle!” is what I should have said to him (thanks, Stephanie).
There’s also this:
Can We Stop Talking About the Thigh Gap Already?
I’m going to continue being Fatty McCupcakes, because there’s nothing wrong with being who I am, in all my voluptuous glory, while I work to better myself. Let’s make the word ‘Fatty’ a positive word like, ‘yum’, ‘love’, or ‘cheese’. I mean, it only makes sense.
Here’s to a healthy 2016, filled with fitness, lettuce, and the ocassional cupcake (there’s no way in food hell I’ll completely deprive myself)!
Fatty Fo’ Life
Share this:
Photoshoot
Guys, I’m feeling like a really important person right now. Tomorrow, I’m getting my makeup and hair done, for the first time ever (for a photoshoot, not in that I’ve never done my hair and makeup before. What a terrifying thought), to get pictures done, professionally, for the magazine. Holy shit. It doesn’t feel real, and sometimes I wonder when I’m going to wake up from the best dream ever.
Because I’m Fatty McCupcakes, my photoshoot won’t be your run of the mill, smile-like-you-aren’t-feeling-lame-in-your-sensible-blazer-pantsuit-kind. No, it’s going to involve me attempting yoga, AND it will involve cupcakes. Oh, yes. I can’t wait to share them with everyone!
In preparation for this shoot, I’ve arranged times and dates with the photographer, reserved an empty yoga studio, and recruited my best friend to be there for moral support. Not once did I think I would need to consider clothing, makeup, or hair. I feel like my woman card should be revoked. Embarrassingly, I was more concerned with deciding on the cupcakes-white cake, buttercream frosting, blue sprinkles. I mean, that’s the most important part. Isn’t it?
I’m so glad that the photographer, and a friend from high school, both, asked, “Have you arranged for someone to do your makeup?”
*blank stare*
I was seriously going to just roll up in my usual cheapo foundation and mascara. I had no idea that makeup was a huge part of getting your pictures done. I’m definitely no model, so I was just going to hope for the best. Thank God everyone else has their shit together. I might have looked like Sloth. I still might.
Today I picked up the cupcakes that will be involved in the photoshoot. That sounds kind of dirty…I promise they will not be abused. They will be eaten after I get to take my Spanx off. Oh yes. They will be eaten, but they won’t be treated unfairly.
When I was purchasing my cupcakes, the bagger asked me, “Would you like a bag for your muffins?”
Muffins.
What the. How the. I have no words.
HOW CAN SOMEONE CONFUSE CUPCAKES FOR MUFFINS?
Cupcakes have frosting.
Cupcakes are cake.
Cupcakes have sprinkles.
Cupcakes.Are.So.Much.Better.
Phew, now that we’ve cleared that up, I might sneak a muffin to appease the butterflies in my stomach. Mmmm muffins.
These are cupcakes for anyone who doesn’t know.
Share this:
Vacay Babay
If you didn’t infer from my last post, or you missed the one about my sister, you don’t know I’m on vacation.
So, yeah, VACATION.
I know I feel bummed when some of my favorite bloggers disappear for too long (they probably work, or have actual, real-life stuff to do), so I figured I’d make it clear that I haven’t given up on Fatty McCupcakes! Don’t you love how I’m assuming I might be one of someone’s favorites? Oy!
I’ve been having a blast, and I’ve been experiencing all that I can. It’s all fodder for new blog posts, of course. Most importantly, though, I’ve put the iPhone and iPad somewhat away and I’ve just lived, watched, breathed, and engaged. It’s been refreshing as all hell.
I’m still vacationing, so I don’t anticipate an actual post until I get back and sleep for a whole day (jet lag is worse as you get older, I swear)!
Hopefully some vacation pictures will keep my loyal followers satiated enough until I get back. Don’t give up on me, guys! I love you all.
Goodbye land, goodbye sanity, goodbye lunch. Flying gets you to cool places, but it’s nerve-wracking as fuck.
What you do after traveling for 9 hours and you’re ravenously hungry, and you’re alone in a big city-for the first time (more on my newfound independence soon). Room service, baby!
Obviously, I tracked down a cupcakery while in Philadelphia. It’s like my fat gut has a built-in honing device for baked goods.
Some resident of the City of Brotherly Love loved their city so much, they felt the need to tag an iconic landmark. Way to go, asshat! It’s why we can’t have nice things *hangs head in disgrace*.
If I could make one suggestion/comment/bit of feedback to whoever planned the structure housing the Liberty Bell, it’s that the natural light coming from behind the bell makes it really hard to capture the famous crack. Oh, you’re just supposed to reverently view and move on? Gotcha…*slowly puts selfie stick back in bag*
Residents of the East Coast are different people entirely. I had never seen anything like this before. Apparently, I’M the weird one for not being familiar with edible curved manhood. BTW it is NOT like Bologna at all.
After a nice little jaunt through Delaware, we made it to Ocean City, MD. We promptly put our feet in the surf. Because ocean.
We drove all the way to Maryland to eat at a Jamaican-themed restaurant, complete with real palm trees and jerk chicken-everything, just so I can show people this picture and say I went somewhere exotic.
Yes, the views are priceless, but our $300 a night hotel room is…well…upon getting a towel, the towel rack promptly fell off the wall. Classy. I simply cannot wait to write my Yelp and Trip Advisor reviews.
Our piggy toes are obviously genetic. You’re welcome.
Share this:
Awkward Moment #1
That awkward moment you are attempting to sit on a stool at the cupcake shop, you shouldn’t be at, and the bastard feels very, very untrustworthy. After coming too close to breaking a chair made out of metal, at a cupcakery, it’s only necessary to swear your friends to utter secrecy. You take it one step further by threatening bodily harm if your secret gets out. You didn’t break the chair, but in the “fat world” almost breaking it is just as damn bad.
The next realization you have is that if you didn’t feel it necessary to suggest cupcakes right after eating an entire meal (as if that wasn’t satisfying enough), you wouldn’t be in the predicament of almost breaking a chair while biting into a massive cupcake adorned with marshmallows, graham cracker crumbs, and chocolate sauce. No one suggesting hikes after lunch break chairs.
Then, you wonder when it will be that the awkward moments become too frequent and you actually make a change. How many chairs at specialty bakeries does your ass have to dismantle until one is done with the bad choices?
Awkward Moment #2 happens when you realize, probably never. Because cupcakes.
Shut up, Ryan Gosling, you don’t know me!
Share this:
Bad Cupcakes!
Yesterday was the last day of school (Schools…out…for…SUMMER). I have exactly 58 Saturday’s ahead of me (more about that blessed dilemma later). I started my summer vacation off in a very positive, good-Samaritan way. Let me explain.
Naturally, one of my students brought cupcakes to celebrate the last day of school (I’m not only known as a cupcake-lover on my blog). As it was the last day, my students were leaving early left and right. When we finally had our room cleaned up, things packed, and I finally participated in a Just Dance video for my students’ amusement (more on that later, too…), it was Cupcake Time. The 24 cupcakes were more than enough, there were 8 left. Of course, the student who brought them was fully planning on taking them home. I would like to make it amply clear that I would never stoop so low as to beg a nine-year-old for their leftover cupcakes. I’m not that far gone.
The mad rush to collect all of their precious end-of-year goodies and give me hug after hug, coupled with their desire to get the hell out of school, made for a whirlwind ‘goodbye’ with my students. Yearbooks were left. Data folders, that they would have trashed anyways, were left. Their had-to-have, homemade letters from their friends were left. And, the cupcakes. They were left. Two, almost empty, boxes of vanilla cupcakes were left. I figured she would be back. I waited a few, anxious minutes. Guilt-ridden, I went outside, hopefully, albeit reluctantly, to try to find her. 3 minutes after the bell had rung, and it was a ghost town outside. “Lost” report cards, confetti, and papers littered the ground. All was still, but for a tumbleweed that blew across in the breeze. She was gone. They were mine.
I felt a sudden internal glee that only fat people, who have an unhealthy love for baked goods, ever feel. I knew it was bad news that I now possessed 8 entire cupcakes, cupcakes topped with the sweetest confection of sugar ever created, but my unhealthy addiction and glee overwhelmed my sense of good judgement.
If anyone saw me leaving school with all of my treasures, they surely videotaped it and uploaded it onto YouTube with the heading, “Watch Fatty Teacher Leave School and Almost Drop Two Boxes of Cupcakes Exactly 32 Times”. I can just see the comment section now: “Damn, she dropped her phone, purse, bag of whatever, and her keys, but she didn’t drop the cupcakes-no words”. That would have been the nicest thing said.
When I finally got home, lugged in all of my shit, along with my prize, I felt victorious. I made it home, and not one cupcake was injured.
My boyfriend was aghast that I brought two boxes of cupcakes home, as he shares my love (and obvious addiction) of anything remotely sweet. He, too, envisioned us sitting on the couch, in our fat pants, devouring them all. All he had to say was, “Babe…” and it all became clear. I have serious problems. We did NOT need 8 cupcakes, like at all. The cherry on top: my boyfriend then asked me, “Why didn’t you put them all in one box?” Good God. Not only am I fat, I’m a fucking genius too.
So, to address how I began my summer vacation in a Good Samaritan way, I put all 8 cupcakes (in two boxes) out by the dumpsters in the alley, for the bums. Almost daily, we have homeless people digging in the dumpsters. All they ever find is moldy spaghetti leftovers and black bananas. Last night, one lucky vagrant came upon a gold mine. I’m such a saint. You’re welcome.
Here is the proof:
And, the proof that our local homeless people have more smarts than a teacher. Whomever took the cupcakes likely transferred them all to one box. Doh!
So, there you have it. I have started off my summer on a positive, healthy note (I won’t mention that I attended our school’s happy hour, devoured a food truck Philly cheesesteak, and ended the night with a Double Caramel Magnum-I can only give up so much!)