Tag: Eating

The World’s Gone Mad

Anyone else legit concerned about the toilet paper situation right now? If Coronavirus wasn’t scary enough, I now have to wonder if I truly will need to resort to wiping with an odd sock or some McDonald’s napkins. We’ve all seen the memes and we all laugh, but in the back of my mind, I’m holding it together just barely. All that spins through my brain anymore, like a record on repeat, is the worry I’ll have to just.get.in.the.shower.after.a.poo like a DAMN HEATHEN.

WILL THERE EVER BE TOILET PAPER AGAIN?

NO, REALLY? WILL THERE?

On top of the toilet paper chaos that is, quite fucking frankly, appalling and I’m embarrassed to be part of the human race right now, people are buying out ALL THE FOOD.

Like, does anyone think of others? Along with my dead cold fear I will soon start to whittle away to nothing, I’ve been close to tears thinking of the elderly people all around the world who are being left to fend for themselves. They can’t compete against Bubba Joe and Ultimate Karen with their 18 carts full to the brim with toilet paper that will last a lifetime while the remaining part of society that is sane would just like the normal amount of toilet paper. Mothers can’t even get wipes for their babies because these fools think their 18,456 rolls of TP won’t quite cut it.

So instead of being in the plane that was supposed to be taking me to Paris for spring break, I’m in my sweaty pajamas, wearing a hole in the couch with my ever-expanding ass, while I just sit and worry and worry and worry some more.

The real insanity, though, is how I’m scared we will starve while at the same time I’ve eaten through half our quarantine snacks in just two days.

In all seriousness, though, this virus and the absolute unraveling of society that is happening right before our very eyes has my OCD on red alert.

To try to combat the obsessions and worry, I’m trying to do my small part by staying in as much as possible. I know there are still people who think this is all a big over-exaggeration and then there are the people who are right- ahem- the ones who don’t want to panic but we realize it’s not all “business as usual”, and we know we need to flatten the curve LIKE LAST MONTH.

Whatever your opinion, shits about to hit the fan all over the world. I figured I better bring Fatty back for the time being because, I don’t know about you, but a bit of humor makes shit times feel a bit less shit. So in between my absolute freak outs, I’m going to try to channel my humor and find the bright side, even though it feels like hiding right now.

I’ll check back in soon to let you know how self-isolating is going after I’ve eaten all my snacks and the excitement of “It’s like we are in a movie about the end of the world” wears off.

Bye for now!

The Avocado Incident

You know how when you have a really stressful, crappy day the only thing that will make it better is massive quantities of carbs and a good angry conversation with yourself in the car on the way home?
Well, when you’re on a “diet” and all you have at lunch that even halfway resembles cake is an avocado (and it’s not even close to car convo time), that shit’ll do.
I brought an avocado for lunch with the intention of cutting it up and adding a few pieces to my Mexican-style salad.
After a morning where positively everything went wrong and after hearing some not-so-happy news, my emotions were conflicted and I was HANGRY.AF.
I almost forgot I even brought that damn avocado and didn’t recall my salad’s one saving grace until I had already choked down my plain lettuce and farty black beans.
I also forgot the butter knife I meant to take so I could cut said avocado.
It was almost animalistic what happened next.
I needed that avocado and not a few measly I-have-self-control-look-at me pieces.
I took the end of my fork and I just mauled that avocado like a savage until the skin was ripped to shreds and I could start inhaling the poop green goodness.
I sat and angry ate an entire fucking avocado.
And, it was a big boy, too.
Even when I bring healthy food options, I end up figuring out a way to royally fuck it up.
I need help.
Have you ever eaten a whole avocado in one sitting? Maybe I’m impressed/shocked/disgusted over something that’s not even a big deal. If not an avocado, have you ever eaten an entire *something* and then immediately felt like a fat bastard?
I need to know.

Apple Hill: Where Diets Go to Die

I’m about to embark, yet again, on the yearly event that single-handedly is the reason I’m fat. I’m hoping that while ya’ll are reading this, I’ll be on my third apple cider donut or nose deep in a sprinkle-covered caramel apple. Mmmm. Yes. 
Check out how I went ape shit last year at Apple Hill. 
I blogged last year about my time in Glutton’s Paradise AKA Apple Hill. This post basically outed me as a food whore. It’s not like we didn’t already know that with the type of posts I write, but this was my first post involving any type of visual proof. 
Since, I’ve been pretty IDGAF about what my pictures I post here and on social media portray.
I’m fat and I’m addicted to rainbow sprinkles. 
Get over it. 
So, without further ado, here are this year’s pictures of the annual Eat-Until-You-Are-Comatose-And-Then-Eat-Some-More trip. 

Aside from my “Oh Poop” sign, this is my favorite thing ever purchased at the Hill.
The first meal 🙌
If this were the only thing I got to eat the whole weekend, I’d have been good.
Attempting a sexy “Getting Down on My Caramel Apple” look.
This was how much I predicted I’d weigh after the Weekend o’ Gluttony.
Why are these so entertaining? We had to do all of them!
What a quaint, little creek.
 
We got to enjoy a beautiful view as we got stupid drunk at the brewery.
#cloudporn
The best Vanilla Stout EVA!
The offerings that we got to partake in, quite happily!
We tried to take a picture showing how sad we were that some of our girls weren’t with us this trip. Are we convincing?
The best sight in all creation. Apple cider crumb donut. I couldn’t even.
SPERNKLES!!
Would you think less of me if you knew I ate all of these in one morning?
When this llama realized I had nothing to give it, it had no time for me, and, I SWEAR I heard it say, “Bitch, please!”

#yolo
How you doin’?
Just sippin on my diabeetus juice.
In hindsight, an apple cider float AND a blackberry treat was overkill…
THIS is an Arkansas Black, and the only healthy thing I ate the entire weekend.
Purty
Chillin with my homies.
Wine tasting and hard apple cider-where it all went downhill.
So.much.quaint
Had my “sunglasses” been centered, this would have been THE PERFECT I’m-so-deep-but-adorable Instagram snap. Shucks.
Cute AF
I felt holding my baked treats up in the sky for a picture evoked an almost spiritual experience. It didn’t look lame at all.
Adorbs
We are HAWT!
All weekend I kept seeing a “pig hole” (what are these called?) and we never seemed to be able to do it. FINALLY, I got to be the pig. It was everything I had hoped it would be.
The last goody we ate before leaving Apple Hill. I was able to squeeze it in, because I had my fat pants on #prepared
And, because I wasn’t done being ridiculous, I decided I’d be an actual cupcake for Halloween. Here’s my attempt at being a cupcake for my students:

In ending, here is my promo photo for LuLaRoe leggings.  If you haven’t gotten sucked in yet, RUN…to the nearest pop up. They are the best leggings I’ve ever sucked my fat into. The.best.
Notice how stretchy they are. Notice how they delicately caress my bottom butt. Notice how busy they are so you can’t see my bumps and lady lumps. 

So, even after a weekend of eating my weight in food, I can still rock a semi-decent look. 
#winning

Namast'ay Fat

As I was standing in the line at the grocery store, wearing my “Namaste In Shape” tank, I pondered how bad it looked that I was buying two pieces of cake, a bottle of Moscato and a bag of Cheetos. 
I mean, I know people were judging the chubby chick buying, at least, 4,000 calories worth of junk, in a shirt that proclaims she’d rather stay in shape. 
I’d be judging me too. 
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not delusional. I know this tank doesn’t magically make me look like a yoga-obsessed health freak. As much as I’d like it to camouflage all of my lumps and bumps, and be the fat person’s version of the magical Cloak of Invisibility, I know it’s not. 

Apparently, my fake look-like-I’m-working-out-with-my-vices-joke pose is the same as my poopin’ face. For shame. Utter fail.

I just like the color and the fit. It doesn’t cling to my stomach and it doesn’t get wedged between my back fat rolls. 
It’s the perfect compliment to my fat pants. 
It just so happens to make a false statement.  Extremely false. A bold-faced lie. 
I have no idea what I’m doing. I’ll just lift my beer and the remotes a few times and count that as my fitness for the day. BTW, WHAT’S WITH MY FACE?

I’ve never been fit. Literally never. I’ve gone from baby fat to teenager fat to adult fat. 
So, as I stood, balancing my evening of fuck-it-I-had-a-bad-week, I got to thinking about all of the ridiculous things I’ve done in my favorite tank o’ lies:
1. Walked to 7-11 to purchase chocolate and peanut butter cupcakes. At least I walked. (If you’ve never had these cupcakes and you like peanut butter, you’ve been majorly missing out.)
2. Stood in line outside at our neighborhood burger and wing stand. Drool stains. No bra. Zero fucks. 
3. Sat on the couch with a paper towel bib as I balanced half a watermelon on my lap.
4. Made a tray of no-bake Reese’s diabetes bars that I hid in my sock drawer and inhaled over the next two days. 
5. Rode the elevator up two flights of stairs to the gym, where I just used the bathroom. 
6. Laid on the couch with Netflix and three beers, not getting up to do the dinner dishes  or even to get first dessert. 
7. Drove, not even two blocks, to mail a letter- a letter officially cancelling the gym membership I had for a year but never used. 
It’s been super fun going over all the fun I’ve had in my trusty tank. Maybe, at some point, before it becomes more chocolate syrup stain than cotton, I’ll wear it to exercise. 
Nah. 
If y’all ever see a shirt that says “Namast’ay Fat”, let me know ASAP. 

Some Teaching Truths

In honor of Back to School, I decided to drop some fun teaching truth bombs (Also, I’m swamped this week and list posts are the easiest #sorrynotsorry). Even if you’re not a teacher, you’ll likely relate. If your job is high stress, but also high reward, you’ll for sure relate. Because I really should be labeling all the things instead of writing a blog post, let’s just begin:
1. Unless you’re crazily devoted to a fitness plan or you have a superhero’s will and control, you will eat every carb in your house after a bad day. 
2. Forget about the college “Freshmen Fifteen”. There’s such as a thing as the “Teacher Twenty”. Or, sometimes, the “Educator Eighty”. Also, this can happen during year one or year ten. 
3. You will eat your weight in mini-size chocolate candy. Sometimes in one day. 

#goals

Source
4. If the day after Valentine’s/Christmas/Easter clearance candy has been cleaned out, you can thank a teacher. 
5. You will get fat. So fat.
6. If food isn’t your happy place (congratulations on not being “pregnant” every year), you will drink copious amounts of wine and at some point in your career, consider rehab, but only the facilities that are more like spas and only because it would be the best sanity-saving vacation ever. 
7. If it comes down to toilet paper or a shiny new pack of Expo markers at the end of the month, markers win-hands down. 

Source
8. You save straws, bits of fabric, tissue boxes, and one 3 inch piece of string, because it all just may come in handy at some point. 
9. They never come in handy. 
10. Your teacher cabinet/closet/cupboard is a portal to Narnia or another dimension, because it’s where all of your supplies go to never be found again. 
I Googled “messy teacher cabinet” and this popped up. Two things: 1. Ya’ll lyin’ and 2. Ain’t nobody got time for that. Maybe someday I’ll be brave and share my Closet o’ Shame.

Source
11. No matter how poor you are, you always find a way to buy $80 worth of crap from the Target Dollar Spot. 
12. No matter how frustrating your students can be sometimes, you’re fiercely protective of them when they’re criticized by another teacher who doesn’t know them as well as you. 
13. Your students are your family. Your tribe. You love them. Every year, your heart opens up to allow for 20 more spaces. 
14. You crop dust. It’s only fair. 
15. If you weren’t an emotional person or crier before becoming an educator, you can kiss your shyness/pride goodbye. 
16. You will cry over everything.
17. You will have to kindly remind your students that, “Maybe someone needs to go to the restroom” after toxic waste lunch bombs are dropped all afternoon. 
18. If your student’s book order money is short, you pay what they’re missing without a second thought. 
19. You only go to the bathroom during the day once a week, but during that exact time, admin will walk in. It’s basically a scientific fact. 
20. Your teacher look is such a work of art that an eyebrow raise, lip purse, and nose wrinkle can mean 875 different things and no matter the day, the kid, or the teacher friend, the message is always received loud and clear. 
Trainer at inservice day says, “Pick a partner”-Teacher Bestie and I look at each other like…

Source
Tell me, who was your favorite teacher and why? Or, make me laugh and tell me an hilarious school or teacher story. 

Flashback Friday: Be Cool, Alright?

I’m re-blogging this post for #fbf, because I almost wrecked my diet the other day with Boston Market Cinnamon Apples and mashed potatoes. Like, it was so.close. Too close. As in, I circled the whole of Boston Market five times, drooling, staring, frothing at the mouth. I can never be seen there again. So, I’ll just live vicariously through my past foodscapades. Is it bad that this post doesn’t make me feel shameful, but hungry for macaroni and cheese, and nostalgic for my bacon grease sweats? 
Dear Boston Market Yeller, 
My boyfriend and I visited your establishment this past Saturday, around 6:00 PM. You greeted us by yelling, “Welcome to Boston Market. What can I help you with?” from behind the counter, at least 15 feet away, before we were even in the door. While the gesture was, thoughtful, semi-courteous, it was a little overwhelming, as every single individual in the restaurant turned to watch us come in. I’m sure realizing it wasn’t the Queen of England entering, but a couple in their fat pants, was quite disappointing. Had I known I would have been welcomed so warmly, I would have worn a more supportive bra and my fancy sweats, the ones without paint and bacon grease stains. 
I want to say I appreciate your tenacity, but it just came off as abrasive. My boyfriend and I ordered the meal for 3, and we really didn’t appreciate your need to repeat this fact no less than 10 times to your coworkers and what appeared to be the lady behind us. Yes, we were two people ordering the meal designed for three people. We had on elastic pants, was that not evidence enough that we were planning on eating heartily? Also, I would like to point out that it was highly probable that we had an adult or two waiting at home. We could have been being thrifty and mindful of our diets. This could have easily been the case. It wasn’t, but it could have been. 
Furthermore, we were taken aback by your method of checking customers out. Instead of doing it yourself, you yelled our order, repeatedly, across the entire kitchen to the young man, who must have been hard of hearing, because Sparks heard what we had for dinner, while he didn’t. After the 3rd time this young man had to ask you to repeat yourself, perhaps it was time to just take over. I’m so glad that our choices, the most fattening sides possible, were repeated for all to hear. Just for future reference, when two people come in, in oversized sweatshirts and they don’t take off their sunglasses, they would like their poor life choices kept between you and them, not shared with the entire restaurant. 
I am only writing this letter to you because you have potential. The passion you have for your product is evident, but I would suggest you work on your voice level and tact. You have zero tact. None. I would like to assume that most people visiting a Boston Market have serious plans of wrecking their diets. These people are already low, don’t assist them with their impending demise. Do you want to be an accessory for death by cookie dough? I don’t think so. Just be cool, alright? Sheesh. 
Signed, 
The Couple Who Bought a Meal For Three, and Ate It ALLLLLL 
***As an aside…
If hearing…
“Mashed with gravy, Mac and cheese, and cinnamon apples for THREE!”
“How many?” 
“THREE!”
“You said, mashed, apples, and spinach?” 
“NO, mashed potatoes, gravy, MACARONI AND CHEESE, and cinnamon apples!” 
“OK, I think I got it. And that was the meal for three?”
“YES, the meal for three”
….doesn’t make you want to reevaluate your life, I don’t know what will. It’s time for a change. My “last resort” pants are tight and I’m certain my fat is trying to suffocate me in my sleep. Help. 

Cup O' Crack 

For this week’s #fbf, I decided to re-post my Cup O’ Crack craziness. Currently, I’m on spring break and steadily eating my way to This-Isn’t-Even-Funny-Anymore-Get-a-Grip town. On my way home from brunch yesterday, I almost stopped at the store to get the ingredients for Cup O’ Crack. Thinking it wasn’t wise to have more than one serving of Cup O’ Crack in the house, I got a king-sized Reese’s and a bag of BBQ sunflower seeds. When I got home, I ate my loot, fell asleep on the couch, and woke up an hour later to sunflower seed shells everywhere. EVERYWHERE. I can’t even right now. So, how about I just wrap this up and get on with it…
When I’m stressed, worried, tired, happy, celebrating, mourning, or basically, whenever I’m breathing, I eat. I eat in a big way. I’m not proud of this, but it is what it is. Until I figure out how to separate my emotions from food, I’ll continue digging into a pint of Ben & Jerry’s Peanut Buttah Core after a shitty day.
Sidebar: If you like peanut butter, you must go, right now, and buy this. I’m not shitting you. Slap on your wrinkly jeans, get your coat, car keys, and get your ass to 7-11. It’s that good.
So, I’ve recently taken to enjoying nightly, almost-instant microwaved marshmallow heaven, and its mind blowing. 
Let me tell you just how fucking fat I am.
Are you ready?
OK, I pour enough mini marshmallows to fill a large mug about halfway. Then, I get my Chex Mix ready (I’ve thought about using something far tastier, like Fruity Pebbles, but those would most assuredly send me into a diabetic coma. So, I go with the healthier, smarter, er…least ridiculous option of plain corn cereal).
Pro tip: Only microwave the marshmallows for about 30 seconds. Any more than that and you will have a sticky, gooey explosion of epic proportions. Then, your boyfriend will attempt to microwave his leftovers and there will be an altercation. Apparently, marshmallow and spaghetti don’t pair well.
Once the sweet, sugary, pillowy clouds of fluff are nicely melted, I pour in about a 1/2 cup of Chex Mix and mix carefully. Gotta get those little tasteless shits covered in goodness.
Then, I eat that shit.
It’s sticky, sweet, crunchy, warm, satisfying. It satiates Martha*.
Oh, didn’t I tell you I’ve named my stomach fat? Her name is Martha. The fucking bitch.
When I’m eating this Cup O’ Crack, I’m in another world. I’m riding technicolor stripper boot-wearing unicorns. The sky is dotted with cupcake clouds and cotton candy snow floats down around me.
No, that’s crazy.
I’m actually sitting on the couch in my stretched out skull-print pajama pants, watching Drop Dead Diva, with marshmallow strings hanging from my chin.
Such a glamorous life I lead.
Jealous?

I wasn’t even playing. THIS is Cup O’ Crack!

*Apparently, my fat used to be called Martha. I must have forgotten I’d already named her. Eh. Martha…Bertha…pretty much the same name.

WTF Wednesday #2


Source
For this week’s installment of WTF Wednesday, it’s all about those dick diets that we all love so much (In no way am I insinuating that a particular body part is for lunch. I am using ‘dick’ like ‘jerk’. Got it?)
If you ever wondered why dieting sucks so much and it’s so damn hard (shit, I really shouldn’t have used the word ‘dick’, because now every other word has another meaning), it’s because diets taste freaking disgusting. 
For real. 
If I could, without guilt or consequence, continue eating marshmallow fluff and Nutella sandwiches for breakfast, till my dying day, I’d be a very happy, agreeable, and stress-free person.
But, because Heaven on Earth sandwiches make me fat and unhealthy, I get to eat unsweetened oatmeal and farty hard-boiled eggs for breakfast now. 
Yay. 
Along with finally trying to get my eating back on track, I’ve recently purchased organic colon cleanse pills and doTERRA Slim and Sassy. 
Because anything that’s quick and easy is my game. 
Let’s start with the colon cleanse. 
Never have these two words together ever sounded like a good time to me. Sure, it sounds like it’s maybe a good idea, because it’s supposed to rid you of the nasty sludge that gets built up in the intestines. But, the actual process of a colon cleanse? 
Just no.
When I bought these pills, I specifically asked if they’d make me poop my pants. I was assured it was a slow, not unpleasant process.
As much as I’d like to share some embarrassing story about how I was lied to and that I did actually crap my pants at school, it’s just not what happened. 
In fact, nothing has happened. Like, nothing. 
Maybe they are magic pills and they cleanse unknowingly, invisibly, magically. Or, I got scammed. 
I could have performed a more successful cleanse by eating from the shady roach coach that parks across from the strip club downtown. 
Next, let’s discuss Slim & Sassy by doTERRA. 
First, I have to make it clear that I am a hardcore fan of doTERRA essential oils. I know and love a couple consultants, and they are why I’m addicted to the amazing Past Tense for my headaches. So, I’m in no way dissing the company at all. 
But, Slim & Sassy is straight up “I’ll Just Stay Fat & Nasty”. 
This morning, I excitedly dropped a couple drops in my water, did a sniff test, and nervously took a tiny sip. 
I CAN’T EVEN EXPLAIN THE FLAVOR. 
It’s like your water has been tainted with grass-flavored peppermint grapefruit bark. 
And, now, my brand new “Boss Lady” metal water bottle will never be the same. 
Needless to say, S&S is not my jam.
Not only did it taste just incredibly odd, it mildly burned my lips and then left them numb.
In the middle of my light and sound read aloud, I started slurring my speech and drooling down my chin. 
As a teacher, this is just not a good look.
I don’t think I can stand trying Slim & Sassy again. My gag reflex is activating just thinking about it. Anyone want an almost-full bottle? 
In ending, I’m literally a walking billboard for the fact that almost all diet “tricks” do.not.work. 
The only thing that works is to stop pounding cake into your fat gob as if it were the end of days. 
This is why I struggle, because feeding Bertha* tastes a million times better than tainted water, sulfur eggs, and grass pills that just make my belch-y breath smell like fertilizer. 
#cakeme
*Bertha is my belly 

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.