The Dieting Chronicles of Dumpy Von Marshmallow Waist and Duchess McMilkshakes: Weeks 3 & 4

A week or so late and a lot of dollars short, here we are with our Thanksgiving update. We might also be late posting, because the diet struggle bus got caught in traffic in Eat Everything Even When You’re Full and Fat Food Town.

Shit doesn’t work…

How was Thanksgiving? Did you eat your weight in pie?

A: Thanksgiving was SO good!! I didn’t eat my weight in pie but I drank it in wine and other various cocktails (evidently, I forgot I was 36, and had to be up real early the next day). There only ended up being 8 of us, but we ate and drank and laughed until no noise came out. I had everything I wanted and didn’t feel guilty for a single second. It was legitimately the best day I’ve had in months!

When you get to laugh like this with your family, you’re winning at life (plus, it’s a great ab workout).

K: Damn near. I started out the day trying to be really disciplined, though, so I made diet pumpkin cinnamon rolls that are supposed to be only 3 Weight Watchers points per roll for breakfast.

Spoiler Alert: My boyfriend has requested that if I promise cinnamon rolls again they not be made with Greek yogurt and pumpkin purée.

He was not a fan, and if I’m being honest, they were not worth driving to my parents’ house to borrow a rolling pin because I don’t own one and then having to knead weird Greek yogurt-y dough.

After the disappointment of not-sweet-at-all cinnamon rolls, it was game time when dinner rolled around. I basically stuffed myself silly. I barely even came up to breathe mid-bite. I guess what I’m thankful for this year is not asphyxiating at the Thanksgiving dinner table.

I inhaled this plate in record time. It would have been embarrassing had I not been so amazed/impressed with myself.

How is the diet going, by the way?

A: Soooooo I kinda hate it. Not the diet itself; Weight watchers is fine, and probably the least sadistic diet in the industry at the moment. What I hate is the fact that I can’t behave like a normal person around food, so I have to call on other people (who also can’t act right) to tell me what to do. It’s bullshit. You want to know what else is bullshit?! If I want to shop at normal stores, and not have Omar The Tent Maker design my wedding dress, I’m going to have to follow some sort of program for the rest of my life. I could sit and eat an entire container of Oreos just thinking about it.

K: I think I’m doing half alright, actually*

*This was more than a week ago.

RED ALERT. NOT DOING ALRIGHT.

I’m struggling HARD. The abso-fucking-lute worse time to start a diet is during the holidays? What was I thinking? This was my dinner and drink of choice this past Friday night:

Fried and more fried. Not a wise choice.
I almost count this as medicinal after the week I had, so…

And then it just kind of spiraled out of control the rest of the weekend, because once fries tough my lips it’s OVER.

Le sigh.

Was it hard to get back on the stinking, sucky ass diet horse after the biggest eating holiday of the year?

A: It took me an extra day to get back to it because Friday I felt like a bag of smashed assholes, and I needed grease and sleep; rinse, lather and repeat. Then, I made the mistake of weighing myself, and magically found it much easier to get back to it. On any given day I can fluctuate 2-4 pounds just in water and how full I am anyway, so let’s just say the number wasn’t great. For the record, I would do it all again (hangover and all) because it was good for my soul to be with the people I love, and disconnect from the day-to-day nonsense for a few glorious hours.

K: See above.

What are you hating right now about this diet thing?

A: In theory it’s a great plan. They make healthier foods zero points in hopes you’ll choose things like eggs and veggies over a 12 point donut for breakfast thus staying fuller for longer, and giving your overworked, over-caffeinated body some of the things it actually needs. The problem is, I find myself skipping healthier options in order to make room for the naughtier ones. A glazed donut is 12 points. My favorite yogurt with almonds and a scoop of protein is 8 points. The donut always wins.

K: Three things:

1. I hate leftover chicken with my entire being. The second you reheat it, it takes on a whole new flavor that activates my gag reflex. In order to force it down, I drown it in BBQ sauce. It used to be “free” to dip your chicken in the sweet sauce, now it’s not. Because chicken is a “free” food, I’m eating chicken all the time. I’m just gagging as I eat every meal. It’s great.

Literally me, cooking chicken, knowing it’s gonna taste like garbage when I eat it for lunch the next day.

(I’m still dipping my chicken in BBQ sauce and not counting it and Weight Watchers can suck it.)

2. How much spaghetti squash can one person eat? Because, I think I’m at the lifetime limit already. IJUSTWANTSOMEFUCKINGPASTAALRIGHT.

3. Cauliflower rice is not rice. Like, not even remotely close to being rice. Frankly, I’m appalled.

Anything you’re loving?

A: Love is a pretty strong word to describe a diet. I love that I might not die of diabetes if I lose 40 more pounds. I appreciate that my pants fit better. Which brings me to another point: How did I ever wear said pants before this, when they are still so tight now? I think they were holding on for dear life and no one had the heart to tell me my cellulite was showing. But yeah, there’s no love here. Just broccoli and my attitude.

K: I love the idea that I am heading in a healthier direction. I love that my pants are a teeny, tiny bit looser. I love that I look a little more you-know-I-don’t-think-she’s-pregnant-I-think-she-just-ate-a-burrito-for-lunch. Also, I LOVE eating poached eggs for breakfast instead of a bagel smothered in cream cheese.

(The last one is a lie.)

Walking past the bad stuffs we really want bad, trying not to scream

How are ya’ll doing? Anyone trying to diet now? How’s it treatin’ ya? Let us know in the comments!

Throwback Thursday: The Five Stages of Thanksgiving 


Source
This is me limbering up for The Big Meal.

We all know about the five stages of grief, but did you know there are five stages of Thanksgiving? No? Well, sit down and unbutton your pants. It’ll be a bumpy ride along the lumpy gravy train to Food Coma Town. All aboard!

Anticipation
Stage one begins at the first sight of a fallen leaf. This glorious sight means pants weather. Fat pants weather. Fat pants weather means Thanksgiving is a-coming. With Preparing-for-Thanksgiving-Fat-Pants, comes the ceasing of any and all grooming below the belt. The growing hair provides warmth as the nights grow colder. Also growing, is the instinctual need to add a layer of blubber to the body for insulation. Diets begin to fizzle out, PSLs begin to replace protein smoothies, and an anticipation for what’s to come makes even the most sensible of individuals start to prepare their stomachs for the absurd amount of food that they’ll be stuffing into them.
As the days get shorter and the big day gets closer, the more competitive of eaters begin training their stomachs for the massive meal with marathon eating that includes, but is not limited to: the better part of large cheese pizzas, pints of Cherry Garcia, and entire bags of wasabi kettle chips.
Dreams are feverish, wanting, longing.

Delight
Stage two occurs during the day in question. The anticipation of mounds of gravy soaked carbohydrates and creamy cocktails to wash it all down has finally come to fruition. Despite a meals-worth of gherkins, deviled eggs, and shrimp dip, plates are piled high and inhaled with wild abandon. Oh, the rapture. The exhaltation. The pure delight.
Food is consumed at an alarming rate, and fabric is pushed to max capacity.

Disgust
Somewhere between buttering a fifth dinner roll and the unbuttoning, unzipping, and unraveling of anything constricting, a realization that “filthy pig” doesn’t even come close begins to weigh on the psyche. For only a split second, “Maybe I should stop?” crosses the mind, but someone says “pumpkin cheesecake”,  and any and all semblance of humanity is lost amidst belches tasting of turkey giblets.

*Delirium-
This is a bonus stage that only the truest of fat pants champions ever reach. This is when you become truly drunk on food. Instead of blood, you’ve got Grandma’s famous gravy in all it’s sodium-induced glory coursing through your veins. Incoherent babbling and hallucinations are common. If you’ve ever thought you were eating a piece of pie, but upon sobering up, you realize you ate half of a fabric leaf napkin ring, you’ll know you reached this challenge level.

Additionally, if you become food, you’re delirious af.

Depression
Stage four generally comes during the requisite food-induced coma directly following the unadulterated eating frenzy that went down like something normally reserved for the animal channel. After realizing that a five gallon bowl of jello salad has been demolished by only one person, in a span of four hours, a deep depression is expected.
The depression stage is especially bad if pant buttons are blown off due to the sheer force of an expanding gut, or expensive Spanx can’t even, so they jump ship.
Phrases like: “What the actual fuck is wrong with me? You promised yourself you wouldn’t eat six potatoes worth of mashed potatoes again!” And, “Did I even enjoy that half a pie I inhaled?” is common.
Usually, one must ride out this disastrous depressive stage at home, on the couch, with plenty of Maalox, hobo hair, and possibly Depends.

Amnesia
The last stage of Thanksgiving is amnesia, as anyone who survives Thanksgiving forgets the killer heartburn, diarrhea rash, and shame in less than a year’s time.
Unlike the five stages of grief, the five stages of Thanksgiving are cyclical and incurable.
Some scientists and theorists believe that there is something about the falling of leaves, the arrival of layered-clothing-weather and the availability of pumpkin spice everything that sparks something animalistic, ugly, and shocking in usually sensible individuals.

Source
Enjoy drenching your plate in gravy. Take pleasure in numbing your fat pain receptors with booze. Be mindful of how delicious pumpkin pie feels sliding down your gizzard. Enjoy the glorious gluttony!

Happy Thanksgiving from your favorite Fatty!

WTF Wednesday: When Do I Ever Get a Cupcake?

I’ve been deciding it’s high time to get my act together, diet-wise (Want to guess how many times I’ve said that exact statement? Hint- a fuck load). I haven’t quite come down from my vacation eat-everything-I-possibly-can mode. I’ve totally been living the vacation food life sans the walking miles everyday aspect of that life, so the pounds really have the ability to pack on.

Literally me every time food was in front of my fat face on my trip.

I’ve probably gained at least five pounds since I’ve been home. I have no idea, though. My scale is propped behind my bathroom door with two inches of dust on it, because The Boyfriend doesn’t sweep behind the door, if we’re pointing fingers here, AND because I’m Anti-Scale. When my jeans fit again, I’ll know I’ve lost weight.

My blog buddy and sister from another mister, Cinzia, suggested we be diet accountability partners on MyFitnessPal.

Because I love the ever-loving-shit out of Cinzia and because I finally deleted my Weight Watchers app that I’ve been paying $20 a month for for the better part of a year, yet wasn’t even using, I was happy to agree.

We arranged to share each other’s food diary by way of a passcode. Essentially, she was able to see all of the ridiculous shit I put in my mouth and I could see how many pieces of lettuces she ate and miles she ran in a day.

It was great fun. Here is a rundown of some of the things I might have said to her about her diet:

“Wow. No dessert again. You’re doing that everyday now? Is that a thing?”

“You ran five miles? Are those the same kind of miles we have over here in the states?”

“AREN’T YOU EVEN HUNGRY?”

Now, here are some things she probably said (I can’t be certain. People say a lot of things to me everyday. So…):

“Girl, did you really eat a donut for breakfast on the first day of tracking?”

“You did so good all day. Well, except somewhere around ‘Taco Bell Nachos and Large DQ Cookie Dough Blizzard’.

And…

“What exactly does ‘small bite of entire Cheesecake Factory Chocolate Hazelnut Crunch cheesecake’ mean?”

Basically, I’m utterly failing.

Here’s the deal, and I’m just gonna be real forthright and candid with ya’ll.

When do I ever get a cupcake, though?

With MyFitnessPal, you get the calories you get and you don’t throw a fit (Except, I did throw a fit. I threw a full blown fatty fit, complete with legit crying over not getting to eat a chocolate cream pie * ever again).

This is why these kinds of diets and eating plans don’t work with me. I need to know that eventually I can have a cheat fry or two. Or, that the cupcake I inhaled on one of my students’ birthdays doesn’t mean my entire diet for the day/week/month is derailed.

I need some wiggle room, ya’ll.

I’ve mentioned quite a few times the success I had on Weight Watchers (like, 50 pound-weight-loss-success).

This is why:

You get extra weekly points.

This may sound like an excuse to eat what you shouldn’t on a “diet”, but hear me out…

If you strictly follow your daily allotted points, your weekly points don’t hurt your progress.

They don’t make hurt your progress, ya’ll.

As long as you track and don’t go balls to the wall insane, you can lose weight while enjoying the occasional french fry or 20 or the odd cupcake or three.

So, what I’m really saying is restrictive af diets aren’t my jam and life is way too sucky to not eat cupcakes.

I mean, right?

So, if you’re reading this, and I kinda think you are, I have a question for you, Cinzia…

Will you be my Weight Watchers Girl Friend?

I totally will only be a little sad if you want to stay with MyFitnessPal since he’s done a body good. I just don’t think he’s that into me and I miss my cupcake points.

Now, I just need to find the willpower to sign back up with Weight Watchers and count my points without cheating, and I’ll be on the right track to losing this is-she-preggers-or-just-fat belly.

The struggle is real, folks.

What diets or food plans have worked for you and if you say paleo or keto totally works without cheating ever, I want your proof! For realz, show me it’s doable and I’ll maybe consider it…

*whispers* No, I won’t.

Missing Proper Scones With Clotted Cream and Jam Something Fierce

Ya’ll, I am really missing being on vacation. Not only do you get to visit amazingly beautiful sites AND escape your worries and the mundane crap that “regular” life comes with, you get to eat EVERYTHANG. Vacation food calories are always zero, even when smothered in mayonnaise. Especially then.
I decided it’d be fun to share my food pictures from my recent vacation. I made it a point to photograph as much food as I could, because my idea of what a good vacation is is eating with wild abandon and zero guilt. Obviously, I didn’t snap a pic of literally everything I ate, or we’d be here all week. Behold, some of the best and most interesting things I ate inhaled (in chronological order):

How’d our flight from Reno to Denver know we were going to the Netherlands? Way better than a package of four broken mini pretzels!

Literally, the second we got off the shuttle and we dropped our luggage off at our houseboat, I went looking for these. Patat Frites are literally everything I’d hoped they’d be.

My first time trying street Kurdish food and I didn’t get the shits! This woman is crazy talented. I have no idea what it was we ate, but it was amazing!

This is the stuff of my food dreams, man. Blocks of cheese bigger than your head. *faints*

The fresh fruit at our neighborhood food market was tempting, but I, of course, went with the fried potatoes and mayonnaise sauce. Totally the right choice.

Wait…what? Shut up. No.way.

After consuming this one beer precisely two hours after arriving in Amsterdam (and after 12 hours of travel), I promptly fell asleep right there at the bar.

Homemade eggs (that you don’t refrigerate) with zucchini from the market and Turkish coffee. Toto, we’re not in Kansas anymore.

A waffle with powdered sugar, right in front of the ‘I Amsterdam’ sign. Heaven.

Except, they don’t serve coffee there. Vewy twicky.

Ya’ll, this is Kinder-flavored gelato. I’m drooling and shaking like an addict just thinking about it.

This is a cheese sandwich. Literally, just cheese and bread. No mayo, no butter, no chutney. Literally, just cheese. Just bread. It would have been the most boring sandwich in the world except that that was the finest cheese I’ve ever eaten. That bad bitch didn’t need any conflicting flavors hiding its delectable flavor. I could go on about this sandwich, but this is getting weird. I’ll stop.

We got a free Heineken after the stroke-inducing strobe light tour. We may have gotten more than just the one free drink.

Dutch pancakes, or pannenkoeken, are nothing like American pancakes, but they ARE delicious! Savory and sweet varieties here.

This literally looks like dog food packed into a patty, but I assure you, haggis is freaking delicious. This is a haggis roll that we shared. I hate sharing.

Celebratory we-somehow-found-our-first-Scottish-house-stay-despite-being-packed-like-sardines-in-a-too-small-car-and-we-were-newbie-wrong-side-of-the-road-drivers wine.

We thought we were buying a pork roast, but it turned out to be “bacon”. It was still pretty damn tasty.

The no-refrigerating-eggs thing was pretty strange to get used to, but I’m convinced they taste better than eggs in America.

Marks & Spencer tea at a very cold Stirling Castle. M&S is EVERYTHING. I miss it so hard.

The cold is never a deterrent when it comes to ice cream. This, folks, is a strawberry ice cream cone made with Scottish cream and the finishing touch-a Flake for added flair. Perfection. Just gorgeous.

We had no idea how to eat these. Do you heat them up in the oven and eat them with syrup? Are they eaten cold and plain? We never could decide how to do it, so, instead, we let them get moldy (which doesn’t take long in such a wet and humid environment).

We got bread with our fish and chips. Just a plain piece of bread. I found this really amusing.

Our first traditional fish and chips was in Stirling. They weren’t bad, but the lack of seasoning was a bummer. I always felt like an asshole heavily salting and peppering everything I ordered.

This is a Victoria sponge muffin I got at M&S. It was the best muffin I’ve EVER had!

It’s an acquired taste. It totally tastes like orange bubblegum. Right, Lorna?

This picture hardly does the sandwich any justice. It was goat cheese and roasted red pepper and one of the best sandwiches of my life. The soup was Moroccan vegetable and was divine, as well. All of this deliciousness was found at a small cafe on the shore of Loch Katrine in Scotland.

This is a cherry Bakewell tart cookie. It was just as delicious as it looks! I still have dreams of the sweet treats I had.

Black pudding. I tried it. That is all.

Whisky tasters. Not my jam, but, when in…Edinburgh.

Strawberry Scottish cream at Edinburgh Castle. I couldn’t get enough.

Delicious dining and drinking at Hector’s with some awesome friends.

My Scottish friends brought us Scottish treats. We demolished them way too quickly. Not pictured is the Scottish tablet. I’m legit addicted and am planning on making some at home. It’s straight up a diabeetus delicacy.

Tea time on the Royal Britannia

This was not exactly what I envisioned when I ordered cheese fries. But, cheese? Good. Fries? Good. It was all good.

All good bloggers hold their food up as if it were the second coming just for a good photo op.

This is a proper steak and ale pie. And, proper it was.

Tunnock’s Tea Cakes are LIFE!

A vegetation Scottish breakfast is pretty legit. Potato scones are AMAZING.

Scottish pancakes are seriously amazing. I’d trade in the American ones ANY DAY.

Have you ever seen a longer sausage ever in your life?

This was the day I wondered how far I could really push the sugar intake. And, I think the word is ‘glutton’, not ‘lush’…

Underneath those delectable-looking rainbow sprinkles is honey raspberry oat ice cream. AMAAAAAAAAZING.

I saw these everywhere. I always thought my sugar obsession knew no bounds. I could never let myself buy one of these. I’m still really regretting that decision. How will I ever know how dreamy they are now?

The beer was on point. And, on tap.

Remember how I mentioned Scottish tablets? Well, this is Scottish tablet ice cream. I almost fell down dead it was that good.

I discovered my love of shandys at The Corner House Hotel in Annan, Scotland.

The.best.mushroom.risotto.of.my.life

I ordered the vegetarian Scottish breakfast (because nitrates are a huge migraine trigger for me) and Mark, the guy running the hotel, kept asking me how my fake breakfast was!

The owners of The Stable in Brattleby left us a lemon curd cake that wasn’t just super kind, it was to.die.for!

I became full-on obsessed with hazelnut soya or oat milk lattes. I got one literally everywhere we stopped.

I found these almost-too-adorable-to-eat sprinkled donuts in Tesco.

Banoffee Pie at The Stables At Chatsworth House. It wasn’t until I got home that I put two and two together and realized ‘banoffee’ is ‘banana’ and ‘toffee’ put together. How clever (unlike me)!

When you think you’re being responsible by only getting a half pint, but then you end up getting four of them.

I met another fabulous blogger and friend at an amazing restaurant in Leeds that looked out over the city. These were some kind of ravioli and they were amazing.

This is a “whippy”ice cream with hazelnut sauce that I took a picture of in front of some important building in Lincoln. To be honest, I was only thinking about not losing my precious ice cream.

This was the best fish and chips we had on the trip. It only makes sense, because we had them at a local institution in the seaside town of Deal, England.

Day drinking on a Sunday right outside Canterbury Cathedral, but it was OK, because any behavior on vacation is acceptable. Duh.

The hipster avocado toast was alright, but cold pork pie with strange gelatinous filling is just not my favorite.

When in Cornwall (Please excuse my nails here and really, in every picture. I’m so embarrassed)…

We had a Pimm’s Cup right in front of Highclere Castle. Be jealous. It’s OK.

I would kill for an English scone served with clotted cream and jam!

A goat cheese tart and beautiful garden salad in Port Isaac. I really am having withdrawals now.

I can’t even remember what flavor this was because I was too bummed that my pic of my ice cream and the beautiful scenery would be tarnished by the cars in the parking lot. It’s a hard knock life for a loser Instagram addict.

I HAD to try a jacket potato with Heinz beans. It was fart- I mean- fantastic.

Just living the crammed-in-the-backseat-of-a-car-travel life. At least I had my Costa.

We almost missed our ferry to Dublin. Like, threw-our-luggage-dirty-underwear-flying-out-of-the-car-running-screaming-into-the-ferry-terminal almost missed it, so we all had a much-needed adult beverage on the ride over.

In a sea of gourmet, all-you-can-eat breakfast foods at our swanky Dublin hotel, what did I find to eat? Poop on toast? No, my friends, that’s Nutella. When spread onto toasted bread, it has magical healing powers (don’t tell anyone, but I also ate a waffle that same morning).

Guinness at the Guinness Brewery in Dublin? Duh.

The ice cream place at Kylemore Abbey closed before I could get a real ice cream. I had to settle for a freezer-burned Ben & Jerry’s ice cream sandwich. What will people think of me now?

This strange concoction of tart fruit and vanilla ice cream worked. It was so good.

There ain’t nothin better than putting your toes in the sand while you eat a “whippy” ice cream. Except when you get to do it at Inch Beach on the Dingle Peninsula…

These mussels we had in Dingle Town were magnificent.

The best fish cake I’ve ever, ever had!

I can’t believe my little trip down food memory lane is almost over. What was your best travel meal or treat? Let me know in the comments!

Tomato Poop

I have missed complaining about how fat I am (while doing fuck all about it) so much. So much.
I’ve been pretty focused on my travel posts, because of my trip coming up (in two months-cue the obsessive worrying about literally every possible eventuality), that my I’m-a-failure-at-adulting-because-I-can’t-be-assed-to-put-my-registration-sticker-on-my-license-plate-for-four-months-until-I’m-pulled-over-and-I-eat-entire-tubs-of-Cool-Whip-in-one-sitting posts have kind of been put on the back burner.
But, good news (or not, depending on who you are) I’m finally getting around to trying to lose some weight before my trip, so I’m posting a diet fail post!
I think I’d have really shocked myself and disappointed you all had I attempted to get my dieting shit together in a timely manner.
No, just as can be expected with Fatty McCupcakes, I’m due to depart the states in two months, so now, when it’ll be next to impossible to make much of a dent in my blobby body, I decide it’s finally time.
I’m a fucking genius and I’m winning at life SO HARD.
So, I think I’ve mentioned that I’m a hardcore fan of Weight Watchers. Not only have I had success on the program (I lost 50 pounds 10 years and 60 pounds ago), I’m not keen on restrictive diets that don’t allow me a fucking doll-sized piece of cake even.
I LOVE that I can basically eat anything (within reason and expertly portion controlled) and still lose weight.
However, with the latest WW program, the points are less and the good stuff is worth more. Sugar is more of a sin than fat now. However, there are loads more zero point foods (chicken, eggs, beans, fruit, most vegetables, plain Greek yogurt, etc.). So, I guess it’s supposed to be easier or whatever.
Y’ALL, I CAN BARELY EAT ANYTHING.
If I want to eat my favorite Naked granola with my Greek yogurt for breakfast, there’s no way I can have carbs for lunch or dinner AND eat half a pint of Halo Top ice cream (Halo Top, your deliciously sinful, yet low-cal ice cream is my SALVATION).
So, choices.
It really blows I can’t eat granola AND ice cream. It’s not like I’m asking for donuts and whole pints of Ben & Jerry’s, damn.
I’ve decided that I’d rather eat Halo Top and popcorn like a fat piece of shit in the evenings than eat carbs during the day.
Thus, I’ve had to get creative.
Tuesday night I had beef stroganoff over broccoli, ya’ll. BROCCOLI. I got to *enjoy* my broccoli masterpiece while my boyfriend ate his stroganoff with egg noodles. The fucker.
As if that wasn’t bad enough, we had stroganoff for leftovers last night and since I’d eaten all of the broccoli like a starving sugar addict on day five without the white stuff, all I had left were Brussel sprouts.
Brussel sprouts and stroganoff DON’T MIX. It was not my favorite.

Brussel sprouts are not pasta. As my boyfriend says, “Barfel sprouts are the devil’s nads.”
I’ve also had to get more creative for lunch. I’ve been eating nitrate-free salami, cheese sticks, and cherry tomatoes. I swear it tastes almost nothing like antipasto salad.
But, it’s not terrible.
Well, yesterday, my organic greenhouse-grown cherry tomatoes were still a little wet from when I rinsed them that morning.
I was absentmindedly wiping them off onto a paper towel as I popped them into my mouth, eyes glued on my phone.
When I went to wipe my mouth, I did a double take. It was covered in yellow-green-brown stains.

The offending stain

I thought something smelled funny. I knew it wasn’t that fart.
Wait.
That doesn’t look right.
Fuck.
I knew I should have scrubbed them, instead of just splashed water over them.
Oh.Gawd.
At this point, I was obsessively smelling my paper towel, while one of my students, inside working on make up work, kept stealing “What-the-hell” glances at me.
Then, I smelled my fingers, the inside of the tomato tub, and the paper towel 34 more times.
Poop. It smells like poop.
Instant fucking panic.
While I was wondering how long it’d take for the tomato poop to make me get sick and die, I messaged my boyfriend.
His response, “Baby, I highly doubt your tomatoes are covered in poop.”
Because he had to be wrong, I took to a Facebook group I started to get a woman’s opinion. I shared a picture of the paper towel and basically asked how long I had.
Then, I sat at my desk, just waiting to die.
Oh no. My stomach is gurgling.
I probably have some deadly intestinal disease now.
I better just be proactive and put in for a substitute.
I wonder if the hospital would like a heads up?
*ding*
I got a response to my picture from a very professional-sounding person who regularly grows tomatoes in a greenhouse.
The green-yellow-brown stains from the tomatoes were tomato tar.
I’m still not excited that I ingested something called ‘tomato tar’, but it wasn’t poop. It.wasn’t.poop.
Another near death crisis averted.
See what perils I am faced with when dieting?
#donutsdonthavetar

I don’t know who said this, but they are my people

Apple Hill Shenanigans 

This is a rant and a dedication. So, buckle your seat belts, people. It’s gonna be a bumpy ride.
After yet another carb-filled and merrymaking trip to Apple Hill, I’ve learned more than just how far I can push the load-bearing limit of my clothing or exactly how many fruit-filled pastries I can eat before my stomach implodes. I learned this year that:
1. People are assholes, even when they are surrounded by apple pastries, alcohol, and an endless assortment of exciting crap to buy.
2. Surrounded by said assholes, if you’re among non-assholes, you are far richer than the dick in the Tesla who thought it was cool to park in the pick-your-own apple orchard.
This Apple Hill year, I brought along my childhood best friend. We’ve legit been friends since we were two. Some years we’ve hated each other, but, somehow, we always find each other again.

This is the absolute epitome of our friendship over the years. Me, being a complete and utter tool and her, 1000% over my B.S.
This is us totally rocking the thirteen-and-awkward-af stage.
Thank GOD we discovered flat irons and tweezers!

The first time this friend attended our Apple Hill shenanigans, my mom almost lit the motel bathroom on fire trying to light a Hostess Sno Ball turned into a birthday cake fireball from hell. My aunt almost didn’t see her 45th year.
Since, my friend has admitted that her trips to Apple Hill without us are just not the same. 
We left for The Hill in the morning on a sunny, way-too-warm-for-fall Friday. Despite the fact that the weather report said it’d be almost 80, I wore a scarf and ankle boots, because, HELLO, it’s practically a basic bitch law that if you go to a pumpkin patch, you wear a scarf and boots.  Bonus points if the pattern on your scarf is chevron.
Our first lunch was spent at a popular spot, so it took almost an hour to stand in line and get our food. Because it was still early, the wait and the endless people didn’t affect my mood too much. 
I totally had my selfie stick and I wasn’t even ashamed, except I still can’t take a decent selfie. HALP!
 
Right after devouring a cheeseburger and garlic fries, it was sprinkled caramel apple time! It’s tradition!
SPERNKLES
 
#sprinklesporn

After I got my sprinkle fix, I was pretty much over walking around in the heat, looking at the same stuff, different farm.
While my mom and aunt looked at every single item, at every single booth, making friends with every single crafter as they went, my friend and I parked ourselves in the shade with an apple cider slushy.
We are sweating our balls off in this picture. Can you tell?
Note to self: apple cider floats > apple cider slushy 😑👎🏻
 
After way too much time in the sun and heat, we decided it was beer o’clock, so we headed to the Jack Russell Brewery. It’s the only brewery in the area, so it is a must-do every time we go to Apple Hill.
Without a doubt, every visit to Jack Russell is memorable, and this time was no different. 
This year, though, we decided that we very much dislike the people who own/run this establishment. They are rude with a capital bitch-eat-a-Snickers. 
Due to the unseasonably warm weather, the umbrellas were a hot commodity. After a table full of college-age girls near us had left, we tried to position their umbrella so we could get some shade. As we were trying (and failing) to make the umbrella grace us with sweet shade, one of the Cave Bitches (their meadery is in a cave-like room and they are serious bitches, thus their apropos nicknames) started going around closing the umbrellas.
Um, are you blind
This incredibly unfriendly lady wouldn’t know customer service or kindness if they each, in turn, smacked her upside her RBF. 
So, after being so kindly assisted with the umbrellas, we decided to just move one over to our table. In the process of doing this, we struggled a bit as the umbrella was awkward and there were quite a few trees. 
From the meadery cave, about 20 yards away, the Cave Bitch started screaming at us. 
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! YOU’RE HURTING THE TREES!” 
This terrible person couldn’t even crawl out of her rotting crypt to speak in a regular voice level or to, gee, offer to HELP US?!
I hope we ruined your tree, Cave Wench. 
I had had just enough alcohol to feel brave, so in order to not make a scene, we moved to the other side of the outdoor seating area and drank an ungodly amount of beer. 
Apple Ale- similar to cider, but not as sweet 😋
 
The next morning, it was Apple Cider Donut Time. Along with Beer o’ Clock and Cupcake Thirty, it’s one of my favorite times of the day! 
A friggin masterpiece
 
I was pretty much in heaven as I devoured my fried cake and coffee. But, then, some asshole’s dog wouldn’t stop barking. 
If you know me personally, you know I’m obsessed with dogs. I love the shit out of their drooly, adorable faces, but sometimes dogs can be left at home. 
I know that’s a novel concept for some people.
This particular dog, the one who majorly interrupted my enjoyment of the sound of my gluttony, simply could not handle the sight of other dogs. 
So, one must ask…
WHY THE FUCK DID YOU BRING YOUR OTHER-DOG-HATING DOG TO THE MOST CROWDED RANCH, WHERE OTHER DOGS ARE SURE TO BE FOUND? 
Because I’m an asshole (that’s Asshole speaking). That’s why. 
After this, I had a mediocre apple treat that contained, precisely, one slice of apple, bought a metric ton of fudge, and drank even more cider.
I mean, I love me some pastry, but just pastry is too much pastry.

When we were attempting to leave the 80th farm of the day, a woman, unearthing her child from underneath all of the crap she bought and was storing in her stroller, decided a fine place to do this was smack dab in the middle of the narrow roadway.
At this point, I was still hungover, sweating profusely, and had killer acid reflux from all of the apple I had eaten. 
I couldn’t even. 
After six hours, she was finally done unloading the stroller and we were able to leave. 
I may or may not have rolled down my window to thank her for making us late for more eating.
Don’t keep this fatty from her eighth apple brownie. Don’t even.
Despite the rude and pretentious people we encountered, the bullshit heat, and the unbearable indigestion, being with people who made my food baby bump jiggle from infectious laughter made it all worthwhile.
My favorite part of the trip was leaving the brewery, drunk and laughing obnoxiously at the spaceships we found by the Porta Potties (they were bee catchers). We piled into the car (don’t worry, my aunt was driving and totally sober and capable), excited for impending Chinese dinner (as if we had not had enough). My mom kept yelling, “Look out, Dana, there’s a car!” every time we passed every reflective sign on the road. I was laughing so hard, I could barely breathe, as I sang along (horribly) to Eric Church’s Springsteen, head back, staring at the endless stars in the sky through the moonroof. 
So, take that Idiot Dog Owner, Stroller Simpleton, and Cave Bitch, you were no match for 10,000 calories all from carbs, fabulous, but unnecessary junk, and 100% necessary-for-my-sanity ladies who know how to party. 
Apple Hill 2017 is one for the books. 

I won Apple Hill!

When I think about 17, I think about my best friend. 

Food Baby

Because I just got back from Apple Hill and haven’t given “birth” to my current food baby yet, I felt this was an appropriate flashback post. I have no shame…
Ya’ll…
I don’t even know where to start. 
I think there’s no hope for me. 
I try to be good. 
No. 
No. That’s a boldface lie. I’ll be real. I don’t try. Not at all. 
My “trying” is remembering to ask for nonfat milk in my venti salted caramel mocha. 
This past week it’s been fall break for us teachers over in my neck of the woods. Because I had no solid, established plans to go somewhere cool, I knew I’d be making the rounds at my favorite eating establishments. 
Because it isn’t fall break unless I eat my weight in carbs and almost slip into a diabetic coma. 
So, I thought I’d share with you some of the ridiculousness I put into my fat gob this past week. It’s like a really pathetic travel picture slideshow, but instead of pictures of me in front of the Grand Canyon, you get to see exactly why I’m struggling to button my new stretchy jeans. 
How fun! 
But, first, I have to share with you just how much of a lost cause I am. It’s been a minute since I’ve shared a diet woe or food foible, so it was bound to happen that I’d find myself knee deep in embarrassment or ridiculousness.
On Saturday, I attended a family member’s baby shower. I was super excited to go, because I heard that they were ordering bundtinis from Nothing Bundt Cakes. Their cakes are just ungodly good. They must use a metric ton of sugar, butter, and unicorn blood in just one cake. That has to be why they’re so good. 
I also heard that if you didn’t RSVP and you just showed up, you wouldn’t get a bundtini, because they were ordering just enough for the attendees and no extra. 
I made sure I RSVP’d by phone, email, snail mail, and telegram. 
It was so hard waiting for cupcake o’clock. Pure hell.
When the time finally came to have our bundtinis, it was utter agony to choose just one
I could have eaten one entire cupcake tier and still had room for a steak dinner.
Eventually, I settled on red velvet.

It was delectable, but quite small. I really needed another bundtini, or 7… 
There were still, at least, 15 little morsels of heaven left. I reported this interesting discovery to my mom. I told her I was most definitely going to eat another one. 
She said, “Well, what if some people haven’t gotten theirs yet?” 
To this, I responded:
“Ya snooze, ya lose, ladies!”
Cupcakes, just sitting out in the open, after a good 20 minutes, are fair game in my book. 
Still, it made me question the possibility of just grabbing one and eating it right in front of God and everybody.
So, I scoped the cupcake spot out for a good 10 minutes until the coast was clear. Once there was no one in sight, I snatched one, and made a beeline for the bathroom.
Yes, I felt the need to have more than my fair share of cupcakes, and in utter disgrace, I scarfed down someone else’s designated cupcake as I hid in.the.bathroom.


The fact that my gut is resting ever so elegantly on the counter is evidence that I didn’t even need ONE cupcake. 
#whenyourfoodbabyisbiggerthanthemothertobesbump
This short aside ended up being a little more long-winded than I had first intended. So, I’ll share my gluttonous menu from this past week in a separate post. 

Just sitting in line to get gas, taking pics of my food baby. 
*Mother-to-be: If you read this, know you positively glowed with happiness and impending motherhood. I, in no way, wanted to upstage you with my food baby belly. This was unplanned, unintended, and rather uncomfortable. Please accept my sincerest apologies. 

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

Autumn-Loving and Basic AF

Whenever summer starts to loosen its death grip on the weather, and crisper mornings start to require a little more clothing, I feel my heart become lighter, brighter. 
Surely, we all know, since I’m Fatty McCupcakes, that part of why I love autumn so much is because it means no more exposed chub. Hands down, autumn and winter fashion is my favorite, not only because more of my body is covered, but because I love what I get to cover my body in-cardigans galore, plaid scarves, and every type of boot imaginable.
Pumpkin-flavored-everything starts to be available, and my inner, wannabe-baker starts to stockpile sprinkles, sugar skull cupcake liners, and bags of baking sugar. And, sometimes, I actually get around to baking something delicious. 
Warm, rich stews appear in the dinner rotation, and suddenly, homemade hot apple cider sounds like a good idea. 
I start to purchase huge bags of candy for trick or treaters (no, these never get busted into before Halloween), and I start creating my next, too-involved Halloween costume for school.
So, essentially, I’m just like every other basic, white bitch, dusting off her Uggs. 
And, so-fucking-what? 
If it’s basic to love a season so much that you go hog wild on doing positively everything that makes said season fun as shit, then label me Basic AF, with a capital Chambray and Chevron. 
I don’t even care. 
But, if you love autumn and all that comes with it with every fiber of your being like I do, it’s likely due to something deeper than PSLs and artsy wet leaf Instagram shots. 
You probably had loving, involved parents  who pointed out the changing leaves and talked to you about why the seasons change. 
You likely had a family who took you to pumpkin patches to pick the *perfect* pumpkin to carve. And then you went home to make hot apple cider. 
Maybe your mom took you on Sunday drives in the rain, so that you could witness, first hand, the changing season in all its resplendent glory.
So, it’s settled. I’m a basic, but Canva-graphic-deep, autumn-obsessed bitch. 
I’ve said in earlier posts that when the seasons change, I think of Elko. I don’t know what it is about that place. Especially since I positively hated living there the better part of the first year. 
Still, after so many years, when autumn arrives, it reminds me of the beauty that is Elko. 

Ready for the deep, artsy wet-leaf-Canva-graphic part? 
Here’s what really sings in my heart when autumn rolls in with the dry leaves and fireplace smell: 
Muddy roads and slanted rain on dusty windows.
The smell of rich earth, wet leaves. An old heater. Burning wood. 
Heavy, low-lying clouds, blanketing brown sagebrushed hills. Wet, dark, slate.
The blue-tinged sunshine. Crisp blue skies. Orange, brown, red. 
The taste of cinnamon and cloves. Pumpkin. Yeast. 
Enveloping darkness and lighted windows projecting warmth and a story. 
This is autumn. 
This is autumn, bitch. 

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.