Not to Put To Fine A Point On It… But I gots me a Bee in My Bonnet.

Ok it keeps coming up, doesn’t it? The topic rears its ugly head all the time. I’m a chunky monkey. Yep I went there. A lot of my nearest and dearest are too. So I feel OK talking about it here. It gets me down sometimes. But it’s out there, waving like jiggly skin on my upper arm, waving to and fro. I wish it didn’t. But it does. My thighs rub together, it’s the first place that show signs of stress when I wear pants. (we are for now, and for the sake of my sanity- leaving my junk in the trunk, or well where it belongs- in the back seat)  I didn’t become this way overnight. I was kind of always here. I remember the first time it was really brought to my attention, I was young. I lived in Texas. I hated it. I hated it. I hated it. A babysitter asked me about a dimple in my shoulder blade, and I didn’t know why it was there. My mom did. She said I had it because I was chubby. And all chubby girls I know and love, and who are so beautiful to me inside and out, just cringed! She said in a very matter of fact tone, like just saying something straight on was the best way to address what had become a rather large elephant in any room I occupied. My poor mother. She’s chubby, too so like sisters of the sword, its ok for her to talk about it. To laugh at it. I laugh about it, and at it all the time. I also cry over it, hide from it, deny it, punish myself for it, and feel deeply shamed by the fact of it. Like, I am less deserving of love, of acceptance, of decent looking clothing. I can’t wear a tank top on Its own, ever. NEVER. I have, and I hated it, and even did about a month ago, once more telling myself it would be OK. OMG it totally wasn’t. And if you love me and are my sister in law with nicely shaped arms and try to talk me into one again when I  am premenstrual and emotional and I am standing inside a Lane Bryant where you are working and you are encouraging me that I will look “HOT” in it. I love you, but at that moment, you must die. PLEASE NOTE: *I would never kill my sweet, adorable, kind, beautiful, elegant sister in law AND she has impeccable taste. * (Liv, you’re the sweetest, and I forgive you for letting me run around park city in your darling necklace and earrings that I have yet to return to you, and will as soon as I remember them and you at the same time when we three are all together and that tank top layered with other tank tops that day!) And since we’re going to talk about her here, you should know… I think she sees me as beautiful and is one of the few who don’t necessarily “see” me in terms of size and probably sees others as the wonderful, complicated, fascinating, dynamic, sexy Chunky Monkey’s they are. And Liv, I love you for it. Please never ever change.  May I please have a pair of your rose colored glasses, girl? You’re fabulous as you are. But, I digress… I cannot wear a tank top, pull off looking even presentable in a bathing suit, and never, and I mean, never can I wear a mini skirt again. I think I maybe could have pulled it off 12 years ago before my knees got chubby! What the hell is that about?  Any other of my beautiful sisters of the sword experiencing the chubby knee syndrome?   I think we’ve all been there, haven’t we girls? You don’t even want to get me started on things no body type should be caught dead in.

Yada, yada, I’m fat. And like most women who are, I have a deep and complicated relationship with everything- but especially food.  I love and hate you. Food. Angelina Jolie has a tattoo on her ribs that says in latin “That which nourishes me, also destroys me”. ARE YOU EFFING KIDDING?! If she’s struggling I may as well follow that chick from that movie Millionaire Baby and get myself a case of oreos and a deep fryer and get off the sidewalk we call life.

Currently I am dieting. And a diet for me includes, well a cookie run, I can’t pretend I didn’t do because I have an eye witness to the event. Paul the Nerd, and my dad were both present for that one. And I also got and should confess to it now, chocolate and nut covered ice cream cones, they’re the Kroger brand. And they’re calling me like a siren beckons a drowning sailor. I do likes me some pirates. Thank You Johnny Depp. So as I digress, which I often do, a friend of mine refers to this speak-ease of mine as stream of Consciousness. I didn’t have any last night. I will tonight, maybe. But I love rice, and all vegetables, and chicken, and every freaking kind of chocolate anything. I love candy. I’m 33 years old and often must stop and get candy. I like popcorn. And Cindy makes this to die for super buttery garlic and parmesan cheese covered popcorn that will make your mouth sore. It’s soooo good. And Tiramisu. And deep fried macaroni and cheese balls from Cheesecake Factory. And Janet, more a friend of a friend who made this chicken and caper and pasta thing, mmmm, mmm,. And her salsa (origination means nothing to me when seeking good salsa). And ice cream. Lifetime Love Affair. I have never married, and if it would humiliate my daughter, but not emotionally scar her, I would totally marry me some ice cream! Hello, Lover, we meet again, and again. And you always give it to me so good. I love it.  I really am serious. Can you imagine the gift registry? Paul the nerd over at Smith’s can help you select my favorite black label toppings, I like my ice the way I DO NOT like my men- dirty and with lots of flavor. Add me some Private Selection butterscotch, and some marshmallow topping, chopped nuts, cherries, fudge packed and fabulous. Btw, Paul I am seriously adding you as a friend on FaceBook. Dude, I dig you for real, and would like to get to know you and your tattoo artist better. And if you’re slurpee loving girlfriend I conjured from my own imagination doesn’t mind, maybe we can hang out and play Mario Kart on the Wii.


Speaking of being FAT and that damn Wii! I hate it. Wii Fit told me my physical shape was that of a 62 year old woman! What the hell? It can suck it and die for all I care! Stupid Wii.

I think I am cranky and hungry. It’s lunch time, ladies. I love you but I gotta see a man about some … err right diet, oh who the hell am I kidding, some ice cream!!

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