I Was Told There Would Be Donuts...

...I have some word vomit. So, whether it is a good thing or a bad thing-here is a post. I have a little downtime today so, yep. Observations on swimsuits. First of all, they are required in most pools. But the ocean doesn't mind. Which made me consider not taking one on the trip. A woman who goes to Florida without a swimsuit? Blasphemy you say? No, sanity, actually. You see...while I have preached on about mirror avoidance-when you have to be in front of people other than your awesome husband in Lycra and spandex-ON PURPOSE...the mirror is kind of important. You have to try on the things and look at the "things" in the mirror to make sure that you don't look like someone might mistake you for-say a---beached whale or because it is Florida...a manatee or something. But, here's how I know that I won't be mistaken. My Lycra water resistant material and fat container is actually black with white polka dots. You don't see many whales or mana...

...I go to Florida. Not the rapper who wants his whistle blown and wants girls to come to his house. The actual state. My step daughter is getting married and it's going to be a great 5 days. But I have to fly. Yay. I'm um...not a good flyer. That anxiety thing, and all. So, in case you were wondering why I haven't posted much-there you are. Busy fat girl. And I lost my part time job last week...it ends on May 4th. Go me. Between job hunting and getting ready for the trip and a plethora of other duties...it's been a crazy few weeks. So, nothing profound or really even interesting to post. Although, I am taking my laptop-so there may be a possibility of a post while in the sunshine state- on any downtime I may have. With pics. The job hunt resumes next week. I got my toes did today...all Frenchie style and beach ready. And bought all of our travel necessities tonight...including a slew of magazines to distract me from the fact that I am 50, 000 fee...

...standstill. The diet isn't going well. And I wish I had a reason for it. My first concept was...weather. Yeah, weather. We all want spring. We all want it to come-for real. Not just throw us a bone for one or two days with warmth and sun-but come, unpack the bags, and fucking stay put. And believe it or not-weather helps. 1. When it's warm and sunny you want to do more. So you actually do. You move. As for me, I don't belong to any indoor gym. I don't like them, for one...and for another-I probably wouldn't go as often as I need to, to justify the cost. Know thyself. So, I need nicer weather to want to actually do the things. 2. When you are indoors more...you get bored. And what follows boredom? Eating. Unnecessary eating. Snacking and then feeling bad about snacking. And then feeling bad because you feel bad. It's all so 80's cocaine commercial. Yeah, I said it. 3. Nice weather brings a lack of clothing. Shorts, tanks, etc...And typically ...

...is real. Because, the story of my Life is told in images. Good times. PS...hope your Monday doesn't suck, cause they typically do in some way. More later. XOXO, Chubby.

...he was so penniless and forgotten that in his obituary, they called him Henry Melville. I write. You have read it, here. So, you know. Sometimes I use sarcasm to be funny and even-shocking. But, my point always gets there. For many years in my late 20's to mid 30's I wanted to make a career out of this writing, and aspired to be a fictional character by name of Carrie Bradshaw. Yes, I know. As I said...she is fictional. But, while Candace Bushnell may have written her-it was the life of a character I wanted, and not the life of the writer. I wanted to live in a big city, wear fashions that stunned on the big city sidewalks. I wanted to wear $1200. a pair Christian Louboutin's and drink Cosmopolitans and have this amazing group of friends with equally successful careers and money to burn. I wanted an alternate life. Far removed from where I was-literally. At the time, I measured only the bleak portrait on the outside looking in. Single mom, lonely, man-les...

...called Unveiled. It's on Netflix, and there's nothing else remotely interesting there, tonight, and hubby is at band practice. I would never watch this with him around...mostly because. Sigh. Judgment. And he would be right to judge. Cause...it is ridiculous. Basically, it's about these soon to be married ladies who are so ridiculously uncomfortable with their appearance that they resort to thousands of dollars in plastic surgery on needless things... "Like...Oh my gawd...my hairline is too high-my forehead is HUGE." "Ugh...I'm a size two, but I had a baby and my stomach has some extra skin!" "Eeks...I have dark circles under my eyes...and I need hundreds of hours of dermabrasion laser therapy to erase them!" And all I can think while watching is-I'm fat. Ok, here's the deal. I'm a chubby chick because I put myself here. My love for food and abject laziness far outweighs my love for looking hot. I had years to...

...are trying to kill me. Literally and figuratively. The other day, I was eating a delicious piece of baguette from Panera. It was small...relax. And I was eating it with a strawberry poppyseed chicken salad-which was good for me. Don't judge. Anyway, the piece of bread was delicious...with the right amount of snap and crusty on the outside and delicious soft gluteny goodness inside. Basically, what Panera does best-the perfect baguette. I was thoroughly enjoying this combo when suddenly-the crust of the bread separated on one spot and literally pinched the corner of my mouth-drawing blood. No, I'm not exaggerating. It made me bleed. This delicious thing, which I practically worship and love so much-attacked me. Now I feel like a victim in my own home. A victim of a vicious carbohydrate attack-an unwarranted one. I reasoned that maybe it was self defense, I mean...I was EATING it. But still. Doesn't a true carb live its whole life to please me? Susta...

...a Facebook status update. The post was about friendship. I have friends. Who doesn't? Ok, maybe some people don't have friends...like The Grinch, and Scrooge, and Satan, and Donald Trump. Wait...Satan and Trump are the same person. My bad. You get my point though, right? Years ago, I was given a nickname. My nickname-Mother T. Reason being, because I acted a lot like the mom figure of the group of misfits I was surrounding myself with at the time and because...Sigh...I am NO nun. (It's a dumb and ironic moniker all at once, work with me) Anyway, the person who gave me this nickname was a local musician. Someone I really did consider a friend. He was the very reason I met my son's father and really...a large part in why I have my Bubba. Mostly because he introduced us and the rest is history. I can barely stand my son's fathers stupid face now-but that's entirely another post. Speaking of stupid faces, I no longer like the guy who gave me the ni...

ain't for sissies... Ooh. Two posts in one day. How, you say? How IS this possible? I have word vomit days-it is what it is. I may, or may not surprise you occasionally with more than one post-dependent on my mood, and ambition. Today, you are getting it twice. The words that every married man wants to hear... Wrong context...get yer minds out of the gutter. And now, word regurgitation. So about a year ago, my hubby started meditating. Yeah, I laughed too. My original thought was: Oh God...not this hippy dippy flake-fest. Anything but this. But, he liked it. And it really did seem to lessen his stress levels a bit. It was noticeable enough. But, I was still me. Cynical . A bitch. Then I had the heart attack. And I learned one of the factors was my anxiety. I was actually diagnosed with generalized anxiety disorder after speaking with the hospital head-shrinker while being treated for my heart attack. I was leading a life of fear...to quote the lady. She was ridicu...

...in a rut. Typically-September through February, I spend it coaching high school speech-which is my passion. I love everything about it and usually wax on--at length about the season, the love of the kids, the triumphs, and the failings. I love it...truly. But could it be truly considered a career? No. Not really. It's part time and seasonal work. This part time seasonal work limits my availability to work a full time job, or even search for a career in my field of degree-marketing. As a young'un, I wanted to be either 1. a teacher, or 2. a Dallas Cowboy Cheerleader, 3. an actress, or 4. the owner of my own business-restaurant or bar. (this dream started later, in my early 20's after working for SO, and I mean SO many idiotic managers and owners) Obviously after the chubby set in-the dreams of becoming a professional Cheerleader were squashed. You know, pushing 175 after graduation-it wasn't an option. And really...can you imagine? Nope...me neither. The ac...

...new to report, really.  The diet has not been going well. I derailed this weekend, and am really only partially back on track.  I slipped a lot today. Some Thin Mint cookies (you horrible, evil, little girl scouts put upon this earth to grant diabeetus to poor unsuspecting fat women like myself...I hate you all-Satan's devil children-you put evil magic in those cookies, and it's not fair. I hate thee.)  Saltine crackers. Yes...I said Saltine crackers...I needed the salt to balance the sweet cookies, what? At least they were whole wheat!  Taco salad for dinner...with the fat well drained from the 97/3 ground beef.  All veggies and a nice limey salsa verde.  I had 1/4 of a whole Pepsi today...and some licorice.  So yeah. Not doing the greatest, in all seriousness.  Truly...I think it's hormonal. My face is a tragic pizza right now and I'm not sleeping well.  So there you are.  Either way, you know...I should b...