Fake Sun, Fat Rolls, Knee Slappin Funny (HNT)

Well I've never... Been the Barbie Doll type....


Yah, yah, yah.... it's true. I'm a full-figured, plus sized, curvified mama.

This fact doesn't bother me so much really. I'm hot for a curvy beyyyach!

I mean, I'd like to get back down to a smaller size, but I have no great ambition to become a size 2 cupie doll.

No. Those days have long passed my big ass by. 2 kids and Taco Bell... a snowballs chance in hell of being Barbie in this lifetime.

Which brings me to my thoughts for the day....

I absolutely love when somebody says something stupid.

People can really come off with utterly hilarious blurbs and not even know it.

In addition to amusing me greatly, it gives me something to blog about.

Seriously, kids, I don’t make this crap up. And boy, did this one amuse me…

Now I quote what I heard a chick say the other day:

"Tan fat is so much prettier than white fat."

I literally did a double take at her standing next to me as I was checking into the tanning bed.

It took everything in me not to fall over in the floor and gut laugh. Well, because I'm a sarcastic bitch.

What?!?! Tan fat? Pretty?

Hello, sweetheart. I’m here tanning, too.

And I’ll be honest. I see nothing pretty about tan fat as opposed to white fat.

Trust me on this.

I'm a walking ad for Lane Bryant fashions for women, so don't think I'm not saying something I wouldn't follow myself.

But when I look in the mirror there is nothing that makes me think that if I go and get a tan on my fat rolls that it will look any better.

Seriously, if you are fat and you have fat rolls, say like a Shar Pei puppy, it doesn't matter how tan it is.

Do you really think that having tan parts intermingled with the white fat rolls is pretty?

God bless the stand-up tanning bed, you can put your arms up in the air and alleviate those pesky white spots.

The only thing one can do to make ones fat rolls look prettier is cover them up with the proper clothing. I do.

And..... Happy Half Nekkid Thursday!!!!

Santa's Sexy In His Jockey Shorts

You know, for the past decade, I kept thinking to myself "Damn. Christmas seems to come earlier and earlier every year. I thought it was only in my head because I am simply annoyed by how commercial Christmas has become.

I took note, back in August no less, that as soon as Wal-Mart took out the swimming pools and other summer items... in came the Christmas stuff. IN AUGUST! Before even halloween had time to come and go.

Pisses me off, the money-grubbing devil stores peddle as much as they can for as long as they can. And what really slays me is the fact that, everytime I'd pass through lawn & garden, even back in late summer, there were people buying that shit up. It wasn't on sale, it was just out on display and for sale at regular prices.

Now I don't know about you, but I certainly don't want my house decorated with little elves and the like that early in the year. I'm the type that as soon as Christmas is over, I'm ready to jerk the ornaments down and sling the tree in the yard.

What I think should happen is, since the the stores have all the Christmas crap out that early, the Salvation Army should round up sexy bell ringers and have them out there in the heat of summer in a Santa-like underwear or a swimsuit made of red velvet with white trim.

BAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH, Humbug.

Blushing Bride - My Ass!

There are two things I've seen women be extatic and smiling through. One is planning a wedding, the other is childbirth.

I've decided that unless you have unlimited fundage and a perfect body, planning a beautiful wedding is nothing more than a super big charlie horse right in my ass.

I guess I really shouldn't be complaining, because things have finally started to work out as they should. With the exception of the minister backing out, of course.
But, today I was supposed to have my dress fitting with the alterations lady, Angenette. Well, my underwear that we ordered was supposed to be here on Friday but it wasn't. This is a thing which resembles an archaic chinese torture device used to suck the breath out of women to keep them quiet! I have no idea where the fat is supposed to go once we get me into it, but supposedly it'll smooth one out under a wedding gown.

So, I had to call and reschedule with Angenette for next Monday. Great! Problem solved. Not quite.

Today, the torture device arrived in a pretty little box. Apparently the people who sewed the size into this thing were smoking some good shit at the time. Because not only was it too small, but it fit my boss rather snug and she's a tiny chick. Way tiny, like a size 8 girl. Now I'm no rocket scientist, but I would think if something is supposedly my size, but it fits her and it fits her snug, what the hell size am I supposed to get????
That was the only thing that made me feel even slightly less like a cow.

I talked to Anthony whilst he was out on a ring shopping spree in tears. God bless his heart, he said "Piss on it, don't wear underwear."

What Chaps Diva's Ass?

Ok. It’s Saturday morning. I just woke up. My eyes are glued together. My nose is crusty. My chest is full of crap that just doesn’t want to come up. In short, I have yet another sinus infection.

Did I go to the doctor to get his verification of my diagnosis? NO!

Why?

Because the cost of going to the doctor these days is just ridiculous. Besides the fact that I was only well for 10 days after the last time I paid my doctor office co-pay and $200 for a dufflebag full of medicatons that obviously didn’t do it for me.

The only perk I can think of today is that I’m high as a kite on the refill of codeine cough syrup Dr. Dude (hehe, I know you love that, Zacque) called in for me last time. Thank God for refills.
I feel for those in this great country that aren’t fortunate enough to have some kind of health coverage. I mean hell, I’ve got it and I still find myself in the sorry ass position of making a choice between getting well or paying the damn rent and feeding my kid.

It’s ridiculous when the most prosperous country in the world has somewhere around 23% (I know they are lying about the numbers) of its citizens walking around with no way to get well when they get the crud, or worse have serious health complications.

I don’t have it all that bad. My $200 sick day would have been near $325 had I not had my shitty insurance.

A friend of my family has a heart issue and needs a transplant. He’s a great man. Works hard every day. Yet, because he is self-employed he’s screwed. No insurance. And basically, until an Angel of light (anonymous) arranged a monetary donation of a huge sum, he was told “So sorry, go die”. Well, maybe it wasn’t quite that harsh, but he could get no help.

As soon as some cash was waved around, it was amazing how fast that he was placed on the list of people waiting for a potential heart donor.

Anyway. I just figured since it’s Saturday morning and I’m still sick (again), that I would pitch a tizzy fit about how we should be better taken care of.

Unfortunately, even having a fit over it isn’t making the crap in my chest break up and go away.

Awww: The Big Bad Terrorist Got Her Feelings Hurt

From The Week:

A convicted terrorist and murderer who was released from prison last month is suing a German tabloid—for calling her a terrorist and a murderer. Brigitte Mohnhaupt, 57, served 24 years in prison for nine murders she helped carry out in the 1970s as a key member of the Red Army Faction, a leftist terrorist group.

This poor chick. She spends 24 years in the German poke. I mean, she only took out nine folks when she was part of the Red Army Faction, right? As if it isn’t sad enough when one ends up spending all of one’s prime years in prison. But to get out, and to be ready to try to move on to a new life, say one where she can peddle Mary Kay products, only to find that the media is making fun of you for being such a sucky terrorist.

I mean, her ego must be completely shot. So, she decides to sue the rag that’s “defaming” her reputation as a kick ass terrorist, not a sorry excuse for one.

Sorry sister. You’re an idiot. Put your big girl panties on and handle it!

Mother In Law

Mother-in-Law. Those three words hyphenated together have somehow become the monster in the closet. Simple meaning from the dictionary: mother of one’s spouse.

If it were only that simple, huh?

Granted, I am a Mother-in-Law now that my beautiful, eldest daughter has taken that plunge into marital bliss. *eyes rolled waaay back into the head*

Presently, my view is that I am the most wonderful, giving, caring, patient, non-homicidal mother-in-law out there. I do it for my baby girl. Otherwise I’m sure I’d be a horn sprouting, pitchfork shaking monsters hiding and waiting for that boy to come around screw something up.
But, not me. I assure you.

My ex-husband’s mother was the devil reincarnated in female form. I kid you not. She was scary right down to the evil glint in her eye and forked tongue. She would aspire to purposely make me feel like I was treading on thin ice. That was generally verbal. But did she stop there? No, she is Korean. Everything she would cook was flavored up with just about enough fresh chopped red-pepper to kill a two ton rhino. “Takey Diva some that”.

Sure, thanks. Let me get right on eating that. I love my gastrointestinal tract to be lit up enough that when I fart, I shoot flames across the room.

Looking back, I should have taken it as a sign. He has never, nor will he ever be anything but a mama’s boy. She buys his pants, his shirts, he boxers and socks. She does his laundry. No wonder the man moved back in with her when before the ink on our divorce papers was even dry.

What kind of man was she raising? I’m not all to sure about it, but I know she was in definite competition with me for his affection.

Good for her though. I got out of having to wash his vine ripened socks.

The above thoughts bring me to the following point, which was inspired by my favorite rag-mag.

Could one actually live with one’s mother-in-law on a more or less permanent basis??

I for one, would never even consider living with my significant other’s mother. Even if she was an angel just like me, I couldn’t do it. Two alpha-females in one house is a design for disaster.

I’m just glad to know that Tom and Katie are going through it too. Tom’s mom and other family members all live in the house with the happy couple.

Is Katie going to be able hang on?? She has to deal with Mr. Cruise, and his mother.

My thought is: No way!! I give them another year at the most if THE MOTHER IN LAW doesn’t get the boot.

Scientific Fact: Fat Floats

From Fox News:

A 35-year-old Orlando man can thank his 300-pound girth for helping save his life after he jumped off a cruise ship and drifted 20 miles for more than eight hours with a collapsed lung before rescuers found him in the Atlantic Ocean.

Regardless whether I knew my fat would float or not, I would not be jumping off of a perfectly fit rowing boat. That’s just lame. But, Michael Mankamyer did it. More than one witness has come around and said that “he jumped”.

Despite reports that he had “fallen” overboard, theoretically there is no way that could happen. It’s not like he was some tiny little thing that just slipped through the safety rail. No. This is a 300 pound fella.

Now, if you’ve seen the picture of this guy, the story might be explained. He just looks like that kind of goofy, attention-whore who will do anything to be in the class clown and/or the center of attention. You know, the college buddy who always got tanked before midnight and by half past, he was hanging naked from the roof of the frat house.
Jeez, buddy. Couldn’t ya have just talked all of your pals into a bad night of drinking and karaoke?

That’s it. I’ve made a snap decision to stop dieting and to stop going to the gym.
So, if on my honeymoon, I get tanked and take a wrong turn and fall off a big old rowing boat, I’ll be able to float around until they come back to find my fat behind.

He’s just lucky the Pirates weren’t out and about or he would have gotten so dunked for nothing more than being less than genius.