Notice to Vacate

Dear Morgan,

I, Richard Lee Smith*, of sound mind and body, hereby am giving my 60 days of vacate notice. I, as of January 1st, will exit apt. 307.

*Name changed to protect those who make a conscious effort to ensure soundness of body and mind before submitting Notice to Vacate.

As if we needed another reason to love this lady…

JK Rowling, the woman that brought us Harry Potter, adopted a retired racing greyhound.

This woman rules. RULES!

The Results Are In

I had my annual exam to make sure the various Morgan bits are all in working order. Here is a brief summary:

Age: 27
Height: 6′0″
Weight: FAT

Blood Pressure: PERFECT!
Cholesterol: PERFECT!
Blood Sugar: PERFECT!

In your face, Fat Haters!

Because I’m feeling rather crusty and cynical…

…and I need to snap out of my “Everyone Sucks” mentality, I’ll tell you about my humiliating excursion to Starbucks a long time ago that ended in much warmth and fuzziness for the universe.

I had had a really shitty day at work, and was really, really looking forward to a Venti Mocha.  I was frazzled and pissy.  I don’t get Starbucks much, because it’s so damn expensive, but when I get it, I enjoy the hell out of it.  I ordered my mocha, and to my horror and dismay, I had NO form of money in my purse.  Nothing.  I think I had about a dollar in change in there.  I asked the barista to wait a few minutes and I ran out to my car, hoping that the Change Fairy had left enough in there to pay for my Mocha.   No such luck.  It seemed that the change fairy had only left about 12 cents in pennies, and I looked everywhere. 

Completely embarassed, I went back in and apologized to the barista for making him make it, as I didn’t have any money with me.  He smiled at me, held out the mocha and said “Here.  Take it.  I’ve had days like that.”  “Oh, no, I couldn’t. I don’t want to get you in trouble.” “No, really, we’re allowed to now and then, and it looks like you need it.  I’ve forgotten my wallet before.”

Angels sang, mocha was consumed, and my faith in the universe was restored. 

So share your stories where you were the recipient of a random act of kindness, and we can all feel the love!

~Ellie

Fat Friday - A Fat and Fabulous club

In Sparks, Nevada, there’s a club we can all love. 

I’m of two minds about this, though. 

#1 - Oh, sweet.  A club where I can wear a slutty sleeveless top and not worry about my fat arms or my big ass and just go out, get drunk, dance and have fun with my friends without the “Everyone is staring at me” feeling!  SWEET!

#2 - People suck.  Why do we even need a specifically Plus-friendly club?  WHY??  Why can’t I go to a regular club and have fun without feeling ashamed (or be ignored) because of the way I look?  Yeah, yeah, okay, self-confidence blah blah blah esteem-cakes, but dude, unless I have Glamazon-levels of self-confidence, I’m going to feel pretty damn uncomfortable being the only fat chick in a group, especially if I were single.  God, I hated dating.  I love my best friend, but she’s built like Jessica Rabbit.  Whenever we went anywhere, I practically blended into the walls, or WORSE, I had to field drink orders and dance invitations for her.  Oh, that sucked.  And she wondered why I hated clubs.  Oy.

Thoughts, anyone?

~Ellie

The reasons I don’t drop my children off at the monkey cage at the zoo.

Even though my kids are still on the “Let’s Put Mommy In a Nice Padded Room” crusade, they occationally do things that make me keep them around.  A few examples:

- I am raising a very small hypochondriac.  For every boo-boo my three year old encounters (and they are legion, as there is no “slow” button on his engine) he claims that he needs to go to the doctor, or needs medicine.  When we had to go to the hospital so that I could get a stress test that Dr Overreaction ordered, he was in heaven pointing out Every. Single. Doctor. in the hospital.  “It’s a doctor!  It’s another doctor!  It’s ANOTHER doctor!”.  While it’s true that I might possibly whisper in his ear at night while he’s asleep that he wants to be a doctor when he grows up and support his mother in her old age, I don’t think that can be the root of his love of all things in a long white coat.  I think it’s the stickers he gets.

 - In our house, Old MacDonald raises exotic and rare game, including ghosts, owls, zebras, zombies and snakes (zombies are particularly fun.  “With a braaaaains here, and a braaaaaaaaaaains there”).  When asked what parrots say, the three year old said, “But parrots just talk.” The 8 year old gave me what I was looking for which was, “Polly want a cracker. AWK!”. 

- My eight year old, when he is not busy trying to add to his little brother’s bruises, is a HUGE cuddler.  I’m not one for the sleep snuggles, but during the day, or at TV time, the Older Kid will just plop down on a surface and be adorable and stare at me with the biggest brown Bambi eyes you’ve ever seen until I go cuddle him.  My three year old is too busy making sure I don’t get my deposit back on the apartment to cuddle.

- Three year old boy who demanded to have his toenails painted pink + husband’s facial expression = priceless.  Add to the fact that said boy was wearing about nine of my necklaces when Daddy saw him and you get something money really can’t buy.  I live to torment my husband because when our oldest was a baby and his hair got too long I put it up in butterfly clips I had handy to keep it out of his eyes.  Husband was Not Amused.  

-When I stubbed my toe in the dark this morning on one of the kids’ giant toys and launched into “DAMMIT, mmmrrrfff mrfff mrfffff frrrrrrnnngg mrrffff (I clapped my hand over my mouth)” the youngest went “Did you hurt yourself, mommy?” “Mrrrrfffff!!!!  Yes, Mommy hurt her toe.” “I’ll rub it!” And he bent down and rubbed my toes for me.  Okay, that’s pretty damn cute.  He avoids the monkey cage another day.

~Ellie

Fat Friday - When did Halloween get so slutty?

I was trying - really trying! - to track down something viable for the fat girls to use at Halloween parties that seemed both well-made and not straight out of the special box of role-playing costumes kept at the back of the closet. Good luck!

What I found over at Anytime Costumes features a respectable mix ranging from shapeless crap (toga, angel) to the more interesting but so pricey items (I did like the Queen of Hearts), and a lot LOT of the “sexy costumes”. Not for the boys, just for the girls. Not surprisingly. They even put it all on an easy-to-access page so you can go directly to your preferred collection of Slutty Supergirls, Naughty Nurses, Fuckable French Maids, and Pussylicious Pirates. How about a Perky Viking? (Like, totally! Pillaging is like, awesome!) Where is my Luscious Librarian, I’d like to know!?

There is a time and a place for the Fuckable French Maids. That time and place is behind closed doors where you get to enjoy the attention of one or more skilled lovers that know all your sweet spots. For this, I wish you all happy costuming. But I think the hypersexualization of a holiday that - don’t forget! - has it’s roots in pagan rituals and celebrations is beginning to move beyond the pale. Would you take your kids out trick-or-treating dressed in your Sultry Secretary costume, and as the kids gather up their goodies you stick your ass out and ask your neighbor to give you the paddling you deserve? Um, no. I love seeing the little ghouls and goblins running about, but I feel like they are being drowned out by the Princess Jasmines and Cinderellas. But what is far scarier than even Disney’s hostile takeover of the world is that fact that little pairs of eyes are watching us as we celebrate the holiday, and we’re training our little girls to do it now. Charm School Witch? Sad!

Fat Fridays is supposed to be a positive spotlight on fat, but I had to take a moment to point out what I see becoming a disturbing trend in Halloween fashion. It seems that if you can’t afford the good stuff, then it’s best to go DIY. Having said that, I’ll leave you with my favorite of the Halloween for Fat Girls Search, The Queen of Hearts:

What do you think? Is Halloween really Halloween anymore?

Like a gastric bypass without all of the fun painkillers.

Because you’ve all been waiting with baited breath for my newest pregnancy ailment, pull up a chair and let me tell you all about how much the Bun in my oven hates me. 

I’ve developed severe morning sickness.  In my third trimester.

At first, I wrote it off as “Ohhhh-kay.  Well, maybe it’s all of the hormones?” and went on with my life.  Then I developed a new, superfun symptom.  I can’t eat.  Really.  It’s a texture thing.  I take three bites of something and I’m gagging because I can’t stand the feel of it in my mouth.  I’m living on smoothies and vitamins right now, and have been for about 10 days. 

So I’m not eating and sick as a dog.  See?  Didn’t I tell you it was like bypass?

I finally broke down and called my OB’s office and told them about it, because I was really starting to worry about the state of my throat and teeth, as my throat hurts pretty much all of the time now.

What was their response?  They blew me off.  They said as long as I’m taking my vitamins and getting 1700-2000 calories a day (and let’s not forget the fact that you’re supposed to boost your caloric intake a bit while you’re pregnant, and if I go by the 2000 cals a day guideline, I’d be ON A STARVATION DIET DUE TO MY WEIGHT.  Fuckers.).  , not to worry.  Ummm, okay.  Seeing as how my calories are pretty much only coming from THINGS I DRINK, I’m supposed to live on smoothies, juice and non-diet sodas?  The fuck?  What about the high acid content in juice and soda? 

Now, my question is this…if I weighed 100 lbs, would they be taking me a little more seriously?  If I weren’t a big fat fatty, would this be a cause for concern?  My guess is yes, since I’ve seen thin women with severe morning sickness have pumps of anti-nausea drugs inserted into them so they won’t barf.  So because I’m not exactly going to be dying of starvation soon, it’s not a cause for concern?  How about my mental health, doc?  How about the fact that it feels wrong to not eat fruit and vegetables while I’m pregnant?  And the fact that I’ve developed an aversion to food, is it not important at ALL? 

To shut me up, they prescribed the anti-nausea drug Zofran.  I tried to explain that there’s not much of a benefit, as I’m not nauseated.  I’m sitting there (not eating) and all of the sudden, I’m sprinting to the bathroom.  No nausea involved.  If I there were, I’d at least have a little warning.  As it is, I’m getting to the point where I’m terrified to go anywhere because I never know when the barf gremlins are going to strike.  I have about 10 seconds from fine to barf, and if I were in a store, I’d probably not make it. 

Morgan has offered to do bodily harm to my OB, which is awesome, but I’m afraid it wouldn’t do any good, as he really just doesn’t understand why all of this is upsetting me.

Sigh.

~Ellie

Fat Friday - Confessions of the Compulsive

Joy Nash does it again!

Outed

An e-mail from one of my residents:

Found your blog….now you can’t write anything mean about me being your tenant. :)

I knew it would happen sooner or later, but I’m not too worried. I always change names to protect the stupid. (I’m talking about YOU, oh, (Barely) Functioning Alcoholic!). Besides, the resident that found this site is one of my favorites. She rules.