I know what you are all thinking…

It has been quite a while since I last posted, and I know that there have been rumors of “Oh, Fatty’s fallen off the wagon (wheel)!” and “I knew she couldn’t do it!”.   Well. No need to be rude. Fat people still have feelings!

Over the past couple of months, I have had my SIL’s family stay, the planning stages of a complete restructure at work (yes, it is unbelievable that someone would hire this mammoth of a woman! I guess my sparkling personality and hilarious jokes are worth my pay cheque!), my mother’s wedding <3, dramas with my BH’s job and the general day to day irritations of being an overweight blonde city girl.

So, to update you on the past month or so, I had Halloween dress ups at work (we dress up a lot… It’s a fun job!) and while I wanted to dress as a petite little Tinker Bell, I hadn’t yet lost enough weight, and had horrible images of looking like the love child of Kermit the Frog and Sally Struthers. Not. Hot.   So I channeled my inner goth, and went as Morticia Addams. I thought I had lost a bit of weight around the boobie area, but every single man kept saying: “Oooh! Elvira! Great costume!”. I guess maybe my shirt was a little low cut…….

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The Melbourne Cup was next, and I wore a cute (but professional) dress to work. I had heard an urban myth circling my weight loss group, but was skeptical… Until…… Let me start from the beginning.

I currently share an office with my Managing Director. He is a lovely guy, and we spend a lot of time joking and laughing. And working (if he happens to read this). This particular day, I reached for a folder and felt a fresh breeze across my buttocks. Unusual. I looked down, and to my complete horror, my underwear had migrated south, and were dangerously close to heading into Cankle Territory. JESUS CHRIST!

Had it not been for the fact that it was “washing day” and I was wearing those undies that used to be cute and lacy, but are now grey from too many washes and are barely held together from the elastic now masquerading as dental floss, AND that my boss was offsite at a meeting, I am sure I would have been done for sexual harassment*.

The moral of the story is, even though you don’t HAVE to wear stockings anymore…. It is probably a good idea to do so. And buy some new undies.

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The last event was my mothers wedding – or “THE EVENT OF THE YEAR”, if you will.  I had purchased my dress while I was still grossly obese, and as I had shrunk it began looking nicer and nicer. Maybe it is my reverse-body-dysmorphic-disorder, but I think I looked quite nice!

The wedding was absolutely wonderful, my mother looked stunning and the food was DELICIOUS! Ha! Tricked you! I can’t eat any “normal” food.

I was so busy on the day that all I could do was gobble down a Cohen Friendly hamburger pattie whilst bending over to reduce the chances of dripping burger juice on my dress and hiding behind the boot of the car so the other guests didn’t notice me being a freak.

A realisation that came from the wedding, however, was that I am waaaaaaaaaaaaay out of practice for rejecting men’s advances, as I have not been hit on in FOR. EVER.

Unfortunately it was a drunken member of my new step-father’s family, (hey, even though he was blind drunk, I was still picked up. I’ll take whatever I can get these days!) who wanted to dance all night and take photos with me. I had to keep reminding him that “We are family now!” and pointing him in the direction of some other not so related guests. Good times!

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*Just kidding. I work in the film industry. We don’t have any rules or laws against Sexual Harassment. In fact, it is highly encouraged!

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5 Reasons I Don’t Want To Be A Fat Girl

We all know the numerous positive reasons to lose weight and become healthier – but my Top 5 have nothing to do with those reasons.

Counting down from number 5.

5. Shopping at “Fat Girl” Stores.

I’m fine walking into these stores. The plump sales assistant always smiles at me, and when she looks me up and down I don’t feel like I am being judged as a fatty, I feel like she is looking at my outfit and handbag thinking “Wow, that fat girl dresses well!”. I feel like I am part of a secret society where fat women go to bond. My problem with these stores is walking out. For me, it is like walking out of the Tool Shed on Oxford St with a black plastic bag full of sex toys that would make Ron Jeremy blush. I want to pull my trench coat up around my face, don dark glasses and pretend like I don’t fit in there, that I didn’t just come from there.

4. Underwear (including stockings).

My issue with fat girl underwear is that Myer, David Jones, and even Bra’s & Things is that the bra’s go up to a 8AA – at the moment, I am barely fitting into an 18G… And that is only because I refuse to buy a bigger one. And don’t get me started on “below the belt”! Why does anyone think that a 30 year old would like to wear these cottontails?? I don’t. I plan to one day, when I can keep up the pace for more than 20 seconds, have relations of the sexy kind again. And I don’t think my better half would like the look of those monstrous nappies. Although, G-strings aren’t too flattering with my big ol’ butt either. Kinda reminds me of a chicken roulade wrapped up in string. These aren’t a few of my favourite things.

Stockings. Stockings deserve their own section. Stupid f%#king stockings. If I am not wearing jeans (elastic waist-ed) or leggings (also elastic waist-ed), then I MUST wear stockings. Without stockings, my chicken-drumstick thighs start rubbing together in the way that starts fires. And with all that heat comes moisture (or tears, as I like to think of it), creating a sore, red, bushfire-y situation that no-one except me knows about. Hopefully.

If the next time I am running* to the shop to grab a couple of Mars Bars because my blood sugar is dropping, and there is smoke trailing from my loins behind me, please do let me know.

*truffle shuffle-ing

3. Fat Jokes.

Oh, ho, ho. Now fat jokes. Fat jokes form a big part of my life. I have a relatively close male friend that I share that special brotherly-sisterly relationship with. You know, the relationship that you try to gross each other out, and pick on each other non stop? Well, I can usually give as good as I get, but there was one time where he crossed the line. Well, he didn’t so much cross the line as Usein Bolt it past me throwing cupcakes. We were discussing what we wanted to be when we grew up (ignoring, of course, we were all very much established in our careers and some of us on the darker side of 30), and I mentioned that I always had wanted to be a lawyer. This smart ass came up with “Yeah, you could be Fatty McBeal”. Or something as eloquent. Needless to say, he had one very bruised and tender arm for a week following.

2. Having a skinny best friend.

Having a slim best friend is the pits. The absolute worst. Not only do they look amazing in everything, they are your best friend for a reason. They are lovely and caring and supportive of your weight loss efforts and even eat salad with you at lunch so you don’t feel like a lepper, even though you know they are scoffing down chicko rolls and hot chips with too much chicken salt as soon as they get back to their desk.

My best friend is a particular kind of awful. For breakfast she usually enjoys a strawberry doughnut, the big kind. Lunch will be a toastie, or some huge sandwich, or something delicious from the lunch lady who always looks at you with those judging eyes when you try to buy some of her wares. Whenever I have dinner at her house, we always have pizza, so I am going to assume she eats that every night of the week. Sometimes twice on weekends. And she washes this all down with 40 can’s of coke each day. That may be an exaggeration…

Another horrible thing is that she is beautiful. She has lovely skin, an amazing figure, and was the most gorgeous pregnant woman I had ever seen. She should have been modelling for Victoria’s Secret rather than working in an office all day.

But the MOST horrible thing is that because she is very slim, this creates the illusion that I am even BIGGER than I am in real life.

I hate her.

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1. The relaxation robe at the spa.

Now this is a major pet peev of mine. I love to be treated to a delicious massage, have my feet scrubbed and the even occasional facial. However there is one issue. Those damn robes. One size fits all, my ass. One size fits like a long cardigan on me. And when you have stripped down to your cotton tails, or chicken roulade outfit, you really need more of a moo moo than a robe to stay modest. I often spent those hours lying on the massage table being rubbed and scrubbed thinking that next time I would DEFINITELY bring my own robe, or perhaps even wear their robe backwards – you know, hospital style. Not great from the back, but at least the poor girl wouldn’t have Brittany Spears staring back at her while she finishes my pedicure.

And those form the Top 5 reasons that I don’t want to be a fat girl any more.