No Lisa, It's the Fat that Makes You Look Fat

At what point do you realize that you really ARE FAT? Is it when you get on the scale and the dial almost does a complete 360? Is it when you look down and you can't see your toes because you stomach is in the way? Is it when you also realize you can't see you coochie without moving that stomach ball out of the way? Is it when you notice that you have BACK FAT. Did you even realize that there is such a thing?

I'll tell you what broke the FAT LISA STRAW! I'm trying to pull together a week of outfits to go to my training class and several signs hit me like a ton of bricks:
  • I decided to weigh myself - THE HORROR, THE HORROR - 183 - F**K
  • I decided it would be best to try on what I'm planning on taking. Wouldn't want to find out that you outfit doesn't fit when you in a hotel room. PITIFUL, SAD
  • After the first couple of - Well, Damn, that's too tight! - I decided to try on all of my clothes and set the ones that didn't fit anymore in a separate part of my closet. Why is this section getting so large?

Well, after it was all said and done, I am looking at over $3,000 worth of clothing - beautiful suits & dresses - that I can't wear without looking like a stuck pig. That made me snap. The FAT GIRL IS GOING DOWN! I'M TAKING THAT BEEACH OUT. I'll be damn if my 20th Anniversay and 20th Class Reunion is celebrated as a FAT FREAKIN' DIVA.

To parapharase Scarlett O'Hara from Gone with the Wind - As God is my witness, I'll never be [FAT] again.

I may be hungry, but so be it. This Diva is takin' the COW out!


  1. You go girl!
    Joe is doing Chorus Line, so he'll be dancing and he's already dropping weight and looking pretty good.
    It's time to get serious and go drastic! I'm with you!

  2. Anonymous12:15 PM


    Just buy yourself a carton of Super Glu for the boobs and put on the fat girl panties and forget about. Less stress, lower BP, lower cortisol 'round the midsection.

  3. Anonymous12:19 PM


    When you have to visit a public bathroom, you usually find a line of
    women, so you smile politely and take your place. Once it's your turn,
    you check for feet under the stall doors. Every stall is occupied. Finally,
    a door opens and you dash in, nearly knocking down the woman leaving the

    You get in to find the door won't latch. It doesn't matter, the wait has
    been so long you are about to wet your pants! The dispenser for the
    modern "seat covers" (invented by someone's Mom, no doubt) is handy, but empty.

    You would hang your purse on the door hook, if there was one, but there
    isn't - so you carefully, but quickly drape it around your neck, (Mom
    would turn over in her grave if you put it on the FLOOR!), yank down
    your pants, and assume "The Stance."

    In this position your aging, toneless thigh muscles begin to shake.
    You'd love to sit down, but you certainly hadn't taken time to wipe the seat
    or lay toilet paper on it, so you hold "The Stance."

    To take your mind off your trembling thighs, you reach for what you
    discover to be the empty toilet paper dispenser. In your mind, you can
    hear your mother's voice saying, "Honey, if you had tried to clean the
    seat, you would have KNOWN there was no toilet paper!" Your thighs shake

    You remember the tiny tissue that you blew your nose on yesterday - the
    one that's still in your purse. (Oh yeah, the purse around your neck,
    that now, you have to hold up trying not to strangle yourself at the same
    time). That would have to do. You crumple it in the puffiest way possible.
    It's still smaller than your thumbnail .

    Someone pushes your door open because the latch doesn't work. The door
    hits your purse, which is hanging around your neck in front of your chest,
    and you and your purse topple backward against the tank of the toilet.
    "Occupied!" you scream, as you reach for the door, dropping your
    precious, tiny, crumpled tissue in a puddle on the floor, lose your footing
    altogether, and slide down directly onto the TOILET SEAT. It is wet of
    course. You bolt up, knowing all too well that it's too late.

    Your bare bottom has made contact with every imaginable germ and life
    form on the uncovered seat because YOU never laid down toilet paper - not
    that there was any, even if you had taken time to try.You know that your
    mother would be utterly appalled if she knew,because, you're certain her bare
    bottom never touched a public toilet seat because, frankly, dear, "You
    just don't KNOW what kind of diseases you could get."

    By this time, the automatic sensor on the back of the toilet is so
    confused that it flushes, propelling a stream of water like a fire hose
    against the inside of the bowl that sprays a fine mist of water that
    covers your bottom and runs down your legs and into your shoes. The flush
    somehow sucks everything down with such force that you grab onto the
    empty toilet paper dispenser for fear of being dragged in too. At this point
    you give up. You're soaked by the spewing water and the wet toilet seat.

    You're exhausted. You try to wipe with a gum wrapper you found in your
    pocket and then slink out inconspicuously to the sinks.

    You can't figure out how to operate the faucets with the automatic
    sensors, so you wipe your hands with a dry paper towel and walk
    past the line of women, still waiting. You are no longer able to smile
    politely to them. A kind soul at the very end of the line points out a
    piece of toilet paper trailing from your shoe. (Where was that when you
    NEEDED it??) You yank the paper from your shoe, plunk it in the woman's hand and tell her warmly, "Here, you just might need this." As you exit,
    you spot your hubby, who has long since entered, used and left the men's
    restroom. Annoyed, he asks, "What took you so long, and why is your
    purse hanging around your neck?"

    This is dedicated to women everywhere who deal with a public restrooms
    (rest??? you've got to be kidding!!). It finally explains to the men
    what really does take us so long. It also answers their other commonly asked
    questions about why women go to the restroom in pairs. It's so the other
    gal can hold the door, hang onto your purse and hand you Kleenex under
    the door!

    This HAD to be written by a woman! No one else could describe it so