Saint Patrick's Day!

Happy Saint Patrick's Day to all my Irish brethren! Unfortunately, I don't have a drop of Irish blood in me, unless, of course you count all that black pudding I ate with breakfast this morning! Or that faulty transfusion. Like most holidays, Saint Patrick's Day is a wonderful opportunity to expand one's gastronomical repertoire. For breakfast I ate a traditional Full Irish Breakfast- not just the tea, you know! Two dozen eggs, plump white and black pudding sausages, loaf of larded toast, six fried tomatoes (Its not a fruit or veggie if you fry it!), three cans of beans (roasted traditionally over a hobo's fire), and marinated mushrooms (Its not a fruit if you fry it!)

For lunch and super I have been preparing all day for the most amazing feast of corned beef, cabbage, mashed potatoes, candied carrots and lots and lots of Guinness Cake. However, a problem did arise at about noon time. I totally forgot I'm allergic to oats- and those sausages were packed with them! I never remember because the allergy is usually so mild. And when am I just going to sit down and eat a bowl of cement-like oatmeal!? Common people!

Why did it have to be Saint Patrick’s Day, above all others, that my throat closes up to level so narrow only liquids could squeeze by? I was sure my day would be ruined. But it looks like this little (big) lady has been given a wee bit of the luck o the Irish! Underneath my extra convection oven I found an industrial sized blender! This thing can break down bone! And that’s exactly what I needed. I scraped every last drop of my Irish super into the blender and let it whirl. And boy oh boy- the colors and smells were magnificent! Why didn’t I just do this in the first place?

Once I had my supper in its 10 gallon vat, I scrambled around the house to find a straw (because I’m a lady). Not one could be found! Good thing I had an extra IV from the faulty transfusion! I filled her up and let her rip! I’m reporting now from my brown leather couch just taking the Irish in! Occasionally the chocolate chips clog up in the plastic tube, but it works its way in eventually. The Irish always do.

Weight: 213

Competition

Today I recieved many electronic mailings partaining to Donna Simpson, the 42 year old New Jersey mother who is eating diligantly to become the fattest woman in America. Thank you to those who have brought her story to my attention, for I must comment. When I first read about Ms. Simpson's persuits I became overwhelmed with jealously. Here was a woman twice my age, twice my size, doing everything I want to be doing, and doing it butter. Her calorie intake numbers are astonishing. 12,000 calories a day. And her goal is currently 1,000 pounds. Am I fooling myself to belive that I can hit 470 on a mere 4,000 calories every 24 hours? Ms. Simpson has also utilized technology to her advantage: movement is taken care of by a motorized scooter, and her food bill is fork fed by a group of generous male patrons who pay to watch her eat via webcam feed.

After a 50 oz roast beef sandwhich to calm me down, I realized that Ms. Simpson is not my enemy, she is not my competition, she is an inspiration. This is no Butter Battle Book. She is living the dream. And we are in it together. Ms. Simpson lit a fire under my rapidly proofed and rising bottom. I need to be as focused and determined as she is. I quit my job. I'm writing letters to companies for sponsorship, but I need to do more.

And to start, I must confess. The day before yesterday, I lost a bitter struggle with my will power and lost. I ate a carrot. I know what you're thinking. I am ashamed for the both of us. These kinds of slip ups will not keep the pounds rolling on. As I was chomping down on the vitamin A and fibre rich beast, I questioned my whole reasoning behind Fill This Bed. Is it worth it? Do I need to be 300 pounds heavier to make my queensized bed worth sleeping in? I reached my answer after some soul searching and a dozen Cadbury Creme Eggs. Yes. Of course its worth it. I have never been as happy as the night, while laying on my stomach, I felt myself lifted higher off the mattress than ever before.

Its all worth it. No more carrots. No more skimping on mayo. No more Lites or Nons or Diet stuffs. That part of my life is over and done. Its one Fruit by the Foot in front of the other. Ms. Simpson, you and I will scoot hand in plump hand into the future of our lives. The rich buttery future. Tomorrow is a new day. More specifically, Chicken Patty Day.

Special thanksgiving to Liz and David for sending me the story.  Source

Weight: 210

Back to the Old Country.

To commemorate my epic return to the east coast, I have decided treat myself to an equally epic meal at the Old Country Buffet. Once the ironic hotspot of South Shore teenagers, the OCB is on its way to becoming my second home. For under $10 all kinds of goodies can be got. And were talking quantity, ambiguous quality here.

My first course was a nice creamy tray of macaroni and cheese- An American Classic! I made it through the second course at the carving station like a champ. All was going well until I moseyed over to the turkey-shaped basket of dinner rolls. With a deep breath, I reaching into the turkey's midsection. My fingers were barely clasped around a single, warm dinner roll when suddenly it was snatched away by none other than Mike Sampson, the meanest, dirtiest grandson of Bodacious Beatrice, one of the Silver Seven at Savory Oak nursing home. My rage heightened as I noticed it was the last roll in the turkey. Mike is known for his goofs and pranks, but this, sir, went too far. As he turned on a chipper heal to head back to his family's table, I grabbed his shoulder. He knew why he was being stopped. I stared into his cold blue eyes. It was like looking into a doll with no soul. I told him to give it back. He said no. I said now. He said bite me. As I reached out my hand to grab the golden roll away he shoved the entire buttery ball into his mouth. I gasped. He laughed like a maniac. Unfortunitly for him, laughing with a mouth full of roll leads to choking. Good thing I just finished my CPR bush up at Savory Oak. The roll shot out of his esophagus and flew across the dining room. It landed with a plop in the Groovy Gravy. I may not have won the roll, but at least Mike didn't get the satisfaction of eating it. Plus he owes me is life.

Mike's parents were so grateful for my heroism they ordered Cassandra, the head cook at OCB, to bake up a new batch of dinner rolls. All for me.

Weight: 208

Beautiful People!

Wowy. LA is filled with beautiful people, like a gazillion of them. Everyone seems to have their act together; hair, makeup, perky boobs. Not to mention everyone's skin is so tight and tanned! It must be from laying all day in those tanners that look like french fry heat lamps. Now that would be a dream! Sunbathing under a fry lamp... with fries in it! A fry tub! Well, it would be a dream as long as ketchup flowed from the faucets. As they say, "No potatoes you shall fry without tomatoes far and wide!"

Weight: 206

Shamrock 'N Roll!

Its that time of the year when all chubby kids and Irish chubby kids rejoice: SHAMROCK SHAKE TIME! Saint McDonalds comes out with their green minty shake but once a year, and oh, is it wonderful. Because of my busy eating schedule, its only now on vacation that I was able to break away and find my glorious emerald wonder!

The shakes are much thicker this year which makes me think they are jam-packed with extra luck! Matter of fact I have been feeling super lucky since I drank it! Yesterday afternoon I found two quarters stuck under my arm just as I needed to pay a parking meter! And this morning just when I thought we had run out of whipped cream for my higher-than-the-John-Hancock stack of pancakes; I found a Sara Lee cake in the freezer to scrape off the frosting!

Week after next is Saint Patrick's Day in which I will get to gorge myself on corned beef and cabbage, Guinness and Krispy Kreme Donuts because after all, the 17th is a Wednesday.

Weight: 205