Fanlings and Fatlurkers, I’ve been procrastinating a lot at my job this week. I am doing it right now. I have been doing it so much that I didn’t even let myself go into the office for bagels and the enormous, glorious snack room. We’re into day two of mainly eating blue corn sesame tortilla chips, and those are almost gone. I also have had a nectarine and two Diet Cokes. I wasn’t kidding about falling off the wagon.
But it’s really, really easy to be healthy, wealthy and wise when you’ve got a lot of time on your hands to make food. Which I don’t at present, unless you count the time when I’m dicking around on Jezebel for six of the eight hours I work on any given day. It’s a sickness. Especially when I could be dicking around on Tumblr instead, dropping Fatwisdom on my 15 official Fanlings!
So here’s what we got for right now. Last night, I was hosting my open mic, like I do. I did a little time at the top and then got into the show. After a while, this dude got up and commented that my jokes which are sexual in nature make him worried about potentially having a daughter someday. I quizzed him on this and I guess the gist of things was that someday he might have a daughter and someday she might talk about sex in front of people? WTF?
This is problematic in two ways. First of all, the (perhaps unconscious) implication that the Fatling should not tell hilarious jokes about sex, which is blasphemy. The Fatling’s sex jokes are some of the finest sex jokes from here to Amsterdam. Second of all, his comment more obviously addresses the MAJOR PROBLEM dudes have with their precious lady offspring discovering she comes equipped with a hole that she can put things in, putting things in it and then having strong opinions about the process. Again, WTF?!
The trope goes that men are so depraved and disgusting in their relentless quest for poon tang that men who then impregnate one of their conquests with lady offspring then get all weird and overprotective of said offspring, because in their minds, she needs to be protected from all the other depraved and disgusting men who want to stick things in her hole. And hey, up until the age said lady offspring can consent to who and what she wants to rent that real estate out to, that’s not such a terrible thing.
But if the thought of one’s grown-ass daughter having sex and/or discussing it in public makes a dude all queasy, then doesn’t that point to a problem with him rather than a problem with his daughter? I mean, seriously, Turdface, let it go! Girls like sex! Some of us love it, and you’re probably not as depraved and disgusting as you think you are. You probably just went to Catholic school.
This incident reminded me of a conversation I had with the Turdface husband of my old boss. Brokeback Mountain had just hit theatres and middle America was clutching its pearls with vigor. GAY?!?!?! COWBOYS?!?!?! The Midwestern mind was positively reeling, no one’s more so than Turdface. I was over at my boss’ house, maybe not getting drunk for a change, because she was either pregnant or had just recently given birth. Turdface brought up Brokeback completely unprovoked and proclaimed that its very existence angered him because he did not want to have to explain to his daughter “why two faggots are walking in the mall holding each other’s crotches.” I pointed out to him that fucking nobody does that, straight or gay. He was unconvinced and chose to continue camouflage his ignorance behind a smoke screen of protecting his daughter from the evils of all sexuality.
What is the Fatpoint? I don’t know. Maybe that I’m tired of people projecting their sexual insecurities onto an entire gender? That seems about right, let’s go with that. I need another round of tortilla chips before I can come up with a coherent argment.
Listen up, Fanlings and Fatlurkers, the Fatling has been outed! The Fatling has mixed feelings on this development, but isn’t terribly concerned, since no one’s reading this blog anyway. Point being, a friend’s foolish decision to link up all of her social networking tools revealed my Fatdentity to the rest of the known non-Fativerse.
I sometimes wonder if my desire for anonymity is just a misplaced desire to dissociate from my real self, or simply a way to avoid conflict that might stem from expressing one of my trademark Crazy Ideas. Or both, or neither, or some of the above combined with other stuff, too. I have no idea, since I refused to take Psych 101 in college, because in a delicious bit of irony, my hypochondria would have spiraled out of control, landing me in the loony bin. No doubt.
Still, I’ve managed to pull myself up to 13 followers on this thing, using only my bootstraps, but I guess that doesn’t amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world. I do keep meaning to write actual posts of substance on a variety of topics, but I’ve been quite busy, out and about, and my rigid diet of Diet Coke, jelly beans and blue corn sesame tortilla chips doesn’t seem to do me any favors as far as preventing fatigue goes.
When the Fatling falls off the wagon, she falls off the wagon all the way.
Okay, Fanlings, in the spirit of full disclosure, I do not actually have a migraine today. If I did, I certainly couldn’t blog about it, because the normally loving, comforting glow of my computer’s monitor would transform into a hellish glare, searing my retinas as it increased the pounding pain inside my cranium.
No, I had a migraine all weekend. Now, I don’t know if you’ve heard, but migraines are no fun. When migraines attack, horrible things happen. For example, inability to sleep, having the opening riff to Fleetwood Mac’s “Rhiannon” stuck in your head for the duration of the migraine, copious vomiting, frequent crying and wailing “why, god, why?!” And this from the Fatling, who is a confirmed atheist. I can only imagine what believers say to the god who has forsaken them. They probably use more four-letter words.
The most frustrating part of this particular migraine is the fact that I yakked up everything I ate on Saturday (a bowl of Del Monte Very Cherry Fruit Cocktail) and still managed to gain half a pound from the day before. I know what you’re thinking. “Oh, Fatling, you aren’t supposed to weigh yourself everyday! That shit will make you crazy!” Well, you’re probably right, Fanlings, but crazy is as crazy does. And The Fatling DOES weigh herself every day, unless she eats something before she remembers to weigh in. Because we all know that weighing oneself post-nosh is a terrible idea.
Anyway, I’m in the long, arduous process of trying to figure out why the fuck I get migraines to the tune of once a week. Sometimes my heavy-duty meds work, sometimes they don’t. My migraines could be triggered by stress. They could also be triggered by something in my diet, which is why I’m supposed to keep a food diary. I’m not very good at that. It’s also why I have quit drinking, smoking and now, drinking Diet Coke. This makes The Fatling very, very sad. I love Diet Coke like it was my very own bastard child. Diet Coke makes me feel skinny. It has “diet” right in the name! When I drink Diet Coke, I feel like I am a sassy lady of the world, telling high calorie beverages to stick it right in their liquidy ears.
Unfortunately, the high amounts of aspartame and caffeine in Diet Coke might be causing this recent spike in migraine activity, and seriously, I have just about had it with Rhiannon ringing like a bell in the night, and no, I wouldn’t love to love her. I am tired of bailing on all the shit I want to do because I can’t walk without the sensation of a railroad spike being driven through my frontal lobe. So when I woke up yesterday morning to discover that my heavy-duty migraine medicine wasn’t cutting the proverbial mustard, I said “NEVER AGAIN!” to Diet Coke. I am also not drinking coffee, in case the caffeine is the culprit here. Pray for me.
The side effect of not drinking Diet Coke, or indeed, any caffeinated beverages, is the onset of not-quite-migraine-level-but-nonetheless-persistent headaches. A morning dose of Excedrin Migraine (which, yes, contains caffeine) seems to be keeping these in check. Hopefully this trend will continue and I will be able to wean myself off of the Excedrin once my Diet Coke detox completes itself.
They say that aspartame makes a person crave actual sugar, so I’m kind of hoping that my pie-a-day habit will subside somewhat. I’ve also read that caffeine makes a person gain weight around her midsection, so I’m also hoping that this will help me lose some weight.
I suppose the point of this post is to illustrate the fact that literally any action I take in life—whether it’s migraine-induced vomiting or aspartame elimination or taking Excedrin Migraine—is quickly trailed by the thought, “Man, I hope this helps me lose weight.” And that, my friends, is kind of fucked up.