Nitro Comes Home

My little guy has joined my little fur family



Everyone altogether now...

Awwwwwwwww!

Eharmony Hates Fat People

Well maybe they don't hate them, but they figure other people do.

Let me explain this, k?

Back in December I told you about my worst birthday present ever, a 3 month subscription to Eharmony. Not only was it the worst birthday present ever, but the biggest waste of money ever.

Now keep in mind that I pretty much thought of this whole thing as a joke. I really had no intention of meeting someone from an online dating community, not that there is anything wrong with that. After reading a few of my potential men I figured this place knew nothing about what I wanted.

Practically every match I got was a yuppie from downtown Chi town. They all have the same three pics. The one of them skiing. The one of them walking on the beach next to Lake Michigan. Oh, and my most favorite one? The one of them in spandex riding their bike or running.

Let me make this clear, mmmkay? I would never date a man that wears spandex. Maybe that is small minded of me, but hey, a girl has to have her limits.

The other thing I have noticed is a disturbing trend in the can't have/must have section. You get a bunch of canned answers to chose from. Like must have an active person. Can't stand a person who's happiness depends on me. Yadda, yadda, yadda.

Every single person I was matched with had Can't Stand Overweight People.

To be honest, this kind of offends me, in a split personality kind of way. I know it doesn't mean that they really can't stand overweight people, just that they don't want to date them.

Which seems really small minded to me, especially since I am a former tank ass.

Now the other side of my personality says, "Hey, people can't help what they are attracted to. They are just looking for someone that fits physically and emotionally."

Yeah fucking right.

So I decided that maybe I would change my can't stand/must haves after my latest match. Of course he had the pre-requisite no fat people one, and a bunch about how he must have someone who is sexually experienced. Oh, and must have someone who really really likes sex.

Now looking at this guy, he is no one I would be attracted to. He is tall which is a plus, but skinny as hell. His prerequisite beach picture also had one of those little Paris Hilton annoying as fuck dogs in it.

I am not a little dog person. But hey, I have an open mind, right?

Anyway I decide that if these fucking arrogant men that only want a skinny chick can put that, I'm gonna change mine to reflect that I don't want some bone skinny guy.

Guess what? There is no choice for that. Appearance wise you can chose fat. That's it.

So why they hell can't I pick that I don't want someone skinny if they can pick they don't want someone that is fat? Now I'm usually not one of those fatcentric type people but this really seems like a double standard. You can't even write it in.

Oh well, thanks for the memories Eharmony. My "gift" is about to run out, and if my friend extends it he is in a world of hurt.

To Hell with Shamrock Shakes

So I had my very own Supersize moment this weekend.

You see, growing up my dear, sweet Mother would not allow us to eat fast food. In fact, if we ever went out to eat it was a special occasion indeed. But fast food, never.

Yes my Mother was a bit of a health food junkie in a kind of cute, hippy kind of way. She did allow certain things in the house, but fast food was OFF LIMITS, except for one time of year.

Shamrock Shake time at McDondald's.

For whatever reason, and I'll take a stab at it and say because she's Irish, we were allowed to have a Shamrock Shake once a year. If she was in a really good mood we might even get to have Mikey D's fries.

Oh they were just heaven. Yes, I had fast food when I went with my friend's parents, which of course my Mom wouldn't know about, but this was our special treat every year.

Fast forward to when I turned 16 and could drive. My chubby ass went to fast food places whenever I could. I worked and went to high school, and a lot of kids went to Burger King after school. My work schedule gave me about a half hour to kill after school, and my expanding tank ass could be found there most of the time.

So when I had to lose weight in my late teens/early twenties I swore off fast food. I swear I can track when I really started ballooning up in weight to the day I could drive. Sure, some of that could be because I walked and rode my bike before that, but a huge portion of that was my freedom of food choices.

Over the years except for the occasional drunken White Castle drive thru I have stayed away from fast food. No more of that for me.

The one time of year that I do is what? You guessed it, Shamrock Shake time.

Even then all I get is the Shamrock Shake. One time deal.

So I remembered Friday that I hadn't had my Shamrock Shake yet. I was running late to work, hadn't prepared very well, and was starving.

I know I used to love those Whoppers, and I proceeded to try and order one. "You are at McDonald's, that's Burger King," the voice boomed from the drive thru microphone.

Whoops. Hell they have all these numbers and junk where you can order value meals. I ordered a #2, Quarter pounder/w cheese, fries, and my Shamrock Shake.

It was almost like a heroine addict getting a fix after many years of being off the wagon. I drove to work savoring every bite of that quarter pounder, scarfing french fries and drinking that delicious Shamrock Shake.

It wasn't until about an hour later that I realized that was a BIG mistake. It felt like the pits of hell had took up residence in my stomach. I won't go into details, but I'm assuming that what happened next is a lot like what those Gastric Bypass people refer to as "dumping", and it was happening from every orifice of my body, or so it seemed. Sorry for the TMI.

It was so not pretty. I can't ever remember being so sick. Needless to say I wasn't very value added at work that night.

So it really got me thinking. I remember when I saw Super Size Me with a friend she talked about the scene where he is throwing up in the parking lot. She kept saying that had to be staged, that no one would have a violent reaction like that.

Like hell I say. I kind of thought that too, that it was something put in there for dramatic effect. But maybe, just maybe we are all so used to eating that crap that our bodies are just used to accepting it.

Kind makes you wonder what it is doing to our insides if it causes a reaction that strong, eh?

Good Old Fashioned Liberal Guilt

So my puppy Nitro is coming home in two weeks. Here he is again:



I repeat, isn't he the cutest thing ever? Anyway, even though he is not in my house yet, he has already caused me grief.

Well, not directly, so it's not exactly his fault...

You see, the arrival of these two:


(I finally found a way to tell them apart in pictures)

has caused me to spend way to much time with my brother's in-laws. Oh, the 'rents are ok. Hard-working typical Midwestern people. It's their two daughters.....

My brother's sisters'-in-law have never really worked a day in their life, and don't ever plan on it either. My brother's wife is the youngest, so these women are both in their early 40's.

Their Mom, who is in her mid 60's, just got a part-time job because one of them needed a car, and she signed for it. They promptly stopped paying the payments, hence sticking their Mother with the bill.

I would scrub toilets before my Mother would have to get a job at that age. Anyway...

Did I mention that husbands of these two sisters aren't a whole lot better? They randomly work until they can collect unemployment again. Oh, and God forbid they make too much money and can't get their food stamps anymore.

These are people that definitely prove "the system" doesn't work. They know exactly how to exploit it, and have ever since their teenage asses got pregnant.

So even though they have never really had a job, don't plan on getting a job, and have done nothing to better their situation, they just LOVE making comments about me.

You see, I'm rich. Well, not really, but in their eyes I am rich. Yes, I make a comfortable living. I get union pay and have a side business that does rather well. I probably make more then the average American, have a nice house, nice car, nice stuff...

But I work my ass off for every penny I have. Nothing in my life has been handed to me. I worked my way through college. I payed for it myself, with the exception of scholarships I received for my grade point average, which wasn't much, because I made too much money.

So since they leech off the government and have been delt such a bad hand in life they feel the need to make comments on any purchase I make. Why do I need a house as big as mine (which isn't big, just in a nice area). Why do I need a car and an SUV (try driving in the Chicago winter on the expressway and tell me you wouldn't have one if you had the money)?

Don't I know there are people in America that don't have anything?

Why yes, yes I do. I really do have great empathy for those who are not able to improve their situation, and there are many charities I donate to help these people. I know I'm very fortunate. Lord knows I wasn't born with a silver spoon, but I am lucky enough to have the mental and physical ability to make a good life for myself.

But I also believe if you are able to work you should go out and get a fucking job.

Where was I? Oh yeah, Nitro causing me grief. So I went downtown shopping, and one of my favorite stores, Coach, had the cutest ever dog collar and leash.

And I bought it.

My sis-in-law called me while I was driving home to see if I would bring my camera over to take some pics of the twins. They were going to send out It's a Girl! cards and needed a good photo. I made the huge mistake of saying what I had bought.

Now she didn't do it on purpose, but she said something to the affect of "Your dog is going to be better dressed then me!"

The welfare sisters were sitting there while she was talking to me, and I'm assuming they asked her what she meant by that when she got off the phone with me.

They had plenty to say when I got there about my new purchase. You know, things like "That's just ridiculous" or "You have that much money that you can buy things like that" or "If you have that much money you could always give me some" or "I can't even get my kid decent shoes and you are buying designer collars?"

So I'll admit for a minute I felt that good old fashioned liberal guilt. I mean really, what was I doing buying something like that for a dog.

Then I got over it real quick. I usually never really say anything back to them. It's considered to politically incorrect. Kinda like if someone is naturally skinny it is ok to make comments about their size, but if someone is fat you better not say a word.

It's been an emotional month. Not a real good time to fuck with me...

I just looked at her and said, "Well why don't you get a job so that your kid can have some decent fucking shoes?"

Shock and Awe people. You see, while the fuck's freely flow here, in real life I really don't ever say that word.

After a moment of rather uncomfortable silence the subject was changed and that was that. No going on and on about how much I make. No going on and on about how some of my purchases are frivolous.

I'm diggin' this being politically incorrect stuff. Yes, I bought my fucking dog a designer collar and leash and I don't even HAVE him yet. That is just one of the benefits of having a master that works hard.

He's so going to be stylin'. And I don't feel guilty about it at all.

While I'm at it...

So while I'm posting pics of poor, defenseless people that can't bitch about it I figured I'd post another one where the subject can't bitch about it.

That sentence made absolutely no sense, but oh the fuck well. :)

I'm still getting back into the swing of things after my month of pure hell, but I'm getting there. In the mean time, check this out.

Introducing Nitro @ 4 weeks old, my soon to be new baby:



He's just so damn cute!

And Now For Something Really Different

So usually I don't put pictures up on this blog of other people. Mostly because I know they wouldn't be all that happy about it. These two can't exactly complain yet, so here goes:



Both twins are home, happy, and healthy.

There is a God after all.

They came home the day after my Step-G's funeral, and I don't think my brother or sister-in-law have slept since.

I believe they are just now realizing what exactly they have gotten theirselves into......

It's great for me though. I go over there, play with the babies, and leave when they start crying in unision.

Being an Aunt is the best.

The End and The Beginning

My step-Grandma has finally lost her long battle with Alzheimer's.

Little twin Sarah is getting to come home from the hospital this weekend after a valiant battle for her life.

The circle of life continues.

After spending the last two weeks in one hospital or another, I need a time to gather my emotions and thoughts.

To quote Rich,

More Laters

How Cool is That?

My Dad was actually born in a barn. His Mom was out in the field picking cotton when she went into labor, and the barn was the closest indoor space.

He leaves doors open intentionally hoping that people will ask, "Were you born in a barn?" to which he gets to joyfully answer, "Why yes, yes I was."

The Things People Will Do

About a year ago I ran into an old friend at Target. She wasn't the world's best friend, that is for sure. Every woman I know has had one of these friends in their life - A great friend when they don't have a certain someone special in their life, a horrible friend when they do.

She was also a bit overweight. We were about the same size back then-past the whole chubby point but not quite on our way to using one of those motorized carts at Walmart. When the weight started to melt off me our friendship melted right along with it.

Half Italian and Half Mexican she had really good genetics going on in the face department. Beautiful skin tone with incredible cheek bones and green eyes, she had the face of a model. Her body didn't match, and she did everything to try and rectify that.

Everything except exercise and eat healthy, which is what I did. She tried every pill, diet, lose weight fast scam. It would work for awhile, but most humans cannot live like that.

I was really shocked when I ran into her. She was thin. Like Olsen twin thin. Her hair was thin, and she just looked sickly. The words "You look great!" came out of my mouth even though I was secretly scared that she was sick or had cancer. Her wonderful complexion was pale and her skin sagged on her face like she was in her late 40's.

"Thanks!" was all she offered. I figured if she was sick she just didn't feel like talking about it. We shared the awkward conversation that people have who were once friends but grew apart years and years before, and that was it.

My SIL has kept in contact with her over the years, and I told her I saw her. "She's really thin, isn't she?" my SIL asked. "Yes, yes she is," I said.

"You know she had Gastric Bypass, right?" my SIL asked.

Gastric bypass surgery? I thought you had to be over 100 pounds to even be approved for that. I thought there was a long screening process, and knowing her, she would never make it that long.

So the SIL goes into the story. She went to Mexico to get it. She even walked into the operating room and got on the operating table herself. How desperate do you have to be to do something like this?

I guess she tried gaining weight so that she would qualify here in the US. She had to lose like 80 pounds, and needed to get to a 100. Her doctor told her to just gain the weight. What the hell is that, FFS?

Then she found out that she had to do all these psychological tests before her insurance would approve her. This was no good. Her Mom had "connections" in Mexico and knew a really good doctor.

Her Mom is a post all in itself, as she did not like having a fat daughter at all.

So she went and got it done in substandard conditions in Mexico. By some miracle she made it through and didn't have to many complications.

She lost the weight rapidly along with her hair and her looks. I'm not kidding when I say it aged her at least 10 to 15 years.

Fast forward to a week ago. There she was, standing in line at the same Target.

Except that she was bigger. Not bigger in relation to how skinny she was before, but bigger in relation to how big she was before.

She had Gastric Bypass Surgery and 2 years later was bigger then before she had it.

We had our awkward old friends conversation. I was just in shock. Along with what probably most people think, I thought you had that, you can't really eat a lot anymore, and you are just skinny forever.

*Buzz* Wrong Answer.

I guess you can eventually stretch your stomach back out and gain the weight back.

So these are people that risk their lives, re-route their innards, and suffer all this pain inevitably still have to eat right and exercise. They lose their hair from vitamin deficiencies and have sagging skin.

I don't get it....I can see someone that is in danger and needs to lose weight rapidly to live. But someone that just wants to be thin?

Someone looking for the next magical pill, diet, solution?

That easy, quick fix? Easy and quick are not two words to describe this.

It is sad really. As a former overweight person I can understand to some degree, but as someone who just buckled down and did the work necessary to achieve it I can't imagine risking my own life for a more pleasing appearance.

Twins!

The twins arrived Tuesday, February 21st. Emma weighed in at 5 lbs 1 oz, and Sarah at 5 lbs. 8 oz.

Blogging might be at a stand still over here at FFS because poor Sarah has some medical problems. She drank some fluid which happens sometimes to the second twin delivered. The poor thing is having a hard time breathing and is on oxygen.

She is not out of the woods yet, but doing better today. Please keep little Sarah in your prayers/thoughts.

A Dog's Life

So I might be getting a dog again in about 6 weeks.

A friend's dog had puppies last Thursday, and now I am probably taking one of them.

My God, what am I thinking? I already have two cats. Just what I need, another animal.

But I love dogs. I mean, I really, really love dogs. I'm a dog person that just happens to have two cats.

It seems that all my animals I have had in my lifetime have picked me, including the cats.

I have had a dog since birth. My beloved yellow lab Ladybug was put to sleep a few years ago, and in a way cats are a lot easier for someone like me. Between working and commuting I'm gone a lot.

That evil voice in my head keeps telling me how Ladybug did just fine. Ladybug loved doggy-daycare. Ladybug lived better then most people's children.

It is actually a good idea for a single woman to have a big dog that will rip someone's head off if they break in the house, right? Yeah, that's another reason why I like having a dog.

That and dogs just love me. It can be the meanest, nastiest dog in the world, and it'll jump in my lap and lick me. I have that dog-and-small-children gene. They just instinctively trust me.

I mean, what's the big deal, it's only a dog, right? I always think of my very first dog Sam when people say that.

It's all my parental units fault. My Dad brought home my first dog when my mom was about 7 months pregnant with me. Sam, The Best! Dog! Ever!, was left for dead near the expressway, and my Dad came upon the small, freezing puppy on his way home from work.

She was a mixed terrier, white wired hair and fox from what my Dad could tell. He didn't have the heart to let the little puppy die, so he brought her home.

My Mother was not amused, pleased, or happy. My Father was given his orders to find a home for that damn dog ASAP.

Then I decided to make an early appearance into this world, and finding a home for the dog became the second priority. I was a preemie so I was in the hospital for an extra week, and during this time Sam managed to learn how to mind her manners and become potty trained.

Sam was here to stay. From that very first night I was home she slept under my crib. When I was old enough to move to a big girl bed she graduated from under the bed to sleeping right next to me.

Where ever I went the dog went. She walked me to the bus stop every morning, and was sitting there when I got off the bus in the afternoon. My Sister and Brother don't have such fond memories of Sam, as if they raised their voice to me all bets were off on their ankles were in big trouble.

She was my dog, for sure. When I was around 6 I was playing in my front yard and a Great Dane decided that I'd be a tasty little treat. Sam saved me. That 11 pound Terrier took down that 100 and some pound Great Dane like it was a rag doll. With the exception of a scar on my side, I came out unscathed. To this day my Mom says I would have died that day if it weren't for Sam.

So as I grew up Sam was there through all my changes, turmoils, problems, and happy days. She listened to my secrets and licked away my tears.

By the time I reached high school Sam wasn't as agile as she used to be. I'd have to help her up on the bed at night, and down in the morning. She patiently waited for me on the front porch instead of the bus stop now, but she was always there, watching for me to come home.

When I was a senior in high school Sam really began to slow down. Shortly after my 18th birthday we noticed a tumor growing on her side. We took her to the vet, who informed us that she had cancer. The most humane thing to do would be to put her to sleep. She wasn't in pain yet, so we could think about it for awhile.

We took Sam home and I was an absolute basket case. This was my dog!

So a couple of days later I come home from school and Sam is not on the porch. I run into the house screaming for my dog. My Mom, with her tear streaked face just hugs me and tells me that Sam is at the vet.

It seems that morning after I went to school Sam couldn't get up and began to whimper. My Mom had found her in the laundry room, and she was bleeding.

It was time.

My Mom took her to the vet, and the vet had agreed to wait to put her to sleep until I got home from school in case I wanted to say goodbye. I drove there in silent disbelief, as I was sure she'd be ok once I got there.

The vet warned me that she was heavily medicated and had lost a lot of blood. We went into the room and Sam layed there motionless, and I almost thought they had already put her to sleep and were humoring me.

I bent down and kissed her head and petted her for the last time. As tears rolled down my cheeks she opened her eyes and licked them away for the last time. Her little tail did a feeble wag, and the vet put her out of her misery as my Mom and I held her gingerly.

And she was gone. We burried her under her favorite tree. The next few weeks are a blur, and I'm quite sure I cried more tears in those two weeks then the rest of my life put together.

Only a dog? Sam was my best friend, my sister. She taught me about responsibility and unconditional love and loyalty. She taught me that you always protect your own, no matter what the cost to you.

Sam wasn't only a dog, Ladybug after her wasn't only a dog, and I'm sure this new puppy that will probably bound into my life won't be only a dog either.

They are family.

No Parking on the Dance Floor

So the lovely and talented Madonna had to have surgery for a hernia after her recent Grammy performance.

Getting old is a bitch, isn't it Madge or Edith or Gertrude or whatever the hell you are calling yourself now.

Madonna is one of the most annoying human beings on the planet. Now I didn't always feel this way. She first became famous when I was in 5th grade I think. Oh how I thought she was the shiznit.

I tied my hair up with rags. In junior high I saved and saved and bought some of those Madonna clothes from our local Merrygoround store. My Dad promptly threw them away the first time he saw me wear them.

I stayed with Madonna until around the whole infactuation with Marilyn Monroe thing. It was getting a bit much. Sure, it is good to change your image and she would look pretty ridiculous in ratted out hair and spandex now, but give me a freakin' break.

Actually, she would probably look less ridiculous in that then the damn leotard she wore at the Grammy's....

Now I still tolerated her to a point, but the whole cult Kabbalah thing and how she adopted Brittany Spears as her "little sister" (avoid and deny-that would be more like DAUGHTER) just pushed me over the edge.

Oh, and how she decided that we should all stop striving for material things.

*snort*

When she sells off all her houses and material things and gives them to charity, I'll think about it, ummmkay?

Have I ever told you how much I hate it when celebrities decide to tell me what is good for me or how I should act? I mean, Madonna has always been a media whore, but she full well admitted it back in the day. That's probably why I liked her so much. This new holier then though Madonna is just. too. much.

So even though it is just a bit Evile and wrong, I chuckled a bit when I read about her hernia after the Grammy performance.

Maybe if I tie a red string around my wrist and send the powers that be a bunch of money Karma won't come back and bite me in the ass for this one.