Blah,Blah,Blahg

FAT SKINNY PERSON...

Ever since my"best friend" (I am using the term loosely) invited me to use her new treadmill, I have become obsessed with my fat.  See actual excerpt from email below:

morning gorgeous!
 it was so good seeing you too!!  been meaning to write to you since...
 wanted to say, maybe you want to come over and use the treadmill in the a.m.
 we could workout together...not that you need to, but with the wedding around
 the corner, i'm sure you want to be in your ultimate fighting weight..no??  let's
 discuss. 

I immediately forwarded the email to Jules of Pancake and French fries, she has an advanced degree and I felt that she could better analyze this email  than I could in my then hysterical state.

My concern was that this "best friend" might consider me getting chubby, in which case I would be very perturbed.  I have a lot on my plate and chubby isn't supposed to be one of them.

Confession--to the naked eye I am slim, to my Fancy's fat calipers (yes, he has them and yes he's used them on me)  I am basically ALL fat. I think 90% last time we checked, which caused him to make the comment:

"Wow, you are the fattest skinny person on earth.", Okay, he didn't use those exact words but I know he was thinking them.

My only problem with the fat is that I am lazy too.   Not with work or cleaning my house but with anything that remotely has to do with any kind of physical exertion (besides breathing).  I am the person that after a 10 hour plane trip sitting on my bum feels the need to sit down again at the baggage carousel.

I know this is a problem when my hot as 'h', Fancy is tragically obsessed with fitness. I don't know why I am so unmotivated in regards to this part of my life.  If your body is a temple mine is the equivalent of the French fry oil vat at McDonald's.  I am admitting it, I am kinda gross, a freak show, Java the Hut in skinny jeans. I think my bones have become subcutaneous fat tissue as well, I don't stand up I just jiggle down the street. I tell you this not to make you vomit in your mouth but because I think that being a few weeks before I tie the knot I should have some muscle to walk down the aisle, no?

TRUE THAT.

I have been weird for so long that I have a propensity to forget how odd I really am.  It has only come to my attention again as I am in the 'real' world now surrounded by 'real' people, kinda like highschool but not really.  I am especially aware of my oddity when confronted with those of the younger generation.  Being nearly Fifty (38.8), twenty-two seems a lifetime ago so it was to my complete and utter surprise over the weekend when I begged one of the assistants from my hell, uhm, job, to help me with the 'ol Bella Bella co. that what I thought was coming out of her mouth was English was-but just all out of whack.  I am dyslexic and a lot of times I understand people that talk in gibberish (such as my biological mother--so she claims).  I can't remember the exact context of our conversation but it went somewhere along the lines of this when I showed her the Bella Bella co. site so she could help me update it:

22:            "What's the Blah, blah, blah, blah?"

Miss B:     "That dear is my blahg where I talk crap about our boss."

22:            "Really?"

Miss B.:    "No, of course not.  I have much bigger and better things to do than waste my energy and time
                  on talking smack about our boss."

22:            "True that."

Miss B.:      "Wha?"

22:            "True that."

That's it.  No further elaboration, just back to work as usual.  'True that', is actually a kind of pig Latin without the 'ay' part.  True that=that's true, but supposedly it's cooler to speak Ebonics than regular 'ol English.  Who knew?

The weird part came when 22 tilted her head and asked about my latest masterpiece--'Taste's like Chicken' poster.

22:   "How do you think of these things?"

Miss B"  "I dunno, I just do.  I did have a head injury as a small child.  It was self-inflicted."

22 does not get my sense of humor, which makes me wonder if I even have one. True that.

CO-DEPENDENCE DAY

Whilst the rest of the U.S. of A. celebrated Independence Day, Miss B. celebrated Co-Dependence day.  It was a day dedicated to my Fancy.  It was all Fancy--all day.  My Fancy was upset that I mentioned his eye rolling the other day so I thought it might be best to let you know a little bit more about the man I plan to call my 'Ball and Chain' (btw, he said if I used the above photo he would sue me,--he was serious).

Yes, he is nearly a decade younger than moi but his personality is that of an 80 year old, nebbish, Jewish man.  So I  feel that we balance each other out.  I created a flow chart of sorts above.  Yes,that really is my Fancy in the middle, the outer spheres are what I can only consider an amalgamation of his personality.  He is very dead pan and quiet.  Most people believe because he's quiet he's an ass, but they don't truly know quite what an ass he is--smart ass is probably the best 'ass' qualifier for him.  He is a really great guy for anyone that can handle his neurosis.  Do I worry about him cheating?  No.  He is so neurotic that a) the fear of disease is always at the forefront of his brain b) if the person that he potentially would cheat with would allow him to open his mouth, they would be calling me to rescue them within minutes-- perhaps seconds.  I am too old to allow his neurosis to bother me. When you get older you forget things so when he repeats himself ad naseum I only remember the 100th time and nothing after that.  Yes, he repeats himself often.  I have suggested medication, but he hasn't taken the hint nor the blatant suggestion.

Now that you know a little bit about my darling Fancy, the nebbish, dead pan, seriously old man (do not read 'old soul'), person that he is, I am going to give you the highlights from our 4th of July:

Morning. Miss B. just out of bed, hair not brushed a complete pile of knots, teeth barely brushed, sleep still in eyes.

FANCY:  "You look great."

MISS B: (incredulous, as only a woman with no makeup and no coffee can be)
             
             "What's that supposed to mean?"

FANCY: (Completely serious and in his flat voice, he shrugs),
              
              "The opposite of bad."

MISS B:     "Would you like to go to breakfast?  My treat!"

FANCY:    "What are we going to talk about?"

Later that day as we cooked dinner I opened a can and preceded to slice open my thumb, blood gushing everywhere.

Before my Fancy passed out from the sight, he ran to find his panacea.  From the other room I heard the familiar cry of:

  FANCY:     "You need to get some anti-bacterial product on it, like Neosporin"

I have no idea why octogerians feel that Neosporin is a cure-all but they all think it is and go into a subdued panic when they need it at the ready (panic is hard on the heart).

 FANCY:      "You really better get the Neosporin on it.  You don't know what kind of vermin crawled over                         the top of that can and is now infesting your finger." 

Again this is not said in a panic but a matter-of-fact tone. 

As the day progresses into evening and I consider the idea of becoming a crazy dog lady my Fancy says:

"If I annoy you so much why do you stay with me?"

I answer "Because I love you." 

...but I also think because I am nearly 39 years old and the chances of me meeting someone half as nutty as you are are slim to none, so I am sticking with you kiddo.



Flow chart: L-R: Larry David, Napolean Dynamite (my Fancy hated this movie,I think he saw too much of himself in it), Woody Allen (pre-Soon-Yi), George Costanza (yes, I know it's Larry David but I feel the need to emphasize the Larry David reference), Chimp (this is more looks than personality, I can never imagine him throwing his feces at anyone for fun, but he does eat a lot of bananas), David Sedaris (my Fancy has a keen eye for the obvious, which makes me laugh at him and not with him)

HOW I WILL BE SPENDING MY WEEKEND....

Since today is like Friday and Monday is 72 hours away....

MAKE MY DAY....

 

This is how I have felt all week.  I know it's only Wednesday but I hope that gives you a clear idea of my current situation. I feel for Postal workers.  Is it wrong that the only reason I am happy that my Fancy is going back to school is not for his fulfillment but mine?  I keep hoping that one day I can go back to the life I once knew, which was not making much money, but working from home and being relatively content. When I decided to update the Blahg tonight he balked, 'What are doing?' I thought you needed to do some work.  "This is work," I argued, "Jules says there's a woman that makes tons of money from her blog."  Instead of giving me the 'ol thumbs up, pat on the back, he said, "Who's Jules?"  I rolled my eyes, "Duh, one of my cyber best friends."   He rolled his eyes right back at me. Then I thought I would impress him with my stats, I let him know how many people have visited the blog in its lifetime. His answer?  "Gosh, there's a lot of bored people out there".  Kids today...(for those of you unaware my Fancy is nearly a decade younger than myself, you'd think that would motivate me to exercise...)

WANTED: FRIENDS-ONLY LITERATE MAY APPLY...

I am still ruminating about my brunch and so called 'friends' (I can say that about my only two friends because I know they don't read my blahg and I feel free to talk smack when I know no one knows I am doing it.)

Anyways, this is what is bothering me.  First, they are more new-'agey' than I am.  I am about as New age as the Stone age if you catch my drift, I think that self-help books are brilliant for their marketing but they annoy me more than girls that can eat all they want and never gain weight.  So these 'friends' wanted to hear about my new job and since they don't read my blahg they were surprised when I said I work for a terrorist.  They thought I had developed some sort of instant racism when they found out that my boss could be considered for ethnic profiling, "No, he's an emotional terrorist"  I thought I was talking their lingo, jiving with the girls, but they looked shocked. When pressed for examples, I gave them a laundry load and they both screwed their pretty little faces and said, "So why don't you just leave?"  Wha?  Who are these people?  What kinda life do they lead?  Do they actually have emergency savings accounts or saving accounts period?  "I am not in a position to do so at this moment," was my answer.  They went on and on if they were me what they would do.  If they were me, they would have to stay at a job that kills them because their Fancy is in school, they would have no inheritance or family financial aid and they would have to stomach the reality of the situation.  If they were me they would have to be on medication to keep them from checking door knobs and pilot lights, etc. and have a bad hair cut. 

I don't need advice such as 'why don't you leave?'  I need my peeps to understand that leaving is not a viable option and to join me in my Pity Party, help me brainstorm the anti-self help book those kinda things.  Anyways, I am already running late as it takes me hours to look 'natural' these days.  I will be sure to expound on that subject another day....