Fatties are drivin’ me batties…

Why, oh why, do the fatties I work with think it’s OKAY for them to make rude comments about MY WEIGHT– especially when I’m the only one with an acceptable BMI (??).

I mean, c’mon– enough already.  If I were to turn the tables, and say what I thought about y’all’s weight, I’d probably get turned into HR for harassment.

Just because you’re stuffing your faces (for the third time today) with donuts and chex mix, and I politely decline the offer to indulge, doesn’t give you the right to make snide remarks regarding my eating habits.  Honestly, how many times do I have to hear, ”Oh, that’s right, she already ate her one raisin for the day…”  (followed by snort, snort, huff, guffaw, BURP).

And, to the fattiest-fatty of them all, do you really need to announce to the office staff that your hubby doesn’t find my “bony ass” the least bit attractive– and that he’d never want to f*ck me.  Please, STOP! Trust me, I don’t f*cking want to KNOW that the two of you have even discussed this subject (let alone, hear you say it out LOUD in front of our collective co-workers). 

Keep egging me on, and I’m gonna put on my fightin’ gloves…

Let’s see how funny you think it is when I ask y’all: “How do you f*ck a fat woman?” Answer: “Roll her in flour and look for the wet spot.”

(’cause, you know, that’s one of MY HUBBY’S favorite fat jokes… )

And, here’s somethin’ for those of us that prefer “bony ass… “

 

Stephanie Klein is Moose (errr, Mousse?)

Oh, she’s a dish alright (and gutsy to boot!). Enjoy…

more about “Greek Tragedy“, posted with vodpod

 

Grass Greener: Other Side (and all that that implies… )

I’m such a hypocrite– giving marriage advice to others.  When, here I am, fighting with the husband over pizza (of all things).  But, I think I have a point– especially when it comes to the pizza.  ‘Cause pizza is f*ckin’ important! 

Me? I like a thin-crusted pizza– “party-cut” or square-cut (so does H).  Usually we’ll split a small (w/pepperoni and banana peppers).  

So what’s the problem? 

Well, since H is a much faster eater than I am, he has a tendency to hog all the small, crispy-cornered edge pieces– which over the years has begun to piss me off to no end…

One day, about a year ago, I decided to speak up and demand my fair share of the pizza corners (’cause, you know– you gotta fight, for your right, for PIIIIIIIIZZZA!).  Naturally, H thought I was NUTS-O… said I was makin’ a big deal out of nuttin’. 

But, I stuck to my guns, and began DEMANDING my two corners.  In fact, I started turning the pizza in a certain direction– so that one row directly faced me.  I would then explain to H that this row of the ‘za was MINE.  He could have the rest of the pizza, but HANDS OFF on my one row (which included two small, heavenly crispy-cornered edge pieces).   H reluctantly agreed to this pizza truce– and for a while, I thought we’d live happily ever after.  Until tonight…

Tonight, after the pizza arrived, I turned the ‘za in such a way that an outer row of pieces faced in my direction.  I reached out and took the crispy-cornered edge piece, along with the slice to the left of the corner.  H, of course, wolfed down both of ”his” corner edge pieces before my two chosen slices even hit my plate.  Then, all of a sudden he’s spinning the pizza around so that he can help himself to my other crispy-edged corner piece! 

Whoa, buddy– whatchathinkurdoin’?…   I immediately grab the edge of the pizza pan, stopping the pizza mid-spin. 

“Hey! I thought this issue had been settled,” I screamed.
“But the pieces left on my side of the pizza have more peppers, so I thought we’d switch– since you like the peppers so much.”

[H proceeds to take-- and bite into-- my edge piece]

“F*cker!” is what I’m thinking.  However, I actually say, “You know, hon… the reason we agreed to position the pizza in a certain way, was so that I would have equal access to the edge pieces too.”
“Fine!… I’ll flip it back,” he barks, ”I was only trying to be nice!”

[Nice my ass, you crispy-thin-crusted-pizza-edge-stealing-bastard!]

Naturally, I’ll be filing for divorce before week’s end…

Super Bowl = Supper Bowl

I don’t really care about the outcome of the Super Bowl (as I was rooting for Green Bay), but it does give me an excuse to whip up some super munchies.  So, while I’ll be watching the game tonight, it’s the food that will be the highlight– and real winner– in Contessa-land.

So, what’s on the menu?–  Buffalo chicken wings, homemade potato salad, celery sticks and blue cheese dressing, chunky guacamole & tortilla chips, fresh mango slices drizzled w/lime juice and sprinkled w/cinnamon.   Yum-O!