Delicious... indeed!

I had a whole post ready to go. It was all about baby making man gravy, and answering the comments from my previous post on the subject. It is mildly amusing, in the sense that it's more interesting than Channel 11 on the day after Christmas, and I thought it would shed further light on the whole buying man swimmers phenomena. It was a cheerful. Lighthearted even.

And then I read one of mah favorite bloggers bloggity blog. Vesta44 dear, your rage is my rage. Internet, go read Vesta44's post and then finish this one - it will make so much more sense (and I still haven't figured out how to do a quote within a quote yet).

It boggles my mind - blends and purees it, even - to think that weight loss surgery would be considered lifesaving or life-extending. Are you kidding me? How is causing someone to be malnurished for the rest of his/her life "lifesaving?" How is a person who wants to drink a full glass of water a "rogue patient?" So a 1 in 20 death rate is OK because hey, not only was the patient fat but SHE ALSO DRANK WATER. And not just one ounce of water, but A WHOLE GLASS. And what the hell does "waddling down the street" have to do with my health? Is that a morbidity? Waddling? How about a medical term? Is it a medical term?

And... don't give me that shit-of-the-bull line that I'll be dead in 5 years. I am currently pricing out a trip to outer space for my 80th birthday, and I fully intend to take it... with all my lard.

I usually keep this anger to myself. Not because I'm good at managing my anger, oh no. And certainly not because I'm diplomatic or able to keep my opinions to myself, nope, ain't that either. I keep it to myself because the people who have met me know MUCH better than to discuss WLS around me. Its like insta-soap box: Add FatChick, WLS discussion, and stand back. At least that's what my boss learned at a company-wide luncheon.

And Internet, I am so gosh darn glad that this whole Web 2.0 thing exists. If it weren't for blogs like Big Fat Delicious, then I'd still think that my fat made me morally bankrupt and a bad, bad non-hooman. Thanks Vesta44! You ROCK!

Now hey, I want to be clear on this: I recognize that my morals/scruples are arguably warped and twisted, its just that my blubs have nothing to do with all that.

And Internet, if you choose to leave a comment, then remember us fatties is goldang stoopid, so please to use the smallish wordings.

Epiphany of the Week

I've finally figured it out. I finally know what I'm going to do. It. Has. Been. Decided: I'm goin' for the Babette.

No, this isn't some random post. In fact, its the answer to a dilemma I've been hemming and hawing over for several months: What to do with my stash.

For those not of the fibery persuasion, stash is something I've been diligently avoiding. I only buy yarn for a project, and only how much I need. Its a rule. A serious rule. Like, when I find myself gasping and drooling over the latest merino silk blend (MERINO! SILK! BLEND!), The Voice starts saying, "Put the yarn down, FatChick. Step away from the yarn, FatChick." And I do. Usually.

But then I decided I wanted to learn to crochet with thread. And I discovered cotton thread is not widely sold, and certainly not in bright shiny colors at the fabulous local yarn stores or *gulp* megacraftstores.

Enter that bastion of impulse shopping, that siren call of all hoarders: Ebay.

I stoopidly purchased 27 balls of cotton thread. 27 balls. Of 27 different colors. At the time, I didn't realize that one doily requires more than one ball of thread. So when that little light bulb went off, I called the store from whence it came, and was the unfortunate recipient of jerkhead yarn store service: They weren't willing to locate more thread in the same dyelot as what I'd purchased on Ebay. And dammit, it was too late to leave negative feedback.

So now I have stash. And it bugs me, you know? I don't want stash. I don't need stash. My condo is small and I'm in the process of Decrapping For Baby and I have stash.

But now I have a solution. Once I'm done with my amazing Noro scarf (in 100% wool, broomstick lace pattern - pic to be posted soon), I'm going to start on the Babette in cotton thread. It will make a most excellent wall hanging.

Hmph. Take that, stoopid yarn store jerks.

AJ is on the way

The butterflies in my stomache are all of a flutter and the excitement has me a little dizzy...

I JUST BOUGHT SPERM! YAY!!!

And because I know that there is at least one person wondering, I give my readers 10 tid bits on my sperm:

1. I bought 3 vials, which, sadly, doesn't even add up to one E.
2. It's pink. Seriously. They do this thing where they "wash" it and it makes it pink.
3. By weight, it is more expensive than gold. And no, sperm never goes on sale.
4. No, I have not named any of the vials, although now that I think about it, I'm not opposed to the idea. Any suggestions?
5. The phrase "I have an appointment at the reproductive endocrinologist's office for an intrauterine insemination," is a tiny bit cumbersome. So I prefer to say, "I'm off to meet AJ," where "AJ" stands for Anonymous Jizz. Did I ever tell you that I once knew an AJ? He carried toilet paper in his backpack, I don't know why.
6. The cost of my liquid gold (and it is MINE now) really irritated me. So I paid for it with my Aadvantage debit card so that I could earn frequent flier miles.
7. The donor lists his profession as "Poker Player." There are so many jokes I could make, but its just too damn easy.
8. AJ is currently on a plane heading to Chicago from somewhere in California. Berkeley, I think.
9. There is a tank of liquid nitrogen involved, which reminds me of my dining experience at Moto. Funny how that works.
10. I don't know if it will be allowed, but when I meet AJ, I'll try to take a picture. If I am able to get the shot, I'll post it to mah bloggity blog. Let me know if you think his hairline is receeding or if his teeth are bad.

Interspecies envy

more animals

Bad FatChick, BAD BAD BAD

I'm a bad friend. A very very VERY bad friend.

You see, my wonderful friend K and her boy T are participating in the AIDS walk this Saturday. Not only is she participating, but she had a BRILLIANT fundraising idea: A raffle. And mind you, its not one of those crappy raffles where you get a $25 gift certificate to McDonalds or some other joint known for its ecoli outbreaks. Oh no. Not K. She is waaaay too cool for that. Her raffle is for yarny goodness. And not just any old Red Heart Pooper Saver. Oh no. She's got some Class A bags and yarn that throws me into a drooling, covetous haze. In short: K is raffling off the good stuff.

So what does this have to do with me? *Eye roll* Internet, EVERYTHING has to do with me because this is my blog and therefore it is always about me and the ongoing self-absorbed nurturing of my own narcissim.

That, and the fact that I almost forgot to help spread the word. Seriously, go over to her site and raffle like a manic on a Coca Cola bender. NOW. You only have one more day to get in on the raffle action, and with prizes like that how could you NOT want to get in on it? And if yarn love ain't your thing, then donate anyway. You can donate until Saturday. You'll be helping out a good cause, and you can call it your good deed for the day and spend the rest of the week congratulating yourself.

Investing can be fun, kids!

The last few days I've been watching Citicorp's stock and ..that.song.. keeps playing in my head. The one that I heard at all those high school and college parties. The one where people grab a broom and bend over backwards and chant for eachother while balancing beer bottles on their nose. How low can you go... How low can you go.

I never liked playing Limbo. I was never good at it, mainly because I didn't like being wasted enough so that my muscles would tolerate such bendiness. Having said that, I liked drunken party Limbo much better than poverty-inducing stock market Limbo.

DAMN YOU WALL STREET!

Not dead... yet

Contrary to rumor (or rumour, as the British spell it), I'm not dead. Not yet, at least. But when I do meet my proverbial maker, my cause of death will read OVERWORKED.

I'm exhausted.

And somewhat incredulous. For the first time in, I think, history as we remember it, American Airlines is cheaper than Expedia, Orbitz, Priceline, and - get this - Southwest Airlines. On top of all that, getting all the pieces of my weekend trip separately, as opposed to an Orbitz or Expedia air-hotel-car package, is turning out to be the cheapest option. Waaaay cheaper. By like, half. This never happens. I sat at my desk, mildly confused as to why the Universe would make my travels so budget friendly in this, the Era of Gas Gouging, when...

I got an email letting me know that my boss would "get back" to me on that ONE VACATION DAY request. Because as we all know, my taking ONE DAY, ONE MEASELY FREAKING DAY, off work might sink the firm. I thought about it for a few minutes, and let the knowledge wash over me like a sad, lifeless, polluted river: My trip is cheap because I won't be able to take it. Damn.

OVERWORKED.

File that under Who Knew?

Lesson learned for today:

Eating a breakfast with lots of blueberries and bananas will make your poop turn green.