Not bad for a fat girl


My Food Obsession – Why I Need a Kitchen Makeover

Here I go again. Thinking about food. Writing about food. Imagining all the delicious foods that I enjoy and wishing I had an elaborate banquet spread out in front of me. My imaginary feast is quite the opposite of the icky buffet I was subjected to the other night. I know my thoughts are wandering to food because I’m hungry, but really, I think about food often. I can’t help it. I eat. I enjoy eating. I think about eating. And when I think about eating, I think about what I might be eating.

We humans need fuel, like every other living thing. Unlike other living things, we fuel ourselves with an extraordinarily wide range of foods, many of them natural and wholesome and full of vitamins and minerals (I learned that from a cereal commercial). fresh_foodHowever, and this is a HUGE however, the vast majority of the food in my home isn’t of that variety. I would venture to say that’s true for many people. At least people who shop in grocery stores.

Oh sure, there are a few pitiful fruits and vegetables under my roof, but they’re the exception rather than the rule. Quick inventory: one rather dull looking apple, three overripe bananas, a tiny watermelon, two small pumpkins, a jar of pink grapefruit slices, and a bag of frozen green beans. I’m not proud.

The pumpkins are earmarked for pie, so they don’t count. The only thing those bananas are good for at this point is banana bread, so they’re off the list too. As for the watermelon, it’s for my son. I despise watermelon. I know, I know… everyone loves watermelon. I do not. I must be defective.

At least I don’t have a fridge packed full of processed frozen foods. It’s only about a quarter full. Of frozen, processed foods. There are potato pancakes from when? Last Hanukkah? And some breakfast sausage sandwiches (no, we don’t keep Kosher, thank you very much for inquiring). There are also some frozen sticks of butter and some chicken legs and an ice pack or two, but we don’t eat those, in case you weren’t sure.

The fridge holds salad dressing, ketchup, wine, and mayo. Oh, and eggs and cheese and yogurt and those grapefruit slices. There is a whole second fridge in the garage that my sweetheart says is for “venison and beer” but really it’s full of soda and water. Although sometimes beer does show up there.

The pantry is the last frontier. It has cereal and oatmeal, spaghetti sauce and canned soup, pasta and chili beans, and ravioi and ramen. personal-chef.38160141_stdIt also has Maker’s Mark and baking supplies and the last of the orange filled Oreos. Writing food, I call it. Actually I just made that up. Like it?

It is apparent to me that this situation is not ideal. As a result, I want a kitchen makeover. Not just the flooring and the countertops and the sink and faucet and cabinets (although I would dearly LOVE any one of those things). No, the kind I want involves some trained expert who comes in, clears out the crap, and lays in supplies for a long and healthy life. Yummy ones, I might add. While they’re at it, they could teach me (and the sweetheart) some new recipes, and leave behind a personal chef (who will also do the shopping and cleaning up afterward). Sound good? If you know of anyone, please leave me their card.


The Hundredth Post Reflection: This Fat Girl is on a Mission

I knew this day was coming. As I kept writing and hitting the publish key, I kept getting closer to this milestone. To me, it’s pretty momentous. One hundred posts on BulgingButtons. Wow. I have to admit I’m kind of stoked. One hundred posts represents a certain level of dedication and follow through. You see, I have a bit of a history of starting things and then dropping them. Almost always things that are, or should be, good for me. Now the things that haven’t worked for me, like wrong-fit boyfriends or lame jobs, well, those I hung onto for too long. But the “good” stuff? Ballet lessons, gym memberships, weight loss programs… well, they all fell by the wayside before too long. I figured the blogging itch might be another example of this pattern, but since nothing was really riding on it, I decided that it was ok.

100When I started messing around with this blog (and really, that’s exactly what it was, a mess) I gave myself permission to do it or not do it. I figured if it clicked, great, but if it didn’t that would be fine too. Well, those days are gone! I’m hooked. Blogging no longer feels like an afterthought or a pastime that self-absorbed homemakers with too much time and too little to keep them connected to reality indulge in. Insulting? Absolutely. But c’mon, you’ve seen some of those blogs! I find myself wanting to shake them and shout, “Lighten up, let a few dust bunnies settle, and play with your kids on the (not so recently mopped) floor once in a while.”

True confession time.  I’m sort of jealous of many of those bloggers. Their blogs have huge followings, awesome content (most of the time), and lots going on. They are obviously well thought out and include all sorts of bells and whistles that I can only wonder at. Some of them make a living at blogging and others have launched books and other businesses as a result of their blogs. Holy cow!

I may not be in the big leagues yet (or ever) but  I’ve come a long way in a short time. I have a loyal group of readers who readily offer observations and encouragement, my writing has been seen on every continent but Antarctica, and I’m becoming a better writer. All of these are side benefits of BulgingButtons that I never anticipated. I just wanted a forum to write about making positive changes in my life. I had no idea that this forum would contribute to those changes. I figured if I poured out my heart and soul about my battle of the bulge, maybe I would have more success with it. The whole accountability thing was appealing, but I wanted to do it incognito, since I really didn’t want some kid in my class telling me about how he read my blog and shares my love of Oreos and my aversion to steamed broccoli. Little did I know that I would be writing more about life and less about veggies and sit-ups.  Well, that’s not entirely true. I never expected to write about sit-ups. I haven’t done a sit-up in over two decades.

After one hundred posts here I am, still battling the bulge. I’m still making lots of bad choices (cheddar bay biscuit, anyone?) and a few good ones. I’m still chugging away like the little engine that could, and I’m still writing about it for all the world to read.

In honor of my hundredth post I salute you, dear readers, whether this is your first visit or your ninety-first. Thanks for reading, commenting, sharing, and sticking with me. I may still be a fat girl, but with all of you along for the ride, I’m a fat girl on a mission!

(Note: I read the WordPress daily prompt after writing this post, and I actually think it’s a perfect fit) October 16th is officially declared “Person X Day” — and you get to pick Person X. Tell us about someone who deserves to be commemorated.


Oreo Habit


I am the girl with the Oreo habit. Ok, not a girl anymore, a full-fledged middle aged woman. I’m much too old to have an Oreo habit. But really it’s not an actual Oreo habit, it’s a sweet habit. No, that’s not even it. It’s a food habit. And it’s more than a habit, it’s an all out obsession.  There, I said it. Will that make it go away? Of course not. I wish it were that simple. A public declaration, a little shaming and humiliation, a few minutes of feeling bad, then presto change-o… no more problem! I would do it. I really would.  You want me to wear a sign for a day?Put it on the blog? Confess my sins to a talk show host? Fine.


I tried out for the Biggest Loser. I put on a dress that both made me look cute and made me look fat. I did my hair and make up , to the best of my ability, then toddled off to a local mall with folding chairs and my sweet boyfriend (who LOVES a big woman, lucky for me). I sat in line for hours, filling out forms and chatting with other fat women. Then I got my chance. I filed into the private space along with about a dozen other fat people and sat at the table with a giant grin pasted across my face. “Look at me! I’m fat! I have personality! Pick me, pick me!” But they didn’t. Secretly I was relieved. After all, I have a kid and a dog and a boyfriend and a job and a life. How could I jet off to “the ranch” to reinvent myself? And deep down the bigger question, how could I possibly face the humiliation of trying to do it on national t.v.?

tumblr_m6j7p7gEiM1qzoexto1_400I was terrified that they might pick me. After all, I had plenty to lose, I’m reasonably cute, and I’m pretty articulate. I reasoned that they didn’t want someone who would just cry and mumble the whole time. Not that I wouldn’t cry. I’m sure I would cry buckets. In fact, I had already decided that Jillian and Bob were too intense for me, so I would HAVE to be on Dolvett’s team. Do you think they take requests?

Anyway, that was over a year ago, and America managed another whole season of Biggest Loser without me. I didn’t watch. Well, not much anyway. I tend to feel too guilty. I much prefer Extreme Weightloss.  One episode and it’s over. Besides, I like the one on one approach, and who could possibly resist Chris Powell? With him training me I would have to succeed, right? Maybe it’s time for another try out.