Beyond cankles

I wouldn't trust a hair stylist with bad 80's hair. I wouldn't trust an illiterate teacher, and I certainly wouldn't trust a dentist with no teeth. This is going somewhere just stay with me. So my live in man thing/father to my children and I have been having some issues, and have decided to see a counsellor. She's a nice older lady, raised four kids on her own and seems to be wise and informative. BUT....this is a big butt....she is 400 pounds! The first appointment I spent staring at her ankles...they have gone beyond cankles and are nearly feetkles. The fat on her feet squish through her sandals in a way that mesmerizes me....like driving by a car accident, and she barely peeks over her chest at us sitting on her tiny couch. When you are in that kind of state....does it indicate at all that you have some issues? And if you are a certified therapist....should you even have issues? Especially ones that have led you to eat your way to the size of a Miata? I mean, if this woman can't help herself can she help us? So far, after three appointments with Jabba the Hut, she has said nothing that I haven't already said to man thing, "Sometimes hearing it from someone else helps it sink in though" *rolling eyes*. The main problem is his depression, yeah I know....how can you be depressed with a woman like me right!? I have analyzed the problem to death as women tend to do, he's just lucky his insurance covers this. So this psych better start telling us something new real soon. Next week, we focus on my in laws. *shudder* If she can see what a pain in the ass they are...she's a keeper for sure!

The things I have seen

I don't know about you, but I run into the funniest signs in my little hometown.

• At a Mom and Pop dry cleaning place, "Ledis and men 's alterations of oll kinds." They don't have to spell, they just have to hem my pants!
• You know those magnet ribbons that everybody is sporting on their bumpers now? They usually represent a great cause. I saw one the other day and couldn't figure out what purple was for, on closer inspection it read, "I support road head." Everybody's got a cause.
• At the christian church's sign, "Jesus died for 'Myspace' in heaven." I thought he died for our sins? If that's the case, then Myspace =sin? Either that or they have internet in heaven....I bet their connection is kick ass!
• At Curves (womens fitness club), "Sign up now, get daughter free". Wonder how many pervs tried that one?

Calling all fashion challenged fat girls!

OK fat girls, we need to talk. I know you can't "see" me but just trust me...I'm a fellow fatty. It's like black people calling each other the "n" word...I'm allowed to call you a fatty if you're tipping the scale at 2 bills. Please for the love of God just stop trying to pretend that you're not fat. You know it, I know it....embrace it! They have special stores for ladies like us! Just for us! They are more fashionable than they used to be, and most of the women working there are *gasp* fat! It's like our own little (or big) club. So stop trying to squeeze all that junk into those tiny pants and tops. There won't be a material shortage anywhere in the near future trust me...use what you need. Seriously, the skinny clothes slim you down because they squeeze the crap out of the area they cover, but that blubbers gotta go somewhere Honey, and it's hanging out over your pants and under your shirt! You look like a roll of cookie dough that was stepped on. Just stop it!! Sure it's a nice outfit...just not for you! Respect yourself enough to tuck that shit in! I think maybe if you dress like that you are either in denial, or you think that people will look at you and think "Wow, that girl has confidence. Good for her!" NO! It's false confidence! You can dress a hippo in squirrels clothing...but it's still not a squirrel! I'm not fooled, but maybe that's the knowledge I've gained in my years as a fat girl. You're giving us all a bad name....so just please stop.

P.S. That picture was actually taken by me...not a picture OF me!

The ingrates run amok

The more I travel along this journey called motherhood the more I realize that children are comparable to drunks. They have many eerie similarities. They don't often make sense when talking, they fall lots and bounce more, they have tempers where they can often be found forgetting what it was all about in the middle of it, they sometimes refuse to wear clothes....especially at the most inappropriate times, and they often say things they don't mean. The latter of these proved very true for us a few weeks ago. After taking my eight year old son to school one day I set forth to accomplish much in his room, as he is getting a new bed and giving the old one and his night table to his sister. I noticed something scribbled on the wall near his door and in moving closer I realized it said "fuck mom, mom is stopid"...that is "mom is stupid" in kid speak. My first instinct? Write (in much bigger letters) NO, FUCK YOU! right beside it on the wall, but I guess that's a no-no for parents. I had to wait until he got home from school and do the whole "What were you thinking?" thing. I have to admit though, the look on his face when it hit him that he had left his graffiti on the wall was priceless! I assume he did it in the heat of the moment and being in pencil I also assume it was never meant to be seen. Another quality kids and drunks share? Forgetfulness. He seemed pretty remorseful and I am well aware of his ability to blow things way out of proportion, so this I am thinking was likely done when I told him he couldn't play in the sprinkler and he sulked off to his room. I also gave him a blank notebook that I told him he could write anything in. The words on the wall were unacceptable there, but if he has to get those things out....better it be in this book and this book only. We could have a talented but brooding rock star on our hands in the future...how can I censor that!? Later that night as I was taking the night table apart to be painted for his sister, I noticed on the inside of the drawer...."mom sucks". At least that was spelled right.

Fast forward to yesterday, I was cleaning his room and came across the notebook. Yes, I did it, I took a little peek. One entire page was filled with the words "fuck cavan he put me to bed early!" I had to giggle...just like Cavan (the stepdad) did when we found the writing on the wall, he was surpirsed it said nothing about him. He got his just desserts though!

I should probably end this entry right about now. My potty training princess aka Lush, is pissing on the floor beside me. I think I made my point.

He's not heavy, he's my brother.

I knew I never wanted to get too personal on this blog , just wanted to keep it to my daily observations of the world as I see it....but my world recently turned very dark. My little brother (by little I mean he's 25, he's a baby!) has been battling luekemia for almost three years now. He was in remission and doing very well up until the end of March this year when he found out that it's back. Two rounds of chemo later and no progress. My older brother is the bone marrow match because Nik (leukemia boy) needs a transplant. Thing is though he has to be in remission to get the transplant and that just isn't happening. I went to the hospital with my Mom and Dad yesterday to hear the results of a bone marrow test to see if he is in remission yet. It went like so....

We were all sititing around a cramped hospital room watching "You Bet Your Ass" on a three inch tv screen. The question was, "On the hit tv show Friends, what was the alias Pheobe often went by?". "SMELLY CAT!" my Mom shouted, excited that she even knew what "Friends" was. The smell of Nik's factory produced macaroni and cheese lunch on a plastic plate was making me feel like I should maybe be lying in the bed next to him with a bucket under my chin. I was reminded of a funny story and was in the middle of sharing it with my audience when a nurse and doctor walked into the room. They told us that there was still "lots" of leukemia cells in there and their options were dwindling. This short, robust oriental doctor went on to say some patients prefer to stop all efforts and just be comfortable. I suddenly wanted to hurt this litte man. I wanted to pants him until he bled through his ass like that kid in grade 5 who made fun of my Nik's winter coat....because it was the same as mine. How dare this stupid little jap talk like that about Nik! ( for the record....I am NOT racist.....was just very angry and grappling for any insult I could muster). I had to put the blame somewhere at least until I could wrap my head around this, and apparently God is taking a nap. The they left the room like the dumb, ugly piss flaps they are. Nik says "Anyways, where were you before we were so rudely interupted?" God I love that boy! He was joking of course, he's a skinny version of me with no hair, no mountaineous breasts, and a penis....what would you expect. He is feeling quite well so wasn't expecting those results. He also said he was too young to give up fighting and will take whatever they can give him. That's my boy!

I could really use copious amounts of chocolate, or alcohol, or painkillers right about now....but I'm going to throw myself into something to keep busy instead. Too many calories in chocolate. *sigh*

50 foot woman....15 foot crotch!

I saw an ad on TV selling plus sized maxi pads.....are they for plus sized women? Plus sized clothes, plus sized undergarments, even buying two seats on a plane I get...but this? No. I have been shopping plus sized since having my first child eight years ago, so I'm not new to this.....but aren't my thighs closer together than say....Mary Kate and Ashley Olsen's? Their thighs do not touch! You could walk behind them and shove your umbrella through there and they probably wouldn't notice...except for the fact that they can't hold their heads up properly from malnutrition. Wouldn't they need the wider pad? Does being a large lady mean having a large vagina? I can honestly say I have never had this conversation..."Honey...I'm starting to think your penis may be a tad small and we should start looking into some different things that will enhance our little friend." "Actually darling...I think it's your va jay jay. It reminds me of a barrel!" I could start small forest fires the way my thighs touch when I walk! Then I realized that I wasn't taking into consideration the size of the underwear the pad needs to stick to....eureka, that's why! But even that doesn't make sense? Of course at my size I'm not wearing a thong either, I'd need a Sherpa to find that baby at the end of the day! And don't even get me started on those thong pads! Besides....I wear tampons, so what do I care? But if I ever see plus sized tampons on the market so help me!

Introducing Ms. Anthrope

Etymology: Greek misanthrOpos hating humankind, from misein to hate + anthrOpos human being: a person who hates or distrusts humankind.

Hence Ms. Anthrope is born. Don't get me wrong, take the title lightly! In fact take everything I say lightly. I am completely unable to communicate without sarcasm...a birth defect of sorts. The world is a messed up place, might as well laugh at it while it's still here. My thinking is that this blog may turn into a catching place for all the rants in my head. I swear it's swelling with my vast knowledge of humankind and it's functions....gotta dump it somewhere, and maybe entertain a few along the way. It just baffles me that Buddhists believe that human is the highest level of reincarnation one can achieve......have you visited a zoo lately? Me neither....I prefer to people watch. It's like a zoo, only the apes are wearing clothes, speed dating and buying $40 carpeted steps so their small breed dogs can easily get onto the couch or bed....who needs tv?