<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9077893876223931509</id><updated>2012-01-08T08:37:39.487-08:00</updated><category term='Food For Thought'/><category term='Home Life'/><category term='Celebrities'/><title type='text'>Diary of An Angry Fat Woman</title><subtitle type='html'>A young mom's mission to lose 125 pounds by July 19, 2008
&lt;img src="http://i11.photobucket.com/albums/a197/cjhenson/gettinghealthy_WHGWLTop8.gif" border="0" alt="Photo Sharing and Video Hosting at Photobucket"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://angryfatwoman.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9077893876223931509/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://angryfatwoman.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Beena</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09524105286091361605</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>15</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9077893876223931509.post-8848176129194902520</id><published>2007-05-24T12:46:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-05-24T12:52:32.110-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Good Customer Service?  I think not</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;You know what I deplore, shitty customer service representatives.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;So, I put in an order for more checks last week.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I got all of the information together as soon as I could and I e-mailed them to our CSR to have it taken care of.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I must have e-mailed her like 5 times regarding the whereabouts of my order.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;THEN FINALLY she decides to e-mail me back on Wednesday this week thinking that she had already e-mailed me a response last week…. and of course she hadn’t.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Upon receiving her e-mail I made just a couple of quick changes to her mock-up and sent it back to her right away.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I fully expected a response by the end of my work day or hers… at the very least.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;I got NO response.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Then, I tried to call her today, twice.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;When she finally answered the phone, our conversation went something like this:&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204); font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;Me:&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Hi Nancy this is Kellie from &lt;st1:stockticker&gt;CEI&lt;/st1:stockticker&gt;!&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;How are you today?&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="color: rgb(51, 255, 255); font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;Her:&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;*pause*&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="color: rgb(51, 255, 255); font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;Her:&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I’m fine.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;How are you?&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204); font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;Me:&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Great!&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Did you get my message regarding our order?&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="color: rgb(51, 255, 255); font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;Her:&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;No.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I don’t think so.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;When did you send it?&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204); font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;Me:&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;About a half an hour to 45 minutes ago….&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="color: rgb(51, 255, 255); font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;Her:&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Ohhh well, I am on my lunch break but I am not taking a lunch today, so I didn’t check my messages.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204); font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;Me:&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;*pause*&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Okaaay.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;(Thinking:&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;What the fuck?)&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204); font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;Me:&lt;span style=""&gt;   &lt;/span&gt;Well, can you tell me the status of my order?&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;It’s urgent and we need to get it filled quickly.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="color: rgb(51, 255, 255); font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;Her:&lt;span style=""&gt;   &lt;/span&gt;Uhhhhh (she says this distractedly I might add.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;She was probably playing solitaire)&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="color: rgb(51, 255, 255); font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;Her:&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Uhhhh I’m not sure.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I’ll e-mail you or call you sometime today with the status.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204); font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;Me:&lt;span style=""&gt;   &lt;/span&gt;Okay...&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="color: rgb(51, 255, 255); font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;Her:&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Bye.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Now, I really felt like I was being TOOO nice.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I had always thought that you catch more flies with honey, but I regress… I guess sometimes you need to stick a foot in someone’s ass.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;If she doesn’t call by 4, my foot will surely come out.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;I hate the fact that you can’t trust anyone to actually DO their job anymore.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;It’s like you have to constantly hound them with the results.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;What sucks even more, is that if they aren’t doing their job… they make you out to be the ass of the day because your boss is hounding you because they aren’t doing THEIR &lt;st1:stockticker&gt;JOB&lt;/st1:stockticker&gt;.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;So in short, the middle man always gets fucked.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;So here I sit, staring at the phone, waiting for her to call. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;I ask you, whatever happened to people just DOING THEIR &lt;st1:stockticker&gt;JOB&lt;/st1:stockticker&gt;?&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Why is it that everyone has this overwhelming sense of entitlement nowadays but they don’t put the effort in to earn whatever it is they feel entitled to?&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;It's 10 minutes to 3 now and my foot is starting to itch.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9077893876223931509-8848176129194902520?l=angryfatwoman.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://angryfatwoman.blogspot.com/feeds/8848176129194902520/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9077893876223931509&amp;postID=8848176129194902520' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9077893876223931509/posts/default/8848176129194902520'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9077893876223931509/posts/default/8848176129194902520'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://angryfatwoman.blogspot.com/2007/05/good-customer-service-i-think-not.html' title='Good Customer Service?  I think not'/><author><name>Beena</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09524105286091361605</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9077893876223931509.post-3018573320743252407</id><published>2007-05-17T12:18:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-05-17T13:31:25.842-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Ramblings of the depressed</title><content type='html'>Everyday I wake up in a self-loathing, tired and depressive state of mind.  I set little goals to get through the day.&lt;br /&gt;Goal 1)  Lunch time break;&lt;br /&gt;Goal 2)  5:00 so that I can get my babies;&lt;br /&gt;Goal 3)  8:00  so that I can do my homework;&lt;br /&gt;Goal 4)  Hurry up and finish homework so that I can spend time with my husband or sleep.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes, I feel as though my life is comprised of nothing more than just a series of hours to get to and get through.  One day at a time, as they say in AA.  The problem is, i'm not an alcoholic, I am, however, a food-aholic.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I feel major rejection at work.  My kids got sick and as a result I took too much time off to care for them.  My boss doesn't want to talk/deal with me unless she absolutely has to.  I dealt with this kind of social isolation for three years with my former employ and I swore to myself that I wouldn't put up with it again.  Yet here I am.  The only difference this time is that I really enjoy what I am doing and find myself going above and beyond to prove my worth.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I feel like a child starved for affection, constantly doing things to get myself noticed.  I hope that someone will throw me a bone of praise, give me a pat on the back or hell, even a smile.  No matter how well I perform or how hard I strive to do a good job, I have been permanently labeled as "the girl who plays the kid card".  The thing that gets me, is the personification that they have picked out for me, &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;isn't&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;me&lt;/span&gt; at all.  I just had a string of bad luck.  The kids got sick a lot within a short period of time.  None of these instances were in my control.  While I feel I made the best choice, i'm still beating myself up over it.  I keep thinking, "what could I have done to prevent this?"  The worst part, is that she (my boss) has talked shit about me to other co-workers and now they feel equally as distasteful toward me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Also, i'm jealous.  The new girl (hired in March) has quickly become everybody's BFF leaving me well, not everyone's BFF, but moreover I am the mildly annoying girl who plays the kid card.  She goes to lunch with the boss and everyone else in the office.  I get left behind and not acknowledged.  The more I try to break out of my shell, the more I find myself curled up in the deepest, darkest corner wondering why no one likes me.  (probably because I type up boo-hooish shit like this)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;GRRrrr!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hate feeling this way.  I'm not emo.  I don't enjoy being depressed because it's the fashionable thing to do.  I don't even wear black.  I just feel black on the inside right now.  Maybe it's post-partum depression.  Shit... I don't know.  I just know that I hate myself.  Mostly tied to my body-image.  I weigh like 280 now... or something like that.  My eating binges have become out of control.  Today, I had a large number 1 (big mac, fries, diet coke) and a cheeseburger.  Why I needed the fucking cheeseburger when everything else was large enough... i'll never know.  All I know is I inhaled the food and felt bloated on top of an already empty feeling.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What was I feeling when I ate the food?  Bored. hungry. thirsty. nervous. anxious. lonely.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Over what?  I have no fucking clue.  Probably because it's Thursday.  Thursday's will do that to ya.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am more angry with myself now than I was this morning.  I started out on a clean food plate this morning and once again... lost control.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;An added:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;My husband and I have decided we would like to purchase a home for our family (the four of us, hubby, myself and our two kids).  This stresses me out because that means we have to commit to living in Michigan.  Michigan's economy sucks donkey balls as we are presently 2.5% above the national unemployment rate.  How fucking lovely.  I don't know that I can make a commitment to a state where i'm not sure how the job market will be in 3 years.  Once I get my degree, i'll have to start paying back the student loans.  What if I don't find a job that makes enough money and we're stuck with a house payment we can't afford?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After reading over this blog entry, one thing is made clear.  Work stresses me the fuck out.  Big time.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9077893876223931509-3018573320743252407?l=angryfatwoman.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://angryfatwoman.blogspot.com/feeds/3018573320743252407/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9077893876223931509&amp;postID=3018573320743252407' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9077893876223931509/posts/default/3018573320743252407'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9077893876223931509/posts/default/3018573320743252407'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://angryfatwoman.blogspot.com/2007/05/ramblings-of-depressed.html' title='Ramblings of the depressed'/><author><name>Beena</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09524105286091361605</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9077893876223931509.post-7806295311595253316</id><published>2007-05-15T13:20:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-05-15T13:27:10.698-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Food For Thought'/><title type='text'>The Heavyset Woman</title><content type='html'>&lt;p  class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;I have been called many a name in my lifetime in regards to my weight.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;Some childhood non-faves include; Lardo, boom-ba-ba-boom (they would chant this whenever I walked on to the bus), 2-Ton, Fat Ass, Kellie-Belly, Big Bertha.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;I can recall being humiliated more times than I would care to remember.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p  class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p  class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;Each rotten name brought me back to a place in my mind’s eye where I would curl up into fetal position and cry big ol’ crocadile tears.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;I prayed to God that he would make me thin like the other girls.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;I just wanted to be like everyone else. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;I wanted to wear the same clothes as them, have the same boyfriends, and be that cool, outgoing girl I would always see walking the halls of my school flipping her perfect hair over her shoulders and giggling to her friends.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;At the height of my Junior High angst, I asked God to kill me.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;Just get rid of me.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;I was no good and no one would ever love me.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;  Thankfully, the Lord is good&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;Otherwise, I would have missed a lot of great stuff and more love than I could have ever imagined!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p  class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p  class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;I had since forgotten those times as they seem as far away as they are.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;I am a different person today than I was then.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;I am outgoing even though I am heavy.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;I am very loved even though I am large.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;I have many friends even though putting two of them together might add one of me.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p  class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p  class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;But then, then something happened today that made me want to curl up into the fetal position again.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;I was speaking with an employee over the phone regarding some missing paperwork.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;I asked him to describe the person he handed the paperwork off to and he said “The heavyset lady.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;She had blond hair, but I think she was a brunette”.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;He was referring to me.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;me.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;The heavyset lady.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;Why those words sent me into a depressive state I’ll never know.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;It’s not even a name-calling type of name.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;It is merely a descriptive word to describe someone’s body type.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;That someone is me.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;Me.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;The heavyset lady.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;I just can’t get over it for some reason.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;Maybe, it’s because I’ve never asked someone to describe me physically before.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;When someone is referring to me they usually use words that describe my personality (bubbly, cute, sarcastic, fun, etc.).&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;To have someone describe my body-type sent me under cover.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;Pleasingly plump?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;Overly curvy?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;Chubby?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;Nope.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;Heavyset.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p  class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p  class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;Heavyset.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;Isn’t that a word to describe someone much older than I?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;I’m only 26. I’m still in my mid twenties for heaven’s sake!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;   &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;Although, what was he supposed to say?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;The ginormous fat chick with the fucked up hair?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;No.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;That would’ve been worse.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;So, heavyset it is, I guess…&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;My husband and I took the kids on a walk to the park yesterday.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;We are going to try to walk everyday to improve our physique.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;We both want to do a body overhaul.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;We are scared of heart attacks, diabetes, cancer, all the ailments that they say obese people have a greater chance of developing.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;We took the camera with us on our park adventure so that we could get some adorable shots of Owen playing and Sophie… not playing but still looking cute. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;At one point, Dave turned the camera to me and Soph, sitting in the swing, smiling away.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;Later on, I took a look at the shots we obtained from the camera.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;As I went through the pictures my thoughts centered around; Oh… this is a great one of Owen climbing on the monkey bars!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;Look at Sophie sitting in her baby seat!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;She’s such a beauty!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;There’s Owen and my husband at the slides!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;And then I came to a photo with me, sitting on the swing with Soph.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;My thoughts then; OmyGod who is that …. That … woman?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;Who is that large lady on the swing?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;The one with the tight black t-shirt, double chin and massive stomach hanging down?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;Oh.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;That’s me.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;The woman who looks so tired and a bit dull in the photo?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;Yeah, that’s me.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;At that moment, motivation never hit me so hard.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;I wanted to run around a hundred blocks just to get back to where I was before.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;I had reached that pivotal point in one’s weight gain journey where I realized that I went too long down the wrong path of self-destruction.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;I didn’t even recognize myself and that scared me.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;Body Identity:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;The heavyset woman.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9077893876223931509-7806295311595253316?l=angryfatwoman.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://angryfatwoman.blogspot.com/feeds/7806295311595253316/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9077893876223931509&amp;postID=7806295311595253316' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9077893876223931509/posts/default/7806295311595253316'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9077893876223931509/posts/default/7806295311595253316'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://angryfatwoman.blogspot.com/2007/05/heavyset-woman.html' title='The Heavyset Woman'/><author><name>Beena</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09524105286091361605</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9077893876223931509.post-5673110174005192149</id><published>2007-05-15T07:33:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-05-15T13:28:43.326-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Day One Menu</title><content type='html'>Breakfast:  1- Peach Yogurt (170 cal, 1.5g fat, 0 fiber)&lt;br /&gt;                  2- Multi-Grain Sarah Lee Toast w/ butter (160 cal, 9g fat, 4g fiber)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(7 pts)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Drink:  Water - 8 oz.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lunch:  #8 value meal (fresco style)  &amp; side of cheese sauce (11 pts)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Drink:  Large Diet Pepsi - 32 oz.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Midday points so far:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;18&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Points remaining:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;13&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;**update:  The boss bought everyone ice cream.  I will dip into my 25 flex points for the week for this one.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Flex points used:  13 -- small chocolate ice cream&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"&gt;Flex points remaining:  12&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9077893876223931509-5673110174005192149?l=angryfatwoman.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://angryfatwoman.blogspot.com/feeds/5673110174005192149/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9077893876223931509&amp;postID=5673110174005192149' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9077893876223931509/posts/default/5673110174005192149'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9077893876223931509/posts/default/5673110174005192149'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://angryfatwoman.blogspot.com/2007/05/day-one-menu.html' title='Day One Menu'/><author><name>Beena</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09524105286091361605</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9077893876223931509.post-7013829333182043924</id><published>2007-05-14T10:46:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-05-14T19:42:55.774-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Home Life'/><title type='text'>Weekend Update:  Family, Friends &amp; School... work</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;My weekend was fairly full of events.  Friday night I dyed my hair a beautiful chestnut color.  I used the professional stuff and it turned out better than the store-bought stuff!  Thankfully, I had my aunt (the cosmetologist in the family) walk me through mixing the solutions and then the application.  However, I was a dumbass and forgot to buy a cape to cover myself while I did it.  I got some highlighting solution on me as well as the demi-mixed stuff.  I have been worrying about cancer all weekend long.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My bathroom had some accidental artistry done to it.  I was a bit over-zealous when pouring the solution on my head and now our walls and the floor has brownish spots.  Brown is the new white?  I think not.  Hopefully our landlord will see it as normal wear and tear.  Though I know unless I do something about it, it will come out of our deposit.  Anyone know what will get hair dye off of the walls and floor?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Despite the messiness... my hair turned out splentastic!  Though my husband was a bit pissy about the mess in the bathroom (he is my OC clean freak), he even admitted that it looked great!  Score one for the fat girl!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Saturday night I went out with my best gal pals to another gal pal's birthday bash!  We had a great time!  We got hella drunk and I think scared some lady in the bathroom stall at McDonald's.  We don't know who it was, she refused to come out of her stall until we left.  We weren't doing anything bad, we were just being loud and giggling.  The drunkeness had taken hold of our normally serene personalities.  Oh who the hell am I kidding?  Even without the booze my gal pals and I act like a bunch of nuts around eachother!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sunday morning, I got up with the kids and told my husband to go back to bed.  I took the kids to the park.  Sophie can't do much other than watch Owen climb, run and play.... but she did manage to go down the slide 3 times with her big brother holding her and mommy guiding the both of them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I got some amazing outdoor shots of Owen playing on the equipment!  Great scrapbook stuff!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I got a B in my marketing class and an A on my marketing project.  The professor said that it was one of the best he's seen since he started teaching the class!  Hell yeah baby!  I was so proud of myself!  I even chose to do a Non-Profit Organization which is tricker than a for-profit!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm not doing so swell in English 102.  I've been very negligent of the class and as a result, I think i'll end up failing and having to re-take it.  Oy.  I hate the prospect, but I know that I need to better re-organize my time.  Unfortunately, I think it may be too late to get a salvage-able grade for the class. :o(&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Work is work.  I think i've removed myself emotionally from the job.  I have to realize at some point that companies will never understand a working mom... ever.  I'm still treated semi-lepperish... but what the fuck ever.  I don't care.  I'm just here to do a good job and collect a paycheck.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9077893876223931509-7013829333182043924?l=angryfatwoman.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://angryfatwoman.blogspot.com/feeds/7013829333182043924/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9077893876223931509&amp;postID=7013829333182043924' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9077893876223931509/posts/default/7013829333182043924'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9077893876223931509/posts/default/7013829333182043924'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://angryfatwoman.blogspot.com/2007/05/weekend-update-family-friends-school.html' title='Weekend Update:  Family, Friends &amp; School... work'/><author><name>Beena</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09524105286091361605</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9077893876223931509.post-3435809921112637243</id><published>2007-05-09T13:20:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-05-14T11:00:37.354-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Celebrities'/><title type='text'>So… Tyra Banks… Yeah she’s fat now.</title><content type='html'>&lt;p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;I’m sure most of you have been privy to reading blog post after blog post about Tyra Banks and her “weight gain”.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I’m sure those of you who watch her show or who watch any kind of entertainment news show are aware of the amount of media attention Tyra is getting because she told the paparazzi to and I quote, “Kiss my fat ass!”&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;People magazine has listed Tyra as one of the pioneers of our generation because she is standing up against the media in regards to weight gain.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;She even went so far as to have a whole episode where people had to wear their weight proudly on a “HELLO MY NAME IS” type of badge.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;Although, I can’t help but wonder what her motivation is for launching such a campaign.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Does she really seek to inspire and educate or is this noble plight something to help boost her ratings and essentially her new image as talkshow Diva?&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Either way, I suppose it’s nice to have a beautiful, famous supermodel take one for the team.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;The irony in this whole situation is that 165 is now the new 200.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;The &lt;st1:place&gt;Hollywood&lt;/st1:place&gt; non-existent dress size (because we all know that zero is not a size) has now poured out onto the general population.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;We the unconscious sheep are lead to think that we are fat unless we fit into said non-existent size.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;It’s all about the non-size size.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;0 is the new 6.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Get it?&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Got it?&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Good.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;No matter how old I get, I will not think that skeletal celebrities are beautiful ever and no one will be able to convince me otherwise.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I look at Nicole Ritchie, Hilary Duff, Lindsay Lohan and Paris Hilton and immediately I feel the need to shove a few cheeseburgers at them.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;It’s the maternal instinct in me.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;That said, I admire Tyra Banks for blasting the media.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;It takes steely balls to tell the paparazzi powers-that-be to kiss your ass.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;It means that she is willing to fight for what she believes in, even though we all know the paparazzi will only publish the fugly pictures of Tyra from now on.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;No one likes to be told to kiss someone’s ass, even if they deserve it.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;Evil paparazzi Mofos.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;HELLO! &lt;span style=""&gt; &lt;/span&gt;I WEIGH 275.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;Until Next Time,&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Angry Fat Woman&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9077893876223931509-3435809921112637243?l=angryfatwoman.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://angryfatwoman.blogspot.com/feeds/3435809921112637243/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9077893876223931509&amp;postID=3435809921112637243' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9077893876223931509/posts/default/3435809921112637243'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9077893876223931509/posts/default/3435809921112637243'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://angryfatwoman.blogspot.com/2007/05/so-tyra-banks-yeah-shes-fat-now.html' title='So… Tyra Banks… Yeah she’s fat now.'/><author><name>Beena</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09524105286091361605</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9077893876223931509.post-6941042134434500317</id><published>2007-05-08T12:25:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-05-08T13:41:08.051-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Food For Thought'/><title type='text'>Expectations and Compulsive Over Eating</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;Last night, I had a rather constructive talk with my husband.  For a year or so now I have been feeling like i've fallen into the depths of depression.  As a result, I have gained 50 lbs.  I started telling him about all of the things I have done in regards to my foodscursions.  He looked shocked to say the least.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He didn't realize how depressed and helpless I have felt.  I have gone down this path of binge eating to numb my feelings about certain situations.  My affair with food has gone from pure to down right sneaky.  I sneak food and lie about the amounts I eat.  I feel ashamed about my relationship with food.  As of right now, I feel very out of control.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The secret I have kept:  I am an compulsive overeater or a binge eater.  I've been dealing with this for years (Read:  Not been dealing with it).  I had lost a huge amount of weight back in 2001.  I was able to keep it off until I became pregnant in 2003.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After two pregnancies, i've gained 100 lbs from my lowest weight.  That's 100 lbs in 4 years which is the equivalent to 25 lbs a year.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm not proud of this but I realize that I need to start taking control and move in a positive direction.  I need to fix the inside first (not just the outside).  I've been doing this for so long that some of my actions are mindless.  I don't even think about the food i'm putting in my mouth, whether or not I feel full, etc.  It doesn't consciously matter, I just eat.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My husband told me that I need to pull myself together.  Ugh.  As if I haven't been trying to pull myself together since my son was born!  He is right though.  I do need to do something.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Truth be told, I am scared.  I am scared because i'm not sure how to change my bad habits.   I am scared that I will fail.  I am scared that life won't be as fun without food.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think the key to this is to have a daily journal (ala my blog) and to eat less fast-food and more fruit and veggies.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So there you have it.  I laid it out on the line.  Wish me luck.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until Next Time,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Angry Fat Woman&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9077893876223931509-6941042134434500317?l=angryfatwoman.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://angryfatwoman.blogspot.com/feeds/6941042134434500317/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9077893876223931509&amp;postID=6941042134434500317' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9077893876223931509/posts/default/6941042134434500317'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9077893876223931509/posts/default/6941042134434500317'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://angryfatwoman.blogspot.com/2007/05/expectations-and-compulsive-over-eating.html' title='Expectations and Compulsive Over Eating'/><author><name>Beena</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09524105286091361605</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9077893876223931509.post-1841145397330706360</id><published>2007-05-04T08:03:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-05-08T13:41:08.052-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Food For Thought'/><title type='text'>The Wagon Rolled Away</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;I may have fallen off the wagon.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think I had managed to hoist one chubby thigh up on the back of the wagon three weeks ago.  From my first post and maybe even the second post you can see that I was "&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204);"&gt;motivated&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 255);"&gt;motivated&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 255);"&gt;motivated&lt;/span&gt;." However, the thigh has since fallen off, the wagon continued on its trail leaving me to eat &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;prairie&lt;/span&gt; dust.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've had a few emotional upsets since my first couple of posts and so of course I instantly run to my food shelter.  McDonald's cheeseburgers covering me up like an old friend.  Comfort  food.  Baah! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In my mind I took a look back at all of my foodscursions and visualized a hand taking away the cheeseburgers and fries and finally removing every sweet thing I have eaten in the last three weeks.  If that were a reality then I might possibly be down by six pounds by now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Part of the problem is my lack of planning.  Weight Watchers is an organization that has many mottos.  One of the mottos is plan to succeed (or something like that).  I realize that in my quest to become a better person in addition to becoming a thinner person... I did not think to plan.  My meals are left to the wind.  Therefore, my instant gratification and eating whims are much better filled by the "no-plan" plan.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I need a plan.  Man.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Starting tomorrow (because today is shot to hell already) I will plan to succeed!  Hello weekly menus ...goodbye Dollar Menu!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Though I must ask... can you really fall off the proverbial wagon if you were not fully on to begin with?  Words to ponder on..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until Next Time,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Angry Fat Woman&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9077893876223931509-1841145397330706360?l=angryfatwoman.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://angryfatwoman.blogspot.com/feeds/1841145397330706360/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9077893876223931509&amp;postID=1841145397330706360' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9077893876223931509/posts/default/1841145397330706360'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9077893876223931509/posts/default/1841145397330706360'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://angryfatwoman.blogspot.com/2007/05/wagon-rolled-away.html' title='The Wagon Rolled Away'/><author><name>Beena</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09524105286091361605</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9077893876223931509.post-1437287986406111147</id><published>2007-05-03T13:23:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-05-08T13:41:08.052-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Food For Thought'/><title type='text'>Having an I Feel *Fat* Day</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;I feel fat today.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;To that you might say, “Well, that’s because you are fat and as they say…”&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I don’t really know what *they* say, hence the …&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;just thought I’d add it in for a dramatic effect.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;I would like to squelch a misconceived notion about myself right now.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;For one thing, not everyday is an “I feel fat” day.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Some days, I actually leave my house feeling good about myself.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;We all have those days when the bounce is in our step.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;It is on those days that everything seems to go right.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Every stitch of hair is in place, great outfit, perfect makeup, teeth look a little brighter than normal and I swear, on those days we all feel 20 pounds lighter!&lt;br /&gt; &lt;!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;!--[endif]--&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Today, however, is not one of those days.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I am having an “I feel fat” day.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I am bloated, my hair is in a messy ponytail and I am wearing an ill-fitting outfit complete with tight jeans and bloated stomach.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;My rolls are spilling over my pants, I have cramps and quite frankly I am not all that cute today.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I’m just a just a blob in a purple shirt and TIGHT maternity pants.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Yeah, I said maternity pants.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Wanna make something of it?&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;It is on these days where I feel I need to wear a t-shirt that says, “Don’t fuck wit me.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I’m having a “fat day”.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;a href="http://technorati.com/claim/48ycc6n2j" rel="me"&gt;Technorati Profile&lt;/a&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9077893876223931509-1437287986406111147?l=angryfatwoman.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://angryfatwoman.blogspot.com/feeds/1437287986406111147/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9077893876223931509&amp;postID=1437287986406111147' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9077893876223931509/posts/default/1437287986406111147'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9077893876223931509/posts/default/1437287986406111147'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://angryfatwoman.blogspot.com/2007/05/having-i-feel-fat-day.html' title='Having an I Feel *Fat* Day'/><author><name>Beena</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09524105286091361605</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9077893876223931509.post-3582493252990806891</id><published>2007-05-02T07:18:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-05-08T13:41:08.052-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Food For Thought'/><title type='text'>Get Over It</title><content type='html'>&lt;p  style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 255, 255);font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;I was talking to my mom the other day and we happened upon a subject about life paths and the way my brother and I deal with certain things.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;She said, “I don’t know why you and your brother are so hard on yourselves.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;You both are too damn hard on yourselves.”&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I immediately answered, “Well, that’s because you were critical of us and hard on us.”&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Her response, “Maybe so, but you’re just going to have to get over it.”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p  style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 255, 255);font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;I don’t think parents fully realize the damage their harsh words have on kids.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I know that if I ever say something harsh to Owen, I see the pain flash in his eyes and remember well, feeling like that when I was younger.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;In those instances with my son, I retract and apologize to him.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I feel that there is no shame in admitting you were wrong to your child.&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p  style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 255, 255);font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;I can remember instances in my life where my mom would say things like, "Fine eat that.  You are going to end up to be as a big as a house."  Or "You need to go on a diet.  Why don't you do things like x, y, z?" Or "You have a pretty face, you just need to lose about 50 lbs."  Or "Once you lose weight, you'll feel better."  She always made losing weight sound like it was the answer to all of my problems.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p  style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 255, 255);font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;I remember once I was in tears over a comment she made.  I had had a particularly bad day at school and she said something harsh in regards to my weight.  I told her, "If my own mother doesn't even accept me for the way I am, how do you expect me to accept me or how do you expect other kids to begin to accept me for who I am?"  Her words were always counter productive to me because she came off angry.  She was always angry.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p  style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 255, 255);font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;With Owen, I try building him up rather than tearing him down.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;My mom and dad were great motivators, but at the same time, they also were great self-esteem destroyers.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;They will never admit to wrong-doing when it comes to their parenting style.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;They would argue that we turned out to be good people with our heads on straight.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;In their defense, I would have to agree.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;We did turn out to be good people.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;We have not gone postal to the point of shooting up a Target store nor have we unleashed our anger on a school campus of some kind.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;However, we do have our problems.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p  style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 255, 255);font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p  style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 255, 255);font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;For starters, my brother has panic attacks whenever anything in his life changes.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;He has a hard time handling emotional upheaval and as a result is on medication for it.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;He and I have the same need for constant approval.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;When we don’t get it, then our “vices” start to take hold.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;My brother doesn’t have a vice really, so that’s probably why he gets the panic attacks.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;He has nothing to pacify his emotional upheaval moments.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p  style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 255, 255);font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p  style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 255, 255);font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;My brother is also handsome, caring, athletic and intelligent.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I don’t want or intend to give the wrong impression of him.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p  style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 255, 255);font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p  style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 255, 255);font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;Me.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Well, we all know what is wrong with me.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Food is my vice.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I’m a “foodie”.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I use food to pacify my own emotional upheavals.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I get excited at the prospect of going out to dinner or going anywhere that food is involved.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;To me, Food=Fun.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;In my current frame of mind, I don’t have fun without food.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Not to mention, I love to eat good food.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 255, 255);font-family:arial;" &gt;Something we both share is that my brother and I have an inherent need for other people's approval.  I will 2nd and 3rd guess my decisions just because i'm not sure that everyone will agree with me.  I think the critical nature in which my mother has treated us was passed down from her dad and mom.  My grandma is quite critical but so was my grandpa.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p  style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 255, 255);font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;When my mom tells me that my brother and I just need to “get over it”.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I realize that she’s right in the sense that in order for my brother and I to heal and learn to deal with things in a manner that does not cause us to use our vices, we need to fix the inside first.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;We need to face the things that happened to us in the past and understand them before we can fully begin to greet the future in a healthier state of mind.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p  style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 255, 255);font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p  style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 255, 255);font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;So, here I sit, “getting over it”.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p  style="font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9077893876223931509-3582493252990806891?l=angryfatwoman.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://angryfatwoman.blogspot.com/feeds/3582493252990806891/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9077893876223931509&amp;postID=3582493252990806891' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9077893876223931509/posts/default/3582493252990806891'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9077893876223931509/posts/default/3582493252990806891'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://angryfatwoman.blogspot.com/2007/05/get-over-it.html' title='Get Over It'/><author><name>Beena</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09524105286091361605</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9077893876223931509.post-2598805022349257406</id><published>2007-04-25T12:50:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2007-05-08T13:41:08.052-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Food For Thought'/><title type='text'>And the week goes on...</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Mark another hellish week on the calendar.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Things are not going so well at work.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Things are going so badly that I have actually started to job-hunt.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;Nothing is going well here and people are treating me as though I had been diagnosed with leprosy.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Of course, they are still angry that I missed 2 days last week.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Let them be angry.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;Naturally, I have been gorging myself with unhealthy foods in light of the recent situation here at work.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I would love to blog about how it feels to be 2 lbs thinner but that just is not going to happen this week.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I am probably 2 lbs heavier.&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;On a positive note, at home, I have learned to squelch my cravings by keeping my mind and hands occupied with other things.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;While the kids keep me occupied to an extent, I have added cleaning and straightening to my list of “things to do”.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Not that cleaning and straightening were kicked off the list to begin with, just a simple re-organization of thoughts.&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;Productivity at home makes for a happy person on the inside.&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;Now, I need figure out a way to combat the annoying feelings of worthlessness and anger at work.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;This seems to be one of my bigger hurdles at this time.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I need to find something productive to do to keep me from stuffing my face with McDonalds or Wendys.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I realize that this is not a hunger impulse because yesterday I wasn’t even feeling hungry when I bought lunch.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I was hitting the FF (fast food) for reasons other than hunger.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Mostly I did this out of boredom and routine I think.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Feeding my face also helped to pacify the feelings I have about my current situation.&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;Getting healthier and losing weight is not an easy task.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Many emotions and bad habits have built up over the years making it a difficult goal at best.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;However, I realize that I am not the only person who struggles with this and so I know that losing weight even under these circumstances is not impossible just challenging.&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;We all have our crosses to bear, right?&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;Until Next Time,&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;The Angry Fat Woman&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9077893876223931509-2598805022349257406?l=angryfatwoman.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://angryfatwoman.blogspot.com/feeds/2598805022349257406/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9077893876223931509&amp;postID=2598805022349257406' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9077893876223931509/posts/default/2598805022349257406'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9077893876223931509/posts/default/2598805022349257406'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://angryfatwoman.blogspot.com/2007/04/mark-another-hellish-week-on-calendar.html' title='And the week goes on...'/><author><name>Beena</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09524105286091361605</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9077893876223931509.post-7567588780890655333</id><published>2007-04-20T10:13:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2007-05-08T13:41:08.052-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Food For Thought'/><title type='text'>At Last!  Friday</title><content type='html'>&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;This has been a hellish sort of week.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Things are not going well at work and both of my kids are sick.    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;Things are not going well at work because I stayed home with my sick kids.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;My poor babies have been sick 6 times since January 31&lt;sup&gt;st&lt;/sup&gt;.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;While, I cannot blame my employer for feeling less-than-happy with me, this situation is not something that is avoidable.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Kids get sick.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Plain and simple.&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;Obviously, with my need for validation my insides feel upside down over this situation.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;It almost makes me want to go to the depression corner in my mind.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;The same corner where I say “No one loves me.”&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;“I am worthless.”&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;“I cannot breathe.”&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;However, I’m not going to go to that corner.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I have enough people in my life to validate me.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Yes, that is the problem isn’t it?&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I have an inherent need for validation from others.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;It’s not enough for me to say that I believe in myself… it’s what others believe that matters most.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;This holds the most importance for me.&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;I base and have always based feeling good about myself only when others approve.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;It’s not that I am unaware of who I am.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Obviously, to pull these self-truths out and be able to write about them shows some measure of self-awareness.&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;Self-awareness aside, how do I change this?&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;I have started to tell myself 1 good thing about me per day.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Today, my good thought is that I am a good mom. &lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;I feel that I am an empath when it comes to dealing with people.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I naturally seem to feed off other people’s emotions.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;If my husband is having a bad day then I too am having a bad day.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;It’s hard for me to separate the feelings sometimes.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;It gets to the point where I have a hard time being in big crowds because the feelings fly at me all at once at an alarming rate of speed.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;This seems to happen when I am in an especially introspective mood.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;My “people-awareness” heightens to the point of where I find myself absorbing the feelings.&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;I can feel my boss’s obvious distaste for me right now.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I can feel it so strong that it makes me want to up and quit.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I’m not about to kiss her ass for something I don’t feel I did wrong.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I am stubborn like that.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Still, I don’t like the feel of hostility or unrest.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I am hoping that she will take the weekend to get over it.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Doubtful.&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;While this entry doesn’t have a whole lot to do with food, it does touch on an important subject for me that I believe is one big factor in my need to pacify my feelings.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;If I could find validation within myself, then I believe I wouldn’t slay my feelings for the moment with something greasy or sweet.&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;Have a great weekend!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until Next Time,&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;The Angry Fat Woman &lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9077893876223931509-7567588780890655333?l=angryfatwoman.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://angryfatwoman.blogspot.com/feeds/7567588780890655333/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9077893876223931509&amp;postID=7567588780890655333' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9077893876223931509/posts/default/7567588780890655333'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9077893876223931509/posts/default/7567588780890655333'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://angryfatwoman.blogspot.com/2007/04/at-last-friday.html' title='At Last!  Friday'/><author><name>Beena</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09524105286091361605</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9077893876223931509.post-4809520544649363922</id><published>2007-04-19T12:32:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-05-08T13:41:08.052-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Food For Thought'/><title type='text'>Better Choices</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;One thing I’ve come to realize (again) about weight loss success is that it all comes down to having a good mentality that will then enable me to make better choices.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;In the short time, I have had this blog; I have begun to see a pattern with my binges and bad choices.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;If I have a bad day, I make a bad choice.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Last night I had a pivotal moment in controlling my bad karma.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Here’s the situation:&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;I came home from work in a semi-rotten mood.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;People were mad at me for missing two days because of sick kids and I was waiting for the other shoe to drop (get called out by my supervisor in other words).&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;The shoe didn’t drop all day and this left me feeling tense and angry inside.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;On my lunch hour, I made a bad food choice and binged at McDs.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I felt even worse after eating the garbage but for a brief moment, it had the ability to pacify my feelings of worthlessness.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Therefore, when I got home that evening, I was ready to cry or yell – whichever emotion happened to hit me first.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I remember sitting on the short couch talking to my husband about my day.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I noticed he seemed a bit uninterested.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;At the time, I felt like he was dismissing me, now I realize that his facial expressions and body movements were liken to the fact that he couldn’t fix it and felt frustrated for me.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;I *ALMOST* lit in to him.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I *ALMOST* said, “Well, geez, it seems like you just don’t care whether or not I’ve had a bad day.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Guess I’ll quit talking now.”&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Thank God, I didn’t go there!&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Instead, I stopped myself and realized that I needed somewhere else to place my energy.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I had two choices at that moment, I could either, sit on the short couch and bitch, OR I could be productive.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;As it turned out, I chose the latter and washed the hallway, bedroom &amp; bathroom walls.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;After I was done with my task, I had forgotten all about my anxiety-ridden moment.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;My husband asked me what I wanted for dinner and I made a better choice.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;When I lost a tremendous amount of weight the first time, I realize now that I didn’t take the time to fix the inside.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I tried to fix it but threw myself into exercise instead.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Now, I am trying to change things little by little and it feels productive albeit slow.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I need to realize that I will not receive instant gratification with my weight loss journey.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I will however, receive little gratifications along the way that arrive in forms of feeling better about myself, fitting into new clothes, watching my double chin disappear, and finally the absence of camel toe.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Today I ate:&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Half a cake donut (complete with frosting and sprinkles):&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;5 pts&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Weight Watchers Meal:&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;6 pts&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-family: arial;"&gt;Total so far:  11 points&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;WOOOHOO!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until next time,&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;The Angry Fat Woman&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9077893876223931509-4809520544649363922?l=angryfatwoman.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://angryfatwoman.blogspot.com/feeds/4809520544649363922/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9077893876223931509&amp;postID=4809520544649363922' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9077893876223931509/posts/default/4809520544649363922'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9077893876223931509/posts/default/4809520544649363922'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://angryfatwoman.blogspot.com/2007/04/better-choices.html' title='Better Choices'/><author><name>Beena</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09524105286091361605</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9077893876223931509.post-7835686270438130837</id><published>2007-04-18T11:52:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-05-08T13:41:08.053-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Food For Thought'/><title type='text'>Being Honest</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;It's hard for me to write in this blog without being completely honest.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have decided to start writing everything down that I eat and so as to figure out why, i've also decided to write the feelings I had when I made that choice.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today's Meals:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Breakfast:  Nothing&lt;br /&gt;Snack:  Nothing&lt;br /&gt;Lunch:  McDonald's #1 (Big Mac, Fries, Diet Coke) Large &amp;amp; a cheeseburger&lt;br /&gt;Snack:  Nothing&lt;br /&gt;Dinner:  Not sure&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Points so far:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Big Mac = 13&lt;br /&gt;Cheeseburger = 7&lt;br /&gt;French Fries = 14&lt;br /&gt;Diet Coke = 0&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lunch Total = 34&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wow.  I'm not sure how many WW points I can have yet, though i'm sure 34 isn't the number.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why did I make this choice?  How was I feeling at the time?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today is my first day back to work.  I was off with sick babies for the past 2 days.  I got the cold shoulder from everyone.  My boss and others went out to lunch leaving me by myself.  This has been happening on a weekly if not daily basis.  I feel left-out and not wanted.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Things I have to realize:  It's a small office.  So, while they are understanding to a point about me being off with the kids, it doesn't make it any better as other people have to pick up the slack.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Other Things to realize:  I am starting my own daycare this coming winter and will have to "ride it out" until then.  Even if I don't start my own daycare, I need to be the best employee I can be.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Life Outside of Work:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My husband and I have been going through tense times.  I feel like I am a failure.  I don't feel "good enough" for him.  These feelings have been pouring out onto our relationship.  The way I feel about myself is largely to blame for the way I feel about our relationship.  Honestly, if I felt positive about my body, then I think my outlook  on my relationship would be more positive.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Things I have to realize:  My husband loves me the way I am.  He is my biggest fan and will not leave me.  He loves me and our relationship and when he married me, he planned to spend the rest of his life with me.  I need to get this into my brain and quit accusing him of things he hasn't done or even thought of doing.  I need to let go of the self-doubt and start living like today is my last day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Other things to realize:  I need to keep the lines of communication open with my husband.  I need to tell him that he does a great job!  I need to incorporate more positive energy into our household!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3 Goals to accomplish this next week:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1.  Start appreciating my husband more and not let my self-esteem issues get in the way.&lt;br /&gt;2.  If I feel the need to go to McDonald's (or any fast food joint)  grab a salad or something healthier.  2 cheeseburgers is 14 points and a salad with dressing is 10 points.&lt;br /&gt;3.  Tell myself one good thing about me every day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until Next Time,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Angry Fat Woman&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9077893876223931509-7835686270438130837?l=angryfatwoman.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://angryfatwoman.blogspot.com/feeds/7835686270438130837/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9077893876223931509&amp;postID=7835686270438130837' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9077893876223931509/posts/default/7835686270438130837'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9077893876223931509/posts/default/7835686270438130837'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://angryfatwoman.blogspot.com/2007/04/being-honest.html' title='Being Honest'/><author><name>Beena</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09524105286091361605</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9077893876223931509.post-4299783482041137901</id><published>2007-04-10T10:46:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-05-08T13:41:08.053-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Food For Thought'/><title type='text'>MILF in the making...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;I'm done having babies... and camel toe. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's not easy being a mom of 2, wife of 1, an employee and a college student.  Yet, here I am walking the walk and talking the talk.  I've been trying to relish in the fact that i'm busting out each of my goals one by one.  Yet, I am tired on this journey.  My feet are dragging, i'm irritable, not fun and quite frankly i've reached the point of no return.  Either i'm going to have a heart attack or a breakdown.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've been heavy for most of my life.  I weighed 110 lbs in 5th grade.  From there, I went on to gain 115 lbs and in my senior year tipped the scales at 225.  I lost weight in 2002 and was at my lowest weight of 169.  From that point, I met my husband, got married and had two babies.  I am ashamed to say that I gained 105 lbs in a matter of 5 years.  I now weigh 275.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So many things happened between the end of high school and the beginning of my college years, working young-adult life, to now.  I believe in order to get to the thinner me I desire, I will need to wade through ALL OF IT.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am making this diary public.  Anyone can read it.  Maybe it will give someone hope and inspiration.  Maybe it will give someone a reason to be happy about their lives - in the "At least I don't look like her" sense.  Maybe, it will give someone something to do on lunch hour.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In any case, welcome to my blog.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until Next Time,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Angry Fat Woman&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9077893876223931509-4299783482041137901?l=angryfatwoman.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://angryfatwoman.blogspot.com/feeds/4299783482041137901/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9077893876223931509&amp;postID=4299783482041137901' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9077893876223931509/posts/default/4299783482041137901'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9077893876223931509/posts/default/4299783482041137901'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://angryfatwoman.blogspot.com/2007/04/milf-in-making.html' title='MILF in the making...'/><author><name>Beena</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09524105286091361605</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry></feed>
