This is your warning that you may have to do simple math in your head.

I equal slightly more than 2 obese alimartells.

In no shame to her, my pocket pal, alimartell, wrote about being fat-pinch measured as “obese” in all of her 104 pounds. I don’t care what the arbitrary charts and medical field jargon say about what is obese, what is normal, and what is underweight.

When an adult woman is roughly the size Justin Bieber, she is not obese.

I can basically nom on an alimartell and not need a post-dinner nap.

I fit more on my plate at the Churrascaria* than what alimartell weighs.

The medical and health professionals can spout all the fat-to-body mass ratios they want, but if you can use the word “obese” do describe both mine and alimartell’s body conditions, there’s something wrong with the definition.

*If you are unfamiliar with a Churrascaria, it’s basically 1/2 massive buffet of deliciousness and 1/2 handsome Brazilian men walking around slicing off varieties of all-you-can-eat meat onto your plate. From here is where the term “Meat Sweats” was coined.

© Angie [A Whole Lot of Nothing] for A Whole Lot of Nothing • Your Favorite Blog, 2012. | Permalink | 6 comments | Add to del.icio.us
Post tags: alimartell, eating, obese

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Weighing in at a whopping 1/2 of a pound, the World’s Largest Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup, aka the 8th Wonder of the World, is going on my Christmas Wish List for every Christmas from now until forever.

I would do bad things to this.

Pin It

World’s Largest REESE’S Peanut Butter Cups

image via Fuck Yeah Chocolate

© Angie [A Whole Lot of Nothing] for A Whole Lot of Nothing • Your Favorite Blog, 2011. | Permalink | 13 comments | Add to del.icio.us
Post tags: 1/2 pound, food photos, food pics, one pound, pictures of food, reese's peanut butter cup, world's largest

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My life goes in cyclical obsessions.

I wouldn’t go so far as to say my obsessions are the ending of my regular everyday banal life, but they are added on top of everything else I have to do in a day’s work.

Watching Dexter non-stop.

Reading every Twilight book back-to-back.

Twittering.

Playing Tropico.

Right now, it’s those tiny pop-one-in-your-mouth-and-watch-them-appear-on-your-thighs powdered donuts. Call them what you will, poppers, gems, mini donuts, Sweet Sweet Baby Jeebus’s special gift to processed foods, but mama loves all 230 calories three of those babies pack in their donuty goodness.

Am I the only one who can’t say or write “powdered donut” without thinking of Powdered Toast Man? He and Log were my favorite Ren & Stimpy characters, just like Ace & Gary are my favorites today.

I’m kind of getting an epiphany. Maybe I like the powdered donuts because they make me think of Powdered Toast Man, Ren & Stimpy, and my free-wheelin’ teens and early 20s. Life was easier back then. 80 pounds lighter, no kids for which to devote my being, no bills beyond my Arial Mobile account and the $500 limit on my credit card. My car payment was under $200 and getting paid $8.50/hour was BIG MONEY.

The good old days were back in the ’90s. Chris Kirkpatrick had white boy dreads, I had the whole weekend of MTV’s Spring Break on my VHS tapes, and I had that nervous feeling of embarrassment to buy condoms from my ex-boyfriend’s dad at Kmart.

Back in the day, I could eat 3 whole mini powdered donuts and not think twice about it. Instead, I have to eat them one at a time and space them out through my day so I can pretend that I’ve worked off the last donut before I eat the next.

And now I want me a donut.

Wanna take a guess on how many mini powdered donuts I’ve eaten for the duration of writing this post?

Image via Wikia

© Angie [A Whole Lot of Nothing] for A Whole Lot of Nothing • Your Favorite Blog, 2011. | Permalink | 6 comments | Add to del.icio.us
Post tags: 90s, powdered donuts, powdered toast man

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I love a kids’ birthday party where the parents are either A) invited to drop the kids and run, B) allowed into the bounce houses and trampolines, or C) offered alcoholic drinks.

Much to my giddy delight, we went to two 6-year-old birthday parties last weekend where 2 out of the above 3 options happened. Because both of the parties were for my good friends’ kids, we stuck around with the kids and parents instead of dropping off the girls and gleefully skipping to our car yelling, “WE’RE FREEEEEEE!!!!” only to return at the latest possible minute to pick them up.

Even though the first party started at TEN AY EM on a Saturday morning, all was forgiven when we adults were allowed into the gym space where the inflatable bounce houses and running ramp trampoline lived.

I just have to say a big THANK YOU JEEBUS AND OPRAH to myself for remembering to stick on that lady peepee pad because this girl got on that trampoline and jumped and jumped and jumped until something in my lower back said, “Girlfriend, all that jumping means your whole 200+ pounds lands on me and that shit hurts.”

That’s when I took to the ginormous blow-up slide that my kids slid on non-stop for an hour. And let me tell you. Sliding down upside down and backwards on a 30 foot (or so it looked) tall inflatable slide is one of life’s true pleasures. Try it. I’m serious. Climb your fatass up that dirty, vinyl plasticy material-not-found-in-nature ladder stair steppy thing, and slide upside down and backwards, and your outlook on life will be changed in an instant.

I also had the opportunity to take my first of many planking photos:

Me, planking across an open circle donut thingy, which I got stuck getting off of. Because, naturally.

I had honest-to-God fun jumping and bouncing and sliding with my kids and my friends. At my old age of 34 and heavyweight status, I had to take a break to watch in awe of the 1/2 pint kids who never once stopped moving. It’s like the children have an intravenous line feeding them a never-ending supply of black magic energy. I think for adults they call it “crystal meth.” Thank GOD the kids don’t end up losing their teeth and have random scabs on their faces because of it. WAIT… Is never-ending kid energy really crystal meth? I think I’m on to something.

I digress.

I’m proud of myself for not caring if I made a fool of myself for jumping and having fun. I just thank Pushed-Two-Babies-Within-18-Months-Of-One-Another-Out-of-My-Bagina Me for sticking in that pantyliner so I didn’t get caught peeing down my leg as I jumped.

© Angie [A Whole Lot of Nothing] for A Whole Lot of Nothing • Your Favorite Blog, 2011. | Permalink | 3 comments | Add to del.icio.us
Post tags: bounce house, kids birthday parties, planking, trampoline

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I’m going to speak for the 80% of the women population who are a size 8 and above and say, “Thank you!” to Bleulab designer, Carl Jones.

THANK YOU for not making these reversible jeans in a size that reaches into the double digits.

THANK YOU for making your jeans so that if our thighs rub together, we won’t have to worry about squeezing into your reversible jeans.

THANK YOU for understanding that us ladies of an 8+ size would not want to wear the same jeans inside out because the pilling on the inside of the thighs would rub inside the jeans thus giving us even more thigh rubbage.

THANK YOU for not tempting us girls with some junk in our trunk to want to spend ONE HUNDRED AND SIXTY-THREE DOLLARS on a pair of jeans, even if you do think they can count as two pair.

THANK YOU for understanding that we of a certain size need to air out the crotches of our jeans and for knowing that simply turning them inside out won’t do the trick. We love that you know that if we were to turn our day-worn jeans inside out, our lady stank would waft into the air and that’s something we fatties like to keep to ourselves.

photo credit: singer 22

© Angie [A Whole Lot of Nothing] for A Whole Lot of Nothing • Your Favorite Blog, 2011. | Permalink | 4 comments | Add to del.icio.us
Post tags: designer, reversible jeans

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In light of yesterday’s I Will Never Give Up Mah Kraft Real Mayo! post, it’s apropos that today I show you what may possibly be the best invention ever to have hit the shelves of a foreign grocery store.

Nutella Snack & Drink.

Unfortunately, the Nutella Snack & Drink is not available in the US (yet), but with a little coaxing and maybe a petition, Ferrero could maybe possibly bring it to the states for us to have in our hot chubby little hands. It can be purchased from an Italian foods importers, but at $7 apiece plus $20 SHIPPING, my love for Nutella does not supersede my bank account. [You CAN have Nutella Snack and GO! shipped to a US address now if you're desperate.]

This particular flavor tray, is made by Ferrero and contains three compartments. The sections are filled with bread-sticks, chocolate and hazelnut Nutella and a third compartment with iced tea to cleanse the palate. ~ Food Beast

image source myconey

We the people need to hound/petition/ask nicely of Nutella and Ferrero to bring Nutella Snack & Drink to the US and Canada.

Obviously, I’m concerning myself with world issues here.

WHO’S WITH ME?

© Angie [A Whole Lot of Nothing] for A Whole Lot of Nothing • Your Favorite Blog, 2011. | Permalink | 28 comments | Add to del.icio.us
Post tags: ferrero, italy, nutella, nutella snack drink

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I’ve come to terms with the fact that I’ll never be what you’d refer to as a “skinny girl.” I will always have at least 20-30 extra pounds, even when I do get past those pesky 50 pounds I need to lose to get down to the magical 20-30 pounds above my target healthy weight.

So really, I’m just talking about those extra 20-30 pounds I’ll never lose because I refuse to give up certain things in my epicurean life. I’ve tried to use turkey meat in my sauce instead of meat meat. It’s just not the same. I don’t cook enough as it is, and when I use turkey meat, it makes me want to throw away what I actually made and never cook another meal again. From here forward, I’ll always use meat meat so that I feel like I can be an actual food fixer for my family instead of a food fixer who throws away the food she cooks.

Kraft Real Mayo. Don’t give me that Hellman’s Mayonaise or that crap that’s not even mayo, Miracle Whip. There’s nothing miracle about that whipped up jar of salad dressing masquerading as creamy goodness of Real Mayo. I will accept Patrick making his famous-in-our-house just-like-the-real-thing-imitation Sex Sauce (see: a delicious everything sauce created by our former employer, Fudpucker’s) using Hellman’s, but he buys it in small jars just for the purpose of making the sauce.

AND OH SWEET BABY JEEBUS don’t try to pass off that “Lite” or “No Fat” Kraft Real Mayo. That shite tastes like the ass-end of a homeless man suffering from Crohn’s Disease. I’d rather go hungry than use that impostor Lite or No Fat mayo. My mom loves me so much, she buys me my own Kraft Real Mayo for her house when I come to visit. I don’t think of it as enabling a fatty; I think of it as a nugget of love from my Mama for my snobbish Mayo appetite.

To go with my Kraft Real Mayo, I’m sort of a huge sandwich bread snob. OK, not “sort of,” I am. I don’t need the expensive, fancy-pants bread that’s baked fresh daily or the kind of the shelves that comes double bagged for no apparent reason. I need my plain ole store brand Honey Wheat sammich bread. AND LORD & OPRAH IN HEAVEN IF YOU TRY TO GIVE ME THAT BUTTER BREAD CRAP. In college, I had a roommate who had many more issues than buying butter bread, but for this scenario, I’m focusing on just that one personality flaw. Butter bread has no purpose. None. Fake butter flavor on sandwich bread should go the ways of Michael Jackson and his wife, Elizabeth Taylor, and die. That bitch of a psycho roommate bought butter bread, and I STUPIDLY made a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

Friends. When I tell you that I still remember the rancid-like taste in my mouth of that PB&J on butter bread sammich, I wish I was joking. It’s hard to remember a more foul-tasting food than that butter bread PB&J sandwich I ate some 14 years ago.

Yes, I am a food snob. No, I am not a chi-chi foo-foo-food-only eater. I just likes what I likes, and there’s no way I can see myself giving up what I like, even if it means I’ll never wear a bikini or fit into a size 6.

I can’t ever give up hosting parties in my mouth.

What’s your never-give-up food?

Sweet Baby Jeebus & Oprah, you best not say butter bread or I swear to the Ghost of Oprah, I’ll hunt you down and stab you with my spork.

© Angie [A Whole Lot of Nothing] for A Whole Lot of Nothing • Your Favorite Blog, 2011. | Permalink | 16 comments | Add to del.icio.us
Post tags: diet, eat, give up

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Since I’m all about exposing myself lately, I figured I’d go one step further and show you the real me.

I’m compelled to do this partly out of the incredibly loving, amazingly awesome response I and the other Curvy Girls have received in response to our Swimsuit Confidence post that went live earlier this week. Honestly, it’s kind of taken me aback how the overwhelming reactions I’ve seen are positive and uplifting.

I’ve never EVER never thought of myself as brave. Reckless? Stupid? Maybe. Brave? Never.

That’s the response we’ve felt. That we are brave. That I am brave.

Brave for showing our bathing suit bodies to live forever on the internet.

But then out come the haters. It happens. When people spill their guts out onto the world’s stage, haters gonna hate. We were accused of photoshopping our bathing suit photos to the point that we were no longer “real” and we were shams. They said we weren’t “real” because we didn’t have our photos taken “out in public” but rather at our homes, in our backyards, inside our houses.

Somehow, posting our bathing beauty-selves on the internet for all to see isn’t “public” enough for some people. If that’s not “being real,” I don’t know what is.

For real.

I’m not going to respond to the haters directly on the Curvy Girl post.

Because I’m a fucking professional.

Speaking of professionals, fucking professional photographers alter and ‘shop their photos. People who are fucking picture takers touch up their pictures.

Knowing a (professional or amateur) model’s best angles is good photography. Just ask Tyra Banks. Have you haters never watched America’s Next Top Model? Clearly not.

We are no Top Models, but we are women with insecurities who currently have PHOTOS OF OURSELVES ON THE INTERNET FOREVER AND EVER AMEN.

I’d like to present to you Exhibit A, an unphotoshopped self portrait I just took of me right out of the shower, no makeup, towel on my head, hypnotized by the TV.

This is basically what Patrick gets to see every night from across the couch. Don't be jealous.

That’s some scary shit, yo. A photo taken from below shows off my multiple chins, I’m not smizing, my acne is out and in full effect, and my glasses look off-kilter.

It’s a bad, bad, embarrassing photo. No one wants that shit out on the internet.

That’s the kind of photo that if someone tags you in it on Facebook, you have a price put on their head and report them as an un-registered sex offender.

Here is Exhibit B, an unphotoshopped photo I took of myself just one minute after the photo above.

Hot DAMN, that girl is fine!

Taken from above, the angle allows for my multiple chins to be magically invisible, with better lighting you don’t see my acne, and you can totally tell that I’m smizing. I think Tyra would be proud.

So, Hater McLoserpants, you wanna question the methods to our bathing suit photography madness now?

Bring it on.

Just don’t acuse me and my people of not being real.

© Angie [A Whole Lot of Nothing] for A Whole Lot of Nothing • Your Favorite Blog, 2011. | Permalink | 17 comments | Add to del.icio.us
Post tags: curvy girl guide, photos, photoshop

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I have a new addiction: Pinterest.

I’ve planned my dream house, hold parties in my pants, and find amazing photos of amazing places with amazing people.

Yesterday, I got pissed off at a photo graphic someone pinned on their board.

This one:

image credit: unknown

I look more like the silhouette on the right than the one on the left. Or maybe I’m a perfect mash of both. Either way, I’m not a skinny girl.

But the image pissed me right the eff off.

Not all chubby girls eat only bad food. We love our veggies as much as we love our tator tots. Skinny girls love a good milkshake as much as they love a head of broccoli.

Let’s get it right, asshole who created this graphic.

Jerks.

This frustration is making me want to eat an Oreo.

Double jerks.

© Angie [A Whole Lot of Nothing] for A Whole Lot of Nothing • Your Favorite Blog, 2011. | Permalink | 26 comments | Add to del.icio.us
Post tags: cake, fat woman, skinny woman, vegetables

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I’m turning into a lush. This should come at no surprise to anyone who knows me or my family, considering I’ve been drinking beer since I was old enough to fetch and open the bottles for my dad. It’s too bad that I don’t like beer now, because beer is cheap and comparatively low in calories to the drinks I like.

Margaritas? My drink of choice.

Sangria? My close second drink of choice.

Anything pomegranatey with vodka? My WOO HOO, GIRL’S NIGHT drink of choice.

Free alcohol? Yes, please, and keep them coming.

Unfortunately, all of those drinky poos that I love are relatively high in calories.

[Note: "Relatively high" means "so high that I don't want to know."]

I’m a child of 80s television which in a small way means I’m easily swayed by commercialism. If it’s on TV and someone I think I like says it’s good, I’ll try it.

You can guess what comes next.

I want a Skinny Girl Margarita.

ready-to-drink margarita + lower calories + created by a reality TV star = Mama wants her some Skinny Girl Margaritas

My local liquor store is a carrier of the ready-to-drink Skinny Girl Margarita. You know, if they had any. Apparently (and of course I knew this from watching Bethenny Ever After, but I figured my one little liquor store would have the last bottle) they are very popular and sell out as soon as they’re stocked and don’t restock for months at a time.

This leaves me stuck with no Skinny Girl Margaritas.

I’m blaming Bethenny Frankel for the extra 20 pounds I’ll be putting on my ass because I have to drink regular super-calorie ready-to-drink margaritas.

© Angie [A Whole Lot of Nothing] for A Whole Lot of Nothing • Your Favorite Blog, 2011. | Permalink | 20 comments | Add to del.icio.us
Post tags: celebrity, skinny girl margarita

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