We all know I’m not a small lady.

Or if this is your first time here, Hi! I’m not a small lady.

I’m not abnormally ginormous, but to say I’m a curvy, plus size lady is exactly accurate.

I love me some t-shirts. Living in Orlando will put anyone (who doesn’t wear modest clothing for religious purposes) in a state of frenzy for wearing clothes that keep you cool. From April through October, it’s balls hot here, and I hate it.

I know. I live here. You can tell me to shut up.

Because of my refusal (yes, I’m back to that) to wear anything without sleeves, I look for shirts that have sleeves. Working from home affords me the luxury of wearing any old thing I have lying around and not having to dress up for the boss.

Again, you can tell me to shut up.

Patrick sent me a link to this t-shirt today: R2D2 Love

Of course, because I’m currently in the market for a new Star Wars t-shirt to wear to Star Wars Weekends, I had to have it.

I went to check out to buy the shirt, and seeing the pretty lady in the picture wearing a woman’s shirt, I thought for a split second that, “Hey! These people have women’s shirts, too! I’ll get myself an actual women’s t-shirt to be all cute and stuff!”

And that split second of hope was dashed when I saw this at the checkout screen:

I am not a Juniors. To the best of my knowledge, most of the women I know aren’t “juniors” by way of default that they are women.

I don’t think this has to do with me having more cushion for the pushin’, but rather has to do with clothiers thinking that all women can, or should, fit into shirts designed for teenagers.

There are lots of non-plus size women who can fit into the junior-sized shirts, and I’m sure most of them feel proud to fit into something their 15-year-old daughter or coming-out son would wear.

But to not have the option for anyone over a size 14 to wear something that’s not “mens” or “unisex” frustrates me.

I still bought the shirt. Hell, I love the shirt.

I’m going to wear that Mens(Unisex) -XL R2D2-loving a trashcan shirt like the proud, plus-size, Nerd Mama that I am, and smile hugely when I get stopped no less than 20 times with compliments by the other Star Wars nerds at Star Wars Weekends.

Though, they’re probably just going to be staring at my plus-size boobs, and I’m OK with that.

© Angie [A Whole Lot of Nothing] for A Whole Lot of Nothing • Your Favorite Blog, 2012. | Permalink | 14 comments | Add to del.icio.us
Post tags: juniors, r2d2 shirt, ript apparel, star wars shirt, t-shirt, womens

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I’m on a mission that will inevitably leave my crying and hating myself.

Living in the Dirty South means surface-of-the-sun-type temperatures from May through September. Now with Al Gore all up in Mother Nature’s business this year, we’re already seeing highs in the 90s in early April.

I hate it.

You’d think that after living in Orlando for the last 15+ years and in Northwest Florida for the 17 years before that, I’d learn to love the heat. I haven’t and I still hate it.

If I looked good in a bikini, I’d live in one for 7 months a year. Since it’s frowned upon to expose young children to blinding reflections, I keep my white jiggly belly under wraps.

To hide my plus-size junk in my trunk, I wear long shorts in lieu of a bikini. You’re welcome, America.

But shopping for those shorts is gut-wrenching, heart-palpitation-inducing, and downright sucky. This may be why I’ve been wearing the same 4 pairs of shorts for the last 2 years.

There’s something to be said for the manufacturer of the shorts that have held up against my sweaty fat ass for the last 2 years, and that “something” is “job well done, Lane Bryant.”

I think it’s high time I got some new shorts. But it’s that shopping mission that will leave me in tears, regretting every Oreo and taco I’ve put in my mouth for the last 15 years.

In my initial reconnaissance of the webstores for the lady of leisure of a certain size, I’ve found exactly ZERO pairs of shorts that

A) are long enough to cover my saddle bags.
B) are short enough to expose my knees.
C) do not give me saggy butt after wearing for an hour.
D) have pockets for my phone.
E) do not resemble spandex bike shorts.

Seriously, friends. The lack of short pants for the size-14-and-up lady is at critical mass.

These stonewash, lightweight (see: this fabric won’t last 3 washings), fake drawstring (for extra bulk in front!) shorts are currently available from Old Navy in up to a size 30.

[Related: I've found where rednecks buy their wedding shorts.]

Sateen does not do anyone with cellulite any favors, Lane Bryant. We all know you’ve photoshopped the model’s cottage cheesy saddlebags out of the picture here. Or maybe she’s wearing Spanx under the capri pants? Because you will not catch me in a pair of constricting unbreathable nylon underthings in 95º heat. I learned my lesson years ago in a yeast infection-related trauma.

Bright blue pull-on, elastic-waist capri pants, Avenue? Is this your version of birth control?

It was just a few years ago that I wrote about stores selling shorts that are wider than they are long. Because this? Is not OK.

I’m in desperate need of your help. I realize this is a nearly impossible question to ask seeing as 90% of the country is still not having summer weather and others of you don’t believe in wearing shorts.

Have you found some shorts you love that you bought in the last month or so? I’m desperate and you’re my only hope.

© Angie [A Whole Lot of Nothing] for A Whole Lot of Nothing • Your Favorite Blog, 2012. | Permalink | 18 comments | Add to del.icio.us
Post tags: plus size shorts

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You’d never know it from looking at me through the lappytop screen, but I have horrendous style.

Like, bad.

Like, my sister shakes her head at me when I show up at her house and wonders less-than-silently how we’re even related.

So like everyone else on the internet, I thought I’d give it a go at Polyvore to see just how bad my style measures up.

With some last minute help from alimartell, I don’t think I did 1/2 bad. (I’m required by no one other than myself to tell you that alimartell is not a fan of the Sperry’s, but I love them, so they stayed. She did love the striped shirt and picked out the wedges to include.)

Spring by awholelotofnothing

MICHAEL Michael Kors Plus – Plus Size Y/D Stripe 3/4 Length Sleeve Top

Levi’s Plus – Plus Size 542 Trouser Flare Jean

Sperry Top-Sider – Bluefish 2-Eye (Linen/Coral Seersucker Plaid)

Tignanello – Perfect 10 Studded Shopper

Lucky Brand – Textured Medium Oblong Hoops (Silver)

Obey – Danforth Necklace (Silver Oxide)

MICHAEL Michael Kors Plus – Plus Size V-Neck Poncho

Franco Sarto – Kashmir (Natural Canvas)

Now, if I could only get it together long enough to actually dress up when I leave the house, I’d totally get all of this cuteness.

All of these items I found on Zappos, with whom I am an affiliate.

Mama’s gotta make paper somehows, yo.

© Angie [A Whole Lot of Nothing] for A Whole Lot of Nothing • Your Favorite Blog, 2012. | Permalink | 11 comments | Add to del.icio.us
Post tags: clothing, nautical, plus size, polyvore

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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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UPDATE: Even more better and available in the US is the 11-pound jar of Nutella. SCHWING!

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 | 31 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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