Free Such a Pretty Fat: One Narcissist's Quest to Discover if Her Life Makes Her Ass Look Big, or Why Pie Is Not the Answer by Jen Lancaster Page B
Authors: Jen Lancaster
After all, I’ve got the clichéd such-a -pretty-face—maybe I could even make a few bucks? Or possibly get free clothes? Or handbags !
Sometimes they have famous plus models visit the girls on America’s Next Top Model . How cool would that be? I love both Mr. Jay and Miss J., and Tyra Banks would so want to be my best friend, even if I will have to break it to her that she is not the new Oprah. But friends are obligated to tell each other the truth, right? We could drink margaritas together and eat ribs and then drop by Miss Janice Dickinson’s house, where the fun would really begin!
Anxious to begin my television career, I rush back into my office to download the photo. I can barely sit still while my computer takes its sweet time. Come on; come on!
After what feels like hours, the image appears on my monitor. It’s showtime!
And . . . now all I want to know is this: how the fuck did Jabba the Hutt get into my bedroom, and why is he wearing my pearls?
So now I don’t feel good or look good.
Now what?
The last time I lost any significant weight was the spring of 2000. Inspired by all the gorgeous tulips blooming in the center of Michigan Avenue, I decided I wanted a big-city wedding the next year, and Fletch and I began to make plans. 55 At the time, everyone was doing Atkins, evidenced by all the baggies of cheese and turkey in my office’s kitchen and the screaming when a bread basket was proffered during corporate lunches. I tried it, too, and the weight simply fell off. I loved never feeling hungry but found myself dying for stuff like grape juice and would have committed murder for five minutes alone inside a Krispy Kreme store. But I kept up the carb-free regimen until I bought a book on wedding planning, realized that with my demanding job I didn’t have the bandwidth to coordinate caterers and florists and photographers and the like, and tabled both the wedding and the diet. Three Croissan’wiches later, the weight came back. And it’s been here ever since.
In terms of dieting, Atkins was the least offensive, and it was fun to gobble down a juicy steak while gloating about how much thinner I already felt. I bet if I kick-start my weight-loss quest by going low carb, I’ll have some initial victories on the scale that I can use to segue into a healthier long-term way of eating!
Resolved: Nothing motivates like success, so Atkins it is.
And now I’m off to buy some cheese.
TO: angie_at_home
FROM: [email protected]
SUBJECT: Quh Muh Gahhhhhhhhh
HAnngie,
Pink! Pink liqueuerr! Called X-rated! Yum from ! Sold at Cosatco!! Tastes like bitingin into a fresh mango and grapefruit and passiopnmfruit and swirly swirly with frenchg vodka—YUM! Oner of these and an Ambien and all of a sudden leggings MAKES TOTAL PERFECT FUCMOINGH SENSE! Like, GEENIUS! Pants you wearrs under you skirts? Yes! Brillianbt’1!!1!!
Now I want to amek phone calls untless Fletch stops me :[
Laaqaaaaaattttteeeerrr,
Jennnnnnn
TO: angie_at_home
FROM: [email protected]
SUBJECT: Um, hi, about last night . . .
Ang,
So, this is probably why the warning label on my new bottle of sleeping pills says DO NOT CONSUME WITH ALCOHOLIC BEVERAGES, NOT EVEN ONE AND NOT EVEN IF IT’S PINK AND FRUITY AND GIRLY, YOU DUMB ASS.
On the plus side, I’m totally not hungover after last night’s whoops-I -forgot-I-was-on-Atkins celebration.
However, Fletch is mad at me because I lost my mind in the fifteen minutes he was down in the basement folding laundry when the cocktail and Ambien kicked in at the same time. He came back up because of all the banging. He caught me throwing away the mini-food processor he’d bought to grind spices. Apparently I’d filled it full of ice and was angry “it doesn’t make drinks.”
I’m back on the Atkins horse today. For lunch I had one and a half Burger King Texas Whoppers minus the bun.
Shameful.
Talk soon,
Jen
CHAPTER SIX
Shame con Queso
Shouldn’t Atkins be easier?
I mean, I’m all
Sometimes they have famous plus models visit the girls on America’s Next Top Model . How cool would that be? I love both Mr. Jay and Miss J., and Tyra Banks would so want to be my best friend, even if I will have to break it to her that she is not the new Oprah. But friends are obligated to tell each other the truth, right? We could drink margaritas together and eat ribs and then drop by Miss Janice Dickinson’s house, where the fun would really begin!
Anxious to begin my television career, I rush back into my office to download the photo. I can barely sit still while my computer takes its sweet time. Come on; come on!
After what feels like hours, the image appears on my monitor. It’s showtime!
And . . . now all I want to know is this: how the fuck did Jabba the Hutt get into my bedroom, and why is he wearing my pearls?
So now I don’t feel good or look good.
Now what?
The last time I lost any significant weight was the spring of 2000. Inspired by all the gorgeous tulips blooming in the center of Michigan Avenue, I decided I wanted a big-city wedding the next year, and Fletch and I began to make plans. 55 At the time, everyone was doing Atkins, evidenced by all the baggies of cheese and turkey in my office’s kitchen and the screaming when a bread basket was proffered during corporate lunches. I tried it, too, and the weight simply fell off. I loved never feeling hungry but found myself dying for stuff like grape juice and would have committed murder for five minutes alone inside a Krispy Kreme store. But I kept up the carb-free regimen until I bought a book on wedding planning, realized that with my demanding job I didn’t have the bandwidth to coordinate caterers and florists and photographers and the like, and tabled both the wedding and the diet. Three Croissan’wiches later, the weight came back. And it’s been here ever since.
In terms of dieting, Atkins was the least offensive, and it was fun to gobble down a juicy steak while gloating about how much thinner I already felt. I bet if I kick-start my weight-loss quest by going low carb, I’ll have some initial victories on the scale that I can use to segue into a healthier long-term way of eating!
Resolved: Nothing motivates like success, so Atkins it is.
And now I’m off to buy some cheese.
TO: angie_at_home
FROM: [email protected]
SUBJECT: Quh Muh Gahhhhhhhhh
HAnngie,
Pink! Pink liqueuerr! Called X-rated! Yum from ! Sold at Cosatco!! Tastes like bitingin into a fresh mango and grapefruit and passiopnmfruit and swirly swirly with frenchg vodka—YUM! Oner of these and an Ambien and all of a sudden leggings MAKES TOTAL PERFECT FUCMOINGH SENSE! Like, GEENIUS! Pants you wearrs under you skirts? Yes! Brillianbt’1!!1!!
Now I want to amek phone calls untless Fletch stops me :[
Laaqaaaaaattttteeeerrr,
Jennnnnnn
TO: angie_at_home
FROM: [email protected]
SUBJECT: Um, hi, about last night . . .
Ang,
So, this is probably why the warning label on my new bottle of sleeping pills says DO NOT CONSUME WITH ALCOHOLIC BEVERAGES, NOT EVEN ONE AND NOT EVEN IF IT’S PINK AND FRUITY AND GIRLY, YOU DUMB ASS.
On the plus side, I’m totally not hungover after last night’s whoops-I -forgot-I-was-on-Atkins celebration.
However, Fletch is mad at me because I lost my mind in the fifteen minutes he was down in the basement folding laundry when the cocktail and Ambien kicked in at the same time. He came back up because of all the banging. He caught me throwing away the mini-food processor he’d bought to grind spices. Apparently I’d filled it full of ice and was angry “it doesn’t make drinks.”
I’m back on the Atkins horse today. For lunch I had one and a half Burger King Texas Whoppers minus the bun.
Shameful.
Talk soon,
Jen
CHAPTER SIX
Shame con Queso
Shouldn’t Atkins be easier?
I mean, I’m all
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