The Diaries of a Fat Chick

but this cat really needs to lose some weight….

I wish I could say this was trick photography.  Simply a funky camera angle.  It’s not.  The cat is huge.  GINORMOUS.

It’s hot here, damn hot.  The temperature today was a wretched 35 and tomorrow it’s supposed to climb to 36.  We’re not one of those fancy trailer folk with indoor air, we have to make due with an air conditioner unit in our living room window.  While it keeps the house comfortable it by no means keeps the place cool the way us fat chicks (myself and Kaneyko the cat) would like.  The combination of the heat and her massive bulk had her spread out extremely unladylike on the furniture.  Hey, whatever keeps you cool right?

Speaking of fat, I lost 2.2lbs at Weight Watchers this morning - yay me!  After WW, I did a bit of grocery shopping then headed back home to pick up Ben.  In an effort to beat the heat we went to a matinee this afternoon, saw the movie Wanted.  It was… disappointing.  Not to give anything away but I just can’t get behind a movie that has a “Loom of Fate” in it.  Loom. of. Fate.  Hand to God people.  The entire way home after the movie I kept muttering under my breath “Let us consult the Loom of Fate.” everytime Ben asked me a question.

The new bed is still lovely.  I’m a “go to bed sometime between 11pm and 2 am” in the morning kind of girl yet I find myself crawling into bed at 8:30.  I read, watch tv, let the ratties run around on the bed with me.  It’s quite cozy really.  I do find it quite hilarious however that on the two occasions where I’ve woken up early in the morning before the alarm clock goes off, I discover that I’m lying on the very edge of the bed on my side and Ben is lying on the very edge on his side of the bed.  There’s so much extra space between us you could put two people and a bookshelf in it comfortably.  Apparently we have yet to learn that we have more space than we’re used to.

And in more important news - the mumsi entity will be joining our little slice of smoking hot heaven on Monday for 8 entire days.  I’m more excited than I can say.  Unfortunately I can’t get any time off from work but I plan on going early, working through lunch and being finished by 3pm giving me plenty of time to hang out with the mumsi.  We’ve got lots of stuff planned, mostly involving her helping us with the great home improvement plan of 2008.  If I can say one thing about my mumsi, the woman knows how to organize and has more energy than most 22 year olds I know.  I have no doubt the trailer will be in tip top shape by the time she leaves.  She’s already informed me that she’s going to clean the fridge AND the oven.   How freaking cool is that?  You know how there are certain chores around the house that you and your spouse split up?  Like I hate to cook so Ben cooks.  Ben’s not fond of yard work so I tend to do most of it.  One doesn’t want to do something the other picks up the slack right?  Unfortunately in our house there is one job that both of us despise - cleaning the fridge.  Once a month I’ll go through it and toss all the old food etc., holding my nose and retching the entire time but that’s as much as I’ll do.  Actually cleaning the fridge?  Taking a cloth and soapy water and giving it a good scrubbing?  No thank you sir.    And Ben?  He won’t even clean out the fridge let alone hose it down from time to time.  Thankfully my mumsi is the coolest girl ever and she cleans our fridge each time she visits.  I tell her not to worry about it, to sit down and put her feet up but she generally mumbles something about the smell and not being able to stand it and before I know it she’s got her head in the fridge and old food and tupperware containers are flying out behind her.  And I will admit - the fridge looks 100% better when she’s finished.

 So to recap - the mumsi entity will be here in less than 48 hours and both my fridge and oven will be spotless.  Also, I didn’t mention this before but last week at work I had a wardrobe malfunction.  The underwire in my bra snapped like a chicken bone.  When one of my coworkers, a sweet but small chested girl, asked me how on earth that happened I took a deep breath, gave her my best haughtiest look and said “Damn girl, it’s a lot to reign in on a regular basis.  It just couldn’t handle the pressure anymore.”  The rest of the ladies howled with laughter as she gave me a vague smile and moved quickly away.  Anyhoo, the point is, my best bra was ruined that day and I’ve been putting up with an inferior one ever since.  I’m pretty sure when mum is greeted with the less than perky vision of the girls barely being held aloft by my current bra she’ll offer to buy me a new one.  And since we’re currently on a strict budget that does not include the buying of new bras I will grin and hug her and happily accept.  I do love my mumsi.  Have I mentioned that?

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When Ben and I were married he brought to the relationship a crap ass double bed.  I too brought to the relationship a crap ass double bed.   Over the first year we tried a multitude of different combinations.  First, we tried his double bed, then we tried my double bed.  Then we tried one box spring and both our mattresses.  Finally we settled on tossing the bed frame and placing both box springs and both mattresses on the floor. 

I don’t know if you guys have noticed but I’m not exactly a small girl; I definitely take up more than my fair share of the bed.  As if that wasn’t bad enough for poor Ben, he also had to deal with the cat.   From the time I brought Smokey home, over 14 years ago now, I slept on one side of the bed and he slept beside my head on the other side.  When I married Ben, Smokey would not be deterred from sleeping beside my head.  After a few months the three of us came to an unspoken agreement.  Smokey slept in his usual spot beside my head (tucked comfortably into the crook of my arm), I slept in the middle of the bed and Ben?  Poor Ben had about four inches left over in which to twist his body into a comfortable position.  (In my defense, I honestly tried to get Smokey to sleep in a different spot, down by my feet perhaps, but he is one stubborn cat.  If I didn’t make space for him to sleep beside my head, he simply flopped down on my head, cutting off my air supply and making me hack up a fur ball every morning.)  And while I did feel slightly sorry for him (I’m not a complete monster) I had to make the point that Smokey had been sleeping longer with me than Ben had and therefore had squatter rights.   Unable to make an valid argument against my logic, Ben resigned himself to sleeping on the edge of the bed and in the past four years has only fell off the bed twice.  Myself, I think that’s pretty impressive.  Ben?  Not so much.  

Yesterday, after four years of various springs poking into various body parts (dirty!), crawling out of bed each morning with stiff and sore backs,  multiple complaints of “You’re too hot, move over!” and “There’s a cat hair stuck in my eyeball!” and two separate falling out of bed and doing a face plant in the carpet incidents, we tossed our old double beds and cheered when the good people at Sleep Country Canada delivered our new KING size bed.  Yup, we went from a Double to a King.   And it is glorious.   Now I understand why all those people asked how we could possibly still be married after sleeping in a double bed. 

The bed takes up the entire bedroom, we have nothing else in the room but the bed and have I mentioned the gloriousness of it?  We splurged and bought a mattress with a combination of linen and memory foam and sinking into that bed is a little like what I would imagine sinking into a soft fluffy cloud is like.  The bed is so high that I have to climb to get into it and I’m seriously considering investing in a step stool to make it easier to get into bed at night.  We also bought a goose down duvet and 320 thread count Egyptian sheets and two brand new pillows.  After one night of sleeping in it I can honestly say it’s the best investment we’ve ever made. 

When we were shopping for the bed, I wanted to go with a Queen size but Ben, wise man that he is, convinced me that a King was the way to go.  “You know dear,” he said “before I married you, I slept on my stomach and it was quite comfortable.  Now I have to sleep on my side and my arms keep falling asleep.”  To which I lovingly responded, “So what?  I used to sleep on my stomach before we got married too buster.  Now we both sleep on our sides, it’s called sacrifice.”  Despite my hesitation, he eventually convinced me on the King by pointing out that a Queen was only six inches larger than a double and while it might make a difference for the first month, it wouldn’t be long before it felt crowded again. 

My only problem is that after sleeping in a double for so long I got used to having Ben right beside me.  Last night I woke up in the middle of the night and turned over to spoon him.  I couldn’t find him.  I kept reaching further and further and encountering nothing but mattress.  I had just convinced myself that he had crept away in the middle of the night to find himself a woman who didn’t have a 13 pound cat sleeping in the bed with them when I heard the soothing sound of his snoring and my fingers grazed across his pillow.  “Aha!” I said in the darkened bedroom, “I have found him.”  I disentangled myself from the cat and began to wiggle across the bed.  Unfortunately I was thwarted by Ben’s pillow.  While I was still stuck in the “sleep on your side” mode, Ben had apparently chosen to go immediately back to his old way of sleeping, sprawled on his stomach with his pillow not under his head like any logical sane person would have it, but tucked firmly beside him.    I attempted to wiggle around the pillow but it was useless, he had that puppy wedged against him and no matter how hard I tried I couldn’t pry it loose.  I had to settle with curling up pathetically beside his pillow stretching my arm out as far as I could just so the tips of my fingers could rest against his arm. 

I shan’t complain however, as Ben woke up from a very restful sleep, it was nice not to have a cat’s ass sleeping right against my face and have I mentioned the awesome comfortness of this bed?  I know what you’re all wondering though and that is - how does the cat like it? 

The cats were tucked away in the bathroom while the delivery men were setting up the bed and from the moment we let them out, Smokey, with the exception of food and bathroom breaks, has not left the bed.   After the bed was delivered, we had to run some errands for most of the afternoon.  We left Smokey sleeping on the bed, six hours later we returned and he hadn’t moved.  The cat?  He doth approves.

And while Ben loves the new bed, I think he loves this even more:

We got a King size bed and a flat screen tv for the bedroom in one day.   At the rate we’re going, some day we might even move out of our single wide trailer.  Whee!

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Last night as part of Ben’s Father’s Day celebration, I took him to see the new Incredible Hulk movie.  Ben’s been a huge fan of the Hulk since he was a small boy (personally I was a Superman fan) and back in 2003 he, giddy as a school boy, dragged me to the theatre to see Ang Lee’s version of The Incredible Hulk.  Remember a few posts back when I tried to explain just how much the new Indiana Jones movie hurt me?  On the car ride home from that movie as I was wailing and lamenting the death of my childhood hero, Ben turned to me and said, “Now you know how I felt after seeing the Incredible Hulk movie.”

In short, while I didn’t mind Ang Lee’s version of the Incredible Hulk (although the ending was incredibly stupid… hee - incredibly - incredible, see how I worked that in there folks?  Now that’s good writing.) Ben was crushed by it.  Actually, I believe he just pretends that there was no Incredible Hulk movie made.  I’ve been pretending there was no fourth Indiana Jones movie so I get where he’s coming from.

Where was I?  Oh right, the new Hulk movie.  Ben, having already had his childhood memories crushed and mutilated by Ang Lee and his big bouncing green blob, was hesitant about seeing the movie and, as he explained to me in the car on the way there, Edward Norton just didn’t seem to fit the role of Bruce Banner.   I was quick to point out that he couldn’t possibly be any worse than Eric Bana and to just give the movie a chance.

To avoid any spoiler possibilities, I’ll just say that the movie was great.  In fact, it was much better than either Ben or I thought it would be just from the previews on tv and Edward Norton did a fine, nay an excellent, job of portraying the lonely Bruce Banner. 

This post isn’t really about the actual movie even though I was pleased that it brought back the love and good feelings Ben had for the Incredible Hulk.   Nope, this post is about the fact that possibly for the first time in his life, my Ben was called tall. 

 While not short, Ben isn’t really what you would call tall.  He stands almost 5′10 and in bare feet we’re roughly the same height (but he doesn’t, bless his little heart, care one bit that I’m a tall girl who likes to wear heels so most of the time I’m 3 to 4 inches taller than him).  Last night, anticipating that the movie theatre would be busy, we arrived 40 minutes early.   Apparently Ben’s love for the Hulk isn’t shared by quite as many people as we thought because by the time the movie started the theatre was only about half full. 

About 10 minutes before the movie started, as more people were filing in and finding seats, Ben and I were sitting quietly near the back, about four rows down, eating some popcorn and chatting.  A couple in their 50’s and a couple in their 20’s entered the theatre and the young man said:

Young man:  Hey, here’s a good row, let’s sit here.

Young woman:  Sure okay.

As they filed in behind us, the two younger people sat down first, leaving the seats directly behind Ben and I free for their companions.

Young man:  How’s this?  Is this good for everyone?

Young woman:  Yes.

Older man:  Sure.

Older woman with gigantic boobs* - No!

Young man:  Why not?

Older woman with gigantic boobs:  Because there’s two tall people directly in front of us that’s why!

Me:  Oh baby, you just got called tall!

Ben:  Yup.

Me:  Wow, this is awesome!

Ben:  And I’m even slouching.

Older woman with gigantic boobs:  C’mon let’s move to the back where we can actually see.

As they shuffled off to the back, I turned back to Ben:

Me:  I’ve always thought you were tall honey.

Ben:  I know dear.

Me:   And not to dampen this moment for you but I really think her issue was less with how tall we were but more with my giant head.

Ben:  Eh.

Me:  Seriously dude.  My head is gigantic.  Did you know it’s 27 inches around?

Ben:  It is not.

Me:  Hand to God my friend.  It’s 27 inches, that’s the size of some super model’s waists you know.

Ben:  Didn’t you tell me it was only 23 inches around?

Me:  Nope.  It’s 27.  I know.  I measured it.

Ben:  Only you would measure your head.

Me:  True.

In conclusion, what have we learned today?  That Ben is tall and Kelly has a gigantic head.

* I don’t know why I feel the need to mention this woman’s gigantic boobs, perhaps it’s because she was such a jerk in the theatre, the disgust in her voice when she said there were two tall people in front of her defies description.  Because honestly, how dare tall people go to the theatre!!  How dare they!  Or maybe, it’s simply because they were massive boobs.    Which actually reminds me of last week when I was in the cereal aisle at Walmart.  I was standing beside the cereal looking for something with granola in it when I made the mistake of looking down the aisle.   Directly in front of me was an over-tanned, bleached blonde woman in her 40’s with the largest boobies I’ve ever seen in my life.  They were like two globes stuck under her tank top.  I half expected to see the outline of Africa on one boob and the Arctic on the other.   To make matters worse she wasn’t wearing a bra and while, despite their awe-inspiring size, they were perky enough, Walmart likes to keep it’s stores cold.  Really cold.  If you know what I mean and I think you do.  (If you don’t, it means her nipples were poking through her tank top so far I thought they might reach out and tap me on the shoulder as she was walking by.).  She was with an older fellow, sort of reminded me of the cliche of a biker dude, who was dutifully pushing the cart behind her as she strolled down the aisle.  I found myself fascinated by her boobs, I had to physically tear my eyes from them as they drew closer.  They looked so out of place on her small frame, so large and painful that I wanted to ask her if they actually hurt as much as it looked like they did.  I refrained of course and managed to look at the Fruit Loops in front of me (and just in case you’re wondering Fruit Loops don’t have one ounce of granola in them.  Dammit.)  as they walked by, but I’ll admit to feeling a certain amount of empathy for men at that point.  I’m not even attracted to boobies and I couldn’t look away, how on earth do they manage?

(At this point, Ben just leaned over my shoulder and said only I could talk about Superhero’s, cereal and massive boobies in a post about Father’s Day.   Excellent point made that is.  So um - Happy Father’s Day honey, Happy Father’s Day.)

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Two recent conversations with the boy, my honey, the light of my life….

Monday, driving home from work:

Me:  So, when are we taking your boy child out for dinner?

Ben:  Well, he’s going back home Wednesday and he’s hanging out with his cousin on Tuesday night so I guess tonight.

Me:  We need to do yard work tonight.

Ben:  But it’s our only night to take him for dinner.

Me:  That’s fine we’ll do both.

Ben:  Are we going for supper before yard work or after?

Me:  Doesn’t matter to me.  As long as we get the yard work finished tonight.

*silence for a few minutes*

Ben:  Well, maybe you should just stay home tonight.

 Me:  Let me get this straight, I should stay home and do the yard work while you take the boy child out for dinner.  Is that what you’re saying?

Ben:  No, I just thought that since you really wanted to get the yard work done that…

Me:  That I should stay home and do the yard work while you go for dinner?

Ben:  Um….

Me:  Well?

Ben:  I could maybe take him to a movie.

Me:  Okay, so now the suggestion you’re making is that I should stay home and do yard work while YOU go for dinner and a movie tonight?

Ben:  I tihnk what we have here is a failure to communicate.  Besides, you’re the one who said I should take him to a movie while he’s here.

Me:  Dude, you did NOT just try to blame this on me.

Ben:  No…I….

Ben:  Why are you looking at me like that?

Me:  I’m just curious to see how far you can actually shove your foot into your mouth before you choke to death on your own toes.

 Thursday morning before work:

Me:  Honey, does this look okay?

Ben:  Erm…

Me:  What?

Ben:  Well I….

Me:  Well you what?

Ben:  It’s not my favourite outfit.

Me:  Why not?

Ben:  I don’t know, maybe it’s the…

Me:  Shirt?

Ben:  Nope.  I like the shirt.  It’s the skirt, I guess I don’t like the skirt.

Me:  Why not?  This is my favourite skirt!

Ben:  It’s…floofy… at the bottom.

Me:  Floofy.

Ben:  Yup, floofy.

Me:  I don’t like you this morning.

Ben:  I know dear.

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