This is my blog. My anonymous blog, that is. This here is where I lay it all down — the ups and downs of my bariatric surgery (performed on Feb. 12, 2007). That’s stomach stapling and a duodenal detour, y’all.

You see, I’ve been fat my whole life (except for a short stint in high school and college). I’m not bury-me-in-a-piano-box fat, or Discovery-Channel fat. But I am can’t-even-shop-at-friggin’-Lane-Bryant-anymore fat. Ma’am-I-need-a-seat-belt-extender fat. My-size-28s-feel-so-good-I’ll-get-a-size-30 fat. I know there are a lot of you out there who are struggling, too. I’m going to do my best to flop it all on the table, as honestly as I can (you’d better believe that me and my 46DDs can flop with the best of them).

But like any other fat person, my entire life is not about my weight. So just when you get sick of reading about my pureed diet or how I haven’t pooped in two weeks, I’ll throw in a little ditty about my own nosepicking, or having sex on an air mattress at untitledmother-in-law’s house on Christmas day. My anonymity gives me the power to say absolutely everything that is on my mind, without fear of retribution or judgment. No one that I know, besides untitledhusband, is aware that I have this blog (or that they occassionally star in it).

As far as udpates go, I do my best to write an entry about two to three times a week. Sometimes it might be less, depending on my schedule (I work full-time, freelance after hours, volunteer and have a four year old).

Although I am anonymous, there are a few things that I am willing to reveal. I am a 30-something creative professional and working mother who lives in the Midwest. Television news, software marketing, advertising, corporate whore. I’ve done it all. I have a degree in Journalism with a minor in English (but you’d never guess it from my prediliction for typos). I am happily married to a good-looking guy who is confident enough to be married to a fat chick, and we have a beautiful son who is the best thing since those conveniently shaped boxes of pop that fit on your refrigerator shelf. We have young Dachshund, who is doing his eager-puppy best to poop in every corner of our house and fill the empty space left by our previous dog, a rancid tampon-eating Dachshund. I assure you that the putting-him-down part had nothing to do with his penchant for Tampax.

If given the choice, I would gladly watch a day-long Love Boat marathon instead of writing another post. And I don’t even like Love Boat. What I’m trying to say is that I need encouragement, people. So please comment and share this blog with your friends. If you prefer one-on-one action, send e-mail to untitled [at] untitledlife.com.