Car talk.

I have to carpool with a co-worker to an offsite meeting today. As we were talking about driving arrangements, I asked her if she wanted to drive. She was all like, “I don’t know. My car is REALLY SMALL. Like knees-in-the-dashboard small. When I ride with my dad or even my boyfriend, we are like on top of each other practically.”

OK bitch. Code breakin’ time. What you’re really trying to say is that I AM TOO FAT FOR YOUR PIECE-OF-SHIT SATURN. Jesus. I may be fat, but I’m not a goddamned circus freak. I FIT in cars already.

Couldn’t she have said that her transmission is on the fritz, or that the oil is leaking? Christ. Sure, I’ll drive. But I can tell you right now that I’m pushing the passenger seat all the way to the dashboard, so that Little Miss Honesty is in the birthing postion for the entire two-hour ride. Speed bumps take on a whole new dimension when your snootch is pressed up against the frosty windshield like a suction-cup Garfield.

Let’s make a deal, lady. You don’t get all up in my bizness about my weight, and I’ll refrain from singing the theme from “Yentl” when you and your Streisandesque schnoz enter the room.

Tipping the scales.

I just weighed in for Weight Watchers (this was my first week) and I lost four pounds, 12 ounces. Notice how I got the ounces in there. That’s a can of beer, people. I lost four pounds and a can of beer, and I am damn well going to report it. By simply leaning in on my toes, I have found that I can make the scale numbers fluctuate two or three pounds. Weight Watchers really needs to engineer that shit out.

It’s a good thing I lost weight this week. Otherwise the starvation would’ve been for nothing. I’m pretty much hungry all the time. And not just “I could eat” hungry. It’s more like Sally Struthers Feed the Children hungry. This probably has something to do with the fact that my pre-Weight Watchers eating habits had stretched my stomach out to the size of a Samsonite suitcase. So now, I am in the process of shrinking my stomach down to a coin purse – a little one, like the kind that you squeeze and the crack opens up like a shiny rubber vagina. I had one of those when I was little and I would play with it for hours. Coin purse that is. Well, OK, vagina too. But I digress.

Five things you don’t know about me.

I was recently challenged to reveal five things that you don’t know about me. I thought learning that I put ketchup on my macaroni and cheese didn’t really qualify, so I decided to dig a bit deeper. Some of these things I haven’t even talked about with untitledhusband. This wasn’t easy, but I feel better now that I’ve put it out there.

1. I was a cheerleader in high school. I didn’t really enjoy it, but I liked the idea that I was able to achieve the ideal of being a cheerleader. I still have the uniform in my closet.

2. When I was in junior high, I was fat and unpopular. When I was in high school, I was regular-sized and popular. Life is so much easier when you’re not fat.

3. When I fly, I tuck the seat belt in by my side so the stewardess won’t see that it doesn’t fit around me. I know they have seat belt extenders, but I’m too humiliated to ask for one.

4. The first record (OK, cassette) I ever bought was “Get Lucky” by Loverboy. The last record (OK, CD) I bought was “1000 Kisses” by Patti Griffin.

5. I have a successful career, a nice house, a gorgeous husband and a beautiful child, yet I cannot find the courage to attend my high school reunion — all because of my weight.