Living large in Fatopia.

Posts tagged ‘NaBloPoMo’

Heart Fart

I am not looking forward to Thursday afternoon. Mr. Fatchick and I have to make a trip back to our regular doctor. I’ve been away from Fatopia because one of the seven stents that are keeping things open around his heart got blocked off and had to be replaced the other day. Again. He’d had another heart fart.

Heart Fart


It all started about three years ago. Mr. Fatchick didn’t feel well, so we took him to the doctor, and before all was said and done, he ended up having a heart attack, was hospitalized, and had a stent put in to open one of the arteries going to his heart so blood can get to it like it should. Scared me half to death to be honest, but I didn’t let on at the time. At least I don’t think I did. But I digress.

Over time, the blockages kept coming. Heart attacks and myocardial infarctions kept happening. More stints needed to be placed. At first it was like maybe twice a year. Now, Mr. Fatchick is lucky if he gets six weeks between hospital visits. If I didn’t know him better, I’d think he was trying to collect those little stent cards like kids collect baseball cards. He’s getting a nice stack of them in his wallet.

The thing is, you are supposed to give it at least three months, or 90 days, between arteriagrams. That’s where they make an incision near your groin area to go up the main artery in your leg that leads up to your heart. If they must do the procedure closer than that, it gets even more dangerous than usual. Mr. Fatchick had just had another stent put in about six weeks before this heart fart, so he insisted they go up the other leg this time. Not a popular opinion, but since he was the patient, he had the power of veto on his side, so they did it his way.

So, why do I not look forward to that trip to the doctor for his follow-up appointment? Well, Dr. H, is a great doctor. I wouldn’t take anything in the world for him. But he is as slow as molasses running uphill in the dead of winter with snow on the ground. We are talking so slow that I usually end up sending Mr. Fatchick out to bring our supper back to the waiting room so we can eat it while we wait. Like we don’t leave the office until after 10 pm when we had a 2 o’clock appointment kind of late.

Doc doesn’t get in a hurry for anyone, which is really great if you’re in the room with him and you’re the patient. But if you’re outside in the waiting room, well, it sucks hairy monkey balls big time. Now don’t get me wrong, I understand that if I want him to take that kind of time with me and mine, I have to allow him to give that kind of time to everyone else, but you tell that to my butt when I’ve been sitting for four or six hours straight and it’s gone to sleep and is snoring loud enough for the whole waiting room to hear it.

So no, I’m not looking forward to visiting doc Thursday afternoon, but I’ll go. For Mr. Fatchick, I’ll go. To keep him on this side of a dirt nap, I’ll go. I won’t like it, but I’ll go. Bah!


Wordless Wednesday – A Past Not Forgotten

A Past Not Forgotten

The Child of A Veteran


Around Memorial Day I saw a picture that was making the rounds on Facebook. It was “Unless You’ve Been A Soldier” by Clive Sanders. This very strong poem is worth reading and can be found here. Please take the time to read it. It is definitely worth it.

When it was posted as a photo, I read the comments and found a very moving and what I feel is a wonderful poem describing life from the spouses’ side of serving our great country by Christina Love titled “Unless You’ve Been Married To A Soldier”. This poem is the most popular comment on the photo and is at the top of the comments. I ask that you take a moment to read both poems in their entirety. If you do so, the three together can offer a rare look into what the whole family of a soldier may feel when they serve in our armed forces. This may not be true for all military families, but it touched a nerve in me that made me feel it is true of mine from my point of view at least.

I have contacted both authors about posting their poems in their entirety in this post and have not received a response. If I should receive their permission, I will update this post to include them. I do not agree with using someone else’s work without their permission and so do not do it.



I received permission from Clive Sanders to post his poem “Unless You’ve Been A Soldier” here in its entirety. I wish to thank him for his kindness. Again, you can find his original poem here.


Unless You’ve Been A Soldier

Unless you’ve been a soldier,
You just won’t understand.
The things that we have seen and done,
In the service of our land.
We were trained to live in combat,
And to deal with awful sights,
That shouldn’t be seen by anyone
And keep you awake at nights.We don’t discuss the wounds we have,
To the body or the mind.
We just put our hurts behind us,
And turn our memories blind.
We are proud we served our country,
But remember those we lost.
For the freedom that you have today,
They paid the awful cost.

See more at:

On Veteran’s Day, I offer my poem “The Child of A Veteran”. I didn’t write about being the child of a soldier because my dad had been out of the Navy for a long time before I came to be. Although he was no longer an active member of America’s military, in many ways he still serves the country that we all love so much today. You see, he fought in the Vietnam War and like so many others who have gone off to war, there is a part of him that will be there fighting that war forever.


The Child of A Veteran

Unless you’re the child of a veteran, there’s no way to understand,

The things that happened after our parents served our land.

All the time we wonder just what made them go and fight,

For a country that seems not to care if they have a meal or bed at night.

They went off to battle and served in all your wars,

They saw and experienced things that shook them to their core.

They were trained to live in battle while we learned to live in silence,

Giving them space to grieve their losses as we dodged residual violence.

Childhood ended much too quickly turning us into small grownups,

Taking care to not do things that might cause them to blow up.

Raised with great discipline to some great imagined code,

We’re not supposed to understand, just do what we are told.

Cry yourself to sleep at night, but never let them see,

They have enough to deal with without extra stress from me.

Everything is just perfect or so it must always appear,

Don’t let anyone get close, not even those we hold most dear.

We could not be prouder of our parents who served, but please understand,

It’s the WHOLE FAMILY that pays when a soldier serves our land.

But Is It A Sport?


I’ve seen a lot of sports on television in my time and I can’t help but wonder who decides what kind of game is really a sport. I realize there are a lot of “sports only” channels now that we have cable and satellite television, and the good old basic channels still want their cut of advertising and viewership from airing sporting events like they always have. This makes the pickings pretty slim when it comes to filling airtime and they’re trying to sneak some things in on us that just are not sports.

Just because you wear shirts that are the same color with the same logo and your name on them as a uniform does not mean your game is a sport. For instance, let’s look at bowling. Any game that encourages you to rent the equipment needed for playing it, doesn’t qualify as a sport. Even though you may be more at risk than other players about getting athlete’s foot because you must wear shoes that thousands of other people have had on their feet and never washed (the shoes, not the feet although it may apply to both), that still doesn’t make it a sport.

I know before I say it that this is not going to be very popular but it is the truth. Golf is not a sport. Now hear me out before you throw that rotten tomato at me. When your favorite pastime can be played in a cow pasture using a stick to knock a rock into a gopher hole, I’m sorry boys and girls, but that just is not a sport and should be dropped from the list. All types of billiards and pool matches are off the list for the same reason, although you might at least get a little muddy while lying on your stomach to play these in the pasture. Also, by my definition, anything you “shoot” that doesn’t actually involve the firing of a gun is not a sport.

Any game you can play when you are falling down drunk and still stand a good chance of winning is not a sport. Throwing darts is a great example of this. I know of several bars and pubs that have regularly scheduled dart tournaments, in part to bring in a bigger drinking crowd. And if you actually play the game better when you’re as drunk as Cooter Brown on a warp-wheeled bicycle, there is no way you’re playing a sport, even if they do televise it.

I’m going up to channel 14,763. I believe the International Thumb Wrestling finals are about to start and I don’t want to miss it!

What is the most obscure or outrageous thing you’ve ever heard called a sport? Let me know in the comments below.

Unemployment: Put the Blame Where It Belongs


I’ve heard a lot about unemployment numbers lately, what with the midterm elections and all. Republicans blame Democrats, Democrats throw the blame back at the Republicans. Conservatives lob the blame grenade at the Liberals who drop the blame bomb on the Tea Partiers. It’s a never ending blame game.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying our elected officials are blameless or should be let off the hook, but I know several young people who are unemployed at the moment. (I‘m in my 40’s, which means if you’re the same age as one of my kids or younger, you are a “young people.” Since my oldest is almost 30, that covers a lot of ground.) None of them seem to be in a hurry to find a job. If this is the case with the majority of young people in the US, well, we can’t lay all the blame on Mr. Smith up in Washington. He can put any program or incentive or law in place to encourage, bribe, coerce, or force people to work and it won’t do any good if they just do not want a job.

I don’t know if young people don’t know how to look for a job properly or if they just have a streak of lazy running up their backs a mile wide. News flash: A person cannot stay up all night watching TV and playing video games and then lie in bed until ten or eleven o’clock the next day before turning over for the first time and hope to find a job. That just isn’t how this works. Finding a job is a job in and of itself and has to be treated like one.

I’m watching kids right out of high school and other young people who have little or no experience doing anything, certainly not something they are applying for at the time, ask for outrageous starting salaries, full benefits packages, even asking about paid vacation time right out of the gate. Now, I understand one has to be careful to know everything being offered before accepting a job these days, but come on, how many kids do you know straight out of high school who know enough about anything to ask for $10 an hour with full benefits when the minimum wage is $7.25?.

I can totally understand having a high sense of self-worth. I worked hard to instill it into my own kids, but have we created a generation of monsters who think the world owes them a living because we couldn’t or wouldn’t say no? Because we wanted everyone to feel like a winner and made sure all who participated got a trophy whether they deserved one or not? Because the hardest thing we asked little Johnny and Jenny to do was to clean their rooms and when they didn’t we stepped in and did it for them because it was easier than fighting with them over it? I’d say probably so from the looks of things.

When these young people finally decide to get out of bed and grace the world with their presence for the day, they can be very selective about where they are willing to work. In my day, we got up early, chose an area to go to and blanket with applications, hit every place we thought might hire us, and came home and made a plan to do the same thing in another area the next day. Not so with today’s young people. From what I’ve seen, they only put in one, maybe two applications a day or possibly a week, and that is if someone tells them a place is hiring and they already have a friend working there who can speak up for them.

I’m not stupid, I know it’s always better to have a reference already working for a company who can speak up for you when you’re trying to get a job, but waiting for a job to open up at the place where your buddy works while you’re selling off your stuff to pay the rent isn’t the best plan of action to find a job. This is what I’m seeing time and time again with young people today. Has being connected to the internet and cell phones 24/7 created a world where networking has now taken over? Where people can no longer think for themselves and must live and work in large groups whenever possible? A world where nothing can happen outside of your network because of constant attention to Facebook friends, likes, and pokes and Twitter followers, retweets, and shares? It certainly seems that way.

If you’re looking for some great information about landing a job, especially a part-time or first-time job, take a look at Adel Landman Steyn’s When Finding A Job Is Your Job (Part 1: The Part Time Job)

Yes, part of the unemployment problem lies at the feet of our elected officials for not creating new opportunities for work. But I’d say more of it lies at the feet of the people who simply do not want to work. Those who do not want to go out and do what it takes to find one of the jobs that is already out there. Those who want $20 an hour to work in a pie factory tasting pies. Those who want to start out at the top looking down at the bottom. Those living in a dream who need to wake up and smell the coffee before it’s too late and they’ have run their lives and this country off into a ditch no one can pull any of us out of.

What do you think? Share your thoughts in the comments section below.



One of Those Days

This Space 4 Rent

Have you ever just had one of those days when it seems like there is nothing between your ears but air? That’s the kind of day I’m having here in The Land of Confusion. I sit down to get started on something and BAM!  A light flashes, a butterfly drifts past, a T-Rex tries to grab my yogurt and my concentration is shot. Even working from my trusty To Do list with the alarms on my phone and tablet (Yes, it takes both of them. Don’t judge me.) aren’t working for me today. I have to keep checking to see what the alarms are for and the list keeps making a break for it trying to get out the door!

So, here I sit with a crapload of stuff to get done and not enough brain to get it done with. Might as well rent out the empty space between my ears and make some extra cash for Christmas. Any takers?

Time, Time, Time

Crazy clock eye

Springing forward, falling back, changing the clocks, it blows my mind every single time. For a couple of weeks after time changes I’m no good to anyone for anything. I have narcolepsy, so my internal clock spins about like a compass left sitting on a magnet most of the time. I have no concept of time. I live by lists and the alarms on my phone and tablet. Yes, it takes two alarms to keep me straight. Don’t judge me.

A prime example of how things go for me — I have no idea where I was going with this post. I know it was going to start out being about the time on the clocks changing and then morph into something greater about life as a whole changing, but I’ve completely lost my train of thought. That train has left the station and dropped me off in The Land of Confusion once again.

Sorry, I’ll have to get back to you on this one. And now for my next trick, watch me pull a rabbit out of my hat.

gray rabbit1

Who Am I? Why Am I Here?

As I said in an earlier post, I’m taking part in Blogging 101 and NaBloPoMo this month. Today is the first official day of Blogging 101 with our first assignment, task, suggestion, prompt, what have you, being to write a post about who we are and why we’re here. In the bloggersphere that is. If I had to sit here and decide who I am and why I’m here in real life, I’d still be sitting here gaping at the screen with drool dripping from my chin when everyone else wakes up in a few hours. Yeah, that’s how well I know myself.

I’m here because I like to write. I’ve tried my hand at writing a book, a novella, even a few short stories with the help of friends mind you, and I can’t do it. I mean, I probably could if I stuck with it, but my life doesn’t allow for that kind of dedication to my own writing. I’m fooling myself into thinking that writing a blog will be easier because it will be smaller works and therefore should be easier. However, for a blog to be successful, and since I am a perfectionist control freak everything I do, including this blog must be successful, I’ll have to post daily, which means at least seven separate and fresh topics a week. Um, yeah, real easy, she thought as she face palmed herself.

I’m a mom of three boys and one girl, three of which are grown but still need their mother’s attention from time to time (and I secretly love it!) and wife to a wonderful man who just happens to have become my friend some 39 years ago and we were lucky enough to end up together forever. I’m a first-time grandmother to a four-month-old Princess Fussy Pants, Ms. Shelby. She’s Granny’s Baby and will appear on the blog from time to time. I’m having to stop myself from posting every picture I get of her on here. She’s my heart.cropped-cropped-black-and-white-me-e13990880701153.jpg

I’m the Original Fat Chick. I go 550+ pounds. I am loud and I am proud and I am beautiful just the way I am. I know I look like this, I really do. I own a mirror, more than one actually. And yes, these legs are actually holding me up as I’m walking toward you. Jabba the Hut can motivate on occasion. No, I did not eat shellfish last night and blow up like this while I slept. It took time for me to get this big and it will take  time to lose the weight too. And I will, at my own pace in my own time. So please, stop looking at me like I’m invading your happy place just by breathing the same air you do when I leave my house. Thanks so much and have a nice day.

I try to handle most things in my life with humor, but there are things that tend to piss me off, and when they do I let the whole world know about it. So, I’m a fat chick with a laptop, an attitude, and an internet connection, and I’m not afraid to use ‘em.

I was once told to write what I know. Well, at the end of the day when the chips are down, I definitely know me, so I’m going to write about me. My thoughts, things that happen to me, stuff I know, whatever interests me. The rest of the world is welcome to join me on the ride, but I write for myself. If others like it too, well, that’s just gravy on the side of the grits and eggs. It’s not the years, it’s the mileage, and I’ve put a lot of miles on this body in 42 years. I’ve learned a lot along the way, and I’m not afraid to share my knowledge. Yep, I‘m another one of them.

I reckon that’s about it. As for narrowing down what this blog is about, well, we’ll just have to wait and see what she grows up to be. Right now she’s just a baby who can’t even walk or talk on her own yet. Hopefully, at the end of the month and the Blogging 101 class, I’ll know enough to have her up and moving and sharing her own personality by the end of the month or the end of the year for sure. Stay tuned.


A Mouse In The House

I hate rats. This is a well known fact to anyone that knows me. Well, the other night we had a mouse in the house, but somehow this time I didn’t mind so much. You see, this mouse was just so darn cute, I actually found myself wanting to cuddle with it.

The mouse was my four-month-old granddaughter, Shelby. She dressed up as Minnie Mouse for her first Halloween. She’s such a dollbaby that  I just have to share.



Now you tell me, who is the real Minnie Mouse?

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