Fat Kid Xmas List

  1. A drone. Like the CIA uses- so that every time I think about getting in my car and going to Jack in the Box- I can blow it up.
  2. Fatter Friends. (Duh.)
  3. A baby. Single dads are hot and I need an accessory that justifies the bags under my eyes.
  4. A bib to collect the drool and tears that fall from my face every time someone walks by me with bread.
  5. My gym crush. Any time, any place, any position.

  6. brunchburger
  7. Kelly Clarkson to break off her engagement. I need some new angry workout songs to get me past this plateau.
  8. An unseen bump in the floor in front of my gym nemesis. Because if I push him I’m “violent” and it’s considered “assault.”
  9. A mirror. So I can practice my “yeah I would…but your face” look. Apparently, it’s obvious.
  10. A mute button on my crazy Crossifit-Vegan friend. I usually just bang my head into a wall when he’s talking to me but I never seem to pass out.
  11. abs
  12. A text disabling breathalyzer on my iPhone. Because when I’m drinking I have no filter. Except for the one I put on that naked pic I just texted to you.
  13. An appointment with a Telepathist. My gym crush doesn’t seem to hear me when I say “meet me at the Bosu ball at 11:30” so I need to address that ASAP.
  14. An update to Google Maps that automatically sends my phone into lockdown while simultaneously updating my Facebook status, shaming me very time I search for a Taco Bell.
  15. Increased sensation in my face so I never embarrass myself at a holiday party again. Like this weekend when someone told me there were crumbs stuck to my chin and then introduced himself as the host.
  16. A Fly Swatter so that the next time that zany McDonald’s drive-thru attendant tries to be funny by teasing me with the straw for my milkshake I can reach out and smack him.
  17. Underwear from the Mario Lopez collection “Rated M” because I won’t believe it’s true love until you pull off my pants, see I’m wearing those and still decide to hit it.
  18. Deodorant. I’m not picky about the brand I just need something that’s great at covering up the smell of tequila, tear soaked string cheese and regret.
  19. Someone to erase my memory of this:

photo

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The Birth of Jesus Isn’t Gonna Ruin These Abs: Part Three (Xmas Music Edition)

It's very easy to win this game if you skip solid food and just drink. Trust me. All I do is win.

It’s very easy to win this game if you skip solid food and just drink. Trust me. All I do is win.

If you make the following associations to these Christmas tunes, I guarantee you’ll never gain weight during the holidays again.

  1. Remember: The reason you Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus underneath the mistletoe last night is not because your mother is a chubby chaser. It’s because your dad is such a slovenly mess that someone who looks like Santa is starting to look good to her. Is that how you want your wife to do you?
  2. All I Want for Christmas is You to lose 10lbs so that every time you touch me I don’t have to pretend I’m sexually aroused.
  3. It’s Beginning to Look a lot Like Christmas was nothing but an excuse to eat your feelings now that another year has gone by without a promotion, engagement or a decent lay.
  4. I’ll Be Home for Christmas so make sure you throw out all the bread, pasta and ice cream and replace it with vegetables, quinoa and almond milk, MOM.
  5. It’s The Little Drummer Boy, so unless you drop 15lbs we’re gonna have to change it to The Fat Kid Behind the Upright Bass.
  6. Do You Hear What I Hear? Your breathing is heavy and your heart rate is accelerated. Because you’re fat.
  7. Last Christmas I gave you my heart and this Christmas your expanding waistline says “I don’t give a fuck.”
  8. Santa Claus is Coming to Town but you stole his thunder by being the fattest person here.
  9. It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year but thanks for ruining it by stinking up the bathroom because you ate every goddamn thing at the buffet.
  10. God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen because as soon as you fall asleep your wife is out the door, at the neighborhood bar, desperately trying to bang the geeky guy from high school who never won a spot on the football team, but also didn’t gain thirty pounds after college.
Wait, who IS the biggest slut?

Wait, who IS the biggest slut?

 

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The Birth of Jesus Isn’t Gonna Ruin These Abs: Part Two

I bought myself a present.

Eggs, Sugar, Milk, Cream and Brown Liquor? You better believe Egg Nog is my move.

If you’ve read this blog before you’ve met my friends The Enabler and Naturally Thin. I have another friend whose name is Your Facebook Status Sounds Like a Suicide Note. YFSSLaSN had the audacity to tell me the other night that she requested chocolate from her office “Secret Santa.” She expected me to be excited but my reaction was something more akin to screaming “ARE YOU FUCKING NUTS?” at her in the supermarket parking lot. After I berated her, I collected my thoughts and thanked her for reminding me that my work in this world is far from over. Here are a few more tips to help you manage your holiday eating…

  1. What are we really celebrating here? Mary giving birth in a manger? So what? At least there was hay. Your white trash neighbor Tawny gave birth to a baby in a Taco Bell bathroom, and after I moved to L.A. my best friend played her on I Didn’t Know I Was Pregnant. Both of those things sound way more impressive and yet neither one of them sounds like an excuse to eat.
  2. Remember: At least one member of your family is going to buy you an item of clothing in a size that’s too big- which is basically like they called you fat and put a bow on it. The 25 sugar cookies you ate last Christmas are probably the reason your uncle thinks you wear a medium.
  3. Before you hit that dessert tray, imagine you’re at an E-Cupid holiday mixer in the ballroom at the Burbank Marriott. Now imagine that the piece you’re trying to kick it to eats the chimney off a gingerbread house. Would you still hit it? Doubtful.
  4. While Prosecco seems de rigueur at every holiday brunch, try to monitor your intake. You do not want to be the guy that winds up feeding the host’s dog bits of sausage and egg casserole off your plate and asking him if he likes it. It’s the kind of thing that sticks to your reputation, like having to register for the sex offender’s list, or contracting a nasty case of Scientology. Hard to shake, and no one ever really trusts you again.
  5. Speaking of animals,  if you find yourself at a holiday party where the host has cats, re-evaluate your friendship it’s best not to eat anything. Contrary to what they may say, the food undoubtedly has cat hair in it.
  6. Sure, Santa is fat and jolly, but he has elves to do things for him. Cleaning up after your holiday party is not nearly as fun as logging hours in Santa’s workshop and your domestic help doesn’t get to ride Rudolph home. They have to stand at a bus stop in Beverly Hills (dodging the cigarette butts all the Armenians are throwing out the windows of their white Mercedes) while they wait for their ride to Northridge, you lazy, well-fed S.O.B.
I'd say the chances of me having a fat kid are higher than the chances of the person who wrote this of getting laid tonight.

I’d say the chances of me having a fat kid are higher than the chances of the person who wrote this getting laid tonight.

 

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The Birth of Jesus Isn’t Gonna Ruin These Abs: Part One

There’s a lot of advice out there on how to avoid packing on the holiday pounds but most of it encourages you to rely on your own self-control. The Fat Kid isn’t having that. He doesn’t have any self-control. If you don’t either, here are some tips.

  1. When someone suggests you try the cookies they brought to the holiday party, look at them and imagine what their sex life is like. Consider yours. Who would you rather be?
  2. If you think about having a second helping of anything remember what Mariah Carey looked like when she made her first Christmas album. Then recall what she looked like by the time she made the second one.
  3. If you choose to drink your calories rather than eat them you can always use the excuse of being drunk when you accidentally say things like  “I’d like to stuff your stocking” or you tell your hot co-worker that you spent the hour before the party “trimming your tree” and you’d really like it if they’d “hang something on it.”
  4. Egg Nog is basically your caloric intake for a month so make sure if you’re going to drink it you do something legendary like climbing on top of a table and leading the party in a tear -soaked, fist-pumping a cappella rendition of Bryan Adams’ “Christmas Time.”
  5. Yes, you’re wearing a chunky holiday sweater to cover the feelings you ate between Thanksgiving and now but remember: soon enough it’ll be spring and a pastel Easter polo is way less forgiving.
  6. Sure, there’s a couple of kids on Glee that look like they’re fat enough to play Santa Claus but they have to spend twelve hours a day on a set with Lea Michele. How long would you last before you cut yourself?
  7. Baby, it IS cold outside. But, you know where it’s colder? In the bed of a fatty.

I hope this was helpful. The Fat Kid will be back next week with more tips to ensure your holidays don’t turn you into this:

At least it's a dress and not a skirt.

At least it’s a dress and not a skirt.

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On Spin Class

Because the holiday season is upon us and because there is a 99.9% chance that I’m going to wind up breaking down and buying these:

(and yes I’ll probably eat the entire box while sitting in my car in the Trader Joe’s parking lot as I wait for an 85-year-old woman who’s two more grocery trips away from death attempt to make a K-turn) … I’ve been upping my game. I’m on a six-day a week workout program and the only reason I’m not on a seven-day plan is because I don’t want anyone confusing me with The Circle of Trolls that frequent L.A. Fitness. For example: my gym nemesis, or this terribly malnourished woman who seems to know every girl in a pair of lululemon’s and every guy who’s got a dick. My best friend a.k.a The Enabler refers to her as “Yoga Chick”  but just I refer to her as “gross.”

When working out this much it’s important to vary your exercises and there’s only so many tips from the Men’s Health twitter feed I can work into my routine before I start to get the urge to look in the mirror and cut myself.

Does anyone have a flannel and an axe I could borrow? Lesbians?

Recently The Enabler (she frequently encourages me to eat pie or tells me to come over because she made cake or one time she made me go to Jack in Box when we were drunk, because basically she’s a horrible person) suggested we try a spin class. Of course she would. Her other best friend is Naturally Thin. The two of them could work out once a week and still eat full-fat cheese and get away with it.  As if a spin class is going to work off the six pieces of pie I had the day after Thanksgiving (I can’t even get into how much I ate on the day itself. I would have blogged about it but my fingers were too fat to type, the swelling has only recently gone down). What I really needed was multiple sessions of Crossfit, but as we all know, that ain’t happening. The Enabler promised a workout full of Britney songs and since Ms. Spears is the patron saint of Fat Kids everywhere, I signed up.

THE ENABLER

I was convinced I wouldn’t like spin as I’m quite determined to not like anything that isn’t my idea. I questioned my ability to maintain the status quo when placed in a situation with loud music, mirrors and a no dancing to Britney policy. However, there were a few upsides I hadn’t considered: Myself and The Enabler were by far the fittest people there after the token anorexic left (she told the guy next to her it was because the instructor was a sub but as soon as she was out the door I rolled my eyes and told him the more likely scenario was that she was a racist) and if there’s one thing that motivates me, it’s being the hottest person in a room. Yes, the room was only 8×8 but as I learned from Brandon Walsh once upon a time in the 90210, a win is a win, even if you’re a college senate candidate and your running mate dies in a car accident forcing you to accept the position of CU Class President. The other upside was that I could see my gym crush reflected in the mirror directly in front of me and since spin bikes are immobile I was forced to stare straight ahead, thus removing any possibility of me being accused of being a creep by anyone other than The Enabler. My only real problem was the music. It sucked. Journey is great but it’s an obvious choice and when you remix it and put a beat behind it, I want to get out of my “saddle” and impale myself on the bike handles.

I was determined not to go back to spin class ever again but despite my best attempts my life often winds up looking like this:

Nachos are my Vietnam.

I knew I needed to take a day off because I was getting dangerously close to being drafted into The Circle of Trolls and I knew that I wouldn’t last five minutes faking a friendship with Yoga Chick before I told her she needed to wash her hair. The Circle of Trolls don’t attend classes so I knew I’d be safe in spin. It was a different instructor so I assumed the music would have to be better.

You know what they say about assuming.

The guy teaching the class was obviously in the wrong place as there’s an international publicity tour going on for The Hobbit and I’d imagine the actors playing the dwarves are doing the rounds. He was wearing a headband and as I’ve told Naturally Thin time and time again, I don’t care if you made it yourself from an old T-Shirt or not, IT HAS TO GO BECAUSE I’M NOT HANGING OUT WITH ANYONE THAT LOOKS LIKE AN EXTRA FROM FLASHDANCE. He was also wearing a hemp necklace which I’m sure smelled just great after multiple sweaty spin sessions. What’s even worse is that he was an electronic dance music fan and if you’re going to make people listen to that shit the least you could do is offer them a hit of ecstasy. He looked as if his soul had been sucked out of him and I began to fear that spinning might do the same to me. Yes, I’m in a constant battle with the fat kid in me, but if he ever left me, would I become a EDM crazed, soulless, hemp and headband wearing hobbit? I decided this would be my last class.

And then, this:

FML

There’s a fit kid in all of us but fortunately there’s an app for that. See you at spin.

The Fat Kid

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Fuck a Diet, Get a Gym Crush

Tough shit. I’m waiting for my gym crush to arrive and it could take hours.

In our never-ending quest to find someone who is willing to have sex with us  better our physical health there is a never-ending glut of information telling us to try this diet or that exercise program. Let me give you a little piece of advice: There is only one method for achieving your goals and that is finding the right gym crush.

Now, I don’t have a degree in exercise science and I only ever went to two of my Nutrition 101 classes so I can’t really call myself an expert per say, but if Christina Aguilera can get paid to sit on her ass and dish out advice while looking like the Chola Humpty Dumpty then so can I. I spend half my time eating processed sugar and the other half training like I’m going to Rio in 2016, so I know what I’m talking about.

Having a gym crush is even more important than having a gym nemesis. Sure, a gym nemesis will make me pick up a heavier weight in an effort to exert my physical dominance, but a gym crush can make me work out for twice the amount of time I normally would.  No way could I ever have enough dirty looks to dish out to my nemesis for two hours. I’ve recently developed a new gym crush and over the last three weeks I’ve gone to the gym 18 times and I’ve only eaten bread once ( I know, I was really hung over.) Every time I reach for a carb and every time I consider sleeping in and skipping a workout I tell myself that I haven’t had sex with my gym crush yet and it’s probably because I’m too fat.

Now, you could say that it isn’t because I’m too fat and that it’s because we’ve yet to speak. However, that’s exactly the kind of rational thinking that should never be associated with fitness goals. At least the ones you want to achieve. Besides, if we did talk I run the risk of coming off like Alicia Keys did in that creepy video “You Don’t Know My Name.” Yes, her character was a waitress and yes I’m a waiter, so you could argue I should follow her lead,  but a) I don’t work in a diner and b) I don’t have amazing skin because I’m not half-black (despite what my moves on the dance floor say).

The Alicia Keys argument is a moot point anyway because I’m too smart to ever allow us to speak. I WILL NOT let a conversation ruin the fantasy that unravels in my head especially when it contains all the thrills, complexity and nuance of a Homeland plot. I finally fit back in my skinny jeans and instead of seeing the world from an angry Alanis Morissette- type point of view, I once again see the world through One Direction colored glasses. The proof is in the pudding that I’m not eating. My gym crush has helped me achieve “goal weight.”

However, if you reach goal weight, you’ve got to stay there. Here’s my next piece of advice: once you’re at goal weight make sure you become someone else’s gym crush. Since I’ve pretty much spent every waking hour at the gym over the last month I’ve noticed that I have been elevated to hot crush status by a geeky guy in glasses who is doing the same. You know the type: they look at you and hear a Kylie Minogue song, you look at them and hear Bed Intruder. Sure, he creeps me out but it feels good whenever anyone wants to have sex with you, right? I’ll do whatever I can to keep my self-esteem alive and if you want to stay in shape you should too.

I really recommend this tactic to everyone but you must be careful things do not come full circle. While aggressively pursuing my gym crush and fitness goals, Bed Intruder has been doing the same. I noticed that he’s starting to really make some progress and I became distressed that the size of his biceps might outgrow mine. There wasn’t a chance in hell I was going to allow this to happen so I did the one thing I knew would ruin his gym crush. I talked to him.

His fantasy was ruined, his exercise routine was thrown into a rut, and my biceps have retained the title of Best Arms at the Gym.

It’s great to have inspiration and it’s great to inspire, but it’s never okay to be eclipsed.

Enjoy your workout.

I’m not a fashion expert but that hair net *might* be f—ing with your game girl.

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Fat Wars: Episode II- Attack of the Gym Employees

A long time ago (last week) in a galaxy far, far away (Universal City, CA)…

It is a dark time for the Rebellion (I can’t get back to goal weight). Although the Death Star has been destroyed (my gut), Imperial troops (any and all mirrors) have driven the Rebel forces from their hidden base and pursued them across the galaxy (I am exercising anywhere I can but there is nowhere I will not eat).

Evading the dreaded Imperial Starfleet, a group of freedom fighters led by Luke Skywalker (me, duh) has established a new secret base on the remote ice world of Hoth (L.A. Fitness).

The evil lord Darth Vader (cheese, in any form), obsessed with finding young Skywalker (I’m still young, shut up), has dispatched thousands of remote probes into the far reaches of space….

You don’t wanna f— with me when I’m on a diet.

Which brings me to last week when I when I was hiding out in Hoth feeling less like Boba Fett and more like Jabba the Hut. All I wanted to do was use an exercise ball to perform an ab exercise that Taylor Lautner’s trainer said I HAVE to do if I even want to begin to think about having abs. The ball was nowhere to be found on the gym floor (of course) so I had to go down to the juice bar level (anyone who sits at a cafe table at the gym’s juice bar should be investigated for domestic terrorist ties). There it was hiding out behind the front desk. I approached the desk and pointed at the ball. I know that this is rude but I didn’t speak because my iPod was blaring in my ears and I was afraid that I would be really loud and that everyone would think that was I was deaf in addition to being overweight and one disability inspires empathy but two is just depressing.

The combined IQ of the total gym staff at LA Fitness is 2 and we had a real problem because there were only 3 of them there. I tried a Jedi mind trick but the ball didn’t fly into my hands and the Stormtroopers behind the desk didn’t turn and shoot each other. Sensing their confusion and that they didn’t have the Force in them, I had to take my earphones off and ask for the ball. This annoyed me greatly since the only other thing I could have been pointing at was the carpet or a dust bunny and I hardly look like the kind of guy that installs floors or studies microscopic dust particles in a lab.

What happened next turned me into a self-centered whiny bitch the likes of which you haven’t seen since Mark Hamill decided to play Luke Skywalker like a thirteen year old girl.

“Can I please have that ball?”

The droll eastern european one whose foundation was the color of my bathroom walls and whose lipstick was the color of something I usually drop off in the bathroom, answered.

“I need your keys.”

“What?”

“Your keys for the ball.”

“Porque?”

“Huh?”

“It means ‘why’ in Spanish.”

She looked like a female Palpatine but her lack of basic Spanish was going to prohibit her from ever becoming a senator much less an emperor.

“For a deposit.”

“What am I going to do, walk out the front door with it?”

“You’d be surprised.”

“You’re right. I would, considering it’s the width of a tree trunk.”

“Well?”

“Well, if I tried to steal it I would assume one of the three of you facing the door would see that happen.”

“Sir, just give me your keys.”

“I’m not carrying my keys, they’re in a locker.”

“How about your iPod?”

“How about you get a clue? I’m not trading you something that costs $300 for something that costs you $15.”

“They cost more than that.”

“I’m sure you get them at wholesale.”

“Ok, do you have anything else you can give me?”

“How about I take off my sweaty sock and give you that!”

She looked at me the way Yoda looked at Luke when he ran out of patience. I realized I was making a scene. So I walked away.

And then I stopped, turned around and shouted; “THIS IS FUCKING RIDICULOUS!”

I left the gym and hopped in my X-Wing Starfighter (the Honda Del Sol) and headed back to Yavin-4 (West Toluca Lake).

This is where the story ends for now. However, like Star Wars, there will be a sequel. As Yoda would say, “Sure enough, of that I am”

This is exactly the way I react every time I get on a scale.

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