Such a Pretty Fat: One Narcissist's Quest to Discover if Her Life Makes Her Ass Look Big, or Why Pie Is Not the Answer (27 page)
Authors: Jen Lancaster
Tags: #General, #21st Century, #Lancaster; Jen, #Authors; American - 21st century, #Cultural Heritage, #Personal Memoirs, #Family Life, #Fiction, #Biography, #Jeanne, #Authors; American, #Biography & Autobiography, #Romance, #Women
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
By the Numbers
Pairs of Crocs purchased:
5 (shut up, Angie)
Magazines that recognized Angie’s brilliance and hired her to write for them:
1
Atkins diet attempts:
8
Atkins diet failures:
8 (awful)
Flying squirrels caught by University Pest Control:
0
Rats mistaken for flying squirrels caught by University Pest Control:
6
Episodes of
Top Chef, Top Design,
and
Project Runway
watched with Stacey:
All but one (I think)
Total times Vanilla Ice played on iPod at gym:
32 (shameful)
Total personal training sessions:
40 (and counting!)
Murderous thoughts had toward personal trainer:
Too many to count (but not now!)
Sizes dropped:
4 (and counting!)
Total times dialed 911:
Far too many to ever run for public office
Television interviews prepared for:
Thousands
Television interviews conducted:
2 (v. impressive!)
Barbies accidentally ordered while high on Ambien:
11
Barbies given to friends’ children:
10 (am keeping the head)
Friends who will brave our dogs and come to our house:
2 (my good buddy Shayla moved to
Minneapolis)
Barky neighbor dogs who disappeared under mysterious circumstances:
1 (I had nothing to do with it, I promise)
Author friends mentioned in book:
4
Mentions of own books available from fine, fine booksellers everywhere:
Countless
Total book proposals sold:
1
Total book titles changed because original title idea linked to a fat-girl fetish site:
1
(y-i-k-e-s)
Total blatant
Bridget Jones
-style final chapter rip-offs:
1
Total pounds gained while writing this book:
0 (that’s right, bitches!)
Total pounds gained while
editing
this book and being too busy to get to the gym and train:
12 (oh, dear)
EPILOGUE
TO: angie_at_home
FROM: [email protected]
SUBJECT: Uh-oh
DATE: October 17, 2007
Ang,
I accidentally turned Barbie on to the show
The Biggest Loser
, and she’s totally been inspired by bad-ass trainer Jillian’s policy of “beatings, beatings, beatings, and more beatings.”
Now that I’m finally done editing this book, Barbie says it’s time to get serious. She’s making me come to the gym and train five days a week until we get these twelve pounds off. I just got an e-mail from her, and her closing line was, “Bitch Barbie is back on the shelf.”
Am afraid.
Am
deeply
afraid.
Jen
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
As always, my biggest thanks have to go to Fletch. You spent six months wandering around without a clue what you were allowed to eat while I worked on this project. To show the extent of my gratitude, I pledge to never consume French fries in your car. (I’d say more nice stuff here about how awesome you are, except you don’t actually read my books and therefore won’t see my promises; thus I’ve nicely afforded myself some wiggle room if I ever need to hit a McDonald’s while on a solo road trip.)
(What? You can’t eat a
salad
while you’re driving, right?)
As always, heartfelt thanks go to my agent, Kate Garrick. I would say, “Who’d have imagined we’d ever get here?” but apparently
you
did. You’re the reason I’m living my dream. You rock, as do Lauren “Roller Girl” Gilchrist and Brian DeFiore.
A million thanks go to Kara Cesare of NAL, my most favoritest editor. (Ha! Correct this line; I dare you!) Seriously, you pushed me really far out of my comfort zone on this one, and I’m so proud of what we’ve accomplished together. I pink-puffy-heart adore you.
To Mary Ann Zissimos and Craig Burke in publicity, I can’t express enough gratitude for keeping me both on message and in media. Thanks for making sure people hear it when this particular tree falls in the forest. (Most likely after a night of cocktails.)
Many, many thanks to Kara Welsh and Claire Zion for absolutely betting on my ability to not inhale my own weight in Ding Dongs. (I suspect there’s an oddsmaker in Vegas who’s pretty unhappy with you both right about now.) And for Lindsay Nouis, the art department, the sales team, production, and everyone else at Penguin who came together on my behalf, thank you so much.
(I know, I know, I already hear the orchestra cueing up. But writing a book takes a lot more than one person, and I need to recognize all of them.)
Endless thanks to my muses, Angie, Stacey Ballis, and Jennifer Coburn, for not only the inspiration but for living this with me. And much love goes to the girls, Carol, Wendy, and Jen.
Big thanks to my parents—I’m sorry for spilling the beans about your culinary skills, but, seriously, I still have night-mares about those hamburgers.
For everyone at the West Loop Gym, particularly Barbie, Tim, Mike, and Julie, who bore the brunt of this experience almost as much as Fletch did, um . . . sorry about all the yelling and swearing. More important, thanks for helping me find a way to get healthy. There’s special place in heaven for all of you, and there’s no wait for the treadmill up there, either.
As promised, here’s the super-shout-out to my Postcard Posse—Brooke Kukay Lorenz (and her students), Candice Kakerbeck, Kristin Kaminski, Aimee Harris (and Chance), Chelsey Lentini, Ashley Sandvi, Nicole Voges, Carolyn Purver (nice to finally meet!), Pattie Mangone, Valerie Dixon, Amy Brewer (creator of the Big Asstini), and Kate Anable.
Big hugs and thanks to all the book clubs who hosted me over the summer—next time, I promise there will be more drinking. And thank you for everyone who came to my live events, where there was possibly too much drinking. (See? I told you I wasn’t exaggerating about the sweating and spitting.)
Finally, thanks
so
much to the fans and the booksellers. You guys make it all possible.
I’m about a tablespoon of heavy cream away from having the National Dairy Council sponsor our dinner.
Also, a patchwork vest? No.
Please consult if you don’t know what this means; I’m not explaining it.
What would I like for Christmas? How about something to put
in
our 726 glasses?
When Fletch smiles, the crinkles around his eyes make him look like Ed Norton. But with his hipster horn-rim glasses on, he’s a ringer for Tom Arnold. (It’s weird.)
His last day was June 15, 2007, and no one ever acknowledged my pro posa l
6
His last day was June 15, 2007, and no one ever acknowledged my proposal to make his final show a national day of mourning.
Retrieving these items is his job because I kind of don’t like to bend. I also refuse to carry anything heavier than my purse.
FYI, the more upscale the store, the harder it is to locate the “women’s” department. At Wal-Mart, they call it “Women’s Plus” and hang a giant sign over the section right up by the front doors. At Saks, they call it “Salon Z” and hide it up three escalators and behind the human resources department.
Make it work? Indeed I did.
Maybe this makes me a food philistine, but I can’t stomach the idea of garnishing a lovely dish with what looks like something that shot out of a cat’s mouth.
BTW, the correct answer is Sam the Hot Diabetic because bald is not the new black.
Jen’s Life Lesson #324: Aesthetics can’t be the only criterion considered when purchasing a couch the price of a used Honda.
And bacon. And hash browns. And possibly a half order of biscuits and gravy.
No more accidental head clunking for me!
The length of that dog’s eyelashes should be illegal.
Please see chapter 7 of the best-selling
Bitter Is the New Black
for more details.
What didn’t help? When my brother Todd spent five minutes on the phone pretending he was the art director, saying, “
Pssshht!
We’re going to need more ink!
Pssshht!
We’re going to need more ink!” What
did
help? Offering the art director a dollar per pound erased.
And that dessert cart is
ours
.
FYI, I responded to him by saying, “Is this how they teach you appropriate bedside manner at the University of Grenada?”
Only once, though, because my dad threatened divorce.
Jen’s Life Lesson #566:You
will
lose weight if you eat nothing but lettuce and laxatives the day before you’re forced to step on the scale. But, um, that’s
all
you’ll be able to do that day.
I saved that for my sophomore year. I rule!
Obviously there wasn’t a lot to do in Huntington, Indiana, in 1985.
Besides, I could think of forty local girls right off the bat I was thinner than. Weight Watchers is wrong—nothing tastes better than self-righteousness feels!
And even if I had, a size twelve is
not
fat—just ask Meg Cabot!
Besides, I imagine that if the DOJ seized my dogs, we’d have a
Ransom of Red Chief
situation on our hands.
This would be funnier were it not such a reasonable question.
The first rule of Thanksgiving Fight Club is, don’t talk about Thanksgiving Fight Club.
My mother says people are OK with talking about mental health now because of all the hard work she put in as a therapist.
Please note: MS Word totally knew how to spell most of these drugs. Telling, no?
Some people are destined to be deep thinkers. I am not one of those people.
Angie brought with her the collective germs of sixty-eight preschoolers, having subbed in her son’s class the day prior to her arrival, which is essentially as dangerous as licking a petri dish full of live cultures.
Read: less neurotic.
And only then because Fletch poked me with a suit hanger and asked if I was dead.
I refer you to my greatest work—
Hasselhoff: The Chest Hair Manifesto
.
Please consult your physician (and not me) for appropriate medical advice.
Get it? Get it? Jen Cognito? Like “incognito”? Get it? No? OK, just me, then.
He so owes me a Coke right now.
Except for the chimney, apparently.
To be fair, the letters I’ve sent them from the fictitious homeowners’ association have had an impact, and now they use bags without print on them. Progress, I say!
I used to TiVo it until I was thoroughly mocked for being the oldest person on earth to watch fine, fine MTV reality programming.
I mean, unless “contemptible” is not the new black.
And what of my shoes?!
Yeah, yeah; yuck it up.
Except for Tracey and Holly, stupid, naturally gorgeous bitches with chiseled cheekbones and flawless skin.
Jen’s Life Lesson #1240: Calling your father’s gourmet, handcrafted burgers a “Ray-Kroc-of-Shit” will get you grounded, even if you’re twenty-one years old.
What, like you’ve never composed a sonnet about potato cakes?
No, I don’t know why I’ve never yet been on
The Price Is Right
.
Surely there is a carnival somewhere
dying
for a person with my kind of skill.
To fully disclose, I also got my hair colored with this money. I apologize for nothing.
Plus, no one was particularly nice, so I had to bite my tongue to not ask how things were going on Middle-earth and if anyone had been back to the Shire lately.
Other personal heroes include Elle Woods, Patsy and Edina, and Lucille Bluth, of course.
I swear by Crest’s Vivid White Night Effects toothpaste.
Hey, Hollywood? You know who thinks skeletons are sexy? Necrophiliacs, that’s who.
This was back when I felt I deserved a three-carat princess-cut ring from Tiffany, so I also researched places where Fletch could sell a kidney in order to afford it.
Wouldn’t this be a great place to have an informative footnote about what ketosis is?
According to the 1972 version of this diet, which is the book I am using. A later version modifies these rules and restricts the liberal application of stuff like butter, which sounds a lot less fun.
Prior to his post-
Swingers
bloat, of course.
Yet another
Simpsons
quote, this time from episode 65, season 4, “Itchy & Scratchy: The Movie.” Not the Best Episode Ever, but from the Conan O’Brien years, so still pretty damned good.
A Hostess Twinkie and Ding Dong paired in a sandwich of nerve-calming decadence. (Basically it’s homemade Prozac.)
Nah, probably not.
Yeah, I know selling my recumbent bike was a bad idea. Thanks for not mentioning it sooner.
Who knew my pelvis had a floor? Although I think this has something to do with the Kegels.
For those unfamiliar with Chicago’s airports, one could
walk
between them if necessary. Also, how do you run out of gas? Shouldn’t that be the first thing the pilot checks once the doors are closed?
BTW, did you ever notice when you say you’re a bad flier, everyone thinks this is the perfect time to tell you about all of their flying traumas? Well, guess what?
These stories don’t help
.
But on the bright side, at least I’m temporarily distracted from visions of planes falling out of the sky.
I studied Italian for years and know for a fact that “
hospitaliano
” isn’t a real word.
Fletch’s army buddy Joel, previously known as Hurricane Joel for his propensity to speak in capital letters, is possibly the worst beer snob to ever walk the earth. Every time I drink a Miller High Life in front of him, a piece of his soul dies.
I would never, ever help terrorists, but I can say that if they believe the finest wedge of Whole Foods Gruyère is their key to unlocking American military secrets, they’re going to be sorely disappointed.
Something tells me that Fletch and I would be terrible at an intervention—like we’d show up with wine or something.
Oh, yes; in my book
Bitter Is the New Black
. Pick up your copy today!
Read: all.
But I mastered all fifty levels!
Am kind of a nerd that way.
So maybe three times in a week doesn’t sound like that much. But it’s three times more than I worked out in all of 2004.
Plus, I appreciate working out with the confidence that Tone-Lōc and Marky Mark will never make me cry in the weight room.
I also think “ions” and “electrolytes” are scams.
I heart Yul.
Todd Oldham, you are
not
the new Tim Gunn.
Not really helping my case much, am I?
Wait; don’t answer that.
I have a disorder I call False Fletcher Syndrome. Somehow I think every tall guy at the store is my husband and I end up throwing cereal into a lot of strangers’ carts. I suspect it’s my brain’s reaction to all those trans fats under one roof.
Meaning the conversation existed at all. You’d think someone who dropped as many F bombs as I do would be comfortable with intercourse discourse. You would be wrong.
To be fair, they’re probably not housing my stuff next to Mark Twain’s. But, still . . .
Again, as described in the bestselling
Bitter Is the New Black
. Have you purchased your copy yet? Makes a great gift!
I don’t dare complain to anyone about my new workout schedule because they’d be all, “Oh, poor you, getting paid to do the kind of thing the rest of us have to squeeze into the limited time we have when not at work. We should throw you a parade, for you are a
hero
.”
Vanilla Ice’s movie that was too cheesy even for my liking.
My back fat is April fresh!
And yes, I became familiar with Gorillaz because of that iPod commercial. Shut up.
I bet he’d never shove his dirty wedding dress in a garbage bag and stuff it on a shelf in the back of his closet for five years until he just now remembered he should probably get it cleaned.
By Annabelle Robertson:
The Southern Girl’s Guide to Surviving the Newlywed Years: How to Stay Sane Once You’ve Caught Your Man.
