This weekend was great! I went to a taco truck catered Bocce Ball pre-wedding party in the park with TONS of good food, good people and lots of good fun. The wedding the next day was perfect. There was perfect weather, perfect food, great music and two lovely, glowing brides. I spent hours dancing and laughing and singing with my friends. I felt great. My eczema was gone, I had no pimples, my hair looked good and I had a super cute retro dress that made me feel very pretty. Everything was great. (Insert ominous music…)
The next day, the family and I went to the local museum. While there I discovered that I needed to adjust the front section of my undercrackers. I found a secluded corner and made the necessary adjustments and because it was secluded, I felt ok about putting my hand inside my pants to fix the sitch, IYKWIM. Ahem
Fun Fact: Most museums have security cameras. After my adjustments were made, I looked up to find myself eye to lense with the Eye in the Sky.
Shit.
My first thought (ok, my second thought after “get me the hell out of here”) was “Oh, this better not end up on Epic Fail. But something even worse quickly pushed Epic Fail out of my head faster than tugboat pushing a tanker in the New York Harbor:
I could end up on “FUPA Hunter”. Please, dear Lord in Heaven, pleeeeeaaasssse don’t let me end up on FUPA Hunter! Epic Fail I can handle because quite frankly, that’s some funny shit. However, showing up on FUPA hunter is the epitome of humiliating.
Here’s a little tip, for free, from me to you: If you are worried about ending up as a trophy on FUPA Hunter, you are too fucking fat.
So, here I am posting my current pictures, current weight and current measurements. I am hoping that by writing this down, I will be able to hold myself accountable. My old mantra was “If food you see, in my mouth it will be!” My new mantra…
