The Valium addicted hamsters that formerly ran our Internet connection are now safely re-homed into an appropriate hamster tube maze, which we secretly left on the loading dock of the Korbel winery. Along, of course, with an open bottle of Korbel champagne.
Hey, I’m keeping the Valium. But I’m not heartless, I got them drunk first.
I’m baaaaack. (Like you can’t tell by the exhausted, stretched-to-the-limit-hamster/computer metaphor? Jane is still using that hamster thing?! Hellooo…that’s SO 1982!)
The Apple has the coolest, hippest, sleekest little keyboard on which I cooly, hipply, and sleekly hit all the wrong keys. Repeatedly. The previous sentence? 10 retrys, one Valium, (mistake: the Valium is making me oh and ah over the sheer coolness of the geekily tricked out keyboard. I should have kept the champagne.)
The keyboard is so hip I find it difficult to mourn the bulky, but ergonomically correct, Mastodon era keyboard from our old PC. The one on which I could easily type 90 words a minute, blindfolded, while talking on my blue-tooth and eating something I really really shouldn’t.
While I was away, and the computer was getting it’s brains re-homed.
My brother throws a big bash every year for immediate family only. This year that was 200 people. Luckily only 147 showed up. We’re…tribal. What can I say? Unlike most normal families, I grew up with 6 grandparents, a dad, a mom, and a back-up mom, in case mom number 1 was over-booked. (What mom number 1 isn’t?) In addition, there were numerous Aunts and Uncles to take any kid in hand and parent them to death into okay okay compliance.
Here’s the problem. I was a fat kid. I grew into a hefty pre-teen, and graduated to a full blown um, plump teenager who humiliatingly had to shop in the chubby girls section for dresses designed to make anyone under 20 show up in the classroom dressed exactly like the teacher. I wandered the up and down the scale for most of my life (mostly up).
My family, all 200 of them, have it firmly imprinted in their psyches with primal determination that I was born fat, have always been fat, and will always be fat. I get looks of great displeasure when the ordinary me that shows up doesn’t match the fat me in their memory banks.
Thus the birth of this immortal line, screamed at full cheerful volume across the vast sea of cousins, aunts, uncles, grandparents, siblings, neices and nephews by my second mother Jane, my namesake:
“YOU’RE STILL NOT FAT YET!”
It’s a real show stopper.
I’m still not fat…(wait for it)…yet. Our kids are mystified by this line, as it’s properly squealed and trotted out every summer. They puzzle over it. What does that sentence mean exactly? And what’s wrong with not being skinny? They’ve been raised to respect all sizes of people. (A little something we like to call diversity.)
I get revenge by piling my plate with foods so laden with empty calories Chinet’s legal department has issued a disclaimer. They are not responsible for comestibles that exceed the artery clogging rating. I go right for the dessert table. And I pile like a newly graduated architect. Then I head for a random sister in law who has heard all the Fat Jane stories an seen all the Fat Jane pictures. I know the horror this will incite: “You’re not going to eat THAT, are you?”
Yup. Every last bite. Ummm-umm. I can’t tell you how satisfying it is to wander through a crowd of judgemental relatives with a veritable tower of fat and sugar in all of it’s infinite and glorious forms.
I even take stuff I can’t stand. You can’t pay me to eat any desert containing coconut. I don’t care how frosted it is in butter and sugar. (And that is saying a LOT). When I have everyone convinced I really AM eating THAT, I feel free to eat what still looks interesting and toss the rest.
I thought my re-entry into the blogosphere would be glorious, simple, and getting on with it.
However, because I was up all night following a barfing dog with a roll of paper towels while my internal Bitter Family Tape was looping (there’s something about 2 am that gets this going), it’s groggy, self-centered, and possibly totally irritating. Sorry about that.
I do find some consolation in this: I’m still not fat yet.
Stay tuned. I’ll let you know when I’m fat again, since it seems to be predestined in Jungian shared consciousness sort of way.
In the meantime, we have some great Creative Dismount submissions, including one that made me snort disgusting diet orange soda out my nose (kids dared me to try it. The orange pop, not the snorting) because I was laughing so hard as I read.