No Country for Old Fat Ladies

The big b-day is over. I went out to lunch with a friend to Jia Tella in Scotts Valley. Got back to work to find Hannah with her mom, the wicked step-sisters and my fave cake from The Buttery. Had a tiny piece. Was completely grossed out so I had a 2nd tiny piece to make sure it was the cake that made me sick. Sure thing - it was! The wicked step-sisters complained non-stop about the cake too. They don't like lemon curd. They don't like poppy seeds. They don't like cake. They don't like frosting. What's this weird frosting stuff? We can't eat this! Why does Hannah get to hold Bella? Why didn't you buy chocolate? Why is Hannah alive? We need to buy Jan some new glasses instead of a cake for her birthday. Her glasses are crooked and cheap looking on her face. Look at how funny she looks! Why is Jan still alive?


When I arrived home, the front door of my house was decorated with balloons and a package of home-made, decorated cupcakes. The decorating/baking culprit was my son's girlfriend. I was completely blown-away mostly because when I backed into my driveway, I sat in my car for a few minutes and at some point, turned around and saw this door covered in celebratory stuff. I hardly know this young woman (she is afraid of me) and this was really a thoughtful way to help me feel celebrated. Too bad it was a complete (almost) stranger but hey, I'll take it where I can get it. 


A good friend sent me a birthday card that read Happy F*cking Birthday only there was no asterisk. The sentiment made me smile. Thanks, Lib!

There's an article in the L.A. Times today called 'Obesity: 'Like the new smoking'. If you're still chubby or thinking of eating that last hunk of birthday cake, you might want to read the article first. One tidbit the item states is "the death rate from uterine (endometrial) cancer was 525% higher for very, very obese women than for women of healthy weight." I did not even know we could have percentages in the 500 range but then I was never any good at math. When I was fat(ter) I had uterine cancer and that diagnosis was 4 years ago now. That means I had (and probably still have) a 525% chance of croaking of uterine cancer over a skinny woman. If that fatoid factoid doesn't make you want to lose some poundage, I don't know what will. Oh, wait! I know what will. Gastric bypass or maybe you can employ the Duck tape diet or you might want to wait until you're dying of cancer because cancer will help you lose weight near the end when you can't eat any longer because you know you're dying and eating becomes pretty pointless when you know you're going to be dead soon. I know this from watching Greg die. He stopped eating in August and died in October. He didn't eat for almost two months. When you think about it, that's kind of a diet though I am not sure of there's the quality of life in that diet that some people seem to selfishly crave.


Enjoy the photos (and be jealous) of the pretty home-made cupcakes (because that's as close as you'll ever get to them). Admire my b-day decorated door which I've decided to leave on display permanently, until the streamers rot into bits of slime muddling colors on the doorstep where I'll   smear (what will look like dog-poop stains) on my carpet when I walk into the front door some years from now. When my neighbors walk by the house and notice the decorations, they can ask with enthusiasm "Hey, I didn't know it was your birthday!?" and I can say, "Yes, it was my birthday in early March 2011." (Also in early March 1965 and early March 1960 and so on.)


In the photos, please ignore the lovely pink propane bill laying ever so discreetly upon the doorstep courtesy of Mr. Propane Man, (who's about as sensitive a birthday gift-giver as most of the men I've known), the spiderwebs and other assorted door filth, and the assorted red-ish paint colors with which I've been trying to decide over the past few years to paint my door. 


Under no circumstances should you ignore Bella, my vicious attack corgi. She was really eye-balling those cupcakes though she abstains (mostly because she's a very picky eater, Thank Haysus!). We watch her girlish figure with a staunch desire to keep any obesity and cancer stats below 525% unlike someone she knows. Plus we can't afford one of those custom corgi wheel-chairs made out of plywood and used roller skate wheels that you have to tie the dog's belly into. We are working on a top secret prototype for other chubster (not my Bella) dogs. 

Thank you for all the good wishes!