Tag Archives: family

Fat genes: No skin off my back, only my sister’s toes

Because my mom:

1) has been the general manager of a Weight Watchers franchise since 1995

2) is my mom,

I like to believe:

1) her, on most weight-related subjects

2) that she doesn’t say mean things to me just to be mean.

"I got yo' back, gurl"

Usually, having a mom that knows about nutrition/weight management and doesn’t tease you for fun is a good thing.

It’s not so good, however, when she tells you that in all likelihood, you have obesity genes.

"I got yo' fat back, gurl"

Apparently, scientists have found that certain genes can cause obesity, and according to my mammy, I gots me some.

Now, normally being told you’re destined to be obese isn’t the greatest of news. For me, it’s helped clear up a few things. Such as:

My birth weight.

At 9 pounds, 8 ounces, I was the heaviest baby of the bunch. I was also the only baby who required formula in addition to breast milk — I was one hungry ass mothersucker.

My abnormal rib.

My left rib is big and weird.

Not a nipple-less boob, I promise

It’s meant for protecting a belly full of food.

My appetite inability to not eat everything in sight.

No amount of “one time I ate this much” bragging will ever do a better job of illustrating my deep-rooted gluttony than the following story.

My parents, sister, brother-in-law, and I were all hanging out at the family trailer one day last summer. We were doing what we always do — watching TV and accusing each other of farting — when I experienced one of my run-of-the-mill hunger pains.

Though I’d eaten lunch an hour earlier, I jumped up from the couch, walked the foot to the kitchen, and started rifling through the cabinets for something to eat. I considered potato chips and rice cakes but, after finding a box of delicious Triscuit crackers stashed in the back, opted for thems. A few cracked pepper and olive oil crackers later, I returned to my post on the couch.

It was then that I noticed a tiny potato chip crumb sitting on the armrest. For some reason, I forgot that I’d only eaten crackers, not potato chips, and mistook the crumb for my own. This when ish went down.

Since I was still pretty hungry and I hate to see leftover crumbs go to waste, I picked it off the couch to eat. Half a second before popping it into my mouth, I realized that it couldn’t have been mine — I hadn’t eaten chips. Still, even though I had plenty of time to put it down, I figured a chip crumb is a chip crumb. No matter where it came from, it’d be aiight.

A piece of human skin, on the other hand, is not a chip crumb. And no matter who it came from, it’ll never be aiight.

You know how, when you eat a delicate potato flake, it dissolves in your mouth almost immediately? Well… that didn’t happen with this particular potato chip. In fact, with each passing second, it became chewier and chewier until it reached a state of such chewiness that I had to take it out of my mouth for peeping.

As I peeped what I’d thought was a chip crumb, it became clear that it definitely twasn’t. It was rubbery. And semi see-through. It also had fingerprint tracks on it.

It was human flesh.

I later found out that it was my sister Beanie’s human skin. She’d peeled it off her foot earlier in the day, and thought it was such an impressive specimen that she decided to save it on the couch.

P.S. My mom later amended her “obesity gene” diagnosis to “obesity and cannibal gene.”

P.P.S. This link will take you to a video of my cousin who, despite not actually sharing any blood relationship with me, seems to have inherited the same cannibal genes. Make sure you watch through to the end!

I Googled a Lupe Fiasco song for this title

I come from a family of drivers.

Back in the day when I was young (I’m not a kid anymore) my parents used to drive my three sisters and me down to RI and back every summer weekend. When my sister Meg lived in Florida, she drove over 24 hours non-stop to Maine more than once. Since last October, my mom’s put nearly 30,000 miles on a rental car, in addition to the miles she’s put on her own.

We get our drive on.

That’s why driving 6 hours to Pennsylvania, like I did the other day, ain’t no thang. I just put the AC on blast, get my my seat lean on, bump the radio, and cruise the crap out of my Pontiac Vibe.

But, just because I’m used to cruising the crap out of cars, doesn’t mean I particularly like it. It only takes a few miles into a trip before the air conditioning malfunctions, my back hunches, and Chris Brown’s “yellow model chicks” have me wishing my speakers would blow. Luckily, as I’m known to do, I’ve found a fun way to pass the time while driving: daydreaming.

Over the past 22 years I’ve perfected the art of daydreaming. It’s helped me through countless boring classes, boring jobs, boring workouts, and other boring occasions. If you’re looking for a way to get through something boring, let me suggest the daydreams I always find myself back at:

1. I save up for years to buy a $600 video camera. Hours after buying it, I let my sister Beanie borrow it to do some filming at the beach. She, the spazoid she is, drops it into the water moments after I hand it to her. She looks at me with horror (and, at the same time, remorse). But not to fear! I’m not going to beat her up (though she knows I could), ’twas only an accident. I won’t even make her buy me a new one! I’m that nice!

2. I’m a really good dirt biker and can travel really quickly by jumping from roof to roof.

3. I’m a really good skateboarder and can travel really quickly by latching onto the backs of 18-wheelers.

4. As I jalk (jog/walk) down a remote dirt road, I see a bear emerge from the woods. Though I’m initially scared, I sense a kindness in his eyes. And it’s a good thing I do! Turns out he’s not only kind, but also fluent in English. We become fast friends. By the end of the day he introduces me to his newborn cubs.

Picture I took while babysitting

5. All the cars in the northbound lane are fleeing from a giant in a hammock somewhere in Rhode Island. Apparently they don’t know that giants in hammocks are never violent.

Hope this helped — if you need more suggestions, let me know!

P.S. I’m not trying to pretend that 90% of my daydreams 90% of my day isn’t spent daydreaming about serendipitously running into Patrick Stump/other studs, falling in love, and getting proposed to prematurely. I just didn’t think anyone needed advice on how to daydream about that.