It's Getting Hot in Here

I went through a phase where I refused to wear pants. All though it probably sounds like it, I was not 6 when this phase occurred. I was 23-27. 4 solid years, I owned maybe 2 pairs of pants, and those were for necessity.  My mom insisted it was abnormal not to own pants. My boyfriend at the time (now-husband) was completely weirded out the first time he saw me in jeans.

I just had a love affair with the girliness of skirts and dresses.  I felt more grown-up, prettier, more feminine, sexier, and let's be honest--it was so much easier to get ready for work when all I had to do was slip on a Banana Republic wrap dress.

Slowly but surely, as my calves got heftier, and as my never-ending need to look girlie died down and was replaced by blazers and slacks, my closet became a safer haven for all pants alike.  I hadn't even worn a dress to my new job, and it'd been almost 2 months.

I broke free last week.  It was 900 degrees out (that is a scientific number. It was 900 degrees, I swear it. And anyone who tells you it was just a really humid 97 is a liar).  I had already shaved my legs for a pedicure.  Dress--on. 

It felt like I'd been on a carb-free diet for two years and had decided to allow myself a piece of the most wonderful cake ever. Comfy, put together, and pretty. 

So now I'm back on a dress-buying binge (way healthier than Swedish Fish and Doritos).

This is next on my "to-buy" list (like a "to-do" list, but less productive and way more fun).

These are a few of my favorite things

I've become obsessed recently.  With a food, duh.  Ok, two.

The first is quinoa. Hear me out. I know, I know. If you were looking at me right now, you'd be whispering to your best friend, "Yeah riiiiight that biznatch is obsessed with quinoa."

But, I'm serious.  Specifically, quinoa salad.  Oh my God, people, it's hot outside, and my tubby tummy has been craving the juicy goodness of fresh veggies and fruit. Light vinaigrette's. Rose wine. Quinoa salad. So much so that when I discovered CPK had brilliantly added a quinoa arugula salad to their menu, I dragged my husband there (who was totally happy with his white pizza--add bacon, please).

I'm DYING to try this recipe.  I plan to cook up a huge batch and nom on it for dinner this week (my husband isn't a big fan of leftovers. He's also not a big fan of me eating "weird" things for my meals....like cheese and crackers, or some cooked black beans, and probably some quinoa salad I keep in a tub for a few days. But he's working a lot, and while the cat's away, the mice shall play---with whole grains?).

Ok, secondly, let's talk chocolate--a fat girl staple.  Except, I'm not really big into chocolate. I can turn down chocolate cake if I have to.  Offer me a chocolate pie or a piece of peach--I'll go for peach.  I don't have a secret stash of Twix in my house.  Maybe it's TOO sweet?  Regardless, I do love me some mixing of sweet and salty.  Enter salted dark chocolate.  After a spa session with my hubby in Napa, I spied a bar of this complex confection in the waiting room, which I promptly swiped and saved for breakfast the next morning.

Buuuuut, I'm going back on Weight Watcher's this week, so...buh-bye salted chocolate. You were a good friend, albeit brief. I will think of you always.

PS. While I wait for my husband to emerge from his laundry-induced haze (he won't let me touch his laundry, afraid I won't hang it up properly or something...I literally had to beg to be allowed to do a load of his darks last week), I am indulging in the perpetual amazingness that is Dirty Dancing.  That scene, in his room? When they're dancing after his rando friend has a sketchball schmashmortion...omg.

So Much to Do, So Little Time

I'm in Napa, as I write.

In what was perhaps the most indulgent day of my life yesterday, we woke up, ate carby breakfasts, sat by the pool for a few hours with literally no one around, headed to the spa for 2 hours of treatments which was concluded by wine and cheese, stopped at the hotel bar and had more wine and some salad (right???), lounged around watching tv, and then capped off our night at Bottega, the most delicious Italian I've ever had. Outside of Italy, natch.

We leave tomorrow. Oh how very sad. This has been the perfect vacation.....At least I will have a tan (and 13 bottles of wine) to remind me when I get home.

It's the Final Countdown....

On Saturday, me and the hubs are heading to Napa for what I'm calling is our mini-moon. We will get to London and Paris in the Winter for our real honeymoon, but a 5-star resort in Napa with wine tasting adventures in between laying beside the pool and noming on the local fare doesn't sound like too much of a compromise.

But oooh Lordy I'm nervous.

How the eff am I going to diet here?!?!?

A smattering of our foodie itnerary:

Sunday--

Morimoto Napa

But sushi isn't that bad...right?

Monday--

Bottega

Ok yeah, now we're talking.

Tuesday--

Bouchon

AAAAND...yes, this is where I die.

I'm probably going to need a few massages to get me through this.

Eat a Cookie Hall of Fame: Sarah Winchester

The Real Housewives of Orange County have really outdone themselves this season....but having just worked in the OC for almost two years, I know where all this nuttiness comes from. There's nothing to do in Orange County.

So, anyway, really, all those OC biznatches are skinny skinny skinny--proof that alcohol calories are not the same as cupcake calories. Unless you're consuming Cupcake Vineyard wine...which is a whole other, delicious discussion.  But recently, a new twig has fallen from the bat-shit-crazy  tree and landed in Newport Beach--Sarah Winchester.

Like her namesake, this Housewife is ba-na-nas.

And ridiculously, undesirably skinny.  Which really confuses me. Even Alexis Bellino, whose weight is misleadingly high as a result of inflated boobs and her honker nose (that no doctor apparently can fix), could take this Sarah on in a highly-produced cat fight.  But these broads just let the Sarah insane train keep on coming.

Sarah broke a piece of sugar bow off of Heather's cake last week.  My first thoughts: 1. No, she didn't. She does not eat. This is fake. 2. Heather doesn't eat anyway, so who cares what's missing from this hideous cake better off at a Sweet 16?

Anyway, I digress.

No One Likes a Skinny Girl salutes you Sarah--you don't make shockingly bone thin look good, but you do a GREAT job with totally nuts.

Those are the dead eyes of a woman who could use a 100-Calorie Pack. Stat.

Big Mac, Filet-O-Fish, Pocket Full of French Fries

At the beginning of May, I left my job.

I am only 29, but I was plunged into a brief "WHAT THE EFF AM I DOING WITH MY LIFE?" phase.  My almost-mid-life crisis.  Maybe cosmetology school? Write a book? Give up and have a baby?

I decided upon the most obvious of answers--Become a reality tv super star.  Duh.

At the same time, I was starting a new diet (another post, my pretties).  My brain started turning, and because this doesn't happen much, I let it go as far as it wanted.

BAM!

I decided to try out for the Biggest Loser.  I'd be famous AND thin.  I'd probably have my own talk show before I turned 30 (it should be noted that if I if I had my own talk show, I would not have two little British girls jumping around, repeating the highly obnoxious words of Nicki Minaj).

I found out Biggest Loser wase casting in Los Angeles the day after my birthday.  I called my very thin best friend, who loves watching fat people suffer so much that she took the day off from work to join me in the endless line at the cattle casting call.

But hark! After I sent in my "pre-registration", I got an email from someone who works on the show, proclaiming me "adorable", with a note to skip the line and use the attached VIP pass to get right in.   So, the day-long ridiculousness turns into an hour.

Here's what I learned at this casting call:

-Fat people, despite being in line for a show to lose weight, cannot stop themselves. A man selling ice cream from a cart was making a KILLING. I literally saw a girl take a picture with her McDonald's meal.

-No one has a sense of humor.  When I commented to a casting PA that the hallway he'd stuffed 15 of us into for waiting was "really a bad choice for a bunch of fat people," at least 3 people glared at me. Because no knew apparently knew what they were at Biggest Loser casting for.

-There is nothing worse than judging a group (a 700-person group) of chubbies based on their looks and actually going so far as to pick people out of the crowd based on said looks.  People turned on me. Worse, people turned on my poor skinny friend.

Needless to say, I didn't get a call back.  Dream crushed. New, "real" job had. Sigh. Unless, of course, they start the Real, Real World--for unemployed 30-something's.

She's Baaackkkkk

That's right.  I have, indeed, revived from dead...or, my wedding. It just took 4 months.

So many wonderful things have happened, not the least of which was my brief appearance on a reality tv show featuring plus-size brides picking out the wedding gown of their dreams.  Thanks, TLC, for showing the entire nation (and Canada...yes, our neighbors to the north see this too. Which I know to be true because two different Canadians emailed me after to tell me they happened upon me and my back fat) my dress size.

Truly, every bride's dream come true.

But, despite this, my gown was gorgeous, the wedding was perfect, and just like every blushing bride/heffer, the piece de resistance of my wedding was the booze and the food. Here me now: No expensive wedding is complete without chocolate-covered bacon.

See y'all tomorrow. Seriously. I'm back.

Really.

No, really.

Eat a Cookie Hall of Fame: Part 3

Today, we welcome Perry Reeves into the prestigious club of the Eat a Cookie Hall of Fame.

Before I met my fiance, I refused to watch Entourage. I didn't want to add viewers to the yechy show that glorified the douchebaggery that abounds in LA. But, he loves it, and I can handle it in small doses.

Except for Perry Reeves. The camera adds 10 pounds? Then Miss Reeves needs to gain 40. Everytime she appears on screen, all I can think is: "Ari Gold would not stand for that boniness in his bed. No one wants a jutting hip bone to slice across their thigh." The producers of this show clearly decided they weren't even going to bother pretending 3/4 of the women in Hollywood aren't afraid of food.

I'm going to start soliciting donations soon to put together delicious, completely inorganic, fatty, rich cookie baskets to send to our Hall of Famers. If we can just add a little softness to one scrawny shoulder in LA....I will feel my work has been done.

The Key to Good Makeup is...A Pretty Face

If you're like me, you love free stuff. I collect my Sephora Insider points like a hoarder with a fetish for porcelein dolls, just to get as much free product as possible. The month Kashi gave away free cookies via the mail was basically the greatest month of all time. Too bad the cookies sucked.

And that's the problem with most freebies and samples....its either something you don't really want in the first place or such a small little bottle/bag/cookie that it's disappointing. If you're going to give me something free, be serious about it. Instead of a tiny pouch of eye cream, give me the whole thing. HOW am I supposed to know if it erases my dark circles if you only gave me enough for one-half of one eye?

Thank God the Beauty Gods smiled upon us recently and begot the world Birchbox, otherwise known as (in my house, at least), the Holy Grail of Beauty Samples.

Every month, for the the nominal fee of $10, I get a pretty little box in my mail, sweetly wrapped and tied with a bow. Best of all, it's stuffed full of beauty goodies. Once, it had a granola bar (and it was delicious).

The samples are usually "premium" sized, meaning it lasts more than a single use. Also, because I've filled out a handy-dandy survey about my beauty tastes, everything I get is something I really am excited to try. And even though there's no pressure to buy, buy I do. But that's okay, too, because I earn points when I buy things and that, in turn, earns me discounts! Genius. Pure pretty-girl genius.

Highlights of recent boxes? Korres body wash, Kate Spade perfume, Anastasia of Beverly Hills mascara, and a Twistband hair tie. Love doesn't begin to cover how I feel about Birchbox.

Mad Women

I am on a diet. I am exercising more than my big ol body has exercised since I was on the high school water polo team.

But I don't want to be skinny. Actually, I don't even want to be thin.

"Well, what is it you want to be?" My mom asks.

Duh. I want to be Christina Hendricks. But, like, with blonde hair and smaller boobies.

She, to me and probably most male Americans, is the perfectly shaped woman. Soft, voluptuous, feminine and curvy. She can eat a steak with you and not have to excuse herself to yak while you wait for the check. She also doesn't take up two seats on an airplane. She probably also smells nicely of jasmine and baby powder.

A "friend" of mine, during my single years, once asked me how I was getting so many dates. I think she was incredulous that she, a size 8, was going nowhere fast with men, but me, a then-size 14/16 was the belle of the ball. My reply was how this blog was born...

"No one likes a skinny girl." And I believe that. So today, my "ideal" size is 12. I'd be stoked for a 14. Some would probably say that's still fat. I prefer chubby, and I love it.

Oy, just let the man dance!

People are pissed, I guess, that Chaz Bono is gonna be on Dancing with the Stars.

Now, Chaz is not a plus-sized gal. But he was once. So I'll just say this:

These people complaining should be ashamed of themselves. Who cares what Chaz did with his hoo-ha? There's nothing more unnatural about that then the fake boobs adorning 90% of the female competitors on the show. And frankly....these complainers should be ashamed of themselves mostly just for even watching DWTS. It's an awful show. Truly awful.

We'd all be so much happier if we only bothered to get angry at the really shocking things in life....like when someone cuts you in line at CVS.

I...can't...move

Sam the Trainer kicked my ass. I can't move. My forearms hurt. My lower back muscles hurt. I didn't even know I have lower back muscles.

Today's work out came thanks to one 10 month-old puppy named Bugsy who decided, rather abruptly, that he had not gotten enough exercise at the dog park, and thus, bolted down the street. I chased him for two blocks before I finally caught him when he stopped to romp in a patch of weeds. I am sure the good people of the neighborhood enjoyed watching a large blonde lady running after a tiny little miniature pinscher down the street.

Eat a Cookie Hall of Fame: Part 2

It's time for another Eat a Cookie Hall of Fame inductee!

Everyone's favorite fashionista, so dedicated to her work that she literally has turned herself into a wire hanger....Miss Rachel Zoe.

Frankly, I'm flumoxed that this science lab skeleton beauty was able to get pregnant. She is a real miracle. I think all her faux fur vests kept her womb warm.

On a related, interesting note...I found this picture of Rachel on a website dedicated to helping people get this skinny. Tips, included. I feel the site should come with a disclaimer: "Warning, looking like this won't actually make you look good. And you'll be so boney, your dog won't want to sit on your lap. But whatever, it's your wrinkled skin."

I Wanna Be a Supermodel

Today's list of I Want It Now features dresses, dresses and more dresses from http://www.saksfifthavenue.com/.

First, I am a big fan of dresses. I'm not sure why women in years long ago wanted to wear pants so desperately. A great dress makes you look like you spent 2 hours getting ready instead of the 2 minutes it actually took to slip it on. Effortlessly cool. Feminine. Sexy. Sweet. Professional. Smart. All accomplished by one piece of clothing. Whenever my single gal pals ask me what they should wear on a date, I always say, "A dress." There are only a few things left in this world that women don't have to share with men (like pregnancy and lipstick). Dresses are one of them.

Secondly, I love me some color. Yes, two of the dresses below are black--because I also love me some black. But if I'm ever in just a black dress, the cardigan over it is usually a bright, punchy shade. I own a neon yellow top I rock whenever the mood strikes. Maybe I look garrish. Maybe I stick out more than I'd like. But, really, who cares? Black does not have to be the uniform of every fat woman on this earth.

And last, I was at one time shocked by the enormous, stylish selection Saks Fifth Avenue carries in its Salon Z (Plus Size) department. Not that Saks isn't stylish. Mostly just because I'd always figured high-end was synonamous with "Plus sizes keep out!" Or maybe I'd just never bothered to look. Like most women, I've been afraid to buy that $250 dress since, "Oh, you know, I'm on a diet and who knows what size I'll be in a few months." Sisters, we're always on a diet. Let's give ourselves a break, and at least look smokin' hot while we wait to see how many pounds we can lose in a week.

Aidan Mattox dress. Cocktail party, here you come!

Lafayette 148 New York dress. I love the sultry color. Like wine and raspberries and a good make out sesh.


MICHAEL Michael Kors dress. I love professional dresses with unexpected twists, like the satin borders that run through this.

Z from Zenobia dress. This dress basically dares him not to ask you out again. The just below-the-knee fit is flattering on most of us plus-sized dolls.

Stairway to Heaven....?

With 5 months left until my weddingpalooza, I bit the bullet and hired myself a trainer. Not to get skinny, or probably even thin...just to maybe minimize my arm flab and any potential back cleavage in my pristine white gown.

I don't do particularly well with people yelling at me and ordering me around, especially if I think I know what I'm doing. Which is why I sought out a trainer who specializes in boxing--something I know pretty much nada about. This way, when he says "Stand like this, put your arms here, kick with this foot this way," I'm not thinking, "Shut up, you roided bastard."

Although, as it turns out, I could never think that about Sam, my poor poor trainer. Sam has the patience of a cloistered nun. Last Thursday, I was all sorts of pathetic, hitting the punching bag so soft it could be construed as a love tap. Sam said, with all his trainer-therapist wisdom, "The days we DO NOT want to work out but do it anyway are the days we're getting the most out of it--a real test for our bodies and our minds." If I was able to catch my breath, I would've told him I love him.

So, I'm looking forward to today's session. Sorta. Except, last week, just when I thought I had the system all figured out, Sam said, "Today, we do stairs." (And by "we" he meant me, while he watched with dismay at the bottom.)

My nemesis, the stairs

I will attempt to, once again, not feel bovine-ish as I struggle to climb the stairs while doing bizarre combinations of leg lifts and squats with a medicine ball. I will attempt to not cry. I will attempt to not complain. I will attempt to make Sam think I'm progressing. These are my goals.

On a side note, I said to my fiance the other night, "Honey, Sam thinks I should buy my own gloves..." He stared at me for a moment and then said, "I'm not sure boxing gloves in the house are a good idea."

Why ever heaven's not???

Soul Food for the Flabby

Mmmm......nothing says "happy, happy, yum, yum" to me like two of my favorite things: Corn bread and onions. Combined together with some cheese? Low-cal heaven.

Ingredients

1-1/3 cups of chopped sweet onions

1 tablespoon of butter

1 can (8-1/4 ounces) cream-style corn

1 package (8-1/2 ounces) of corn bread/muffin mix

2 egg whites, lightly beaten

2 tablespoons fat-free milk

1/2 cup non-fat sour cream

1/3 cup reduced fat sharp cheddar cheese

Directions

-In a small nonstick skillet coated with cooking spray, saute onions in butter until tender; set aside.

-Meanwhile, in a large bowl, combine corn, muffin mix, egg whites and milk. Pour into a 9 inch, square baking dish coated with cooking spray. Combine sour cream and onions. Spread over batter. Sprinkle with cheese.

-Bake, uncovered at 350 degrees for 25-30 minutes or until a toothpick inserted in the middle comes out clean.

-Makes 9 servings

When your boyfriend tells you he wants to marry you for cooking like this, you'll thank me. So will your tightest jeans that won't give you a muffin top after eating this.

Pretty Pretty

If you're over a size 14 and you're not completely obsessed by the gorgeous, drapey dresses of Rachel Pally's White Collection....you're probably either A. Wearing the same jeans with a faded acid wash you've had since 9th grade or B. Without a soul.

These dresses are made to hide the bad (hello, belly bloated from three years of no gym-time and this morning's chocolate chip muffin) and show off the good (thank you, Mom, for the perfectly perky C-cups). And God bless the dress that you can wear to the beach, dinner, or work. Paired with the perfect strappy sandle, and BAM....you're suddenly the voluptuous goddess you keep telling your boyfriend you are.

I'd like to send Rachel Pally a fruit basket. Or a hug. Or both.

Eat a Cookie Hall of Fame

Our first-ever inductee into the Eat a Cookie Hall of Fame....

The very talented, absurdly skinny Leann Rimes!


Little Miss Leann used to be so cute. Remember her? Cherubic cheeked and puppy-dog blue eyes. Bluuuuuuuuuuuueeeeeeeee oooh ooooh oooooh oooh. Why can't you be blue over me too? Oh, Leann we are. We can see your ribs and it hurts.

Recently, while eating dinner in Chicago, Leann was approached by a fellow patron who suggested Leann need to eat. This enraged Leann, who let her anger fly via Twitter, the natural choice for airing your important, worthwhile grievances. Here at No One Likes a Skinny Girl, we commend this gentleman, although we think he'd have been better off sending her a plate of bread pudding and a wink.

Now, Leann is in a skinny-bitch-tizzy because fellow twig, Giuliana Rancic recently claimed that the person she'd most like to feed at her new restaurant is Ms. Rimes herself. We get the point, but gee, that's just bad business. Everyone knows Leann isn't going to buy a single plate of pasta from you.

Which brings us to our second-ever inductee into the Eat a Cookie Hall of Fame:

The dependably under-weight Giuliana Rancic!



Dearest Giuls, we're not fooled by this "restaurant" you plan to open. I would never eat food selected by someone who probably eats kale like its a Frostee from Wendy's.

Mazel Tov to this week's inductees! Eat a Cookie! It's on us.