Help My Beagle - My Plea to Ganz

To whom it may concern;


I need to tell you a little story. This is a tragicly sad story, one without a happy ending (YET). See, I am a single mother that continuously showers her daughters with little stuffed animals. Almost always they are webkinz, but before we knew of webkinz, we would just go to the store and randomly pick out a stuffed animal. During one of these random trips, we found a teddy bear, a Ganz teddy bear named Avery. He was simple, cute, brown with a little checked brown bow. He had beans in his butt andin the bottom of his limbs. He wasn't much, but to my daughter he was 'the one'. She loved little Avery till the Webkinz caught her eye, but, Avery still had a highly coveted spot on her bed.

As she got another year older, she and her sister started harrassing me, giving me "the dog talk". You know what I mean, trying to trick me by saying things like: WE will pick up the poo, WE will feed the dog, WE will walk the dog, WE will take care of it. Well, as have numerous unsuspecting parents before me, I fell for the hype. We got ourselves a dog. A Beagle named Bosco. This was no ordinary dog, he is a used dog, meaning we got him from another owner. I adore him and all his quirks. He has issues but hey, don't we all. He is a bit of a baby and needs constant reassurance but I'm good at it so we just baby eachother. One sad thing is that he was a breeders stud before. These people told us that they kept him in a kennel 90% of the time. He came out to go potty and to make some young fembeagle's day, or at least I hope he did. Anyhow, I digress, but here comes the point. Poor little Bosco had little love in his previous home and so he was a bit put off by all the lovin' we were trying to give him. He was never taught to play so when you throw him a ball he just looks at you like, 'why did that idiot do that'. He is the sweetest little big guy but you could tell that something was missing. It was just heartbreaking.

Well, one day he went into my daughter's shared room and started giving their stack of stuffed animals the 'hairy eye'. I was kind of creeped out because he was unreceptive to all of my encouraging words trying to break his concentration and talk him into exiting the room. Finally he walked over to sweet little Avery and gently picked him up. Of course I immediately took the bear out of his mouth and returned it to the never-ending stack, but he just walked back over and picked it back up.

After talking with my daughters, we decided to let Bosco have Avery. It was a match made in puppy heaven. Every night he would go over and grab Avery and lay on his bed and suckle him, like a baby with a binkie. I was a little creeped out and called a veterinarian to see what the reason was for this strange need to have a furry little pacifier. He told me that Bosco was taken away from his mom before being weaned, thus the suckling for comfort. He has been loving little Avery for the last year, and is so gentle that you could not tell that it was a dog's bear.

This last January we got another wild hair and decided he needed a playmate - enter Molly, a 5 month old maniac beagle. Molly has a life mission - to destroy all dog toys in her path. We have given her as many toys as we could but each time she sees Bosco having special time with Avery she gets crazy and wants to take Avery away. She has snuck him so far about 10 times away and chewed him to oblivion. He lost an ear and she actually sucked his little cotton brains out. I pushed them back in and sewed it up so now he has had a partial labotomy and the left ear is completely missing. Bosco looks like he is depressed. He gently carries Avery over to his bed and lays him down, but he no longer feels he can suck on him. He is a sad dog. I have given him about 15 other bears and other friendly animals but he only has eyes for Avery.

I have gone to every store in the vacinity, NO MORE AVERYS. I need your help, Bosco needs your help. There are many times that we as people see suffering and unfortunately are in a position that leaves us unable to help, this however is your chance to do something, to help make this world a better place. You have the power to make my children see that kindness crosses all barriers. You and only you can make Bosco once again a happy dog. It has been said, "With great power comes great responsibility", are you ready to deny a beagle his one and only happiness, will you ever be able to walk down the street, go to the dog park, or even look at your own dog again without wondering what would have been, if only you had helped...

Well, this is how I will leave this letter:

I am contacting you as a last resort. If you have another Avery bear, I would love to be able to purchase it for my beloved little dog. I know you are a busy person and have a lot on your plate, but please, help us to bring the joy back into our little hairy boy. If you feel like you cannot help, please forward this letter on to someone who can do something. Please e-mail me back as soon as possible.

Sincerely,
Cynthia Woody

Death of a Moo Moo

So, Its been a while since I put anything on here.  I've been busy.  I need new clothes, being in a transitional phase losing weight, it has been difficult to find anything that tickles me.  Well, last week my mom and I went to Ross.  It seemed like a good idea at the time because I wasn't going for me, it was here anniversary and she was hoping to find something nice to wear out to dinner.

We shopped from one side of the store to the other.  My kids had a blast trying on dresses and all kinds of funky little outfits so it was a fun day.  We were getting ready to head up to the cashier but stopped to look at the pajama section.  There was a large "housedress" in my size, a very large one size fits all. That was just appealing in itself.  Puzzling, yet appealing! I mean OMG - could it be true? Is there honestly a size that fits all? Well thats what the label said and who am i to argue with the fashion GODs. So, I moved in a little closer. I did the "across the bust" stretch, it passed the test. I did the around the tummy pull, it passed the test. I held it up and it made it all the way down, it was long enough also. Man oh man, it was my day to shine. It is so hard to find clothes when you are plus sized. Most of the stores seem to have the idea that every fat girl wants to look like a 65 year old woman. I mean c'mon now, we're fat, not dead.  Well, this 'housedress' was colorful, bright, and silky. As most big girls do, I usually douse myself in all black and hope I blend in. NOT TODAY SAM! Today was my day. Finally I found something bright and beautiful that would be comfortable, stylish, and me. I was excited.

Well, don't worry, I soon was violently shaken back into reality.  My mom has this habit that once you have new clothes, she wants to see them on you. Not in a minute, not in five minutes, but NOW. I am a slow clothes changer. Anyone plus sized knows about the knee-stretch for shirts, the standing on the hem of your pants and pull to elongate them. Well, we all go through it, we just don't all talk about it. So, I went in to the bathroom to try it on. Oh, the silk felt like heaven sliding over my body. Easing into a silk cocoon of love and comfort! Thats the best description until it hit my butt. Oh sweet Mary, my butt was the shining proof that one size does NOT fit all. Not only does it not fit, but it made me look like I was the hottest thing on the Hillshire Farms Fall Menu. I was tucked into that silky tube like a summer sausage and not quite as pretty. Seriously folks, it took me about 15 minutes to get the courage to walk out the bathroom door to show my mom. I only came out because she was telling me that it wasn't that bad, it's okay, sometimes you need to lose a couple pounds and it'll fit better. No mom, not this time. I would have to lose half of Rhode Island to fit in this 'badboy'. We chuckled a little, then talked about how nowadays the clothesmakers are cutting the sizes smaller. (another sign of denial) The main trouble came when it was time to peel the house dress off. It was then that I moved infront of a full-length mirror. The image burned itself into my retinas. I was stuffed into that MooMoo like a Thanksgiving turkey. For a long time I believed that MooMoo was a silly name for an item of clothing but now that I have actually been in one, I know the truth. Any item of clothing that is named after a barnyard animal is not something a woman should wear. Despite the allure of the comfort they offer, think of it as putting on an udder, because you will look like a COW! I squeezed out of the dress and hid it from myself. It is still up on a shelf in my closet. When I go in there to get coats or shoes I can hear a faint moooomooooo coming from above. How creepy! It took some time but I have now gotten over it! But let this serve as a warning for anyone else that falls for that enticing little silky number called a Moo Moo. It's evil in disguise. No person will EVER look good in a tablecloth, tent or tarp, aka the MOOMOO its time to retire it, its time to say NO, NO ONE SIZE FITS ALL.

A Fair to Remember!

So, I'm sure that many of us remember the days, back when we were children, when the county fair would come to town and all the rides would be there, looking oh so formidable, yet so wanting to ride them. Well, I was a sucker for the spinning rides. My equalibrium has been so tormented by random spinning that I actually begin to function better after a good spinning session.

Okay, back to the point of the story...

I wanted to take my daughters to the fair. As anyone who knows me will realize, I do a lot of things without thinking first. So, I decided that it would be fun for them to invite a friend of mine's two daughters. An idea oh so good in theory, but you will see how it turns out!

So, off we go, me and two six year olds, a four year old and a three year old. What was I thinking? The sad part is, I don't even drink so I can't blame it on that. Anyway, we get to the rides. I have one little daredevil that wants to go on rides that have grown men vomiting and crying as they are getting off. She made it to the front of the line but the attendant said that she was too small to go alone, she had to have an adult with her. NO NO NO. "Sorry honey, we'll just find another ride you can go on okay", that was all I could get out. There wasn't a snowballs chance you know where that I was going to find myself on that ride that day or any other. I'm not afraid to admit that I am a giant chickenshit. So, on we walked until this tricky little ride called "The Sizzler". Now, to this point, any connection I have had to anything called the sizzler results in me being full and happy. Sizzlers are good things, or at least I believed they were. This was no ordinary ride. It was kind of like a rectangular basket with a giant bar that went across your stomach to hold you in. It looked safe (enough). So I put the two older girls together in the basket across from me and took the two smaller girls in with me. (Big BIG Mistake!) So, the young man/boy, (unkempt, unshaven, and unaware), came over to each of the baskets to be sure that everyone was all locked in and that everything was safe and ready for take off. My legs are very long. Especially from my hips to my knees. I ended up sitting half sideways to get the room I needed for my legs and still have the door able to shut. I had the smallest girl, Cameron, to my right and my youngest daughter Olivia to the left. As the man/boy came around to our basket he told us to keep our hands in at all times and grabbed the door to slam it shut. Now keep in mind, during all this there is a line of people about 3 car lengths away waiting for their turn, not to mention all of the other people, smarter than I was, that were in the spectator section. So, as he slams the door, it hits my stomach and bounces back open. He shot a look that screamed embarrassment and said, "I don't think I can shut the door with you in there". I looked at him and said to try it again. This time he wound up his arm like a world series pitcher and gave it a big heave ho... to no avail. This time before it bounced off my gut it pinched my skin. Now I was pissed! I looked at him with my best impersonation of "the look" I used to get from my mother and grumbled under my breath, "I don't care what you have to do, shut the damn door NOW, don't make me get out in front of all those people." We stared into eachothers eyes for what felt like an eternity and then he grabbed the door and with all his might slammed it shut. Oh the pain. It was such a shock that I immediately sucked in all my air. The issue now was there was no room for me to exhale and expand my lungs, fat, I was in there so tight, a fart at the wrong moment would've blown me right out the top. So, I was barely breathing, being held up by this tight steel death door, waiting to get spun to oblivion. Well, as the ride started, we had another problem. The force of the spin was so great that it began to slide me towards the tiniest little girl in the ride with me. My daughter would slam into me and then I would slide towards Cameron. She just looked up at me with these scared little eyes, begging for me to let her live, and screamed NNNOOOOO WOODY. Well, it took all my strength to hold myself back from the force of gravity trying to force me to crush this little baby girl. I was begging the man/boy to end this terrible ride and end my torture but I was still unable to breath so it was just a look I was offering up. Well, as the ride began to slow I began to realize that this nightmare was almost over! As the Sizzler came to an end, my humiliation was just beginning. The ride was created so that once the spinning baskets came to a stop, the doors would unlock and the rider would gently push the door open to exit. To get in, the baskets were positioned over these wood crates large enough so that people could step up on them to get in. Well, for some reason my door wouldn't open. I asked the man/boy to push the button again for me. Suddenly a loud BANG and my door shot open with the force of a shotgun blast. The pressure applied by my non-breathing belly was just too much and darn near blew the door off. Unfortunately this BANG was heard by all, maybe even into the next county. I could feel my face and ears turning red but, I was going to do my best to get off this ride with at least some fragment of my dignity. Well, that was stripped from me as well. As I lifted my one leg out of the basket to step out onto the wood crate under me, I suddenly realized that my basket stopped a little short of the crate. Almost as if in slow motion, I tumbled out onto my face in front of every man, woman, and child in the vicinity. My kids of course were laughing. I tried to get up and laugh but for some reason I just couldn't. I just grabbed the girls and ran over to the tilt-a-whirl. It was the only ride that would offer some sort of shelter from the sea of glaring stares aimed at me and my sizzler-breaking butt. Well, the day went on and as people came and went the story was less and less interesting. But for those that had seen me in action, they have their own little private memory of my public humiliation. Maybe this year I will be strong enough to go back to the fair. No, maybe not. Oh well, I am going to go back one day, but not until I have lost enough weight that breathing wont be a problem!

Don't cry, It's only fat!

So, I'm sure that this next experience is going to regsiter with many other large women out there. I was in my local Safeway store, just minding my own business. Actually, I was aimlessly walking up and down every aisle hoping something would jump out at me and remind me of what the hell I was in there for in the first place. Anyway, while looking at the hardware section, amazed at all the little wierd gadgets that are available, I saw an adorable little old lady staring at me from further down the aisle. I generously smiled back, innocently thinking she was going to ask me to get something down from one of the top shelves for her. Instead, this adorable little old lady came walking up to me and said, "So honey, when are you due?". My first response was, "Due for what?". Of course, I'm not always the quickest but looking at her face slowly change from a welcoming smile to a miserable grimacing wince, it was painfully clear. Of course I only had one response available now, "I'm not pregnant, just overweight." I thought that was a quick, easy way to let her know there would be NO belly touching here today but my comment only drew this agonizingly sad look and a stream of tears that would melt Charlie Mansons heart. She was soooo sorry and could not stop apologizing. It's okay. It's fat, it would be different if I didn't know it was there and she kind of sprung it on me but no, it has been with me for awhile. She was just mortified. Instead of me walking away licking my wounds(emotional ones of course), I was stuck there consoling someones grandma who confused my obsession with Ben & Jerry's Mint Chocolate Cookie with having some nameless fools lovechild. What a shame. I ended up hugging her and over and over telling her that I was okay with her mistake. It's okay people. Fat people know we are fat. It doesn't suddenly attack us in a dark alley or overtake us like some agressive disease. It's just fat. DEAL WITH IT!

Is that a mail-order degree or what?

Hi guys,

I used to have a serious problem with sleep-walking for about a year and a half. Every night I would find myself falling over some obstacle in my home and actually ended up breaking my nose three times over the summer. Luckily the final break knocked it straight so it was all for the best.

I decided to go to a clinic to see if I could get help with my weight and sleep issues. This was again another new office and a new doctor for me. I went in, got weighed and cracked a few nervous jokes to avoid hearing the actual weight that I was. Then I ambled into the office and sat on the edge of that giant table of doom we have all come to know and dread. This doctor was recommended by a couple of people that I knew and so I had high hopes from the beginning. I have scars on my arms from sleepwalking and falling into things and having things fall on top of me, so I have a few battlescars but nothing too distracting.

When he came in the room he gave me the once over. Then told me that he could only help me if I was completely honest with him. Of course I agreed, honesty is after all the best policy. Then he asked me how long I had been doing meth. I laughed. But soon I could see he wasn't kidding.

He told me that there was no way he could help me unless I admitted I had a problem. Now, I have many problems, too many to name here, but METH is NOT one of them. I told him that I don't use meth but he returned with saying that he sees it alot with people my size, that we are so depressed with our size that we turn to meth to help with losing weight. He was so sure that I was on it that he didn't help me at all. He only said that when I come back that I should be ready to be honest. Not only that, he also said that people my size usually crush their own feet under themselves and was amazed that I was able to move around.

WHO ARE THESE DOCTORS? I have seen many people, even bigger than me, that are able to walk and function. Should I call Ripley's Believe It or Not? Are we freaks of the fat community? I have been walking for a long time. Maybe I don't have feet. Maybe they have been worn down to hard fat stumps that just clump along. (Just kidding, they are just plain old regular feet.)

Keep in mind that there are many doctors that are good at what they do, and there are also a bunch of jerks pretending to care about others but looking for a fat paycheck instead of helping fat patients.

Did you have to go to college for that degree?

So, my fellow fatties, have any of you had nightmare experiences with the medical community?
Aside from the usual comments I have had some of the strangest experiences with doctors. I have a problem with my legs swelling. I mean like i end up with little smokey toes and feet that look like they are made out of playdoh. Well, in my quest for answers to why I swell up quicker than a balloon hooked up to helium, I took a co-workers advice and went to a local Dr.'s office here in Spokane.

Now, I think everyone gets a little nervous when meeting a new physician for the first time. It's like seeing someone you had a one night stand with over and over only you are the one naked and they get to poke and prod you, and not in a good way.

Well, this time was no different. I met this doctor and after listening to my complaints, his first response was, "I know what your problem is, your fat", and this comment came with him poking me in my nether-regions. (Thats the part of your tummy that anyone close to you knows is hands off) This jackass somehow decided that he knew what was wrong. He then proceeded to tell me what my problem was, "You are fat and no one wants to have sex with you and you are depressed."

WOW! Is that all. I know of about 20 dirtbags that'll do me in a New York minute just to get some action. Shit, I could put a bag on their heads and sacrifice my integrity all for the sake of medical advancement if that is all it takes. C'mon now. The scary thing is that some people really think like that. Who is this bastard to decide that my being overweight is due to lack of sex.

Unfortunately, I am not good with confrontation and so I just sat there, being poked and insulted, smiling like a dummy and taking it all in.

Then this med school reject told me that once he got me to lose the weight he was going to prescribe me to sleep with the first 10 men I see to get my self-esteem back on track.

If that is all it takes, I should be the most confident woman in the civilized world.

Anyway, I proceeded to take his crap, put it away in the back of my mind and walked out of that office babbling like a toddler.

NO, I don't want to make a follow up appointment! The famous last words as I exited the building and curled up in a defeated ball on my bed with a Caramello to make me feel better.

WHY didn't I complain? No Idea. Now this pig is out there telling crap like this to other young beautiful size challenged women. AAARRRGGGGH

Introduction 1

Hi. I don't know who all will ever read this but whoever you are, you may wonder... what would cause a young woman to create such an outlet. S O C I E T Y did... And of course my inability to properly express myself in anyway other than writing.

Basically this is going to be my outlet for all those things that I just can't say outloud. Hopefully I don't offend anyone, if I do, please go to another blog to read. Hell, make your own and rant about the fat girl who rants. Just don't bitch at me. This is my bitching post...

Good luck, thanks for joining me on my quest for the true meaning of life and all that bs...

Here we go.....