Food Baby Part Two

So, as I mentioned in my previous post, I meant to share pictures of my food dalliances, but got too carried away with the story of my cupcake ninja moves at a baby shower. 

Last week, on break, I had a permanent food baby. In fact, now that I think of it, I have always had a permanent food baby. Oy vey.

I guess, without further ado-Why I’m Fat #3,456:

Mmmmm almond gelato is most definitely winning!
Pink marshmallow s’mores skillet #fattyparadise
Apple and pear crisp skillet with melting vanilla bean i-scream-for-fuck-yes!
Demolished! I was too hungry to get pictures of the sushi. #hangry #impatient

Strawberry mochi. My friend didn’t like hers, so I ate those too…
Asparagus, red pepper, and provolone croissant. What isn’t pictured is the peanut butter pie I ate for dessert breakfast.
Dirrrty chai #thatshowwedo
While this seemingly innocuous-looking quiche would be the obvious healthy choice, it was just far too buttery and cheesy to be innocent.
Life tip #87: Do not make eye contact with anyone while eating an ice cream cone. Especially when you shouldn’t be eating one…
The most amazing taste sensation in all the land. I give you-Mug o’ Forever Fat (I put it all in a giant mug. Get it?)

I thought I took more pictures of what I ate. It doesn’t even look that bad….

But, it was. I’m still hurting. 

I’ve been taking a shot of Pepto with a Kaopectate chaser before bed for four nights. 

Ándale, Asshole

Image courtesy of

Yesterday, I went to Qdoba. It’s like Chipotle without the violent diarrhea. Qdoba is my go-to when I am in the mood for a burrito the size of my head. And, queso. Mmmmmmm queso. 

Like any professional fatty, I always know exactly what I want. I could order my burrito in a coma. 

Flour tortilla 

White rice 

Black beans


Grilled veggies (because then all the other calories don’t count)

Queso (*whispering* Can I have just a tiny bit more? But, can you make it look like an accident?)


Sour cream 

Bag of tortilla chips 

I thought everyone was like me when it came to these kinds of places. You go once, create a combination of over-salted, high calorie goodness, and just like that your sweet spot combo is forever etched into your cellulite, like a pleasure map. Then, every single time after it’s exactly what you get, down to the accidental extra queso scoop. 


Then, why-please, Lord, tell me why-do people still act a damn fool when there are 80 people waiting in line behind them for their burrito fix?


This stupid, stupid amateur in front of me in line tonight almost got my brand new striped Toms permanently lodged into her gaping ummmmm-I-don’t-know-yet-hole. 

People, do not, I repeat, DO NOT go to a fine establishment like Qdoba unprepared. If you aren’t sure if you want chicken or pork and you treat the available options like a life or death decision, your ass can go to a sit-down affair where you don’t make crazy, hungry fatties wait for you to decide if you want fucking sour cream or not.

I am absolutely fucking convinced there are people put on this planet for the sole purpose of being complete ego-centric jack-offs so that people get high blood pressure and the pharmaceutical companies and doctors are guaranteed a fat, consistent paycheck. 

I think the mental health field is in on it too. 

This is the only explanation for why someone would take 20 minutes to order one burrito at Qdoba, like it’s a funny game. This chick knew she was being an asshole.

Lord, please give me the strength, patience, and resilience to deal with these unaware, selfish people when I’m dangerously-and when I say dangerously, I mean, I almost did murder-hangry. 

Please don’t hold this fatty up, playing like you don’t know what pork tastes like, because you don’t want to be between me and a burrito. 

You do not. 

Cold Stone Ice Cream-Eating-Machine

Yesterday was a momentous day! July 16th marked 4 years that my boyfriend and I have not murdered each other in our sleep. Also, I became a regular on Yelp at Cold Stone Creamery. Nothing says you have a problem with food like publicly becoming an ice cream shop frequent flyer. 

I had to take a screenshot of this exciting new level of fatness. I have to say, it was totally my boyfriend’s fault I became a Yelp regular. He wanted to go get ice cream, I did not. OK. That’s a boldfaced lie. I wanted ice cream. 

To celebrate this crowning achievement, I thought I would share my mental process when getting ice cream at Cold Stone. First, I have to explain that I’m a very anxious person by nature. I’m always “go, go, go”, and “hurry the hell up”. I hate waiting, and I despise being held up by incompetence. Most importantly, I hate having to waste my precious time on someone who can’t decide what kind of ice cream they want. Life is way too short and precious to mess around with not understanding your relationship with frozen sugared cream. Get it together, world. 

Approaching the last major intersection before the shopping center that houses Cold Stone:

I mean, really. Can we drive any fucking slower? Are you trying to be the only one who gets through the damn light?! Gaaaah. Yup. I hate everyone. 

*This may or may not be merely an angry thought. I may or may not be yelling the above out my window. 

OK, here we go. There’s Cold Stone. Only 20 yards away. Come to Mama. Here I am. 

Who are all these people taking up these parking spots? Why are there always so many people out and about? Don’t you have jobs? Go to work. Go home. Jeez. Now I have to park like a mile away. 

Addressing my boyfriend:

“Shit! Look at that family of like 50 approaching the door? Hurry! Let’s run! We have to beat them! They will ALL want to try ALL of the flavors! Hurry!” 

Because my boyfriend fully endorses NOT running towards your ice cream, the family beats us. 

*Sending death glares to my jerk boyfriend as we wait for Mom, Dad, and their 48 children to try every fucking flavor. 

Really? You want to try vanilla? Now you’re just being an ass. You’re doing it on purpose. 

Why is that person staring at me? Oh, in my mad rush to get here, I forgot to put on my bra. Again?! This can’t keep happening, Katie. 

Finally, it’s our turn! I’m going to be sensible and try ONE flavor, and I’ll be quick. I’ll show everyone how it’s done. 

My boyfriend: “Really, Katie. Why do you insist on trying Oreo cream-filling every time when you know you’re getting Cake Batter with rainbow sprinkles?” 

*Sending death glares again. 

I indicate to the employee, who I know like the back of my hand, that I will, indeed, have my regular. Our ice cream is done and waiting in a paper bag, but  50-member-family is holding up the entire line trying to pay for their $500 worth of ice cream. 

Great, just great. My ice cream is melting while you allow your 5 year-old to count change for you. Why do bad things happen to good people? 

As my boyfriend and I walk/run to the car:

Me: “If we go out this first exit, we could bypass all of the people crossing from Marshall’s.”

Boyfriend: “Yes, but there isn’t a turn lane, we might get stuck behind someone going straight!” 

Me: “You’re right. OK, here’s the game plan…”

On the drive home, I run 2 lights and almost hit a garbage can that some idiot left too far out into the street. All I can focus on is the speed at which my precious ice cream is melting. 

Finally, home! Fat pants, Netflix, and a pint of ice cream so thick, I have to chew it! Heaven!