Tantrum Warehouse
Tact Free Since 2003

Food Fight

So I am not as tired. Still zombieing my way through life though. Almost got off the wrong stop at the bus stop, almost drove away without my cash at the ATM, and almost ran over a small child in my neighborhood. Ok, maybe that last one was intentional.

And she isn’t that small. There is some pre-teen-hooker-dressing-wearing-too-much-eyeshadow-even-for-Tammy-Faye-Baker BITCH that lives down the road from me. She likes to stand in the middle of the road and talk to her friends. Cars trying to drive past her will just have to wait. She MUST analyze the latest Ashton Kutcher movie with her friend or communism will reign and we will all speak Russian. Seriously. And it’s not like you have a choice to go around her because there is exactly one road into my neighborhood.

I don’t hate her for just this reason. Once, she was on the street when I was walking my dogs and she tried to kick Buster. Darla and I almost ate her alive. You don’t mess with our poor baby Buster.

Ok so I hate women. Actually, I hate women with food issues which is pretty much every woman on the planet. We had our potluck at work today. Eleven women locked in a room together with no alcohol. Fortunately, there were no firearms either so we made it out alive. Three minutes go by and we are already playing the girl food game.

“Heather, why aren’t you eating? You never eat anything. Get over here and eat this right now.”

“No you aren’t fat, I AM fat. No really, get over here and eat this or I will never forgive you.”

“You shouldn’t be dieting. This is a potluck; you should eat everything in sight.”

First of all, maybe Heather is dieting. And while I think she is just gorgeous the way she is she is a voting adult and can make her own dietary decisions. It’s none of our goddamn business. Plus, as her “friends” we should be supportive.

Plus, didn’t anyone teach these people some fucking manners. It’s rude to criticize people for how much they are eating—whether it’s to little or too much. If they had said to Brenda (who had piled her plate high—which is just fine too), “God, Brenda don’t be such a pig,” we’d have all jumped down her throats.

Plus, the food wasn’t that great. Nothing that really rang my bell so maybe Heather just didn’t like it and was trying to be polite.

What kills me about this is that I work in fashion and all of these women are constantly dieting. I have only seen most of them eat once or twice in my life. And it’s always something like tomatoes and sprouts on whole wheat bread. Whenever we have a potluck they always ask if things are low-fat or organic or whatever Gwyneth Paltrow eats. So for them to critique her for dieting is a little like Pee Wee Herman criticizing his teenage son for masturbating.

That is the other thing. Don’t comment on what people are eating. We are all from different cultures and like different foods. My ambrosia could be your baboon vomit. Monica and I like junk food. Neither of us diet. She has a great metabolism and I have stopped caring. I just thank god that my husband likes women with big asses. We eat McDonald’s and burritos and anything with grease in it for lunch. These women will sneer at us when we come in with it. They comment on the smell. They say things like, “oh I don’t eat McDonald’s, it’s too fatty,” and look pointedly at me.

I do not look like a supermodel. If I never ate again I still wouldn’t look like a supermodel. My food isn’t making you fat so shut the fuck up.

The worst is when they make comments about how horrible your food is. A girl in our department is Chinese and sometimes she brings authentic food from home. Some of it looks odd, especially if you don’t eat that sort of thing. One girl walked up to her desk and whined, “EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEWWWWWWWWWWWWW! What is THAT?”

Were these people raised by wild armadillos? Where I was brought up you don’t comment on people’s food and you don’t say shit like that. Ever.

Obviously you like what you are eating or you wouldn’t eat it.

Fucking rude-ass bitches. Shut it.

6:09 p.m. :: comment ::
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