Poster children
I am just back from a whirlwind trip across three states. It was fun, but now I am broke and tired.
Of course, after a weekend of almost completely and totally disconnecting (except for spending real, one-on-one time with family and friends), reality often hits you like a ton of bricks.
One of my many tasks at work is keeping up with the news headlines on our industry and our members. This requires me to follow a lot of news outlets, and sometimes I feel like I am on information overload. One thing that I've learned in today's world is to read news articles but never, ever click on the comments. People are just assholes, and it seems like the comments on every news story reflect this.
I saw an article today about what essential wardrobe pieces every plus-size woman needs, and I wanted to read it. I have never been a fashion plate, but I'm always looking for a few good, flattering pieces to add to my closet.
The suggestions were -- to put it politely --
interesting, so I decided to see what the comments said. I can sum them up in three categories.
1. OMG, did you really tell fat people to wear belts? What are you thinking?
2. Why are there never any plus-size models modeling plus size clothing? (With a side of "Really, size 10 is not plus-size. Jerks")
And, last but not least: 3. You bitches need to shut your traps and get on the treadmill so you don't have to wear plus sizes.
Now, I have never been the poster child for the fat acceptance craze. I accept my fat, because what the hell else am I going to do with it, but I am doing what I can to be healthy, whether weight loss is involved or not. And, my levels for everything continue to stay normal. I'm not diabetic; I don't have high cholesterol. I'm just fat. I go to the gym (although not as much as I should) and most of the time I watch what I eat. Not because I want to wear "normal" clothes, but because I don't want to keel over at 40 with a Twinkie in my hand. But I love to cook and I love to eat, and everything I make isn't always good for you. Everything in moderation, my friends.
In some ways, I give a lot of kudos to the folks who are in the fat acceptance movement. It takes a lot of courage to say "I'm fat, and you need to deal with it." However, no one should jeopardize his or her health. Whether you are too fat or too thin, if it affects your health you need to deal with it. If you're diabetic or you're having joint pain, you need to work on losing weight. Just like if you are a size 0 and you're vitamin deficient or have other issues. Everyone needs to try to be healthy, and too thin or too fat are generally not healthy.
Part of being healthy is having a healthy attitude about yourself. I have said many times that I would like to look better and be physically stronger but until that happens, this body is the only one I have. I don't sit around wishing that I were a size 2, because no matter how much I lose, that's never going to happen. My body is not made that way.
We can't put everyone in a cookie cutter. We're not made that way. We don't need to compare ourselves to one another. We don't need to base people's value on their pants size. What makes the world a wonderful place is that we are all different, and if you take the time you can find beauty in just about everyone.
We're destroying ourselves. When I hear someone say a size 10 is a plus size, it doesn't motivate me. It makes me feel hopeless. When someone minimizes my concerns and tells me to "shut my trap and get on a treadmill," it doesn't help. If someone said, not only to me but to the woman who is clearly too thin, "I'm worried about you. You would feel better if you did something to improve your weight," that would be much more helpful. But instead, everyone has to be a hater.
I don't wish weight issues on anyone who doesn't already have them. I am here to tell you after struggling for most of my life that they are absolute hell most of the time. It doesn't help that people are complete and total insensitive assholes. It's really a miracle that everyone with body issues haven't offed themselves. I wonder how many people have?
Career aspirations
So, a friend of mine went to a funeral luncheon yesterday. While she was there, she texted me about this casserole she had fallen in love with. (Don't judge. Sometimes there are culinary emergencies.) She explained it to me and then tasked me with figuring out how to make it and cooking it for her.
Anyhow, after a little sleuthing and asking a few more questions, I found her recipe. She was pretty impressed.
I also found about a zillion more things that I want to make, including chocolate chip zucchini bread.
My friend's daughter has gotten into cooking and baking and she wants to go to culinary school. She's just in junior high now, but if she has that kind of passion and keeps working at it, I'm sure she'll have no problem.
Of course, that has me wishing that I'd done something like that. I love being a writer, but I really wish I could've done something with my other passion, which is working in the kitchen.
I wouldn't ever make a negative comment about my education. I got a great education, and I excelled at my studies. But had I not gone to a college prepartory school, perhaps I might have been encouraged to learn a trade. Maybe all-A students are just expected to go to college and get all kinds of degrees and sit at a desk all day.
Now I have way too many student loans to make a career of cooking and baking. Which is unfortunate, because I'm really good at it. I haven't figured out if I'm a better writer or a better cook. I probably have to work harder at cooking and baking, but it's a lot of fun to me.
Maybe things are better as they are. Cooking and baking are still fun for me. Writing tends to be more like work.
And besides, no telling how much I'd weigh if I were around delicious food all the time.
Sad eyes
So, today I got the "sad eyes" again, and I must report that emailed sad eyes are almost as painful as real life sad eyes.
What are the "sad eyes," you ask?
The sad eyes are something that you get when dating (or, at least,
I get when dating). They are when you are talking to someone and it's going swimmingly and then you meet them, and they look at you like their puppy just got hit by a car.
Yes, they are so depressed that they have to be seen in public with you that their eyes become filled with malaise and discontent. Not going to lie, it stings a little.
You know, I might be fat, but I'm not Quasimoto. And it's taken me a long time to realize that the only body I have is the one that I'm in right now. And, yes, I need to lose weight. Because my doctor says so, not because you don't think I'm attractive enough.
I have a friend who's lost almost 100 pounds. I'm pretty sure she just did it to attract potential mates. And, guess what? She's still not attracting potential mates. It could be because she didn't do anything to fix her attitude. There are lots of unhappy thin people out there.
And really I'm not unhappy. Unless I try to date and get the sad eyes. The sad eyes suck. It's OK if you're not attracted to me. After all, you could have back hair and you probably can't spell. But I'd never ever give anyone the sad eyes. But that's mostly because I can't imagine being so mortified by someone that I couldn't have a meal with them, even if I never intended to contact them ever again.
But, then again, I'm not a shallow asshole (except about back hair and poor spelling).
Really, wouldn't the world be a better place if we could learn how to treat people with kindness?
Remember the Titans
While I did like the movie "Remember the Titans," and I think that maybe I'm supposed to be writing about fiction this month (although that may be nonfiction; not sure.), this post has nothing to do with that movie.
My work has Titans season tickets. And whenever they aren't being used for a game, they raffle them off among the employees. Last year, there was a game and no one else wanted to go except me and this one other girl, so I told them I would take the tickets.
Although you'll remember this time last year I was having a lot of medical problems. And the night of the Titans game, I was having them. And no one wanted to go with me.
So, I didn't go. I went home and slept. I even tried to get other people to take them, and no one wanted them.
So no harm, no foul, right?
Things are never that easy around here. And generally doing something wrong means receiving a passive aggressive nastygram. Which we did.
The new official edict of the office was that if you knew you couldn't go to a game you should not try to win the free tickets.
Instead of trying to plan being sick in advance, I decided that it would be a long, cold day in hell before I asked for the tickets again.
I'm serious. They could be playing the Colts (since I don't actually know the names of any of the Titans players) and Peyton Manning himself could hand-deliver the tickets, and I'd probably take a pass. I don't really like football that much, and when you have an outdoor stadium it can be too hot or too cold or too rainy. Not to mention we all know how much I love parking downtown...
Luckily I have to work Saturday night, so I didn't ask for tickets to this week's game. It also helps that being from Detroit, I pretty much abstain from pro football anyhow.
But if I'm tempted to ask about the tickets, I'll just "remember the Titans."
Stories
If you’re not telling your story, someone else is, and it’s probably not that flattering.
My Imaginary Internet Friend, Steve, from The Twitter said that today. If Steve “borrowed” it, I have no knowledge of this, but it inspired me.
This blog was created many moons ago (or six years at the end of the month) as cheap therapy. It was also a way for me to get my side of a long-forgotten story out, albeit in a totally passive-aggressive way.
All of that is neither apples nor oranges. It doesn’t matter these days. Some friendships have been patched back together, although they are not the same. Others have been left in the morgue. And a few folks are on the periphery but not completely discounted. Sad to explain friendships in that way, but much like people themselves, our relationships evolve.
This past weekend, I’d hoped that my friend Cindy was coming to town, but she didn’t make it. She’s got a lot of stuff going on, so I understood, but I really do miss her. I haven’t seen her in forever, and although we keep up with each other via email and Facebook, we’re not as close as we once were. After all the shit we’ve been through, it’s probably a miracle that we’re even friends, so I will take what I get, but I really need to make an effort to spend time with her. And besides, I really do like Alabama. (Don’t tell anyone I said that, OK?)
Ninety-nine percent of the time, I don’t give a shit about what story people tell about me. I think it’s funny that folks would even take the effort to tell stories about me, but whatever does it for you. Of course, we’re all concerned with how we are perceived and what people think of us; it’s only human nature. Of course, some people’s opinions you have to take for what they are.
I’ve been taking a mental stroll down memory lane lately, and I’ve thought of some interesting things. Occasionally, I catch glimpses of places, people and situations that are probably just best left in the past. Sometimes I wonder if I might have not learned my lesson about certain things.
It’s taken me a long time in life to like myself. And I am a good person, and if people don’t like me, it truly is their loss. I don’t have to make everyone like me. I don’t have the time or energy for that. Sometimes I wonder if people can see past the things they judge me on, and then sometimes I don’t care. I make no apologies for who I am, although sometimes I feel like I should. I know I can be a tough pill to swallow, but we’re all different. That’s what makes life exciting.
I need to do a better job of telling my story before someone else tells it for me. If nothing else, it’ll keep us all entertained.
