Tuesday, May 28, 2013

Hair? Hair! Hair.

I don't have good hair. Like, in high school, I never was able to do all the stuff that other girls seemed to instinctively know how to do. Not only that, but it's nice and glossy, but fine - which means not thick and luxurious. Those fine strands work with my greasy skin to transport oil all throughout my hair. Hairdressers never fail to remark on how healthy it is, but it means daily washings, so I never get to experience this mythical second-day hair I've heard of that's supposed to be amazing.

Also, I have horrible dandruff that I just barely keep control of. Sort of control of. I think it's eczema or psoriasis, but I haven't been to a dermatologist - though you should see the dry spots on my back! That's a whole story unto itself.

I digress. I have bad hair. When it's too long, it hugs my head like a lycra body suit. When I bob it, my cheeks take over my face like a giant growth. 

And now - oh, gosh, what have I done!?! - I have fried and dried ends from an experiment in purple hombre. I kind of like it, but my fine hair feels like a toothbrush that was used for a year without being changed.

So, I need a haircut, obviously. 

Also, I'm growing out my bangs.  Or I'm going to trim them.  But summer's coming and greasy bangs (should I call them fringe?) are greasy.  I don't know.

I know there are more important issues in the world, and even in my life, but I'm obsessing over my hair.

Slightly grown-out bob and fringe/bangs:

Shoulder-length, no fringe:

Grow it, cut it, bang it, shave it, I don't know. 
BTW - if anyone ever wants to do a purple hombre, it actually comes out very subtle on dark hair and washes out like an over-exposed photo.  Which then makes the demarcation of the bleached and unbleached less subtle and more like roots, which is what Willam Belli says is what an hombre is in a lower tax bracket (paraphrasing!).
Oh, and if you don't know Willam, then you should probably Google.  And watch RuPaul's Drag Race.  Which is also another story.  But watch it and watch Willam's Beatdown on YouTube.  For reals.

Summer For Fatties, Part Two

So, there's some things I probably left out about how to get through the summer months.

First off, thanks to XOVain, I just learned about Lady Anti Monkey Butt Anti Friction Powder. I'm getting some posthaste! One, I want to be part of any product that uses the term Monkey Butt in it's name. Two, it's cheap, y'all! $5.99!

Next, I'm a greasy mess in the summer. I hate wearing a face of foundation because it just melts off. With the melting comes all the other makeup on my face, and my eyeliner ends up on my cheeks.  I tell you, that look is disconcerting. 

One thing that helps is some HD powder.  I know there's tons of expensive ones, but ELF (that's Eyes Lips Face) makes an el cheapo one that is comparable with any of the pricey ones, and here's why - it's just silica powder!  Like the stuff they put in beef jerky to help reduce moisture or in diapers to keep them from leaking.  I've used it as setting powder for my eye makeup, too.  Just an FYI, it takes the glitter from glittery makeup until it absorbs some oil.

Lastly, thicken yo' skin.  There will be plenty of people on whale patrol at the beach, elephant patrol on the land, and will scream at you to throw more clothes on yourself.  While it might be tempting to hide inside or only among friendly souls, you'll be missing out on fun.  Yeah, going outside is going to be hot and sweaty and make you reveal more flesh than you're probably comfortable with.  Yeah, immature assholes will probably make comments to try to fat-shame you into hating yourself.  But, you know.  Whatevs.  Life is for living.

Also - and this isn't just for my thick sistahs - DON'T FORGET THE SUNSCREEN.

Monday, May 27, 2013

Crafting Isn't Just For Old People, Young People, or Pretentious Hipsters Anymore!

When I was, twelve(ish), I had a table down in the basement where I did crafts.  I hid out down there during the summer heat or when I was bored, and just went to town.  I'd listen to music (Sinead O'Connor was my favorite - probably because it was the first non-kid tape that wasn't my mother's that I'd ever owned) and just make.

The things I'd make weren't great.  I decorated baskets with stiffened fabric made into ruffles, bows, and flowers.  I'd turn that same fabric into earrings and barrettes.  I was not cool, and I'm pretty sure no one but me liked what I was making at all.

And honestly, it wasn't even the stuff I was making that caught me in its web, but that I was making.

I went through years of sporadic creation, making the occasional skirt or embellishing a shirt without the end, instead of the making, being the focus.

So, in the last few months, a few things have changed.

  1. I have hatred for my apartment, but can't afford to move.
  2. I work at home, and can multi-task (i.e. crochet, weave, glue, etc.) without getting the stink-eye from my peers.
  3. I began getting a mysterious subscription to Vogue delivered to my house, in my name.
The last item was the biggest influence.  I don't remember ever subscribing to it, but I began getting Vogue delivered to my house.  The first time I got it, I refused to look through it (body-image stuff).  It didn't get thrown away, instead sitting with the rest of the pile of mail we didn't go through.

Finally, Jon and I faced the chore of sorting the mail.  Instead of throwing it out, I remembered a project in the Big-Ass Book of Crafts by Mark Montano using magazine pages.  

Instead of copying the exact craft, I used the method and made a rug/mat.

That began my obsession.  

I keep getting the magazines, and continue trying to find uses for them.  Coasters, bracelets, earrings, garbage cans, picture frames, key dishes, jewelry boxes - gee whiz!

But that was just the beginning.  The making sparked the creativity, and it spread to all sorts of stuff.

Crafting may or may not be creative in itself.  Often, it's just following instructions.  However, the act of making something out of raw materials forces you to look at things differently.  Instead of accepting as is, you think of how to improve.

So, I hate my apartment.  I can't afford to move.  I make better.  Painting, decorating, changing.

It's not just that!  I'm writing - like, that's a big deal since I'm so often blocked.  I'm painting.  What?!?  I've never done that!

Crafting can be done by anyone.  It's calming, it's useful, it's very definition covers all manners of methods.  It's creative.  Even if someone thinks they're not creative, or are dull and literal, they can craft and enjoy the benefits.

Instead of watching TV, pick up some yarn.  Work the brain instead of putting it asleep.

Friendships and the Difficulties of Getting Older

The Perks of Being a Wallflower.

I came a little late to the game, in that I didn't read the book until 2008 or 2009.  However, I absorbed it in one sitting at a café and turned it over and restarted the from the beginning when I reached the end.  It was beautiful and real and spoke to a specific time and place in my life.

Everything I do is late, and the time in my life this spoke to is no exception.  I tell people I'm emotionally immature, and that may no longer be true - though it definitely once was.  I didn't have a close group of friends in high school.  The first time I felt accepted by a group was when I was twenty-three and had moved back to Michigan from Rochester, NY. 

I began hanging out at a local donut shop, and the regulars there began feeling (to me) like family.  They were musicians and actors and writers.  Most of them had known each other since high school, and were great at telling stories about their adventures, as well as going on new ones.  I was enchanted.

After only a year or so of having a great crowd of friends and acquaintances, the donut shop became non-smoking (which was fine by me, though not the rest of the clientele), and people stopped showing up every night.

Then, I moved a couple of hours away. 

I thought my friends would be traumatized, but life continued.  It was time to find new friends.

I was a little older, no wiser, and there were some great coffee houses around.  During the 90's until about 2004 all a person had to do was find the right coffee house and not be afraid to say something glib to someone who looked like they were having fun.

That's what I, and my best friend, did.  Soon enough, we were once again surrounded by friendly people who made us feel like we were home. 

Then, the coffee houses closed.  MySpace replaced LiveJournal and was in turn replaced by Facebook, which replaced real interactions.  Suddenly, you had to have friends to make friends.

Luckily, I was rolling in friendship.  Those that I'd carried from the coffee shops had bred like paperclips (remember - you never need to actually buy paperclips.  Just make sure you have two, and they'll multiply themselves).

For a few years, this large group of friends sustained itself.  Eventually, the weight of bruised feelings and small betrayals broke it up, and people went their separate and lonely ways.

So, The Perks of Being a Wallflower.  The biggest thing I pulled from it was the importance of friendships.  I nearly wept at the evoked memories of times out with friends.  People who knew me at my best and worst, in various states of consciousness and annoyance, and people I knew similarly.

I tried making new friends - really!  I put an ad on Craigslist under strictly platonic.

BTW - people do not understand the meaning of platonic.

I had some email conversations that seemed to go well.  I even had a couple of meetings.  Either I didn't click with them or they didn't like me.  Regardless, it didn't turn into anything.

I also tried coffee shops and bars.  It always just ended up being my husband and I hanging out together.  Occasionally, we'd hang out with one of his friends - who were polite! - but I'd normally end up shut out of the conversation, with my head in my iPad.

Then, the movie.  The movie was so well done and captured the feeling of the book, if not the line-by-line accuracy.  Of course, it was directed by the author.

I came home from that movie and wrote an impassioned apology to all of my old friends for either burning bridges or letting our connection fall by the wayside.  The responses were amazing.

We tried for a few months to renew our connections, and we were able to have conversations like time hadn't even passed.

But, life - you know?  A month would pass, and we wouldn't see each other.  One or the other of us would rather go to bed early or spend some time at home instead of getting together.

So, what is it about getting older that makes you less sociable?  I see this in almost everyone I know, but it wasn't always like this.  My mother had an active social life when I was a kid, and she was in her 40's.  Is it a conscious decision, a compromise of your home life, a natural talent?

I'm not willing to become a home-body without a fight.  I'm going to have friends like family in my midlife.  I'm going to keep making new memories with people instead of just living in the old.

I'm going to try.

Wednesday, May 22, 2013

No Time to Sweat

I'm struggling with finding time to exercise. 

I know I need to.  I KNOW.  I'm trying to do anything - even just walking.  I'd do it on my lunch break, if I had one of those.  I'd do it before work, but it's hard to get up in time to do it and still get 8 hours of sleep - which is required by my doctor (some kind of diabetes thing).  After work, it's dark - so I can't take walks then.

I'm making excuses. 

I don't know why, but I hate exercise.  I didn't used to, but now I hate it.

Help me.  Help me want to be more active.

Tuesday, May 21, 2013

Emotional Struggle with Food Choices

I'm feeling guilty and down about my food choices the last few days.  A few months ago, I wouldn't have stressed about it, but now I write every bite down and monitor every carb that goes into my body.

It started on Saturday.  After a month of being very, very careful about food - which took a lot of the joy from it - I made a decision to have a cheat day.    I read up on people's opinions of it, reactions, and safety, and psychological and metabolic impact. My blood sugar has been phenomenal, even going into the borderline-hypoglycemic level a few times, so I was confident that one bad day wouldn't hurt.

My husband and I started the day with plans to see a Star Trek matinee (OMG!  This isn't a blog about the new Star Trek, but everyone absolutely must see it!!!), but were running late.  I didn't eat before leaving the house because I planned on stopping somewhere for a donut (cheat plan number one).  However, we were further behind than I thought, so there were no stops.  Instead, I started getting low blood sugar signs from my body during the movie (nodding out, feeling woozy) so I popped 4 glucose tablets to get me through and felt fine until we got home.

Once there, I couldn't decide what my first, official cheat meal would be (probably because of my disconnect from food), so my husband and I went to one of our favorite diners and I had a burger and fries for a total of (about) 120 grams of carbs in a single meal.  I don't even want to think about the amount of fat and saturated fat.


From there, I had a waffle cone of ice cream (about 2 cups of ice cream and a cone, for about 75 grams of carbs).

Later at night, I ate two sauerkraut dogs on buns with more fries for about 130 grams of carbs.

It's not over, yet.

I finished the night off with a nice beer.  I don't even know the carb count.

I was glad when the day was over, and I could go back to my routine.  Allowing myself the freedom to eat whatever came into my head had me feeling kind of panicky for the entire day. 

It's weird, though.  Since then, I'm finding myself cheating the system a little.

For example, I'm using low-carb items to stay under my allowed per meal number (I allow myself about 30 grams of carbs per meal, even though my dietician thinks I should have 45 - 60) while not paying attention to fat content and eating large portions.  My blood sugar is in check, but I'm not doing my weight any favors.  It's only been a couple of days, but I feel like I'm gaining weight already. 

I'm probably not.


So, the guilt gets pushed back into my motivation and I woke up this morning (way too early!) eager to go back to portions and good choices.  I'm glad of that, but the back-sliding has made me feel like a failure, and it seems like I have to rebuild my self-respect.

Breakfast - 6:45 am (schedule thrown off because of my diabetes class before work)
1 cup fat-free, Greek yogurt - 9 grams of carbs
1/4 cup sliced, raw almonds - 4.5 carbs, 14 grams fat
1/2 banana - about 15 grams of carbs
1/3 cup of strawberries - 4.25 grams of carbs

32.75 carbs, 14 grams of fat

One thing that's helped motivate me on a weekly basis is my diabetes class.  It's a group of about 12 adults with diabetes (or spouses of people with diabetes) working through how to be healthy.  With very few exceptions, everyone wants to be there.  The nurse teaching the class is amazing and encouraging and smart and knowledgeable.  I can't say enough good things about her.

Unfortunately, today was my last class and I'm worried about my ability to stay motivated on my own.  I've considered joining a weight loss group to help me stay on track, but that doesn't feel like the right path for me.  When I think of Weight Watchers or similar, I just remember Patton Oswalt's bit about being in recovery for over-eating, and the idea seems more like a punch-line than a valid option.

So, I'm continuing to log my food intake to keep me honest and shame myself when I have (or just want) something that isn't good for me.  I'm trying to rebuild my relationship with food, but right now it just feels like taking back a cheating lover; the emotions are raw, there is no trust, and what we have is just a perverted remnant of what we were.

Monday, May 20, 2013

Summer Dressing for Fatties - Trudy's Opinion

Summer is hell when you're fat, fersher.

A lot of us fatties like to pretend that we have no more problems than a skinny person in the summer, but that is simply not true.  We have to contend with chub-rub, folds of skin touching each other, extra sweat, being told to put more clothes on - there are ISSUES!

In Michigan, summers are hot and humid.  Also, there's no telling when summer will start.  We have this period where shorts and hoodies are worn at the same time.

Here's my list of summer best practices.

First, full coverage cotton panties!

Whether or not they're attractive/trendy/flattering is debatable.  The fact is, the cotton will help wick away the sweat so it can dry, and the full-coverage will help contain the belly fat/FUPA (fat upper-pussy area, for those of you not in the know).

Of course, there are exceptions.  For example, if I'm somehow feeling all sexy-like through the record-highs, I may slip on some lace panties or even go panty-less for some summer hanky-panky.  The downside to lace or sans-undergarments is that sweat runs down my legs, unabated.  Gross.

Just wear the cotton panties.  Some people have a plain, cotton, high-waisted panty fetish.  Who knows, the person you're doing it with might be into them.

Second, DRESSES.

So, here's the thing - once upon a time, when I was wearing a skirt in the summer - some kids yelled out of their car window, "Fucking put some pants on, you fat bitch."

From then on, I did not show my bare legs.  When I wore skirts, it was only with tights or they had to be maxi skirts.  It was typically jeans - even in the summer.  By the end of the day, the jeans were damp and gross, and I'd need a second shower.

Last year, after absorbing the teachings of Ms. Leslie Kinzel (Seriously, start reading her.  Buy her book.  Absorb her confidence and belief that she doesn't have to live like a second-class citizen.), I decided to buy a few summer dresses.

Dude!  I am totally hooked.  90% of the time, you'll catch me in a dress for the summer.  You'll see my white-white-white legs (fat and white and slug-like!) poking out of the bottom.  I'll caper and skip and walk and all of the fun summer stuff.

Cotton sundresses are nice, because - like the cotton panties - they wick the sweat.  And it's just one article of clothing, and it's done!

Well, sort of.  I'm still working on being OK with my arms.  Right now, it's two pieces: my dress, my shrug.  While I work on not being disgusted by my arms, I'm in search of short-sleeved dresses that will look good on my shape.  Here are a couple of options I'm scoping out.

I have a love-hate relationship with Torrid.  I like the options, but I hate how short the dresses are.  I love the designs, but I hate the price point on what is - essentially - disposable clothing.  I love these dresses, but I hate that there are no reviews.

Old Navy has these options.  My trouble with Old Navy is that sizing is always fluctuating, and their garments often fit oddly.  Luckily, I sew.

We also have Simply Be.  Simply Be makes me nervous for a couple of reasons.  1. I've never ordered from them, so I don't know how they fit.  2. Their stuff seems short!

However, they're my current dress favorite.

So, chub rub.  There are all sorts of tricks for it.  Vagisil powder gel, bicycle shorts, Goldbaum.  I get by (and my thighs rub so much they're practically fused like a mermaid tail) with corn starch.  In the summer I corn starch my thighs, my FUPA, under my boobs, my love handles.  I'm a big powder puff.

One final thing about summer - sweat.  People sweat, and fat people have more places where the sweat will breed bacteria.  If you're going to be out all day, carry some baby wipes.  No one wants to stink. 

Don't let being fat prevent you from enjoying the summer months.  We spend all winter wishing for warm weather, so take advantage of it.

Sunday, May 19, 2013

My Mad, Fat Diary

Leslie Kinzel, of XOJane and Two Whole Cakes fame, first turned me onto the British show when she wrote about it on XOJane. 

Leslie has been one of my fativist heroes.  In fact, she's probably the person I first found who not only said fat people are OK, but that they're real and whole people.  Maybe just the first one who said in no uncertain terms.  Me, just looking through fat fashion (FATSHION) sites, her powering away at size prejudice.  Anyway, diverging.

Being that I totally respect her opinions, I tried to find it.  Her article said it wasn't available in the US, but I went on YouTube hoping maybe there was a trailer.

A trailer?  Try the whole damn series!

My Mad, Fat Diary is based on a book by a similar name - My Mad, Fat, Teenage Diary - by Rae Earl.  The main character is coincidentally also named Rae Earl.  And the book is actually the author's teenage diary. 

Unfortunately iTunes doesn't want non-Brits to have the book, just like normal TV doesn't want us to have the show.

The show is led first by the performances.  The actress who plays Rae Earl, Sharon Rooney, totally captured the raw intensity of feelings you have as a teenager (a fat one, at that!) without being over the top or melodramatic.  Of course, being a big girl herself, she did some walking in those shoes.

The soundtrack beckoned me back to high school and the beginning of the second (third?) British invasion.  The clothes, the hair, the lack of cell phones and technology... 

The show starts with the Rae being released from a mental institute and continues through her adventures in therapy and reconnecting with society.  See her jealousy over skinny friends, desiring boys, and trying to find SOMETHING to wear - which was even harder in the 90's for fat girls than it is today.

People talk about things being triggering, and this show probably qualifies.  It deals with self-harm, feeling less-than and unwantable - because that's the stuff that fat teenage girls deal with and feel.  It also deals with abortion, drug use, and teenage drinking.  Cause that stuff happens, too.

I powered through the entire series in a night.  I didn't want it to be over, but British TV is smart and ends at the right time instead of limping along far after it should have died.  It's a 13 episode, complete story.

Watch it.  Cry.  Love it.  Remember your own worst teenage year. 


How to Make a Home Office

I work at home, and that's pretty awesome.  It means that I get to wear pajamas (if I want, though I don't recommend it.  Take a shower and put on real clothes so you feel like a real person), I don't have to eat two out of three meals from a vending machine, my only co-worker is my husband who works in the office down the hall.

What's less cool is trying to find the space to build an office.  We're living in a one-bedroom apartment (regardless of how many rooms the landlord insists there are in this place), and my husband and I both work at home - so it's an issue.

At one point, I'd cubbied myself away in a small storage room (smaller than the cubical I'd previously worked in) but it had temperature issues (freezing in winter and a sauna in the summer).  Also, it was tiny; I was constantly looking for reasons to escape it during the day.

We discussed sharing an office, but that really wouldn't work.  The natures of our jobs and work habits are completely at odds.  I'm a call center supervisor, so I conduct meetings and take the occasional angry call.  Additionally, I like to listen to music or have movies running in the background while I work through emails and run numbers.  Jonathan (did I mention my husband's name is Jonathan?) writes, and doesn't like noise distractions.

The solution was to give me space in our bedroom.  I gave myself a couple of guidelines to make sure I had a niche carved out that was completely separate from our sleeping/sexing/beauty/dressing areas both for concentration while working and ability to sleep.  Also, I didn't want to break up the flow of the room with dividers or have any tacky motivational posters/phrases around.
  1. It needed to have it's own design, separate from what we put together for the bedroom that didn't clash
  2. It needed to be big enough to work and spread things out when necessary
Because of our room size, the first hurdle was the desk.  We got a small desk on sale for about fifty dollars.  You get what you pay for, so it's ugly particle board.  Decoupage!
I really like the look of newsprint, and I'd recently decoupaged an old, tacky jewelry box with newsprint, which sat in the vanity area as an accent.  So, I created a unified work station that also tied into the rest of the room.  To keep the wall interesting and still draw a mental divide, I made some newsprint flowers.

You can also see the Kermit drawing my husband made for me when I was having a bad day.  Yeah, I'm lucky to have a guy that will draw me Kermit to cheer me up.

I also have a shelf, where I keep my speakers, supplies, etc.  It was looking a little plain, so I painted a cherry tree above it.  No true inspiration other than I like blooming trees, the only thing I really know how to paint are trees, and the pink matched the curtains of the French doors.

Because the desk is small, when I need more working space, I have a TV tray that was purchased for less than $20 new at a local department store.  It's not your mother's ugly aluminum TV tray with some painted advertisement on it.  It's wood and stained to look like cherry, so it doesn't stick out when it's put away.  Or when it's out, either.  When not in use, it slips conveniently between the night stand and desk.  It allows me to have some instant space to place papers, books, lunch, or crafts on while I work.  Did I mention that working at home also allows me to craft while I'm working without getting evil looks from my peers?

I get that having a whole room dedicated to working is ideal for maximum performance.  However, not everyone has the luxury.  Just because you don't have square footage doesn't mean you can't have a functional, attractive work environment that invites me to utilize it more than any beige cubical ever did.

(Someday I'll have learn how to take nice pictures.  For now, you get the sucky ones.  Trust me, it's much nicer than it looks.)

Diabetes and Why I Now Hate Food

I had a dream.

It wasn't a big dream, especially compared to the dreams I had in my twenties, but it was something that would cause my eyes to lose focus and for my voice to get all breathy when I talked about it, like in a play when the heroine moves to stage-front and the spotlight is on her while she gives a monologue.

I was going to open a café.  Everyday, I would go to the market and buy whatever looked best and decide what to make for the day from there.  I'd serve different coffee drinks, local wine and beer, some baked goods.  Everything would be fresh and local without scary ingredients.  The details would occasionally change.  I'd serve cold sandwiches wrapped in waxed paper; I'd offer sewing and crafting classes and allow people to use machines and supplies; no, we'd appeal to the local art school and sell graphic novels and comics; instead, let's offer printing services for free and sell zines and chapbooks, accepting donations to keep supplies in stock.

It was all based on what I discovered was my love.  In my twenties I liked good food, but wasn't entirely sure what it was.  When I got into my thirties, I'd decided that good food was whatever I made out of real, whole ingredients and contrasting or complimenting flavors and textures.  Good food nourished your body, and it didn't matter about fat or sugar content, as long as it wasn't processed and chemically treated.

I was passionate about food, and loved feeding my friends.  I baked and cooked and made homemade ice cream.  I loved having people over for dinner.

Four weeks ago, I was in the hospital.  I had an abscess on my groin caused by a cyst (female doctors winced every time they had to deal with it, and I was thankful when the male doctors took over because they were dispassionate about the issue).  They had to perform a small surgery which I'm still recovering from to drain the pus (yep - just as disgusting as it sounds), then another area burst and drained, and they had to cut me open some more.

Here's the thing - that wasn't the worst part.  Sure, it may sound like the worst.  It was definitely the most disgusting. 

While I was there, in fact - in the emergency room - I was diagnosed with diabetes. 

My love of food had not always been so pure.  It had been lustful and gluttonous and dirty.  It had included fast food and candy for years. 

Also, I'm fat.  Like, huge.  I'm a big fat whale, but I was starting to like myself.  I'd been working on accepting the fat in myself, and as a result had even become political about wanting others to accept my fat.  Like many other fativists, I had no noticeable health problems.  Since I'd moved to eating better foods, I'd begun feeling healthier and more able to run and jump and play (something that had become limited while on a high fructose corn syrup diet).  I was refusing to allow others to make me feel badly about my body, and wasn't content to allow life to pass me by.

But, diabetes...  Suddenly, I wasn't healthy.  And, at only thirty-four, I was in the hospital because I was sick - not some weird accident or pregnancy or something.

I moved from having a loving and beautiful relationship with food to hating it.  I don't have a dream.  I count carbs like a Nazi (if Nazis had counted carbs instead of committing atrocities in the name of national pride) and intake less than my dietician recommends because I do not want to have high blood sugar, be on insulin, or even pills.  I want to come out the other side and be able to say I turned it around; I'm not a slave to my disease.

But I hate food.  I feel betrayed and guilty and like I deserve this.  I do deserve this, because you can't expect a couple of years to make up for a lifetime of poor behavior.

I'm losing weight, and I have a ton more to lose.  I've lost weight, and I'm still morbidly obese - which can be so depressing.  Morbidly.  The word says it all.

And through it all, I still don't want life to pass me by.  I still don't want anyone to feel like they have the right to judge or look down upon me because of how I look.  I don't want to wait until I'm better to be pretty or do things or be interesting.

I'm looking.  For my present and my future.  I'm looking for a new passion.  I'm looking to rekindle my old passion in a new way.  I'm just looking.

My name is Trudy.  I have Type 2 diabetes.  I am morbidly obese.  These are facts.

I like to sew and craft and decorate my apartment.  I like makeup, clothes, talking to friends until 5 am, and adventures.  I love laughing and making other people laugh.  I love telling stories.  These are also facts.

I'm looking.  I'm living.  Now, I'm blogging.