Oh, It's Been a While

So, so, so much life has happened since I last blogged.

1. I moved to Atlanta, and that's been... It's been. Remind me to tell you what the first day was like and all of the other bad omens we've had since being here. I don't normally believe in that kind of stuff, but geez - I've been pummeled over the head with it.

2. I met the girl I gave up for adoption, and we correspond. She's amazing and like me and different and it's so weird. She's pretty much everything I wanted to be when I was her age, which is so strange. And dear lord, she's beautiful!!! How did genetics do that crazy shit?

3. I met my father. What?!? Like, I met him, we went out for multiple dinners, we have a picture together, I have his chin, he called me on my birthday. So weird. So much of my identity for all these years has been tied into being an orphan.

4. My father is still a deadbeat dad. He makes promises to see each other and avoids talking to me when he hits the deadline. I have to start most of the conversations with him. My husband is angry about it, but I'm actually not. I don't think I expected much when I initially contacted him, considering he'd already served a 30-some odd year hiatus. At least I know where I get my out-of-sight-out-of-mindness from.

5. Diabetes. I'm still on medication. My sugar is under control, but I eat what I want - which means my life is out of control. This is probably it's own post.

6. I still work from home, only now for one of the biggest electronics companies in the world. My weirdness is saluted and my boss's boss says fuck. I found my tribe.

6. Expect more product reviews!!! Ipsy is a really cool service that sends you multiple products (deluxe samples and full size) that you probably haven't tried. I've found a bunch of really awesome products through this. Also, clothes!!!

So, I'm back from my vacation, and ready to get back out here.

Say Hello to My Big F***ing Buns!

In Which the Boy Does Not Offer the Girl His Jacket

I was sitting on a log next to the boy I was crushing on, and shivered.

"Are you cold?" he asked.  I looked coyly from under my lashes and nodded at him.  He took his coat off and slipped it onto my arms.  I pulled myself into the warm boy-smell and smiled at him.

"Won't you be cold?" I asked, knowing he would never get his jacket back from me.  He just smiled in return.

So, that classic teenage girl moment never happened to me.  I mean, I sat on logs with boys, but no one ever offered me a coat.  And I'm sure it's not because they weren't raised right.  I'm fairly certain it's because we both knew the coat wouldn't fit.

Being a fat has huge, obvious obstacles that block girls from living in a Dawson's Creek type world.  I mean, boys don't automatically think you're hot (though you'd be surprised at how many still do - fer reals), it takes more spiked punch to get you ridiculously drunk at the prom, you can't fit out the window of the basement where you're trapped after being kidnapped by a jealous peer, etc.  The list goes on!

One of the more minor issues is that other people's clothes don't fit.  Not just the guy's jacket, but your best friend's jeans, the largest cheerleading uniform, or your rival's awesome dress that she doesn't deserve (am I watching too many teen movies?).  No one's clothes will fit you.

That's simple, you say.  Just befriend another fatty, you say.  Well, yes.  Of course we're whales that herd together for protection.  But you'll get an occasional friendly (or best friendly) dolphin who has amazing taste in clothes.  I mean skinny girl.  Not dolphin.  Dolphins don't wear clothes.  At most, they have, like, blow-hole dangles or shell flipper piercings, right?

But, the skinny girl is all, "It's one size fits all," or,  "It's kind of loose on me.  I'm sure it will fit," or, "I love dolphins!"

I don't know if it's an attempt at kindness or cruel size-blindness that causes people to see you as smaller than you are.  However, it never fits. 

The boyfriend's jacket looks like a sausage casing on you and won't button.  The baggy band t-shirt that your BFF wears to bed shows every bulge and roll.  The dress fits you like a leg warmer.

Instead, fat girls plan ahead.  We don't talk about it, and we don't tell you, but we think in eventualities.  We carry our own hoodie in the spring and fall in case it gets cold.  We might have an extra t-shirt in our car in case we spill something on ourselves.  We start shopping for prom a year ahead or make our own dress instead of waiting for the great sales in April.

And, if we don't plan ahead, we suffer in silence.  We shiver on the log, never mentioning how cold we are.  We wear our t-shirt with the coffee stain down the front and pretend we don't care.  We bitterly envy our best friend's awesome dress that - if it fit - she'd totally let us borrow (because she's that cool, which is why she's our best friend).

We can't even rely on other fatties to borrow clothes from because, even though not everyone notices this, we're not all the same size.  Even though my size 24 friend can commiserate and has similar experiences, we can't share clothes, either.

I did, at the age of sixteen, have a best friend who wore the same size as me (for a few months until I was smaller than her, then a year later, I was bigger than she was - hello weight fluctuations!).  Unfortunately, as sweet and nice and generous as that girl was, she could not dress.  She was a Laura Ashley girl, and I was more of an Angela Chase type (points for those of you who catch the reference).

I did take all of her old jeans, though.  She thought they were ruined when the knees wore out. 

I told you - she couldn't dress for shit.

Like I said, it's not a huge issue, but it's one of those little annoying ones that you almost never notice.  It's just part of how being fat infiltrates your life and leaves it's mark on everything.  And there's no fix.  I mean, yes - there's weight loss, though there are a billion issues behind even suggesting that as a solution, and isn't even an option for some people - along with the understanding that some people will only get so small.  There's fat acceptance, but that changes only perceptions when a lot of the problems are concrete reality issues - like measurable, physical issues: clothes fitting, activities being fat-(un)friendly, chairs breaking.  THINGS.

Anyway, the point of this wasn't to rant, but instead to make you feel sorry for me because I never stole my boyfriend's coat. 

The End.

Clothing Sizes and Changing Rooms

I'm coming to a problem, that won't really seem like a problem to most people.

I've lost weight.  Now, I'm still grossly, morbidly obese - so my weight loss wouldn't be noticeable to most people.  However, the fit of my clothes is decidedly noticeable to me.  My jeans are all saggy-assed and likely to fall down, my dresses billow unbecomingly.  My panties fall down inside of my jeans and pool in my crotch.

(By the by, crotch is the filthiest word.  I hate it and love it all at once.)

Normally, the idea of getting new clothes is great.  Sort of.  I mean, there is the whole spending money thing.  However, buying new clothes in a smaller size - I mean, what lady can't get behind that.

However, my problem is that I don't like trying on clothes, and I have no idea what size I wear.

So, here are some options:

• Buy clothes in three different sizes and take back the ones that don't fit
• Measure myself meticulously and buy my clothes online after reading lots of reviews on fit
• Eyeball the clothes at the store and get depressed at home when it doesn't fit
• Don't buy clothes because I'm still losing weight

OK, so Trudy - why don't you just try on the clothes at the store?

That's a valid question.  I mean, why don't I?

Full length mirrors.  I keep them out of my house.  I know that a full-length mirror is supposed to be a girl's best friend and most honest critic, but when you already can't stand the sight of yourself you don't need the criticism. 

As is, I can barely stand the sight of myself dressed, let alone undressed in harsh lighting.  I don't need to see my dimples, stretch marks, and lumpy fat.  My mind already fills in the blanks sufficiently.

Marianne, of XOJane and Fatshionista fame, recently desensitized herself to the mirror's effect by forcing herself to look into it for some extended period per day.  Basically, it's like saying a word over and over again until it has no meaning and is just a collection of sounds.

Maybe I can turn my body into a collection of colors and shapes instead of the physical representation depression, disgust, and disease.

Maybe I can turn my body into a collection of sounds.  Echo, echo, echo.