Honey Bunny and I were in San Diego this week for an all-expenses-paid trip to an industry conference in which HB was presented with one of this industry's high honors. Yay for Honey Bunny! It was pretty sweet being set up at a nice hotel, most meals catered, not to mention being able to hang with my San Diegan peeps. Only problem was that people from this industry happen to be pretty darn conservative and pretty darn proud of it, while we are pretty darn liberal.
Under the best of circumstances, I don't really know how to gracefully disagree with someone. Seems like I either go way overboard and get defensive, or I don't say anything at all and feel regretful after the fact. This conference, in which we were being hosted because of an honor HB earned, could be considered the worst of circumstances.
For instance, we were making chit-chat with an industry person over cocktails at the big awards banquet. Industry Person would be presenting HB's award to him later in the program and HB has known him peripherally for many years and respects him. It was a time to play nice. It wasn't long before the conversation veered into dangerous territory, though.
Long story that I'm not going to get into but Industry Person shared his views on adoption. He said, "Adoption should only be allowed for married couples, and marriage should only be between a man and a woman. It's scary what's happening out there with gay marriage and all that stuff." Honey Bunny kind of grunted "hmmm", I kind of grunted "hmmm", and then we stole a "WTF?" glance at eachother. Then I took a page from my mother's book and mused about what the weather might be like tomorrow. Awkward!
I told this story to a gay friend earlier today and this friend is no longer speaking to me. Could be temporary, could be permanent... I never really know with this friend. But her point was that I should have said something to counter this guy's opinion because "I have lots of gay friends."
Moral of the story: don't talk to people about shit that you don't want to hear their opinions on. Seriously!
My personal opinion is that there's a time and a place to share your opinions and/or respond to other people's strong opinions. While I think it was totally distasteful for Industry Person to have voiced his opinion on gay marriage in that venue, just assuming we would share his opinion, I don't know that my opposing viewpoint would have done much more than put HB on edge on a very special night for him.
In my defense(iveness), what I wanted to say to Gay Friend is that sometimes you have to make sacrifices for your significant other, and that she doesn't understand that at this stage in her life because she has not yet been in a long-term significant relationship. When you're in a relationship, there are times you find yourself tripping out on something you've just done or said (or not done or not said, as the case may be) because in your single years you never would have dreamed of making a sacrifice like that for anyone. Maybe you'd watched a coupled friend make a decision you disagreed with and you vowed never to make that same mistake. But then you couple and you find yourself on the other side of the fence and you completely understand in retrospect why your friend made that decision. That's how long-term significantly coupled life has been for me, anyhow.
I won't say any of that to my gay friend, of course. I'm not gay, and further, I just got married. It's not my civil rights that were just trod upon. Ultimately, I understand her point about why I should have spoken up about my opinion on gay marriage to Industry Person. I don't like that she's chosen to not speak to me, but I do understand her reaction.
As a result, I keep thinking, Would I change how I responded to his comment in retrospect? If I could turn back time, probably... but only because I'm that person who can think of a million great witty/clever/barbed/whatever retorts to an insult if you give me 12 hours and a handful of Advil. (On the spot? Nope. See aforementioned paragraph re: best of circumstances.) But, then again, maybe I wouldn't.
21 November 2008
04 November 2008
Swagger
For those of you who watched "America's Best Dance Crew, Season 2" on MTV, could the word "swagger" be any more overused in reference to Supreme Soul? (And, was Fanny Pak robbed or what??)
Supreme Soul got labeled early on as having mega-egos. Eh, don't you kinda have to have a mega-ego if you're going to compete on an MTV reality show? Especially in the genre of hip-hop dancing where contests are known as "battles"? Especially a crew who battled ABDC Season 1 winner, and my personal dance favorites, JabbaWockeeZ, and WON?
The reason I bring this up is because I was reading one of Honey Bunny's motorcycle magazines this morning and was lucky enough to come across Valentino Rossi news. (Yes, when I run out of new issues of US Weekly and InStyle, I turn to HB's moto rags for warmth and comfort.) There was some coverage of the Laguna Seca race of the MotoGP 2008 race series. Rossi won again, no surprise there. Casey Stoner (heh, his last name is Stoner!) still fighting for first. Nicky Hayden still fighting for... anything above 10th, really.
By the way, Nicky Hayden is to blame for this whole MotoGP and Valentino Rossi interest of mine. MTV produced a little documentary early this year called "The Kentucky Kid", all about Hayden's rise to a completely unexpected MotoGP Championship win in 2006, and his ensuing fall from grace in the 2007 race year. It was an interesting story, for sure, but mostly I realized that watching motorcycle racing, at least MotoGP racing, is like watching baseball. The action is slow but sure, slightly meditative, with some spine-tingling action along the way.
Mostly, though, I was captivated by Valentino Rossi. The guy has enough swagger to last about five million lifetimes, yet somehow he manages to still be likeable. This moto mag described him as "fun-loving imp" on the outside and "fiercest competitor ever" on the inside. Rossi is the guy at press conferences who puts his feet up on the table and leans his chair back on two legs, like he hasn't a care in the world. But surely, surely that hides the inner-workings of someone who is completely competent, completely focused and completely FULL of cares.
After the wedding, my friend's boyfriend told her that I was different than other fat girls he's met. He said, "All the zaftig chicks I've known have been loud, crass and full of swagger." He said that I, on the other hand, was reserved and classy. It's too bad he's never seen me in full swing because I'm pretty sure he'd be surprised, but it was nice to get that feedback nevertheless.
I've also known several zaftig sisters who were loud, crass and full of swagger. In fact, they comprise the majority, at least in my world. At work I have a cube neighbor who is an aspiring stand-up comedian. Sometimes for annual staff retreats, she gets talked into doing stand-up routines and they invariably land her in the CEO's office for a stern talking-to about cussing, vulgarity and the very public trashing of said CEO. I love that!
It's funny because there are a lot of people in this world who I find annoying based solely on the swagger they exhibit. Then there are others who I find interesting primarily because of their swagger. Here's how I separate it out in this crazy head of mine... If I think there is an unabashed mega-ego behind the swagger, then it can be acceptable (see: Rossi). If I think there is a vulnerable person underneath who is trying to artifically pump up his/her ego by blowing swagger smoke up my ass, then I find the person completely distasteful (see: Perez Hilton). If I think there is a vulnerable person underneath who is fighting for something more, then it's deserved (see: cube neighbor).
Supreme Soul got labeled early on as having mega-egos. Eh, don't you kinda have to have a mega-ego if you're going to compete on an MTV reality show? Especially in the genre of hip-hop dancing where contests are known as "battles"? Especially a crew who battled ABDC Season 1 winner, and my personal dance favorites, JabbaWockeeZ, and WON?
The reason I bring this up is because I was reading one of Honey Bunny's motorcycle magazines this morning and was lucky enough to come across Valentino Rossi news. (Yes, when I run out of new issues of US Weekly and InStyle, I turn to HB's moto rags for warmth and comfort.) There was some coverage of the Laguna Seca race of the MotoGP 2008 race series. Rossi won again, no surprise there. Casey Stoner (heh, his last name is Stoner!) still fighting for first. Nicky Hayden still fighting for... anything above 10th, really.
By the way, Nicky Hayden is to blame for this whole MotoGP and Valentino Rossi interest of mine. MTV produced a little documentary early this year called "The Kentucky Kid", all about Hayden's rise to a completely unexpected MotoGP Championship win in 2006, and his ensuing fall from grace in the 2007 race year. It was an interesting story, for sure, but mostly I realized that watching motorcycle racing, at least MotoGP racing, is like watching baseball. The action is slow but sure, slightly meditative, with some spine-tingling action along the way.
Mostly, though, I was captivated by Valentino Rossi. The guy has enough swagger to last about five million lifetimes, yet somehow he manages to still be likeable. This moto mag described him as "fun-loving imp" on the outside and "fiercest competitor ever" on the inside. Rossi is the guy at press conferences who puts his feet up on the table and leans his chair back on two legs, like he hasn't a care in the world. But surely, surely that hides the inner-workings of someone who is completely competent, completely focused and completely FULL of cares.
After the wedding, my friend's boyfriend told her that I was different than other fat girls he's met. He said, "All the zaftig chicks I've known have been loud, crass and full of swagger." He said that I, on the other hand, was reserved and classy. It's too bad he's never seen me in full swing because I'm pretty sure he'd be surprised, but it was nice to get that feedback nevertheless.
I've also known several zaftig sisters who were loud, crass and full of swagger. In fact, they comprise the majority, at least in my world. At work I have a cube neighbor who is an aspiring stand-up comedian. Sometimes for annual staff retreats, she gets talked into doing stand-up routines and they invariably land her in the CEO's office for a stern talking-to about cussing, vulgarity and the very public trashing of said CEO. I love that!
It's funny because there are a lot of people in this world who I find annoying based solely on the swagger they exhibit. Then there are others who I find interesting primarily because of their swagger. Here's how I separate it out in this crazy head of mine... If I think there is an unabashed mega-ego behind the swagger, then it can be acceptable (see: Rossi). If I think there is a vulnerable person underneath who is trying to artifically pump up his/her ego by blowing swagger smoke up my ass, then I find the person completely distasteful (see: Perez Hilton). If I think there is a vulnerable person underneath who is fighting for something more, then it's deserved (see: cube neighbor).
28 October 2008
Critique
Did I ever mention I post reviews on Burritophile? Well, apparently I haven't posted since January 2007... my, how time flies, as it seems like yesterday that I was working those reviews.
At any rate, a few days ago I decided to update one of my reviews after having a fairly bad burrito experience at one of my usual haunts. I updated it, then went through and looked at the other reviews I'd done and had a good laugh. Then I decided to see what other people had said after me about a couple places that I'd reviewed. Bad idea.
I'm being honest when I say I wasn't looking for reviews that referenced my reviews. Especially if one of my reviews were referenced in a negative way. And yet, there it was.
green67 said, "don't listen to the zaftig chick (it means she's "plump" and happy with it..until someone calls her f**)".
I admit I got lathered by it. Really, really lathered. Causing me to add a parenthetical counter-insult to my original review, which green67 will likely never read or see given that s/he hasn't posted for more than a year. Yet, it made me feel better.
And then... I thought about it all the way home from work. Things that put us in a tizzy are often the things that hit closest to home. Did green67 have a good point? Am I all for the Festively Plump cause until someone calls me "fat"?
Answer: yes and no.
My therapist and I were just talking about this blog, actually. She asked if I generally talk about the good things about being fat or the bad things. I told her that, originally, I wanted this blog to be positive about the fat experience but that (naturally) it evolved into being more neutral - and more honest. My mission lately has been to talk about the good, the bad and the BFD.
I reflected on this convo with Therapist when green67 rocked my world. Originally, yes, I was a plump gal who was trying to be happy about it ("until someone called me fat"). As a blogger, it didn't take long for that focus to run its course. There were many times I was dying to write about the bullshit... like wanting to go hiking with friends but being too embarassed by my lack of fitness, like enduring a monster truck-load of frat boys driving by yelling, "I wanna get a piece of you, pig!", like finding nothing pretty or interesting to wear to my company holiday party while my thinner coworkers were donning beautiful dresses by Ann Taylor, Max Azria, or, hell, even Issac Mizrahi for Target. Eventually I had to give in and talk about that stuff, because it is part - generally a very big part - of being fat.
Another thing I mused on was whether I could think of anyone who is genuinely happy about being plump, being called fat to her face or not. The only possible person I could think of is Mo'nique, but that's only because if someone called her fat she would probably barrage the person with an earful of insults to last a lifetime. That still doesn't mean she'd be ok with being called fat.
That brings me to my next point: being called fat vs. being mocked for being fat. There's a big difference. I may have mentioned this before but I previously worked with a therapist specializing in body image. She wanted me to take back the word "fat", likening it to when gay folk took back "fag" and "queer". She encouraged me to use and think of it as a descriptor rather than a slur. Once my "fat" paradigm shifted, being called fat no longer stung as bad. As in, I'd be walking down the street and pass a group of people and would hear someone say, "Did you see that fat chick?" Instead of wanting to run and hide in shame, I thought, "Yeah, I'm a fat chick. What of it?"
Speaking of which, let me take a moment to quote Digital Underground from the song "Humpty Dance":
Hey fat girl
Yeah, I called you fat
So I'm skinny,
That never stopped me from getting busy
It took me a long time to appreciate that, believe me, but I now I do. Not to mention, that song has a great bass riff.
Anyhow, what I'm trying to say is that being called fat in that manner is quite a bit different than being called a "pig" by the truckful of rednecks. If being called fat stings a bit, then being called pig is like taking a bullet to the chest. I find that kind of behavior inexcusable. I've said a lot of catty and shitty things about people in this lifetime - it's human nature - but at least I have enough respect for humanity to not speak crap like that to the person it's about (because it's not really even about them, y'know?), let alone yell it from the safety of a passing vehicle.
In the end, I stand by my counter-insult to green67:
"I'm a zaftig chick (yes, green67, that means I'm FAT - no asterisks necessary to soften the blow - but that in no way means I deserve to be mocked by you [a fellow reviewer] and especially not by people I'm paying my hard-earned dollars to for their food, you misanthropic, prejudiced fuckwad)"
ps. Saying something insulting to someone with no provocation = not cool. Saying something insulting to someone with provocation = my gloves come off. That's not model behavior, but it's who I am.
pss. In the interest of full disclosure, since I posted this yesterday I've thought of a few instances where I said something shitty to someone proactively. If only I could take each instance back now... I hate being a hypocrite.
At any rate, a few days ago I decided to update one of my reviews after having a fairly bad burrito experience at one of my usual haunts. I updated it, then went through and looked at the other reviews I'd done and had a good laugh. Then I decided to see what other people had said after me about a couple places that I'd reviewed. Bad idea.
I'm being honest when I say I wasn't looking for reviews that referenced my reviews. Especially if one of my reviews were referenced in a negative way. And yet, there it was.
green67 said, "don't listen to the zaftig chick (it means she's "plump" and happy with it..until someone calls her f**)".
I admit I got lathered by it. Really, really lathered. Causing me to add a parenthetical counter-insult to my original review, which green67 will likely never read or see given that s/he hasn't posted for more than a year. Yet, it made me feel better.
And then... I thought about it all the way home from work. Things that put us in a tizzy are often the things that hit closest to home. Did green67 have a good point? Am I all for the Festively Plump cause until someone calls me "fat"?
Answer: yes and no.
My therapist and I were just talking about this blog, actually. She asked if I generally talk about the good things about being fat or the bad things. I told her that, originally, I wanted this blog to be positive about the fat experience but that (naturally) it evolved into being more neutral - and more honest. My mission lately has been to talk about the good, the bad and the BFD.
I reflected on this convo with Therapist when green67 rocked my world. Originally, yes, I was a plump gal who was trying to be happy about it ("until someone called me fat"). As a blogger, it didn't take long for that focus to run its course. There were many times I was dying to write about the bullshit... like wanting to go hiking with friends but being too embarassed by my lack of fitness, like enduring a monster truck-load of frat boys driving by yelling, "I wanna get a piece of you, pig!", like finding nothing pretty or interesting to wear to my company holiday party while my thinner coworkers were donning beautiful dresses by Ann Taylor, Max Azria, or, hell, even Issac Mizrahi for Target. Eventually I had to give in and talk about that stuff, because it is part - generally a very big part - of being fat.
Another thing I mused on was whether I could think of anyone who is genuinely happy about being plump, being called fat to her face or not. The only possible person I could think of is Mo'nique, but that's only because if someone called her fat she would probably barrage the person with an earful of insults to last a lifetime. That still doesn't mean she'd be ok with being called fat.
That brings me to my next point: being called fat vs. being mocked for being fat. There's a big difference. I may have mentioned this before but I previously worked with a therapist specializing in body image. She wanted me to take back the word "fat", likening it to when gay folk took back "fag" and "queer". She encouraged me to use and think of it as a descriptor rather than a slur. Once my "fat" paradigm shifted, being called fat no longer stung as bad. As in, I'd be walking down the street and pass a group of people and would hear someone say, "Did you see that fat chick?" Instead of wanting to run and hide in shame, I thought, "Yeah, I'm a fat chick. What of it?"
Speaking of which, let me take a moment to quote Digital Underground from the song "Humpty Dance":
Hey fat girl
Yeah, I called you fat
So I'm skinny,
That never stopped me from getting busy
It took me a long time to appreciate that, believe me, but I now I do. Not to mention, that song has a great bass riff.
Anyhow, what I'm trying to say is that being called fat in that manner is quite a bit different than being called a "pig" by the truckful of rednecks. If being called fat stings a bit, then being called pig is like taking a bullet to the chest. I find that kind of behavior inexcusable. I've said a lot of catty and shitty things about people in this lifetime - it's human nature - but at least I have enough respect for humanity to not speak crap like that to the person it's about (because it's not really even about them, y'know?), let alone yell it from the safety of a passing vehicle.
In the end, I stand by my counter-insult to green67:
"I'm a zaftig chick (yes, green67, that means I'm FAT - no asterisks necessary to soften the blow - but that in no way means I deserve to be mocked by you [a fellow reviewer] and especially not by people I'm paying my hard-earned dollars to for their food, you misanthropic, prejudiced fuckwad)"
ps. Saying something insulting to someone with no provocation = not cool. Saying something insulting to someone with provocation = my gloves come off. That's not model behavior, but it's who I am.
pss. In the interest of full disclosure, since I posted this yesterday I've thought of a few instances where I said something shitty to someone proactively. If only I could take each instance back now... I hate being a hypocrite.
22 October 2008
Being The Bride
Hello, dear readers. I'm back. The wedding festivities have concluded. And I'm still zaftig!
Being the center of attention during All Things Wedding was pretty challenging. I think my Bitter Bridezilla post was really about feeling exposed, and whether or not I was acting or feeling like a bridezilla was beside the point.
Not to be all sob story but, growing up fat was pretty shitty. Right out of the gate I was set aside as "different" from everyone else and picked on relentlessly. Only made worse by the fact that I was also a totally weird kid. I mean, did you know anyone in grade school who would electively wear a homemade pirate shirt with homemade khaki canvas bloomers and a newsboy cap? Not on Halloween? Because they loved "Voyagers!" that much? [Sidenote: Jon-Erik Hexum was a total babe.] Folks, that was just the tip of the iceberg.
I was always torn in two directions... to be or not to be the center of attention. The fat kid in me wanted to hide at all costs. The weird kid in me wanted to boogie in the spotlight. The normal kid in me didn't want to be picked on for being fat or weird, she just wanted to belong.
Fast forward to Summer 2008. I had almost a year ramping up to being The Bride, littered with sleepless nights and the occasional panic attack. I always thought getting married was the thing scaring the crap out of me, and it was, but only to a certain extent. Now, after the fact, I can see I was mostly having a similar tug-o-war to the aforementioned youthful one.
The fat part of me was scared shitless to be so exposed, to be The Bride, to wear a wedding dress, to have to walk up and down the aisle in front of everyone, to be the guest of honor at three different parties, and the co-host and co-center of attention at the biggest party of all. I'm not just talking about the literal fat part of me. The emotions that come up around being The Bride after hiding and covering up for 30 odd years... that isn't just about the fat on my body. That's the mind-fuck of having been fat for a very long time. Some would even say it's the reason I'm fat to begin with (which, FYI, I'm not so quick to disagree with these days).
The fat part of me had no idea how to pick a dress, despite the fact that I love fashion and especially big fancy dresses and know, more or less, how to dress my body. Hey, remember my posts about picking the dress? Where do you think that came from? Fight, flight or freeze... I chose freeze but tried to make the best of it with whimsy.
Trying to lose weight before and for the wedding was, as my therapist often said, probably adding way too much to my already over-flowing plate. People are fat or get fat for a reason, in my opinion. It's either in a person's genetic makeup or it's a coping mechanism, and sometimes it's both. I put myself in the both category. I come from a long line of women who have giant boobs, prolific bellies and flat asses. I also come from a family with some issues, and eating through house and home was the way I dealt with it (along with being sedentary). Trying to undo all those issues and fight genetics in a 9-month period, in the midst of regular life and preparing for a wedding, was an exercise in futility. If I could do it all over again, I would still work with my personal trainer twice a week but I would have revamped my goal. Instead of it being all for the wedding, it was simply a good and solid starting point for a lifelong change in my health.
In terms of the weird part of me... I wanted to wear a big crazy stylish dress with big crazy stylish accessories amidst a big crazy stylish wedding. The weird part of me got excited at the prospect of walking down the aisle looking fab. Well, thankfully in the end we did not have a big crazy stylish wedding, despite a lot of hand-wringing on my part to make one happen. We had a down-scale and quirky wedding, which is perfect because that's who we are.
The thing that perplexes me is that being The Bride was hardest in the couple months preceding the wedding, and was not hard at all on wedding day. Being The Bride is just a set of expectations I had for myself, or rather put on myself. I always thought The Bride was lovely and glowing because she was so in love, happy, thin, beautiful, nicely dressed, reveling in being the center of attention. Given what I've written so far, can you imagine a worse scenario for my fat ego? Not to mention that when you're in your 30's, have a full time job, are paying for and coordinating your own DIY wedding, things are a little different. Yeah, I was definitely glowing because I was in love... but also because I was sweating profusely while setting up flower arrangements and rented tables and chairs in my reception hall!
Sorry, tangent. What I'm trying to say is that I had an unreasonable set of expectations for being The Bride and it made me totally miserable. I don't actually think those expectations had much or anything to do with a lifetime of fatness. I think the idea of what a bride is supposed to look and act like, leading up to and including the wedding, is ingrained in our culture.
And, all expectations aside, I had a really hard time being the guest of honor when all I'd done was fall in love and decide to get married. When I graduated from college -- dude, I loved that party because my degree was hard-earned. If I ever show a collection of my best photographs or design work -- you know I will bust out the AmEx and the champers to fete that shit with my posse. But, getting married? Seriously? I just felt kind of... lame... at the shower, bachelorette and rehearsal parties.
Wedding day, that was different. Being The Bride was natural on wedding day, genuine and not forced in any way. I forgot that I was fat and just lived and experienced, and that's the way it should be every day.
Being the center of attention during All Things Wedding was pretty challenging. I think my Bitter Bridezilla post was really about feeling exposed, and whether or not I was acting or feeling like a bridezilla was beside the point.
Not to be all sob story but, growing up fat was pretty shitty. Right out of the gate I was set aside as "different" from everyone else and picked on relentlessly. Only made worse by the fact that I was also a totally weird kid. I mean, did you know anyone in grade school who would electively wear a homemade pirate shirt with homemade khaki canvas bloomers and a newsboy cap? Not on Halloween? Because they loved "Voyagers!" that much? [Sidenote: Jon-Erik Hexum was a total babe.] Folks, that was just the tip of the iceberg.
I was always torn in two directions... to be or not to be the center of attention. The fat kid in me wanted to hide at all costs. The weird kid in me wanted to boogie in the spotlight. The normal kid in me didn't want to be picked on for being fat or weird, she just wanted to belong.
Fast forward to Summer 2008. I had almost a year ramping up to being The Bride, littered with sleepless nights and the occasional panic attack. I always thought getting married was the thing scaring the crap out of me, and it was, but only to a certain extent. Now, after the fact, I can see I was mostly having a similar tug-o-war to the aforementioned youthful one.
The fat part of me was scared shitless to be so exposed, to be The Bride, to wear a wedding dress, to have to walk up and down the aisle in front of everyone, to be the guest of honor at three different parties, and the co-host and co-center of attention at the biggest party of all. I'm not just talking about the literal fat part of me. The emotions that come up around being The Bride after hiding and covering up for 30 odd years... that isn't just about the fat on my body. That's the mind-fuck of having been fat for a very long time. Some would even say it's the reason I'm fat to begin with (which, FYI, I'm not so quick to disagree with these days).
The fat part of me had no idea how to pick a dress, despite the fact that I love fashion and especially big fancy dresses and know, more or less, how to dress my body. Hey, remember my posts about picking the dress? Where do you think that came from? Fight, flight or freeze... I chose freeze but tried to make the best of it with whimsy.
Trying to lose weight before and for the wedding was, as my therapist often said, probably adding way too much to my already over-flowing plate. People are fat or get fat for a reason, in my opinion. It's either in a person's genetic makeup or it's a coping mechanism, and sometimes it's both. I put myself in the both category. I come from a long line of women who have giant boobs, prolific bellies and flat asses. I also come from a family with some issues, and eating through house and home was the way I dealt with it (along with being sedentary). Trying to undo all those issues and fight genetics in a 9-month period, in the midst of regular life and preparing for a wedding, was an exercise in futility. If I could do it all over again, I would still work with my personal trainer twice a week but I would have revamped my goal. Instead of it being all for the wedding, it was simply a good and solid starting point for a lifelong change in my health.
In terms of the weird part of me... I wanted to wear a big crazy stylish dress with big crazy stylish accessories amidst a big crazy stylish wedding. The weird part of me got excited at the prospect of walking down the aisle looking fab. Well, thankfully in the end we did not have a big crazy stylish wedding, despite a lot of hand-wringing on my part to make one happen. We had a down-scale and quirky wedding, which is perfect because that's who we are.
The thing that perplexes me is that being The Bride was hardest in the couple months preceding the wedding, and was not hard at all on wedding day. Being The Bride is just a set of expectations I had for myself, or rather put on myself. I always thought The Bride was lovely and glowing because she was so in love, happy, thin, beautiful, nicely dressed, reveling in being the center of attention. Given what I've written so far, can you imagine a worse scenario for my fat ego? Not to mention that when you're in your 30's, have a full time job, are paying for and coordinating your own DIY wedding, things are a little different. Yeah, I was definitely glowing because I was in love... but also because I was sweating profusely while setting up flower arrangements and rented tables and chairs in my reception hall!
Sorry, tangent. What I'm trying to say is that I had an unreasonable set of expectations for being The Bride and it made me totally miserable. I don't actually think those expectations had much or anything to do with a lifetime of fatness. I think the idea of what a bride is supposed to look and act like, leading up to and including the wedding, is ingrained in our culture.
And, all expectations aside, I had a really hard time being the guest of honor when all I'd done was fall in love and decide to get married. When I graduated from college -- dude, I loved that party because my degree was hard-earned. If I ever show a collection of my best photographs or design work -- you know I will bust out the AmEx and the champers to fete that shit with my posse. But, getting married? Seriously? I just felt kind of... lame... at the shower, bachelorette and rehearsal parties.
Wedding day, that was different. Being The Bride was natural on wedding day, genuine and not forced in any way. I forgot that I was fat and just lived and experienced, and that's the way it should be every day.
03 July 2008
Just call me Bitter Bridezilla
For those of you who haven't heard this wonderful little term of endearment, "bridezilla" is defined as:
"A bride-to-be who focuses so much on the event that she becomes difficult and obnoxious."
Apparently I am one. Because I reminded our caterer that we hadn't yet gotten the quote and contract (that she said she'd give me 2 months ago). Because I want to choose both a silk flower for my hair and a long necklace to wear with my wedding dress. Because I've chosen to buy mismatched champagne glasses from Goodwill instead of renting matchy-matchy ones from a party rental company. Because I said I wasn't feeling the stringy, wet 80's look my hair had (as opposed to the soft shiny wave I asked for) when my stylist did "practice hair" last night. Because my florist didn't return my call for a week.
Yes, I want things to look a certain way and run smoothly on my wedding day, but I'm not expecting perfection by any means. Mostly, yes, I'd like people who I'm paying good money to to actually respond to me in a timely manner and to fully commit to their services so I don't have to scramble at the last minute to find new vendors. But no, I have not been a bitch or demanding to anyone. I feel I've overall been pretty darn kind and patient.
With one exception. It was after a really long day of bridesmaid dress shopping, without lunch, to my non-pregnant sister when she wanted to choose a frumpy shit-brown maternity dress to wear for the wedding above all the other actually pretty dresses she tried on. I had a bitchy moment, yes, and I own that.
The point I'm trying to make is that this "bridezilla" stereotype is so prevalent now that no matter what you do, or how nice you act, you get the bridezilla label if you're a bride. Especially if your salary precludes you from hiring a $20,000 wedding planner, and you have to be a DIY bride.
Case in point: I am an events coordinator for a living. I talk to venues and caterers and vendors all the time! Never once have any of those sales reps acted like I was being bitchy or demanding when I've asked to change a floor plan at the last minute, or tweak a menu. That's just what professional vendors expect in business. Plans change. But if you're a bride, then you better keep your damn mouth shut.
Harrumph.
PS. That show "Bridezillas" on WE? I never really liked it to begin with, but just recently I realized how racist, classist, exploitative, and really un-funny it is.
"A bride-to-be who focuses so much on the event that she becomes difficult and obnoxious."
Apparently I am one. Because I reminded our caterer that we hadn't yet gotten the quote and contract (that she said she'd give me 2 months ago). Because I want to choose both a silk flower for my hair and a long necklace to wear with my wedding dress. Because I've chosen to buy mismatched champagne glasses from Goodwill instead of renting matchy-matchy ones from a party rental company. Because I said I wasn't feeling the stringy, wet 80's look my hair had (as opposed to the soft shiny wave I asked for) when my stylist did "practice hair" last night. Because my florist didn't return my call for a week.
Yes, I want things to look a certain way and run smoothly on my wedding day, but I'm not expecting perfection by any means. Mostly, yes, I'd like people who I'm paying good money to to actually respond to me in a timely manner and to fully commit to their services so I don't have to scramble at the last minute to find new vendors. But no, I have not been a bitch or demanding to anyone. I feel I've overall been pretty darn kind and patient.
With one exception. It was after a really long day of bridesmaid dress shopping, without lunch, to my non-pregnant sister when she wanted to choose a frumpy shit-brown maternity dress to wear for the wedding above all the other actually pretty dresses she tried on. I had a bitchy moment, yes, and I own that.
The point I'm trying to make is that this "bridezilla" stereotype is so prevalent now that no matter what you do, or how nice you act, you get the bridezilla label if you're a bride. Especially if your salary precludes you from hiring a $20,000 wedding planner, and you have to be a DIY bride.
Case in point: I am an events coordinator for a living. I talk to venues and caterers and vendors all the time! Never once have any of those sales reps acted like I was being bitchy or demanding when I've asked to change a floor plan at the last minute, or tweak a menu. That's just what professional vendors expect in business. Plans change. But if you're a bride, then you better keep your damn mouth shut.
Harrumph.
PS. That show "Bridezillas" on WE? I never really liked it to begin with, but just recently I realized how racist, classist, exploitative, and really un-funny it is.
13 June 2008
Get a load of...
... this article.
I'm at work otherwise I'd write a little tirade.
And ps. I'm sorry I haven't written in so so so long. Been hella busy with wedding stuff, work and staying well.
I'm at work otherwise I'd write a little tirade.
And ps. I'm sorry I haven't written in so so so long. Been hella busy with wedding stuff, work and staying well.
21 February 2008
An experience with appetite loss
You know from my last post that I have been dealing with anxiety. It took a long time, but I finally decided to try Lexapro for it, and I had a pretty interesting experience. And yes, this does relate to The Fat Life... hang in there.
Back in the early 2000's, I was on Paxil for a year and a half for severe depression. The meds helped tremendously and I got my life back on track, and consistently gaining 5 lbs a month and almost losing my job because I loved sleep so much was worth it. Then I decided to go off the meds. And by "go off the meds", what I really mean is "suffered through six weeks of withdrawl hell."
Deciding to go on meds this time was more complicated. Taking an SSRI drug is a commitment, and I knew that fully this time around. I really didn't want to go on them but nevertheless got a presciption from the doctor and filled it. Then I let the bottle sit in my bedside stand for about a month while I thought about it. One day, after not sleeping well or at all for the previous four nights, I decided it was time.
Unfortunately, starting the meds also coincided with my getting the flu. As I laid on my sofa with a 101 degree fever for five days, I figured the unquenchable thirst, the dizziness, the wired mind, the nausea (and various other symptoms of an upset digestive tract, ahem), the not being able to sleep well, and worst of all, the unrelenting loss of appetite, was all flu related. But then again... save for some dizziness and strange sleep/dreams -- and nausea when it was stomach flu specifically -- I'd never really had those symptoms with the flu. Hmm.
I thought maybe the wired mind and lack of hunger was coming from the decongestant I was taking without eating much to compensate, yet every time I tried to make myself eat I felt like barfing. I decided to lay off the decongestant for 24 hours to get my body back on track, but it didn't help. Looking at, smelling, and/or thinking of food made me cringe.
Finally the flu left, yet the symptoms I noted above didn't. If anything, certain symptoms got worse. I was thirsty constantly, no matter how much water I drank. (Thirst like you've just worked out really hard after eating a super salty meal, and your lips are all dry, and you feel desperate to drink something, anything, you can get yours hands on.) But most notably the loss of appetite did not leave.
Honey Bunny's mom has told me a few times now about how, when her daughter died, she considered it a "gift" from her deceased daughter that she lost 20 lbs and could barely eat. I always think, Excuse me, you think it's a gift that you were so grief-stricken that you barely ate for three months? And, I have a few female coworkers who will share stories in the lunchroom of epic stomach bugs... the kind that helped them drop 5-10 lbs and/or toned their abs "without any effort whatsoever". Huh?
One of those coworkers used to be a RN and is now a trusted colleague and occasional advice nurse for me. I consulted with her about the side effects I was dealing with and I should not have been at all shocked when she said the following:
"Think of the appetite suppression as a gift from the universe! It won't last forever but in the meantime use it to kick-start a new era of health in your life. The human body can go for days without food. Just make sure you drink something with lots of vitamins, like those Nutrisystem shakes."
Okaaaaaaay. Still a trusted colleague, but probably no longer my occasional advice nurse. I might mention that she also said, during this same conversation, "When I went on anti-depressants after my son died, I actually asked for Wellbutrin specifically because it's also a weight loss drug."
Perhaps it's of note that these women are all over the age of 50. I've noticed that women of a certain age tend to think of weight loss as a permanent and, to some extent, unattainable goal. And no wonder... they've been hammered with messages from the media and society about weight loss at any cost for at least half a century.
I hung in there for as long as I could with the Lexapro but did decide to quit (for the side effects and other reasons unexplained here). After two days of no meds, I pulled my requisite yogurt and flax seed oil out of the fridge for breakfast and thought, Hey, the thought of eating this doesn't make me want to hurl, hooray!
I've dealt with loss of appetite before, like when my sister died. It was different. Food tasted like cardboard but I knew I had to eat something in order to keep going in life and that was ok with my body. Forcing myself to eat and then forcing myself to not vomit afterwards was a whole different ballgame. It was literally disturbing to me. It felt like anything but "healthy" and certainly didn't feel like a "gift".
Also, I could not stop pondering what would happen after the loss of appetite subsided, or what would happen after I went off the drug. What if I lost weight because of the drug, and then it all came back after the effect or drug left my system? How healthy is that? Sorry to be old school here, but in my opinion, and at least for people who are still mobile, there is really only one truly natural and effective manner in which to lose weight and it involves dealing with your diet and exercise habits sans pharmaceuticals or surgery.
PS. Good lord, I just noticed how many times I referenced deaths of loved ones in this post.
Back in the early 2000's, I was on Paxil for a year and a half for severe depression. The meds helped tremendously and I got my life back on track, and consistently gaining 5 lbs a month and almost losing my job because I loved sleep so much was worth it. Then I decided to go off the meds. And by "go off the meds", what I really mean is "suffered through six weeks of withdrawl hell."
Deciding to go on meds this time was more complicated. Taking an SSRI drug is a commitment, and I knew that fully this time around. I really didn't want to go on them but nevertheless got a presciption from the doctor and filled it. Then I let the bottle sit in my bedside stand for about a month while I thought about it. One day, after not sleeping well or at all for the previous four nights, I decided it was time.
Unfortunately, starting the meds also coincided with my getting the flu. As I laid on my sofa with a 101 degree fever for five days, I figured the unquenchable thirst, the dizziness, the wired mind, the nausea (and various other symptoms of an upset digestive tract, ahem), the not being able to sleep well, and worst of all, the unrelenting loss of appetite, was all flu related. But then again... save for some dizziness and strange sleep/dreams -- and nausea when it was stomach flu specifically -- I'd never really had those symptoms with the flu. Hmm.
I thought maybe the wired mind and lack of hunger was coming from the decongestant I was taking without eating much to compensate, yet every time I tried to make myself eat I felt like barfing. I decided to lay off the decongestant for 24 hours to get my body back on track, but it didn't help. Looking at, smelling, and/or thinking of food made me cringe.
Finally the flu left, yet the symptoms I noted above didn't. If anything, certain symptoms got worse. I was thirsty constantly, no matter how much water I drank. (Thirst like you've just worked out really hard after eating a super salty meal, and your lips are all dry, and you feel desperate to drink something, anything, you can get yours hands on.) But most notably the loss of appetite did not leave.
Honey Bunny's mom has told me a few times now about how, when her daughter died, she considered it a "gift" from her deceased daughter that she lost 20 lbs and could barely eat. I always think, Excuse me, you think it's a gift that you were so grief-stricken that you barely ate for three months? And, I have a few female coworkers who will share stories in the lunchroom of epic stomach bugs... the kind that helped them drop 5-10 lbs and/or toned their abs "without any effort whatsoever". Huh?
One of those coworkers used to be a RN and is now a trusted colleague and occasional advice nurse for me. I consulted with her about the side effects I was dealing with and I should not have been at all shocked when she said the following:
"Think of the appetite suppression as a gift from the universe! It won't last forever but in the meantime use it to kick-start a new era of health in your life. The human body can go for days without food. Just make sure you drink something with lots of vitamins, like those Nutrisystem shakes."
Okaaaaaaay. Still a trusted colleague, but probably no longer my occasional advice nurse. I might mention that she also said, during this same conversation, "When I went on anti-depressants after my son died, I actually asked for Wellbutrin specifically because it's also a weight loss drug."
Perhaps it's of note that these women are all over the age of 50. I've noticed that women of a certain age tend to think of weight loss as a permanent and, to some extent, unattainable goal. And no wonder... they've been hammered with messages from the media and society about weight loss at any cost for at least half a century.
I hung in there for as long as I could with the Lexapro but did decide to quit (for the side effects and other reasons unexplained here). After two days of no meds, I pulled my requisite yogurt and flax seed oil out of the fridge for breakfast and thought, Hey, the thought of eating this doesn't make me want to hurl, hooray!
I've dealt with loss of appetite before, like when my sister died. It was different. Food tasted like cardboard but I knew I had to eat something in order to keep going in life and that was ok with my body. Forcing myself to eat and then forcing myself to not vomit afterwards was a whole different ballgame. It was literally disturbing to me. It felt like anything but "healthy" and certainly didn't feel like a "gift".
Also, I could not stop pondering what would happen after the loss of appetite subsided, or what would happen after I went off the drug. What if I lost weight because of the drug, and then it all came back after the effect or drug left my system? How healthy is that? Sorry to be old school here, but in my opinion, and at least for people who are still mobile, there is really only one truly natural and effective manner in which to lose weight and it involves dealing with your diet and exercise habits sans pharmaceuticals or surgery.
PS. Good lord, I just noticed how many times I referenced deaths of loved ones in this post.
25 January 2008
Interesting
People, I'm gonna let it all hang out because I'm a fat person and sometimes that can make life complicated.
I've been experiencing hella anxiety for the past few months and have been trying to both keep it in check and examine it. One way I've done this is to get back into therapy, which has been really challenging in itself because finding a therapist you like and groove with is like trying to find the love of your life. It doesn't happen easily or often and, believe me, a shitty therapist can ruin your whole day. But, I digress.
So I'm sitting with my therapist this past week and we're creating a timeline of when I have had anxiety attacks, and how that may or may not dovetail with wedding planning, marriage planning, work crises, intense doctor visits, personal training, etc. Imagine my surprise when she says, "You know what? I think your anxiety is partially linked to working with a trainer to lose weight."
Um, what?
I'm anxious because I'm trying to lose weight? Don't most people get anxious because they are gaining it? Sure, it makes a lot of sense that I'd have "feelings" about this stuff -- I've written about it in past posts -- but I didn't realize it would inspire anxiety attacks and insomnia.
Huh. Weird! I felt relieved but, yet, more anxious.
How many times in my 35 years have I heard, "fat is emotional protection from the world"? About a zillion. I've always thought that was a load of crap because if you've ever been the fat kid in school, your fat is likely anything BUT protection. It can be a painfully obvious target for cruel people. In college I once wrote a story likening fat people to the heyoka in Lakota culture. We are unwilling clowns, symbolizing something that our society cannot easily define, deal with or face, and thus we are subjected to ridicule.
My therapist will probably bring up this point, that maybe I have been fat for my whole life because I need to self-protect. You know, I can actually buy into that now that I'm older. (But, ps, I will never accept this theory as the reason, the only reason, why someone might be fat.) More than anything, I would love a definition as to what self-protection really is. From what? From who? And why?
It's a curious thing.
I've been experiencing hella anxiety for the past few months and have been trying to both keep it in check and examine it. One way I've done this is to get back into therapy, which has been really challenging in itself because finding a therapist you like and groove with is like trying to find the love of your life. It doesn't happen easily or often and, believe me, a shitty therapist can ruin your whole day. But, I digress.
So I'm sitting with my therapist this past week and we're creating a timeline of when I have had anxiety attacks, and how that may or may not dovetail with wedding planning, marriage planning, work crises, intense doctor visits, personal training, etc. Imagine my surprise when she says, "You know what? I think your anxiety is partially linked to working with a trainer to lose weight."
Um, what?
I'm anxious because I'm trying to lose weight? Don't most people get anxious because they are gaining it? Sure, it makes a lot of sense that I'd have "feelings" about this stuff -- I've written about it in past posts -- but I didn't realize it would inspire anxiety attacks and insomnia.
Huh. Weird! I felt relieved but, yet, more anxious.
How many times in my 35 years have I heard, "fat is emotional protection from the world"? About a zillion. I've always thought that was a load of crap because if you've ever been the fat kid in school, your fat is likely anything BUT protection. It can be a painfully obvious target for cruel people. In college I once wrote a story likening fat people to the heyoka in Lakota culture. We are unwilling clowns, symbolizing something that our society cannot easily define, deal with or face, and thus we are subjected to ridicule.
My therapist will probably bring up this point, that maybe I have been fat for my whole life because I need to self-protect. You know, I can actually buy into that now that I'm older. (But, ps, I will never accept this theory as the reason, the only reason, why someone might be fat.) More than anything, I would love a definition as to what self-protection really is. From what? From who? And why?
It's a curious thing.
21 January 2008
The Queen, causing a rant
Get this... Queen Latifah is now shilling Jenny Craig, on the basis of being a role model for good health. Does this mean we're going to watch her whittle down, purportedly only by 10%, over the next few months? That's what her "blog" (read: ghost written piece of crap marketing material) says on the JC* website.
For starters, I find this pretty disappointing because Queen Latifah has always been a Hollywood figure I've admired. She's not really that big except in comparison to other actresses, and she's always seemed unapologetic about her size. So why now? Why Jenny Craig? Not to be bitchy, but JC is something I would expect from Kirstie Alley and Valerie Bertinelli. Queen Latifah, no.
In general I have a big problem with weight loss plans that have you buying and eating the plan's own fake food. If health is what you're after, then I'm not sure that pre-made (frozen?) dinners really suit the bill. Not to mention that after you lose all that weight you want to lose... are you supposed to keep buying their food or do you venture out on your own? And if you venture out on your own, then are you counseled on how to choose and/or cook your own food? I honestly have no idea how that company works because you have to call a "Jenny Direct Consultant" to find out. (No thanks.) (Barf.)
*****
Let me take this moment to tell you about a conversation with my mom on Christmas day, and it'll put into perspective why Queen Latifah and her no-doubt lucrative Jenny Craig deal make for a particularly painful and personal titty twister. My mom actually asked me if I'd ever thought of trying JC "because those actresses have all lost a lot of weight on that plan." This is after I told her I'd been seeing a personal trainer who was helping me with both exercise and diet. Her reply to that was, "But you've been working with him for six weeks and you haven't really lost much weight."
I had a two-pronged reaction. First of all, the obvious... a lot of anger that I've endured a lifetime of hearing shit like that come out of both of my parents' mouths, that small progress is not progress enough, so on and so forth. At 35 years of age, I can forgive my mom just a little for saying something about my weight because she's worried I'm going to die just like my sister did (at 42 of a massive heart attack after having diabetes for years), and no parent wants to see that happen twice. That doesn't make this little conversation any less complicated or painful, however.
This seems to be a very common theme among mothers and daughters. Women's bodies are scrutinized to death (sometimes literally) in our culture, whether you're fat or thin, tall or short, curvy or straight, whatever. We're all fighting a war that has been more or less created by marketing, by companies trying to make money off of people who are in a vulnerable state of mind. And that brings me perfectly to my next point.
Naivety in adults. I can't stand it. (You'll have to excuse me because I've watched The X Files movie and several episodes of The Prisoner in the past week, and if that doesn't make you paranoid about the government, about power and money, who has access and who doesn't, I'm not sure what will.)
It is so important for us to question... question what we are constantly being spoon-fed by advertisements that are literally everywhere you look, question why there are candy bars next to Shape magazine at checkout stations at the grocery store, question why we pay more attention to celebrities than to what's going on in the world, and yes, question all those little messages that we got from our parents. You have to be brave enough to find your own truths in this culture. Some of us have that drive innately and some don't. I don't, and so it's always a struggle to right myself when I've been tipped off balance.
In truth, my mom absolutely did tip me off balance. I returned home from Christmas and thought, "You know, maybe she's right. Maybe I'm not losing enough weight seeing this personal trainer." This flies in the face of the very thing my trainer told me, that I should look at no more than 2-3 lbs. lost per month, to make sure my emotions and mind are in sync with what's happening with my body, to make sure it's really what I want. It took a long time to right myself on this point and in some ways, I'm still working through it.
* = Funny how Jenny Craig's initials are "JC". Like, Jesus Christ. Coincidence? Hey, I'm just saying...
For starters, I find this pretty disappointing because Queen Latifah has always been a Hollywood figure I've admired. She's not really that big except in comparison to other actresses, and she's always seemed unapologetic about her size. So why now? Why Jenny Craig? Not to be bitchy, but JC is something I would expect from Kirstie Alley and Valerie Bertinelli. Queen Latifah, no.
In general I have a big problem with weight loss plans that have you buying and eating the plan's own fake food. If health is what you're after, then I'm not sure that pre-made (frozen?) dinners really suit the bill. Not to mention that after you lose all that weight you want to lose... are you supposed to keep buying their food or do you venture out on your own? And if you venture out on your own, then are you counseled on how to choose and/or cook your own food? I honestly have no idea how that company works because you have to call a "Jenny Direct Consultant" to find out. (No thanks.) (Barf.)
Let me take this moment to tell you about a conversation with my mom on Christmas day, and it'll put into perspective why Queen Latifah and her no-doubt lucrative Jenny Craig deal make for a particularly painful and personal titty twister. My mom actually asked me if I'd ever thought of trying JC "because those actresses have all lost a lot of weight on that plan." This is after I told her I'd been seeing a personal trainer who was helping me with both exercise and diet. Her reply to that was, "But you've been working with him for six weeks and you haven't really lost much weight."
I had a two-pronged reaction. First of all, the obvious... a lot of anger that I've endured a lifetime of hearing shit like that come out of both of my parents' mouths, that small progress is not progress enough, so on and so forth. At 35 years of age, I can forgive my mom just a little for saying something about my weight because she's worried I'm going to die just like my sister did (at 42 of a massive heart attack after having diabetes for years), and no parent wants to see that happen twice. That doesn't make this little conversation any less complicated or painful, however.
This seems to be a very common theme among mothers and daughters. Women's bodies are scrutinized to death (sometimes literally) in our culture, whether you're fat or thin, tall or short, curvy or straight, whatever. We're all fighting a war that has been more or less created by marketing, by companies trying to make money off of people who are in a vulnerable state of mind. And that brings me perfectly to my next point.
Naivety in adults. I can't stand it. (You'll have to excuse me because I've watched The X Files movie and several episodes of The Prisoner in the past week, and if that doesn't make you paranoid about the government, about power and money, who has access and who doesn't, I'm not sure what will.)
It is so important for us to question... question what we are constantly being spoon-fed by advertisements that are literally everywhere you look, question why there are candy bars next to Shape magazine at checkout stations at the grocery store, question why we pay more attention to celebrities than to what's going on in the world, and yes, question all those little messages that we got from our parents. You have to be brave enough to find your own truths in this culture. Some of us have that drive innately and some don't. I don't, and so it's always a struggle to right myself when I've been tipped off balance.
In truth, my mom absolutely did tip me off balance. I returned home from Christmas and thought, "You know, maybe she's right. Maybe I'm not losing enough weight seeing this personal trainer." This flies in the face of the very thing my trainer told me, that I should look at no more than 2-3 lbs. lost per month, to make sure my emotions and mind are in sync with what's happening with my body, to make sure it's really what I want. It took a long time to right myself on this point and in some ways, I'm still working through it.
* = Funny how Jenny Craig's initials are "JC". Like, Jesus Christ. Coincidence? Hey, I'm just saying...
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