As always, sorry for not posting in timely fashion, and I also apologize for a general lack of posting in 2008. 2008 is a year I'll never forget, and, quite honestly, it can kiss my ass goodbye.
The Wedding, getting married, being married, are all great things about 2008. So was seeing a lot of friends who live elsewhere because of (sometimes multiple) wedding festivities. Honey Bunny got his industry award, which was very awesome. Barack Obama was elected; that is off the charts wonderful. And... work didn't suck as badly? "Mamma Mia!" saved my Christmas and "Yes Man" saved my state of mind? YES, I'm reaching.
Unfortunately, for the majority of the year I dealt with panic attacks, insomnia and anxiety, and narrowly avoided a slew of anxiety-associated health problems. Most profoundly of all, I/we had to say goodbye to my best feline friend of 12 years just after Thanksgiving. We had had a major health scare with her in June but she emerged kitten-like. Shortly after my last post, she was diagnosed with the most fatal of liver cancers. It was one of the most devastating things I've ever had to endure, to witness her life come to an end and to say goodbye.
2008 was the year I should have made official Zaftig Chick t-shirts with the slogan, "What I could never have predicted was..." As in:
...that I'd develop major anxiety over planning a wedding.
...that I'd become mostly ready to become a parent.
...that I'd partially come to terms with spirituality.
...that I'd put my beautiful kitty to rest and be holding her as she exited this lifetime.
There are, of course, numerous other things I could add, mostly comprised of the daily minutia of life ("...that I'd become an instant messaging fanatic").
Anyhow, I'm trying to maintain a better attitude about 2009. I have a close friend who is in a 12-step program who routinely challenges me when I start feeling shitty about myself and life. She always asks me what my part in it is (whatever "it" may be), and then she talks to me about gratitude. I'm a cynical person, and it's not easy to take. But, she's right. If there is anything Kitty's passing taught me loud and clear, it's that life is fleeting. The old cliche comes to mind that you can either choose to see every moment in life/with someone you love/etc as a gift, or you can choose to watch it go by and be victimized by your losses. Believe me, when the grieving has more or less passed, I'm going to renew my effort to choose the former more than choosing the latter.
On that note, here's a good thing that has happened in the few short days since 2009 started. I got a tattoo today! Getting one has been a goal for about 15 years but I was always crippled by fear and stalemated by indecision about image and location on the body. When Kitty passed away, I knew immediately what my tattoo would be. A heart shape constructed of fur - in her coat colors and texture - with her first initial in cursive font located on the inside of the heart.
Of course it hurt... but nowhere near as badly as losing a best friend. I reminded myself of that many times in the couple hours it took.
For anyone who is considering a tattoo but is scared of it, I'll tell you this. I have gotten feedback from many tattooed friends over the years and the general consensus was absolutely correct: it feels like someone dragging their long-ass fingernails over your fresh, lobster-red, swollen sunburn. The thing I didn't capture from friends was that the pain spectrum is really wide.
For instance, when my artist put down the first line I was expecting it to feel so ouchy that I would howl in pain. I was gripping the table in anticipation. What it actually felt like was someone writing on me really hard with a Bic pen. Uncomfortable but nowhere near unbearable. I let go of the table and yelled out, "Oh my god, that hurts so much less than I thought it would!"
That lasted until she started doing long, curving, arching lines. Quite honestly, on certain portions of the design it felt like she was using a scalpel to draw. That was more on the unbearable end of the spectrum. Thank goodness she had to keep stopping to dip the needle into ink. The micro-breaks make it tolerable.
She also mentioned before doing the tattoo, and was quite right, that the location I'd chosen - my lower back/upper butt, north of the butt crack and off to one side - is known for discomfort. The right side of the heart shape was quite painful, whereas the left side was almost nothing. Seriously. Like, it felt like she was lightly drawing on me with a dull pencil. Why this is, I don't know. She said that that's just how it is with the body. For another person, the left could be painful while the right was nothing, or the whole thing could have been nothing, and so on and so forth.
The most common thing I'd heard about tattooing is that the outline, which uses only one needle, hurts quite a bit more than shading, in which my artist used a nine-needle machine. I would say that's partially true. The outline can be really intense but chances are the artist is only going over the area once or twice with the needle. It's intense for short bursts of time and when it's done, it's done.
When my artist started shading, it was a welcome change from the outline. It does hurt a lot less for awhile. However, at least on my design, she went over various areas several times and it started to really feel like I had a shitty sunburn that someone kept taunting over and over again... if "taunting" is having a cat knead your seriously inflamed skin with her freshly sharpened nails. Ouch! I had to take a break about 3/4 into shading. Breaks are good. There's no way I could have finished without it.
Long story short, it's over before you know it and you have art on your body and that's really awesome. I'm so glad that in 2009 I am able to mark off one of my life goals, and that it's not just a design that was arbitrarily chosen. No, it ain't the Egyptian symbol of death or anything like that, but it's deep to me. Here's hoping that I can make strides to mark another thing, or things, off my life goals list.
Happy new year!
03 January 2009
21 November 2008
Two blues amongst 150 reds
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.
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.
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.
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