Let’s now indulge in one of the most discussed topics in North America: fat! Well, there is an multitude of things  about that frightening three-letter word we could discuss, but for now we will begin with the lipid cholesterol. As an individual who once struggled with weight, I have always been fascinated by cholesterol and diseases that arise from this special fat molecule. Although our society has made us believe that cholesterol is horrible and should be completely avoided and eliminated from all diets, it has several important functions for the human’s body which are essential to life. It is found in the liver and on the outer membrane of all human’s cells, and its primary function is to determine using its hydrophobic later (water-hating) which molecules can enter human cells . All lipids contains steroids (No, these are not just used to increase athletes’ energy and strength for competitions) but cholesterol also serves as an essential component involved in the formation of testosterone and estrogen (sex hormones). Furthermore, as the word suggests  (chole-Greek for bile and sterole-Greek for solid), these lipids also aid in bile production. The function of bile is to assist the breakdown of fat molecules and is stored in the gall bladder. By the same token, there are negatives to cholesterol, which I am assuming most of you were anticipating. Cholesterol  travels throughout the body by blood transportation with the aid of lipoproteins (Yes, the repeated prefix indicates that it’s a partly fatty molecule). These lipoproteins come in three different forms: LDL (low-density lipoprotein),  HDL (high-density lipoprotein), and triglycerides.

When you hear of the bad and horrible things about cholesterol, it mostly refers to LDL. As mentioned earlier, cholesterol is integral to bile creation in the liver, which carries the LDL to the designated cells. But too much of this lipoprotein leads to fat build-up and begins to block blood circulation in the arteries, which carry oxygenated blood away from the heart through the aorta to the rest of the body. This easily occurs in the human body because each of us carries approximately 70% of LDL in our body.  HDL, on the other hand, takes the cholesterol away from the cells back to the liver, where it is broken down for further use or released as body waste through fecal matter. This brings us to the third and final cholesterol group, triglycerides. This word is pretty self-explanatory if you break down the prefixes: tri (three) + glyceride (fatty acid). These are often found in our blood and from carbohydrate groups after a meal, and are stored as energy in the body. It is advised by the American Heart Association for every adult to get their triglyceride level checked every five years they may easily lead to heart disease when they reach high levels.

Now let’s jump to the ways in which cholesterol affects our day-to-day living. Food is an obvious one, especially for those of us located in North America where dairy products, red meat, and eggs are often eaten daily in large portions. As mentioned earlier, cholesterol is associated with several deadly heart-related diseases, so too much of this fatty substance can quickly lead to a heart attack or blockage of circulation due to fat accumulation. It is known that as one gets older, so does their metabolism level as well as their cholesterol levels. Likewise, after menopause, women have been proven to have a higher LDL level. Unsurprisingly, those who are considered to be overweight are also proven to have a higher LDL level. Lastly, many who have a family history of heart diseases are often prone to having high LDL levels. So the obvious thing to do is to eat a well-balanced diet, as low in trans and saturated fats as possible, and exercise regularly.

Editor: Stephen Kearse

Today’s lunch was just tasty leftovers:

Think of these as small green pearls

What you will need and all the steps in one little instagram!:

peas, diced onion, a little butter (or EVOO; or you could omit all fat and only use water), thyme, and basil. (lavender or herbes de Provence would be great as well) and of course, salt to taste.

Once again, those green pearls:

So quick and easy

Typically I am the one at the party who looks out for the new people and makes sure they are comfortable and have people to talk to and engage with.  I’m the one who makes sure that no one drinks too much and that everyone has a ride home and I’m the one you call when you need to bury the body.  Um scratch that last bit. . . But I am good under pressure and in a crisis.

For example, I am good at putting out fires, which is a definite plus as I am a menace in the kitchen.  That’s not to say that I can’t follow a recipe or even create one and I often turn out tasty delights, but I am impatient and easily distracted and I’ve been known to turn on the stove, whack down a pan, add some oil, some veggies, and then wander off.  On one occasion I was living with my dad and I tossed a package of frozen chicken in the microwave.  Then, like I do, I wandered off.  What I didn’t know was that there was a metal tag on the chicken itself and as I came back to check on the chicken I could see from the hall that Star Wars was playing out in the microwave and then poof! the Death Star exploded into flames.  I ran into the kitchen, yelled for my father and assessed the situation.  My father started yelling at me, and as much as I loved him, in this instance he was completely useless.  In a split second I remembered baking soda puts out flames, I yelled at him to settle down, told him exactly where in the fridge to find the baking soda, took it from him, deftly popped the microwave door open, doused the flames with baking soda and then slammed the door shut again.  The fire was out, the crisis averted and my dad was still having a freak out.

I am not particularly proud of this moment in time since if I had paid attention and read the label on the package of chicken I would have known that it wasn’t to be microwaved and had I not gone walk about instead of staying in the kitchen to keep an eye on things then likely I would have caught the problem at the sparking stage and not had to fight fire or clean soot and baking soda from the inside of my lovely white microwave.  I am proud of the fact though that I paid attention in school and “stop-drop-and roll”ed my way out of what could have quickly became a dangerous or even a deadly situation.

Being the go-to person does have a lot to do with my personality type, and I am a phenomenal person, just ask me, but it also has a lot to do with being needed and being accepted.  Someone calling me for help makes me feel accepted by that person and a good friend to that person and for a fat girl a little acceptance can often go a long way.

Sadly there are those who will prey on the fat girl who needs acceptance and who wants to be a trusted and steady friend.  Thankfully I have rid myself of those people and have surrounded myself with a group of friends and acquaintances who appreciate the fact that I will drop everything and take them to Emergency or whip up a casserole on a moments notice.

- the Goddess

 she is right. So what is my problem? Why can’t I follow my own words?

Let me first lay out my “dating life”; it fluctuates between looking something like the Sahara dessert, or dying of thirst on a boat in the middle of the ocean (water, water everywhere but not a drop to drink; except substitute men for the water, and other activities involving orifices for the drinking and you have my life). So when I do get to date, it is rare and I never really know what to do.

Part of this is that me, little ole me is a big ole fattie. Now the politics of beauty and dating (particularly in gay culture) is a whole ‘nother post, but the reality is: weight can and does limit your options. Limited options may not lead to desperation (it can but doesn’t have to) but it does often lead to less experience. What I do have experience in as a millennial, a queer boi, as university boy, as a person is: texting, sex, interviewing, and judging.

A date for me very often starts off on something like this: I am bored; I get on my iphone. I find a boy. He is bored. It is 2AM. We “talk”; no sexting = a great guy. This is all app level mind you. So this is my new coffee shop, open 24 hours a day. I can always look for something shinier, and brighter. I can always find a guy hotter, smarter, with a bigger dick, and closer (gas is high & plane tickets ain’t cheap). There is no off switch, and while that nonsexting 2AM chat with “Bigdick4U” (who is only looking for friends while showing all but his dick in his profile pic) is great and all, in the back of my mind he too is looking for someone hotter than me, brighter than me, (often) smaller than me, and with a fatter ass (god I need an ass), but never smarter than me (a boy has to have some pride right?). And before you claim I am just self-sabotaging (I am, but wait before you say it; sometimes the pause is everything), he often is on several apps, looking for several different types of men. So basically, for this millennial options are a bitch!  Water, water too much to drink?

The next problem is that I am an interviewer. Often a date (in person, on the phone, or via text) with me requires that you bring your resume. I don’t mean to do this, but I can’t help but get my Oprah on, on a date. Where do you work? Where did you do to school? How many siblings do you have? What kind of man are you? What are your dreams? What are you scared of? What was the last great movie you saw? When did you last hook-up? How big is it? What did you say your name is again? Needless to say, well I am saying it anyway, the guys start sweating, break out in hives, and flee for the nearest exist or, magically, the phone connection gods fail.

Now, if I get a guy past these two hurdles, I think: brave soul. I get happy, excited, and hopeful. I am that crazy person who actually tries out my name with their last name, their name with mine, and hybrid versions. This is never really serious but it is what I do; it has taught me that my name always sounds best with my last name last (just a heads up), and it is pointless since I am not big on marriage, but basically I am saying, despite all my freewheeling, get ready to be serious pretty fast. This is a problem. In this world, apparently dating minus the title of boyfriend can last FOREVER. And while I am being Charlotte York’s dilluted black cousin, the boy always texts me something like: or I find myself in conversations like:

sexy right?

To be clear, I am the grey.

But often, too often, my dating life has the lifespan of a fly. Hella short: it is born, it lives, and then it dies, in minutes and it is often not that great. The last romeo texted me: “come to the back door; be quiet. You can’t stay.” I want to say I didn’t go; I want to say I said, No it is cold outside and it is 12AM and we just met online. But I went, came, and then left. Because well, sex, a hookup was just easier.

So yeah, I need a teacher. Someone teach me, how do I date and not interview; how do I date and not hookup? How do I just be?  Can we be on a date and not feel like we are auditioning for the position of boyfriend? Must there always be this performative aspect to the whole thing? And why, if we can’t get our talk and laugh on, is sex always still on the plate? Why do I sleep with guys I don’t date, and “talk to” guys I never sleep with? Here I am, unable to have a good date but able to hookup. The only dates I have ever been on has been with a guy who is my ex but not my ex because we were together but we weren’t together (which basically means we REALLY REALLY weren’t together but we were REALLY REALLY fucked up), and they weren’t “dates.” We laughed, we talked, we kissed, we hugged, we watched movies, went to the museums, talked about our lives and shared secrets with each other; we danced in my kitchen to Bette Midler’s “Rose” but none of them were official dates. So, in this age of hooking-up, sexting up, and stripping down, how do you date? Like literally, sit down, talk, laugh, enjoy each other, and schedule a follow up meet, you know, a date.

While it turns out that the painting she is looking at is actually Rape of the Daughters of Leucippus (Reuben, 1618) and not the Judgement of Paris,  if we consider that the women in the  painting were considered beautiful when the painting was created, then it doesn’t change the poignancy of the cartoon.  I am not pro-fat.  I want to see people at a healthy weight, and physically fit, but I also feel very strongly that whatever shape or size everyone should be welcome to live their lives.  All too often plus size people live on the margins.  We stay in our safe zones, we stay out of the way and we don’t venture very far from home.

This is not the life I want, nor is it the life I lead.

Granted, I would like to be more active, do more travelling, try more extreme sports, but I do choose to live in and of the world and I hope that if nothing else my ramblings encourage others to do the same.

- the Goddess

So:

There is a Swedish blogger/PR-person called Katrin Zytomierska who’s famous for being provocative. She regularly makes fairly outrageous statements about everything from au-pairs to cleaners to childrearing, but she’s made it her mission in life to hate on fat people.

As in writing a lot about how fat people personally disgust her. How she’d never hire a fat person. How it’s a scandal for a gym chain ad to feature a woman who’s not super skinny. She’s a big fan of the LCHF diet, and has written several books on the subject.

Now, I’m not generally against people writing cookbooks or lifestyle books or things like that. What I do take offense at is when someone writes an entire book dedicated to fat-shaming and basically pointing out that the only reason to eat LCHF or exercise or generally live is to become skinny.

I swear, this woman needs therapy for her eating disorder.

Katrin Zytomierska recently acquired a disciple. A fat woman joined her diet-program and blogs about her weight-loss, and Katrin Zytomierska also uses this as a promotional tool for the diet-program. I can say nothing about this woman or her motivations,  but when she posts this on her blog, I can’t think of any of them as healthy influences:

It freaks me out.

[For those of you who speak Swedish, this is a link to Katrin Zytomierska's old blog, where the quote from the title comes from. I don't recommend it unless you have a drink or two first. I won't link to the blog I got the picture from, as I considering it triggering for a lot of people. Live with it. ]

Today will be a shorter post because it is an introduction to our upcoming topic, it is a surprise. When living in a western society that is so into slim appearance on one end, yet has the highest rate of obesity in the world. Each individual should consume only 10% of their calories intake on fat, but the average american citizen has been found to consume  40% (Ferrini & Ferrini). I think each and everyone of us should be able to identify the bad fat (it will be listed on our next post discussion). North America makes trillions of dollars on regime programs and fad diets, while a good health can be achieve with a balanced lifestyle and disciplined budget. I struggled for years with weight, until I did some research and found ways to reduce fat and live healthy. But like most people in our society, we have a misconception about fat. NOT ALL FAT ARE BAD. In fact, fat is a great source of energy for your body. Likewise, it helps absorb certain vitamins. Here is a short list of “good fats” that I never live without. And here is why: these foods are what chemists call unsaturated (the good fat). This may further be sub-categorized as monounsaturated and polyunsaturated. While avocados and almonds are monounsaturated, they are said to be the healthiest type of fat and contain absolutely no cholesterol in them. While tuna, salmon, sesame are polyunsaturated and known for lowering risks of heart disease. They also contain Omega-3 fatty acids, which is associated with a reduced risk of heart disease, lower blood fats and decreased blood clotting. Ultimately, allowing the blood to circulate better throughout the body leading to the elimination of multiple diseases and the increase of longevity.

My friend Carrie, who I adore, is a stick bug.  She’s pretty, and kind and smart and lovely and tall and willowy, and when I stand beside her I feel like a stink bug.  I had never taken Pilates before, but she assured me that it was great, so we checked the listings for the local community centres and found a class for Level 1 Pilates.  The first week we arrived and the instructor, a rather dramatic woman named Deborah, asked each student, in turn, to tell her their experience with Pilates.  One person indicated that they had never taken Pilates before and Deborah seemed perturbed by this, but didn’t say too much.  Then she got to Carrie who told her about her experience taking lessons at a Pilates studio.  When she got to me next I smiled and pointed to Carrie and said “I’m with her.”  Deborah ruffled and asked again what my experience was and I said none.  At this point Deborah, said that this simply would not do, as this was a level 1 course and NOT a beginner’s course.  As Carrie had signed me up, I shot her a sideways glance and she shrugged and looked confused.

Deborah informed me that the beginner class was on another day and that I should go to that class as this class was more advanced and not suitable for beginners.  Her tone implied that I was supposed to get up that instant and leave her presence.  To be frank, I was pissed.  The other student who also didn’t have background in Pilates wasn’t told to go to another class, the other student wasn’t made to feel unwelcome, the other student wasn’t overweight.  I remained calm, but my tone was unpleasant and I asked if I could at least stay for the class since I was already here. When a third person admitted that they were also a beginner, Deborah went to get the course catalogue and it turned out that both classes were listed as Level 1.  As no beginners course appeared to be offered, we’d made an honest mistake signing up for Level 1.  Deborah finally  agreed that we could stay and the class proceeded.

During the class she went from student to student helping them, adjusting their posture and moving their limbs, but she stayed away from me.  As the class went on I became more and more incensed because she was ignoring me.  I got that she didn’t want me in the class and that I didn’t fit her ideal of a Pilates student, but she was simply being rude and I was in the wrong class through no fault of my own.

At the end of the class she had a change of heart and decided that those of us who did not have the background were permitted to stay.  I went up to her  and specifically asked if I could stay.  I wasn’t going to put up with 10 weeks of being ignored or treated like a second class citizen.  She seemed confused by my question and then nodded and said that I could stay.

The next week I arrived for class only to find out that Carrie was sick and I was going to have to go it alone.  Dread welled inside me.  As we sat on our mats waiting for Deborah to take attendance and get everyone settled a new student walked in and after a brief discussion it was clear that she too was supposed to be in the beginners class.  This time Deborah was polite, but firm and said that no this student would need to go to the other class.  She said that she had let a few students stay who did not have the pre-req, but that students like Cynthia had exceptional body awareness and so they were permitted to stay.  I had no idea what that meant, but I was pretty sure it was a compliment.

When I got home I called Carrie to check in on her, but mostly to ask what it meant to be told one has exceptional body awareness.  Apparently this is a high compliment.  It turns out that the teacher wasn’t ignoring me in that first class, she just didn’t need to correct me.  I was dumbfounded.

The next week Deborah approached me after class and asked if I was a dancer.  I felt like telling her that I was the chick in the circus who hangs from the big top by her hair, but I smiled and said no.  She asked if I had studied dance as a child.  I really wanted to laugh because my dance career consisted of three years of highland dancing lessons starting when I was 5 and all I remember doing was whining and bitching that I was missing Saturday morning cartoons and flitting about and getting in trouble until my parents decided they’d had enough of dragging me to class.  Deborah said she knew that I had dance experience, one can just tell, and that obviously those lessons had stayed with me.  Riiiight.

I didn’t stick with Pilates, it really is challenging for the ample girl to keep her legs up in the air all the time, but I am glad I went and that I was able to teach the teacher that fat chicks can have grace too.

- the Goddess

Tyedye loves lingerie. When I wear it he makes me model for him. Walking back and forth and give him a good turn around. I’m always at arms length so I can never get to far and he can spin me whenever he pleases. He likes being the dominant one. He loves the power trip. He’s been aggressive with me before but tonight was something else.

He pulled me up by my hair and throws me towards the couch or the bed. I remember being a little scared. Pulling my hair was a little painful, but it wasn’t [yet] a deal breaker. At one moment he pulled me up to stand in front of my mirror. He told me to look at myself. He wanted me to look at myself and see how sexy I was in a very militant way. I took a glance but I didn’t want to look. He saw that I was looking away and he pulled my head up and told me again, “Look how fucking sexy you are.” I honestly didn’t see it. I didn’t want to look. I felt gross and chubby. I just turned, pushed him away and laid on my bed.

The rest of the night we fooled around and had sex which over time became more playful then domineering. Until the moment when Tyedye lost control of himself and came inside me.

We were having some trouble with the last condom and being both so horny, in the moment we just let it be, but then it happened. Of course it did and I should of been smarter, but nothing to do now but take a Plan B.

I’ve never taken one before and angry at him, I had Tyedye pay for it. I started to think how I probably have already ovulated considering that my last period was roughly a month ago. Will the pill work if my egg is already lined in my uterus? Am I going to be able to unmake this baby? Those thoughts haunted my mind throughout the day while I felt like absolute crap. The worse fatigue, nausea, and bloating I’ve ever had. Felt like I was dying. Lying on the bed, Alex came home worried about me. I was pale and bloated. At any normal circumstance he would always encourage me to go out, but I was going to see Tom later, I couldn’t explain it but I just felt I had to go see him.

Now, to the topic at hand.  Sadness.  Have you ever felt sad about losing weight or fitting into a smaller size?  I ask this, because right now I am so freaking sad.  Excited and proud, but sad.  On Christmas I got a coupon/voucher for 40% off my entire order at OneStopPlus and now that they delivery to the UK, I am a regular shopper there.   As I was trolling the pages, engaging my inner shop-a-holic, I came across a cute white denim jacket.  Non stretchy and WOMENS!!!  I usually get mens clothes because they are bigger and shapeless. Anyways, I put it in my cart as a goal item of clothing.  I got the biggest size (38w) which has been wayyyy too small for me in the past. And even though I keep losing weight, I still buy the biggest size I can find.

Well…my clothes finally arrived today. I opened up the jacket, which is cute as hell btw.  I put it on to gauge how much more I would need to lose to get into it.  The shoulders felt nice, then I closed the front.  The buttons and button holes overlap.  It fucking fits.  Holy shit.

Most people would have been happy beyond belief.  I however, was struck by a huge HUGE sadness. WTH?  Who feels sad about wearing smaller clothes? This girl.  I don’t know why. And no, it didn’t trigger a binge…so a major WIN there, but I am sat here feeling very melancholy trying to work out why in the hell I am not jumping for joy.  The mind boggles.  I wonder why no one talks about this side of the weight loss journey….or maybe I am the only one in the world to feel sad about it? I think I need counselling, lol.

But here is what I think.  I think the sadness is a mask for fear.  I am afraid to change.  I am afraid to be different than I have ALWAYS been.  Dramatic weight loss changes you.  Some people say it doesn’t or that you are the same person, but I do not believe that.  A caterpillar does not become a butterfly (or moth) and then go around pretending to be the same ole caterpillar now does it?  So far, I haven’t changed dramatically, but there are small changes and those changes add up to make you someone slightly different that you were before.  For me, I am more assertive.  I saw what I think, damn the consequences, lol.  I am also a bit more selfish, in that I go to the gym, I go to college and I do not give a second thought to leaving my husband home alone.  Sod it.  He has a life, why shan’t I?

Speaking of the gym.  Holy crap. I did well from Jan 2 – Jan 7, then I got struck my serious insomnia. I didn’t sleep the night of Jan 7 and Jan 8 I got 2 hours of sleep.  The night of Jan 6 I only slept 4 hours…..so thats like 6 hours sleep in 3 days.  I could barely function!  I think I am sorted now as I was so exhausted last night from lack of sleep that I passed out as soon as my head hit the pillow.  My hips are hurting hella bad today though, I assume this is from the lack of sleep previous nights. Funny how all of our bodies problems are inter-related.  In short. I am being a big fat bum today!

Monday I have induction at the gym and for the first time in my life I went on the elliptical/cross trainer.  Holy freaking cow.  I only lasted 1.5 minutes but my ass muscles and lungs were on FIRE!  I had always wanted to use the machines but have always been to heavy, but the gym dude assured me I am fine now and free to use whatever I want.  I am also lifting weights as I aspire to be really really strong. I don’t care about thin, I care about mobility, health and fitness….and being able to totally kick ass

I am still seeing the weight loss nurse.  My weight is fluctuating right now, which is no surprise seeing as I am struggling with the weight loss emotionally.  I was back up to 458 then came back down to 455, I bet this week I am up again.  I have been eating like crapola.  Self sabotage at it’s finest. I have it down to an art form!  However, with that being said, I would rather go up and down 10lbs for a couple of months, fighting emotional demons than ignore them, hurry to goal and then regain everything.  That would send me over the edge.  So instead, I lose a lot slower than everyone else but am trying to deal with the emotions WHILST losing weight, not after the fact.

We have all seen it….Oprah is a good example, she keeps focusing on the number on the scale and her feelings that she feels made her fat, but she does not deal with the emotions of losing each 5lbs or going down in clothing sizes, she only exhibits pride and happiness…but there is more to it than that!  And then there is David Elmore Smith.  Poor fucking guy, seriously.  He did a documentary with the now famous trainer which shall not be named.  But David started at like 640 ish…just under my start weight.  He did vigorous training and dieting, all the whilst being excited and celebrating all the mile stones….but he did not deal with his shit. And we ALL have shit. Loads and loads of shit.  He is a great guy btw, I kinda stalk him online, lol, he is on my twitter and fb and youtube   If ya gunna stalk people ya gotta do it properly   I do NOT feel sorry for him. Pity helps no one.  I do FEEL for him though and everyone was pushing him and cheering him on, not giving a damn about what was going on in his head.  Fuck those people.  He has gained most of the weight back and is now working his way back down.  I hope he figures it all out because I haven’t.  I just know that it takes me a few months of bouncing around 10lbs to finally let it go forever.  I have adapted the “slow but steady wins the race” motto.  And so far it is treating me well.

That’s me, up and out!

Here’s

All I could think about was how to figure out when one has “tried everything”.  I wondered where the point is that one bottoms out and finally admits that they are helpless and can no longer steer their own ship. I wondered if I have reached that point and I just haven’t figured it out or I just don’t want to admit it.

I’ve had really bad days.  I once sat on the side of my bed and cried because wrestling into my skirt was winding me.  I once went to a friend’s birthday party in jeans and a sweater and had friends joke all night that I was finally coming out citing my short hair and “butch” outfit.  The truth was that I had a pretty skirt and top for the party, but I had ruined three pairs of pantyhose trying to struggle into them and in desperation I had thrown on my jeans and finally headed out.

I have had days where I felt like I was drowning in my own body.  I rarely step on a scale because the thought of certain numbers popping up is often too much to bear. I’ve been quietly ignoring my doctor’s request to check in monthly to have my blood pressure taken because I don’t want to admit it’s a significant issue that I am not controlling with diet and lifestyle changes and being put on medication means admitting that I have a serious health problem.

I have back pain, I have circulation problems, I wear a pretty unsexy CPAP mask to bed each night, I doubt if I could fight my way out of a burning building, and I certainly couldn’t outrun a mugger, but I am simply not ready to give up.  And to me having surgery to reorganize my gut is just that.

I’m not saying that I won’t ever do it.  I’m not saying that it’s not the right choice for some people. But for right now, it’s just not the right choice for me. I still have options. I’m working on getting more sleep, eating better, increasing my exercise, getting the right vitamins and supplements, and discovering food allergies and sensitivities.  When I’ve exhausted all of that perhaps I’ll reconsider, but for right now I still have both hands firmly on the wheel and I have no intention of letting go any time soon.

- the Goddess

It’s hard to talk about because it is something I hold great shame for. It makes me feel weak and pathetic. Once it becomes a habit, it turned to an addiction, one that I have fallen back on over and over again. When I was a kid I binged and starved a lot. Eating about 4 meals in one sitting then not eating for 4-5 days, just chewing gum. I no longer chew gum. When I was in high school, I did a lot of fad diets like one was a cabbage soup diet. I could have as much cabbage soup as I liked, but I could only eat raw carrots and cabbage for my 3 meals a day. My mom was desperate for me to lose weight too so she was okay with this. After breaking my leg in the summer before my senior year in high school, I gained a notorious amount of weight closing in 190-200 lbs. I decided to take control of my life the year after I graduated for various reasons and  the top of my list was to take skinny seriously.

I took it too seriously. I hired a trainer at my local gym. Had a whole strict diet and work out regime. At first it was great, dropping lbs left and right until 2 months later. It stopped. I could hardly lose 1 lb a week maybe in 2 weeks but my body was fighting. My trainer had been caught moonlighting so I was left to my own devices. I started eating 900-1000 calories a day (anything below 1200 is starving, unbeknownst to me at the time) and when I went over that limit on the days “I went crazy,” I would exercise all night and day to work off that extra calories. Whatever it took, running up and down my stairs 100+ times or playing Dance Dance Revolution til dawn. Eventually I realized I was going legitimately insane and stopped.

When I moved to NYC, it was hard for me at first. I was alone, looking for friends. When I had friends and I go out, guys only hit on my friends and not me. The self hate consumed me again. Working out wasn’t a good option since schoolwork occupied 90% of my time and the other 10% went to sleeping. Out of sheer stress, I started binging, and the guilt came over me and out of desperation, I made myself puke. That was my first time and the beginning of many times. I felt gross that I did that, but I also felt less guilty about the amount of food I ate. Because essentially I wasn’t eating anything for days, I lost weight. Roughly 15 lbs. When I looked better, I felt like I was on this high and it became a regular routine. However, once I wasn’t drastically losing weight anymore. I finally started to feel the weight-loss insanity take over me again, and on top of that I kept getting sick. I had lots of throat infections and stomach problems. I had to stop.

But bulimia doesn’t just leave. I see it much like any addiction like alcohol or drug. You want to stop, but because of stress or anxiety it’s easy to slide back. When I first broke up with Matthew I went on a sugar binge and I’m quite certain I would eat at least an unexaggerated 5,000 calories a night on desserts, which always ends in guilt which inevitably ends with my head in the toilet. Later in the beginning of my revenge-on-Matthew diet, the amount of pressure I put myself to make sure I did everything perfectly resulted in a mental crash and I did it again.

The difference between when I first started puking and now is that I no longer have the everyday consistency. It is usually a once or twice mistake that I pull myself out of as soon as possible. Its no longer a routine, just a brief momentary “drunkenness.” I haven’t done it in a long time.  I’d like to say a good 6-8 months maybe, but I lapsed again today. I’ve been gaining some weight back… how this started is another story. But, boy am I disappointed in myself right now.

Tomorrow is another day. Gambate

Then I was ditty-bopping around the Internet and got sucked into a wormhole of tumblrs, blogs, and websites that have opened my eyes and radically changed my perspective. I have confronted my own bias about fat. I have stepped back and tried to understand other people’s experiences. My world is forever changed.

It all started with the brouhaha surrounding the news anchor who stood up for herself against the viewer who called her fat. The Internet was alive with the sounds of popping wires, people flailing around with their opinions and beliefs. It was all so predictable. What was different this time was finding this sane discussion of the issue. If you don’t do anything else on the Internet today, read that article. Read it right now.

This part is what smacked me upside the head:

This issue, despite the protests of the emailer and some of his defenders, is not really about health at all. It’s about making sure there is always an underclass of people who can be readily identified, and that identity used as the foundation on which to prop up hackneyed stereotypes and value judgments (lazy, smelly, gluttonous, stupid, low-class), which ultimately results in an entire group of people being devalued as human beings for having one, relatively unimportant characteristic in common.

Then she says, welcome to appearance-based discrimination 101. I think she was talking directly to me. I’m a staunch feminist. I know all about the pressures that women face compared to men. However, what I failed to see everywhere around me was the gross implicit discrimination directed at overweight people in the most insidious, subtle (and not so subtle) ways.

I devoured this blog. After finishing each post, I would gasp and think “I could have done better in my life.” What’s really beautiful about the Fat Nutritionist blog is the current of self-acceptance. She could have called her blog MoreCompassion and meant it. Whether she is discussing people who are fat, gay, old, mentally frustrated, etc., she just exudes acceptance and affection. It’s beautiful and unfortunately there’s not enough of it in this world.

Through the Fat Nutritionist’s blog, I found this tumblr called This Is Thin Privilege. The posts in there made me cry not just as I read them but as I drove home later in the day and reflected on them. Here’s a small example of the content you’ll find:

Thin privilege is wearing sweats and being “cute and athletic”, while I wear sweats and get told I “look like a slob.”

People think like that all the time!  Here’s another example:

Everything I have read was just evidence of how horribly we treat fat people. It’s like it never even occurred to some people that fat people might be happy the way they are. Everyone isn’t dying to be a size 3 or uncomfortable with how they look. And it also shows me how much privilege is associated with being thin. It’s perverted.

Another piano that fell from a third-story window and landed on my head was TheBodyLoveBlog. One of my new favorite quotes from here says:

“The only thing that anyone can diagnose, with any certainty, by looking at a fat person, is their own level of stereotype and prejudice toward fat people. ” Fat Studies: An Invitation to Revolution by Marilyn Wann

My mind has been blown and I am all the happier for it.

Pretty attractive. He’s one of those mixes where he seemed to get alot of the good traits of each. He kept talking about how he wasn’t a slut, I kept accusing him, BECAUSE HE SOUNDS LIKE ONE.

We made out…clearly. Because he’s not a slut.

And then we went for breakfast (we met up after my shift at the bar), and he just talked about all these girls he dated. And all the ethnicities he prefers. Because he’s not a slut.

None of which I am.

My feelings aren’t hurt, as I do the same thing. (But not to their faces, just in my head!)

Also Mr. PhD (aka Number 7, aka Iranian with the giant penis) came to the bar tonight…I wish I just made out with him and his penis instead!

And one of the reasons was because I’d had sex with too many people!

I think I’m average. Maybe a little below average. Maybe I’m asking the wrong people (?), who all work at the bar with me. Who are a little more liberal.

We had a little door survey at the bar lastnight, I used my best SJP, Sex in the City intro voice. As I’m sure if there wasn’t that question on an episode, it was made mention of, even briefly.

Should I just never answer that question? Ever again?

Should I lie?

How many is too many?

Should I stop dating conservative men? (But I just like them that way!)

*insert terrible frustrated noise something akin to what a Chimpanzee might make*

P.S. He was smart, but balding, missing a tooth (near the front), had one eyebrow and smelled atrocious….and HE broke up with ME! And he reminded me that I was fat and old too.

Will my dignity and self confidence ever return?

I keep signing in to my blog, staring at it, and then reading the news instead. Because I don’t know what to say…even though I have so many stories.

1. I went to Iraq. It was awesome.

2. I set a November Dating Challenge. 20 first dates.

I got 7 in and then I liked him. So…there was a pause in the challenge. But it didn’t work out…so…that’s a story.

3. I got asked to be photographer in a pet project of a coworker, who used to be a burlesque dancer? (she speaks in code, so I may have translated incorrectly) And this project may include naked ladies.

4. Did I mention I went to Iraq? (Will post photos, I took like…2 million.)

5. I have been on a junkfood bender for the past 2 weeks. The resulting gas is worth at least 2 blogposts.

My name’s Cicci.

I’m fat.

Really, I am.

Don’t pity me for it. There’s nothing innately bad about being fat. It’s as much a fact about me as my hair color or my eyes (even though my eye color is somewhere between green, grey and blue and thus rather hard to define.)

And you know what? Being fat doesn’t make me a worse person in any way. It doesn’t even make me less healthy. It’s true, I promise.

And while I still want to lose weight (working on not thinking that), no one has the right to respect me less even if I didn’t. No one has the right to comment, demean or belittle my body. I have the right to dress however I like, have sex (and enjoy it), exercise or not exercise, eat whatever I want and not be judged for it.

I’m fat, healthy and beautiful. And a host of other things not related to how I look that are even better.

Edit: Interested? Start by reading Kate Harding or The Rotund. Or Julia Skott, if you’re Swedish.

It was a simple maneuver: Move a few things to let Gangnam Beef snug in for the evening. Everything moved accordingly until I grabbed a small bag of duck fat ( I do believe I’ve mentioned my surplus of duck fat ). It’s like it always had a “thing” for the lard. Like duck fat was not quite the tasteless animal fat that lard is and resents lard for this exact attribute. So in the only way it knew how, the small bag of duck fat grasped the shelf tightly as I tried to move it thus tipping the shelf and all its lardy contents right onto the cold, hard tile smashing all that contacted it. The biscuits, the crisp potatoes, the pumpkin pie for Thanksgiving in one moment have become a dream that will never materialize. I’ll need to find a new charming pig with lovely white gold fat to set our table right. I’m unhappy with you, duck fat, so you will spend some time in the freezer until we both cool down.

1.

I say, ‘I am fat.’

He says ‘No, you are beautiful.’

I wonder why I cannot be both.

He kisses me

hard.

2.

My college theater professor once told me

that despite my talent,

I would never be cast as a romantic lead.

We do plays that involve singing animals

and children with the ability to fly,

but apparently no one

has enough willing suspension of disbelief

to go with anyone loving a fat girl.

I daydream regularly

about fucking my boyfriend vigorously on his front lawn.

3.

On the mornings I do not feel pretty,

while he is still asleep,

I sit on the floor and check the pockets of his skinny jeans for motive,

for a punchline,

for other girls’ phone numbers.

4.

When we hold hands in public,

I wonder if he notices the looks —

like he is handling a parade balloon on a crowded sidewalk;

if he notices that my hands are now made of rope.

5.

Dear Cosmo: Fuck you.

I will not take sex tips from you

on how to please a man you think I do not deserve.

6.

He tells me he loves me with the lights on.

7.

I can cup his hip bone in my hand,

feel his ribs without pressing very hard at all.

He does not believe me when I tell him he is beautiful.

Sometimes I fear the day he does will be the day he leaves.

8.

The cute hipster girl at the coffee shop

assumes we are just friends

and flirts over the counter.

I spend the next two weeks

mentally replacing myself with her

in all of our photographs.

When I admit this to him

we spend the evening taking new photos together.

He will not let me delete a single one of them.

9.

The phrase “Big girls need love too” can die in a fire.

Fucking me does not require an asterisk.

Loving me is not a fetish.

Finding me beautiful is not a novelty.

I am not a fucking novelty.

10.

I say, ‘I am fat.’

He says, ‘No. You are so much more’,

and kisses me

hard.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DK8Y2mtSa_8