Rough week. Sick sister, MIL had a stroke, roof is leaking, car has a slow leak in a second tire.
Yeah. I hate this week.
But, at least it's Friday. And we will have something delicious for dinner tonight, if I make it until then, which is looking likely.
Also, I've gotten my typing speed up to 50 WPM with no peeking, so that's pretty neat.
Oh, and I lost a pound at weigh-in this morning, so there's that.
But still. And I really miss having my mom to tell me I look pretty even when I don't and to get excited about new shoes or face masks or lipstick with me.
Sigh.
Kind of just hanging in there right now. Poopy, poopy week.
It'll get better, though. Right? Yeah. Or it won't, but maybe it will.
Or maybe I'll eat something cheesy and delicious for dinner, and it won't be better, but I'll feel better about it because cheese. And if that doesn't work, maybe I'll try a beer and/or cake.
We'll see.
But it's Friday.
Friday, August 24, 2018
Tuesday, August 14, 2018
Does everybody know what a bunion is? I thought I did, but I was way off. Now I know, though.
How? I HAVE ONE.
Not the normal kind, either, on the big toe joint. Nope, I have to be a weirdo and have what is known as a ‘tailor’s bunion’ or ‘bunionette’ on my pinky toe joint. Don’t let the name fool you, this mofo hurts. Well, it did hurt. I iced it for an hour yesterday, so it doesn’t really hurt today, but yesterday morning, when I woke up and it was there in all its full swollen glory, it was pretty painful.
See, I’ve been wearing pointy toed flats and heels to work, and I think that’s what did it, because most of my flats used to be round and I have been wearing this one particularly pointy pair lately because they’re just so pretty. And heels, because if I wear a shorter dress with flats, I feel like it makes my legs look extra chunky.
This bunion is not pretty, though, so now I’m clearing out all the offending shoes. I mean it. No more heels.It basically looks like a ginormous tumor on the outside of my foot. Seriously. I almost don’t want to wear sandals until it goes down, except then my feet would be hot and I hate that even more than I hate the alien life form that has taken over my little toe joint. Jerk.
I would punch it, except it’s me so I’d just be punching myself.
I know I should also really just jump in to the orthopedic shoes and be done with it, but that makes my heart sad. For reals.
40. Bunions. What’s next, life?
How? I HAVE ONE.
Not the normal kind, either, on the big toe joint. Nope, I have to be a weirdo and have what is known as a ‘tailor’s bunion’ or ‘bunionette’ on my pinky toe joint. Don’t let the name fool you, this mofo hurts. Well, it did hurt. I iced it for an hour yesterday, so it doesn’t really hurt today, but yesterday morning, when I woke up and it was there in all its full swollen glory, it was pretty painful.
See, I’ve been wearing pointy toed flats and heels to work, and I think that’s what did it, because most of my flats used to be round and I have been wearing this one particularly pointy pair lately because they’re just so pretty. And heels, because if I wear a shorter dress with flats, I feel like it makes my legs look extra chunky.
This bunion is not pretty, though, so now I’m clearing out all the offending shoes. I mean it. No more heels.It basically looks like a ginormous tumor on the outside of my foot. Seriously. I almost don’t want to wear sandals until it goes down, except then my feet would be hot and I hate that even more than I hate the alien life form that has taken over my little toe joint. Jerk.
I would punch it, except it’s me so I’d just be punching myself.
I know I should also really just jump in to the orthopedic shoes and be done with it, but that makes my heart sad. For reals.
40. Bunions. What’s next, life?
Thursday, August 9, 2018
Alright. Tiny post time.
Why are people so enthralled when the children of celebrities grow up to also be celebrities?
Yeah, they had money and privilege and people to help them that were already in the industry of their choosing, and it worked out for them? WHOA. ASTONISHING. I CAN’T HANDLE IT.
That’s all. Just seems weird to me.
Why are people so enthralled when the children of celebrities grow up to also be celebrities?
Yeah, they had money and privilege and people to help them that were already in the industry of their choosing, and it worked out for them? WHOA. ASTONISHING. I CAN’T HANDLE IT.
That’s all. Just seems weird to me.
Tuesday, August 7, 2018
Yesterday, I had the inevitable “Oh, you’re not fat!” conversation with my new coworker. Inevitable, but I dread it. It always happens. For those of you who are anywhere from super skinny to mildly chubby, let me explain.
See, some of us are at the level where we can call ourselves fat and not think of it as an insult. I don’t. I’m fat. Always been fat, probably always will be fat. It’s just how I’m made. Not insulting, just part of me, like being 5’8” tall, or having hazel eyes.
So every time it comes up in conversation, which it just does sometimes, especially when we’re talking about food and you ask about my super healthy lunches. I talk about how I’ve shifted my focus to being healthy since it looks like I can’t change the fat part, so I’m trying to eat as many anti-cancer, pro-healthy-gut foods as I can. It’s just what I’m doing right now, and I think it makes sense for me.
BUT.
It is at this point that the skinny girl smooshes up her face in indignation and horror and says, “OH NO! You’re NOT fat! You’re just a big girl!”
(Slight variations here, but that’s basically it, every time.)
And then I have to explain. And it’s because skinny girls everywhere (if you don’t have to shop in the plus size section, you’re skinny...deal with it...I’ve been relegated to the way back of every store and forced to choose between elastic-waisted pants monstrosities or low cut booty jeans that were designed for a size two girl who also happens to be eleven, and no person with a butt the size of mine should ever wear jeans that ride that low) don’t get it. They think that calling someone “fat” is the worst insult ever.
It’s not.
I’m allowed to describe myself using whatever adjectives I like. I’m also tall, and obsessive, and artistic. I’m sensitive, and introverted, and pessimistic. Oh, and FAT. I am fat. Fat fat fat fat fat.
There. It’s the other “F word.” Deal.
So, take my advice, skinny girls. When a fat girl calls herself fat, don’t agree or disagree with her. Don’t say, “But you’re so pretty.” That just means that you can’t be fat and pretty, which we all know is bull. Also, don’t call yourself fat so someone can tell you you’re not. That’s crap.
Just let me describe myself however I like. I am claiming my fat. I’m deciding to just let it be one little part of me, rather than the only thing that defines who I am. I appreciate that you don’t want me to feel bad, but the entire world is set up to make fat people feel like failures, and I’m choosing to take that away from them. My body doesn’t work like yours, that’s all. And that’s okay. I can also ride ten miles on my bike every morning before work, lift 100 pounds without hurting myself, walk three miles in 47 minutes, and go on a nine mile hike with my dad and sister because we got lost and none of us had any sense of direction.
Can your body do those things?
I can go without sleep for days, and show up for work and function with a migraine. I can get up for work at 5, work a full shift, then go home and teach, then go to a rehearsal and sing well.
Can your body do that?
No. It can’t. You drink soda and eat candy all day and take a leisurely 20 minute walk a few times a week with your dog, and you’re a size two. That’s just how life works. It’s not always kind, and it’s not always fair. I appreciate your kind thoughts, but it’s good.
Also, my organs need extra cushioning, in case of emergencies. Like, a punch in the gut, or something like that. Yeah. That.
So let’s all just smile and nod when someone describes themselves using a word we don’t like. Don’t contradict or agree, just listen and maybe it’ll all be okay.
See, some of us are at the level where we can call ourselves fat and not think of it as an insult. I don’t. I’m fat. Always been fat, probably always will be fat. It’s just how I’m made. Not insulting, just part of me, like being 5’8” tall, or having hazel eyes.
So every time it comes up in conversation, which it just does sometimes, especially when we’re talking about food and you ask about my super healthy lunches. I talk about how I’ve shifted my focus to being healthy since it looks like I can’t change the fat part, so I’m trying to eat as many anti-cancer, pro-healthy-gut foods as I can. It’s just what I’m doing right now, and I think it makes sense for me.
BUT.
It is at this point that the skinny girl smooshes up her face in indignation and horror and says, “OH NO! You’re NOT fat! You’re just a big girl!”
(Slight variations here, but that’s basically it, every time.)
And then I have to explain. And it’s because skinny girls everywhere (if you don’t have to shop in the plus size section, you’re skinny...deal with it...I’ve been relegated to the way back of every store and forced to choose between elastic-waisted pants monstrosities or low cut booty jeans that were designed for a size two girl who also happens to be eleven, and no person with a butt the size of mine should ever wear jeans that ride that low) don’t get it. They think that calling someone “fat” is the worst insult ever.
It’s not.
I’m allowed to describe myself using whatever adjectives I like. I’m also tall, and obsessive, and artistic. I’m sensitive, and introverted, and pessimistic. Oh, and FAT. I am fat. Fat fat fat fat fat.
There. It’s the other “F word.” Deal.
So, take my advice, skinny girls. When a fat girl calls herself fat, don’t agree or disagree with her. Don’t say, “But you’re so pretty.” That just means that you can’t be fat and pretty, which we all know is bull. Also, don’t call yourself fat so someone can tell you you’re not. That’s crap.
Just let me describe myself however I like. I am claiming my fat. I’m deciding to just let it be one little part of me, rather than the only thing that defines who I am. I appreciate that you don’t want me to feel bad, but the entire world is set up to make fat people feel like failures, and I’m choosing to take that away from them. My body doesn’t work like yours, that’s all. And that’s okay. I can also ride ten miles on my bike every morning before work, lift 100 pounds without hurting myself, walk three miles in 47 minutes, and go on a nine mile hike with my dad and sister because we got lost and none of us had any sense of direction.
Can your body do those things?
I can go without sleep for days, and show up for work and function with a migraine. I can get up for work at 5, work a full shift, then go home and teach, then go to a rehearsal and sing well.
Can your body do that?
No. It can’t. You drink soda and eat candy all day and take a leisurely 20 minute walk a few times a week with your dog, and you’re a size two. That’s just how life works. It’s not always kind, and it’s not always fair. I appreciate your kind thoughts, but it’s good.
Also, my organs need extra cushioning, in case of emergencies. Like, a punch in the gut, or something like that. Yeah. That.
So let’s all just smile and nod when someone describes themselves using a word we don’t like. Don’t contradict or agree, just listen and maybe it’ll all be okay.
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