Sarah Gone Wild

Just want to be clear about that. I wish there was something you could do to keep farts from smelling, because I’ve been producing some of the funniest sounding farts of my life and I’d really like to show that off.

Moving on.

I’ve been working on my sister’s website for her jewelry for a while now, but I’m no developer and I keep getting the same effing error 500 every time I try to upload images to the gallery. If any of you are familiar with Joomla!, I’d be much obliged if you would comment and help me out.

In the meantime, I helped her start her Etsy shop. She is a talented chica - I still can’t get over my wedding jewelry. LOVE! She’s starting small until she gets a better idea of what sells, but if any of you are interested, check out her shop - DesignByJulieJewelry. She’s working on adding pieces in all price ranges, but that shit takes time. That’s something neither of us have in abundance these days. And don’t hate on the design of her banner and avatar. I never claimed to be a designer. I’m just trying to be helpful.

I wore my skinny jeans on Saturday. I am certified skinny jean approved - meaning they were straight AND gay approved. I’ll take that. And I’m not gonna lie…I wasn’t going to ever wear them again until JD said they looked good. I puffy heart JD. I hope he and his Elvis-impersonating ex can make up because they were the cutest couple ever. Hear that, Elvis boy? Ditch the Gaysian.

In other news, I got my wedding set back. I had my rings resized finally (and dipped) and it’s so great to wear them again…finally. Now I hope I can lose my last 10 pounds. I don’t see my fuzzy sausage fingers getting any smaller, but I’d sure like to stop jiggling when I do cardio.

So, my doc put me on a diuretic the last time I went in because I’ve had borderline high BP in the past and this time it was even higher. Yep, I’m 28, just lost over 50 pounds and my BP went up. I call bullshit. This makes me so mad. It’s gotta be genetics, but still…even worse, it’s messing with my workouts. Friday I came home after a milkshake party at work, where I consumed far too many milkshake samples. I decided I had to work out to burn some of that off. I actually got a little sick before I worked out, but I figured I got some of the sugar out of my system and I’d be better off. I turned on level 3 of the Shred and got to it.

I noticed that I was struggling to keep up, but I figured it was because I took a few days off (and a few weeks off from the Shred). I kept at it until circuit three, when I felt like I might pass out and my heart was beating irregularly. I turned off the DVD and laid down on my mat until my heart calmed down. Then I stood up and started walking to the stairs. I got about halfway to the stairs when my vision dimmed and I almost passed out. I got upstairs, showered and laid down for a while. No shit, I felt drunk the rest of the night. I didn’t have anything at all to drink!

So I figured A) I was dehydrated like a mother, B) I’m a little out of shape still (duh) and C) consuming high levels of dairy and sugar right before a workout is probably the worst idea in the history of ever.

I came home tonight and decided to move back to level 2. I managed to get through it, but I couldn’t do all the reps and my heart was going nuts. So now I’m thinking the meds are just fucking with me. Will I get used to this? Will it go away? The suckiest part is my insurance ended yesterday from the old gig and insurance from the new gig doesn’t kick in until March…so I can’t go to the doc or anything. Blech.

Well, I have to pee again (I feel like a preggo or something!). Enjoy these.

I swore I wouldn’t do it. I was firm in my resolve. For a while. And then I started to wonder…what if I just tried it? It couldn’t hurt, right? Just to try?

But I resisted temptation. I held strong to my decision. For a while. My closest friends were doing it, but they loved me even though I didn’t. 

Then I got a new job. I was surrounded. Everyone was doing it. I tried to be stronger than the peer pressure.

This weekend, I caved. I threw caution to the wind and dove headfirst off the cliff after all the other loveable lemmings.

The skinny-jean-wearing lemmings.

I officially own my first pair of skinny jeans. And probably my last, since I’m not sure I’ll ever have the guts to wear them out of my house. I’m not a skinny jean kind of girl. I have monstrous thighs. My ankles are not small. I am not nor will I ever be petite. I have a large and oddly shaped arse. My hips are roughly ginormous. Come to think of it, this was probably a really bad plan. What was I thinking?? I don’t even really like rodents!

Maybe I’ll climb back up the cliff and return the damn pants.

Maybe I retract my lemming pledge.

I want out! I wasn’t meant to be a cool kid! I’ve never been a cool kid…I want to retreat to my corner. It’s quirky, dark and comfortable there. I like my corner. It has funny tshirts and normal jeans. It has unicorns and Yoshi and more cowbell.

I’m retreating. Take the pants. Just take ‘em. I’m outta here.

And please…don’t send the sniper squirrel after me. I was lying about not liking rodents. Well, except rats. They’re gross. But I like most of the others! I swear! No, please, not the sniper squirrel!!

Disclaimer: I am not trying to insult anyone who does wear skinny jeans. Well, maybe if you’re wearing them in true emo fashion…then I’ll make fun of you…fair’s fair…but normal, trendy skinny jeans wearers are cool with me. Don’t be sensitive. I’m making a hyperbolic analogy. Go with it. Hyperbole is the spice of life. Well, maybe not THE spice of life, but definitely one of them. Whatever. I’m just saying, if you’re sensitive about your pants, that’s your issue. Not mine. I’ve got enough of my own to deal with. Sensitive pants notwithstanding.

Yeah, okay, I’m neither, but mostly just because I lack the balls required for either.

I confess, I’m watching Jay Leno (of which I am NOT a fan, but it comes on right after fat people and I’m too lazy to do anything about it) and that’s where the title came from.

Anyway…I figured I should post something before anyone starts to worry. Or forgets that I exist. That’s just bad blogiquette.

Things have been crazy lately, but in a very good way. The new job is amazing. I seem to be holding my own from what I can tell. They haven’t told me to go away and never come back. That might be the cupcakes, though. Whatever. I’ll take it. I’ll make cupcakes every damn night if it means I get to stay. Even if the projects aren’t all glamorous (yeah, because the last gig was tres chic), working with the kind of people I am with every day is such an awesomely awesome piece of awesomeness. So there.

Ah, fuck, the cat has something to say to you all. Or not…it seems he wants to show you his butt and then attempt to impede my ability to type. Oh, now he’s gone to pout on the next cushion over because he’s being ignored. Ha, I poked him and he just stared at the back of the couch and pretended I don’t exist. Yeah, Kitty, do something that surprises me next time. Like cartwheels (catwheels?). Now that would be fucking cool. Acting like a cat? Not so much. Ass.

So anyway, I was watching The Biggest Loser tonight (and enjoying perhaps a glass of wine…or two…) when I was struck with the unshakable craving for cheesecake. I mean, a craving that was like the flames of hell, licking incessantly at my brain’s cheesecake receptors (those are real, don’t doubt me). T was too involved in the show to help out, so I drove to the store and proceeded to shop like a kindergartener. What is it about watching fat people on TV that makes a girl drive half-cocked to Shop n Save and buy coffee, marshmallows, cheesecake, hot fudge, milk and cookie dough? Seriously. Had I thrown some tampons in the basket, I don’t think the checker girl would have looked at me like that…

Anyway, now I’m just pissed because the stupid cheesecake has to thaw for THREE TO FOUR HOURS so I’ve been hacking small cheesecakey ice cubes off and attempting to eat them and now my teeth hurt. And I ate some cookie dough. And then cooked the rest of the dough and ate a couple cookies. And opened the marshmallows. And had some milk. However, the hot fudge has remained untouched. After all, that’s for the cheesecake.

So I guess my plan for weighing in tomorrow AM for the first time in a few weeks has been besmirched. Whoops. And I’ve actually been doing much better the last few days. I just got the Wii Active (LOVE) and have been bringing my lunch and all that good stuff. The dog even got walked the other day. He’s so cute when he walks. His ears flop when he trots.

I hate the word trot. Ever since I learned it was a synonym for diarrhea, hearing it has either made me a little uncomfortable or made me laugh. But even when I laugh, it still makes me uncomfortable. Trot. Ew. Speaking of diarrhea, this post has turned into a total brainal purge (brainal…haha…who’s uncomfortable now??).

I guess T might be right that I don’t need that last glass of wine before bed. Ah, fuck it. Since when do I listen to anything anyone tells me to do or not do?

Do you smell that? Someone farted. I gotta get outta here.

Oh, PS…I tried the new Bud Select 55 and it kicks MGD 64’s metallic-tasting ass. And the new Domino’s rocks.

Teresa, this one’s for you. I know your pain. And I admire your balls. I’m not ashamed to admit that.

My blog has been woefully neglected over the last month. I’ve had a lot going on, but even more so, I’ve had an influx of ridiculous blog spam. I don’t like having comments in moderation, so I generally try to get rid of the spam before I write…but there’s been so much that spamming comments has been exhausting, leaving no energy for writing new posts. So I decided to leave the comments for now and write.

However, the bubble announcing that I have 1569 comments awaiting moderation is making me twitchy.

Must.moderate.comments.

Later.

Anywhoodles, I think I’ve told most of the planet already, but I’m starting a new gig at the beginning of the year. I’m ridiculously excited about it, but it hasn’t really sunk in yet that I’m leaving. It really hasn’t sunk in that today is my last full day here. I’ll only be in Wednesday for an hour to finish wrapping things up, and then I’m out for good.

It feels so strange. I mean, this was technically my first real fulltime job, even though the original company is defunct. Same people for the most part, same clients…so it’s the same job. I’ve been here over three years. Giving notice was the most stressful thing I’ve had to do in recent history (including a just-to-be-sure-this-nausea-isn’t-a-human-parasite-pregnancy test on Christmas). I was a wreck, but for no reason. It went well, it’s been handled well…but I just feel weird. Don’t know why, though.

I’m so nervous for my first day. I need to pick out an outfit that’s casual and cute. I need to wash my car. I’m getting my herrs did tomorrow night (my lowlights will be much more purple this time for added funk). But…what if they don’t like me? What if I suck? What if this whole thing was just a really mean prank and isn’t even real? That would suck. It just doesn’t seem like this is really happening. I’m scared out of my mind! Totally second-guessing myself. I hate that.

I’m good enough. I’m smart enough. And gosh darnit, people like me.

Lather, rinse, repeat.

So…here’s hoping for a spectacular new year. Let 2010 kick the living shit out of 2009! Let LOLcats entertain you in the meantime:

Yeah, it’s Thanksgiving tomorrow. No, I’m not that excited, except by the fact that I get a 4-day weekend. Halle-fucking-lujah. I’ve slowly been breaking down over the last couple of weeks and I need time away.

I’ve gotten bad news after bad news lately and it’s been draining me of energy and motivation to stay healthy. I’ve gained a few pounds and I’m just down in general. So getting excited about the holiday and all of its exhausting family glory has been difficult to say the least. I’m grateful to have a big enough family to require travel and such, but I’m just not in the mood to play all nicey-nicey with the few relatives I have difficulty tolerating.

So, as an exercise in positivity (*pukes in mouth a little*), I’m going to force myself to list out all the things for which I am thankful. Here goes…

• My loving husband and best friend, who inexplicably hasn’t kicked me to the curb yet.
• My close relationship with my mom, stepdad, sister and brother.
• My Aunt Genny, who is so like Grandma V that it makes me sad sometimes, but also makes me happy to have her in my life.
• My health, even though I’ve been lacking in taking great care of myself the past couple of weeks.
• My paycheck…let’s leave it at that.
• My pup and asshole cat - entertainment would be much more expensive without them and our home far less hairy.
• Our home and all of its mess-filled glory.
• My amazing friends, without whom I would be a total wreck and loser. Thanks, ladies. You all know who you are.
• My extended family…hitting multiple houses each holiday is stressful as hell, but it would be far more depressing if I had nowhere to go.
• My car and its awesome gas mileage.
• Free recycling pickup at my house…it’s amazing how much I cringe at the thought of throwing plastic and glass in a normal trash can.
• The fact that I am a human and not a turkey.

I’m sure I’m missing lots of stuff here, but this covers the major things and makes me feel slightly better. I just feel so blah. Not even shopping at Kohl’s last night could make me feel better, and that’s really saying something. I hope that baking tonight will help me come around a little, but who knows?

Is anyone else in a major holiday funk this year? Aside from drinking lots of wine, what do you do to snap out of it? I need to find my happy place…this isn’t quite it, though…

Oh, well…Happy Zombie Turkey Day!

Remember me? Yeah, I’m not dead or anything. I’ve just been too busy or lazy or uninspired to write in the last few weeks. Depends on the day. Since I’m sitting here, waiting for client feedback (which will, undoubtedly, be enlightening and world-changing *cough*), I figured I’d take a few minutes to check in with the blogosphere. I’ve also sucked at commenting lately, too, so sorry about that.

I took a week off from working out and dieting, which was great for lots of reasons. First, it showed me that I really miss how I feel after a good workout. I may have a hard time motivating myself some days to go downstairs and punch, kick and swear myself into fitness glory, but when I don’t do it, I physically feel the difference. My jiggle is jigglier, my cottage cheese is cheesier, my arms wave goodbye even longer than usual…and my energy is down. I also feel it emotionally and mentally. I’m weepier, more sensitive, crabbier and altogether far less pleasant to be around. Sorry, T.

I’ve also been a bit discouraged that I’m not losing any sort of big numbers, but when shopping yesterday, I tried on a pair of size 10 jeans that weren’t the brand that runs a bit big - and they FIT. I didn’t buy them because it seems like there’s a big length difference between a 12 and a 10 and I hate looking like I survived a flood, but I have $20 Kohl’s Cash and I think they might come in long…we shall see. They were really awesome jeans. Or maybe they just made me feel really awesome, but actually, what’s the difference? If I feel awesome, people will totally believe that I am, in fact, awesome. Right?

Anyway, even knowing the difference between when I work out and when I don’t, I’ve still been majorly pressed for time in the last week and haven’t been able to motivate myself to find the extra time to work out every single day…I think I only covered Sunday, Monday and Saturday of last week, with a short dog walk on Tuesday. Part of this, I believe, is that I’ve grown a bit tired of my workouts and I need to change things up a bit. I can only “bring some intention” to level 3 so many times in a week before I want to shove that intention and my dumbells down Jillian’s fucking throat.

So I went to Zumba yesterday with Ms. B and today I still can barely walk. I love it. I really need to integrate this into my weekly lineup, but it’s so hard to get to a 9 AM Sunday class every single week, and I want to do it more than just once…so I caved and ordered the Total Body Transformation System DVD Set from Zumba.com. I’ll let you all know how I like it when it arrives. I’m excited, and hope that it at least helps me look like less of a stumbling nincompoop while I’m in class.

Part of the reason I’ve been so busy is because I’ve needed to bake a bit more than usual, and when I bake, I crank up the SassyPod and dance like an idiot. It’s amazing stress relief, it burns calories and it’s just fun. I think it makes my cupcakes taste better, too. I’m kind of obsessed. I think Mr. T would like me to stop challenging him to a Pants Off Dance Off…but isn’t that a funny mental image? Mr. T (the real one, or mine…equally hilarious in different ways) in a tighty-whitey battle royale of booty shaking? He’ll probably yell at me if I don’t clarify, so no, he doesn’t actually wear tighty-whities…it just adds hilarity to scene.

ANYWAY…this also made me realize that, since dancing is a great workout AND it’s tons of fun, I should really try to incorporate more of than into my weekly routine. Thus, the Zumba DVDs and…wait for it…I finally ordered the Get Fit workout DVDs from So You Think You Can Dance. Yeah, Kupono totally sold me on them when I saw the concert on Nov. 1. I’ve been trying to find them in stores for weeks, but have been unsuccessful, so I caved and bought them from Target.com. Again, I’ll let you know how I like them once I try them out. I really hope that A) my uncoordinated ass can actually DO the workouts and B) they’re gonna make me sweat till I bleed. Okay, not actually, but who doesn’t love some C&C Music Factory??

Sidebar…did you know that one of the lyrics to that song is “…It’s your world and I’m just a squirrel/Trying to get a nut to move your butt to the dance floor…” I’m the master of mis-hearing lyrics (hello, “Hold me close now, Tony Danza”???), but this is real. And hysterical. Almost as good as “I used to be commander-in-chief of my pimp ship, flyin’ high”…or maybe it’s even better. Not many songs incorporate mentions of furry-tailed rodents with synthesizers and heavy bass.

Well, that was a fun trip down Random Lane. Until next time, here’s this:

So, Mr. T works with this chick and I’m convinced she’s in love with him and he doesn’t believe me. So I’ll leave it to you all to decide.

Let me start by saying that I trust 100% that my husband would never even think about cheating on me. But other bitches don’t know that. And if they do, some will take it as a challenge and try to step up their wooing game. I generally despise other girls because, let’s face it, most are catty bitches who never mentally graduated from middle school. They play games and don’t respect other girls. This is a broad generalization (hahahaha), and doesn’t apply to the girls in my circle, of course, but even they had to prove at some point that they weren’t typical girls before I really let them in - and I expect nothing but the same in return.

Some background. T works in sales and is out of the office and on his phone quite a bit. Even when he’s home for the night, he still takes work calls. Almost every single morning, someone from his office calls him. He is available 24/7. I hate it, and I know he does, too, but that’s the job.

Here’s the thing. The girl in question, who is single and the secretary, calls him a lot. A call may start with a work-related question (I suspect that she acts stupid about stuff just to call him), and then she transitions to complaining about their boss (which is fine, and I can totally relate to needing to vent), but she continues the conversation FOREVER. And he doesn’t often cut her off and say that he’s home with me and wants to spend time with me. Not that I’m generally jealous, but this irritates me because I know it feeds her ideas about where she stands with him. By continuing to spend time talking to her, she knows she’s got his attention.

He thinks, because she always says she wants to meet me, that it means she’s not interested. Oh, no, my misguided male companion. That means just the opposite - she wants T and I to FEEL like she’s safe, but is also trying to size me up and get closer to him. It’s all part of the immature game.

While I have no problem with him having female friends, I do have an issue with him not creating any boundaries for this girl. I’m the wifey. I’m number one. I need to feel that way, and she needs to know, without a doubt, that I am far more important than her. I mean, she even calls on weekends sometimes. SHE doesn’t work weekends. T does, but that doesn’t mean she has cause to call him. He does not report to her, so there’s really no need for it. But it does, and he’ll talk to her while we’re in the car together, at home together…he’ll walk in the door on the phone at night and continue to talk for another ten or twenty minutes.

And yes, I am an insecure freak. So that definitely doesn’t help me out, but her behavior just SCREAMS to me that she’s interested in my husband. I hear her giggle when they talk. *Barf* Bottom line, she can want him all she wants. She’ll never have him. However, he needs to set boundaries…no weekend calls, keep the calls short, don’t spend a long time talking to her when he’s home with me. I get that they like to bitch about work together, and that’s 100% understandable and cool by me - it just needs to stop when his 45-minute drive home ends at our driveway.

I didn’t think anything of it for a while, but it just seems like her calls are getting more frequent (and happen outside of work hours more often) and that’s what makes me suspicious of her intentions. It’s not like I want him to confront her, or that I feel the need to go all Jerry Springer on her ass and say, “Bitch, step off my man!” and snap my fingers…because that’s unnecessary and very overdramatic. I just want some boundaries. Am I being unreasonable on this?

Maybe this is a sign of good things to come???

Remember my post about the handbag giveaway? The Fantabulously Frugal Lisa partnered with Handbag Heaven to give away a handbag to two lucky girls - and out of hundreds of entries, I was one of those two lucky bitches!!! Holla!

After telling everyone I ever met that I actually won something (besides the tye-dyed beach towel from a magazine giveaway in like 1991), I started searching for the bag I wanted to make mine. After much hemming and hawing (what the hell does that mean anyway? I don’t think I actually hemmed or hawed once…), I chose this little beauty, The Moxie:

I know, I played it safe. Maybe I should have gone for something bolder that I wouldn’t use as much, but I really liked this purple beauty. And would I really carry a lime green hobo bag around? Well, yes, I probably would, but this is what I chose and I’m sticking to it.

So thanks for holding such an awesome giveaway, ladies, and thank you, Mr. Random Number Generator, for making me a winner!

Oh, and for all you glowing pregos reading my blog, this one’s for you. xo

I know I have a ways to go yet, but I had a realization today that I think might help me over this mental hump I’ve reached.

So, I was at Old Navy over lunch, on my quest for shirts that fit. Most of my closet contains clothes that are pretty sloppy looking on me now, and I’d like to look halfway decent when I go out in public, plus I’m getting a kick out of catching glimpses my hot new bod reflecting back at me from tinted windows (but no, I’m not that girl…stick with me).

So, I’m trolling the clearance aisle and I head straight for the rack of mediums, grab a handful of items and head to the fitting room. No shit, every single shirt fit. I actually got to pick what I bought based on what I really WANTED, instead of having what fit dictate my purchases. I’m THAT girl! I can fit in stuff! I mean, I can actually look at stuff and know how it’s going to fit and that there are pretty good chances that I’ll look pretty decent in it. For people who have never been big, you have NO IDEA what an incredible feeling this is. Shopping is finally fun again.

Oh, and I exchanged a size 12 pants for a size 10 this weekend. I don’t even care that they run big, because now I can say, “Oh, I’m a 10 or 12, depending on how they’re made.” Again, if you haven’t been heavy, you really cannot identify with how impactful this statement is. I comfortably fit in the misses department and I don’t have to wonder if or when I’ll need to start shopping the women’s department. I can even buy some juniors-sized stuff (mostly shirts, but not button down, and not pants because juniors aren’t fitted for tits, hips or asses).

But in cue-sad-violin-music news, my knee is not cooperating with this whole running thing. I might be changing my mind on that whole thing…we’ll see.

Well, okay, I was just recruited to go do on-the-street focus groups on the Loop…great. Peace out, homefries.

Before you get all riled up reading this, please refer to this. And note: I have a lot of crap running through my brain right now and this could get jumbled.

Okay. As you all know, I myself am a woman who struggles with my self image and weight. I absolutely believe that the media promotes an unhealthy body image for women - to a certain degree. But as someone who also has a handle on reality, I understand why so many skinny women are used in advertising, particularly for men’s products. Come on, how would Axe sell its nauseating line of “manly” body fragrance if the spots showed a dude being chased down by a herd of plus-sized, jiggly women? I don’t think many people would jump at the chance to buy that, no matter what reality is…they are selling a FANTASY. Period.

Along the same lines, it pisses me off to hear people bitch about how thin runway models are. Please note: there is a HUGE difference between high fashion and ready to wear. For high fashion, the women are simply over-glamorized clothes hangers. They are not SUPPOSED to be curvy - they are selling an ideal, the actual piece that hangs off of them. They are not selling themselves in it. On the other hand, I fully believe that larger models absolutely should be used to model and showcase ready to wear fashion as these items need to show how they look on a body. That is their purpose - to be worn by actual humans. Therefore, it makes sense to show how these clothes look on a variety of sizes - INCLUDING small sizes. If we’re going to embrace diversity, that means you can’t begin to alienate the skinny.

That said, I have very strong feelings on perpetuating the idea that being larger AND unhealthy is okay. It absolutely IS.NOT. Show me a curvy model with cellulite who believes in eating well and exercising regularly and I fully support her having a successful, long career. Show me a slightly overweight, totally out of shape model and I resolutely object. At the same time, I equally object to interviewing skinny-fat models who talk about how they never work out and eat anything they want. Guess what, lady? You’re just as likely to drop dead of heart failure as a visibly overweight person is.

Bottom line - we all need to work on being HEALTHY. Who gives a flying fuck what size you are if you are taking care of yourself? I know that I will never be a two, or a four, or even a six. I’ll be LUCKY if I can ever squeeze these wasted-on-me childbearing hips into a size eight. But you know what? I’m okay with being a 10 or a 12 because I know I’m doing everything I can to be my healthy best.

To the models who bitch about the standards they are held to - shut the fuck up. You CHOSE this career knowing full well what was expected of you. Same with actresses. It is your job to be pretty and thin. You get paid to work out every day and hire personal chefs. There’s nothing wrong with gaining a few pounds if you are still being healthy, so I do wish the media would back off on that crap, but if you can’t handle the pressure of being in the public eye, you shouldn’t have chosen this path in life.

And one more thing…at some point, we as a society need to begin explaining what Photoshop is to young girls so they don’t feel the need to hold themselves to a completely unattainable standard of beauty. Advertising sells. It sells the ideal we all pursue. That’s why these images are so common.  You’ll never get away from that, but it’s important to educate young girls on this process so they understand (and tell the boys about it, too, so their expecations are a little more realistic). And again, I do think there are a lot of products that can sell just as well by featuring a diverse range of people…but just as stupid things like homophobia, sexism and racism will always exist on some level, so will prejudice against those who are overweight.

And I’m not done yet. It’s not okay to pick on someone because of their size. It’s okay to be big and beautiful…but only to an extent. If you choose to overeat and not exercise, you are deciding to put your health at risk. It’s sickening to see how quickly the percentage of overweight children continues to grow. Don’t let your bad decisions negatively impact your children’s lives. Kids these days are fucking ruthless. Even when I was a kid, I remember being called ”Thunder Thighs” when I was heavier and then “Jolly Green Giant” and “Tree” when I hit a growth spurt and got tall and lanky. That hurt a lot. 

It’s not okay that the “normal” kids make fun of the fat kids, but I seriously believe that there should be some sort of child neglect charge that can be brought against parents who let their children become obese. It is NOT FAIR to them. They learn from you and if you teach them to comfort themselves with food and not exercise, you are perpetuating a dangerous and unnecessary cycle. It is not easy to stay healthy, and it’s okay to not eat perfectly all the time, but come on. Parents have GOT to be held accountable for the actions they pass on to their kids. Parents can be charged with leaving their kids home alone, or in a car alone, or buying alcohol for minors, but not for overfeeding their kids. All are irresponsible, but only one is overlooked.

Which brings me to my next point. When we were on vacay, Mr. T said something about not believing in food addiction, that saying you are addicted to food is just an excuse. I got heated and yelled a little because I truly believe all overweight people have some level of food addiction that gets them and keeps them heavy. How can you say alcoholism is a disease, but not food addiction? You don’t need to drink liquor to survive, but you absolutely, 100% need to eat to live. How is it so hard to understand that food is addictive if people are expected to consume it every single day? And don’t even get me started on the fucking food industry and the chemicals they put in foods to make them addicitive. You can’t quit eating. You will fucking die. Even when you overcome your dependency on food, it will forever be in front of you, tempting you. You can throw out all the alcohol or keep drugs out of the house, but there is no way you can avoid interacting with food.

I’m running out of steam here. I know I’ve made some huge generalizations that won’t apply to 100% of cases, but I’m just so sick of some of these debates that I read about. Whether it’s Dove’s campaign for real beauty being bashed because Dove is owned by the same people who own Axe or Glamour running articles on big and beautiful models (size 8 is so not big, by the way), I feel like some of the most important points are being completely overlooked. There are circumstances that dictate the need for super skinny women, but there is also a lack of focus on being truly healthy. It starts with parenting and continues through the media and social pressures. Women need to know HOW to love themselves, whether they are big, small or normal - whatever the fuck that is.

Rant over.