a mind fuck:

so. i tweeted about this the other day and i wasn’t trying to be vague- i’ve just really trying to wrap my head around it and it is a SERIOUS mind fuck. i’m going to try my best to explain the last few days, but really…there’s this huge shift that’s happened and i’m not sure i can capture it in words, but since that’s what i was born to do, here we go:

have you ever been in a conversation with someone and in the middle of it your brain bitch slapped you and said “hey you ignorant fuck…pay attention: you will never be the same after this”?

welcome to the last few days.

you meet people in life. you meet them in the oddest and most unexpected ways. one time you’re in line at a store, another you’re sitting next to each other at event. one day you go visit a friend and meet the neighbors. i believe, to my core, that there is a time and a reason for everything in life- hell, i have that very thing tattooed on my body...fewer words, same idea. each person, each event is meant to teach you something you needed to know in that moment or at that point in your life. some things you have to wait years for because you’re not ready for them yet, others help you lead up to that point. have i lost you yet? i feel like i’m babbling…

TO THE POINT:

saturday i was visiting friends and we decided to go down and visit the pool at their apartment complex. i’m not sure the exact details, suffice to say they’ve lived there for several years and haven’t met many of the neighbors. i’m the same way. i’ve lived places for YEARS before learning the name of any of the neighbors. currently, i have NO CLUE who else lives in my building and there’s only three units. i don’t like people as a general rule and i’ve learned the hard way that ignoring your neighbors is MUCH better than dealing with drama and bullshit. i don’t need to borrow a cup of sugar from anyone…it’s not worth the inevitable train wreck.

back to saturday, we went to their complex pool and met some of the neighbors.

jesus- i’m making a mess of this already.

so. we met two of the neighbors- two gentlemen who have been living there for a few months. we all chatted a bit, one of them and i ended up hitting it off quite well, we (my friends and i) were invited to the gentlemen’s apartment to chat and play dominos. it all went very well. best outcome of meeting the neighbors possible. then monday night i was invited back to their home to chat and hang out.

back story: these gentlemen moved here a few months ago from one of the many war torn countries on our havoc cursed earth. i’ll let that sink in a bit...it took me a while to really understand the impact of that simple sentence- they moved here from a war torn county. they didn’t return from deployment, they didn’t vacation there, they didn’t spend some time there, they LIVED there. GREW UP in the middle of war. their whole life experience has been turmoil and tragedy. all the things i’ve grown up seeing on the news from as far back as i can remember- THEY LIVED IT. they’re still living it.

the guy that i hit it off with…life is so endlessly fascinating…we’re 4 months apart in age. we both have bachelor’s degrees in English/Literature. we’re both music and movie fanatics. he’s wicked smart with all the different languages, physics, literature info in his brain. we have commonality that astounds me. even with a language barrier we crack jokes and laugh and (for the most part) understand each other shockingly well. it’s almost like finding out you’ve been leading a parallel life with someone halfway across the globe.

but that’s where the similarities ended. parallel lives in completely separate universes.

see, he grew up with chaos and destruction and loss. i grew with comfort and security and lower-middle class america. he grew up with it being normal to see civil unrest in the streets. grenades, bombs, guns, daily fighting were typical. loss was almost expected or at least less of a shock. i grew up never actually seeing any type of fight in person except the one bad date i went on my junior year in high school and that was just one punch. i’ve never been around live fire, or bombs, or riots or ANYTHING more than a long line of cranky walmart shoppers at christmas time.

i remember watching things or hearing about things on tv. we bought our first tv in 1990 so my mum’s husband could watch the initial wave of desert shield. this guy grew up watching out his front door. we worried about my mum’s husband being recalled to the marines for active duty. this gentleman watched his friends and family and town called to active duty willing or not. i read about sadaam in newsweek during high school. he lived all the events first hand. i watched friends and family go off for tours during OEF. he was in the middle of it. literally.

i tend to forget that all the things going on right now are history. we are living history that will be written about and analyzed and talked about forever. and he’s been literally LIVING in the middle of that history. does this make sense? i cant explain…i hear about soldiers deployed for 9 months, 18 months, years even. they’re trained, they’re taught to expect the problem, they’re prepared and given tools and support and you know…they volunteer to serve their country and go over to these places. i can imagine growing up in that. not having a choice. being forced to learn your own ways to deal with it. learning to expect the chaos and feeling lost when it’s calm. as kids they don’t have the training, they don’t have the support, they don’t get to leave in a few months and come back to their real homes where walking to the grocery store doesn’t take 5 hours because of a sudden gun battle.

and i look at my darling steve- how much it affected him being over there for his short deployment time. i saw how much it hurt him and how much it changed him and how he carried that with him…and then i try to think about having to live that every. single. day.

and this gentleman- his spirit- he has this amazing spirit. he exudes calm and an assurance and a security. from such chaos comes such peace. don’t get me wrong- i’m sure there’s an inner battle i’m not privy to. and i know there’s only so much you can see in 6 hours of conversation broken by language differences. but there’s also SO MUCH you can see in that time. there’s laughter and jokes and humility and honesty.

i can’t…there aren’t the right words for how in awe i am. this person with so many parallels but on such a different plane. the same age, the same interest, but such amazingly different lives. i was in awe of the things he was willing to share with me and the experiences he’s lived and the life he is planning. the way he talks about people he’s known and lost. the true, deep respect he has for his family. the drive he has to go on and make a better life come hell or high water.

but…there’s still…what am i trying to say…FUCK…it was so…sobering i guess is the closest word-

to realize and make that connection between the news and life- and i mean it’s happened before. there’s big events- there’s steve deploying and coming home, there’s friends currently serving, there’s local news that hits home, there’s current events and chaos everywhere. but this is HARD CORE real life- does any of this make sense? this is real life history not reading an article with unknown spin in a magazine. this isn’t a journalists view of the events. this is LIFE. right in front of me.

and through the week i’ve had the chance to spend even more time- i’ve been invited into homes for dinner. i’ve had several long conversations that were almost half arguments about differences in culture and ideas and goals. i’ve looked differently at my experiences and how i’ve viewed life until now. i’m trying to remind myself that even though it’s not the same, i’ve also worked damn hard to get to where i’m at today. granted, my circumstances are a fucking cake walk comparatively, but still...

i don’t know- guess this is all a long way of saying it’s been a thought provoking week. it’s been a week of learning and listening and trying to imagine what life is like outside my protected little bubble. and, if you have time, you know...try it.

ok kids. this is an URGENT s.o.s. for help and a preemptive date blog all in one:

there’s another fish. heaven bless the full moon and all the crap it’s bringing out…my blog is LOVING it.

so- fish:

WAIT: back up…there’s one other fish in there- cue “biggest contradictory asshole in the pond”

and we’ll back up and tell the story now:

email from fish: “hello. you have really sexy eyes. and a nice top. i would like to see more.”

um. nice. haven’t we been through this before? i selected the most docile, plain, NON-SEXY pictures of myself i could find. one in sunglasses, one at work, and one at a friend’s birthday party. NOTHING DIRTY. no centerfold material, no questionable strapless tops (ok…the dress is strapless, but it’s a ¾ body picture…from far away…).

*sigh*

so i look at the fish’s profile out of sheer curiosity- “i’m the most respectful, nice guy. i would never do anything evil or degrading or mean to people”

so. being me. i email the fish back: “well, aren’t you the biggest contradictory fish in the pond. (played back his own words for him). piss off.”

fish: “you’re a bitck. that’s Russian for…well, you can guess.” (**editor's note: this is the first time i've been cursed out in russian...YAY me...i think...)

me: that's russian for YOU'RE AN ASSHOLE? i couldn't agree more. don't you hate it when someone calls you on your bullshit? perhaps you should remove your head from you ass before you email people.

so. there’s another fish out of the pond. cracks me up. so much for the nicest guy…ha ha ha ha ha…all the bullshit they put on their profiles because women are obviously stupid and we’ll never see through that…ever…at all. fucking idiot.

SO.

back to the s.o.s.:

fish: 40ish, landscaper, virgo, not my type, but not terrible.

initial emails were decent, good sense of humor, full sentences…showing promise.

THEN the freak flag comes out- decides that we should “accidentally bump into each other monday night” and if that works well he wants to go out again friday. REALLY? planning TWO already? we’ll give him points for courage.

then i read through his profile- the “first date” section- FREAKING NOVEL. and this is coming from _ME_. seriously…slightly creepy…goes through the whole date IN DETAIL about how it will go, what they would order, where they would go for a walk, the type of car they would both drive…little over the top there…

BUT…points for creativity…so…you know…how bad could a 30 minute date be?

so i email back- “where am i “accidentally bumping into you” and what time?

and here’s where it gets strange (well, more strange):

“Well Sherry, I remember it this way... You stop into PF Chang's (across from the Mall) for a tall iced tea 'cause its soo hot that Monday. I am at the bar/lounge & take notice of the pretty girl that just walked in dressed in a cute little outfit. I walk up to you & accidentally bump into your right arm... The rest will be history!”

630ish? PF Changs Lounge?

Berry

and yes, that’s his real name…sherry and berry…ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?

but…the email…creep anyone else out? does it make you wonder at all if he has THE REST of the story already planned out?

“then i gently smother you with an ether soaked rag and assist you into my waiting vehicle. you awaken as dirt is being shoveled over you in the back woods of one of my “landscaping” jobs…”

i mean SERIOUSLY…is this freaking anyone else out at all?

*cough*

i think i’m getting sick…

*cough*

dang summer colds can sneak up on you real quick…

back to the point- do i go? to get what you KNOW will be a good story for ya'll? or do i NOT go to avoid BECOMING my own "breaking news at 11" story?

yes, i'm that big of a bitch

so...seriously, why didn't i try this fish thing YEARS ago? it's endless blog fodder.

last night some guy sent me an instant message on fish. the conversation went like this:

him: hey

me: hi

him: tell me about you

me: (in my mind...isn't that what the profile is for?) ummm...what do you want to know?

him: what do you do for fun?

me: occasionally i get to go out with friends. like to go dancing...old school 2 step, 10 step, that kind of thing.

him: occasionally?

me: hard to go out often when babysitters charge $5 per hour.

him: how many kids do you have?

me: (in my mind: ummm...that was on the profile too) two boys

him: oh. so what do you like to do for fun?

me: going for the instant replay?

him: yup

me: well, since you obviously don't have the time to read a profile or pay attention to a conversation, thanks but no thanks.

i mean...ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME? asking questions that are in the profile AND repeating yourself right off the bat? could you scream: "hey, i'm just looking for a quick fuck with as little effort as possible" any louder? 

MOTHERFUCKING ASSHOLE. well, not fucking this mother, but you get the idea.

~sigh~

stupid boys.

BIG ANNOUNCEMENT

i have a REALLY REALLY big announcement today:

are you ready for this?

i don’t think you are…

you’d better sit down…

BIG BIG BIG NEWS ABOUT TO BREAK:

i

am

WHITE.

i know. shocker. right?

it turns out though, i am not just white. i am WHITE. as in W.H.I.T.E. as in only powder can beat me on color, and only a saltine can be me on crackerness.

*sigh* i don’t even know if that’s a word…crackerness. it is now…

so. how did i find out this earth changing information? i had a gentleman hit me up on plenty of fish last night. needless to say, his skin is darker than mine (which only rules out sean patrick flanery (sad panda)).

so. this gentleman chatted with me a bit and asked me a few questions:

#1: do you date brothas?

(the answer to the question is: it doesn’t matter to me what you look like as long as you have good teeth and you can hold a good conversation.)

i laughed. i about peed myself laughing. not because of the question. but because of the way i read the question in my head.

see: i’m a goober.

you know how we all have those little voices in our heads that read along with us...right? so, WHITE WHITE WHITE me read the question: do you date brothas? and then i had to read it again because it didn’t sound right in “my” voice…and i’m not even kidding…i tried it four different times before i could get a voice in my head that didn’t make me giggle. then came the challenge of responding to it…oh lordy…there is NO WAY ON EARTH i could ever even attempt to use the word “brotha” in a sentence without DYING laughing or ruining my new chair peeing myself. can you see _ME_ trying to use the word brotha? i mean…really…honestly…can you even begin to imagine the white gooberness of _ME_ trying to say “brotha”?? having flash backs to office space when michael bolton was listening to the rap music while stuck in traffic. only imagine that times a million and you’re starting to near my nerd level.

i’m not a club girl. i’m not a cool chick. i’m not a fist bumper or walk with a swagger girl or a booty popper (all these images are making me cackle in my head right now). i can’t grind, i’m not fly (laughing AGAIN), i’m not anything even on the fringes of anything non chlorox. i try to dance and it looks like a TRAIN WRECK. seriously…you’re wondering when the paramedics are going to arrive to make the seizure stop. now…imagine THAT hot mess trying to say brotha…

*sigh*

question #2 wasn’t so much of a question as a request…we had switched to yahoo chat by this point and somewhere in the last 2 years of me not using yahoo chat they added the ability to share music.

that’s right.

you can see where this train wreck is heading.

he wanted me to “throw down a mixx”

ummm…does that mean you want me to add a song? how the fuck do you even do that? i have no clue how to work the stupid program let alone add things to it.

so. i try to think of a song. and at this point he’s posted several new and old club songs so i generally have a feel for his taste in music…and all that comes to my mind is the soundtrack from whip it (which i have been religiously listening to the last week). and it’s not typical music, or music anywhere close to what he’s been “throwing down”. so…i try to think of other tracks i have on my computer…blue grass, country, irish drinking songs, top 20’s…FUCK. i’m going to look like a RETARD.

needless to say, he only asked me to do that once. the rest were his picks.

then there’s the whole conversation in general. I LIKE WORDS. i don’t understand slang. i have a degree in LITERATURE. REAL WORDS. REAL SENTENCES. REAL CONVERSATION. i’m always going over the limit on text messages because i HATE the “txt spk”. like i said, i’m not a club girl, i’m not cool. i’m not hip to the jive. i don’t know the cool lingo. my only source for new words are the kids on the disney channel shows. i say things like “what’s shakin bacon?” not “hey yo…wazzup homeskillet”. i say “cool beans” not “bombdiggity”.

so. half the conversation i’m missing or guessing badly at…but oddly, the conversation kept going.

then i notice something:

boo

did i scare you? seriously…what does boo mean? boo- that’s what he kept calling me…is this a phrase i should know? is it slang for white? as in so white i make casper step back and say “bitch PLEASE!” is it just something he decided to call me for whatever reason?

so. to sum up. i’m the whitest white girl you may ever run across. remember how awkward julia stiles was in that dance movie? i make THAT look normal and comfortable. tragic. seriously.

but…somehow…he thinks i’m cool. and wants to chat again…heaven help me…or probably more help HIM…i’m sure i hurt his head more than a little…

can you see the "what if" monster under my bed?

today all the local news stations are awash with a horrifying story of a local business woman and her son who were killed in an act of domestic violence. please know that i have no information on this besides what’s in the news- but from what i’ve read in the reports this woman had been on her own for the last 6 months (at least) trying to get away from the situation. she was smart. she had support. she had the right tools. and it still didn’t end well.

a year or more ago there was a similar story about a woman whose body was found in a warehouse days after disappearing when she told friends she was going to talk to her abuser “just one last time…”

just one last time…

i hate domestic violence. i loathe the cowards (men and women) who abuse the person they are supposed to love and support. i abhor the behavior and the way society acts and thinks there’s some reason or excuse or something that the VICTIM should have done different.

i am a domestic violence survivor. i’ve talked about it before. it was bad. he never hit me. he never threw things or broke things. you’d be surprised how many people think that it wasn’t “real” domestic violence.

i’ve told pieces of my story. there’s some (oddly) funny thing that make me laugh now. there’s some things that still terrify me. there’s more than a few things that still make me ask questions. and there’s days like today, reading different news reports, seeing other stories played out in the headlines when i wonder…why me? i’ve never been a big believer in the question “why me” i’m more of the school of “why NOT me? why would i be exempt?” but for this i wonder “why me?” why did _I_ make it out safe? why do i keep defying the statistics? why am i the one that refuses to conform?

and then there’s the even more terrifying questions: what if i’m not safe? what if i’m not exempt? what’s to keep my ex from snapping about owing back child support and coming after me? what makes me so sure that i’m out and away from it and protected? i mean…realistically my divorce has been finalized for…damn…just at 6 years now (some day in july, 2004…not sure the exact date). so i’m a ways out. but so much has changed in that time. he’s currently 5k+ behind in support…people have done freaky things about way less money. he knows people are looking for him, yet no one can find him. what’s to keep something from happening and no one STILL being able to find him?

is domestic violence ever over?

i still find myself doing things only because i still think that’s what i’m “supposed” to do. i put my purse in the grocery cart instead of keeping it on my shoulder because it “looks like a white trash whore” when i keep it on my shoulder. i’m still leery about leaving the house without make up. i still tense up when i hear trucks pull up outside my house at night even though i haven’t had to worry about what kind of mood he would be in when he got home from work in over 6 years. there are still memories attached to everything- i can’t help but think about the fight over green beans when i make tater tot casserole. i always hesitate when i invite people to events because i remember being accused of attempting to kidnap him when i invited him to thanksgiving at a friends house. i remember…god…i remember too much for being away from it 3 times longer than i was in it.

it’s obviously still not over for me. what if it’s not over for him? what if he comes back? the woman in the news today was a damn strong woman. she fought for women’s rights and children’s rights. and it still happened to her. i like to think of myself as a strong woman. a fighter…

years ago when i moved out i had been talking to a domestic violence counselor to try to get things in order and figure out all the how’s and when’s. to this day, there is one thing she said that STILL plays over and over in my mind: once he knows you’re leaving, NEVER, EVER, under any circumstances go anywhere alone with him. at that point he has nothing left to lose.

sure enough, the minute he found out i was leaving he wanted to go somewhere and talk. just inside, away from the people (a friend came to help me move). just for a minute, one last talk…

over and over in the back of my head i kept hearing the voice: never, ever go anywhere with him alone. maybe i was going to be one of the statistics. maybe there was a different ending that day. but i listened to that voice. how many women have never heard that voice? how many women did have a friend there? how many women thought “just one last time…it’ll be ok…”.

maybe you can hear the voice. maybe you can have the support. maybe sometimes there’s just nothing left that you can do. maybe some people are just hell bent on destruction no matter what safe guards are in place.

i’ve spent today sad and scared and angry and confused. sad for the loss of a beautiful woman i never knew, scared that it could be me, angry that these things keep happening, confused how people can still blame the victims. there was no reason at all for all this loss. there is no excuse. there is no explanation. there is tragedy. there is sadness. there is monumental loss. there is a gaping hole left even between people who never met.

i’m sad that so many people are hurting because of one act of cowardice. i’m angry that this many years later i’m still scared. i’m confused why people want to blame rather than support or fix.

most of all i’m scared.

if you were in an accident...

as i was driving to work this morning i kept imagining what would happen if i were in a serious car accident- partially because of some SERIOUSLY idiotic driver, and partially because my poor little car is not so slowly falling apart and an accident would be an easy way to total her out and get a new one…that’s what insurance is for, right? it would just have to be a SPECIFIC accident…you know…when the kids aren’t in the car, hit the passenger’s side hard enough to total the car but not enough to total me…no bursting into flames, no permanent damage or limb loss for anyone involved…not that i’ve put much thought into this or anything.

anytwaddle- i was thinking about what would happen during the emergency portion of said accident, and it occurred to me that i would be THAT person. you know, the one being hauled away on a gurney saying completely inappropriate things like:

-good thing my momma always taught me to wear clean underwear in case of an accident…cause THAT would be embarrassing

-sir, would you mind using a mint before you proceed with CPR? (yes, i realize i wouldn’t be able to SAY this if CPR were required, but you KNOW i would be thinking it).

-say, when you dig my phone out of the wreckage, would you mind adding your contact information? you’re pretty cute…

-are there news crews on scene? would you mind arranging my hair a little better? would like to look my best for the public…

-did my coffee spill? would you mind grabbing that for me? would hate to waste a good latte…

*sigh* perhaps this is why i haven’t been in any accidents…the universe knows the rescue crews just aren’t ready for me.

so. i had an interesting weekend. i’m still trying to decide what parts of it are blog appropriate…how brave are you my blog readers? cause honestly…some of the potential content makes _ME_ blush. so…you know…it’s not for the faint of heart. if you thought some of my other stories were racy or slightly inappropriate…this would NOT be for you. holy hannah montana flashing a camel toe…imagine going out on a limb. take a left and head out on a smaller branch- got it? now, follow that branch out to a little twig…keep going…see that little tiny budding leaf? park an elephant on it. that’s how far out there it is…i mean...DAMN. and now i’m sure you’re curious as to what could be so bad…but trust: it’s RACY. but i’ll leave it up to ya’ll…

my kids have discovered tang. they think it’s the greatest thing ever. it makes me think of oompah loompah blood.

today is a bit random if you haven’t guessed.

have you ever wondered why life is the way it is? i mean…i get it. i’m a bitch. so i’m probably just collecting my karmic justice. but it really pisses me off when the world’s most annoying co-worker EVER that makes me want to punch babies all day long wins 5k at a casino and i find out i have to cut my budget by 400 for the second time in a year (so that’s 800 in budget cuts in 12 months…nice). i just don’t get it, you know? my snark doesn’t hurt anyone. it’s mostly side comments that have no bearing on anything besides me feeling smug for popping off a snarky comment. but…you know…WHAT THE HELL UNIVERSE? how do the assholes keep getting away with lying and cheating and i keep getting my ass kicked for trying to do the right thing? i just don’t understand how the scales work. is life really more like the monty python witch trial than we care to admit? are some of us tagged from a past life that we can’t remember? why do some people have such an obvious midas touch while others of us have the charmin touch? (get it? everything we touch is shitty…charmin…the cha cha cha bears…ha ha ha ha ha ha…i crack me up. *sigh*).

i think maybe the blue is getting to my brain. that, and sheer boredom.

oh yeah…how would you read this: “do not take if you are pregnant or nursing, under 12 years of age.”

does that mean if you’re a pregnant 12 year old you shouldn’t take it? but if you’re knocked up and 13 you’re fine? does that mean if you’re nursing a 12 year old you shouldn’t take it? who would be nursing a 12 year old? isn’t jr high uncomfortable enough without having to take milk breaks?

hmm. think that was uncomfortable? multiply by eleventy billion and you’re getting CLOSE to the potential blog…something to think about…

confession time:

“Something you've been keeping to yourself for quite some time needs to see the light of day -- but rather than being scared, you're actually grateful that it's finally coming out. In fact, you feel more lighthearted than you have in some time! It's great to discover that what you thought was such a big deal is actually not really a matter of life and death. The support of family and friends makes all the difference.” –yahoo horoscope: 7/6/2010

ok. the horoscope said i need to confess, so here we go. a list of confessions i’ve been holding in: not for the faint of heart:

i just ate half a pack of york peppermint flavored dark chocolate pieces. and i’m not sorry.

in jr high the pads did not fall off my clarinet. i tore the damn things off so it would be broken and i wouldn’t have to play anymore.

i never practiced piano as much as i wrote down on my charts.

when my brother’s bat-shit-crazy ex-girlfriend sent my mum pictures of them (my brother and his girlfriend…quit thinking weird) “wrestling” i didn’t tell my mum what they were really doing…and really…who wants to be the one explaining oral sex to their mother?

i sometimes forget to wear deodorant.

i never give bums change. and sometimes i want to be mean to them by purposefully splashing them when i drive by. but i don’t.

i SAY that i love older music, but really i find myself skipping over it more often than not when it comes up on my mp3 (sorry dino, andrews sisters, sinatra, and elvis…)

i sleep with my contacts in. ALL. THE. TIME. half of me does it just to prove that your contacts WON’T stick to the back of your head if you do it. the other half is just lazy.

i wait until i’m out of one type of dish before i’ll wash all them more often than not (why are there never enough spoons??)

my freshman year in high school i broke up with a guy because he had the SAME bat in the cave for three days.

i don’t really HATE people like my purse says. i just can’t stand to be around 98% of the general public for more than absolutely necessary. full on hate takes too much energy.

i STILL haven’t finished some of my assigned reading from college.

i’ve written other people’s college papers for them (and, once or twice purposefully written about hot button topics so they would get bad grades).

i have a ton of alcohol in my house but i rarely drink.

i HATE scrambled eggs.

maxi-tampons are NOT enough.

i slapped a guy in high school once for calling me “a frigid ice bitch that wouldn’t put out.” (if only he knew me now…ha ha ha ha)

~sigh~ had enough? i can’t think of any more. yahoo was right…i DO feel much better. so glad to finally get all those skeletons out of the closet! so…THIS is what lighthearted feels like…i don’t like it.

femme writes- body image

 

On the 5th of every month, bloggers from around the world are open to write about rights and issues concerning women. First started by Shine and Marie, we’re hoping to bring a variety of women’s issues to the forefront to make people aware of what’s going on. For the month of July, we’ve chosen to write about Body Image. Please join us in telling us your stories, thoughts, and ideas on a monthly basis. To read previous installments, click here.

i am a fat girl. i’m the chubby bunny. the soft and huggable mama. the blind date with the “great personality” (you know what i’m talking about). i shop from the plus size rack. i’m the girl that gets the looks when i buy snacks or orders desert. i’m 5’8”, 215 pounds, a size 18, AND I LOVE MY BODY.

so suck it hollywood.

i know that i should hate myself and starve myself or want to dance my ass off or be the biggest loser. but i don’t. i love me the way i am. sure there are days when i feel like a whale or hate my clothes or detest what i see in the mirror- i challenge you to show me one person anywhere on this planet who has never had a day like that. i hate that because i’m not a single digit size trying to get to nearly invisible, for some reason society thinks i’m not okay for anything besides spandex and scales and diet commercials. every day when i open up my facebook page or any other web browser all the side banners and top banners are weight loss adds, or get skinny quick schemes, or how to lose those 10 pounds over night. i never realized how specific i was targeted until a guy friend used my laptop one day and had to log off as me and log on as himself- 100% different advertisements, and he even commented about how many stupid ones were on my page as a female. welcome to the femme world.

sure it’s changing a little out there- shows like drop dead diva and more to love are popping up but ARE YOU KIDDING ME? more to love was one of the MOST mocked reality dating shows of all time, and the whole premise of drop dead diva is that it took a skinny girl to show her how to love her naturally beautiful self. writers like jennifer weiner have oh so blessedly (sarcasm anyone?) started writing about “real sized women” but if you’ve ever read any of her trash novels that are only worthy to be fireplace fuel, you’d recognize a reoccurring theme: the women are only happy AFTER they’ve lost weight and completely changed themselves. only then do they find that they’re worth while people and finally find someone to love them. BULLSHIT.

BULL.FUCKING.SHIT.

what about a book with a real size woman that has someone who loves her just the way she is without losing weight or changing herself? what about a dating show with real size women that isn’t a complete farce. a show that isn’t the main fodder for the soup (i love you joel mchale, but REALLY?) or any of the other fat hating reviewers? what about a show with real size women that DOESN’T involve spandex and a scale and either dancing our asses off or being a biggest (completely unhealthy) loser? oh wait...i forgot...the wardrobe departments can’t handle it. the hollywood stick figures wouldn’t know what to do with a whole cast of confident full figured woman (opposed to the one or two that they keep around for statistic sake).

but i digress. this is about _MY_ body image:

i am fat. i am imperfect. i have bad hair days. i have bad thigh days. i have bad skin days. i have bad everything days. most of my jeans create a muffin top because that’s the way i’m shaped. i have bingo arms. i have chubby calves. my thighs rub together when i walk and wearing corduroy is a fire hazard in the summer time. i only wear a one-piece swim suit, and only then with something over it because i know there are parts of me that should not be exposed to the general public. i have scars, wrinkles, dimples in places that normally don’t have dimples. the gals at the pedicure shop laugh at my “precious moments toes” every time i go in and always comment about how i basically have no pinky toe nail to paint. i have tattoos, blue hair, at one point my nose was pierced, and i have multiple piercings in ear. i have a belt that i wore in high school that BARELY fits around one of my thighs now. the only way i could fit into my old cheer uniform (yes, i was a cheerleader at one point) is if i stapled it onto a shirt and THEN wore it.

know what else?

i have BEAUTIFUL eyes. i have amazing curves. i look damn fine in a good pencil skirt and some 4” heels. i have learned over the years how to take care of myself and i clean up DAMN GOOD. i have found a beautiful hair style that works for my face shape and gets plenty of compliments. i have learned to dress my body type so that i look good in whatever i choose to wear (even on the days i feel fat). i have arms strong enough to pick up my kids when they’re hurt. i have curves squishy enough to be comforting to them when they’re sick. i have a healthy, strong body that lets me go to work every day and take care of my spawns every night.

I AM BEAUTIFUL JUST THE WAY I AM.

would i like to lose a little weight? sure. will the world end if i don’t? hell no it wont. do i wish i had better skin and perfect hair and always manicured nails? ummm...of course! does it ruin my life that those don’t happen? not a bit.

i wasn’t raised to like myself. it’s something i’ve worked DAMN hard for over the years. by the time i went to college i had learned to love myself. then i let someone take that away for a while. and i’ve worked twice as hard to get that back again. and i will NEVER let someone take that away from me again. there are still days when i watch tv or go clothes shopping or look at the beautful women i am blessed to know and have shadows of doubt: “what would it be like to...” you know how it goes. it’s natural. we compare, it’s what women do. but you know what else we need to do? we need to realize that for every time we compare ourselves to someone, SOMEONE IS COMPARING HERSELF TO US. did you get that? for every person you think is better than you? someone thinks the same about you! i’m not really sure that’s the point i’m trying to make- the whole comparing to others REALLY needs to stop, but it won’t, and at least realize that others are doing it about you too!

i want to say it again: I AM BEAUTIFUL JUST THE WAY I AM. i am imperfect. i have room for improvement. and I LOVE ME.