Remember High School?

August 27, 2012January 22, 2016 ~ Kiki Writes ~ 2 Comments

It’s back-to-school time again and that seems to provoke adults, even ones without children, to remember their school days.

I remember high school. Somewhat. Sort of. It’s been a while. I can remember a few things about freshman year, a few more about sophomore year. Junior year has it’s blurry moments. Senior year has a few more clear memories. For me it wasn’t the hell hole some make it out to be. It also wasn’t the glorious, best-time-of-my-life experience either. I walked the line, I suppose. I had some good times, I had some crap times. I wasn’t bullied. I wasn’t popular. I had my friends and my insecurities just like everyone else.

It wasn’t my best period in life, but if it was, that’d be a real downer. Who the hell wants their life to peak at 16?

I didn’t go to my ten year class reunion. Not because I couldn’t, but because I didn’t want to. I still live in the same town I went to school all my life in. Many of the people in my class still live in town. Working at Wal-Mart I saw a lot of them. To me it didn’t feel like ten years was long enough to get together and pretend life was a strawberry picking festival back then. Especially, since some of the people I’d be seeing at the reunion acted like they didn’t know me when they saw me around town (and maybe they didn’t recognize me, maybe I’m that easily forgotten; but I know that’s not the case for all of them).

And there’s some people that even after all this time, I just do not like and I’m not going to like. Period. Not even for an evening of good times.

Sorry. No amount of booze makes me want to play nicey-nice with you.

Now, this isn’t to say that everyone I went to school with was a jerk. Some of them were. Some of them still are. Time doesn’t change everyone and the ones that time does change don’t necessarily change for the better. Through the magic of Facebook, I’ve found that several people that I got along with and hung out with in high school have become people I don’t care for very much. (It should be noted that this doesn’t necessarily mean they’re bad people. It also means that I’m not excluded in that whole change thing. Personalities that once worked together mature, grow, change and end up no longer meshing. That kind of thing happens. What I’m saying is that this sort of judgment is subjectivity at its finest.)

However, there were some people I went to school with that hold a special place in my timeline. They were truly lovely people that made an impression during a turbulent time in my existence and I’m happy to have known them. I’m friends with some of them on Facebook and I’ll be honest when I say that they still give me warm fuzzies when they pop up on my timeline.

Oddly enough, those are the people I haven’t seen in person very much since graduation.

Apparently, there are plans to attempt a 15 year reunion next year. I’m not sure if I’d go if it happens.

On one hand, I don’t feel like 15 years has been long enough either, though I got out of retail and don’t see a lot of my old classmates around town as much as I used to. Now I see them on Facebook and that’s kind of good enough for me.

On the other hand, there’s this theory that when you get people together in a class reunion situation, the old cliques and social hierarchies come back, like an instinct, and I’m half curious to see in person if that would happen. I suspect that it would, despite the time passed and the changes everyone has gone through.

There’s something that hasn’t changed since high school.

I’m still the weird girl that thinks about things from a totally different angle.

Having Illicit Fun

August 20, 2012January 22, 2016 ~ Kiki Writes ~ Leave a comment

This isn’t nearly as illegal as the blog title makes it sound, but I do feel like I’ve been breaking some rules.

You see Cubs fans don’t think their team should have any fun during a losing season. Seriously. No fun for you. They want their team to carry the weight of the misery of losing without so much as a smirk. Never mind the fact that they all predicted this team to lose 100 games, but by God, they’re not supposed to ENJOY any of it. You’re not supposed to have a good time if you’re losing.

So if you apply this logic to my life then I’ve been having illicit fun since about 1994 because that’s when my losing seasons really started in earnest.

That’s when I stopped having boyfriends. That’s when I started gaining weight. That’s when my social awkwardness really became exposed. That’s when my anxiety skyrocketed.

And it pretty much went downhill from there.

My parents separated and divorced and left me to my own devices. I chose not to go to college in part because I didn’t think I was good enough to get a scholarship and I knew I couldn’t afford to pay for it myself. I also didn’t go to college because I’d been busting my ass all through high school with no reward and I was tired. I wanted to take a semester off. I also put off going to college because I didn’t know what I wanted to go to college FOR.

From there I’ve worked several “crap” jobs, engaged in a relationship that was doomed to fail and put me off any sort of serious relationships for a very long time, dealt with depression, never moved out of my dad’s house, avoided many adult responsibilities, dug myself a hole of debt to chase a dream, and generally failed at every endeavor I’ve ever attempted. I’ve never been out of the country, never been farther west than Kansas City, never taken a cruise.

I am the poster child for losing seasons.

And yet, I’ve had more than one good time.

While I was boyfriend-less and rudder-less going into my senior year of high school, I had a blast sleeping in the hallway in the mornings before school, playing Spit in study hall, going to my first Monkees concert, and rocking a 60’s vibe all year.

While working at Wal-Mart instead of going back to college after a semester, I colored my hair a rainbow of colors, went to a lot of wrestling shows, raided Chicago with my Clique, and ran Wal-Mart with the rest of the lowlies.

Then I blew a lot of my money supporting an indy wrestling fed when I maybe shouldn’t have. But I had a great time doing those shows and spending most of my weekends in the Chicago suburbs watching guys wrestle before heading downtown to roam and not getting home until 5AM, meaning I was up for 24 hours.

During my last go round at Wal-Mart (which to most people is the equivalent of losing every day), I spent many days off and vacations going to Wizard World and DragonCon.

Even broke and unemployed, I managed to get to a Cubs game.

My point is that according to Cubs fans, I shouldn’t have been any of these good times. I didn’t deserve them. Because I was losing.

At first, I felt a little guilty about that. Here I’d had all of this fun that I didn’t deserve. I was supposed to be miserable, not alleviating the pressure of my mounting losses. I wasn’t happy with losing. Frankly, I’d rather be doing a lot more winning. It’s easier to have fun while you’re winning than while you’re using. I guess that’s because you’re not supposed to have fun while you’re losing.

And then I thought, “Fuck that shit. I’ll have fun whenever I can.”

Having fun in spite of losing doesn’t mean I don’t want to win. It doesn’t mean I’m happy with losing.

It means you’re not the boss of me.

And it means the fun I’m going to have when my losing seasons turn to winning ones is going to be a cause for jealousy.

I look forward to people going green.

Fat Acceptance

August 6, 2012January 22, 2016 ~ Kiki Writes ~ Leave a comment

A link to this tumblr post came across my Twitter timeline last night. I’m still not sure what tumblr is or how it works, but thankfully I have friends that have mastered it so they can pass along things like this. And thankfully I’m literate so I can read what they pass along.

If you’re too lazy to click the link and read, I’ll sum it up for you. Researchers have discovered evidence that fat acceptance blogs and sites actually can actually have a positive affect on some people’s health.

Go ahead and read the link. I’ll wait.

I didn’t lie, now did I?

The misconception of fat acceptance is true. Accepting fat is a bad thing because nobody wants to be fat and you’re not supposed to be fat. Being fat is bad. No one wants to be bad. By accepting fat, you’re accepting bad.

Except that’s not what’s happening.

Fat acceptance means that you accept that your fat and that the number on the scale is not an indicator of your worth as a human being.

Being fat doesn’t mean that you’re not caring, intelligent, funny, generous, sympathetic, passionate, beautiful, and/or supportive. Being fat doesn’t mean that you can’t be active, sexy, fashionable, confident, desirable, healthy, successful, and/or loved. Being fat doesn’t mean you can’t have a life. And it definitely doesn’t mean that your life is worth less than someone who weighs less than you.

Fat acceptance promotes a healthy self-esteem. And that in turn promotes a healthier view on life, which leads to healthier choices.

Shocking! Who knew that making someone feel good about themselves instead of running them down and making them feel like a worthless piece of shit could have a positive effect?

I’m sure to the guys that like to moo at women in the mall and the girls that give fat girls a dirty look while they eat their Cold Stone, this is of no consequence and won’t change their minds in the least. We’re still all disgusting fat pigs that don’t deserve anything good in life and certainly shouldn’t waddle our fat selves out in public where we inflict our gross body mass on society.

But to the people who need the support, it’s a life-saver. It means not being shamed into not doing things that you want to do just because you’re fat. It means not being afraid to live just because you’re fat.

It means knowing that you have value no matter what the number on the scale says.

You know the old saying, “worth their weight in gold”?

It applies to fat people, too.

Writing–Negative Reviews

July 25, 2012January 22, 2016 ~ Kiki Writes ~ Leave a comment

It’s kind of blown up lately in the writing community concerning writers attacking readers because they leave less than favorable reviews on their books. If you Google “Goodreads negative reviews” you find all sorts of information and opinions on this business.

Now I’ve only had a few short stories published. I self-published a book of my short stories. I’ve posted some freebie short stories on my blog. Even with ALL of this material out there (I’m being facetious), I’ve never received a negative review.

I’ve never even been told that I suck, at least not in relation to my writing.

However, I have a feeling that I’ll be able to handle negative reviews. Why? Because I worked in retail.

Here are a few examples of how working in retail and receiving negative reviews are similar:

I can’t find anything in this store/Why did you move everything around = I didn’t care for the pacing/theme/characters/story. This is a constructive complaint. When people would complain about not being able to find things and moving things around, it didn’t bother me much. First of all, I heard it so much it no longer held any meaning. Secondly, I agreed with them. No one hated moving things around more than the employees because then we had to move it, had to remember where it was, and had to deal with the complaints.

Likewise, people that don’t like a character, pace, or theme of a story provide an alternative perspective from all of the people slobbering all over my work. “Like” is a subjective thing and I can’t please everyone. There might be something I can learn from the people I’m not pleasing, providing they can present their point intelligently. If they can’t, well then, it’s going to hold no meaning for me.

I’ll shop somewhere else = I don’t like anything you write. If you want to shop somewhere else, somewhere that pleases you, then by all means, go and do just that. Likewise, if you don’t like anything I write, then please stop wasting your time with me and go read something by an author that you’ll enjoy. I appreciate you giving me a try, but if things aren’t working out, then we need to go our separate ways.

The one big difference between these two scenarios is that if you don’t like anything I write, I admit I’m a little bummed that my writing to jive with you; if you want to shop somewhere else, please do, and take your attitude with you (though I know you and your attitude will be back next week).

You suck = You suck. Yeah, “you suck” and really any sort of name calling, trolling, or self-entitled whining are pretty much the same no matter what the circumstance. These negative reviews are as prevalent as the people that insulted me while I worked retail and for very similar reasons. On the Internet, a person can hid behind the mask of anonymity and be a raging jack ass without fear of consequences or punishment. Working retail, people think they can treat you like garbage because you work a crap job and the customer is always right.

Well, the customer isn’t always right (and no retail gig I’ve ever had has paid me enough to put up with personal abuse and I didn’t and when I didn’t, I was accused by said asshole customer of being rude, go figure) and neither is a reviewer.

Thankfully, through the virtue of slogging in retail for several years, that when my first negative review comes, I’ll be prepared and I’ll know exactly how to handle it.

I’ve got the coping skills already in place.

Get My Good Side

July 16, 2012January 22, 2016 ~ Kiki Writes ~ Leave a comment

I’m writing this post because I’m in the mood for a new Twitter avatar. I like to change it every couple of months. It alleviates boredom.

You would think this would be an easy task, however, I am one vain little fat girl. I want to look as pretty as I can in my pictures which isn’t always easy.

First of all, I’m limited with what DNA gave me. Filters and cropping only do so much. I’ve got what I got. And while I am fat and acknowledge that I’m fat, I do my best to make that fat look good.

Second of all, with this DNA configuration, I’m not exactly photogenic. You know those people that you can photograph while they’re wearing sweats, no make-up, haven’t brushed their hair in six days, and they’re hungover, but they still look really good? I am not one of those people. I’m also not one of those people that can’t take a good picture to save their life. You know those people. The ones that everyone says they look much better in person no matter when, how, and where the picture was taken or how much work the person put into their appearance prior to the picture being taken.

I’m somewhere in the middle. Some days I’m quite photogenic and with little effort I can take a pretty picture. Other days, it doesn’t matter how many pictures I take. From every angle, I’ve got only badness going on.

Then there’s the kind of picture I want to take. Am I in the mood for playful or serious or sexy? Do I want a solo shot, or do I want to pull a group shot from Facebook and use it? Much of the time, the picture I want to use is the picture I don’t have. Then when I try to take the picture I’d like to use, it doesn’t work out.

Sometimes I settle. Sometimes I wait until the timing is better. Sometimes I’m impatient which leads to frustration. All over a tiny little picture that most people don’t really pay attention to.

But I can justify a little bit. My Twitter is my main forum. Yes, I have a blog and a Facebook page, but Twitter is where I’m most active. I have over 700 followers now (what?). If I was going to brand myself, KikiWrites would be it. As such, the face on that profile is kind of important to me. It’s representing me. So I kind of have a right to be picky about the picture I put out there.

On the other hand, if I could let go of a little of my vanity, this would be a whole lot easier and I wouldn’t get so unnecessarily frustrated.

It’s not easy trying to be presentable.

The Many Hair Colors of Kiki

July 2, 2012January 22, 2016 ~ Kiki Writes ~ Leave a comment

You saw my many faces, now you get to see my many colors.

In my early 20’s, I decided to break out of the norm and go wild. I needed to express myself and I did it through altering my appearance. I wore a lot of heavy make-up, mostly purple as it’s one of my favorite colors. Purple eyeshadow and purple lipstick were the norm (away from work; I didn’t wear make-up there). Black eye liner and black mascara. Sometimes I’d do glitter designs on my face. Before it was all done, I’d had my eyebrows pierced five times, including three times on the left side (the other two done on my right were done at two separate times because the first one ripped out) and had my nipple pierced (I’ve got a fun story about that, too, but some other time).

And then there was my hair. It was long then and I did a lot of things to it. I’d braid it in pig tails, braid it in tiny little braids and then put ribbons on the end, fashion spiky buns, give myself what one lady called “turkey feathers”, but mostly I wore it in a pony tail.

I was about 20 when I started coloring it. I eased into it, having a professional do it first, then I became the professional. I got really good at coloring my hair myself, bleaching it and then dying it with Manic Panic. I used gloves and a brush and ruined a couple of shirts and a bathroom rug. Sometimes my tub would be blue or purple or red for days. I dyed my friends’ hair. I became the go-t0 hair dye expert.

I worked at Wal-Mart at the time. A lot of customers would come in to see what color my hair was that day (I changed it every six weeks to two months). Only a few times did I get a negative comment. When our HR lady complained, my district manager gave me special permission to keep my hair any color I wanted. I don’t know if it was because I was good at my job or what, but I appreciated it.

Once I quite my job at Wal-Mart, the hair had to go back to normal so I could get a new job. I dyed it burgandy for a few months while I found and got a new job. Then I colored it with the goal of getting it back to my natural hair color. I’d wrecked my hair bad with all of the dying and bleaching and coloring and I wanted a break. That was over ten years ago. I haven’t colored my hair since.

So here are some (not all!) of my hair colors over that time period.

To get a feel for where I was and where I ended, this was my hair before I colored it. My natural color now is actually much darker and I love it.

This was my first color combo: black, purple, and blonde. The blonde and purple hues are very subtle as I had this professionally done and she didn’t get too wild.

I think this was my first go on my own. I ended up with blue, green, and black. Note the purple make-up and the glitter tears. I wasn’t kidding when I said I did that.

Red and black. I loved this combo. I also loved to wear my hair like this. And yes, I did wear this outfit out of my house to places like the mall and the movies. I still have the dress and the jacket.

I bleached my hair A LOT in between dying so the color would take better. I was never blonde for long, though, because I HATED being blonde. The longest I was ever blonde was a week and that’s because I had to have my hair a natural color because I was working at another store. Also, that’s my first rat I’m smooching, Zero. I’ve had a total of five of them.

This is what happens when you want to dye your hair, but don’t have enough dye to do one color. I used the leftovers. Not one of my favorite looks. It didn’t last long. You can also get a sense of how large my chest was. Pictures never really did it justice, though.

I loved the effect of this color combo with the blond bangs. It was really cool. But you can see the damage starting to take its toll on my hair.

Blue and purple. Another combo effect that I really liked with the blue bangs in contrast with the rest of my hair being purple.

My last wild color combo ever: pink, orange, and blonde. One of my co-workers called it Tequila Sunrise.

Hair colors not pictured: Purple and black; orange and yellow; pink and purple; blue and blonde.

I’m not going to lie when I saw I miss some of these hair colors and there are days when I wish I could dye my hair purple or red and black again. But looking back on that time I realize part of the reason why I did it. I was trying to find a way to be pretty. I knew then, with my wide ass and my huge, non-perky boobs and my extra weight that I had no chance to be conventionally pretty. But I still wanted to be pretty. So I made a different way to be pretty.

People have said that I did it for attention and you know, maybe I did a little. But my main goal was I wanted to be pretty, to feel pretty. I couldn’t compete with the little blonde things that men always drool over, but when my hair was green and my eyebrow was pierced, they couldn’t compete with me. I owned that look like they never could.

I was pretty on my own terms.

And I still am.

Fat Business

June 25, 2012January 22, 2016 ~ Kiki Writes ~ 4 Comments

Someone I follow on Twitter retweeted the following tweet:

Am I the only one that gets angry and wants to yell when I see fat people eating junk food?

Well, I can definitely say that no, you’re not and yes, people actually do.

I also invite you to come up and yell at me while I’m noshing on a corn dog and see if it’s not one of the more ill-advised decisions you make in your life.

Because the first words out of my mouth are going to be, “WHAT FUCKING BUSINESS IS IT OF YOURS, SKIPPY?”

It seems that in this society being fat is everyone’s business should you venture out in public. Like a pregnant lady constantly getting her belly felt up by strangers, it seems to be no breech of etiquette to confront, insult, and/or shame a fat person for being fat.

Now, I can’t go up to a thin person and tell them that they should be eating chocolate or tell them they need a burger. I can’t tell a thin woman that she has the body of a pre-pubescent girl with implants. I can’t tell a thin man how unattractive he is because he’s thin. That’s rude.

But for someone to come up to me and tell me to put down the Ho Ho, that’s fine. It’s perfectly fine for a thin woman to call me a fat bitch. It’s completely acceptable for a thin man to moo at me. I deserve it because I don’t fit society’s ideal standards.

Well, ya know what? Fuck off. It’s none of your business.

No, really, it’s not.

You cannot possibly think that I don’t know that I’m fat. Believe me. I know.

You cannot possibly think that I don’t know the implications of being fat. Believe me. I do. I’m shunned for my size and treated badly because of it. I’m disrespected for it. It’s more socially acceptable to be a heroin addict than a fat person because, hey, at least the junkie is skinny.

And I know the health implications, too. Actually, I probably know MORE about that health implications than a thin person because they’ve been shouted right at me. I’ve also learned to read between the lines and take my health into my own hands because people are so quick to say that I’m unhealthy because of a number on a scale.

Did you know it’s possible to weight over 200 pounds and have good cholesterol, blood pressure, and sugars? It’s true. It’s been done. Hell, I’ve done it. And so have other fat people. Those are actually better measures of health than weight. Why? Well, because thin people can have shitty cholesterol, high blood pressure, and be diabetic. Wild, huh?

Yeah, you don’t know my medical charts. You also don’t know my life. You have no idea why I’m fat, how fat I’ve been, or how fat I’m gonna be.

You don’t know my diet and can’t judge it by one cheeseburger. Maybe that’s my weekly treat and for the rest of the week I live off of salads and water. Maybe I was in a hurry, like you, thin person, and had to grab something quick on the go when I’d rather have eaten a balanced meal. Maybe all I eat is McDonald’s. How do you know? That’s right. You don’t.

Did you know you can be fat without eating all of the time and eating a lot? It’s true. There’s no telling how much I eat. I might graze all day. Or I might go back for seconds. Or thirds. I might only eat one big meal a day. I might eat three balanced ones. Again, how can you possibly know?

Did you know you can be fat but still work out? It’s true. You have no idea how much I work out. I may sit around the house all day. Or I might run 5K’s. I might walk every day after dinner. I might do yoga every morning. Maybe the only exercise I get is lifting that cookie to my mouth. But you don’t know, do you?

Heaven forbid I insinuate that all thin people are workout anorexics that puke after every meal. That’s rude! It’s generalization! It’s not fair! But, it’s perfectly fine to think all fat people are unhealthy, lazy, gorging slobs. That’s not a generalization! It’s a truth!

Well, fuck your truth. Stick your truth straight up your ass. Replace it with this truth:

I don’t hate you for being thin. I hate you for disrespecting me for being fat.

And if you have such an issue with me smashing a DQ Blizzard, then please, come up and say something. We’ll discuss it.

I’ll set you straight.

The Many Faces of Kiki

June 18, 2012January 22, 2016 ~ Kiki Writes ~ Leave a comment

I have this weird single-minded aspect to my personality.

I like to think that what other people think about me doesn’t matter, but in a way it does. Not so much the harsh criticism and insults often hurled my way, sometimes verbally, sometimes only mentally. I mean if you bother to think that I’m a fat, ugly, stupid bitch of a human being, I’m pretty sure I’m not associating with you much for that to be a really big issue.

I guess I’m more concerned with what people think about me in terms of how people think of me in relation to the way I present myself.

If you ask me what I am, I’ll tell you that I’m a writer first and foremost. That’s me. That’s my career (as unsuccessful as it currently is). It’s a big part of my identity. But it’s not my ENTIRE identity. I know that. I’m sure other people know that. And I don’t think that way about other people. But for some ridiculous reason I’ve got it in my head that if I present any other aspect of my identity, then people won’t take me seriously as a writer.

Crazy, right?

It’s like this. I know that most people don’t consider writing a real job. I don’t get a regular paycheck. I don’t go to an office. Hell, I don’t even have to put on real pants. Because I can’t support myself, it’s not real work. It’s hard enough already to be taken seriously as a writer because I’ve yet to publish a book and/or I’m not a best-selling author (yet).

Now, you take that insecurity and couple it with my other interests and I’ve created a great dilemma for myself. For example, I make and sell jewelry. I like jewelry. I like to make jewelry. It’s another creative outlet for me. Selling it gives me a little more money towards making the ends meet every month. But I’m afraid that by promoting the jewelry I make and sell people will think I’m not serious about my writing.

And thus a big part of my identity is negated.

I hate that.

Now, I realize that most of this is all in my head. Not everyone makes their work such a big part of themselves. Most people don’t think of themselves as one thing, so they don’t think of other people as one thing. They probably don’t even bother to break it all down. They don’t think of me as a writer and a jewelry maker and a fat girl belly dancing and a rerun junkie and a baseball floozy and a t-shirt enthusiast and a lover of horrible things. They look at the sum total instead of the parts and it either makes up someone they like or someone they don’t.

It’s my paranoia at play. I know that and I do my best to shove that squirmy thing back into it’s aquarium and lock the top and just let it go and be all of those things. But it’s not always easy. I’m not always able to do it.

Ah, the joys and pains of being a constant work in progress.

Picture of a Fat Girl

May 14, 2012January 22, 2016 ~ Kiki Writes ~ 8 Comments

Hey, look! That’s me! I am that fat girl in the picture. When I usually post pictures on the Internet, it’s usually just a head shot because, come on, I have a gorgeous face. Upper body shots are usually designed to highlight the breasts because I paid for them and they look good in the right bra/shirt combo. I don’t try to hide the fact that I’m fat; I tell people that all the time. I just try to put up the most flattering picture I can because, hey, I’m just as narcissistic as the next person.

I know I’m fat. However, when I look in the mirror I don’t see the same fat girl everyone else sees. It’s like the opposite of those skinny girls that look in the mirror and see a bloated cow. I don’t necessarily see a super skinny chick, but I don’t see a girl as fat as I am. I see someone more voluptuous, with curves in all the right places and some of the wrong ones.

But I’m not out of touch with reality. I know that what I see and what other people see aren’t the same thing. At Casino Night last week, waiting for the elevator, I had two stereotypically beautiful women in evening wear give me a disgusted once over before turning away. I know what they were thinking. How dare a fat girl wear a short, tight, black dress?

Kiki Dress — Even at the end of the night with no shoes, I looked good.

Well, I dared and I looked good.

And that’s the thing, isn’t? I know what I think about myself, but I don’t let it cloud the reality of what society thinks about me.

I make jokes about myself. I make harsh, truthful statements about my weight, too, and it tends to upset the people who know me. That’s because they don’t see me as “fat” because “fat” is bad and they don’t think I’m bad. I’m Christin! I’m Kiki! I’m Chesh! I’m Skitz! I’m good, not bad!

Well, I am fat. It’s an accurate description of my physical state. And I get treated differently (often poorly) because of that physical trait.

Scroll back up and look at that picture. You see those hips? There’s actually not a whole lot of padding to them. I have naturally wide hips. And those shoulders? Not a lot of fat on those, either. I’m built to last, baby. The point I’m making is that I could improve the perceptions that people have about me by losing weight, except I’d never be able to lose enough. I’m not built to be a size zero. I’m not sure I’m even built to be a size 8. I could starve, exercise, nip, tuck, and suck myself as thin as possible and it still wouldn’t be enough to make me acceptable by society’s standards.

I’d also look really gross. I’d have to lose all of my body fat and most of my muscle mass to even get close and even then, my bone structure would render it all for naught.

For the most part, despite society’s best efforts to change my mind in various abusive ways, I’m good with the way I look. I can work with what I’ve got and come up with something pretty damn good looking. Do I want to lose weight? Yeah. I’ve got about 35 pounds I need to get rid of to get back down to where I was. But this weight loss is motivated by feeling better. The reduction of my ass size is just a bonus.

I’m a fat girl. I will never not be fat by society’s standards. Now you all can see exactly how I am fat. So when you read something I write and enjoy it, or retweet me on Twitter, or like a Facebook post, or buy something I’ve written or made, you’re enjoying and supporting a fat girl.

I hope you can handle that.

Kiki’s Guide To Being a Bad Fan

April 17, 2012January 22, 2016 ~ Kiki Writes ~ 2 Comments

During Opening Day, I tweeted that my new Cubs fan followers made a poor choice because I would piss them off, to which one of my old Cubs fan followers added, “Kiki enjoys losing baseball. Beware.”

There’s a point in this statement that I have to argue. I don’t enjoy watching my team lose. I enjoy watching them win. I’d like them to win. I root for them to win. I do, however, enjoy my team despite a loss. It drives people mad (which I enjoy).

And it makes me a bad fan.

There are a lot of perks to being a bad fan. First of all, my day isn’t wrecked by a Cubs loss. I get bummed out, sure, but the boys losing 2-1 isn’t a disaster of epic proportions that results in me needing to drink. Hell, the guys losing 13-1 isn’t enough to make me require alcohol. They lost. Bummer. I guess I’d better get dinner started. Put on The Monkees.

Man, that pisses people off.

It drives them insane that I can enjoy a team that’s not very good. I’m from the school of “dance with the one what you brought”. This isn’t fantasy baseball. I have no input in who ends up on the Cubs this year, last year, or next year. These are the players I’ve got. I’m going to get to know them, cheer for them, praise them when they do well, and enjoy whatever they can bring to the table, even if it’s just a cute face.

Lunacy!

Now, sports fans, don’t think that this sort of attitude means I can’t have an intelligent discussion about baseball and about the Cubs, that I don’t like such things. I do. I’m as realistic as the next fan when it comes to assessing my teams talent in the form of statistics. I’m sure you’ll all be pleased to know just how well I interpret the implication of David DeJesus’s OBP and James Russell’s flyball/grounder ratio. I can dig discussions about what the Cubs need, what trades they should make, the best use of a player, etc.

What I can’t stand is the gloom and doom whining about a team YOU predicted to be a 100-game loser back in January. What is the sense in that? Why bother punishing yourself by watching the games of a team that you don’t even like? It’s akin to watching a TV show you despise and then complaining about how terrible it is. There’s just no logic in it. No one will think any less of you for checking out fewer games in a crappy season. Consider it. It might improve your health.

Or you could be a bad fan like me.

The trick is to not attach so much of your ego to your team and to change your point of view. If all that matters is winning, that your team isn’t worth shit unless they win it all, then I’m afraid you’re going to have make due with a lot of disappointment. However, if you enjoy the game, and the winning that comes with and is hopefully the end result of it, then your season dramatically improves even when the team is garbage. Call me a Pollyana, but even in a blow-out loss, I can find something to be glad about (and usually in blow-out losses, that’s Len and Bob and their ramblings).

In addition to detaching the ego, it also serves you to get over yourself. I don’t think this team owes me anything. They don’t owe me a World Series championship. I would love for them to win one. But they’re not winning it for me, I don’t care what they say. They’re winning it for themselves and they should. When I pay my money to see a game, they don’t owe me a win. They owe me a good game. And so far, at least for me, they’ve come through on that.

Of course, if they happen to shirk on their end of the deal, I can still find a way to have a good time in spite.

Pisses you off doesn’t?

It pays to be a bad fan.