Tag: fat girl

Fat Girl Fitness

~ Kiki Writes ~ Leave a comment

I like exercise. Okay, some mornings I don’t feel like I want to do it and it’s kind of a chore, but overall, I like it. I like moving my body and I like the health benefits from it.

For about a year, I’ve been struggling with my workouts. Part of the problem was working full-time. I wasn’t exactly skilled at working in 20-30 minutes of movement after working all day (I sure as heck wasn’t getting up any earlier to do it before I left for the cube). The other part has been trying to find a workout routine that I can stick to.

FitTV was my main source of my workout. Remember that channel? It’s Discovery Health now. I did a belly dance workout every morning. When Fit TV took it off the air, they put several other shows in the time slot that mixed cardio kickboxing, Bollywood dancing, Latin dance, hip hop dance, and cardio sculpting. The days that they aired segments I didn’t like, I did yoga. It was working really nicely, or so I thought, until Oprah needed to have her own network and ruined mine.

So since then, I’ve really been struggling with finding something to do that I like, that I will do every day, that will help me achieve my goal of losing the forty pounds I put back on after I lost it in the first place.

At the end of October I took another setback when I hurt my knee. My already sporadic fitness routine ended up practically non-existent as I struggled to find exercises that I could do that wouldn’t further injure my knee.

All of this struggling and lack of progress took its toll on my self-esteem. And it’s pretty common that the worse you feel about yourself, the less likely you are to be motivated to be do anything about it. Frustration has a tendency to negatively affect my productivity.

But with the new year comes a new opportunity, or at least, that’s what it feels like. For some reason that symbolic restart was just what I needed to clear out some of my baggage and get back on the fitness horse once again. I still haven’t come up with a routine that I like and that I’ve stuck to, but I’m working on it.

I’m going back to basics and taking my own advice. First thing I’ve got to do is get into the habit of moving again, five days a week, no exceptions. My knee is healing and feeling better. I can do more now (wearing a brace during exercise helps). I need to take advantage of that. I need to move. Dancing (free style and belly), stretching, and yoga every morning should do it. These are all things I like. There’s no excuse for me not to do them.

Once I get that rhythm going, then adding in some weights in the afternoon won’t be a big deal. The one thing that retail offered me was that I could work out in the morning, then I’d be walking around when I was at work at night at least a couple of days a week. Writing, I tend to be planted in front of my computer for most of the day. A little sculpting in the afternoon would be a nice way to get the blood flowing and break up some of the afternoon slog.

I’m a big advocate for fat girl fitness. I give my fat girl friends fitness advice all the time. I’ve been doing this for years and I like to share my experience. It’s so easy to be overwhelmed with all of the information. It’s so easy to look at DVD taught by some skinny chick who’s never been fat a day in her life and think that you can’t do that. However, when some practical advice comes from a fat girl, someone who lives with it and struggles with it and does it anyway, it’s a little more encouraging.

This fat girl needs to listen to her own advice and stop over-thinking things. No, I’m not at the fitness level I was a few years ago and that’s frustrating. No, I’m not at the weight I was a few years ago and that’s frustrating. But I know how to get both of those things back, now don’t I? I’ve done it before.

So, shut up, listen, and do it. No excuses.

The Pretty Effort

~ Kiki Writes ~ Leave a comment

Being pretty or cute doesn’t come naturally for me. I’m not one of those women that can just run a brush through my hair, slap some lip gloss on, and call it good. Well, I could, but the effect wouldn’t be considered cute or pretty. At best it’d be considered okay. At worst, eh, I’d still be in better shape than if I did nothing at all.

My point is that I’m somewhat vain and I like to look pretty or cute (on the days I’m not striving to look beautiful and sexy), but it burns me ass that I have to put so much work into it.

And it puts my friends and family in an awkward position because I’m so well-known for not being girly and this effort that I put into my appearance qualifies as being girly and they just don’t know what to make of it. It makes me uncomfortable.

It also leaves me feeling insecure. Several of my female friends and relatives don’t bother with make-up. They don’t have to use any product in their hair. They’re perfectly fine au natural and dammit if they don’t look cute doing it.

I, on the other hand, have to work at it.

Never is this more illustrated than when I travel. Travelling with my roommate Carrie is no big deal because she’s the beauty master and it’s expected of her to be carrying all of the tricks of her trade. I can’t compete with her and would never want to. However, when I travel with other friends, my girly routine is exposed and in high-contrast to the tomboy attributes that make up so much of my personality.

I don’t count skin care as girly because my skin is an organ and I try to take care of it. Not to mention I have skin issues that need to be addressed on a daily basis. This means washing my face, exfoliating, moisturizing, using a particular kind of body wash and two different kinds of body lotions. It’s work, but for me it’s the same as doing cardio to keep my heart healthy or taking my pills and watching what I eat to keep my gut issues in check. Skin care has nothing to do with being girly and everything to do with taking care of myself.

Hair and make-up is a different story.

I will be the first person to tell you (and loudly) that after years of searching, I’ve found a hair cut that I love. However, this hair cut does require product. I use a little gel and some sleek and shine serum (every other day), air dry, a little hair spray for hold, and done. It takes all of a few minutes and compared to previous styles which involved the use of a blow dryer, it’s downright nothing.

But it’s not the thrown-back-in-a-ponytail style of high school and my early 20’s. It’s not the wash and go style I had when I first got my hair cut. It’s still work.

And then there’s the make-up. I’ve worn make-up off and on over the years. I’ve done as little as some concealer to cover up the dark circles under my eyes. I’ve done as much as purple eye shadow and purple lipstick with heavy black eyeliner and glitter tears (I went through a freak period). Carrie, with her make-up wisdom, showed me the make-up required for me to pull off a lovely, natural look that can be jazzed up whenever I feel the need. This look involves concealer, a base powder, a finishing powder, blush, mascara, cream eye shadow, and lip gloss/lip stick. To other girls, this doesn’t sound like much. To my friends, this is A LOT of make-up for me.

Yeah, having other people know what I have to do to pass for pretty or cute makes me uncomfortable. I don’t like my friends knowing what I have to do because I know what they’re thinking. They’re thinking how GIRLY it is for me to be doing it and how anything GIRLY is so out of character for me.

And I can’t say that I’ve been unaffected by that. I stopped wearing make-up for a while after a trip with a friend because she commented on my “girly” routine that took me soooo long to do compared to her just brushing her hair and slapping on a little lip gloss (since it was a special occasion and she usually didn’t wear anything at all). She looked cute and with all of the work I’d put into my routine, I ended up less than. After that I couldn’t see the point in trying. Might as well live up to everyone else’s expectations and just be the totally unfeminine tomboy that fits their idea of who I am.

That lasted for a couple of months before I started in with a little make-up again. Now I only do the full routine for certain occasions, but I’ve got a little something going on every day, even if it’s just powder, mascara, and lip gloss.

Because I realized that I have to work to be pretty and there’s no shame in me wanting to be pretty. I imagine that it shakes the views a few people have of me, but that can’t be my problem. I shouldn’t feel bad about being myself.

It’s their hang-up, not mine.

Fat Girl Style

~ Kiki Writes ~ Leave a comment

I am known as a tomboy, which isn’t a bad label to have. I earned it.

I’m low maintenance. I favor jeans and t-shirts. My obsession with shoes begins and ends with Chuck Taylors. I own exactly two purses and I rarely use them. The concept of spending hours on my hair and make-up is foreign to me. I really don’t like shopping, unless it’s of the online variety. I don’t try clothes on before I buy them, usually.

But none of that means I don’t have style. Oh, honey, I have LOADS of style.

Don’t let my aversion to shopping and trying on clothes fool you. I actually love fashion. Not runway fashion. I’m talking realistic, off the rack fashion. I’m talking about putting together pieces that work together and flatter my body. Granted, it’s not always easy. After all, it’s a sin in this country to be fat and laws forbid if you want to be fashionable and fat at the same time. But I have my ways and my stores.

Torrid, Wal-Mart, Old Navy, and Target are my go-to’s when I’m in the market for something new.

Torrid is more high-end and caters specifically to plus-size. They GET fat girl style. They’ve got gorgeous clothes that keep up with the trends. They don’t shy away from sexy or edgy.

Old Navy also has a decent selection of plus-sized clothes (that are only available online, the only downside if you’d rather shop in-store). They’re good with the trends as well and have a good selection of casual clothes and basics that belong in any wardrobe.

I know most of you are raising an eyebrow at Wal-Mart and Target, but for cheap staples, they are the way to go. Wal-Mart is where I like to get my jeans and I got my favorite Capri pants at Target. And both places also have a decent online selection of plus-sized clothes if they don’t satisfy in-store.

I have a diverse style. I try to balance edgy and punky with classic and casual. It depends on my mood. Sometimes, I want to look more sophisticated. Sometimes, I want to look more rock ‘n’ roll. I like having the option to dress to match my moods.

My make-up is usually pretty simple and natural, but I’ve got options to spice it up if I want. Red lipstick usually does the trick. If I actually want to spend a few extra minutes, I’ll put a little more effort into my eye shadow configuration.

I prefer my hairstyle to be as wash and go as possible. As it is now, I just need a little gel, some scrunching, and it dries into the rock ‘n’ roll, messy style I like to rock. Keeping it short has really helped get as much personality as I can out of my hair.

You put all of this together and I’ve got some serious fat girl style.

Unfortunately, as I’ve gone on about my wonderful style I’ve circumvented the truth that my style is several years out of date due to lack of funds. I’m working with what I have, of course, but that doesn’t mean I’m not wishing for new clothes and filling up my wishlists in the event I come into money.

If ever there were a time for Santa to come down my chimney…

Until then, we’re adding “vintage” to my style choices.

Frankenboobies Revenge

~ Kiki Writes ~ 5 Comments

Warning! This post contains graphic details of my breast reduction surgery. It’s not for everyone and probably shouldn’t be read while eating anything. Proceed with caution.

 

In August, I wrote about my breast reduction surgery and here I am talking about my boobs again, this time about the negative aspects of my ta-tas.

Negative, you say? How can there be anything bad about boobies?

Well, there can be, and I’ll get to that. But first, I’m going to tell you why I have no trouble talking about my boobs.

When your boobs are as large as mine were, they sort of take on a life of their own. They become their own entity. My chest was large enough that it would knock things over. I’d unintentionally hit people with my boobs because, well, how could I not? They were between me and whatever I was doing. Reaching past someone guaranteed they were going to get some titty on them. Working in close quarters, an elbow to or a hand brushing a boob was common. My friends quickly got used to it.

Breasts that large attract attention. Comments were as common as accidental elbow blows. Men especially were fascinated by them. Of course. Men like boobs and boobs the size of mine are typically reserved for porn as far as they’re concerned. In high school, I had more than one guy ask if they could just feel them. It was less a sexual grope and more a need to satisfy a curiosity about objects that big.

I imagine that they thought what they saw in the bra was what they’d get outside of it. Little did they realize…

They are consequences to have breasts that large. Even breasts that aren’t that big, but grow rapidly end up with stretchmarks. That’s something you don’t see in the movies, porn or otherwise. I’ve got lots of them. They’ve faded with time, but in up close and personal situations , they’re noticeable.

The stretchmarks didn’t go away with my surgery, though with the smaller breasts I can at least be relatively sure that I won’t be getting more of them.

However, the smaller breasts came with a price of their own: scars.

I went into this surgery knowing that there would be scars. I don’t heal quickly and I don’t heal well. Chalk it up to the fair skin or genetics or whatever. It’s been that way since I was a kid. Considering the incision went from under my armpit, around my breast, and ended about half an inch from my breast bone, yeah, there was going to be a scar. It’s widest under my arms where the drain was implanted for my first week of recovery, but for the most part the whole thing has faded.

Due to the size of my breasts, I had to have what’s called a free nipple graft, which made for another incision scar. The surgeon cut up from the bottom of my breast and around my nipple. My nipples were then removed completely so the breast tissue could be removed and the remainder fung shui’d into a more functional and appealing fashion. My nipples were then reattached. The incision scars from this part of the operation have faded some as well.

Now, the risk of doing a free nipple graft is that the surgeon is taking off and then reattaching the nipple, meaning that if the nipple doesn’t get adequate blood supply, the whole thing could die and have to come off. I knew that going in and sure enough, it was a complication I had to deal with.

Before visions of a nippleless boob start bouncing in your head, let me assure you that wasn’t my case. I have both of my nipples, thank you. However, my left one didn’t get quite enough blood supply and the top layer of skin died and sloughed off. To me, it looks like long healed skin after a bad burn, that mottled pink and white, something-significant-happened-here skin. I have been reassured that it doesn’t look that bad, but no one can deny that it’s not a normal look.

My right nipple is fine and looks quite fetching, except for the tiny scar at the top where it pulled away from the skin a little after the stitches were removed.

With all of the scars and stretchmarks, my breasts have a kind of patchwork quality to them. I call them Frankenboobies as they were put together by man. And as glad as I am to have them and have them be this smaller, much more manageable size, I admit that I’m self-conscious about their appearance in the flesh, so to speak.

However, properly displayed in the right bra and shirt combo, they are fantastic and I have no trouble telling people that, too.

After all, if I’m going to talk about my boobs, I’m going to talk about the good and the bad.

Happy Birthday, Boobies!

~ Kiki Writes ~ 4 Comments

Okay, today is not the day; it was the 13th (and I had to look it up because I couldn’t remember it, though I knew it was in August). And it’s not really a birthday, but an anniversary. But still, it’s cause for me to celebrate.

Nine years ago on August 13th, I had breast reduction surgery.

Why is this such a big deal? Allow me to illustrate. With words, of course.

Just like other areas of my life, I was a late bloomer when it came to getting boobs. It really didn’t start to happen much until I was in 8th grade. And once it started happening, it didn’t stop. By the time I was a senior in high school, a 44DDD, the largest bra I could find in the stores, was too small.

I begged my dad for a breast reduction because I was on his insurance at the time and it would cover the surgery. My dad said no. He told me to lose weight. I did. I lost 20 pounds. None of it came off of my chest. But when I gained it back, that’s where it went. He still refused. He didn’t understand how miserable it was.

It wasn’t until after high school that he finally got it. He came home one hot summer day, complaining about how hot his bullet proof vest made him and how it was getting worse every year. I looked at my dad and quite unsympathetically said, “At least you get to take yours off. I’ve got mine 24/7/365.”

I guess it’s hard for people to understand the concept of heat rash all year round. It’s hard for them to understand how uncomfortable a too-small, ill-fitting bra is. It’s hard for them to understand the WEIGHT.

People are used to seeing those fake boobs that stand up on their own and seem weightless. I don’t know if they are lighter, but I know real boobs aren’t. It’s fat and mammory glands and tissue. It’s heavy. Only in a weightless environment would my breasts be perky. Rocking what should have been an H or I cup (yes, they make those), I was that exaggerated droopy breast joke you see on those comical birthday cards in Spencer’s. When I took my bra off, I could sit down and my breasts would touch the tops of my thighs. That’s how big and how heavy they were.

Sexy, huh?

I had back trouble and spent most of my time hurting. I mentioned the heat rash. I also had trouble sleeping. It was hard to find a position that was comfortable because of all of that squishy weight on my chest, sliding around and getting in the way and smooshing me if I wasn’t smooshing them.

And then there was the toll it took on my self-esteem.

When I finally got the job that provided me with the insurance that would cover a breast reduction, I jumped at the chance. During the initial pre-surgery examination, the doctor said he would probably take off 15 pounds of tissue.

I’m going to repeat that. My breasts were large enough that the doctor felt taking off 15 pounds of tissue would still leave me with ample enough bosom for my build. That’s how big I was.

In the end, the doctor only took off 7 pounds of tissue total, but still for fun, get a couple of three pound weights and picture carrying that plus (because the doc did leave me some titties) on your chest. That was me.

I’m now at a much more comfortable size, rocking at a 38DD. Sure, it still sounds big, but the difference is a) the bra fits and b) this size works with my build so it’s not too big. And compared to what I was nine years ago, this is positively tiny.

I feel better. I don’t have nearly the back problems I used to have. The heat rash is gone. I’ve got one less problem sleeping. Have there been some drawbacks? Sure and I’ll discuss those at some point. But this is a celebration, so I’m sticking with the positive today.

Happy birthday, boobies. You deserve it.

“Why Are You Single?”

~ Kiki Writes ~ 1 Comment

I get this question far more often than I think I should. I feel it should be obvious why I’m single: I’m a fat, pasty bulldog that lives with my dad and a roommate and is in the process of trying to straighten out of the financial mess that I got myself into starting a few years ago. What man wouldn’t want that? Meow. Irresistable.

Okay, so maybe there’s a little more to it than that. I guess there’s actually a lot of little contributing factors to my singledom.

The first has to be the ending of my previous long term relationship. That ended ten years ago. No lie. The relationship wasn’t that great, it didn’t end on a positive note, and I was young and emotionally immature. It took me quite awhile to unravel all of the ends and outs of what went wrong. For years, I thought it was me. I thought me behaving badly was just how I was in a relationship and I avoided any prospect of getting into one to save the other poor soul, no matter how badly I wanted that person.

Years later, I realized that what happened in that relationship wasn’t the person I was and that I am quite capable of being a healthy individual in a partnership given the right partner and the appropriate communication.

Unfortunately, I missed a few opportunities in the meantime. Part of those misses were because of my fear of intimacy, but the other part were because of my obliviousness. I had a guy that I was totally enamoured with ask me to makeout with him and I didn’t because I thought he was joking. I thought it was because he was drunk and I was the only single girl in the room. It never entered my mind that he might have been serious.

There was another factor in that missed opportunity, as well as a few others, and that’s respect. The particular guy I was so enamoured with was part of a group of friends that I had worked really hard to gain their respect, to have them think of me as an equal and not just a girl tagging along. In my mind, to give in and make a try for this guy would lessen the respect this group had for me. I’d lose everything I’d worked for and the likelihood I’d be able to get it back would be lower than when I started. Yeah. Pride and respect trumped it all.

That has to be my biggest regret in life, that particular missed opportunity. I still think about what might have been sometimes, though those times are getting fewer and farther between.

And if all of that isn’t good enough, I imagine the fact that I don’t get out much doesn’t help me. I can’t meet anyone if I’m sitting at home. I’m not a big social outing kind of person. I go through phases. I’m going to a lot of baseball games this summer. I went out a lot when I was involved in the indy scence of pro wrestling. I’ve gone to several geek conventions. Bars aren’t really my scene and in a small town, there’s not much else to do. I’m more of a homebody anyway. And it’s no doubt cost me.

It is also entirely possible that a little bit of my singleness rests in the hands of the guys. I’m not exactly what a guy is looking for in a girl. I’m not the ideal they’re told by the media to seek. I’m pale and fat and a brunette. I’m a fighter and an ego bruiser. There’s not much about me that’s dainty or pretty. I don’t look good in a belly shirt and I like sports too much. There’s nothing stereotypical about me and that turns guys off, I don’t care what they say. Any guy who says they just want a girl that’s sweet and smart and looks don’t matter is blowing smoke.

Not many guys are going to spend too much time getting to know me to see if maybe I’d be good for them. Maybe if I was skinny, maybe if I was pretty, maybe if I behaved like a girl in the romantic comedies, they might hang around and give me a shot. But on looks alone, I’m more trouble with their buddies than I’m worth.

It’s hard to find a guy who doesn’t have a pack mind like that.

And I have yet to find one.

Of course, a big part of that is my hang-up.

I’m still working on a way to get unhung.

Fat Girl Belly Dancing

~ Kiki Writes ~ Leave a comment

Several years ago, let’s guess 2004, I decided that I needed to get healthy. Not just lose weight, although that was part of the goal, but to change my eating habits, excercise more, and strengthen my body. I chose to do this slowly, hoping that the new changes would stick. More than once I had tried to start exercising and never had the follow through because, well, I hated it.

So this time, instead of once again hiking my fat ass up on the treadmill and walking mile after boring mile (I really don’t like walking unless I’m getting somewhere), I looked for an alternative. I decided to try yoga. It was easy enough that I could stick with it, but difficult enough that it challenged my muscles. At the time it fit into my schedule well as I was going to college (that was my third stint). I popped in the DVD and did twenty minutes before school. As time went on, I started learning new poses and incorporating them into my own, made-up routines.

I was actually impressed with the difference. Maybe I didn’t lose a ton of weight in the first few months that I did it, but I noticed that I was getting stronger and that I was feeling better. It was enough to encourage me to stick to it. It became the core of my exercise program.

After a good solid year of yoga, I added weights to the regime. And then after some time doing that, I looked to add some cardio to my workout routine.

I started with dancing at first. I just put on some music and bust some moves like I did back in the day when I was hitting the under 21 club on a regular basis (the whole motivation for me to get into shape was that I felt I wasn’t keeping up on the dance floor as well as I used to). It was fine for awhile, but I got bored with it pretty quickly, oddly enough.

Then I happened to catch a belly dancing workout program on FitTV, back when it was FitTv, before Oprah took things over and messed it all up. It looked challenging enough to give me a workout, but fun enough that I’d stick to it. And I felt that it would work with the yoga and the weights I was already doing it.

When I started belly dancing, I was terrible. No doubt about it. I was required to use muscles that I didn’t know I had. But slowly, I started to get more of the moves down. It got to a point where I had memorized every routine of every episode (they only aired one season on a loop) and I was keeping up with them pretty well.

My routine paid off and I lost weight because of it. More importantly I felt better.

But belly dancing had an unintended effect on me. It brought out a latent femininity and sexuality that I didn’t realize I’d had.

I grew up as a tomboy. Yeah, I wore dresses up until the third grade, but they did little to deter me from playing hard with the boys. My mother always said that she didn’t raise girls. I’ve never been very good at being girly. And because I do tend to hang out with boys more than girls and because it’s kind of a rule that if you want to be respected by the boys, you have to be like the boys, that’s how I rolled.

So imagine my surprise when I started doing this very feminine dance and actually enjoying the sexy, girly qualities it brought out in me. I gained even more confidence and felt beautiful despite the fact that the world condemned me (and still does) because I’d never be a size 0. I didn’t think that I could ever somehow incorporate my tomboy self that always have been into the strong, sexy self that I always wanted to be and come out a full person. It’s funny that an exercise routine could do that to me.

So here I am now, having gained back all of the weight I worked so hard to lose and I’m trying to find a way to lose it again. So I’m going back to the beginning: yoga, weights, belly dance. It worked before, it can work again.

More importantly, I need to get back to the state of mind I was in when I was doing this routine the first time.

I need to get back to being a fat girl belly dancing.

Don’t Cry, I’m Fat.

~ Kiki Writes ~ Leave a comment

I’m fat. There’s no other way to say it and I’m not really big on sugar coating things, so there you go. I’m fat.

I’ve got rolls that would make a bakery jealous. I’ve got curves in all the right places and a lot of the wrong ones. Baby’s got back and some front. My arm flab is envied by flying squirrels everywhere. I. Am. Fat.

I’m not just fat in body; I’m fat in personality, too.

What I mean by that is even if I lost enough weight for society to deem me worthy (and that’s really never going to happen since I have these things called hips and shoulders and damned if BMI doesn’t account for that sort of thing), I would still have a big personality. I take up space. Give me room and get out of my way. Sometimes I think I need a bigger body just to contain this personality. Try to cram all of this into a skinny girl and it’s either going to overflow or bloat the body.

But back to being fat.

There’s some negative assumptions about my fat self that I’d like to correct. First of all, I don’t eat all the time. In fact, I actually have some troubles eating. Friends tease me about the fact that I can’t eat a lot at one time. One of my buddies pointed out once that his ten year old nephew ate more than I did. And it’s true. It’s like the ultimate joke on the fat girl: I’m fat, but can’t eat a lot. Go figure.

I don’t just eat junk. To be honest, lunches are probably the place that I slack the most on healthy eating, but dinner is a different story. I cook my own meals. I try to make them as fresh as possible. I look for ways to incorporate fruits and vegetables into my meals. I make that effort. I don’t eat a lot of fast food. Being broke helps, but even now that I have money, I’m still treating it as an occasional treat and not a go to staple. I don’t have much of a sweet tooth (I go through phases) and I don’t keep much in the way of salty snacks in my house because that’s the sort of thing I’m prone to binge on. I try to keep up the quality of the food I eat.

I don’t sit around all the time. I exercise. I try for five days a week, at least twenty mintues a day. My routine is currently in the process of being adjusted as I get used to working full time again. So far I’m just doing yoga and pilates, but I plan to work my previous workouts back into the mix: cardio kickboxing, belly dance, Latin dance, Brazillian dance, hip hop, and sculpting. Yeah, I like to dance and kick ass. Nothing wrong with that.

I’m not a slob. I may be fat, but I like the way I look for the most part. I like to dress this body that I have right now. I’ve been broke for too long and haven’t had the opportunity to invest in some new clothes, but believe me, that’s on my current to do list. I like to look good. I have style and I like to express it. It’s a struggle to find good looking clothes for my size because people are under this mistaken impression that fat people need to wear muumuus and while I’m not putting down muumuus, they’re just not for me.

Also, I’m bathe on a regular basis. Maybe I get a little sweatier during my workouts or maybe during hot days, but I can assure you, I don’t smell. I use this stuff called deodorant. Skinny people don’t have a corner on that market.

I know it offends a lot of people, but I’m okay being fat. They think that by saying that I’m giving up or choosing to be unhealthy. I’m not. I’m always looking to improve my health and if I do have a problem, my weight is probably going to be low on the cause list. Not getting regular check-ups, putting off going to the doctor, smoking for 16 years, they’ll be more likely to cause me problems than my weight.

And giving up? Please. I’m not giving up anything. Not my food and not my looks. Just because I don’t fit the norm and nobody’s going to be rushing to put me on the cover of a magazine doesn’t mean I’ve given up. It means I’m rocking what I’ve got and doing it a little harder than you’re comfortable with, that’s all.

I don’t know what I weigh right now. The scale is broken (that joke just writes itself, really). I know at one point I lost forty pounds and I can say with some certainty that due to a variety of setbacks that I gained most, if not all of it back. And I think that maybe lately, I’ve lost a little of it. I’m not sure. I’ll know for sure when my pants start fitting better. That’s how I gauge my weight. How my clothes fit.

Of course, when my clothes start fitting a little big my first thought is always that they’re stretching out, not that I’m getting smaller.

I guess that’s because my body might shrink, but my personality still fills out my britches.

I’m a Guy Magnet* *Conditions May Apply

~ Kiki Writes ~ Leave a comment

I’m single and have been for years. I’ve never been married. I’ve really only had a couple of relationships that could have been considered serious. But it’s not for lack of attraction.

I attract men. All women are capable of such a thing. It’s just the type of men that I attract that causes me trouble.

Pardon my bluntness, but I’m a fat girl. Maybe not big enough to qualify for Richard Simmons to show up to my house, but I’m still fat. As I like to say, I’ve got curves in all the right places and several of the wrong ones, too.

A certain contigent of men see my rolls and interpret my weight as a sign of desperation. They think I’ll settle for anyone, put up with anything for a little attention and the privilege of saying that I have a man. These are the men that usually have no jobs and more often than not, no teeth either. I don’t know if the two actually go together, but in my experience they have. They hit on me like I should be grateful that a man is paying any mind to me.

These men are quickly shut down and sent grumbling. I actually had one guy offer to take me to McDonald’s for our “date” and then get indignant because I shot him down.

Sorry. I’m worth more than Mickey D’s.

I also have this odd ability to attract older, married men. I don’t know what it is about me that catches their eyes, but it’s a little creepy and I’m not at all in that market.

Then there’s the “only single girl in the room” situation. Maybe some guys don’t mind that I’ve got enough rolls to qualify for a bakery. Maybe they think that I do have a pretty face. Maybe they like my sense of humor and my brains. But, they only have anything to do with me when I’m the only single girl in the room. The minute another girl comes in, someone thinner or prettier or more socially acceptable, someone the guys won’t give him too much shit for kissing, the sweet nothings they whispered in my ear are just that…nothing.

It’s quite possible that these two types of men have conditioned me to not pay any attention to men flirting with me. I’m not very good at reading people. I can’t tell when a guy is hitting on me.

That’s not entirely true. I can’t tell when a potentionally good guy is hitting on me.

It’s enough to drive my friends mad. The good guys are more subtle, I suppose, which is why I have a hard time seeing it. But my friends can see it clearly and it kills them that I don’t. Not only do I not see it, but if my friends are kind enough to point it out to me, I deny it. These aren’t the ususal guys and usual situations. They can’t possibly be hitting on me.

And sometimes the good guys aren’t so subtle. I once had a guy that I had a mad crush on point blank ask me to make out with him. I didn’t because I thought he was joking. I thought it was because I was the only girl in the room. This same guy also picked me over a prettier girl to dance with outside of a restaurant. He looked at me and told me he was going to dance with me outside and he did and I totally missed that he might have actually meant something by that. We did dance outside. It was sweet and I was awkward and it was the closest I ever got to anything with him.

I still kick myself in the ass over missing out on that opportunity. I had my chance and I missed it because I was so deep in denial, so conditioned to think that there was no way a good guy would bother with me. He wasn’t perfect, but he could have been perfect for me. I’ll never know for sure now.

To put this into a common fishing metaphor, I can reel them in even if the bait I’ve got on the hook isn’t the best and not what most fish are looking for. I can still snag a few. Unfortunately, I’m a catch and release girl. I’m not convinced that any of them are keepers and I end up thinking about the ones that got away, the ones I let go.

Someone should have taught me to be a better fisherman.

Suffering Seasons

~ Kiki Writes ~ Leave a comment

The Cubs had a disappointing 2010 season and so did I. It has nothing to do with being a Cubs fan. It just so happens that we both had a similarly crappy year.

Like the Cubs going into Spring Training, I came into 30 so full of hope and ambition and promise. This was supposed to be my year, THE year, and I was going to make my waves and get things done and 30 was going to be a success. And like the Cubs getting hammered in their Opening Day game in Atlanta, it was very quickly apparent that was not going to be the case for me or them.

Very early on this year I realized that one of my worst fears had come true and that I had gained back most, if not all, of the weight I’d spent four years losing. I took a moment to berate myself and then I got myself a new exercise schedule, getting back into the moving groove that I had gotten out of the year before. It worked before; I was confident it would work again. Only it didn’t. Like Derrick Lee and Aramis Ramirez hitting 3rd and 4th in the line-up, my go to guys just weren’t producing. It wasn’t until August until I started seeing a change in my body and very tentitively thought that maybe I might have lost a few pounds, but because it took this long to lose so little, I’m not really encouraged about the long-term. I’d really rather not spend the next few years losing only ten pounds in 12 months. I need better production than that and it bugs me that I’m not getting it from my established methods.

The Cubs went into the season with four rookies, three of them in the bullpen and one of them on the bench. And they just kept adding them as the year dragged on.  I started off with a few rookies of my own; new short stories that I would send out. Success for all of us was pretty limited. “Land of the Voting Dead” was my Starlin Castro (it was the only story I sold); “Such a Pretty Face” is my Justin Berg (it had a little bit of success placing in a contest, but continues to struggle in getting properly published). But, I know that like rookies, you just keep sending them out there because they will benefit from the experience.  Meanwhile, I agonize for them and over them.

In July, Carlos Zambrano had a meltdown and ended up on the restricted list. My laptop beat him to the punch by a couple of weeks and my Internet beat him a few days. While Zambrano was off getting anger management therapy, I spent a month negotiating Christmas/birthday presents to get a new laptop, waiting on a hand-me-down desktop from my mother, and trying to wrangle an Internet service. After two false starts and nearly three weeks, we got it all straightened out. Unfortunately, as a result, I missed a couple of submission deadlines. The lack of computer also through a serious wrench in my writing mojo (though I did get caught up on my reading) that took me two months to reestablish. Zambrano made a much better comeback than I did.

Missing out on the deadlines hurt the worst because it meant I was missing out on potentially making some money. Like the Cubs with their expensive contracts, I got myself into my own monetary mess but not having a regular income since February of ’08. I know and accept that and I’m trying to work with what I have. The Cubs shed salary by trading Derrick Lee, Ryan Theriot, Mike Fontenot, and Ted Lilly (of all of these trades, losing Lilly broke my heart the most, even if we did get Blake DeWitt out of it). I ended up selling my action figures to make a buck, but still ended up borrowing money off of my dad more times than I’d like to make ends meet.

Without a doubt, the year has been rough and disappointing, but there were some bright spots. Where the Cubs had some promising rookies like Castro, Tyler Colvin, Andrew Cashner, Casey Coleman, and James Russell, surprisingly good returns from Carlos Silva and Marlon Byrd, and a strong finish to the season under Mike Quade, I got to meet up with family that I haven’t seen for a long time, spend lots of time with my young nieces, and cash in an early Christmas present from my mom: a trip to Wrigley to see the Cubs play.

Naturally, they lost 1-0 to the Giants.

But, that’s okay. It just further adds to my argument of how sympatico I was with my team. We suffered in different ways, but we suffered together. The 2010 Cubs will always have a special place in my heart because of that. Because of them, I didn’t have to suffer alone.

I appreciate that.

NaNoWriMo Update:

Total Word Count: 22,063

Chapter 1 Word Count: 2,239
Chapter 2 Word Count: 2,084
Chapter 3 Word Count: 2,163
Chapter 4 Word Count: 2,108
Chapter 5 Word Count: 2,100
Chapter 6 Word Count: 2,083
Chapter 7 Word Count: 2,032
Chapter 8 Word Count: 2,041
Chapter 9 Word Count: 2,342
Chapter 10 Word Count: 2,870