Category Archives: Fat Pants

State of My Pants (SOMP)

I hated today. I hated it slightly less than I hated yesterday, except for the last 45 minutes or so. Now I hate today as much as I hated yesterday, if not more. SHAME ON YOU, TODAY. SHAME ON YOU.

Today was the State of the Union. Sigh. The state of the union is NOT GOOD. And it appears that it will continue being NOT GOOD for a while. What I thought of the speech is unimportant to this blog because I don’t feel like talking much about politics right now. Take your discussion elsewhere, internets.

All right, so the state of my pants is not that great either. There hasn’t been much change in anything at all. I’m waiting for my new bank card to show up. I’m applying for jobs each day. I’m fighting, and mostly winning, a battle against running far, far away. NEVER TO BE HEARD FROM AGAIN~

The state of my pants is over-dramatic. I feel like I’m thirteen.

Also? GIVE ME ALL THE FRIED FOOD IN THE LAND. Seriously. Hand it over and no one gets hurt. I refuse to say that I’m “eating my feelings” because I don’t believe in giving food a moral value. You know why? BECAUSE IT DOESN’T EFFING HAVE ONE. There is no good food and there is no bad food. There is just food and it all has nutritional value. Even those gummy bears in your hand. Calories! Which can be converted into energy! Also, are you hungry? Do you want a cupcake? Or a stalk of broccoli? THEN EAT THEM. Life is too short to worry about what you’re putting in your mouth. Your value isn’t in the number on the scale or printed on the tag stitched into your britches. I mean, yeah, it feels like it is but guess what? There are so many people out there who don’t actually give a shit what you weigh or what size your pants are, and the ones that do are probably doucherockets anyway and you don’t need to waste your time on them.


The state of my pants is very fat! And also sexy.

I bought SUPER CHUNK yarn to knit a cowl for The BFF. I sat down before dinner to get it on the needles and joined and stuff, and then I ate dinner, and then I came back and knit for a row. Things seemed…odd. But I ignored it. I knit another row. AND THEN THINGS SEEMED VERY AFOOT D: So then I knit another row because hey, I’m smart like that. And then I realized I could not tolerate the absolute horridness of my creation and I frogged it. Now the yarn is cast on but I haven’t done anything else with it.

The state of my pants is crafty.

I’ve had a headache for a few days. I’m not sure why and today was dotted with jaw pain, which probably means I’m spending my time with my jaw clenched, which I do without noticing until it feels like my face is going to fall off.

The state of my pants is owwwwww :(


You think?

Overweight women face some docs’ disrespect.

A mind-blowing study saying that some doctor’s are real assholes to overweight women. Being an MD does not make one instantly immune to douchebaggery and prejudice.

I’m tired of people attacking other people over their weight. Who gives a shit if someone has gained or lost 20 pounds? You wouldn’t make fun of someone for missing an arm, would you?

Well. Okay. Some people would but those people deserve to be beaten with said missing limb.

Most of the women I know (and a few of the men) are obsessed with their weight. They count calories. They have EDs. They place all of their worth in some numbers. I’m not immune to this either. I have put on some serious depression weight in the last year. I know my body well enough to know that it’s starting to cause some problems and I don’t want those problems, so I’m trying to work my health. Most of the time I am not concerned with how much weigh but rather with how I feel. Right now I feel sluggish, drained, and uncoordinated. So I’m working on it. Working on it = taking walks and visiting our tiny little gym next to the leasing office. That’s it. I should probably eat more because I don’t really eat enough.


That’s right. I’m fat and I don’t eat very much. It’s useful in moments when people are all “OMG FATTIES ARE FAT BECAUSE ALL THEY DO IS EAT OMG OMG STOP EATING FATTIE!”

My point is, fatties have feelings too. You can’t assume a person is one way or the other based on how they look. Some people think Barack Obama looks like a terrorist. Them saying so causes a huge uproar. So why don’t more people make a huge uproar when people say fatties are only fat because they eat too much?

ETA: Maks from DWTS thinks his fellow dancers are cows who need to lose some weight already. Cheryl and Lacey are proof that some people aren’t meant to be stick-thin. They dance for a living. For hours a day. And they still don’t fit the “standard”. Girls should be ENCOURAGED by them, not discouraged like Maks says. I think they’ve both got slammin’ bods (especially Lacey) and have absolutely nothing to be ashamed of.

Health at every size info!

A great post on Health At Every Size! Huzzah!

WTF, Google Reader?

Google Reader is in the habit of recommending blogs to me based on what I currently read. Or something. It has just recommended me a blog called 101 Reasons I Hate Being Fat, or as I decided to call it, 101 Reasons I Hate Myself. It made me sad. Especially the commenter who said that the fat acceptance movement is, more or less, EE-VIL. WE ARE LETTING PEOPLE BE HAPPY WITH THEMSELVES OMFG.


I’m going back to sleep now. The BFF woke me up about 45 minutes ago because she has had a headache for days and the neighbor’s dogs wouldn’t stop effing barking. Now we’re watching Reality Bites, which we can’t stop quoting word for word, even though we’re both exhausted.

Also, dreams are evil.

I need a bunny

Last night, I met someone from the fatoblogosphere and we swapped some clothes and I got to hold her bunny, who was shy and sweet and so very soft. Now I am convinced that I, too, need a bunny. Seriously, y’all. This bunny was precious.

My allergies are in overdrive, which I don’t understand because I took medicine. Argh.

Those of you with the supreme knowledge of the super secret writing blog are going to just GROAN when I inform you that I’m adding a blog to it. A blog so I can talk about how I should be writing but I’m not. It’s so I don’t clog up the WRITING BLOG with my stupid rambling incoherent crap. So be on the lookout. It will reside with the other blog, so it should be easy to switch between them.

I’m sure you’re all just astounded at how many blogs I have. I don’t care. It’s my time on the internets!

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Hot dogs

I’ve always been a little obsessed with food. I was a picky eater as a kid and survived on a diet of peanut butter & jelly sandwiches, Spaghetti O’s, and hot dogs. I hated spaghetti with a passion and also lasagne and pork chops and steak (when I was little, we ate more of this than I think the average family ate, mostly because our steak came from our cows) and my mom’s version of Chinese food and…well, pretty much everything. I remember there being a ketchup addiction in there somewhere. Ketchup sandwiches: two slices of bread, lots of ketchup. I was kind of a gross kid.

As I grew up, I began liking other foods and I stopped throwing tantrums at dinner time because I JUST WANT MY PEANUT BUTTER AND JELLY SANDWICH MOOOOOOOM WHY DO YOU HATE ME SO MUCH???? I lived for band trips because we were usually set free on the unsuspecting residents of Enid, Oklahoma and their really sub-par mall. A mall meant a food court! A food court meant fast food, which we didn’t eat much of when I was a kid. Well, I take that back. We ate Wendy’s after family swim night (I remember sitting in the very air conditioned Wendy’s enjoying my Frosty while my teeth chattered my brain loose) and a few times a month, my very exhausted mother would get Braum’s on the way home from work. But I rarely ate McDonald’s. I never ate Chik-Fil-A (I learned very quickly that there was a good reason for that: THEIR FOOD SUCKS). Never went to Sonic.

Then I started driving, which opened up this whole new world of FOOD OPTIONS to my food obsessed mind. Somewhere in there, I went on a diet with my parents, which worked pretty well until I hit a wall and couldn’t get below 145 pounds no matter what I tried. I switched out my carrots for celery. I rode the stationary bike for an extra half hour. I ate less. I ate different things. My body was just like, fuck off, Sparkle Pants. This is where I’m staying! This crushed me, as I was still fat and as such, largely unacceptable and a ginormous reject to most of my peers. For awhile, I managed to trick myself into thinking I could be cute. I’ve always had a weird idea of what makes me look cute, so it was just a disaster to try experimenting with my look in my teen years. I had bad hair and big glasses and weird teeth and dumb clothes and lots of fat. Sigh.

I’m not sure what set off my complete dependence on food. I’m not sure when it became a substantial part of my life. I know that it’s substantial to everyone because hey, we have to eat. It probably came from reading YM and Seventeen and watching helplessly as this monster inside me forced me to eat all of these HORRIBLE foods that were just making me fatter and fatter and fatter…

[Dude, WTF. The wind blew all day yesterday and the dish didn’t mess up once. But now that the Pens game is on, it’s going out every two seconds. WTF.]

The last real diet I was on was in 2001/2002. The BFF was diagnosed with PCOS and began a virtually carb-free diet to deal with her weight gain. Our whole house decided it would be easier if we all did it, and in addition to that, I started doing pilates and this horrendous aerobics routine on tape by some Nazi who presumed she was a drill sergeant. I started doing bellydancing (on tape) and I lost weight. I felt better in my body, thanks to the pilates and bellydancing (man, I felt sexy for half an hour a day walking around in a sports bra and work-out pants. I miss those days.). The compliments I received made me feel a little…uncomfortable. They were of the “OMG YOU LOOK SO AMAZING NOW THAT YOU’VE LOST WEIGHT!” variety. You know, the ones that make you feel worse about yourself instead of better because shit, I must’ve looked HORRIBLE before.

That said, I couldn’t stand a carb-less diet and went back to eating bread and pasta and well, since I had restricted myself of pretty much every food substance I loved, I “fell off the wagon”. And then I went to Texas for three months, where our food options (aside from breakfast, lunch, and dinner, which were prepared) were a) the snack cabinet stocked by the local food bank, b) frozen fried foods, or c) whatever we managed to stock under our bunks. We all ate horribly there.

I’ve always viewed my food obsession as one of my biggest flaws. The BFF and I used to make food plans, which were basically diets, and I would freak out. I would literally lose my shit. YOU ARE GOING TO KEEP ME FROM EATING THINGS I ENJOY I AM GOING TO DIE PLEASE DON’T DO THIS TO ME. I have an unhealthy relationship with food. Or I used to. I’m not sure where I am now. I eat what I want, when I want. So I feel better in that regard.

The whole point of this post is to say that I’m still obsessed with food. I think about what I’m going to eat for lunch. I love to cook and sometimes I dream about the recipes I want to try. Today I’m thinking about all types of food: salads and hot dogs and pizza and garlic bread and steak and potatoes and chicken…because I am hungry. I am starving. Financial hardship makes intuitive eating really quite near impossible. I can’t go to the store and buy a potato or any of the things I mentioned above. My options are lunch meat sans bread, spaghetti, Ramen, peanut butter, and rice. None of those are what I want but you see, I am starving. I will eat them.

Okay, so I’m not really sure what the point of this post is. Last night wasn’t a good one in our house and I fell asleep at 10:30 this morning. Woke up at 2. My brain is kind of fuzzy and foggy and confused. I had unsettling dreams. I can’t call them nightmares because by and large, they were good, good dreams. I woke up at noon in a panic, cried my way to the bathroom. There’s a strangeness bubbling beneath the surface. But for now, I must away. Maybe I’ll talk about the strangeness later, but I doubt it.

And just for good measure: GO PENS!

A pebble in my shoe

I don’t want to be sizist or mean, especially since I know that most women have issues with their bodies, regardless of their size because we are all force-fed the same bullshit about beauty standards that are unattainable, but when someone who is a size 6 complains about being fat or chubby, I kind of want to sock them in the mouth.

Okay. I’m done being evil now.

You’re fat because you’re dumb, you idiot

So last year or something, I joined SparkPeople because I thought that it’d be nice to keep track of my exercise. And food intake. Or something. I was steathily sneaking around pretending I wasn’t planning to diet. I was planning to “get healthy” because it was what I wanted to do. I will be honest with you (and myself) right now: that was a load of crap. I wanted to lose weight because I felt horrible about myself and no amount of telling myself otherwise worked.

That said, I have yet to unsubscribe myself from the emails they send out 800 times a day about how everyone is losing 350 pounds! It’s so easy! You can do it! And occasionally I open them up and read them because I need some entertainment in my life. I did just that today and after scanning the body of the email, I noticed the ad running along the top of my Gmail inbox: FAT LOSS 4 IDIOTS.


The site gives you the “inside scoop on dieting”, saying that you’re overweight because you eat too much while sitting on your big fat ass eating too much. And you’re doing all of that in the wrong fucking pattern. They say, “FOOD is more powerful than any prescription weight loss pills, because the FOOD that you eat can either make you THIN or FAT.” after telling you that low fat, low calorie, and/or low carb diets don’t work. So food can make you fat or skinny, except for low fat, low calorie, and low carb foods, which just don’t work. I suppose you maintain the status quo if you eat those foods. Apparently all you have to do is eat the right foods at the right intervals because if you eat the wrong foods at the wrong intervals, your body stores everything as fat.

But what if you eat the right foods at the wrong intervals? Or the wrong foods at the right intervals?

You get fat, that’s what. Because you eat too much, Fatty McFatterson.

They claim they can teach you how to lose weight, no matter how bad your genetics are. I say! Thank god I found this diet because I am SO SICK OF FADS. I mean, where else can I lose 9 pounds every 11 days? Or 11 pounds every 9 days? Or whatever it is?

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Bed head

I woke up with the best bed head this morning. I went into the bathroom, put in my contacts, and took my first clear view of myself. Wow!  Tremendous bed head! So I dreamed up a tremendous bed head scenario and merrily went about my day.

Which brings us to the Sparkle Pantsosphere. You know, last night I was all “OMG I POSTED ABOUT THIS AT MY BLOG!” on another blog and this morning when I checked my stats, I wanted to retract it all because hey, all of a sudden people were coming to my blog. I’m fine being a stupid, shallow, boring blogger around my friends and total strangers who stumble in looking for variations on “do it all night lyrics” and “sparkly html” but when a bunch of people in a community I have mad respect for come over for a visit? Well, it’s kind of like that time I gave my friend a ride and he spent the entire time making fun of my dirty car and my Nsync CD.

So, tremendous bed head vs. crippling fear of humiliation. It’s a cage fight and only one will walk away.

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Kiss me

The ever fabulous Mo receives a lot of heartbreaking emails from girls who are in need of advice and/or encouragement, and sometimes she posts them so that we, as readers, can help out. This question is near and dear to my heart, mainly because I’ve been there. I set up shop there. In fact, I could probably set up shop there again because it’s been HOW long since I saw some lip action from a guy?

Anyway, I sat down to respond to the post and realized that it might be easier to just, you know, make a post of my own, given my tendency to RAMBLE. Especially when I get to talk about myself and my sordid past. A friend of mine says that blogs exist so that people can spout off their opinions (he says some other stuff, too but I don’t remember it word for word…I should go look it up since he HAS A BLOG) and I say that in large part, personal blogs that exist for the sake of filling up the interwebz with pointless content are the most narcissistic tool known to man. You get to talk about whatever you want for however long you want and sometimes, people read it and comment to talk about you, too and then you can respond and talk about yourself SOME MORE, which is always a good thing, especially when you’re me and refuse to talk at all in person.

By the way, today I’m wearing a red shirt with a pink tank top underneath. I am mad stylin’.

My point! I be havin’ one! Or several. Back in the day, I was awkward. Puberty and I were not friends (although really, is puberty friends with ANYONE? That bitch is wicked unpopular). I had bad hair and weird clothes and since I ran around living my life in my head, I spent a lot of time existing in a reality that did not quite line up with the reality of those around me (well, it seems that some things never change). I wrote bad prose, worse poetry (OMG I LUV U!! or OMG I H8 U DIIIEEEE!!) but I listened to some really good music. That stuff aside, I was a reasonably nice girl and considered myself dateable on the personality front. Then I realized that no one in high school pays attention to stupid shit like personalities! Good times.

So I was dateless throughout high school. In my younger, elementary years, I “dated” someone who turned out to be gay. Thankfully, we both got over ourselves and we talk semi-regularly on MySpace. Maturity, FTW! I had crushes in high school. I asked one of them to the prom and was rebuffed instantly with the line, “I don’t do prom.” (Until the next year, when he so did prom.) Then I went to college. Oh, how I went to college. There, I discovered one of my favorite things about college campuses: boys. Lots of them. Running around with their shirts off. Or vaguely resembling popular rock station DJs, only 800 times hotter.

But none of them were interested in me. It seemed that the only place to meet guys that were interested in me was online. I don’t have a problem with online relationships (friendly or otherwise), so long as everyone’s cool and uses common sense. I’ve never seen most of my friends face to face, and they’re like family to me. Anyway, so I met this guy. And he was weird and funny and couldn’t spell but that was okay because he liked me! He was interested in me! OMG! (This was in the Dark Ages, so OMG was not yet widely used.) So we ACTUALLY met. AJ came with me in case I needed to bailed out. I was nervous but things went okay. We kind of clicked and had a lot to talk about. I didn’t feel any sparks. At the end of the night, what I felt was relief. He liked me in person, too. Then there was an awkward kiss and I was off!

Being new to relationships and all, I was pretty bad at it. Making out was like, so awkward because huh? What am I doing? With my hands? Am I doing this right? Wait, what? Huh? WHAT?! NO! NO*! ABORT! And so on and so forth. For nearly three years. There were many fights and that one time when he threw his cat across the room because it clawed him in the face because he wouldn’t stop torturing the poor thing and that other time when he threw his CD player into the wall because it was the nearest object that wasn’t me. More fights. More and more and more fights.

All because I wanted to fit in.

I know this is probably coming off like, “Well, I did this and you SHOULDN’T but if you do, it’s all your fault!” but that’s not what I mean at all. I know what it’s like to stand where you are, sweetie, and by God’s good graces, I know what it’s like to stand on the other side. You are lovable. Every square inch of your beautiful body is lovable and you deserve to have that. Everyone does. Everyone deserves to have intimate relationships with others, regardless of their size or skin color or country of origin or religion or who they’re attracted to. Someone commented and said to wear clothes that make you feel good and to engage in activities that you enjoy, and I couldn’t agree more. As you come into your own, you will begin to see your worth as it encompasses your entire being. I hate the saying “how do you expect anyone to love you if you don’t you love?” but it’s true, at least in part. Something changes about a person when their self-esteem begins to rise. I’m not sure what it is – something in the way you carry yourself, a certain glow about the cheeks. On days when I am feeling my best, I get the most attention. Sometimes it’s unwanted but that happens on my worst days, too.

My advice to you would be to focus on the things that bring you joy – friends, hobbies, pets, classes, books, photos, sunsets, baby animals, flowers, stars – and begin the painful excursion of learning you. For myself, when I focus on something that I want but am unable to immediately and/or easily obtain, I find that the want quickly becomes unbearable and only subsides when I distract myself with other things.

You, my dear, are glorious and wonderful and you have a community out here embracing and supporting you. If you ever find yourself in need of a shoulder to cry on or vent to, my mailbox is always open. I have found that things have gotten easier as I’ve gotten older. After the monumental death of my first relationship, I went through a phase where sanity and I were incommunicado and then I moved to California because I have seen too many movies. Turns out, it was the best thing I could’ve done. I got distance from my situation, found some awesome people who were willing to listen, and most of all, I began to see myself as an acceptable, worthy human being.

I’ve never had guys beating down my door. I will never have guys beating down my door, which is fine by me because a) I’m too poor to constantly replace doors, and b) I’m a recluse by nature. There have been a few nibbles in the past [insert number here] years and I’ve been interested in approximately one person (The Rebound and The Distraction don’t count), and if you’ve been around the various incarnations of the Sparkle Pantsosphere in the past four years (yeah, four years), you know who I’m talking about and how it ended (did I tell y’all about that night?). I’ve not actively pursued anyone mostly by choice and partly by fear because while I have grown immensely comfortable with myself, there are some aspects of my personality that will never change. But by and large, I’m happy. I still have moments of crippling self-doubt and feeling alone but it usually passes. I have found the best cure for those moments are my friends. And movies. And YouTube. And sometimes, a big bowl of ice cream.

*Apparently, he was unfamiliar with this word.