Sunday, January 28, 2007

High School

I had a far less than stellar high school career. My Mom was very fond, for some perverse reason I still do not grasp, of telling people and reminding me that I graduated something like 255 out of 256 people in my class. This is only a slight exaggeration. My Mom sometimes said stuff I thought she said just to be mean. I also got an academic achievement scholarship to college because I blew the SAT out of the water. Whatever, it is all bullshit now, isn’t it? In retrospect I know and understand everyone felt weird and everyone had things that felt earth shattering to them going on. I was overwhelmed by older sister getting continually knocked up, and dumping her babies at my parents house where my parents failed to arrange child care, so I stayed home and took care of one or more of them quite often. My Dad was out of work for the first half of my high school career. When I was a junior, my brother took a break from beating the crap out of his wife long enough for her to pick up the kid and run, among other things. Plus I was a teenager, and had that whole do boys like me, puberty, and social retardation thing going on.

I had no interest whatsoever in appeasing idiot adults with tenure and red pen. I did not give a fuck about their attendance rules, or spitting back their pap to get an A. I very easily aced every class where attendance did not count, though my grades were hurt by my failure to feel the need to actually do homework. I was never suspended, I suspect because they figured that would not be much of a punishment for a child who had so artfully mastered the fine art of being absent. I failed US history the first time because even back then I liked to write, but got too excited, and forgot to cross T's and dot I's. I have always been able to think significantly faster than I can either talk or write. So, it tended to come out in a jumble. The teacher was a middle-aged milquetoast with tenure who hated obnoxious little girls who were much smarter than him. He deducted points for each iand t, and I ended up with a negative grade for the final exam. I understand the importance of literally and figuratively dotting and crossing, I even did then, but even then I felt it was the English teacher’s job to hold my failures in that area against me. If I obviously comprehend nationalism, and grasp the finer points of the nuances of the constitution, know the gravity of the Gettysburg Address, who gives a fuck if I can spell and punctuate? Asscock! Anyway, that dude is in my asshole hall of fame for my life thus far. Considering the assholes I have had to deal with in my life, that is quite an accomplishment. I hope his pedantic flat balding loser ass is proud.

I was in the band and jazz band because I really liked to play music, but I really hated band geeks. It was a terrible conundrum. My parents were heavily involved in being band supporters to my utter mortification. I was mystified by those boys who were allegedly attractive who were in the band. I could not comprehend their allure. They seemed like misogynistic twits with minimal musical talent to me. As an adult I have the smug superiority of knowing I was right about that. Also, the girls in the band had a worshipful puppy dog like adulation for the band teacher that I did not share. I kinda thought he was a perv and a geezer dork. He also put the biggest suck ups in charge of each section of the band, and the insane nutwich he put in charge of the flutes really hated my guts. She was always telling on me for not putting my music on the stand the way she said, and not counting the rests how she said, and not bowing down to her authority. I find the occasions when I bump into her in the grocery store these days quite gratifying, I confess.

I had a few good teachers in high school. I was recently absolutely crushed to bump into the English teacher who had a great impact on my life. She not only did not remember me, but also did remember my cootie laden annoying little sister. I was crestfallen. I was a pretty bad kid in high school, but also intensely funny, and very smart. I was bummed I was neither bad enough nor good enough to be memorable. My ninth grade English teacher retired when I was a junior. I suspect we drove her to it. She was what at the time seemed to be an old lady, but I am sure she was in her 50’s, if that. She deftly handled all the hormonal vagaries and insanities of the freshmen students she taught, and managed to get us to work, and learn in spite of ourselves. The teacher I had the second time I took U.S. History was the first adult other than my parents who every expressed an admiration and appreciation for not only my intelligence, but my smartassedness. He was the first person in my life who ever told me I was killer smart, and that was a very good thing. I actually really liked my Algebra teacher, who was great with kids, but I hated Algebra. My freshman Spanish teacher was a slut, and her indiscretions were a great source of amusement, she was also a good teacher.

I really liked three of my history teachers. Two were intriguing for their personal lives alone as they both had much younger wives who were once students. One of those was a genius about the eastern bloc, which did and still does interest me. He was also very enthusiastic about the subjects he taught, and was a very kind and decent man. He always gave very thoughtful advice to my friend and me who were often in his classes together. The other history teacher was really not that great of a teacher in the classroom, but was one of the nicest people I have ever met in my life. He was one of the chaperones on a school trip to Washington D.C. I ended up with all roommates who I never met before. One of them was really bitchy and nasty and made me cry. We had to share a bed, and a dresser. She told me I could have one of the four drawers, and sleep on the floor since she got there first. So I, never having been away from home before, had no idea what to do. My teacher told me: "You worked very hard to get here, and you paid for that room. If that bitch doesn’t want to share with you she can sleep on the floor and keep her stuff in her suitcase." Go back to the room and tell her that." Some of the best advice I ever received. I called home crying like a loser all day that day, but my parents didn’t hear a peep from again after that until it was time to pick me up at the train station.

On the rare occasions I felt the urge to grace the school with my presence, I actually made some friends who are still my friends now. So, it was of course not all bad. It never is. I also took driver’s ed. in high school. My guidance counselor was the teacher. Since I have very naughty parents, I had been permitted to drive on occasion for years by the time I took driver’s ed. So I knew the basics from the get go. I had all my driver’s ed. driving lessons at night, or on the highway, or in the rain or snow, or some combination of the four. I had a freaking good time. I still hear his voice in my head giving instructions every time I parallel park, which I do damn well by the way, thank you very much. I am always happy to see him when I see him in the grocery store. I was one of his "bad" kids, but he genuinely liked me anyway. I will appreciate that until I die.

Thursday, January 25, 2007

To Be Continued...

I’ve been feeling stingy about writing lately. I just have not felt like sharing with the class. When I started to write this blog, it was a new thing for me to write about my feelings. I have never kept a journal, or had a diary that was dear. I needed to blow off a lot of steam about my family, and to somehow relive the stress of refraining from slapping the living shit out of people who desperately needed it.

Actually I am not all that tense, or all that angry, or all that confused, or all that ambivalent about anything anymore. I also do not want to risk being dooced, so I do not write about work. So, I am trying to decide what to write about. Lots of things cross my mind.

I think our president is an idiot, it terrifies me that I live in a country that elected this doofus, TWICE.

My take on feminism and how I came to it.

Stories bout my family that crack me the hell up, but which normal people would think are sick.

The irony of the fact that my whole life I always felt weird in a good way. Then when my parents died, I was surrounded by people who told me all I was thinking and feeling and doing was normal. And I was kind of bummed to turn out to be so run of the mill.

Why I do not have kids.

Music. Stuff I like, instruments I play, performances I have seen. I hope when I am Mick Jagger's age, I can jump around like a lunatic like that for hours on end.

Things that seemed like a good idea at the time, but which I would like to go back in time and slap the shit out of my younger self for even considering.

Things people who know me could make a lot of cash selling to the Enquirer if I ever get famous.

The fact that I have a very good lawyer who will fuck the Enquirer up!

My multitudinous motor vehicle accidents.

Shit about each of my parents that really pisses me the fuck off.

Shit about each of my parents that I love and adore, and some things I am eternally grateful I have inherited in regard to my personality, my looks, my way of dealing with people, my sense of humor, and my brains, to name a few.

The fact that I really say shit a lot, but nowhere near as much as I say fuck and cocksucker.

So, I am going to try to write more frequently, for me, about whatever crapola, ah more scatological references for those in the cheap seats, happens to cross my mind. Writing is one of the best things I do, and it makes me happy, so I am going to keep plugging away. Just a note, I try to check out everybody who comments or e-mails but I am working a lot, and contractor hunting because I cannot stand my kitchen anymore. Do not think I think you suck if I do not mention you.

Meanwhile, here’s some more shit I like to read because they are fucking cool and not cocksuckers at all:

Barmaid Blog

Barista Brat

Petite Anglaise

Plains Feminist

Wednesday, January 17, 2007

Busy, busy, busy

Well, the past week has been quite hectic. I know I shared my New Year’s resolution about wanting a less fat ass, among other body parts. Another was to get said ass in gear and get a freaking job already. I also have been trying to decide if I will continue to write online. It is kind of weird KNOWING people read your inner monologue. Also, I was thinking it was a pretty vain and self-indulgent thing to do. It probably is, but starting to write something, anything, has been a great gift I have given myself. It has really helped me put a lot of things in perspective for myself and has really helped me come to terms with some things in my life and how I feel about them. It has been a good experience, and has helped me in my relationships with my family. I am a much better sister, and have learned to embrace what I do love and enjoy about my family, and accept, without feeling like a martyr, or a patsy, those things that I dislike.

Over the course of the past few months I have done a lot of things here at home. I have also done a lot of thinking about work, and decided to stick with my career. I felt that the issues I had about work were related to how I felt about working, and how I managed conflict, and disappointments on the job as opposed to things I could not change. I cannot change anyone, only how much I give a shit, to loosely paraphrase the old adage. I thought about what mattered most to me when I was working. At the top of my list was being treated like a human being. A tall order indeed. If you have ever had a job, you know what I mean. I also wanted to do something where I could fire up my brain cells regularly and be challenged and learn. That is why I picked my career in the first place. It takes lots of brains all the ding dang time. I wanted to work in a place where I would not be begrudged the tools and equipment I need to do my job. A position where I made enough money to live indoors and not HAVE to get a second job to support that lavish indulgence. Finally, from experience, I know that working in a windowless environment is bad for me. I need sunshine. Some people do just damn fine in dungeon conditions. Me, not so much.

When I changed jobs in the summer of 2005 I had a lot of shit going on. I took a job I should not have, and at this point I have chalked it up to experience. In the scheme of things, if you are going to do something asinine in the throes of grief and chaos, taking a shitty job is far from the worst thing one can do. I just could not stand my old job anymore for many reasons. I had not yet adequately reframed and refocused my high risk adrenaline junkie personality after spending the vast majority of my life dealing with overwhelming family issues, and the last several years trying to manage my parents health and welfare with no tangible help from my siblings. I had long outgrown the job, and there was nowhere to go within the company. I was exhausted with the tortuous commute. Every day, it took me over an hour. Ever day I saw terrible motor vehicle accidents, and animals, domesticated and wild, smashed to smithereens. Because of financial difficulties within the company, I was not given a salary increase in the entire time I worked there. This was a very difficult thing for me as I was used to being tangibly and frequently financially recognized in my working life until then. Further, like in all jobs, there was just some shit that got on my last nerve, and coupled with all the others factors, these things grew soul suckingly intolerable. I just could not take it anymore.

My parents had been dead less than a year. I was on the brink of having to evict Minnie the Mooch, the only sibling I really felt close to, from our parents home as she was not paying the mortgage and utilities as agreed, and was damaging the home even further through sheer neglect and slovenliness. People were constantly asking me about my brother whose absence from our family I had long since come to terms with, and I was sick of explaining his absence from our parents’ funerals, and our lives, to people in the wake of our parents’ deaths. My eighteen-year-old niece became a mother. My nineteen-year-old niece was in an abusive marriage. My oldest niece had a dumbass boyfriend, and her mother and other grandma were seriously ill. My oldest nephew, who is a special needs person, was acting out, and it was scary. When someone who is the size and strength of a NFL linebacker is out of control, it is terrifying. Psycho, my oldest sister, inexplicably stopped drinking in the wake of our parents’ deaths, after decades as a violent, abusive, disruptive alcoholic. While it did make her diatribes much more cogent and coherent, it did nothing for the vileness and insanity of their content.

My other sister, Holly Hobby, barely ever spoke to me. The fact that she had not repaid the money she borrowed from me to come to our mother’s funeral angered me. I felt taken advantage of. I knew better than to allow her to borrow money. Under the circumstances, I would never have said no. When someone wounds your trust, it not only creates a new wound, but also exacerbates all the old ones. Holly Hobby has always been far less than truthful, and I have long known better than to view anything that comes out of her mouth as anything but entertainment. But, I lended her the money anyway, and I was mad at myself. I did not get over it until one day when I talked to one of my friends about it. He had successfully mended a painful relationship with a sibling, and I was looking for advice. He said to me; "Lana, is it worth the three hundred bucks to you to have had your sister at your Mom’s funeral?" I said; "yes, of course." He said; "Well then let it go." This is some of the best advice I have ever gotten.

With all this upheaval, I felt so laid bare at work. The people who I worked with knew far too much, yet no where near enough, about all the shit hitting the fan of my life. I felt conspicuously grief stricken, and like all the freakishness of my family was on full display. Most of my coworkers were kind, and generously shared similar insanities from their own lives in an effort to comfort, and guide me. Some were assholes. These people were assholes before my parents died too. I just found it increasingly difficult not to tell them to go fuck themselves in my heightened state of grief. (snicker) I was also going to school full time throughout the worst time of my parents’ illnesses, and while I tried to probate their wills without smacking the shit out of my sisters. Like any life changing event, my outlook on life and my priorities changed after my parents died. I gained a lot of clarity, and vision for my own life and future. I changed my mind about a lot of things. I became stronger in my convictions in others, and I made a lot of decisions.

I have always been, as my Dad said, " a pretty smart smeller," but in the past couple of years I have become even more adept at sensing and calling bullshit. I have developed my communication skills, and am much better able to, as they say, look out for number one without feeling like number two. So, while I was at home become a general contractor out of necessity, I was also exploring the job market. Seeing what types of positions were available to people of my age, experience, and education, as well as the salary range commensurate with those qualities. I made a lot of decisions about what was on my "deal breaker" list of job opportunities. I developed an interesting new hobby of declining job offers left and right. For a long time I was very occupied with getting my house to a manageable level of debris, and making it safe. And I needed time to regroup, and rest, and think. I was not ready to go back to work yet. Then, right when I was ready, circumstances arose in my family that distracted me. I spent a lot of time helping Psycho’s kids, and had one or more of them staying with me for various lengths of time, for various reasons. I enjoyed their company for the most part, though I was miffed at their mother's failure to "house break" them. So, I happily put off looking for a job too seriously, as the holidays fast approached. I made myself a deal that as soon as I closed up my impromptu hotel, I would get my job-searching ass in gear.

By then it was the week before Christmas. So, I targeted some companies, and also found some postings for job openings from various sources. I did not expect to hear from anyone until after the holidays. I continued to aggressively market myself. On January second, my phone rang off the hook. I weeded out some opportunities, and chose to interview for several. By Monday the eighth, I was in the enviable position of considering three very viable job offers. Two of those opportunies had arisen from the employer contacting me after finding my resume online. After much soul searching I passed on one because the employer was wishy washy in their metrics for the employment contract, and the salary was just not at the right level. Another I declined because I felt the atmosphere was too conservative, and Stepfordy. Having successfully harnessed my high-risk personality, and learned to use it to my advantage, I chose the most risky job. I went with the one with the most potential for gain as well as failure. I started on the tenth, and am already sure it is one of the smartest and wisest things I have ever done in my life. And, I get a nice big sunshiny window too.

Tuesday, January 9, 2007


I turned down the job that had me so conflicted. I would have been bored out of my mind. Nice people is not enough of a reason to take a job for me.

I accepted the one that is a more risky proposition, but where I get to do something I really love, and get experience I need to advance my career. Not to mention, a suhweet work schedule, and exactly, on the money, the highest end of my requested salary range. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I am the shit.

Minnie the Mooch is FINALLY helping me, and we are doing our best Enron impression shredding all our parents documents they saved over their lifetimes. What the fuck did they think they'd need the cancelled checks from 1972 for?

My day at the mechanic's:

While waiting for a part for my car, I discovered an Avon book in the lobby of the garage. I have been taking my cars there a long time and the service manager, Louie, is a really nice man. He assured me the Avon lady was very nice, and reliable. I called her, indulged my eye liner addiction, and adored her instantly.

Since that went so well, I jokingly asked Louie if he knew a good electrician. I had rearranged the appliances in my kitchen, and when I was pushing the fridge into place, I hit the plug, and got this fascinating shower of sparks. After which I discovered several outlets, switches, and light fixtures in my kitchen were no longer working. Traipsing down to the basement to check what I call the big light switches, since I cannot remember what they are really called proved fruitless, as none had been tripped. I had no luck getting a call back from the electrician who did some extensive work for me over the summer. He is very sweet, and did many things above and beyond for me. (Thank you God for the Bodacious Tatas.) But he is also a prima donna high-end contractor, and I needed someone to come help me ASAP, not a rousing game of phone tag. Candlelight dinners are not so fun with Mon Petit Amour and Girly Kitty as you might think.

Louie gave me the cell number for an electrician who brings his trucks to the garage, and has done some work there. Also assuring me the electrician was a great guy. I called late morning, and they had a team at my house by three PM. They would have been there earlier, but they had to wait for Louie to stop holding me hostage at the garage, oops, I mean for the part to finally arrive and be installed in my car. The electricians fixed me right up, and explained what was wrong, and were polite. Their price was not even remotely heart attack inducing, and I can once again make coffee and toast at the same time.

I wonder if Louie knows any single guys....

Sunday, January 7, 2007

Coincidence? I Think Not!

I just finished a book I really enjoyed called The Painted Drum by Louise Erdrich. I was introduced to her writing long, long ago, back when I was a dual English and Psychology major. I’ve really liked what I have read of her writing and that of her late husband Michael Dorris. The brilliance of their work shines no less brightly because of the tragedies in their marriage and family. While I enjoyed the book very much, something that actually has struck a cord for me was a response to an interview question at the back of the book. The interviewer asked Erdrich; "What is the most important lesson life has taught you?" To which Erdrich replied; "Never rationalize anything that feels wrong."

I have long thought of job interviews and dates as having a lot in common. Often you waste your time getting nicely dressed, only to go waste your time talking about stuff you don’t care about with someone you hope you never see again. At least with a date you get free food, or to see a movie or a concert or something. A job interview, you just leave with that whole "I shaved my legs for this?!" feeling. Job interviews are really dehumanizing and soul sucking. I have thought long and hard about what I want to do, and why, and what type of environment I would like to work in. In the past I made the mistake of allowing employers to pay me peanuts. That was dumb, but other stuff was more important, like getting the experience, or the exposure, or having the flexibility to go to school and take care of my parents. Now, like Cuba Gooding Jr. in Jerry Maguire, I want them to SHOW ME THE MONEY! I want to be paid a salary that is appropriate for my skills, experience, and for the current market of like positions. I really do not think this is unreasonable.

Work really stresses me out big time. I’ve had several bad experiences. I think that now that my life is much different, that will not be such a difficulty for me anymore, but I am still feeling increasingly terrified of going back to work. I think I may have developed a bona fide phobia, which is ridiculous, I know. I have very half heartedly looked for a job off and on the past several months. I seldom saw anything that interested me. I really, understandably, and undeniably, needed a rest. Not to mention I have been taking care of a lot of things that needed my full attention here at home. Since I was laid off right at the beginning of the summer, I spent some time at the beach chatting up the local talent. Occasionally I would go on an interview that seemed promising, but mostly desperately wanted to just leave after a few seconds. I turned down a bunch of jobs, some because I did not like the people, some because I did not like the pay, some I did not like the company, one the commute made me say no way. I had a lot of excuses, but I really just was not ready yet.

I have interviewed with a company where I really liked the people, the company, and what they want me to do. I would have the opportunity to fill a newly created position, and build all the processes and procedures in my field or expertise. BUT, well, two buts. One, I do not think the salary offer is appropriate and two I feel the urge to say no. I am not sure if it is because I really want to say no, or because I am just terrified I can't do it, or I will be miserable, or I will over sleep, or screw up some how, or what. Meanwhile, I have a mortgage, and expensive hobbies like heat, hot water, food, cable TV and Internet access. So, I am asinine not to take a job, any job.

Aside from the ludicrously low salary they have allegedly budgeted, I am having misgivings about one of the partners in the company. He seems arrogant, which is ok. I seem arrogant too, but it is only arrogance if you CAN’T back it up. What annoyed me is when he said he could be arrogant sometimes, I said; "arrogance is okay, bullying is what is not okay." He said; "I can be a bully sometimes, if I am not getting my way. Sometimes people need to understand who is in charge." Now, in pretty much any other circumstance this would amuse me. At work bullies are not like bullies in other settings though. They can actually get away with it, especially if they are signing your paycheck. I just have no interest in walking into a shit situation. I truly believe, from long experience, that anyone who has to tell, or remind, people they are in charge, is really not in charge at all, and likely the only person in the room who has not fully grasped this fact.

I have really been thinking about this, as it would be a good opportunity in many respects. I just do not feel the need to thrust myself into a situation when I walk in the door resenting the situation. I know myself. Being paid a trifling salary pisses me off. When I do three times as much work as most other people, that is just not fair. Just because I am flexible and organized, and know my stuff, does not mean it is fair for a company to take advantage of my inability to do anything but kick ass and take names in accomplishing the goals set forth and then some. I am really sick of what the writer of Waiter Rant refers to as the "verbal tip." I don’t want to be employee of the month, or to have a good parking spot. I don't need to be recognized at the company picnic. Who the fuck wants to go to those pseudo social clusterfucks anyway? Not even all the company provided diet coke and M&M’s my little heart can desire, or free hard to get tickets to cultural and sporting events please me. I want my accomplishments, talents, and contributions to be tangibly recognized and compensated. Am I crazy?

Monday, January 1, 2007

Technical Difficulties (Comments II)

Ok, I did NOT figure out how to respond to comments. Sorry...

I don't comment on every blog I read or everytime I read on ones I do comment on. I just don't feel like I need to be redundant of what others have said, and sometimes I just like to read the story, I don't feel like I need to say something all the time.

I like getting people's comments on my own blog. Some make me laugh, in a good way. Some are thought provoking. Some are very kind. Some make me think if I am going to write online, I just need to learn to be more thick skinned, and the people probably did not mean to hurt my feelings.

It's funny, right after I said I post all my comments, I received a "comment" I rejected. It was what I consider spam, someone saying they like my blog and I should read theirs. That's it. I looked at it nonetheless and found it to be a scam site. So I deleted it.

I do check out all the sites people link to in their comments, and have enjoyed reading all kinds of interesting things, and checking out other blogs and sites that are referenced.

I hope everyone had a safe, fun, and rewarding holiday season. I wish you all a happy healthy, and fun filled new year.


Humility is not my strong suit. I’m not sure exactly how I got to be so sure of myself, and so not repentant about it to boot. Sometimes I wish I could cultivate a little bit of humility. I tend to intimidate people who are not as comfortable in their skin as I am in mine. I am not lacking in modesty. I do not condescend unprovoked. I do not beat people metaphorically or literally over the head with skills of mine that outstrip theirs. I just wish that I could somehow find a way to do things I do not like because they are good for me.

I am absolutely horrendous at attending to my own medical care, yet I had absolutely no problem saying such things as "I realize you have a lot of patients, but I have only one mother, and you are going to have to stay here and answer our questions." I hate to go to the doctor. They always ask such freaking nosy questions. "My sex life?" "How exactly is that related to my sinuses?" I’ve heard of a lot of freaky shit in my life, but are there people who do things to themselves or others in a sexual way that causes sinus congestion? Also, they always want to weigh you. I’m always thinking; "Look at me dumbass, I’m fat. We do not need a scale to figure that out Einstein." I went to the doctor last week to follow up about my endoscopy. I am even more of a lard ass than ever.

It really pisses me off. I am not sure what they hell is the matter with me. I know Haagen Dazs is not a breakfast food. I was raised by fat people. I’m a fat people. I have no idea what the hell it is that non-fat people do that is different that makes them non-fat. I am eternally stunned at the sheer volumes of food I see non-fat people consume. I cannot fathom how they eat so much and are so skinny, particularly when I note this behavior in conjunction with such healthful hobbies as sitting on one’s ass doing nothing on a perpetual basis.
My doctors always tell me yeah, I am fat, and that is not good in regard to my eventual health as a geezer, assuming I live that long. However, I do not seem to have fat people problems like high cholesterol, or blood pressure, or diabetes, or any other fat related health issues. I am actually insanely healthy in general and especially for someone my age. I am healthier than other women my age I know. I have much more stamina. I like to tease them and tell them since I am not married I have all that energy they waste looking for the remote and sucking up to their mothers-in-law.

There are some things about being fat that are hard to deal with. I honestly and truly have never seen a woman whose body I would rather have than mine. I am used to my flaws; I do not want someone else’s. I know what my body I capable of, and trust me, it is plenty. What is tough is buying clothes. See, it seems that people who make clothes for anyone other than Barbie don't consider that real women actually like to wear clothes that fit. Clothes that accentuate their attractiveness rather than just throwing on some fabric tent that shields the world from their repulsiveness. I’m not repulsive and I am not inclined to dress to accentuate what I do no like about my body, and de-emphasize what I do like.

It is sometimes tough dealing with other people. In our society it is perfectly acceptable for people I have never seen before in my life to come up to me and tell me I am fat, as if I am too daft to realize this on my own. I am also advised I need to go on a diet from time to time. "Lose weight before it’s too late." (For what?) "Ay Gordo." (Ay, pendejo!) "You have such a pretty face." (You don’t) "If you lost about fifty pounds, you’d be so hot, I’d date you." (Is this a good time to give you the list of things you’d have to change about yourself to have a shot with me?) These comments are often delivered at a high volume. Clearly ignorami believe fatness impairs one’s hearing. Most of the people I meet are very nice. They do not care if I am fat or skinny, or anything else. I am also sure that if I were not fat, the kind of people who say nasty things would make fun of something else about me. Sometimes it is discouraging though.

I did not get to be fat overnight, and it is going to take me some time to figure out what lifestyle changes I need to make in order to lose weight and keep it off. Diets do not work. I need to find out what non-fat people do to be non-fat. I am not sure whom to ask. Where do they keep the secret skinny people food? What do skinny people do when they socialize? Also, I honestly do not want to be a skinny people. I want to be a less fat people. For a long time fat has been like a security blanket for me. But I have outgrown it, and I am ready to become myself.