Conversation With Myself

it’s been awhile since i did a mental check up/life evaluation and i said i would make sure to take time to keep myself focused on myself during this whole transition thing- it’s overdue.

i’ve been so busy writing advocate pieces and throwing articles to different sites that i just haven’t even had a chance to braindump in a very long time.   i made and donated a few mosaic pieces to an art show at the GLCC- and succumbed to peer pressure to start an Etsy site.  now i need to do a logo and Pinterest that- and all of that social media hullaballoo for that.  my laptop had a wicked rotten virus, but, i actually fixed things myself- that NEVER happens!  i’m pretty excited about it!  we did a whole bunch of new (to us) things with the different GLBTQ groups, including a FASHION SWAP, trans partner support group and a lecture on HATE CRIMES.   i set up a Gofundme account for bf’s top surgery and have been working on a bunch of fundraisers for that.  Sonnyboy got a job- thank god- so that stress is FINALLY off my shoulders and i FINALLY feel like i can relax a tiny bit.  i’ve been filling out a lot of apps and going on stupid interviews with places that i don’t belong… it’s been horrible.  but through it all, i keep looking towards better days- credit cards gone, car paid off, vacation, breathing room……. *sigh*

i certainly haven’t gone to the gym enough and working out at home is usually ignored- but i’m working on that…. it just always seems the easiest thing to fall by the wayside, when meanwhile it should be the most important…  in fact i think i’m going to go crawl onto the couch and fall asleep.


Just Give Me the Oreos and No One Gets Hurt

if only i could stop shoveling food into my fatmouth, i’d be okay.  but  how do you give up food?  food, glorious, food?  that’s like saying- stop having fun, *MissTheresa.*  stop breathing.  stop hanging out with your friends.  i yo yo dieted all last year.  that was not pleasant.  who am i kidding?  i’ve yo yo’ed WHILE i was yo yo-ing my entire life away.  let’s face it.  it tastes good ON PURPOSE.  cigarettes stink and frankly, taste nasty and make EVERYTHING ELSE taste nasty.  HOWEVER, i have considered taking up smoking so that i could be successful at quitting SOMETHING.

preach, ralph, preach!

preach, ralph, preach!

giving up alcohol would be easy squeezy, and i admittedly love me some booze.  but i can definitely quit alcohol no prob, because even the most delicious of girlyshots still aren’t THAT yummy.   you can pretend that you are “fancy” and love the taste of nine-thousand year old scotch, but all of the LYING and fakery in the world doesn’t fool me into believing that you just enjoyed consuming something that tastes like poisoned gasoline.  pretend all you want, friend.  i’ll be over here with my face stuck in a bag of cheesy poofs.

then there’s sex- i enjoy doin’ it immensely, but i feel like if i was ADDICTEDaddicted that i’d even be able to control that.  i don’t gamble, do drugs or shop for more than essentials.  i’m not even that into anything on tv enough to have to give it up.  but food?  a nice chilly sliver of tiramisu, or some golden crispy fried chicken?  never!  almond cookies and italian hoagies, cheese, cheese, cheese, sushi, cheese, tortellini, milkshakes, blue cheese burgers?  oh, i love food.

FOOD OPTIONSmoreover, i hate exercise, THAT i could quit.  but warm and crispy with REAL BUTTER chocolate chip cookies?  pork chops?  steak?  cheese?  no way.  i’ve been dieting so long that while i was diligently tracking carbs and counting points, a whole new batch of diets have cropped up to try and “assist” me in doing the one thing i just can’t do.  simply, i cannot QUIT FOOD.  scallops and shrimp, buffalo wings, tacos, loaded baked potatoes, curly fries?  oh…. food.  i can’t quit you.  processed, whole, organic, local, taco truck?  gimme it.  ALL OF IT.  poutine, naan, halushki, Soylent Green, sweet and sour shoes- i don’t care—give it here.  are you going to finish that?  breakfast for dinner?  right on!  meatloaf for breakfast?  sho nuff!  taco bell at 2 am?  absolutely.  i LURVE food.


i’ve heard all of the tips, tricks, “rules” and guidelines.  i know what is healthy and what isn’t.  i don’t blame genes, thyroids, gluten, carbs, depression, my job, stress or even the media.  i like to eat.  it’s just that simple.  i’m not that worried about losing all of the fat i need to- i imagine i shall accomplish this in my lifetime- HOWEVER, short of wiring my jaws shut, or hypnosis convincing me that food isn’t awesome i probably will never be able to quit loving it.  FOOD.

C+ To the Schlub of the Week

caloriesi was a huge and horrible schlub last week.  i only made it to the gym once and the rest of the week i was too lazy to even think up an excuse not to go.  i DID, however, write every day which is awesome.  but, this also seems to be a never-ending dilemma.  i can either devote time to working out or writing.  i rarely can do both.  i’m not wonder woman and i certainly don’t have a time-turner like Hermione.

i know that in order to be healthy, i need to exercise and blah blah blah.  i know all of this.  but i also want to focus time on writing, and day to day life ALWAYS gets in the way.   i won’t be this extremely gifted forever and after i make it big, i’ll be able to afford one of them newfangled cyber bodies. or lipo.  whichever.  money will be no object.  either way, i’m gonna look GOOD, and i’ll be happy that i skipped the gym to throw down some of my masterfully written eloquence.



i wrote a lot, exercised very little, volunteered, tried out a new kick ass chicken recipe, FINISHED READING A BOOK (that was some sort of miracle) and— um….. well, yeah.  i think that’s all of the noteworthy stuff i did (that doesn’t include day to day stuff like work, laundry, cleaning, home maintenance bullshit.  so i get an “C+” for the week, (which is about as good, if not better than when i was in high school) mostly because i was extremely happy, wrote a lot and tried out a few new things.    meanwhile, i type this as i am 3 pieces into a box of assorted chocolates.  there’s always tomorrow.  or the day after.  or next week.  or when the fuck ever.

Throw It Back! Throw It Back! For the Love of God Throw It Back!


popped collar and everything.
awwwww, yeah!

My Throwback Thursday picture kicks all of your pictures RIGHT IN THE ASS.
deal with it!
the saddest part of this picture was that i really thought i looked A-MAZING here— and now, i see OLD LADIES with that hairdo, and it makes me feel sad.
i doubt it.
you don’t know who you are dealin’ with here.

I Was Fat Shamed By My Nurse Practitioner

i’m pretty sure the nurse practitioner fat-shamed me yesterday.

i was in getting a routine physical, and they have to get your height and weight as they always do (one day i’d like to come in 4 inches taller and see what they do).  time for the horror every fatty has dealt with since the embarrassment of getting weighed in high school.  i step on the scale thinking that the number should be lower, since I’ve been going to the gym and watching what i’ve been eating.  then i think that i should take my scarf off since that will add about 9-10 pounds. and my shoes.  yes, my skimmers.  they should come off.  i start to panic sweat, unhappy with this whole fucking process. the sweating alone added 4 pounds.  and my jeans?  HEY LADY!  I’M WEARING JEANS!  you can’t accurately weigh a person wearing goddamn jeans!  what the fuck did they teach you in nursing school?  and i’m wearing a thick sweater and a hoodie…. good lord- they MUST HAVE SAID SOMETHING IN NURSING SCHOOL ABOUT COLD WEATHER, RIGHT?  thick clothes?  HEAVY MATERIAL? HellOOOOO???????

both feet on the scale and then the look down.  the red numbers flip around as if thinking; anticipating. this machine can smell my fear and it’s not good.  this machine knows.  it knows that i ate a peanut butter and nutella and banana sandwich at midnite last week.  it knows that i haven’t really been eating breakfast.  it’s just standing there, blinking, mocking and judging. it is deciding my fate.  deciding.  MY CELL PHONE IS IN MY POCKET AND SO ARE MY KEYS!!!!!  Holy shit!  A HEAVY ELECTRONIC DEVICE and MY KEYS- that are made from METAL– one of the heaviest substances on EARTH!  i guess they don’t teach you THAT KIND OF STUFF AT NUSE PRACTITIONER SCHOOL! WHAT IN THE HELL IS A NURSE PRACTITIONER ANY GODDAMN WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY???????????

final number pops up.  the verdict is in.  259.5.  dammit.  that’s exactly the same as last week.

oh well.  eat a dick, Nurse Practitioner. eat a dick and write that down.

so i go sit on that papered table thing and think about what i want for lunch.  and i happen to glance over at the notes the nurse scribbled down for the doctor.  it was my height and then underneath, another number.  “253.5”  what the fuck?  WHAT THE FUCK?  “253.5”?  really MS. NURSE PRACTITIONER?  you lied?  you wrote down 253.5?  what the hell?  are you embarrassed for me?  does 259.5 make you uncomfortable?  think i couldn’t take the truth? was my morbid obesity causing you discomfort?  do you have to fill out an extra form because my weight was so high, that you had to fudge it?  DOES IT UPSET YOU THAT I’M A HUGE FATTY AND STILL HEALTHY AND YOU PROBABLY LIVE AT THE GYM IN YOUR YOGA PANTS AND FLUORESCENT PINK SPORTS BRA AND NO CARBS!!!  i’m FINE WITH MY WEIGHT!  JUST FINE!  I’LL HAVE YOU KNOW THAT I EMBRACE MY WEIGHT!  ALL OF TWO HUNDRED AND FIFTY-NINE OF EM!  INCLUDING THAT EXTRA HALF A POUND!!!!  YOU ARE THE PROBLEM NURSE PRACTITIONER!!!  fat people are just as good as everyone else!!!! FAT PEOPLE ARE HUMANS TOO!  or did they not teach you that either???  I WILL NOT BE DENIIIIIIIIIIIIIIED!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  fuck you, Nurse PRACTITIONER!  fuck you very much!!!!!!!!!!!

i walk out of there, all enraged, like you do when people get yer rage all up— and write down “253.5” in my diet journal when i get home, making sure to brag to all my besties how much weight i lost.


Fat On the Outside

Talk about a time when i experienced being on the outside looking in?
that’s simple. every single time i go to the fucking gym. no joke. i’m not trying to be dramatic or cliche, either. it’s just that every time i take my fat to the gym, i become an outsider.

i go to a franchise gym where the slogan is that it’s a ‘JUDGEMENT FREE ZONE’- which is fine and dandy, but when i walk in, in my sweatpants, raggedy hoodie and non-designer sneakers, i get instantly judged, and might as well be put in a caged area for not being a natural born gym goer. to start, i am more than 100 pounds overweight, and although i don’t “LOOK” obese, by medical standards i am. interestingly, i am in better shape than a lot of my skinny friends, and actually can hold my own with a lot of exercise but i definitely don’t look good doing it. now, i know that no one really looks good sweating and getting all red in the face, but, most girls that i see at the gym wear more makeup than i did for my wedding. i’ve seen false eyelashes and glitter, even those glue on crystals– ON A TUESDAY NIGHT in winter. no, i’m not trying to compete, and NO, i’m not trying to pick up a date, i’m trying to drop a few tons, but i absolutely hate feeling like it’s Gym Class in high school- where the fat kids will ALWAYS be picked on, and never fit in.

people stare at me like they are worried that i’m going to have a heart attack, or pitied because my fat is flopping around. i know people will deny it, or ultimately say, “who cares? fuck em!” and all of that, but the truth is, it is a completely uncomfortable situation- from the moment i walk in, until i walk out. i am uncomfortable getting on machines and i am uncomfortable about getting off of them. i am nervous to use the weights and self conscious about using the other equipment. i rarely push myself, because i don’t like the looks i get; some that simply say, “gross” and “why are you bothering?’ and others are thinking “god, if i ever look like that, shoot me.”

and this doesn’t just happen at the gym, it’s just very obvious there. it happens everywhere. being ‘FIT’ or ‘IN SHAPE’ is as much a clique as being popular in high school. when i’m walking around the trails at the park, or roller skating, summers of softball, i feel excluded and not a part of what others are doing. Even the other day at the ski resort, i didn’t dare ski, because i hate not being able to fit in with people that are flexible and stronger, or even have better gear (i wore jeans, hoodie and some boots that i got from the thrift store that are in desperate need of another coating of waterproofing spray). i’m slower, less coordinated and not as resilient as everyone else, so it’s easier just sitting out and watching. it really sucks. the worst part is that my brain doesn’t understand that it can’t always do the same things that the thinner people, which makes things worse because i want to be out there skating and skiing, and even trying that scary cage-y bar lift-y machine.

i keep going to the gym and trying to be as active as i can, with the hope that i won’t be so big someday, won’t be so clumsy and ungainly and eventually won’t feel like i’m on the outside anymore. i know that there’ll always be the gym elite, the pretty ones, that wear expensive designer breast cancer-awareness pink sports bras, yoga pants that they bought from a speciality store online, and shoes made just for going to the gym that cost as much as my car. i’m not trying to compete, i’m really not, but, someday i would like to not feel excluded from something that most people take for granted.