Tuesday, December 28, 2004

Seat Belts

I hate seatbelts. I hate being confined. It's not exactly claustrophobia, but something like it. (I also hate wearing a coat if I'’ve got a sweater on (—I feel like I'’m in a straitjacket.)
I hate it that I have to pull the seatbelt to its limit to strap it on and choke myself. I hate it when the seatbelt doesn'’t fit (Chevy Malibu, Chevy S10 truck… see a trend there?). I hate asking for the extension on the plane. (Some attendants are nice about it, others are real bitches. Of course, they all weigh less than 120, what would they know about a seatbelt extension?)
And I HATE the way the seatbelt doesn'’t fall naturally across my round torso. It slides and ends up against my neck, choking me. I have to drive or ride with one hand on the belt, holding it away from my neck so it doesn'’t stop the blood flow to my brain.
And nothing is worse than those automatic ones that slide back and imprison innocent passengers.

Thursday, December 16, 2004

Pregnant Women are Wimps

I’ve been getting up early to walk in the morning. (It’s been cold, very cold, and fucking cold on various days). After about 2 blocks my back starts to hurt a little. That made me think about pregnant women and how they whine about how fat they are, when they’ve gained only 20 or 30 pounds, and how much their backs hurt, and how they can barely walk, yaddah yaddah.
Bunch of wimps. Let them carry around 200 extra pounds, see how their ankles and backs feel then.

Drinking Water

I found out the figure of 108 oz a day is bullshit. It never made any sense to me. If I have to stop drinkin 30 minutes before I eat and not drink again for 90 minutes after I eat, assuming it takes 30 minutes to eat, that's 3-4 blocks of TWO AND A HALF HOURS a day when I can't drink. That comes out to 8 hours. I'm barely awake for 12.
Let's figure it out together, shall we?
Breakfast: 7:00-7:30
Drink 9:00-11:30
Lunch 12:00-12:30
Drink 2:00-5:00
Dinner 5:30
Drink 7:00-10:00
Go to bed.
Somewhere in there, I'm supposed to have a snack too. (with the same restrictions on water around it). Supposed to eat every 4 hours.
My intake of water should be around 60 oz, or 3 bottles of Aquafina. So each drink period I have to suck down a whole bottle of water, and I'm a person who only drinks with food. I am never "thirsty"--until now. I am absolutely freaking out over not being able to drink with my food but I'm afraid if I call and say that they'll give a bad reccomendation and I won't get the surgery. Fear sucks.

Losing Weight Before Surgery

So if I'm going to have surgery to lose weight, why should I lose some now?
If I could lose weight, wouldn't I just lose it and not have to have life-threatening surgery?
My doctor makes everyone lose a little weight, just to prove you can follow directions. PLUS one person went on a binge and gained 30# before surgery and ended up really sick after the surgery. Another girl went on a hot fudge sundae binge night before and her liver was so swollen he couldn't do the surgery. It's best to stop eating now, and get the stomach calmed down. Plus I need to lose the "habit" of eating. That takes six weeks (to make or break any habit.)

Bariatic Surgery Thoughts: Is This Going Fast?

My friends think I'’m speeding through this process, but I met my other friend when she had her lap-band done 2 years ago, and I tried to get in touch with her doctor for over a year and couldn't even get a call back. I gave up in Spring 2004 when they told me that the list I was supposedly on had been abolished and everyone had been called months before. (I got on the
list in spring of 2003, my friend'’s surgery was fall 2002.) They were supposed to call me to go to an informational meeting and never did. When I was “on” the list, I had called once to see what my status was and gotten screamed at "“If we said you'’re on the list you're on the list and we'’ll call you, stop calling us, we'’re too busy." ” Nice. Makes me kind of glad I'’m not using that doctor. Although my friend'’s had no trouble with the office staff, she recently admitted another friend of hers had a similar experience to mine and gave up trying to get an appointment.
Then this summer I found this other doctor through Obesityhelp.com and called him in September and just now got my first appointment. I have a huge checklist of things I have to do (besides lose 14 lbs). I just made appointments for Jan 3d and Feb 1st, and I'm waiting for another doctor to call me.
I'm scared of the IV but the doctor swore they use the tiniest little needle, and he had them put one in him and he couldn't even feel it, and if I'm that scared they'll knock me out another way before they place the IV. It's about 3 days in the hospital. I haven't decided yet if I want visitors. The doctor told a horror story of someone getting a visitor who brought him a Big Mac. (!) How fucking stupid.
So I am hoping, maybe for the spring equinox...that's just over 3 months away...if my insurance doesn't tank on me. If you'’re reading this, send me good insurance energy!
Conclusion: things are finally MOVING but after almost 2 years of waiting..it's like being an overnight success after playing clubs for ten years.


Yesterday I ate at Subway (a place I always hated)--had a small meatball sub & didn't eat the bread.
The diet I'm on until the surgery is 3xper day: 3-4 oz of meat FIRST, then 1/2 cup vegetables, THEN 1/4 cup carbs if I'm not full. Not allowed to drink with meals (which is VERY DIFFICULT, I usually get most of my liquids with my meals, not in between), not a half hour before or an hour afterward.
Animal protein is mandatory; the dietician said you cannot get the protein you need without eating meat. I have to get protein powder to eat too once I have the surgery cuz I'll need lots of protein to heal. She wants me to go back to drinking milk (which makes me puke) so I'm going to try some soy milk and make pudding with it. Then I can put protein powder in the pudding.
Someone brought me a donut at work and I said no. Last night I was going to eat some m&ms and I didn't. Two yays for me!
If I don't lose 14 lbs (on the doctor's scale) he'll cancel the surgery. He cancelled it on a guy who was ONE pound over--the guy had his IV's in and was prepped for surgery.
I'’ve lost 12 pounds since the week before Thanksgiving, but those don'’t count, I have to go by the weight I was at the doctor'’s office. No complaints. Any weight lost is good weight.

Wednesday, December 15, 2004

Bariatric Vist #1

Yesterday I went to the bariatric surgeon for the first official appointment.
I had a headache because on Sunday night we went to a party at (unnamed restaurant) and I ate something I'm allergic to (usually I ask if I think there'’s a chance this item could be in or near my food, but in this case it made NO SENSE, —but my husband tasted it too, so it was really there.) So I've had a headache and been nauseous (but not puking) since then.
My appointment was at 2:30 yesterday and I got there at 2:20. They didn't take me until after 3:00. There was a woman in the waiting room with two little boys (maybe 2? 3? could walk and talk but seemed small) and they ran around screaming, with that high pitch that cuts right through your head even when you aren't in head pain. I actually went to the receptionist and
asked for aspirin. I didn't care if the mother heard me.
The Doctor took all his notes on a PDA (a man after my heart). He's two years older than me (I asked). He wants my gall bladder out, even though I want to save it. It's an essential organ, isn't it? It's not like an appendix. He did not consider it a silent stone, and would not consider waiting until it was time for a tummy tuck. He said without a symptom-less stone, my chances of needing emergency gallbladder surgery in the 1st year after bariatric surgery were 25% and the
stone doubles that. Oh well, have to manifest $10,000.
I also asked him why he started doing this surgery. Besides the fact that it's obviously very lucrative, he had to have chosen it for a reason. He said that he has a lot of people he cares about who were very overweight and he knew the surgery was important & necessary. He seemed sad when he said it; I wonder if someone he knew died.
Then I had to go see the nutritionalist. I got to see her right away because I had a 3-month food log with me. She didn't even look at it, I guess it only matters that I wrote everything down for 3 months. She mostly talked about the post-surgery diet and that I should follow it now. I guess it's supposed to help me lost the 14 pounds he mandated. She was happy that I am seeing the certified drug & alcohol counselor for food addiction; I think that's why she didn't do too
much with me, because I'm already doing it all —my CDAC is also taking nutritional courses and giving me her handouts.
The Doctor said if the insurance doesn't fuck with me (my words not his) I could have my surgery in 3 months. I have to have some other tests done, he doesn't like it that I get sick from food.
I took a walk this morning. I should have worn a hat because DAMN it was cold. My Weather Channel icon on my computer said it was 20 degrees and felt like 0 when I got to work at 9. It's up to 22 degrees feeling like 10 now.
I got even more papers to keep in my ever-expanding folder, and people I have to call and make
appointments with. The appointment with the diet lady yesterday cost $120 and the insurance doesn't pay. I hope there's not too many more like that. I'm broke enough this month.

Monday, December 06, 2004

Test Results

All my blood work and X-rays and everything was fine (imagine that!) except that I have a "silent stone"-- a symptom-less gall stone. Of course the doctor wants to get out the knife, but I said not until it bothers me. If I end up having the bariatic surgery they can take it out while they're in there. OR If I can hold out until 2 years after the surgery, the gall surgery can justify the insurance paying for a tummy tuck.
That's a savings of $10,000. I think I can wait.

Thursday, December 02, 2004


I had an abdominal ultra-sound this morning--45 minutes of being jelled up like I was an extra in Ghostbusters. Good thing I can hold my breath forever (the girl even complimented me on my lungs, and their capacity’s shot right now from coughing) and can tolerate pain. Also 2 chest x-rays. The x-rays made me feel nauseous, and like there was black all over my aura—I had to manually pull the darkness off, like a sticky film.
It seemed to me that the ultrasound girl found something. She didn't like me looking at the screen and asking questions. And at the end, when I asked if she found anything, she got really evasive.
Whatever it is, it's for my highest good.

Monday, November 22, 2004

Psychics Look Inside Rosie! What Do They See?

(Besides adipose tissue, that is)…
I went to a psychic fair this weekend and had some readings done. The palm reader said my family interferes constantly in my life and that my expectations of other peopleÂ’s behavior are too high and thus I am constantly disappointed.
My I-Ching reading came out that the first hexagram was “needing nourishment” and I was eating a sample candy bar as we rolled up it! That reading was all about trying to get nourishment from things that aren'’t nourishing (ie, Hershey bar!). The man who did the reading was also overweight and we talked about the eating habits of skinny 20 year-olds (which leads
to being fat and forty, like we are). He was AWESOME; he knew the numbers and names of the hexagrams without looking them up. Of course, there are only 64 of them, but I'’m still impressed.
I had a voodoo bones reading (very interesting). It started out with three cards being drawn from a black angel deck. The story the cards told is that I need to love my body. (Which is what I'’ve been doing with the Lighten Up tape.) Then I need to take time to meditate and listen. (I know that; it's finding the time to DO it!) Those two things will lead to my 3d eye opening even more, and giving me even more discernment. That was just from the cards. The bones confirmed that I'’m on the right path, but she didn'’t see that I would actually need the bariatic surgery. She thinks I will do it another way, but to leave the door to the surgery open.
The tarot reading was a little less definite. I had the tower, death, hanged man, and three of swords. Basically a 3-way conflict, which will lead to a whole new way of life. Something will happen in about a year, at the end of 2005, when some planet crosses my something-or-other. From what the people at the meetings tell me, it might be that long before my surgery is scheduled, so I guess that door is still open. Or maybe I'’ll sell a book.
I did a couple of angel readings. One said that I would master the next card I picked, which ended up being “Father Healing.” Since my dad is sick, I assume this means I will accept his illness and stop fighting it.
There was another pick-a-card reading that I did, but for some reason I don'’t remember it--oh, it was a goddess. Began with an M and that'’s all I remember.
I also spent some time just talking to the angel reader. She attuned me to this special stone she has, which is from Lemuria via Mt Shasta. Combined with the 11:11 gate we passed through 11 days ago (hey-another 11!) it has really given me an energy headache and made me exhausted.
I had some henna painting done, ala What the Bleep, but it didn'’t take, probably because my skin is so moisturized from the Lighten Up work.
Finally I had a massage. The lady has worked on me before, and for the first time my fascia tissue, which is pretty much cooked & all stuck over my swollen injury, gave way and started to move.
Did I learn anything new about myself? Well, maybe the father healing thing. Mostly it was confirmation of what I'’m already doing, little nods from the gods. (I like that. “Nods from the Gods.”)

More Places Fat People Can't Go

Folding chairs are scary. I always approach an unfamiliar folding chair with trepidation. There are the wooden ones, with the slatted backs. Wood can't be trusted. Then there are the standard metal ones--they tend to be sturdier and less prone to breaking than the wooden ones. I am not so fat I need two folding chairs, but I have seen some people that are.
Regular chairs, like you'’d see in a hotel meeting room, are usually okay. Nice and sturdy. Movie seats-—whew. It'’s a crapshoot. Some newer theaters have seats with flip-up arms (like airline
seats) which are nice. Personally I haven'’t got a huge problem with movie seats, but I HATE sitting right next to someone. I am more comfortable with an empty seat to either side (or I sit on the aisle). So I don'’t go to the movies on Friday or Saturday night, when it'’s going to be busy. Or on opening night, when it will be sold out.
I recently went to Long Wharf Theater in New Haven and those seats were okay. Not real comfortable, but not so tight I couldn'’t breathe. On the other hand, Mohegan Sun arena---I will never go there again. I literally had to wedge myself into the seat and I didn'’t know if I'’d be able to get up again. Once I was in the seat, it wasn'’t as bad as getting in and out, because the arms protrude inward and it'’s hard to squeeze by them. It sucks to be at a concert and have to sit through the whole thing (and not be able to see because everyone else is standing) because you can'’t get out of the damn seat.

Thursday, November 18, 2004

fear mongering 3

Now it's people who overdose on antibiotics and breed antibiotic-resistant super-germs in their bodies.
I agree, it's a problem, but what's with the breathless delivery?
It's Fox news. It's almost enough to make me not want to watch the Simpsons anymore, the only Fox program I ever watch.

Tuesday, November 16, 2004

homework: Money Thoughts

For my homework from my therapist, I have to write down what I think about money.
Money you say? What the fuck does that have to do with anything?
Well, if I had money, I wouldn’t have to worry if the insurance will pay for the bariatic surgery. I wouldn’t have to worry about coming up with the money to pay for plastic surgery a few years after that surgery.
And I’m living in a state of lack, loss and limitation. It impacts everything around me. My NaNo writing is behind (eek). I’m sucking at sales at work. (Well, that’s what they get for giving a fat woman a sales job. Unless I’m selling ice cream, who wants to listen to me? Or look at me?)
I HAVE NO FUCKING MONEY. (Wow, I’m swearing a lot today. I must be angry.)
That’s what I think about money. Some of these I BELIEVE as well as think. Others are just in my head. Some of them are true, some aren’t. But as my therapist says, this is the story I tell myself in my head about money–notice how often it contradicts itself.
I think 20% of the population has 80% of the money.
(I’m going to drop the “I thinks”–just assume they’re there.)
There’s enough money to go around if it’s spread more evenly.
I will never be rich.
Lotto is a tax on people who are bad at math.
It is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven.
“God money, I’ll do anything for you...bow down before the one you serve.”
Money is not spiritual.
I have to work hard to get money.
Money should be spent, not hoarded, to help the economy.
Money shouldn’t be wasted.
Money is precious.
Money represents energy. Some people’s energy is worth more than others. (How much you make an hour.)
If I do not make a lot of money, I am worthless.
The universe will provide my material needs if I have faith and show gratitude.
Money doesn’t buy happiness.
It’s easier to love a rich man than a poor man if all else is equal.
Money is the root of all evil.
Money is a necessary evil.
Not having enough money makes me feel sad.
And frantic.
And even suicidal.
I know why people rob banks and convenience stores now.
Lack of money is destroying my marriage.
Debt is overwhelming me.
Obviously the gods don’t love me, or I’d have a well-paying job by now, and my material needs would be met.
I need money to be happy.
If you do what you love, follow your passion, the money will come to you.
If everyone did what they loved, everyone would have plenty of money and be happy.

My brain is tired. I am sure more will come to me later.

Bariatric Surgery 4: dying

Another meeting of the used-to-be-fat post-ops, the still-fat post-ops and the tremendously fat pre-ops (that would be me.) Even more depressing.
I thought I would be done by March or April with surgery. But someone was going in TODAY who started her process last December. E gads.
I have no fucking patience. I’m fat, damn it. What do you need to weigh me, poke me, prod me for? Don’t you have EYES? Cut me open. Move my intestines around. Hell, chuck some of them out, that will make my waist smaller, right. DON’T MAKE ME WAIT.
I almost typed DON’T MAKE ME WEIGHT. Interesting.
I think of that funny prayer some say: “Lord, grant me patience, but hurry”
It’s not that I’m giving up on losing weight in any other way than being chopped up. Do you think I WANT to be chopped up? It’s pretty gross. There’s a six in scar down the belly after. And all kinds of hanging flapping skin.
Although word is, lots of exercise and water will reduce the flappin’ and hangin’.
The amount of water to drink is 108 oz a day. I figured out that I have to drink a 20 oz bottle of Aquafina approximately every other hour to reach that goal. It tried it today at work; in seven hours I had about 3/4 of ONE bottle. Not good. And what if I get a job that won’t let me have a bottle of water at my desk? I’ll have to get a doctor’s note, how humiliating.
Interesting factoids that came up. When you’re full after the surgery, your nose runs. No one knows why. If your nose doesn’t run, you get very hot, like a hot flash. Nice. I like it. I wish my body did that now. Oh no, I shouldn’t wish that, now I’ll be snotting everywhere when I eat.
I’ve been getting so tired lately. I cough all the time, my bronchitis isn’t getting better. So that makes me short of breath, and just walking up a flight of stairs makes me pant, cough, and need a break. This isn’t right. This isn’t life.
How can insurance companies not want to pay for this? This is not vanity. I would like to be a size 4 again, yes. But I’d like to take a walk without feeling like I’m going to die even more.
Someone said last night that with new, inexperienced doctors, the death rate is 1 in 50. Overall it’s 1 in 200 but my doctor said he’s only lost one patient out of over 600. (Or is it 600 a year? I forget). But he says his death rate is more like 1 in 1,000. And the lady who died had cancer and went for the surgery anyway, and it was too much for her.
1 in 50 is scary. There were probably 50 people at the meeting. That’s one of us, boom, dead. DEAD.
Well, I’m going to die anyway from being fat, right?

Iraq (aside)

I don’t want this to turn into some kind of war blog, or news blog. But I am really, really upset that the terrorists killed that lady.


I know the link will go away, so here’s the story, from CNN:

* * *

Family heartbreak over Hassan fate

(CNN) -- The family of Margaret Hassan, director of CARE International in Iraq, said their "hearts were broken" Tuesday after hearing of her apparent death at the hands of her captors.
Looking gaunt, her Iraqi husband, Tahseen Ali Hassan, said, "I have been told that there is a video of Margaret which appears to show her murdered. The video may be genuine but I do not know. I beg those people who took Margaret to tell me what they have done with her."
Hassan's wife was kidnapped on October 19 by a group that did not identify itself. Videotapes surfaced Tuesday purportedly showing her killing.

Arab network Al-Jazeera reported, "Al-Jazeera has obtained a video showing a masked militant shooting a blindfolded woman, who was referred to as Margaret Hassan, in the head using a handgun. Al-Jazeera decided to wait on reporting the news until it confirmed the authenticity of the tape."

Al-Jazeera did not show the video.

CARE, for whom Hassan had worked for more than 12 years, issued a written statement through a spokesman.
"It is with profound sadness that we have learnt of the existence of a video in which it appears that our colleague Margaret Hassan has been killed. We are shocked and appalled that this has been the apparent outcome of her abduction."

Hassan, who was in her 60s, held dual British and Iraqi citizenships.

British Foreign Secretary Jack Straw said, "Our experts have been examining a video which appeared to show that Margaret Hassan has been murdered, to establish whether it is genuine.
"As a result of our analysis, we have today had to inform Margaret Hassan's family that, sadly, we now believe that she has probably been murdered, although we cannot conclude this with complete certainty."

His written statement continued, "I want to express my deepest sympathy and condolences to Margaret's family. They have been through a month of the most terrible uncertainty and torment. To kidnap and kill anyone is inexcusable.

"But it is repugnant to commit such a crime against a woman who has spent most of her life working for the good of the people of Iraq."

Hassan was a highly respected humanitarian official in the Middle East. Shortly after her abduction, patients at a Baghdad hospital took to the streets to protest the kidnapping.
They credited her with helping to rebuild the medical facility last year.
Hassan's family said Hassan had devoted her life to caring for the poor and vulnerable. They said in a written statement, in part:
"Our hearts are broken. We have kept hoping for as long as we could, but we now have to accept that Margaret has probably gone and at last her suffering has ended.
"For the past 30 years, Margaret worked tirelessly for the Iraqi people.
"Margaret had only good will towards everyone. She had no prejudice against any creed. She dedicated her whole life to working for the poor and vulnerable, helping those who had no one else."

The letter was written by Michael, Dierdre, Geraldine and Kathryn Fitzsimons, brothers and sisters of Hassan, and was issued at their request by the Foreign and Commonwealth Office press office.

In its statement, CARE said it was profoundly saddened by Hassan's apparent death.
"We are shocked and appalled that this has been the apparent outcome of her abduction. We want to express our deepest sympathy to Mrs. Hassan's husband, Tahseen, and to her family.
"Mrs. Hassan was an extraordinary woman who dedicated her life to the poor and disadvantaged in Iraq, particularly the children. The whole of CARE is in mourning.
"Through her courage, tenacity and commitment, Mrs. Hassan assisted more than 17 million Iraqis living in the most difficult of circumstances. Everyone who met her was touched by her personality and compassion.

"CARE sincerely thanks the Iraqi people for everything they did to try to secure the safe return of Margaret Hassan and for the many expressions of support.
CARE pulled its staff out of Iraq on October 20 after deciding it had become too dangerous to remain in the country.

Hassan was born in Ireland and had lived in Iraq for 30 years.

The group said on November 2 that it would turn Hassan over to an al Qaeda-affiliated group -- Base of Jihad -- if the British government did not pull its troops out of Iraq within 48 hours, the Arab TV network Al-Jazeera said.

Base of Jihad has been blamed for numerous beheadings of foreigners in Iraq, including the slayings of Americans Nicholas Berg, Eugene Armstrong and Jack Hensley, and Briton Kenneth Bigley. They also claimed responsibility for the killing of a Japanese hostage.
At the height of the war, about 46,000 British troops were in Iraq. About 8,500 remained in late October.

Early this month, Hassan's three sisters met with Irish Prime Minister Bertie Ahern and appealed to her captors for her release. Relatives also begged British Prime Minister Tony Blair and the British government to meet the kidnappers' demands.
But one of her sisters, Dierdre Fitzsimons, said, "We are Irish, and we have no influence on the British government."

Hassan appeared in two videos, aired by Al-Jazeera in October, pleading for her life. In one, on October 27, she urges Britons to pressure Prime Minister Tony Blair to withdraw troops from the country.

Hassan also called for the release of all female prisoners in Iraq and urged CARE's board of directors to end operations in Iraq, an action they already had taken.

Hassan's pleas are not heard in the tape, but an anchor for Al-Jazeera described the contents of her message. Five days earlier, a videotape of Hassan shows her tearfully urging Blair to pull troops from Iraq.

Hassan was kidnapped on the street shortly after she arrived at her office. Her abductors never explained why she was targeted.
* * *

I had compassion for the Iraqi people. I don’t anymore. I think we should nuke their fucking country into a sheet of glass. Fuck you, Iraq. This woman LOVED your country, she cared for your people, she married one of them. And you put a gun to her head and killed her. Fuck you.

Friday, November 12, 2004

How fat am I? Photo

This is actually not me, but it's someone approximately the same size as me. I doctored the photo and changed the face. Posted by Hello

Fear mongering 2

The same radio station which played the fearful ad for aspirn abuse today previewed (rather breathlessly) "What if a terrorist attack hit Connecticut? Would we be prepared?"

blah (be afraid) blah (be very afraid) blah (don't be happy) blah (worry) blah (are you scared yet) blah (not scared enough)


I am this fat (but this is not my picture). Posted by Hello

Thursday, November 11, 2004

Walk Like an Egyptian. . .

Or like a fat person.
I walk funny. Almost like my knees are tied together. I don't take long, confident strides. I take mincing baby steps. It's not that I'm lazy. I think it's the size of my thighs. They are very large. They don't sag or hang or bulge out like saddlebags, they are just big. (They mostly stick out in the front.) I can stand with my feet together, but my knees want to be apart. (Which is funny because when i walk, my knees want to be together!)
Fat people have to sit with their knees apart because their thighs make it so. That's also why we can't cross our legs. We just can't get the one leg high enough. I can for a moment, but the top leg slips off quickly.
I have to say, I was kind of liking at first this whole idea of posting to the blog via email but it takes FOREVER ... and ... the stupid ad for Yahoo is on the bottom of my post, since it's on my email, so I have to go back and edit all my emailed posts. I've sent about four today, still none show online. I guess this is (yet) another control issue I have.

Served by Fat #1

I am fat for a reason. I must get something from my fat, right?
Let'’s analyze this.

*Men don'’t pay attention to me.
*I don'’t have to work full time because no one will hire me.
*I don'’t have to do anything athletic.
*I can fail at any and everything and blame my fat.
*I am warm in the winter.

Hmm. I am sure this list will be ongoing.

National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo)

We'’re 11 days into NaNo. (www.nanowrimo.org) I post once in a while on the site, mostly under the Connecticut forum. If you want to find me on the boards, follow this link:
I'’m holding my own. Not doing great, not behind.
It'’s lunch now and I must work on NaNo. Too much blogging, not enough noveling!

Bariatric Surgery 3: what to ask a surgeon

Questions to ask my bariatic surgeon:
How many surgeries do you do a year?
What kind of surgeries do you do? (Bypass-what kind? Lap band? Something else?)
What if I switch insurance partway through the process?
What if I get cancer?
What if I get Alzheimer'’s and can'’t remember I had bariatric surgery?
If my metabolism is so slow, so messed up, that I can already live on small amounts of food without losing weight, how is having a tiny pouch going to help me?
Won'’t my metabolism slow down even more after the surgery, when I can only eat a spoonful of food at a time? Won'’t I go into total starvation mode?
Do you do the exact same surgery on every person (cookie cutter) or adapt the pouch size and bypassed intestine length for different needs?
How much intestine typically gets bypassed?
If preliminary tests show something ELSE is wrong with me causing my weight problem, will you help me fix that? If it doesn'’t help, do I have to start the procedure again (going to meetings, psychiatrist, etc)?
Won'’t I automatically gain weight once my metabolism resets to the even lower food level I'’ll be on?
What'’s the average starting weight of your patients? What'’s the average weight loss? What are the maximum starting weights/weight loss you'’ve seen?
How many people regained most of their lost weight or even ended up heavier?
What will happen when I get really old. Old people hardly eat anything. Will I starve to death?
Do doses of prescription medicine have to be adjusted after surgery since my stomach will no longer be normal? Do pills melt the same? Am I more likely to get sick from pills?
If we have to take 2 multi-vitamins a day, do I take them together or 12 hours apart?
If I already throw up from certain foods, and get diarrhea from others, won'’t that just get worse? What if the foods that don'’t make me sick now start making me sick afterward and I have nothing I'’m able to eat?
Can I get so sick from the surgery that I can'’t eat at all and starve to death?

fear-mongering (aside)

I HATE fear-mongers. I just heard an ad for some local news, about how they're having a story about some moron of a woman who OD-ed on over-the-counter pain relievers. So what? No need to put the rest of the population in fear over taking an aspirin for god's sake!


I am not happy with my feet. I love myself, but I don'’t like how I look. I'’m sure that causes some kind of crazy dichotomy in my head. I'’m wearing black loafers with socks. My feet seem to be bulging out of the loafers, rather like a loaf of bread rising (hence the name, perhaps?).

Lighten Up

One of the things I'm doing is an audio tape called “lighten up —I'’ve been searching online but I can'’t find a link for it. There's a program called that in Seattle, but it'’s $500. This is a $15 low-production value tape, recorded at a lecture, and it'’s a few years old. (She talks about 1992, but not sure if that'’s when the tape was recorded.) When I have it in front of me, I'’ll look for a name or phone number. I think her first name was Carol.
Wait. I'’ve found it. www.openheart.com
It'’s an interesting process. I can see that it has merit. Like anything else, can I stick to it? It reminds me a little of the Inner Smile exercises I used to do. I paid a lot of money to learn it and now it'’s on the net for free: http://www.universal-tao.com/article/smile.html
The six healing sounds (also beneficial to do) are outlined here: http://www.universal-tao.com/article/six_healing.htm
So the “Lighten up” tape has several techniques on it. The main one takes five minutes a day. There'’s another thing that you do before you eat (but I didn'’t write it down and I can'’t remember it, so I have to listen again). I thought I was going to have to listen to the whole tape every night, but that'’s not it at all. It'’s mainly informational. Worth $15.

"If it makes you happy, why are you sad?"

That song was just playing on the radio-Sheryl Crow. Someone once said I look like her. I don't see it. I guess it's a compliment.
That tag line: "if it makes you happy, why are you so sad?" seems to really sum up the relationship between overweight people and food.
So many people eat because food is a comfort. (You've heard of "comfort foods"). Food is our friend. It doesn't judge or complain or ask anything of you, except that it be near you, that you eat it. Something that's comforting should be a good thing right?
It's a downward spiral. I feel sad, so I eat. I get fatter. Being fatter makes me sad. So I eat. And get fatter...you get it.
So, if food makes me happy, why AM I so sad?
Probably because I weighed myself. After all, I need a baseline to know if all this stuff I'm doing is working. I weigh 10 lbs more than I guessed. And my guess was, let's say, generous. (My BMI is even more scary.)
But it's just a number, like my age. I had a therapy session yesterday and I mentioned my age to her, and she was surprised. She thought I was at least six years younger than I am. One of the reasons I look so young is BECAUSE I am fat. My skin is smooth and soft, not wrinkled, not dry. Have you EVER seen a fat person with wrinkles? No. our skin is all plumped up nice with fat.
Back to the scale number. I did have to tell my therapist. And I didn'’t want to. And I cried. And we talked about shame. It'’s very shameful for me to be so fat. I feel terrible about my body. I feel terrible about myself.
I feel like a big, fat failure.
(I HATE these new '“reality series'” where they use the term '“big, fat, obnoxious'” in the title. Such an insult to overweight people. We not obnoxious and it hurts to see the media couple '“obnoxious'” with big and fat.)
I used to be thin. In college I was a size 6. —I was still about 7 pounds overweight at my thinnest. My comfortable, happy set point in college was actually 20 lbs overweight, or size 8. I have all my Levi's still-in sizes from 3 / 4 to 9 /10, and one black leather miniskirt. Would I like to wear those jeans again? Sure I would. Will I? I hope so.
I remember how easy it was to wear clothes. I didn'’t have to look at everything and wonder what fit today.
Will these pants button? Will this shirt pull across my hips? Is this sweater too short because my boobs are so big? I just pulled on a pair of jeans, grabbed a shirt, and I was good to go. No worry.
Yeah, I have clothes I KNOW fit right now. The pants I have on are always good, cuz I bought them a size too big. I have some oversized polos that aren'’t a problem. But now it'’s sweater weather, and I'’m trying on sweaters and crying. They are tight across my chest, or tight across my hips. Or they have round necks (which choke me, I like v and square necks, besides, I have good cleavage). Or they'’re short and my belly hangs out.
I am constantly adjusting my clothing, pulling down my shirt to cover my belly. I fidget. I am uncomfortable in my body, uncomfortable in my clothes. Neither fit who I think I am. I want to dress a certain way; I see the clothes in the catalog that I want. But they don'’t come in my size, or if they did, I know they would look terrible on my spherical body. (My waist is my height, I think.) Some people say, don'’t let being fat hold you back from doing anything. So I should dress how I want, no matter how terrible I look? I dress to hide. I wear dark colors most of the time, black pants, dark blue or green or black shirts.
I feel such pity when I see overweight people wearing inappropriate clothing. I know pity is ego, when I pity someone it'’s because I feel superior to them (and sometimes these people are thinner than me, so how could I be superior?)
My mind has mixed messages about clothing. I walk around the mall (as infrequently as possible) and I see chubby teenage girls wearing low-hipped jeans, skin tight, with tight belly shirts. A roll of fat bulges between the two (nicely pierced most of the time). I think, '“don'’t these girls look in the mirror before they leave the house?'” (But of course they do, they are also wearing approximately two pounds of make-up and five pounds of jewelry.) And then I think, maybe society is changing. Maybe these girls have boys panting after them, maybe boys like that little cushion of fat they'’re displaying.
But models still look like heroin addicts. Most movie stars are bony and unattractive. As long as society'’s ideal is a skeleton with flesh draped over it, how can someone normal- sized (like me in a size 8 or 10) ever feel okay about herself?
Yeah, some guys like their women with meat. (I went out with a boy in high school who also dated several of my friends. And he only dated the overweight ones, even when the skinny ones wanted to go out with him. Did he think fat girls were easy lays? Or did he like his girls padded?) And some honestly don'’t care. (Do you believe that? I don'’t. My husband cares that I am fat. He never would have married me if I was this fat to begin with.)
I get a little confused with this therapy stuff. I am supposed to talk to my body, tell it I love it how it is, and somehow that will make it thinner. How does that work? What alchemy makes '“fat is okay'” into '“Yay, I'‘m thin'”?

Monday, November 08, 2004

blow-up & places fat people can't go

So last night, I'm calmly eating my dinner with my parents and grandmother, and my grandmother goes off on me about how she cried after I left last week because I ate two "huge" plates of pasta (one scoop of pasta on each, not really that much--she eats one forkful and is full cuz she's almost 90) and then I had oreos and popcorn. Yes, I brought the popcorn because she asked me to. She bought the oreos. (and I puked when I got home, not sure what set me off since I had no milk).
She decided that I'm not "allowed" to eat flour or sugar anymore. And she gave me $50 to buy "good" groceries.
It turned into a huge fight. My mother started yelling at my grandmother (her mother) to leave me alone. My father's really sick (basically a terminal illness) and my mom's under a lot of stress. She started crying. Apparently my grandmother's been harping on my mom all week about what I ate on Sunday and my mother's been telling her to drop it. Then because I am an emotional sponge, i started crying. My father, who hates conflict, just got up and left (I think he
hid in the bathroom).
My grandmother started talking about how much I eat, and my husband jumped in and started yelling at her, about how he eats with me every day and I don't eat very much at all. My grandmother says I should eat less. My husband pulls out all the statistics we learned at the bariatic meeting about how diets don't work for people as fat as me.
My grandmother is immovable; she's like President Bush. Once her mind is made up, no other facts can move her.
I suggested that my grandmother give me $20 grand for the surgery. She, of course, knows all about the surgery since "that black guy on tv" had it (Al Roker). And it's "no good." That people who have it have to eat four times a day (horrors) and take "load" of vitamins (2 multi-vitamins a day is "loads?") and their stomachs are so small they can't eat. THAT IS THE WHOLE POINT, GRANDMA.
I love my grandma, don't get me wrong. And I wasn't happy that we were all yelling at each other and crying about how fat I am. But she can't help me just by not buying cookies anymore. It's not about whether I have a few oreos for dessert on Sunday.
One thing I was thinking about this morning that I forgot to report...during the presentation, the bariatric surgeon said that within THREE MONTHS of the surgery, people can sit in a booth again AND fly SouthWest airlines (which descriminates against overweight people by charging them more). Even if I weighed 110 I wouldn't fly SW airlines just to make a statement against their discriminatory policy.
He forgot to mention seatbelts. I can't buckle seatbelts in all cars--I appear gracious by saying
"you can have shotgun, I'll ride in the back" but really I'm afraid the belt won't buckle and it's a
$175 fine for not having the seatbelt on in the front seat.
I am too fat to drive a Chevy S10. My thighs don't fit under the steering wheel and the seat doesn't move. I just don't fit. I borrowed a friend's once--what a mistake. I almost cried. How do you admit you're too fat to fit IN A TRUCK? It's a small truck, yeah, but still!
I don't think I could go into a small cave. I cannot crawl. I can sit on the floor, but not get back up. I can't climb a ladder (they wouldn't hold me even if I had the inclination).
When I sit in an office chair, it gradually s-i-n-k-s. So after a few days I can barely stand up, can't figure out why, and it's because the seat is at the level of my knees, not my butt. Chairs with arms don't get along with me in general. The arms cut into my hips & sides.
Booths--some are good, some not so good. When in doubt, I ask for a table. I have friends that love and adore booths (WHY? what's so great about a booth as opposed to table? Esp in a buffet!) and then when they see how uncomfortable I am, with my stomach so indented that I can't even breathe, much less eat, they get all embarrassed. I had told one friend, "if you get there early, get a TABLE not a booth" and I get there, and she's in a booth. "I like booths better," she says as I squeeze myself in (the booths at Outback are the WORSE, in my opinion--narrow and they have a decorative lip to squeeze by). Then she tries to move the table, which is fixed to the wall. I'm turning purple from lack of air; children think I'm Barney. Blithfully, the skinny bitch says "are you okay?" "No, I told you to ask for a table so I wouldn't have to be embarrassed like this." "I like booths." Well, I DON'T FIT IN A FUCKING BOOTH YOU DUMB WHORE. Jane, you ignorant slut...

Saturday, November 06, 2004

Bariatic Surgery 2 & Being Force-Fed by Mom

This is the third report I've filed via email this week and none has appeared on my blog. I can't get in to edit it either. I wrote to them today. Perhaps magically all this information will appear there soon.
I went out with someone last night who has had bariatic surgery, to talk to her about her experience. She has lost 135 pounds in 2 years.
She had a lap band, which I had originally wanted, but my insurance will NEVER pay for that. They will pay for the stapling/bypass. She knows someone who had the bypass, and said the woman can eat her under the table (and she's no light eater herseslf).
She told me that despite all the pain of gall bladder and gas attacks and how she wanted to shoot herself the first few weeks, she would do it again in a heartbeat.
I guess that's all I really need to know, right?
We talked about things like drinking soda. She still drinks it, and even through a straw, which I guess they tell you is impossible. She said you can eat anything if you're determined enough--that if you soak a devil dog in milk you can force it down. (when's the last time I ate a devil dog? years ago probably) I told her about a woman I met who was on a diet for some health condition, and all she ate for every meal was raw tuna and lettuce (and she stunk of fish, it
was disgusting). She said having no food choices completely freed her. It wasn't confining at all.
Instead of having fifty things to choose from and agonize over, she had nothing.
My friend said that she had to lose 15 lbs before she could have the surgery. The place I'm going to advocates a diet-diet, you know, weighing all your food, eating 1 from this column and two from that. She lost her weight on a version of the Atkins--eating chicken broth and a few oz of chicken for every meal until she went into ketosis. I could deal with that.
It's like the think I'm having right now where ice cream makes me puke. I still WANT ice cream, but I don't have it cuz it makes me puke. If all I could eat was broth and a little meat, I could say, "I can't meet you for dinner, I'm on a chicken-broth fast ordered by my doctor."
But if I just say, "I'm on a diet" you know how it goes-all your friends want to see you fail. "Just have one bite." "Just a nibble." Or, "start your diet again tomorrow."
I just want food to be a non-issue. Today's Friday, and I know from my food logs I rarely have lunch on Friday for whatever reason. So lunch has been removed from my head. But I am thinking about SUPPER already. It's 10:38 a.m. Am I hungry? A little. I might have some crackers around 3 p.m. but I don't want to "spoil" my dinner (whatever it may be).
Spoiling the dinner. isn't that funny? What's that really mean? it doesn't literally make the food go bad. maggots don't erupt on the meat. It means you have food in your belly and you don't WANT to eat your dinner.
I am reading a book my therapist gave me and it talks about eating when you're hungry and sleeping when you're tired. When you're born, that's what you do. but then the doctor tells your mother she has to feed you every 3 hours whether you're hungry or not, and put you down for a nap every afternoon even if you aren't tired, and if you wake up during the night (except to be force fed) wanting to play, that's repressed too.
It's no wonder we all grow up to be fucked up.
Forcing food into our bodies every few hours, according to the CLOCK not according to our sense of hunger. Lying in bed at night, wide awake, but knowing it would be "wrong" to get up and do something constructive (wash the dishes, write your nano novel or even just watch the Science Channel and learn about robotics.) What's that Rolling Stones song..."it's four a.m. don't you people ever go to bed?"
back to surgery...
I also spoke via telephone to a man I know who's had surgery. He lost 180 pounds and still weighs over 300. He had a bypass, maybe 3 years ago? or four? He was extremely sick the first six month to a year, it's very serious surgery, and he's still sick. But I don't weigh anything near 500 lbs, and I'm a lot younger than him.
I want to be thinner, I want to be healthier. But I am so scared of the IV's, the needles, the veins, the blood.

Friday, November 05, 2004

Arms & a Replacement for Food

I have big arms. I don't like to expose them. I wear oversized short-sleeve shirts which hang to my elbow (which is saggy and weird looking).
I don't mind wearing long sleeves, but I dislike wearing sleeves over sleeves. Does that make sense? I hate wearing a coat with sleeves. I'll wear a cape, but not a coat with sleeves over my sweater sleeves. Too much material. I feel like a sausage, or the pillsbury dough boy.
can't remember always feeling this way. I must have like sleeves at some time in the past. But I don't remember when.
So what happens when you've had your stomach done and you can't go out to eat anymore? Where do you hang out? I guess a park, but what about in the winter? in the rain?
There's alwasy the mall, but the mall has food to tempt you, and also mall rats to annoy you. People can come to your house, but what happens when you have guests? What have you been trained to do? Offer your guests food.
How many social rituals revolve around food? (or alcohol) It's like I've already said, that people who have issues with non-food subtances can give them up cold turkey. But us food people, we're screwed. We can't escape it, not ever.
How can I make food not matter? how can I stop caring? Put it on my shopping list BENEATh toilet paper, for instance.
I know it's supposed to be eat to live, not live to eat. And no, I don't live to eat.
But there's a lot of social conditioning around food. And advanced planning. It's not a spontaneous thing. Maybe that's the problem.

Smells & Thoughts

I went to another stomach-stapling meeting the other night. It was strange to be so fat, and know how fat I am, yet to be among the average-to-thin people in the audience. And insurance companies don't want to pay for the surgery anymore because it costs too much. What about all the small costs of being fat & sick which add up to probably well over the $20K? Some of the people there were literally so fat they could barely walk. I can walk with no problem. (not for long/far, though) So do I bow aside to let someone else who needs the surgery more get it done before the insurance cut-off date? or do I say, I am just as entitled to this, even though I am half those people's size. (so you can imagine how large these people are) I saw one woman who didn't fit in the front seat, she had to sit in the back seat of a van with those huge sliding doors. She was one of the ones who could barely walk--she had one of those canes with feet.
I could feel sorry for her and think, how did she get to be so fat, but how did *I* get to be so fat? She probably couldn't say, any more than I can. The worst thing about being in that room was the smell.
I am very sensitive to smells. It's not a smell of sweat. It's a dampy, meaty smell. Not quite like a mushroom (mushrooms are sharper) but similar. The smell of something getting funky in the dark. the original meaning of funky is, of course, being stinky. Here's the defination from m-w.com (Merriam-Webster online):
Main Entry: funky
Function: adjective
Inflected Form(s): funk·i·er; -est
Etymology: funk (offensive odor)
1 : having an offensive odor : FOUL

I had an overweight neighbor when I was growing up. I liked her. She always smelled very faintly of sweat. These people were not sweaty. Sweat is usually an honest smell. This smell is dark, musty, wrong. Sick.
It remember me of my friend's sister. She made these fabulous cakes. I had eaten a piece of one at a party, and thought it was delicious. Then I met her.
She was extremely overweight, in a very sloppy way. (Do you know what I mean? Some overweight people are neat and tidy and some have flesh slopping all over and they don't give a shit. I like to think I'm somewhere in between.) She had this terrible body odor, so strong it really was sickening. Again, not sweat. My friend said it wasn't her fault, that she had yeast infections all over her skin. Her husband worked in a fish market so I guess he had no sense of
smell or didn't care.
Another time, I was out with my friend and we stopped by his sister's house. That smell permeated EVERYTHING in the house, the way a smoker's house always stinks of cigarettes. I thought I was going to be sick. She was making a cake for someone when we were there, which made me think of the cake I'd eaten in the past which she had made, in that stinking house. She
offered to make one for me as a birthday gift but I declined, saying someone else was already making me a cake, which luckily was true.
Was she a dirty woman? No, her kitchen was clean (as clean as it can be in the middle of a baking project), her house was reasonable neat and picked up. It was just the SMELL.
That's so mean of me, isn't it? But I have such a sensitive nose. I'm sure she washed her hands and utensils and everything. But she just smelled SO FUCKING BAD.
I'm not friends with that person anymore. I don't know if his sister is still fat, still makes cakes, still stinks. I don't think I'd know her face if I saw her in the grocery store. but I'd know her smell anywhere.
I smelled it again at that meeting. I guess it's the smell of being fat. I am terrified of smelling like that.

Monday, November 01, 2004

ASSumptions & therapy

This morning I got up late. Time changes confuse my brain. Is it really 3:30 or 1:30 right now? Hate it. So I had no breakfast. Not that I eat breakfast at home, but sometimes I do.
So I was a little hungry. Last week I bought a couple of packages of $.50 cookies and I had one package left so I opened it and was nibbling on ONE cookie at my desk while waiting for my computer to boot up at work. This woman who works with me comes swooping over and crows triumphantly "I KNEW you were a sugar addict! I knew you ate sugar!" like I had previously denied eating sugar (I only denied drinking coffee, which she can't understand or remember). She wanted to know why I wasn't eating something healthy and offered to cook me pumpkin nut muffins. Gag.
The point is, I didn't even finish that one cookie. The last 1/3 of it is still in the package, with another whole cookie. And I was drinking water with the cookie, when she was probably on her third cup of coffee. But because I'm fat, she feels she has the right to comment on what I eat. She's too skinny and hyper because she drinks coffee all day, do I say anything? No.
After work I went to my first therapy session. I told my therapist about this blog--she is one of two people who know my "true" identity--because these are the issues we need to deal with, and she wants me to journal. So, here's my journal.
I am sick of everything I eat making me sick. I'm tired of food falling out my butt or my mouth.

I want all addiction to food totally lifted from me.

I want all desire for food totally lifted from me.

I want food to stop mattering.

It's not fair that cigarette smokers, alcholics, etc can give up their poison cold turkey 100%. I can't give up food. And is food even my addiction? My husband says that I dislike food, and he's right. I do dislike most food. Food annoys me. It annoys me that I pay $5 for my lunch and 90 minutes later it's in the toilet.
I don't know what my fucking problem is most days.
And she gave me a book to read and eight cds to listen to and a tape that's some kind of daily exercise. And I've got NaNoWriMo to deal with. It's November. ARGH. Freaking out, I am freaking out already. Must go write. No posting to NaNo boards, no writing here unless it's journaling. MUST GO WRITE FICTION.

Sunday, October 31, 2004

Bariatic Surgery 1

Last week I went to a preliminary meeting about getting bariatic surgery.
It was pretty scary.
I'm not much into scare tactics. (That's why I hate Bush. He & the repulican party are all about fear. John Kerry is all about Heinz ketchup, the best ketchup, the ONLY ketchup there is. Fear? Ketchup? Fear? Ketchup. Hmm who should I chose?)
But these were probably necessary.
First the doctor scared us all by saying just by being this overweight, we are FOUR times more likely to die, of anything, than a thin person.
Four times.
That's enough to put anyone off their feed, even a person who throws up or poops out everything like I do.
He talked about how diets don't work, 95-98% of the people gain their weight back, or gain even MORE back. (been there, done that)
Exercise works, but only if you keep at it. And who does, when just walking up the stairs puts you out of breath?
It was strange to be at a meeting full of severely overweight people. Some were overweight couples, some were half and half. A few people were immense. A few seemed too thin to be there (although they were still large).
The BMI cutoff for surgery is 40, or 35 if you have co-morbiditys (isn't that a nice term) like diabetes, high blood pressure, etc. (Mine is well over 40.) The doctor said he had just operated on someone whose BMI was 92. I figured out that if that person was my height, they'd have to weigh 535 pounds.
Once he got everyone so frightened they were ready to go under the knife immediately, lest we all die walking out to the parking lot, he started talking about how insurances are no longer paying for the surgery as of THIS MONTH. And of course mine's one of them.
Then he started talking about the surgery itself. The stomach is reduced to the size of a MARBLE. A fucking marble. The intestines are re-routed to the marble, and another bit is re-routed to the base of the stomach to get the liver, spleen & pancreas digestive juices. He said one benefit of doing that is the sense of hunger is completely lost. Eventually, over a couple of years, the marble-sized pouch extends to the size of a golf ball. That's not a lot of food, is it?
He talked about the other surgery, the lap band, that I originally wanted but my insurance doesn't pay. He said it's only good for certain people, & those people do as well with that as with the bypass. It didn't seem like I'd be a good candidate. The weight loss is a lot less too. If I'm going under the knife, I want maximum return for my pain. With a bypass, you can lose 75% or more of your excessive weight in a year. That means if you should weigh 120 and you weigh 300, you are 180 lbs overweight. You can lose 90+ lbs in the first year. He said most people lose an entire PERSON's worth of weight- 150 or more lbs.
So I have to attend Monday night meetings for at least a month, starting tomorrow. I have to list every diet I've ever been on, and if I lost any weight. (started that already--what a list). My appointment for a personal consult isn't until December so we'll see what happens. I told the lady I'd cancel if my insurance would run out before 4 months (min time 3 months between intial consult & surgery, and consult is a month out) but she said not to, that they can work miracles with insurance.
It's horrible that I look at overweight people and say "am I that fat?" because sometimes in my heart I know I am. I am that fat. I am so gross. I get so discouraged. How does one break out of this fucking downward spiral?
Do I want surgery? Hell no, I'm terrified. I'll have to have IV's, IN MY VEINS. I'll have to take out my piercings. (I can see you all shudder at the thought of an overweight woman with piercings. Well, fuck you. I have tattoo too.) I'll have to sleep in a strange bed. I'll have to give up drinking diet pepsi. I've already given up ice cream and chocolate milk. I want my pepsi.
So fucking childish of me. Would I die for Pepsi? No, but that's the choice I see myself making. So fucking STUPID.
I am starting therapy this week with a very nice lady who thinks she can help me without surgery. The program is ten weeks long (or ten sessions, which might take more than ten weeks). I have SAD (Seasonal Affective Disorder) and maybe she can help with that too. It's hard not to be depressed when you're this fat. And I have other problems, family illness & lack of money, that I'm not even getting INTO in this blog. It all drags me down.
Okay, so I can't exercise. I eat as little as I can (so I'm fucking up my already fucked-up metabolism even more, no doubt). And I'm afraid of surgery. What's next? I guess I change myself or I change the way I look at the situation or I die.
I don't want to die.
It's Halloween and the veil is thin. It's the time when spirits come through to talk to me. They say that I don't want cause of death to be "morbid obesity" on my death certificate.
I could go in the corner and just cry, cry, cry. I want to scream. I can't do any more for myself. Someone has to help me. I know it's codependent or some such psycho babble. But I am putting this out to the universe. I cannot do this on my own. I need support. I need help.
I don't want to die.

Saturday, October 23, 2004

Bumples,"What the Bleep" movie, Reiki & more

So what DO you call those things, those little bumples of fat, that are just above the boob but not quite in the armpit? I was looking at mine this morning. Mine actually aren't that big. (The bumples, not the boobs.) I've seen thinner women with bigger bumples. Must be a hereitary thing, where the fat sticks to your body and where it doesn't. On me, it sticks everywhere. I guess I should be grateful that I have one part that isn't as fat as it is on others.

I saw that metaphysical movie, "What the Bleep do We Know" this week. (www.whatthebleep.com) It was interesting. The girl spent a lot of time drawing happy things on her body with eyeliner-hearts and flowers and stuff. This was because of that water study done by Dr Masaru Emoto who found that water reacts differently to different emotions. It forms a pretty crystal if you say "thank you" or "I love you" but if you say "I hate you" it makes an ugly crystal. http://www.masaru-emoto.net/entop.html is his web site.

So yeah, I've been drawing happy things on my fat and trying to think happy thoughts. Will it work? Who knows? But it doesn't hurt to try, right?

I was in a shoe store the other day looking at boots. Lots of very sexy boots out there with stiletto heels. I'd not be able to walk a step. And they are so narrow. My calves and ankles wouldn't even fit into them. And the pointy toes. Where the hell is your instep/toe area supposed to go? These boots were like a lethal weapon. I bet you could kick someone with those pointy toes and kill them. (I once read a story, a long long time ago, where a person was stabbed with a stiletto heel and the wound looked like a bullet hole. Possible? Who knows?) If they only fell down writhing in pain from your near-lethal kick, you could then stomp on them with the micro-thin 5" heels of the boots, puncturing their organs and finishing them off.

Well, that made me feel better. Mr Emoto, take that.

You know what? I am suspicious of his name.

It seems too pat that he's called "emoto" which is close to "emotion" in English, and he takes pictures of emotional water. If I was writing a book about him, it would look like a tag name, like the burning world in that recent Vin Diesel movie being called "Crematoria."

I'm not sure I'm suspicious enough to do any reseach, though. NaNoWriMo is coming up, after all. . . .in just over a week. And I have NO CLUE what I am going to write. I just saw a notice when I logged on to Blogspot that they're doing a NaNo thing here too. But I don't want to post my unpublished work here. Sorry.

I had a Reiki treatment last week. Massage tables are not made for overweight people. My arms were literally hanging off the edges, very uncomfortable, and the Reiki person did not like energy to "cross" meaning she didn't want me to place my hands on my abdomen. So I had to hook my thumbs into my pants pockets and allow them to take my arms' full weight. Kind of annoying. The energy was nice, but I felt like I need another treatment (from a chiropractor) to unkink my body after being flat on that table for over an hour.

It's hard for me to lay on my stomach because my boobs are big. My spine can't be flat so I arch back, with my chest higher than my hips. This leaves my head dangling from my neck like a wilting long-stalked flower, and creates a "crick" (well, what else would you call it?) in my lower back. So what's the solution? I turn over, of course, and lie on my back.

Some very interesting things happen then. First, my boobs, which are normally hanging down around my solar plexus, reverse direction and eagerly crowd my neck. So I feel like I'm suffocating, and it's not very comfortable. Plus, my butt is so large that I can't really lie flat (or lay flat, I can never figure out the lie/lay thing and who cares anyway). My lower back ends up arched far away from the table, which increases the gravity pull on my breasts, sending them even more toward my chin.

Just not cool, okay?

Reiki people take note: make sure your clients will #1 FIT on your table and #2 be COMFORTABLE while you work on them! No one wants to pay $80 to be in pain from reclining on a too-small/narrow table. And can these tables have some PADDING please? Go to Walmart/Target/Kohls and pay $10 for an eggcrate-type mattress topper and throw it on the table. If you're making $80 you can certainly afford it. Or better yet, some of that memory foam. Yeah.

It's ridiculous how these people are so concerned about putting fresh sheets on the table in between clients but not if the clients are comfortable. I couldn't care less if there's sheets on the table, it's not a bed. Wipe it down between clients, don't waste water washing sheets. Seesh.


Thursday, October 14, 2004

"How to Get Really, Really, Fat" or, "Inside the Fat Suit"

Yeah, I was thin once. So how did I turn into the human equivalent of the good year blimp?

Beats me.


I don't exercise much. I'll take a walk, but that's about it. I like to lift weights. I tried aerobics, back when it was "in" and didn't like it much. That was when I went to a women-only gym. They had a rule that you couldn't use weights or lift weights until you were within FIVE POUNDS of your goal weight. I thought that was bullshit, and that's why I didn't stay there.

So I'd say, my lack of exercise is a big one. But I work, and I write, and both of those require sitting on my butt in front of a computer. I clean my house, and that's about all I have time for. I know a lot of people who walk, but I can't. I literally can't. I get out of breath going to the end of the street. I used to walk in a circle through my house (living room-dining room-kitchen) but I made the mistake of telling someone I was doing that for excerise, and that person was very mean about it. I was rewarding myself by watching favorite movies on DVD while I walked, but this person went on and on about how one's stride is different when walking inside and/or for very short distances, and how it wasn't helping at all, that I should walk outside. Well that took away my reward, of watching the movies, and I stopped doing it. And I was up to 45 minutes at a time.

This is why you shouldn't share your dreams lightly.

Other people stomp on them.

"So what's the secret to being really, really fat?" you ask impatiently. "I'm a skinny person and I envy your ability to go outside in the winter without a coat."

Well, first, make sure that everything you enjoy doing is done sitting down. Computer games, watching TV, going to the movies (excellent because it combines eating greasy popcorn with sitting down, not so excellent because you have to walk through the parking lot and that's like exercise), writing, reading, drawing, working in an office. . . You get it.

Buy your pants with elastic waists. Sweatpants are perfect for when you're not at work. Stirrup pants are good if you're female.

Try to combine eating with your sitting activities. It really doesn't matter what you eat. I believe if you want to be fat bad enough, you can get fat eating that goddamn rabbit food iceberg lettuce.

The most important part of getting fat is the mindset. Constantly think of yourself as fat, as ugly, as bulbous. Think about the immense gravity you now have, and how it attracts more fat, more food, more flesh to you. At the same time, this unique fat-gravity repells people & exercise equipment.

Eventually you'll get into a beautiful downward spiral. That's where I am, and I didn't even do all the above steps (aren't I special).

The spiral works like this: your metabolism becomes totally fucked up. Starving yourself paradoxically causes weight gain.

Walking past a Krispy Kreme store without going in becomes impossible. You take the free sample and a whole box to go.

So now you're really really fat. Your stomach hangs over your pubes. Your thighs hang over your knees. Your upper arms are bigger around than your head. There's a weird thing on your lower back above your butt crack, some kind of bulge like you're growing a tail. There's a hump of fat on the back of your neck so you look like Quasimodo. The skin over your skull is thick and rippled--your HEAD is fat.

Your waist is a distant memory; it's just another roll of fat around your middle with a belly button buried deep inside. Sometimes you smell peculiar, although you shower and wash everything you can reach. What you can't reach, you ignore, hope the water will wash it good enough without soap or scrubbing, or you get a long-handled scrubber. Wiping your butt has become something that requires contortions you simply aren't capable of doing in the shape you're in. (Which is, of course, ROUND.) You are as wide as you are deep, which means there are spaces you can't fit through even if you do go sideways. Chairs with arms cause you anxiety. You don't fit in restaurant booths.

You've done it.

You're fat. You're obese. You're a beast. People stare at you when you waddle down the street, your thighs chafing, the elastic of your underwear cutting into your leg, your breath heaving, your rolls of fat bobbing, your face red. You cannot stand with your feet together because your thighs are so fat. But since you probably can't see your feet, who cares?

Now what? What do you do with your new-found lack of freedom?

Nothing. You can't do anything. All you can do is sit in one place. Don't even THINK of climbing the stairs. Or running for the bus.

Now that you've got what you wanted, you suddenly realize you don't want it anymore. You want to trade the ability to go outside when it's 12 degrees fahrenheit without a coat for the ability to look good in a bathing suit.

So you think, I'll just reverse what I did to get here.

Oh, is that so?

You decide to eat less, but that doesn't do anything but make you nauseated, dizzy and stupid. You try the diets, Atkins, Pritkins, South Beach, Weight Watchers, they don't do much.

You are spending more money than ever on half the food you used to eat, or less, but the number on the scale doesn't move. That is, if your scale even registers how much you weigh. Some only go up to 250 or 300, so you look down at a scale which says 40 or 50 or 100 lbs and think "hey I'm doing great" but you have to add on those other numbers, don't you? Your goal becomes to weigh less than the maximum weight of the scale. Forget about being thin, forget about the bathing suit. You don't want math to be involved with your daily weigh in.

But still your body is bulbous, your breath is labored, your lovers have left you because your genitals are buried in fat to the point of being non-functioning. You can't reach yourself to masturbate, but that's cool cuz you aren't really horny anyway.

The depression sets in. "I am a big fat failure," you think. You sprawl on the couch, or in the bed. You cannot see over your belly so you roll over onto your front to see the TV, but then your back is unnaturally curved and starts to ache. This makes you aware of your other aches. Your ankles, your knees, your chest. How long have you been in pain?

Emotional pain, physical pain. It's all the same. One leads to the other.

You say, "I will take a walk. I will walk to the end of the street and back." but you can't bend over to tie your sneakers. You can no longer reach your feet. You try to remember when all your shoes became slip-ons.

You decide to take a walk in your slip-on shoes, the ones with no support for your arches so your feet ache before you're all the way down the driveway. You peer down the block. It seems so far. Already you are breathing heavily, and sweat pools in your lower back and all the other folded places of your body.

Is it worth it, this walk to the end of the street?

All the pain, the agony, the stares. Teenage boys honking at you and screaming mean things out their car windows. Taking up the whole sidewalk so the kids coming home from school have to detour into a driveway to let you pass.

The thought exhausts you. You droop, your shoulders sagging. The moisture on your face might be sweat, or maybe you're crying. A big fattie in slip-on shoes and gigantic blue sweatpants and a XXXXL football jershey, crying in the driveway, the shirt already damp with sweat and you've barely gone ten feet. How pathetic is that?

You go back into the house, grab a bag of Halloween candy, and slump onto the couch. You pick up the remote and turn on the TV. You dump the candy into your lap and begin to unwrap them. You ball all the wrappers together, and when the ball is big enough, you put it into the bag. In less than an hour, the candy is gone. You can't remember eating it. You can't remember enjoying it. The taste of chocolate is in your mouth, and the bag of balled-up wrappers beside you, so you must have. There's no one else there to have eaten it. You can't remember what was on TV either.

You feel sick to your stomach. The sweat-wet shirt is making you cold. You realize that you are trapped in this fat suit, hundreds of pounds of flesh pressing you down, holding you back. You can't hide how you look under a baggy shirt or with a clever haircut. You have become an object of pity.

You have lost your humanity, your sexuality. Even if you're a man, you have hanging boobs. No one wants to have sex with you. You wonder how you get into one of those fat people calendars you've heard about, or even seen on the internet. You always laughed at them, or cringed. Now you look in the mirrow when you change your clothes and realize some of the hot fatties are thinner than you. And just what makes a fattie hot anyway? You're always hot, sweaty, longing for cold water, but somehow you know that's not what they mean.
Summer is coming (in nine months) and the just the thought of walking from your house to the car, from the car into work, makes you sweat. When the sun is burning overhead, you long for the cold. Why would anyone go to the tropics on vacation when it's so hot in North America?

The realization hits you:

You have become the person that thin people point to and say "if I ever get that fat, shoot me."


PS Not all of what I've chonicled above has happened to me directly, but it's happened to people I know. It's all real. And if it makes you want to cry for me, for us, think about how much worse it must feel to be inside the fat suit.

Disease-Related Bulimea

I've been sick for a few weeks (another reason for the long gap in posts). I'm coughing a lot. The coughing makes me vomit. And I am sensitive to all foods, so what I don't puke up, I shit out within an hour. I figure it's a kind of disease-related bulimea. (You know, I looked that word up and it STILL doesn't look right.)

So should I eat, and hope I get some nutrients before it comes gushes out one of my orifices? or should I say screw it and not eat anything? I'm not hungry most of the time and when I am, if I wait long enough it goes away.

Now, if I weighed 120 lbs, everyone would be so concerned over this. But because I weigh quite a bit more than that, no one really cares. Fat people can be malnourished, you know. A fat person can starve to death. It's not all about being thin. It's about getting NOURISHMENT. Yeah, my body will consume fat for energy, but I still need vitamins, minerals, etc. And I don't think that those things can be metabolized out of fat.

There was a time, a few years ago, when I was clinically depressed over the loss of someone close to me, and over the course of five months I lost 60 lbs. First, no one around me noticed my depression. (It was before I was married.) All they saw was my weight loss. They complimented me on it. I felt so betrayed, like they were complementing me on the loss of my loved one. Yeah, it was nice to lose some weight and be thinner, but I'd much rather have had that person back who I was missing so badly. Insensitive. Again, if I had started out thin and lost 60 lbs, someone would have clapped me into a hospital or at least encouraged me to go to the doctor's office.

I honestly don't know if I've lost any weight since begining this purge (no binging). I don't weigh myself. That number has more meaning to others than it does to me. I don't even look when I'm at the doctor's office.

Why is that number anyone's business? It's not. I don't ask my skinny friends how much they weigh, or my fat ones. If someone's on a diet, I might ask how much she's lost; I might ask a pregnant friend how much she's gained. But even that's none of anyone's business.

One of my friends said if your stomach area is soft and squishy when you're overweight, you're losing weight. If it's hard and firm, you're gaining weight. Mine tends to be squishy. I've noticed that men's potbellies are usually very firm. But since I just found out about this phenomena recently, I can't say I've ever noticed if my stomach has been firm. I think it has been. It must have been, right, if my friend is correct, because once upon a time I was thin.

Wednesday, October 13, 2004

"Nothing Special" Book --to the comment-leaver

There are several books on Amazon that are called "Nothing Special"--which book are you recommending? Do you know the author's name?


Boobs (& response to comment)

-posted via email

I was thinking about boobs yesterday. Not in a lesbian way, just in an annoyance way.

Even when I'm thin (and yes, I have been, I weighed 114 in college), I have big boobs. Big floppy boobs. I never had lovely upright perky boobs. They grew out and down, never up.

People who want big boobs are stupid. Boobs get in the way. For instance, if I am sitting straight up, with good posture, I cannot see my feet. or my navel. All I can see are BOOBS. It's like I have arms, attached to my boobs, and other than that I just kind of float. No legs. Feet? What are feet? Actually I can kinda see my knees when I'm sitting, but that's all.

So this is me eating, crammed into a booth where the booth doesn't move and neither does the table. I am forced into an upright posture. My boobs are either resting on the table or slightly above it (depending on the height of the table--Applebee's has realy high tables, for instance, so my boobs are on the table). To get food to my mouth, I have to convey it up and over the mountains of my boobs. I need a ski lift that I could put the food in and at the top it would
dump into my mouth. Ugh that makes me sound like a pig, doesn't it? If I drop the slightest speck of food, it stains my shirts. That's another reason why I like to wear dark colors. I have a light shirt on today and sure enough there's a little salsa stain on my left boob that didn't come out in the wash.

How I LIKE to eat: I like to push my chair away and lean over, so my face is above the disk and not above my cleavage. However, because my body is so thick, my chair ends up being like 3 feet away from the table and no one can walk behind me. Sometimes when I get up I am amazed at how far away I've pushed the chair. But that way i save my clothes from being perpetually

Pizza grease is the worse. I cannot get pizza grease out. Actually it's the cheese grease (I'm not much for lots of toppings, I like it just cheese). It's like indelible ink, it just sinks in and destroys the piece of clothing.

And the worse is, when I get dressed, I do check my clothes for stains. But when I get outside, all of a sudden there's stains. They show up different in sunlight. And in florescent light, like at work. Damnit. I feel like I should carry a change of clothes in my car.

So that's all about BOOBS. Boobs are such a pain.

I won't even get into the napkin in the lap thing. I just don't do it. Why bother. The food is NEVER going to reach my lap unless it slides down my mountainous boobs first. I like to put the napkin under my chin. Why not? That's where the food's gonna hit, not on my LAP. Didn't I already discuss my lack of lap in another posting? I believe I did.

Someone actually posted a COMMENT here. I would have liked to respond to him/her directly but that person left no reply address. I am going to call the person a "she" rather than a
"they" (which is bad English)--if you're reading this and you're a "he", I'm sorry.

She wrote that I am too hard on myself and trying too hard to fit society's molds. I am being very honest here, which is one of the reasons why I am anonymous. If honesty is harsh, so be it. I've never been one to shy from the truth.

I wanted to post a real portayal of what it's like to be fat in America. This is for other overweight
people to read, so they know they are not alone, and for non-overweight people to read, so they can perhaps feel some compassion.

It's ridiculous how overweight people are portrayed in movies and on TV. There's alwasy some gimmick, they are never just regular people who happen to be round in shape instead of flat or hard. I was disapointed by that Jack Black movie where he falls in love with a fat girl. I thought it would be a portrayal of how fat women are people too, but it turned everything into a
laugh. I read somewhere that the actress went out in her fat suit shopping and came back in tears because of how mean people were to her. I wonder if it changed her at all? I haven't seen her advocating for treating overweight people better. So I guess she just took off her fat suit and went home, grateful that she remained thin and beautiful underneath.

Well, some people CAN'T take off their fat suits.

This BLOG is for them.

Tuesday, October 12, 2004


-filed via email, a new trick!

Just read an interesting word, in the latest book by Patricia Cornwall: panniculus. That's the technical name for what I've heard called the "apron"--the belly fat which hangs over the pubic area and upper thighs.

It's an unpleasant enough body part to have, this hanging thing. I wish I could retract it, hoist it
up, tuck it in. It's very soft & malleable, not at all like the fat on my thighs. Why couldn't I girdle it up somehow? Because it would fall out of the bottom of the girdle, I think.

I was hanging out with some pregnant women and one of them was talking about belly bands. These are for woman who can't support their belly. Wimps. Try lugging around a couple of HUNDRED extra pounds. No one fawns over you & gives you a goddamn belly band. What's a baby weigh? 6, 7 pounds, plus a couple pounds of placenta & fluid? And you need a BELLY BAND?

But if it's truly designed to hold up, not just in, what a great thing. Where do I get one? I hate it
when I'm wearing a shirt that isn't really long and my stomach is showing under the shirt, just hanging there. Not naked or anything, it's inside my pants, but still, it's bulky and ugly. To hoist it up and out of the way, well wouldn't that be nice. To have a lap again for kitties and puppies and small children to sit on.

Because I'm writing about my "apron" I'm very aware of it. It's warm on my thighs. Mine does hang, I admit that, but not that far--it barely covers my pubes. But when I sit, it rests on my upper thighs and it's hot. It makes me sweat sometimes. And it's a gross sweat, anywhere that's folded over and moist is just nasty. Anything that needs to be relocated to clean behind/around it is nasty too. I include breasts and penises in that list. My boobs hang everywhere like great floppy melons. I can't imagine dealing with a set of frank and beans as well.

I have a friend who goes to the same doctor as me. He keeps telling her she should get her stomach done. She doesn't even weigh enough--you need to be more than 100# overweight. Me, at lots of pounds over 100# over, does he ever mention it to me? Nope. Maybe he figures I'm a lost cause.

I actually don't go around thinking about how fat I am. That's why I hardly ever post here. Only when something has drawn my attention to my fat, such as the word "panniculus" do I think of it, and even then I don't always write. If this e-mail thing works out without revealing my true identity (yeah, I'm really a skinny blonde, haha), then I might post more often.

Not like anyone's reading this, though, are they? Well, at least, no comments yet. How do I drive
traffic to a blog when I don't want anyone to know it's mine?

Monday, September 13, 2004

Food & Thoughts

I am keeping a food log. I debated putting it online, but if any of my friends stumbled upon this site (how or why that would happen, I don’t know) they would know it was me instantly from the food lists. Anyway, as I suspected, I do not eat a lot of food. I do give a lot of food to my spouse. “here honey eat this I’m full”

I called a bariatric surgeon to make an appointment. First I have to go to a lecture, which isn’t for a few weeks. The lecture is designed to answer most common questions (I guess it’s an verbal FAQ). I know I’ll have to visit a nutritionalist, a psychologist, and some support groups too. The food log will come in handy then.

But what are they going to say? I don’t really eat that much. So they’ll staple my stomach, make it even smaller. I don’t think food going into me is the problem, though. Maybe it’s the wrong types of food, but I’ve been trying to change that. Less fried stuff, more spicy stuff (spicy food increases the metabolism).

Things skinny people NEVER think:
Will I fit in that booth? Does the table move? Will I need a seatbelt extension on the plane? Will I fit between those two parked cars?

It's all about size. I know I am enormous, but how big is that? It's hard to eyeball. If only I had whiskers, like a cat. Nothing's worse than not being able to get out of your car because you parked too close. Except sitting for a whole meal with the table cutting you half because you can't move the table or the seat. Or how about sitting in a wooden chair and having it EXPLODE underneath you, sending shards of wood throughout the room? Happened to me. Yeah, that was fun.

Your perceptions of color change too. If I wear purple, I look like a giant eggplant. If I wear yellow, people think the sun has fallen from the sky. Anything neon is just frightening. White makes me look like the 2/3 of an iceberg that's usually hidden. Black is just black. At least it doesn't reflect light like white does-that's why so many fat people wear black. They (meaning magazines, or jerks) say to wear all one color, it's slimming. Yeah, I look so lovely in head-to-toe orange. There are no words for it. Really.

Well-meaning people are the worse.

"Oh, if you just exercised more." Let's see, I get out of breath going outside to get the mail. What do you suggest I do for exercise? Get the mail twice a day?

"Oh, if you just ate a little less" hmm, like a 1/3 of a hamburger instead of a whole piggy 1/2 of one?

"What if you only eat when you're hungry?" I'm rarely hungry, so I'd just die of malnutrition.

"What if you eat six small meals a day?" Didn't you just tell me to eat less? Would you like me to take my 1/2, sorry, 1/3 of a hamburger, which is one meal, and make it last for two or three meals? Give me a fucking break. I eat two meals a day and I'm not hungry at one of them.

"Drink more water, it will flush out the fat." Says who? All water does is make me pee once an hour, and the pee is clear; no lumps of fat that I can see. Then again, I'm not getting out a microscope.

My personal favorite: "eat just salad" Oh, I could STRANGLE these goddamn salad-bunnies. #1 I hate lettuce. Lettuce has no nutrional value. You are telling me, in effect, to drink more water. We've already discussed water. #2 I hate salad dressing. Why take perfectly good raw veggie and pour OIL all over them? Oil=fat. Pretty stupid. What do the salad-bunnies say? "the dressing makes it taste better" --yeah, that's because salads are 95% lettuce and LETTUCE IS JUST WATER. Just drink some fucking salad dressing from the bottle and get the fuck out of my face.

Hmm, what else do they say, those well meaning skinny S.O.B.s?

"Try the South Beach Diet" Have you read that book? Where's the diet? He keeps going on and on about how great his diet is and how he can explain it in a paragraph but he never bothers to. It's hundreds of pages of fluff. Waste of $20.

"Try Atkins" I've tried Atkins, and yeah, I lost weight. And got stupid. And tired. And dizzy. And I dreamed about Italian bread. And then gained all the weight back. That pretty much sums up the Atkins experience for most people I know (although men seem to do slightly better than women at it).

I was thinking the other day, what if I listened to everyone who ever told me to change my diet?
Let's see, start off by being a vegan. That's no animal products at all, no milk, no cheese, no butter, no meat.

Then we take away carbs, those are bad. No rice, no potatoes, no pasta, no bread, no crackers, no pitas, no wraps, no cereal. Don't forget sugar carbs: no fruit, no chocolate (if you can find it without milk products), no fruit juices, no carrots, no corn.

Then we take away anything in the deadly nightshade family. No potatoes (again), no eggplant, no tomatoes.

And fat, fat is bad, fat makes you fat. Nothing fried, no salad dressing (awww), no margarine, no olive oil, no peanut butter.

What exactly is left? Yes, my old pal LETTUCE, and the stand-by of all those who want to eat yummy food but not put anything bad in their bodies: soy & tofu. Of course to make soy/tofu taste good, you have to add things for flavoring, all of which are banned.

I don't even need to say that salt is bad, right?

And of course black pepper is bad for your heart because it's a stimulant. And it has insect parts in it. Do a search on "black pepper" and "acceptable filth levels" and see what you get. Yecch.

Well, now that I've ruined what little appetite I had. . . I'll be off for now.


Tuesday, September 07, 2004


I'm a big fat woman. And this is no joke.

I'm tired of being fat.

I'm tired of non-fat people not understanding what it's like to be fat.

So I am starting this anonymous blog to talk about being fat. Maybe someone will listen and be moved--a thin person to compassion or a fat one to action.

I will post no profile, no information about me except this: I am fat and I am female.

Do you really need to know more?

Of course, more may be revealed as I write. But I will change the names of the guilty and the innocent alike, so expect no clues there.

So what is it like, to be fat?

Well, last week I was in a store and I heard a child say "mommy why is that lady so fat?" The Mommy did not bother to reprimand the child or apologise for its rudeness. Obviously it is acceptable to say such things, LOUDLY, in public. Can you imagine if I walked up to a black woman and said "Why are you so dark-skinned?" Prejudice! Rudeness! But to an overweight person, obviously it's acceptable.

What's it like to go out to eat when you're fat? Hmm. No matter what I order, people look at me. If I order something healthy, their thoughts are "poor thing she's trying to lose weight" and if I order something unhealthy, their thoughts are "no wonder she's fat if she eats like that."

How much do I eat? You've probably heard on TV about some obese person who hasn't gotten out of bed in three years and who eats four chickens and a dozen loaves of bread every day. I'd puke, honestly. (And who are the enablers who are bringing this immobile person all that food? No one ever talks about THEM.) I could MAYBE stuff four pieces of chicken (PIECES, not CHICKENS) in me in a meal. Maybe. Usually I'll have one or two pieces, some potatoes, some beans, and maybe some biscuits. By "some" I don't mean gallons. I mean a scoop or so on the plate. More than a serving? Probably. But not four whole chickens and a dozen loaves of bread worth. In fact, those who know me say that I don't eat very much at all. I eat lunch and dinner and sometimes popcorn at night. I don't snack all day. I don't sit in front of the TV watching soap operas and getting stupid.

I admit that I eat the WRONG things. I'm not a big fan of salad, for instance. I dislike lettuce on principle (no nutritional value, so why eat it?) and dislike all salad dressings (gross, all greasy and nasty ruining perfectly good tomatoes and carrots). And I am overly fond of chocolate cake. My response is not to have chocolate cake in the house, therefore I don't eat it. I know when I buy a cake, it will get eaten in a couple of days. So it's a rare thing. I'd rather pay for a single slice at a resturant (as much for that slice as a whole cake at the supermarket) because it's a smaller portion. So when I do have that cake in the resturant, people are looking. "Look at the fat woman eating chocolate cake." Do they notice that half my entree was wrapped to take home? Nope.

Nothing is STUPIDER than the parents' rule of "eat your whole dinner or you can't have dessert." How many fat children has that rule caused? I deliberately don't finish my meal so I have ROOM for cake, and then I get another whole meal to eat the next day. Is it better to stuff myself with the entire entree just so I'm "allowed" to have dessert?

And I often eat alone, reading a book. This is MY choice. I have people I could eat with. Perhaps they were not available, or perhaps I was shopping nearby and it was mealtime and I didn't feel like driving home to eat. I know that looks even more pathetic--look at the fattie eating by herself, so fat she has no friends, no boyfriend.

This has already gone beyond the scope of an introduction, so I will end now.


If you want an answer to your comment, please don't post anonymously! Or email me. Wholelottarosieyoung at yahoo dot com.