The one in which I say “And MAN” constantly

I was recently interviewed by Regina Lynn from Wired News.
She was doing a story about the annual “Boobiethon”. I spoke with her on Tuesday evening and after we talked about the ‘Thon, the subject turned to my blog.
She gave me some extremely awesome compliments, told me that she loved my blog and had spent an hour reading it, then… THEN, she said that, are you ready for this? I was a “great writer”.
A professional WRITER thinks I’m a “great writer.”
Go figure. (And yes, I do believe that was a Toot of my Own Horn)
After the complimenting of my great writing skillz (Ha! Haaa!), the conversation quickly turned to The Fat. She told me she could totally relate to my struggle with The Fat. We had a really great conversation about our body issues, I really appreciated her perspective.
After our phone call, I sent her an email that said we should meet up for coffee sometime, that way, she could see “that I’m not lying when I talk about my weight and how gross I really am.”
Funny stuff, RIGHT?
Not so much. This was her response.

the way i see it, if we women keep telling our lovers that we’re huge and gross, eventually they will believe us .. and then that steady stream of “you’re beautiful” dries up … and then perhaps we drive them to go find a woman who isn’t huge and gross (translation: who doesn’t tell them she’s huge and gross, because the men wouldn’t have noticed if we hadn’t old them … )
I’m not saying that you’ll lose your husband if you don’t shut up. LMAO!!! i’m just saying that since you’re NOT huge and gross, and your husband knows it and I know it, it makes me wonder what’s really behind it. what’s the real worry there? that someone won’t love us, or that we’re not deserving of love, and as long as we are “huge and gross” we can pretend it’s because of that rather than admit what disgusting people we really are inside?
sigh. it’s so complicated being female, isn’t it? and ex-Catholic (in my case).

Whoa, huh?
I haven’t been able to stop thinking about those words since I read them. They’ve been bouncing around my head ‘err since. A LOT to think about right there. And man, am I thinking about it.
I also haven’t been able to stop thinking about whether she would actually “quote” me in her article.
Well, she did and MAN, I’m SO glad I asked her not to link my blog. I’m feeling slightly embarassed at what I said, but, then again, I have this problem where I think everything I say or do is “dumb”. (I’M WORKING ON THAT, SO DON’T LECTURE ME) But, yeah, I’m glad I asked to NOT be linked. HA!
(That’s right, I turned down a BUTTLOAD of hits. I bare my soul on this blog, and the thought of thousands of people clicking over here FREAKS ME OUT. I don’t write here to get a ton of hits. I write here because it’s cheap therapy, because I connect with people who I can relate to, who understand where I’m coming from, who are supportive and kind. I write here because I enjoy writing.)
Well, that, and because I love talking about farts, boobs and vaginas on The Internet.

Too bad I didn’t have a blog back then, because The Internet NEVER would have let me wear that veil.

I believe I wrote about “My Big Fat Stupid Ugly Germican Wedding” once before. However, today, I was doing what I do when I get emotional…looking through photo albums. As I flipped through the pages of my wedding album, I thought OMG!  I have to take pictures of this for The Internet to see how HILARIOUS my wedding was.
People. It IS hilarious.
I must defend myself before you see these pictures.
1.) It was 1990. “Bigger” “Puffier” = “Better”
2.) I was only 19 years old. My parents still controlled everything
that I did. I’m not bringing that up because I’m bitter, but
because that explains a)why I am NOT wearing makeup. b)why I am
NOT wearing jewelery. c) MY HAIR
3.) I wish I had a third reason, but I don’t. But, man, I wish I
did.
Are you ready for Pure Puffy Hotness?

Let’s start with The Bangs, shall we? Because I KNOW you’re freaked out by The Bangs. A week before the wedding, I had no bangs. My hair was all one length and MAN, was it long. My friend was going to pay for this really awesome stylist named “Johnny” to do my hair. BUT, for reasons that I will not get into here, my parents didn’t want “Johnny” to do my hair, SO, I decided to use my mom’s friend’s “stylist” (and I use that term VERY LOOSELY). She decided to chop me some bangs, an entire TOP OF MY HEAD worth of ’em and RAT THEM TO HEAVEN. Then, she just put the rest of my hair in a BUN that half fell out before the wedding even started. Perfect!
The Veil. What can I say about The Veil? “IT was HUGE?” “Man, that’s a LOT of pearls!” Seriously. It is what it is. And, what it is, was FUGLY.
The Dress. I was so damn proud of those “puffy sleaves”. I aint even gonna lie. What I did not realize was how “Amish” the dress was. Because… THERE IS NO SKIN SHOWING WHATSOEVER. But, hey, it had puffy sleaves AND “A Train” “With Bows”!
Lack of makeup/jewelery. It was against my parents religion. That’s all I can say about that.

I think I’ll let those pictures speak for themselves.

Remember, I said “Bigger”=”Better”? That would be why my cake was BIGGER THAN GOD. 3 foot base cake, with 4 round cakes, a fountain, and a stairway to heaven. Don’t be jealous of my Cake With A Fountain.

There is ONE picture from our wedding that I love. For several reasons. My Tiny Waist, the smile on Tony’s face (because, you know why.), how happy we look.  And for a moment, when I look at that picture, I forget how, um, HORRIBLE everything about our wedding was, but then, I LOOK AT THIS WITH THE HAIR STYLE FROM HELL and I am reminded that, yeah, our wedding was so very ugly. (But so very hilarious. At least I can laugh about it.)

Um

In our house, it’s always been the rule to refer to the Penis as The Penis.
Not as The Weenis. Nor as The Pee Pee. Nor as The Weiner.
Penis.
No cutsey, baby names allowed.
I remember one time when Andrew was about 2, he went for a ride on his little electric tractor with my little brother. Andrew was riding in the back, holding on to my brother’s waist. As they raced by, we all heard Andrew shout, “Uncle Tim, scoot up, your squishing my penis.”
My mom looked at me all horrified and said “I’m sorry, Y, but there’s something creepy about a child that little saying PENIS.”
I just rolled my eyes, because, UM, THAT’S WHAT IT IS. A PENIS. Would it really be better if he said “Weiner?”
Momma, please.
I’ll never forget the first time he asked about MY penis.
I informed him that girls don’t have a penis, but rather, a vagina.
Oh, how he laughed and laughed. He thought vagina was the funniest word he’d ever heard.
Later that night, I was taking a leak when I heard giggling outside of the bathroom door.
“Andrew, what are you doing?” I asked from behind the locked door.
He continued to giggle and blurted out “I hear you going pee out of your china.”
I seriously was going to make a point with this post, but now I can’t stop thinking about “My China” and I forgot where I was going with this.
Ha! Ha! Ha! “My china”

*****

Do you remember when I told you that my daughter was “part beaver”?
And I showed you clear and convincing evidence to back that claim up?
Well, The Beaver is OUT OF CONTROL, people.

I have no idea that I hadn’t noticed until YESTERDAY how bad her wood eating habit had become. I pointed to it last night and said “What did you do?!” and, as Tony is my witness, she walked over, put her mouth on it and STARTED TO BITE IT.
And people wonder why I REFUSE to buy expensive furniture with young kids in the house.
I’m not going to lie, I’m upset about it, because I can’t have anything nice. My kids always end up ruining it somehow, whether it be with a permenant marker, a knife or THEIR TEETH. But, I’m trying to have a sense of humor about it and saying things like “It’s JUST FURNITURE.” or “That’s what babies do!”
Right, because ALL babies eat wood!
In closing, I have no idea how this post went from “Penis to Beaver” but hey, at least I bring up The Tuna. (And trust me, I have a Tuna story to tell. Another day, people, another day.)

The water colored ponies will one day ride away

I spend a good part of my day kissing, hugging and squeezing my daughter. She’s not always happy about it, but it doesn’t stop me from smothering her.
Sometimes, when she sleeps, I’ll sneak in the room and stare at her. And I’ll think how I can’t wait til she wakes up so I can kiss, hug and squeeze her again.
I loved my boys like that, I kissed them all of the time, I cuddled them and I enjoyed every minute with them when they were little, but I truly had no idea just how quickly the years would pass, how soon they’d be “grown” and no longer my little baby boys.

I remember the day that picture was taken. It’s permenantly inscribed in my memory. That’s my first baby, Andrew. It was a warm day and we were just relaxing outside of our condo. Tony grabbed the camera and snapped away. My God, I love that boy and I can’t remember being happier than I was that very moment, right there, with my beautiful son. I was only 23 years old. Some would say too young to be a mother, but that was all I ever wanted.
To have children. To be a good mom to those children.
That smile on my face? That was real, pure happiness, because that little boy was everything I had ever wanted. And I was doing what I believed I was meant to do, the only thing that I believe I am truly good at.
Being a mother.
I had no idea at that moment, when I was kneeling next to the child I loved so much, the little person who brought so much joy into my life, that I’d blink my eyes and he’d be a 12 year old young man.
I knew he’d not be little forever, I knew one day he’d be an akward, witty, pubescent, zitty nosed, but totally perfect preteen young man, but I honestly had absolutely NO IDEA it would happen so damn fast. So fast, that it hurts.

Now, I have been blessed with another baby, an unexpected daughter. I am painfully aware of how quickly she will grow, how the days will turn into months, then into years. How one day, she’ll not want to me hold her close and kiss her all over because she’ll have friends to play with or games to play or skates to lace up and glide around the neighborhood in.
I know that day is just around the corner, so for now, I will kiss that girl, I will cuddle that girl, I will squeeze her and nibble on her sweet little cheeks every damn chance I get and I will be careful to remember how sweet she smells, how soft she feels and how very, very precious she is at every moment of every day that I am blessed to hold her in my arms.

See? Not a scam.

I want to thank everyone who has offered to help Stacey. I noticed that almost everything has been purchased off of her baby registry. You guys are awesome. If you had written asking for her address and I didn’t respond? I was NOT ignoring you…Please know it was just an oversight (as I was OVERWHELMED with emails regarding helping, which is so awesome.)
I just recieved an email from a reader whom I put in contact with Stacey. She was able to meet her last night and spend some time talking with Stacey (and her brother, who is living with her). Something I did NOT know? She was at the superdome. Ugh. If you’re interested, click on the extended entry to read the email.
Again, thank you for your help and generousity.

Continue reading →

Splat.

Last week I had a conversation with Jim about my weight. I shared with him my frustrations about trying so hard (which, was kind of a lie, because for the past few months, I’ve not been trying as hard as I could have been.) and only seeing minimal results.
He then proceeded to give me some great advice. I listened closely and decided I was going to do everything he told me to do, because, um, have you seen his body? The man knows what he’s talking about.
I cut out sugar (and by “cut out sugar” I mean, I replaced my “venti green tea frappucinos with a tall, nonfat, sugar free vanilla latte. And can I just say…”Yuck”? Because, yuck.) I worked out every morning before I had anything to eat. I drank more water. I ate lots of veggies (salads) and snacked on fruit during the day.
As of this morning, I had lost 6 pounds.
Awesome. I was hoping for 24, but hey, I’ll take what I can get these days.
I was talking to a friend about my progress and how S-L-O-W the weight is coming off. I like to pretend that I’m happy it’s coming off slowly because “that means I probably won’t gain it back! Because I did it The Right Way!” Which, is probably true, but DAMN.
We started talking about all the crazy things we used to do to lose weight.
The craziest thing I ever did? Starve myself for days, only eating white rice with lemon when I couldn’t take it anymore, and when I DID finally break down and eat something, I’d do 20358698 jumping jacks in my room until I was drenched in sweat but ONLY AFTER I had taken a package of chocolate laxatives.
I’d poop until there was nothing left but juicy air. I’d actually sit on the toilet crapping juicy air. And crying because MAN did it hurt, but hey! I was SKIN-NAY!
I sometimes get tempted to do crazy, insane, unhealthy things like that again to lose weight, but now that I’m the age that rhymes with “dirty whore” I am too afraid of dying or damaging vital organs.
I’m curious, what’s the craziest thing you’ve done to drop a few pounds? Or am I the only one who shat juicy air to look beautiful

The one in which I eventually say “Dickhead”.

I’ve been extremely open and honest about my struggle with The Fat.
In doing so, I’ve recieved a tremendous amount of support. I feel like I have my own cheerleading team, rooting me on every step of the way. And when I fail, or hit a bump in the road, people here “pick me up” and help me find my way again. It’s been an awesome experience.
But, with the good, there’s been some bad. Some very VERY bad. People have said cruel, horrificly mean things to me.
Things like “your husband just wanted to get laid, why else would he say you are beautiful? your stretchmarks are hideous”.
And “Go on a freakin diet already and quit bithin about it. I am a lurker. You have done nothing to control the problem. DO somethin and if it doesn’t work, then gripe. Geez Louise Otherwise Just accept it. Quit tryin to get attention about it. It’s your choice. BE FAT or NOT BE FAT. Everyone has a little control of their own destiny.”
And then there was the time someone left a comment on Flickr about my 11 month old daughter that say “She’s going to grow up to have a fat ass just like her mother.”
There are quite a few more that I have saved in my “inbox”, and not all of them are as “nice”. I save all of them because they give me fuel. Fuel to lose this damn weight. Fuel to give a big ol’ “Fuck you” to the mean and nasty people who hate me because of the size of my ass.
However, there are days where I read those things, where I read other things that people say about fat people and I cry like a BIG FAT BABY.
And I ask myself “Don’t people realise WHY I call myself a HIPPO?? Don’t they understand it has absolutely nothing to do with “how I feel about fat people in general” and EVERYTHING to do with me wanting to “beat people to the punch.”
See, if I say I’m a big fat hippo, then what can the mean, cruel people say to me that can hurt me? I BEAT THEM TO IT! I hurt me first and so, when they send me emails, or leave me comments trying to insult or injure me, I can point and say “Ha! That didn’t hurt! I already KNOW I’m a disgusting, fat, ugly, repulsive HIPPO! SO TAKE THAT, ASSHOLE!”
Even though the truth is that deep down inside? It does hurt knowing that people hate me, or that I disgust people, or that people think I’m nothing more than a lazy pig, or that when I walk in front of people, they shake their heads in disgust and wish they could tell me to “put down the chips and hit the gym, you fat pig!”
Even after losing a big chunk of weight and a few dress sizes, I know that there are people out there who still view me as all of the horrible things I just said. And that makes me sad. Not just for myself, but for the millions of other women just like me. Incredibly beautiful, amazing, kind, funny, selfless, strong women with so many things to offer the world are viewed as nothing more than “The Fat Girl” by a great deal of people.
I don’t even know where I’m going with this anymore.
A hundred thoughts are swirling through my head right now. When I read the thread about Liv Tyler and all of the horribly mean, cruel things people were saying about her BASED ON HER WEIGHT, I broke down. And yes, I broke down because I’M FAT and? Because I have to make everything about ME.
I already know people are going to take this post out of context, tell me to quit bitching, tell me to quit looking for approval on the internet, tell me that “I’m not fat!”, tell me to love myself no matter what, tell me “who cares what other people think!”, tell me “I thought you didn’t CARE what people think about you!” and so on and so forth.
Fine. Whatever. So be it.
This is such a complex, emotional, frustrating issue for me and sometimes, the best way for me to deal is to write it, to blabber on and on about it, to cry about it, to get pissed about it, to feel sorry for myself about it, but ultimately, to DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT.
Unfortunately, there’s nothing I can do about the Dickheads who judge people solely on how fat/thin they are and whether or not “they’d hit it”.

It could be titled “The Day You Understand Why Your Mom Had No Problem Smacking You Upside The Head Every Once in a While”

There are thousands of books about pregnancy, breastfeeding, how to take care of baby, what your baby should be doing, what your toddler should be doing, blahblahblah.
What I want to know is… where in the HELL are all of the books about “The Day You Tell Your Son That You’re Going to ‘Count to Three’ and Instead Of Shaking In His Boots and Rushing To Do What You Told Him To Do Because He’s Afraid Of Getting Busted, He Rolls His Eyes and Says “Um, Mom, Don’t You Think We’re Getting a Little Too Old For That?'”
I NEED THAT BOOK RIGHT NOW.