Self-Indulgent Drivel

naked on the internet

Month: February, 2010

Fat Bottomed Girls

I’m fat again.

I’m 5’4″ and I weigh about 170 lbs.  According to the internets my BMI is 29.5, hovering close to the brink of obesity.

A year ago I weighed about 140, which is is cozily in the “normal” range.  I thought I looked good at that point, still with ample fat deposits for when the famine strikes, but shapely.

170 lbs is, no matter how I look at it, fat.  I weighed about this much two years ago, and lost the weight through a combination of walking instead of busing/driving, and dancing at goth clubs.  I plan to start doing these things again.

I know there are women who can pull off this height/weight combo a lot better than I can.  My friend Delilah, for example, is two inches taller, about the same weight and much more booby-licious than I am.  There are girls who make a little extra padding look good.

I am not one of those girls.

I talk too much about my desire to lose weight.  It makes other people feel bad, I think.  A lot of women who have similar shapes to mine (generously buttered, as I like to think of it) protest that I look normal, that I don’t need to lose weight.

There’s a great movement toward fat acceptance in our culture.  I think this is a good thing.  People don’t deserve to be treated badly because of their weight.  Attractive people needn’t be skeletally thin.  Women look good with some meat on their bones.  All true.  Yes.

But I am fat.  I do want to lose weight.  And I think it’s patronizing for anyone to say that this is normal, that this is acceptable.  It isn’t acceptable for me to have fat spilling over the top of my pants.  I will not be consoled into thinking that I look attractive with pale, jiggly cellulite… not just  on my thighs and ass, which is forgivable, but on my calves. On my arms.  It’s disgusting, and no amount of politically correct babble will make me think that this looks good.

So I’m doing something about it.  I’ll let you know how it goes.

you wreck me baby, yeah you break me in two…

…but you move me, honey.  Yes you do.

About two years ago I had just gotten out of a yucky four-year-long relationship.  I sold the engagement ring, cut off all my hair, and got a tattoo.  And then I met K.

He didn’t want a girlfriend.  He didn’t want anything serious.  He certainly didn’t want to be monogamous.  He made it clear that I wasn’t to get carried away.

But I fell head-over-heels, ass over tea kettle.  Mind over matter?  Anyway, I was crazy about him.  He really didn’t seem to mind.

But, again, he didn’t want anything serious.  Well, hell, neither did I!  It was great to have someone in my life who wasn’t trying to, as I like to put it, eat my soul.  We enjoyed each other’s company, and then we went home.  We saw each other about twice a week, on average, for a year.  And it was lovely except when it really wasn’t lovely at all.

*sigh*

He was more Clark Kent than Superman, more Edward Norton than Brad Pitt.  But his kisses made me walk into walls.  The way he smelled drove me crazy.  I’m convinced his skin secretes an addictive chemical.  And like any worthwhile addiction, it was fantastic when it was good and achingly awful when it was bad.

“…it’s like the sun shines on you, and it’s glorious. And then he forgets you and it’s very, very cold.”  -from The Talented Mr. Ripley

His smile is one of the greatest things I’ve ever seen.  Especially when he was smiling at me.  These past couple of weeks, when I’ve been missing him, that’s what I’ve missed the most.  That smile.  How much we used to laugh.  Dimples and crooked teeth, and a gleaming glint of a sparkle in his eyes.

When I said his kisses made me walk into walls, I wasn’t kidding.  I’d lose my sense of balance and direction and just… stumble.  Dead sober, even.

I have never in my life loved anyone the same way I loved him.  I might not ever love anyone like that again.  And I’m wondering how to live with that.

Ten months ago we stopped seeing each other.  It wasn’t anyone’s fault, and if we have to assign blame, it would probably fall on me.  I behaved rather horribly and while it seemed necessary to cause a ruckus at the time, I regret it now.

He never loved me, you see.  He says he doesn’t know if he’s ever loved anyone in that way.  So here’s me ridiculously in love with him, and he’s– what’s a good word– ambivalent?  indifferent?  heartless?– not in love with me, anyway.  So after a year of this, I thought, well FUCK, Folsom, it’s been a year.  If he doesn’t love me by now, he isn’t gonna ever love me.  It isn’t going to change.  This will always feel horribly lopsided.

I once said I’d not only give him a kidney, but I’d tear the fucking thing out myself if I had to.  While this was an exaggeration, I’m pretty sure he didn’t feel anything similar for me.  He always paid for my drinks, but that’s not the same thing.

So it had to end.  And I wasn’t strong enough to end it myself, so I acted wretched so he’d have to end things.  Every time I had tried to walk away, I found that I couldn’t.  I loved him too much.  I was addicted to his skin, his smile, his company.  But I knew he’d have a much easier time letting go of me, so I made it real easy for him to walk away.  And by Gosh, he did.

We went out for drinks a couple of times in the months after that, and it was painful, but I enjoyed seeing him.  It was almost like old times, minus the naked, sweaty aspects of our former relationship.  It was nice.  We laughed.  We smiled.

I haven’t seen him in about six months now.  He got himself a bonafide girlfriend and doesn’t want to see me anymore.

I would give a kidney to see him again.  If I had to, I’d even tear it out myself.

Not really.

But I might be willing to buy my own drinks this time.

How to end a relationship in an adult manner without causing anyone undue stress

Here’s how I did it:

  1. I got very drunk at his house
  2. I tried to fix another drink, which would have been my fourth very strong vodka & cran
  3. He tried to stop me from fixing another drink, which was in everyone’s best interest being that I was already plastered
  4. We fought over my glass
  5. The glass fell to the floor and broke
  6. I tried to clean up the shards, but I was drunk, so he wanted to do it himself
  7. He had to drag me, in a heap, out of the kitchen
  8. I put vodka directly into the bottle of cranberry juice before he could stop me
  9. I wandered to the bathroom and purposely cut my fingertip with a razor
  10. …and then smeared blood on his face like tribal paint and told him he was “a warrior now”
  11. For the first and last time in my life, drove home while very, very drunk

TA-DA!!!

Disability

kate: I’m putting you as a contact for my SSI disability appeal.  If they write you, just tell them how sad and broken I am.
Jesse: okee dokee
kate: MY SISTER IS TRAGIC AND BROKEN
Jesse: I actually think she’s been underdiagnosed. From an early age, her melancholy took a tragic turn. Her first suicide attempt, at 7, was what first drove my mother to the bottle, I think. Given our abusive and absent father, she was left mopping up the blood of her own daughter from the kitchen floor.
kate: That might be overdoing it, but whatever you feel.
Jesse: She had the first of many abortions at 11, after selling her body to a 40-year-old pervert for $5. Had it, that is, after she tried to do it herself with a rusty clothes hanger and nearly died of tetanus. She had been so excited when the lockjaw set it, thinking her suffering might finally be coming to an end. When she finally woke up, cured, the disappointment on her face was truly poignant. By this point, she no longer had the drive to even attempt suicide.
kate: That is SO SAD

I feel so real

I haven’t taken an antidepressant in over two weeks. It might even be three weeks now. I don’t remember exactly when I stopped.

I’m experiencing some dizziness, vivid dreams, night sweats, all the lovely things that go along with SSRI withdrawal. But those things are fading. What’s most striking now is that I’m feeling things more acutely– things I thought I was “over” as much as anyone can ever be over anything.

It’s good to be able to feel, but right now it’s uncomfortable. I’m melting, melting. Oh, my beautiful wickedness.

Famous People I’ve Met

1. Brad Pitt. He was with Jennifer Aniston, but I didn’t speak to her. We had an eight word conversation about his hat in December, 2000. “Nice hat, Brad Pitt.” “Thank you very much.”

2. Robin Williams, March 1994. He was at the Exploratorium in SF with his kid. I was 12 and made an ass of myself.

3. Sarah Silverman (and kinda Jimmy Kimmell, but he was an asshole), 2005. She was at the Coach store. We talked for a few minutes, and she hugged me goodbye! She was super sweet.

4. Mary Lou Lord, musician, July 1999. She was busking on Newbury St. in Boston, and she let me sing a song in her microphone.

5. Rhett Miller, singer of the Old ’97s and solo artist, April 2003. He was opening for Tori Amos. He hugged me, too, but I had to ask for it. Which was fine. HE HUGGED ME.

6. Nando Parrado, survivor of the Andes flight disaster, June 2006. I interviewed him for the PSU Vanguard.

new blog

Here I am.  Substance will come later.