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"But Kat, fat people smell bad!"

I would not even dignify this with a response, except that I have heard this nonsese far too often to let it go.

First, I want to say that I have an extremely sensitive sense of smell. This is a blessing and a curse, depending on the situation, but it allows me to create exquisitely spiced dishes, among other great things. One of the curses of this sense of smell is that people with unpleasant odors are often more detectable to me than to those around me. So, let me give you my PERSONAL experiences with people and odor.

Looking back on my friends and acquaintances, I can honestly say that I cannot recall a smelly fat person in my circle, but I have had many, many unhygienic thin people. I'm not saying that thin people stink, but that body size does not determine odor.

Cole was a year ahead of me at university. He was well over 2 meters, and probably only weighed about 91 kilograms.  Cole was very cute, and he had a huge crush on me. He might have stood a chance, but Cole was not acquainted with deodorant or toothpaste. Friends had tried many times to introduce him to the substances, both tactfully and directly, but it just never sunk in for very long. I'll give Cole the benefit of the doubt and consider that he might have been allergic, but he remained single until an equally unhygienic girl of average size decided to date him. I'm glad that they found each other, but I hope I don't have to be in a room with both of them ever again.

X and Y were both attractive young men of slender, but not skinny, build. X and Y seemed okay on the surface--they used deodorant, brushed their teeth, but when the clothes came off, intimacy revealed that both had some kind of aversion to washing their nether regions, especially in the rear. Despite being tactful, and eventually direct, neither would ever start washing their ass cracks during my time dating them. I mean, honestly, guys, dingleberries are for furry animals, not humans.

M was a young woman of average size. Because her parents never had decent hygiene (and her father was missing most of his teeth by the age of 50), she didn't know any better. Her hair was always unwashed, hanging in greasy clumps. Her clothing was never washed either.

C was a very tall, thin girl with whom I went to university years ago. C was very sweet, but she had a tendency to wear very short skirts, and she never washed her nether regions. She smelled like a walking yeast infection, and so did her whole room. It was really hard to visit her sometimes, because the smell gave me a headache, but I wasn't really prepared to talk to her about it.

T is a 159 kgs woman. She take a shower, using soap on all of her parts. She uses a long-handled scrubber to get all the nooks and crannies. She washes her hair, brushes her teeth, and does her laundry regularly. At the end of a long workday where she has done physical labour, she gets onto the bus to go home. Because she's worked all day, she's somewhat grimy and sweaty, just like the lean guy sitting next to her. They both have a little bit of body odor, but because they are looking for the fat woman to be smelly, other people on the bus only notice that she smells a bit, shutting out the rest of the labourers whose bodies they aren't conditioned to think of as "disgusting".

This is a perception issue, one that does not resemble reality. Hygiene can be neglected in all types of people, especially those who did not have as much education (in Cole's case), those who had weird religious aversions to touching themselves in certain places (X and Y), and people who don't have their medical problems properly treated (C, for example). In some cases, there are people who cannot help their odors, either because of a medical condition that makes odors more prevalent, or because they have allergies to things like deodorant and certain soaps. There are also underprivileged people who do not have access to laundry facilities, a change of clothing, or shower facilities, especially if they are homeless.

So what I'm saying is, body size has nothing to do with a person's odor, and a person's odor does not determine their value as a human being anyway. If you're on public transportation, going home after a work day, everyone is more likely to stink a bit, because they have been working and sweating all day. That's life.

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I'm in a jolly mood today so my blog is meant to be juvenile and light hearted. And,btw,I will resume my fat blogging tonight.

Here goes. Enjoy. Lights, Camera and ACTION!

Dear Joey, Jordan, Jon, Danny, and again, most importantly, Donnie…

I wanted to write sooner, I really did. But duty called around the farm and I've had my hands full with shoveling cow manure, turning over the compost heap, almost surcoming to injury by unruly head-butting sheep and finally completing the water irrigation project I started months ago.

Today life on the prairy has quitened down considerably and now it's time for our little talk.

Monday night I watched the live show on the telly and so there you were in all your glory, and I have to tell you, you looked good… and I mean damn good. Donnie, I knew it was going to happen. You wore the suit that my BFF hates and I had to hear about it. I don’t care. I like the suit. I like you in the suit, my BFF? She’s a complainer. Don’t mind her. (But do realise that she’s my matron of honour (i'm waiting with baited breath for our official engagement. don't worry, i'll wait regardless how long it takes), okay? (Wear the suit to the wedding, k? She’ll DIE)

Jordon, I don’t think it was cold enough to warrant a scarf. Actually, scarves must be back in or something. And scarves are okay, but it wasn’t cold. And isn’t the point of a scarf to keep you warm? What do I know? I'm living in Idaho, for goodness sake!

My BFF, wants to know why you all weren’t wearing your wedding bands? She obsessed over it. I told her that I knew why. But she just went on and on and on about it.

Danny, I was rather impressed with the break dancing. In fact, I wanted to go on national television and tell all the middle school boys who watched the show that they had nothing on you and to keep trying and practicing.

At some point during the televised showing, I must’ve gotten lost in my own little world. Up until then, I was doing a really good job of dancing around my living room singing along. You sat down, we watched a little video paying respects to those that we’ve lost, including your mom, Danny, and your dad, Donnie.

And then, all these clocks were all over the place on the screen. We heard the live crowd scream and i knew something was coming, but I guess I wasn't sure what.

All of a sudden, my pesky BFF grabs my arm and as I’m turning to look at her, then she points to the telly and I realise that you are right in front of me, up close on the television set looking directly into my eyes. It was like you and I were alone in my living room, gazing lovingly into each others eyes.

I about died. Then my BFF ruined it for me. Her tight grasp of her hand on my arm ruined the moment.

The next moment all of you and that piano on that circle platform just going round and round as if you were on a merry-go-round. Better you than me. I can’t go on things that go around in a continuous circle because i tend to throw up and it's not a pretty sight...considering what I've been eating!

And Jon? Obama? I was a little shocked to see his face plastered across your chest. Did he pay you? He probably should’ve because I’m sure you just got him votes.

And yes Donnie, I knew that you had to be inconspicuous about seeing me through the television set. I saw your stares. I saw your winks. Did you mouth “I love you”? Because I swear that was what I saw. Love ya too babe. (why are there no emoticons on this blog application, huh? I could do with a beating heart right about now)

Donnie, you have to know that all the posters I had of NKOTB, plastered on my bedroom wall growing up were about 75% of you alone. See my love and devotion?

Ok, i got a little sidetracked. Back to the show. And then you sang. It’s one of my most favourite songs (Single, the one you wrote for me and opened the show with, being my current favorite). I heart it.

But perhaps the best part of the song is when your belt broke…or came undone. Regardless, I saw it dangling (the belt, people) and knew what was coming next.

I see London, I see France...i saw Donnies underpants! ha! You have a nice butt by the way, you can always share some exercise tips to firm mine up.

I think that I’ve been praying for that since I can remember and my prayers were answered. Yes, i've been praying to see your undies. I was happy. And it was comical to see you do your little routine and stop to pull your pants up until you jumped off the platform and ran with your little entourage in tow back up to the main stage.

Impressive boys, really impressive.

I could’ve dealt without the backup dancers. I really don’t think they added anything to the show other than jealousy. Is that what you were going for? It might have worked. But I can tell you that I really really really didn't want to see the dancers barely clothed. I wanted to see YOU barely clothed. Just a thought…

Oh and Donnie love, I had no idea that you played the guitar, but then again, you’re always dancing and singing. Guitars are cool though. You did well with it. I hope pretty soon you'll be playing me like that guitar, strumming every part of my deliciously curvacious body ha!

While you were playing the guitar the camera zoomed to your face and it almost looked as if you were about to cry. Was it because of your overwhelming love for me? I love you too boo.

But, let’s take a minute and talk about the end of the show.

I'm sure most females watching the show were pretty smart. We know the old songs and we know the new songs that you’re going to sing. We also know when the end of the show is going to happen roughly.

So don’t pretend to leave when we know that you’ve not sung Step By Step, Hangin’ Tough or Summertime.

Those are givens. You’re not fooling us.

I saw you all climb up the stairs and wave goodbye. The lights went dim and in an instant the stage was empty.

You must of heard my loud chanting "Oh,oh,oh,oh oh… Hangin’ Tough…”

Then, just like I know, there was a nifty little video in which you spelled NKOTB with sports logos and the stairs lifted…

Out you all came…in Celtics jerseys with your names on the back.

Did I ever tell you that my BFF's brother is a HUGE Celtics fan? HUGE! Because Larry Byrd played for them. Or is it Bird? I don’t know. It doesn’t matter.

Now, this was off the hook and I think the best song of the night.

Then it was all over :(

We had an awesome time with you Monday night and hope that we get to do it again sometime. And I’ve converted my BFF into a New Kids fan… 15 years later.

All in all, it was a really good televised show and one of the most energized concerts I've seen on the telly.

You went non-stop. I was impressed. You’re a little older but 2 hours and 15 minutes of NON-STOP energy? All that dancing? All that singing? Impressive.

I was a little worried about watching the live concert and wondered how good it was really going to be. I mean, after all, you are 15 years older now… but you pulled it off.

You made a memory for me, that toped the memories I had from 15 years ago.

For that I am grateful.

Until next time… you still got the right stuff…

Blindsniper

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Wrong. I'm an Idahoan and i love it.

I don't have a fat blog this afternoon. Instead I'll talk about my home away from home.

We have a population of less than 200 000 in Boise, which happens to be the capital of Idaho.

I live on the outskirts of Boise, on a large farm.

Head Count

25 murray grey bulls and cows

14 big horn sheep

7 appaloosa horses. i love their spotted coat

30 something chickens

4 turkeys

5 goldfish

The change from a city to a country lifestyle has been alternately interesting, exhilarating, challenging, and frustrating. The air is fresher, the noise level is much lower, and the stars at night are magnificent. I can look out the back kitchen window and see deer and other wildlife grazing in the meadow. Fish jump in the stream behind the farmhouse. There are eagles in the skies above. The pace of life is a bit slower and more relaxed. Those are some of the wonderful things about country living.

On the other hand, i've had to deal with a lot of issues i hadn't fully anticipated. Keeping bugs away is a constant challenge. I had no idea that ladybugs could swarm until last week when i found thousands clinging to my screen door! The mosquitoes still come out in the evening. Don't they know it's October? Weeds and dust are big problems as well, with so much untamed land around. And it's not easy adjusting to the lack of services i took for granted in the city. I have to take care of burning, recycling, and hauling my own garbage, and deal with the quirks of a septic tank, propane tank, and well pump. The distance to stores and offices is measured in miles, not by blocks as in the city. My internet connection is slower and not always reliable. Getting the services of a plumber, an electrican, or a repair person can take days or weeks, and I'm having to learn to deal with a lot of things on my own. A pioneering life it's not, but it's certainly a learning experience for me.

People here in the country are wonderful, but they take some getting used to as well. For instance, the speed limit in town is a poky 20 miles per hour, and nearly everyone observes it, so getting to the store or the post office can take a frustratingly long time. Asking directions is interesting - everything seems to be geared to landmarks rather than street names or compass points ("follow the road along the river to the big pine tree and then turn left just past the railroad tracks") The people are friendly and helpful. They'll do almost anything to be of assistance - but almost never on the day they promised.

 I'm going to explain the uniqueness of Boise and it's inhabitants. It's a true story and i hve photographs to prove it. This close encounter happened during my first week in Boise.

I was driving along a busy street on my way to an interview around 1pm. Please keep in mind that this is a pretty well-traveled street in Boise. For Jhb members, imagine Roberts Avenue, Kensington. For KZN members, imagine Essenwood or Sydenham Road, Berea. For CPT members, MMMmmm imagine Lower Main Road in Observatory. For the rest of you, well, just imagine.

So along I was driving when something grotesque and unbelievable caught my attention. Two men - in TOTAL CAMO outfits - in the FRONT YARD of their home - were standing next to a LARGE bloody, skinless animal that was rigged up on a pully system and hung from it's ankles from the front of their house.

I could NOT believe what i was seeing so i decided that i had to take a picture of it. I pulled into the middle turn lane and yelled out my window "i just moved to Boise and have never seen a dead animal up close. Can I come take a picture of it?" The two burly men, who were obviously proud of their meat, laughed and invited me to park in their driveway and take as many pictures as I wanted. As I got out of my car I stepped into a mixture of water, blood and guts that was streaming down the driveway. I met those two guys and they told me this animal WAS an elk - "see, there's her head right there" - and pointed to the head which was in the truck. They told me that i just missed the good part - "moments before you arrived this here elk still had skin". Bummer!

Anyway, the two men were so friendly and excited to tell me all about how to butcher an elk and how good the meat was. They asked me for my name and number and invited me along the next time they go elk hunting. Um - no thanks? 

So here's to living in Idaho, seeing freshly skinned elk in someone's front yard, and the poor elk who's head still lays in the old beat up truck.

Now here's the catch. If you want to see the 4 photographs I have, just leave a comment and i'll post them. They are somewhat disturbing. It's like something you would find in a butchery.

BTW, months later, i had an elk burger. They were correct, elk meat is good @!#$% delicious!

 

 

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This song is cheesy but i like cheesy. I had a good chuckle.

Artist : Mika

Song : Big Girl

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fhSG_Q8tKYY 

Big girl you are beautiful

Walks in to the room
Feels like a big balloon
I said, 'Hey girls you are beautiful'
Diet coke and a pizza please
Diet coke I'm on my knees
Screaming 'Big girls you are beautiful'

You take your skinny girl
Feel like I'm gonna die
'Cause a real woman
Needs a real man here's why

You take your girl
And multiply her by four
Now a whole lotta woman
Needs a whole lot more

Get yourself to the Butterfly Lounge
Find yourself a big lady
Big boy come on around
And they'll be calling you baby

No need to fantasize
Since I was in my braces
A watering hole
With the girls around
And curves in all the right places

Big girls you are beautiful
Big girls you are beautiful
Big girls you are beautiful
Big girls you are beautiful

 

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Okay, laugh time over. Here's where i get serious. Can you handle serious?

Ah yes. Muffin top, oh muffin top, do you know the muffin top? So tasty and loved in pastry form, so delightedly reviled and mocked in human flesh. The moment that a famous actress or woman in the public eye bends over or decides to wear an outfit too snug and a tiny bit of flesh puckers at all around her waistband, photographers are there to snap that brief glimpse of humanity, that tiny little “flaw”, that raging muffin top threatening all of civilization as we know it! Obesity articles and news briefs seem to get some sort of little orgasmic thrill when they happen upon the perfect picture of muffin-topped goodness, some unsuspecting woman with a roll of body that happens to fall outside the dictated norms of acceptance as well as the confines of her waistband.

What is this slang slander “Muffin Top” you ask? It is when you refer to a woman’s stomach which is pinched and hanging out/extending beyond the waist of her pants in a visible way. Top number one reason FOR said “Muffin Top”? Your pants are too tight.* Instead of bemoaning how eating a few bites of food you like might make you even MORE uncomfortable than you already are, here’s a revolutionary new idea. It won’t even take more time than a trip to your usual clothing store. It won’t cost as much as trying in vain to diet your way back INTO (or DOWN to if you are wearing silly “inspiration” pants) that painful, belly-pressing pair of pants. You ready to find out my sure-fire secret?

Buy a pair of pants that fit.

Ta dah! I know. Shockingly revolutionary. With my amazing free advice, you too can avoid the painful compression and resultant “shocking” visual “blight” that is the “Muffin Top”. And by “Fit” I do NOT mean “the pair that I could manage to barely snap together”. No. Bad! Be KIND to your body! Get over that internal crisis that you’re waging with yourself over that arbitrary pant size label. Get the next size, or the next, whatever it takes. Feel the freedom and pleasure of getting OUT of tiny pants and into ones that allow you to move and breathe with comfort.

That said though, if you are a person who LIKES to wear waist-cinching, belly-poppingly tight pants and enjoy the resultant muffin-y top (hey, some of us like to wear corsets now and again too despite the discomfort and perhaps because of the breast emphasizing feature); then that is your right too. Or perhaps your body is just shaped so that regardless of the fact that you’re wearing pants that aren’t snug enough to cut off circulation to your spleen, you will still have this muffin above your pants; this soft roll of beautiful flesh that adorns that space above your waistband. You know what, embrace it and smile because you know you’re wearing what you WANT (not what someone else (even me) has TOLD you that you should want to wear), and you have the right and privilege to do so without outsiders commenting in any way. So I’m going to also give a free tip to those who are so mortally morally offended at the sight of these “rampant” muffin tops. Ready for it?

Stop looking at it.

That’s right. Two simple pieces of advice. If you don’t like HAVING “Muffin Top” that is caused by constricting pants; buy pants that fit. If you don’t like SEEING “Muffin Tops”, regardless of whether they are the result of tight pants or naturally shaped body forms, then don’t look. If it isn’t your body, you get no inherent right to critique it or comment upon it. There. Free and easy.

I return you now to your regularly scheduled afternoon. Anyone want to go out for some muffins? I'm buying. I have this inexplicable yearning for a blueberry muffin right now.

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Artist - TLC

Song Name - Unpretty

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4ejX0q3s0yY

 

I couldn't help but notice all the fashion & beauty magazines at the checkout point at the grocery store.  I realised one thing that we, females, have been mocked with unreal images of beauty that we are expected to emulate. Even women who already conform to the ideal are photoshopped to remove the tiniest details, until their faces resemble porcelain dolls. Not only are blemishes, wrinkles and other "flaws" removed, the very proportions of a woman's body and face are altered. Eyes made bigger and moved to a different position on the face, lips plumped, widened, and repositioned, waists whittled down, breasts pumped up and lifted. It's ridiculous.

The covers got me thinking how manufacturers of beauty products absolutely rely upon women's low self-image to sell their products. While I enjoy putting different colours on my face, as humans have done for millennia, the cosmetics industry goes far beyond that. If we are not panicking over every pimple, freaking out over each wrinkle, and becoming hysterical at the sight of a gray hair, they aren't making money. These "too perfect" magazine covers are absolutely designed to shame us, to make us hate ourselves. There is BIG money to be made on our self-hatred.

We bind, strap ourselves into tight bras, slather eight kinds of goop on our faces, pay for the privilege of having someone tell us how and what to eat (and shame us when we haven't lost weight), run on human sized hamster wheels (big big bucks there), dye our hair so we don't look old (instead of for the fun of, say, having purple hair), and then continue to buy the magazines that make us feel like we HAVE to keep doing these things, because we still don't look like the photoshopped cover girl, even though the magazines never actually say anything new (and trust me folks, Cosmo never has any real new sex tips, no matter what the cover hype says).

Well, screw that. I'm sorry, but I don't have the money to support low self esteem. If I felt like I wasn't good enough to be seen in public without buying all of the stupid crap these companies are selling, I wouldn't be able to afford the "privilege" of leaving my house.

Throw those damn magazines out. Stop buying them. They are preying upon you. They are deliberately designed to make you feel bad. Who needs that nonsense?

 Be discerning of what you expose yourself to. Why not find a less damning periodical  or invest your money in some good book instead or you could use the money to buy a homeless person a cup of java or something to eat. 

__________________________________________________

The line has been drawn. No more beauty or fashion magazines. 

 

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I'm listening to this song, on the radio...sitting at my kitchen table in unflattering old flannel pajamas, hair in a mess and torn up house slippers that should've been thrown away a long time ago. I know what ya'll thinking, but come on. I'm single and have no need to impress anyone. I'm all for comfort.

Artist - Mandisa

Song Name : True beauty

Do you think that a California girl is supposed to have curls and wear a jean
Size 3?
All the curves in all the right places, spray tanned faces just like on TV?
And we read in the gospel of Vogue that we're all suppose to dress and move and
Be
Visions of perfection
Such a misconception
'Cause the real connection is deeper than the eye can see

What's inside of you
What's inside of me
The hands that made the moon and stars
The mountains and the seas
Made you wonderful, beautiful, marvelously
Let the whole world see your
True beauty

Don't know much about Dolce & Gabbana
Seems like a lot of drama to me
And you can keep all your red high heels
And open-toed shoes - I'm good in my bare feet
Let's gown to the nitty gritty
Enough sex and the city
What about purity?
Skin is just the surface
The passion and the purpose that's burning down inside us
Is really what we need to see

Doesn't come in a bottle, doesn't come in a box
You can't spray it on, you can't wash it off
You can't nip and tuck, you can't sew it up
So don't waste your time
It's the love in your heart, the peace in your soul
The hope in your smile lets the whole world know
This little light - you gotta let it shine

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=It93_NLaS1A

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You know those women that you find climbing out of their blinged out SUV's, sipping from their carcinogen-free water bottles while wearing the perfect yoga-ish outfit and their 4 carat cushion cuts? I am fascinated by these women and their upscale aura. I don't think they eat very much aside from their organically grown produce and perhaps this is why they are so thin.

I am not one of these women. I don't drive a status SUV and I haven't ever ponied up the dough for the arugula and the water bottles specifically marketed to the uber-health-conscious. Mainly I cannot rock the yoga outfit because I have hips. And a bit of an ass (more than a bit of an ass). The type of ass you can flip a quarter on and it will stay put!

If you've been reading my blogs you will know that I'm on a quest to be healthy. So far I'm doing good. Life is good. Infact, life is grand.

But, life could be better with some toning. After all, thin thighs does a happy blindsniper make! Thighs that rub together can cause a fire. Can you imagine the friction caused by two plump thighs rubbing together while wearing pantihose? I know first hand. ha!

I happen to have this gadget upstairs. Yes, it's covered with dust and some clothes slated for Goodwill, but I am thinking of putting it to use. Has anyone ever had any luck with this? Does anyone have Suzanne Somers thighs besides, well, her? I think I am going to try it for thirty days (beginning tomorrow because it's late, y'all). I will let you know what happens. I thought of actually posting my thigh measurements, and then I decided that was INSANE because, obviously, it would be used against me on the forum by certain people who read my blog then bitch and moan about doing so. Ha! But if this thing does work, I'll post it all to brag.

So many ladies swear by this little gadget. There are countless women who swear this little gadget is actually pretty good. I'm going to really learn how to use it. That sounds stupid, but come on, you know your first thought is "Won't it hurt your knees?" I wonder if after an hour of using it will i have to walk bowed leg as if i've gone horse back riding?

I think it might work.

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This may be naive, but I think if fat haters/concern trolls could exist in the mind of a fat person for a day and truly experience the loneliness, guilt, self-hatred, shame, self-esteem suicide, and pain fat people deal with every day and have dealt with every day, every hour, day in, day out, year after year ... just maybe they'd let up. I feel all this stuff on a regular basis, and I'm actively pursuing being a fat-positive woman! Sometimes I just think the anti-fat people believe fat shaming and hatred is no big whoop. Like a paper cut or something. Rolls off the back rolls. Erm, no. It's more like being stabbed in the back, through the heart - and then twist.

Here's something that sounds completely bonkers. My school friends knew I was fat. I was fat in school. Yet, years later I avoided meeting up because I hadn't succeeded in losing any weight. Madness. It made complete sense to me at the time, and now I'm just like, "Huh?" They knew you were fat! Why would they have expected you to become perfect in the interim?

There are many paths I shunned because I thought fat stood in the way. (That includes romantic avenues. Yes, s/he is interested in you! Yes! Go for it. Even if you're wrong, rejection is less painful than regret, IMO.) No more. It's little acts of standing up for myself, but there are bigger things in the works, too.

I wear sleeveless shirts again. I used to whenever I wanted but then got self-conscious about my upper arms. Heh, guess what? Thin women have the water wings o' flesh that undulate when they wave goodbye, too. Mine are larger. So what?

Another little thing is that I've allowed myself to wear watches and wrist cuff/bands again. I had been taught that they aren't for larger arms. That bracelets and the like should gracefully slide halfway towards the elbow. Forget that noise. Mine may stay firmly at wrist, depending on the selection for that day. And that's just fine. I like knowing the time, and I enjoy jewelry I've acquired over the years.

For years, I've put off a return to  south africa until I've lost weight. (I grew up there as "The Fattest Girl in the World," but strangely photographs of me at the time contradict how I was treated and how I felt - a common experience, post-fat acceptance.) At least now the only thing standing in my way is money and time.

I've joined a new group of women, it's called FAT ACCEPTANCE. Even though i've taken on a healthy lifestyle i have come to terms that I'm never ever going to be as skinny as some of those supermodels. I've accepted myself for who and what i am.

The crux of fat acceptance, in my view, is that fat is a natural variation that's been unjustly vilified, and the high-pressure attempts to correct it actually make one fatter. It's not that the default human is thin and fat people are rebelling against the norm. We're part of the norm. There's short and tall. There's black hair, brown hair, red hair, and blond hair. There's brown eyes, green eyes, and blue eyes. (Not to mention the myriad combinations.) Why is it at all logical to assume thin is the only size humans are supposed to be and fat is a deviation? It's really not.

Basically, the gift that is fat acceptance  is enabling me to learn how to be (more) myself ... not wanting to be anybody else, including thin. It's a rough ride at times. Sometimes it's like a summer drive at dusk with my favourite song on the radio. But at least I'm on it, you know. I feel lucky to have accidentally made my way aboard. Roll on.

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Yesterday morning my car broke down in the middle of nowhere - between work and home. Electrical issues (in other words, Stuff I Do Not Understand). It's all probably under warranty, but you try telling that to whichever part of my brain is in charge of stress. Hoo boy. When the dashboard lit up like a Christmas tree with DANGER, VW DRIVER! EXPLOSIONS, DEATH & CARNAGE! warnings, so did the stress spot in my cranium. And the beauty of yesterday was, it didn't stop there. Oh, no! Because last night when my BlackBerry stopped working, I rolled my eyes way back into my head, took a deep breath and said, "Oh, Universe. You're such a kidder."

Full disclosure: I unleashed a string of expletives, too - most of them beginning with F and ending with six exclamation points. But as this is a family blog, we'll stick to golly, gosh and gee willywonkers. Keepin' it G-rated.

On the brighter, shinier side, I bought a plane ticket to Seattle, Washington so I can meet my brother when he arrives next month. That I never got an email confirmation or that my credit card hasn't actually been charged (despite the Ticketed - October 12, 2008 message on the American Airlines website), I attribute to the general punishment that was yesterday. When whatever planet is in retrograde decides to snap out of it, I expect all to be righted. In other words, I cannot freaking worry about one more thing right now.

Which is why I've wisely (snicker) decided it's probably time to start dating again. You know, with the purpose of not spending the rest of my life thinking only about myself, and having someone else to make the other side of the bed (seriously, that's a lot of walking 'round and 'round). I'm STILL taking out the garbage every week (minus) and enjoying sole possession of the remote control (plus). Anyway, if you are reasonably tall, funny and do not intend to take me too seriously ever (and I mean EVER), please start lining up at my door. I like irises and hiking trips and I laugh in my sleep. That's pretty much all you need to know.

Ready... go!

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Johann Friedrich Blumenbach (May 11, 1752 – January 22, 1840) was a German doctor and physiologist whose studies related to classification of human races. On the basis of his craniometrical research (analysis of human skulls), Blumenbach divided the human species into five races: the Caucasian race or white race; the Mongolian or yellow race; the Malayan or brown race; the Negroid, or black race; and the American or red race. How he linked Craniometrical research to skin color is baffling. 

 To continue reading - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Johann_Friedrich_Blumenbach

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Autumn….
My favourite time of the year. I love sweater / jersey weather, and the rush of cool wind that sends leaves dancing around your ankles. I love the smell of cooking in autumn…apple pie, chilli and homemade bread….
The leaves seem to turn colours overnight, one day still a bright green and then in a blink, they are falling stars of orange, littering the yards with bright colours, reminding us of the turn of the wheel, the cycle of seasons is upon us again.
I feel closer to nature when the weather starts to dip. Winter’s bone-chilling freeze and summer’s sultry heat just aren’t in the same league as autumn. This time of year, you can wake up to a yard frosted with rime and leaves, and then by midafternoon it is warm enough to remove your coat when you are out working in the garden. The Harvest Moon lights the night for you as the sun sets earlier and earlier.
Coffee tastes better when the air is crisp. Apples are sweeter, senses are more alive overall.
I love my new autumn decoration that I made, a cinnamon broom decorated with orange and red leaves and a bright orange flower. A testament to the changing of the seasons, the turning of the wheel, the next part of the cycle. In autumn we begin to recede, to go to ground, huddle around for the dark and cold nights we know are coming.
Yet autumn is not without promise…we plant the bulbs we know will bloom in spring. We put our gardens tenderly to bed with layers of new-fallen leaves to keep the tender seedlings warm thruout the coming winter.
Autumn is tricky–it seems like a time of ending when yet it is a time of beginning as well. For does not everything that sleeps eventually awaken? Does not light always follow dark, as day follows night? Thus is this time of cycling the same. We say good bye to the summer sun, finish the rest of the harvest, yet at the same time, we lay the seeds for that which is yet to come.
I give thanks for this time of change, this chance to reap and sow.
I give thanks for the crisp mornings and fresh fallen leaves.
I give thanks for the crisp wind, the bright-edged sunlight that paints the trees in splashes of oranges and yellows.
I give thanks for this time of year, this cycle of seasons.

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In college I drew the short end of the straw and got a campus job in the dish room. The only thing worse than working the dish room was having the breakfast shift in the dish room at 6 a.m.  I have bad luck. (While we’re talking about it, I’d like to apologise for the day that I forgot to put soap in the machine for my entire shift.) There are worse jobs than scraping gooey scrambled eggs intertwined with paper napkins off plates, but when you are 17-years-old, you are too stupid to be grateful.

I went to school at T.C.U. Texas Christian University -Fort Worth and back then, there was no air conditioning in the kitchen. I hope they’ve figured another way to make folks carry the cross, so to speak. There’s a lot of steam and smoke (not from smoking, these were fundamental Baptist students) in a dish room. If you remember the scene where Dorothy meets the Wizard of Oz, dish rooms are kind of like those smoking contraptions. It’s hot, it’s steamy, but not in a romantic sort of way. There were two dishwashing people vs. 400 students at a meal. That’s a lot of hard work and bad odds on any day.

I’ve never been afraid of hard work; I just haven’t always been especially good at it.  The students would line up at a small hole cut into the wall and dump their plates at the dish person. The wall was to hide the human behind it, so they could shove their stuff fast, carelessly, and without putting the silverware in the appropriate bin and still have a clean conscience. I don’t know what’s wrong with people these days.

Ten minutes before the hour, there’s a huge influx of students dumping their dishes in order to make it to class on time. I was flustered at the incredible amount of multi-tasking and speed in which I had to work. I am methodical, detailed, and particular. I like my stuff alphabetized, clean, and in order. I do not enjoy dealing with mass volumes that have to be moved on a large scale at high speed. But I’m also competitive, so I aimed to conquer the thing and develop a method to scrape, stack, and run the bin in one successive motion. By the end of the semester, I could handle a shift on my own.

That strategy I learnt back in college, i believe, is going to help when I have a family of my own. I will be able to deal with the small heard of people who will probably leave gooey things on their plates and sometimes dump stuff at/on me in warp speed like I’m the maid with Go-Go-Gadget functionality. I'll be a super mom who's more than capable of doing 5 different things at one time.

Back then in college,  it was just a job so I could support myself financially. I didn't think much of it then. What could i have learnt about cleaning after people? Now, I realise it was more than a job.  It was an opportunity to develop a great work ethic that I've carried with me througout my life. I also learnt how to juggle studies and a job successfully. Another lesson would be service.

 Kitchen staff at eateries are hardly recognised for their hard work. Whenever I go out to eat, i always tell the waiter to thank the kitchen staff including the dishwashers.  

It's amazing when you realise that no matter how insignificant a job may seem there are valuable  lessons to learn and so many opportunities to put them to good use. 

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I read a very interesting article on this website. Here's the link. Read it please.

http://www.bruin-ou.com/aweh/articles/real-beauty-is-beyond-skin-deep.html

And now my mixed up thoughts.

Who do we blame for the obvious and devastating effect of 'colourism'? Growing up we only had white dolls to play with. Barbie was the all beautiful lady, so we thought. She had the blinged out accessories and a very cute boyfriend. Her body was a work of art from her perky breasts to her small waist. She was someone coloured girls could not identify with yet we played with her and placed her on a pedestal of standard as to what true beauty was. I never had any dolls that were coloured or dark skin, why? The closest thing I got to a coloured doll was the cabbage patch kids with braided hair and wide noses. The not-so funny thing is that those cabbage patch kids looked like mutated children born in the aftermath of a nuclear war!

You look at magazines, fashion magazines. Most faces staring back at you are white and thin. Rarely do their feature any models of colour. You look at the catwalks around the world, they are ruled by white women. Look at international beauty pageants - no dark winners. Doesn't that give you the impression that there are no smart,  black and beautiful women in this world? What message does that send out to young girls of colour, around the world? What message is being sent out to my young and developing nieces? It is more honest to accept that we are still locked into European standards of beauty and need to work at appreciating beauty in our own image - because as long as we are worshipping images of other people we will never worship ourselves.

Actresses on tv, none the better. Why does Halle Berry seem to get a lot more attention than darker African American actresses, who are in my opinion far greater actors than her?

No wonder we women of colour have so many insecurities. When will we have women who we can identify with in the media? When will the media be it tv and print get with the program and show off the beauty that is colour?!!

One of my guilty pleasures is browsing the members profiles, on this website. I hardly see any dark skin members. Is it embarrassing to post pics because of negative comments you’ll receive or prejudgments made of you because of the colour of your skin? Or is it because there are no dark coloureds in SA?

If you’re dark skin and reading this, you need to be proud of how you look because  when you devalue blackness you are endorsing white supremacy. Post those pics on your profile.

 

 

 

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 File this blog under "only in Japan".

Have you all read the article about the panty fisherman? What practice, such skill, such poise, a hoser hoisting a panty heist! Ha!Ha! 

Stealing womens underpants should become a national sport in Japan, i reckon. It's become a very serious crime as it's being committed quite often. What would possess a man to steal some lady's funky stanky draws? Maybe he is sewing them all up and creating some type of parachute or aiming for the Guinness Book of World records for most underwear collected?

 Japanese men are becoming obsessed with womens underwear. They have gone so far as to sell used school girls underwear in vending machines. Anyway back to mr fishing jack... 

I wonder if he has a colour, size and design preference? I also wonder what kind of punishment he will get? No fishing license the rest of his life? Laundry duty at the women's prison facility?

 

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During my lunch break, after feasting on a low cal salad, I ducked into a bookstore to find something to pass the time. My eyes, and then my hands, fell on a copy of Skinny Bitches, some sort of diet book in which the authors are rude to you, and then magically, all the tenets of weight loss will suddenly be easier to stick to. Um, okay.

They may be bitches, but they are skinny bitches. And you'll be one too-after you get with the program and start eating right.

My first thought was, that if anything excuses being a bitch, skinny is not it. Funny, yes. But not skinny. Skinny just gives you the right to turn heads and wear the clothes the rest of us only dream of wearing. But bitchiness requires talent, not a low calorie intake.

Anyway, flipping through the book, I learned that to be skinny and (healthy, natch), you must abstain from sugar, meat and dairy products. Abstain from dairy products? Pfft! You're not skinny bitches, you're crazy bitches! I tossed the book back onto the shelf, like it was on fire.

"Urgghh."

"Zat bad?"

A French woman, most probably in her 40's, was standing behind me. She was, incidentally, skinny, and dressed head to toe in rich creams and taupes. She looked like a magazine cover.

"Yes," I said. "It's just... if cheese is wrong, I don't want to be right."

She laughed, and made a flicking gesture, as if mentally sweeping those skinny bitches right out of existence.

"Zey don't tell you how boring it is being skeeny."

I laughed, wondering if she knew from experience just how boring it is being skinny. We made a bit of small talk, then the woman checked her watch, and said she had to be off. But not before stopping by the checkout counter... to buy a chocolate bar.

Apparently, not

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I have STRUGGLED with my weight since about five years old….this is when I experienced a traumatic incident. Food was to all be eaten, and no one monitored our eating habits. I remember a day when I ate four full-sized chocolate bars..no one told me no. NO ONE!

High school was hell. I was overweight and honestly it was a mask which I hid behind. I didn’t date anyone..didn’t kiss anyone..NOTHING. Not even a dance with a boy..never ever had a date.

Then at varsity I had enough. So I dropped some weight and got down to a reasonable size, which was amazing. The day when I bought a pair of GAP jeans I cried. No one understands this unless they’ve been through it. My first kiss at 21…it was great. But again, my whole life has been put on a slower path because of my weight.

I deal with my own insecurities every single day.. EVERY DAY. Not good enough, not skinny enough, not confident enough, not mature enough, not experienced enough, not lovable enough, not nice enough, not as strict enough on my diet, not planned enough. Dieting is a constant exposure of the inadequacies that I deal with on a daily basis. The goal of dieting is to get a person to ‘the place’ where they feel healthy, happy, accomplished. Perhaps that happens, but during the journey it’s a constant feeling of having to be perfect to end up being perfect. It sucks..but I have to do it.

SO…..I have been trying to be ‘perfect’ with my diet. Tracking everything, even when I had a big night on Wednesday. Cutting back my calories, working out, and trying not to binge out of stress or let it go because I have had nothing but:

‘wow, you look amazing these days/
stares from friends who would have never given me the time of day/
people actually calling me Beautiful.  Did someone actually just call me 'beautiful'? OMG. That was one for the books. People were complimenting me on my body and not just calling me a 'pretty face'.

I woke up yesterday and weighed myself. When I saw my weight I cried…bawled. People have no idea how hard it is to lose weight. Damn, it felt good..really good.

Who will I be without dieting. It’s been my identity for the past couple of years.

I have changed…I wonder though if I am totally aware of the change and able to process it. It’s been an interesting journey these past couple of weeks. I have all this good around me and yet I feel totally raw, totally exposed. I have things lined up and yet I want more, I want to be skinner, happier, healthier, more confident. Dieting is like a drug..it’s gives you a high, slams you down…and if you’re lucky you make it out alive, skinny and happy.

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