A More Complete Story

Perhaps you remember a few months ago when a series of brief posts appeared detailing my success in applying to the University of British Columbia? And then they promptly disappeared? Here’s the deal:

I had acquired a new job in the early spring that was a temp position, and quite honestly, a dream come true. Administrative work (I love filing!), a large company (blissful anonymity!), and a short contract so that I could leave Minneapolis at the end of the summer, pack up my Canadian, the dog and the cat, and hit the road for Vancouver. Alas, during a Get To Know You event with a new colleague, she just seemed SO interested in my blogging venture and I am SO interested in spreading the word about Fat, that I told her about my site and gave her my full blessing to read it, only to later realize that my grad school plans had been published but respective supervisors had no idea. Yeah, I had to move fast on that one because my talent for sticking my foot in my mouth seems to know no bounds.

It’s probably just as well that it worked out that way, because the Canadian and I were soon reworking our timeline for the great Minneapolis departure, due in no small part to a totally unpredictable tattooing apprenticeship. (Impulsive creature that I am, I am going to refrain from making any further comments about the apprenticeship itself; see my foot-in-mouth comment above.) Afterall, if the Canadian cannot be gainfully employed in his trade while I’m at grad school, then what is the point of bringing him along to pay my bills? (Kidding! Sort of….)

So here I am, a deferred grad student, waiting for my September 2011 admission. Still working two jobs, and struggling to remain hopeful in the midst of a lot of resentment. I love a sizable paycheck, and mourn the lack of time I have to myself. But I’ve got that itchy writing bug again so perhaps if you haven’t abandoned my entirely, we’ll meet up again as I drop more posts here.

And YES, as a matter of fact, I did make it out to see Twilight: Eclipse. Yummy. And as an added extra bonus, I got a new song by the totally delicious Florence+the Machine. Please enjoy “Heavy In Your Arms”:

Finally heard from UW!

My letter from the University of Washington Information School arrived in the mail today carrying news of my fate with their Masters program.

They turned me down!

I’m gonna take it as a sign from the gods. Afterall, I sent in my admission confirmation to the University of British Columbia early last week. Ahahahah! Looks like it all worked out the way it was supposed to.

Watch out, Vancouver! There’s a not-so-lean, mean librarian-to-be headed your way!

News from A Broad

Official word arrived yesterday…

I have been accepted to the dual Masters program of Archival and Library/Information Sciences at the University of British Columbia in Vancouver. (No word yet from the University of Washington. Impatient toe-tapping has gotten me nowhere on that one.)

My celebration was brief because soon my brain (oh, poor beleaguered and diseased brain!) was throwing at me all manner of anxiety-inducing scenarios: study visa! moving trucks! tuition! housing! But I’m sure that piece of it isn’t surprising to anyone here. My brain just DOES THAT.

Regardless, the point is….I got in to grad school! Priority #1: obtain the perfect pair of librarian-esque spectacles.

We Interrupt This Retirement…

We interrupt this Retirement in Progress with a couple of news updates:

1. The Canadian has returned home! I drove up to Winnipeg earlier this month and brought the Canadian home. FatGrrl vs. Immigration. And the winner is….FatGrrl!

2. Grad school applications are done and submitted. FINALLY! I applied to the University of Washington and the University of British Columbia. I will now cross my fingers for as long and has hard as I can.

Trudging On

I’m really not so good at the waiting game. When there is a crisis I want to know what to do RIGHT NOW RIGHT NOW RIGHT NOW. So sitting on my hands and waiting for the immigration attorney to formulate the game plan is kind of killing me. My Canadian is in a similar funk. But where mine is more anxiety and restlessness, his tends more to the depressive sort that involves a lot of self-pity and wallowing and “I’m gonna go eat worms” hysterics. As you can imagine, listening to it does little else but increase my anxiety and restlessness. This is a bad combination.

I totally know what PhD Smiley would say right now: what about trying some deep breathing?

How about trying to remove my molars with a potato peeler? That seems like it would do about as much good! I feel like an ass for thinking that, but that’s how it is right now.

What about you? What do you do in a crisis? Are you calm and measured, or psychologically catastrophic?

Watching: Lost - Season 5
Reading: “City of Glass” by Cassandra Clare
Playing: Ratchet & Clank Future: A Crack in Time (SO beautiful….)

Lost in Canadia-Land

My Canadian tried to re-enter the country today and return to me after a month-long absence. He got turned back at the border. It feels like someone hit me with a sledgehammer. Once again, I have no idea when I will see him.

Thanks a lot, Universe. That kick to the gut was just what I needed. Thanks.

And the Hits Keep On Coming

My father-in-law passed away yesterday, and my husband left for Canada this morning to make arrangements and say his goodbyes. It’s been a rough couple of days. What’s really scaring me is that there are some immigration entanglements to deal with that may make his return to the U.S. tricky. I’m scared because I don’t know when I’m going to see my husband again.

Booze was created for days like this.

I’m a big liar, of course, because my little eating disorder-bedeviled soul has always believed that days like these - days in which you are quite sure someone SOMEWHERE is pulling on your strings and having a fucking good laugh at your expense - were made with dessert in mind. Lots of dessert.

So, can we call it a step in recovery that I thought of a stiff drink before a slice of key lime pie? No, I didn’t think so either.

The day started and I felt completely off balance for no apparent reason whatsoever. That doesn’t often happen. Generally I know e.x.a.c.t.l.y what is bothering. Doesn’t mean I’m going to be a big brave girl and deal with it, but I do know what the IT is to begin with. Not so today, adventurous readers! Today I was driving the Canadian to work, tears running down my face, and my poor husband asking, “Are you SURE you don’t know what’s bothering you?” I was kind of a mess.

But here’s where the Canadian gets big props: he swooped in like a devoted mother hen and took control of things while I was floundering. He told me I was taking the day off from the world, and he stopped the car, put me in the passenger’s seat, and turned us around for home. The plan was to tuck me in to bed with some movies and a bottle of Diet Coke. I started to feel a bit better, just feeling cared for. I can tell you that one of my favorite parts of being married - besides having someone to clean out the catbox because I’d rather stick a fork in my eye than do it - are those days where I’ve just had enough and there is someone there to say, “You need a break. Whatever you’re carrying around right now, let me worry about it for a while and you just rest.”

I was nestled in the passenger’s seat, kind of glowing; we’re two blocks from the video store, and then….steam begins to pour from under the hood of the car, and I cannot open my eyes wide enough so great is the shock. “Pull over! Pull over! Pull over! Now! Now! NOW!”

We caught a ride with the tow truck and hauled my poor baby in to the garage. Kudos to the Canadian for dealing with a woman who is not only temporarily emotionally unhinged, but also completely pissed off because the car had been in for an 80,000 mile tune up just THREE WEEKS BEFORE!

After hearing more than I care to admit about the considerable marital problems of my mechanic, we headed over to the tattoo shop to kill some time while they checked on my car, affectionately know as Beast Jr. And the day just kept getting better:

1. One of the tattooers put too much water in the autoclave and it sounded like a steam engine horn going off periodically. At first I thought it was a damn pressure cooker. Are they cleaning tubes or canning jam in there?

2. One of my terminal charity cases called from an apt. building and wanted to make a deal about rent. The BEGGING! The PLEADING! The SOBBING & SNOTTING! And all I really want to say is, “Would you mind terribly just fucking off for awhile? Thanks ever so much.”

3. Got a hold of my mechanic. Turned out my radiator is full of goo! And in the pause after delivering the news, the only response I could think of is, “Dude, I did NOT put that in there!”

Reading: City of Ashes by Cassandra Clare
Watching: Cities of the Underworld on the History Channel
Playing: Trivial Pursuit for PS3

Tattooing and Therapy

The maneki neko shoulder piece that’s been in progress for over a year is finally finished- 3 sessions and 7 hours later.  Many thanks to Kyle Franklin at the Aloha Monkey for the great work! I love this piece.

As I was sitting in my discussion group a couple of weeks ago, I was asked an interesting question as people looked over the finished piece. I was asked what it was about tattooing that enjoyed, and it was something like cutting for me.

I like the personal sovereignty that comes with tattooing. I am in complete control of what is applied to my skin and how it looks - something I feel like I have very little of when it comes to my size. My body size feels out of my control most of the time.

I can remember one clear instance of running to find the Canadian at the shop because I was feeling so horrible that I was totally lost - had no idea what to do. (And when a girl with compulsive disordered eating doesn’t even think EATING is a good idea, that’s a pretty distracted state of being.) I asked him to please have someone tattoo me. Please, please, please. I wanted to feel anything else but what I was feeling at that moment.

And it did work. By the end I was calm, breathing normally again, and I didn’t feel like I was about to take a tumble off a very high cliff. It is what I needed in that moment and I took it. But the majority of my tattoos are not like that at all. I spend time thinking about them, planning, and talking with the artist because I want each piece to be personally pertinent. My story, if you will.

But this question in group threw me a bit because even if I didn’t use the pain of tattooing as a coping mechanism, the question was there for me as to what I might, if anything, be using the tattoos for. And I did have an answer:

Walking down the street, if people are looking at me they are going to see the ink first. And when I’ve been out and feeling particularly vulnerable, I’ve told myself over and over again, “They’re looking at the ink, not the fat. They’re looking at the ink, not the fat.” In a sense, my tattoos are acting as a diversion, the bells and whistles that say, “Look over here! Look over here!” before people have a chance to look anywhere else like my belly or arms. They feel like a suit of armor, in a sense, and right now I’m glad for the protection.

Fatter Than a Speeding Bullet

New site design. New slogan. New ways to bring you even more fat.

Actually, no, it’s going to be a lot of the same fat as before, but I hope you’ll find it as charming as ever.

The hiatus stretched out a bit longer than I expected, but I can tell you that the time didn’t go to waste. I have been doing more in the way of recovery, and making myself the top priority was definitely the right move to make.

I joined a group at the Emily Program that is a discussion group based around the book, Eating in the Light of the Moon by Anita Johnston. Think the title sounds a bit hippy-dippy? Wait till you read the first chapter! It starts off a little on the She-Ra side with a heaping dollop of good ol’ fashioned 1970’s consciousness raising, but if you can look past that rhetoric, there is a lot of great stuff in this book. It really pushes the idea of recovery for women through the use of myth and metaphor - seeing yourself and your struggles in stories that are often hundred, even thousands, of years old. What really makes it work for me is having the discussion to go along with it, and there is a great group of women tackling this with me. I really look forward to this group each week.

PhD Smiley has returned from maternity leave, thank the stars! Had a great session today and am feeling pretty empowered.

The Canadian and I, after many a discussion, have decided to set our sights a bit closer to Vancouver in order to wait out the (achingly, ridiculous, murderously snail-paced) slow processing of his immigration application. We settled on Seattle as it would be a relatively short drive for him to pop up to Vancouver to visit his son. I can tell you that I am absolutely in love with the idea of being back on the west coast. Not to mention that I am getting a serious grad school itch. Master of Library Sciences…..here I come! I will be the bad-assiest librarian. Just you wait. And I’m curious to know if any of you FatGrrl frequenters happen to be Seattlites? I would love to get the low down on moving strategies, neighorhoods, tips and tricks, etc.

Related to that is the issue of money. Alas, we can’t move without it. I had a few heart to hearts with Ellie and we threw around the idea of working with an ad network. We agreed that the top priority for FatGrrl was to remain a fat-friendly and eating disorder recovery-oriented site, so the presence of diet ads is a total No-No. But I wanted to tap your brains and get your ideas and thoughts. If I have the means to produce interesting and compelling content, would you mind the presence of text ads on the site? Would you find that it ultimately detracts from the site, or do you think it could be handled in a way that complements the site without getting in the way? Let me know!

Clearly there was much to say, so I will end here for now. It’s good to be back, and thanks for hanging in there with me. And for those of you who have particularly missed the Hound, here she is hanging out on the couch with me one day: