I see London, I see France…

…Torrid’s got great underpants. (link goes to underpants part of online catalog)

I bought the one pictured and a pink full-coverage one with a ruffle around it, and I was pleasantly surprised by the black one.  First, it’s got this really fun flirty rhumba ruffle thing going on and most importantly, it doesn’t crawl up my ass.  I do not like thongs, because I do not like my underwear sneaking up my ass.  NO.

However, don’t try to wear slinky fabric or a tight skirt with them, because they are seriously ruffly.  AND FUCKING AWESOME.

Honestly, they had the sexiest damn lingerie, with corsets and tutus and thigh-hi stockings and garter belts.  Nice.

So, if you’re looking for some pretty panties to put the “mrow” back in your inner sex kitten, definitely check the site or store.  And no need to just buy them for a significant other.  I didn’t buy them for El Husband Muy Magnifico, I bought them for ME.  ME, ME, ME!

(Sadly, no, they’re not paying me for this.  Free panties would be nice, though.)

~Ellie

Minnesota Summers are Hot!

But we’re doing our best to keep the Cute Canadian Geek cool. I set up something special just for him:

On the Radio, whoa-oh!

My big radio debut has come and gone, and I’ve got to tell you, radio is a much friendlier medium for this FatGrrl. And by friendlier, I mean I was able to walk away without feeling emotionally gutted. Really, there was an incredible sense of relief to leave the studio and not be confronted by a pile of my own viscera on the sidewalk and me thinking, ” Oops! How did that happen?” And while I’m willing to take a bit of credit for that in being able to better navigate these kinds of situations that bring up strong emotional responses, I want to leave the lion’s share of the credit with Stephanie and Meredith. They made me feel incredibly comfortable and welcome in their studio. It was so easy going that it really did feel like a bunch of girlfriends gathered over coffee, and that made it even easier to tackle the very serious subject matter that came up around body image and eating disorders.

I’m working on tracking down an audio clip or transcript to post here, but in the meantime, a big Thank You! to those of you that tuned in to the broadcast.

If you didn’t catch the reference in the post title, “On the Radio” is a Regina Spektor song that I very much enjoy. Here you go:

Breaking up with a friend.

About two years ago, during a very bad time in my life, when my entire life was falling apart, I had a horrible “breakup” with one of my closest friends, B. I was devastated. It was worse than any breakup with a boyfriend could be. I cried over it and it hurt for months. For some reason, B kept me in her email list and would periodically send one of those “update” emails to her friends and family about her life and her kids, and all it did was make me sad and angry and hurt all over again. I eventually got over it and when I received the emails, I’d read them, then delete them, but I wouldn’t reply. I just shrugged and hoped she was doing well, as I didn’t wish anything bad for her, our relationship was just over.

A little over a year ago, she made overtures at rekindling the friendship, but she was obviously not over it, because she refused to see my side of the argument, and I wasn’t going to apologize for doing what I thought was right, so we stopped talking again.

So that brings us to a few days ago…I get a friend request in Facebook from her. I was kind of shocked, because it wasn’t a mass-email type of thing, she obviously wanted something from me or wanted to talk or something. I stared at my monitor and mulled over what to do. I finally just accepted the request. She sent me a message after I accepted the request apologizing for being a shitty friend and hoped that we could be friends again, and she was sorry that she didn’t support me during such a hard time in my life. I replied and told her my side of it and how much it hurt me that she did what she did, and that I had missed her, and I would like to be friends with her again. She didn’t know about my daughter, and was surprised to hear I had another baby.

I talked about the emails with my best friend, S, (who more than showed how much she loves me, because she was the only friend I had during that time that stuck by my side and supported me — I didn’t know Morgan yet, but I know my Persimmon would have done the same. Wuv you, Persimmon!) and I’ve come to the conclusion that sure, I’ll talk to B, but I can’t afford to invest myself in it emotionally like I did before. I’ll invest as much emotion in it as I would a coworker, and I’m not going to get “deep” with her…basically, I’ll be glad to make jokes and small talk just like I would a coworker. I’ll be glad to talk about my kids, or TV or whatever, but I’m not going to talk about my hopes or fears or vent about my husband or worry about money or whatever with her. I can’t afford to put myself in a position to be hurt like that again when I’ve seen what can come of it.

So fess up, fatgrrls, have you been through a friend breakup? How did you deal with it? Did you make up later? If so, how did it go?

~Ellie

Fat Friday - Fat Radio

My big radio debut is coming up on Monday, July 28. I was invited to appear as a guest on the Stephanie and Meredith show on FM107.1 Minneapolis/St. Paul. We’ll be chewing the fat (ha.ha.) about all things FatGrrl.com. I’m scheduled to be in around the 1:15pm (CST) time slot.

Anyone know of an easy way to get an audio clip that I can post on the site?

The Side Effects of Recovery

On the Canadian’s day off from the tattoo shop we often head out for a Date Night of sorts. Last night, after rumbling about Uptown for a while, I noticed that the Smitten Kitten was still open and after a couple minutes of begging, managed to get the boy in there. (Not familiar with the Kitten? Then you’re in for a treat! It is my most favorite sex shop in the Twin Cities. ‘Cause nothin’ says lovin’ like a new toy.)

Wandering about the store, checking out the merch, I can tell that the boy’s skin is about to crawl off his bones but he bravely sticks it out. As we’re heading for the door, I stop at the display of glass sex toys, and start to tell Jeff how uneasy the idea of a glass dildo makes me. As I reach up to look at a stainless steel piece that caught my eye, I inadvertently bump another toy which sets off a chain reaction of bumping, rolling, and tumbling merchandise that would make Charlie Chaplin proud. When I hear a glass toy hit the floor and shatter, not only am I 100% convinced that glass toys are probably one of the worst things ever designed for my va-jay-jay, but I am filled with dread when Jeff reads the price tag: $76.

I slink over to the register and pull out my credit card as the super-nice staff at the Kitten sweep up the shards of sex toy. (Doesn’t that seem wrong!??! No toy should ever have shards!) The Canadian is kind of smirking, but gallantly offers to pay for half of the toy. I, meanwhile, am not only embarrassed but super-pissed off that I’m about to flush $76 down the toilet. And there isn’t even any cool, half-used merchandise to keep! If I had broken a vibrator and left it with only 3 out of 5 of its settings, I would be happy to pay for it and take it home. Alas….the glass dildo was turning out to be a waste in several ways.

Against all logical sense, I start to tear up. The Canadian looked startled and quickly tried to assure me that this is not a big deal. It’s okay. I am not convinced, and the tearing turns in to a kind of welling up of tears and I can tell there’s going to be a spillage. This is even more embarrassing than breaking the toy. I headed over to the lube display and grabbed a paper towel from the try-it-out area. I was absolutely appalled at how emotional I was. Emotional! My brain: “I work so hard in therapy so I can enjoy moments like this?!? If this is what it means to experience emotions, then pass the fucking Oreos!” It all seemed so ridiculous at the time.

Back at the register, the clerk is clearly in the Land of Uncomfortable Silences. She just stares at me. While I cry. Over a DILDO. The Canadian is unphased - he’s already seen this freaky sideshow many times. Instead, he starts working on the clerk to put her at ease: “It’s okay. She’s just a bit emotional this evening. She’ll be fine.”

Then one of the Smitten Kitten co-founders walked over and defused the situation: “Ohmigosh! You’re not paying for THAT! Do you know how many $300 toys I’ve broken in this place? Don’t get me started…”

Fat Bird Dances

One thing I can’t get enough of is Britain’s Got Talent. Nothing makes an afternoon pass faster than a heap of YouTube clips featuring Britain’s best and worst, punctuated by the snarky comments of Simon Cowell. My favorite clips are the underdogs that don’t seem to stand a chance and then - POW! - we get totally blown away. Take this one for instance.

I found it on YouTube under the title “Fat Bird Dances.” I wouldn’t have given it a second thought except it had the magic letters in front of it: “BGT”…Britain’s Got Talent. BGT? FAT? Solid gold. The clip turned out to be a 40-something mom who loves to bust a move while cleaning the house. As much as I wish she didn’t feel like to she had to make excuses for doing what she loves - that big girls may be overweight but they can sometimes be sexy (sigh) - she went out on that stage and fucking rocked it hard. If you ignore the jack-assery that is Simon Cowell, it is a lovely clip. I hope it inspired every fat bird to get dancin’.

(Yeah, so I wanted this to be a Rah! Fat Girl! post, but then I totally fell in love with this kid - George Sampson, the 2008 BGT winner. So amazing! A 14-year-old street dancer trying to win the cash prize to help out his family in financial straits.)

Hugging Front to Back.

When my yoga instructor is on a roll, it’s not always easy to keep up. I get a pretty good start with my feet hip-width apart and heels wider than my toes, but then pretty soon I need to stick out my butt, scoop my tailbone, create an inner spiral in my thighs, pull my shoulders up and back so that I can then melt my heart in to the pose. Believe it or not, the shoulder and heart thing is what I actually am best at. Inner and outer spirals are still a long way off.

Where the hell am I going with this, you ask? Actions. As I continue with yoga practice, I am learning that there are actions that prepare your body as you move towards the final form or pose. Scooping your tailbone and pulling your shoulders back are actions that keep your body protected as you practice. Actions open your body to the mental components of yoga. My instructor stresses the actions over completing the form. Hey, don’t they always say that the journey is more important the destination?

In a recent class, my instructor decided to bring up the idea of injury; that a pulled hamstring or a sore neck are indications of a unbalance somewhere else and there are actions that can help correct for that. She talked about pulling in to your core and making muscles strong on the bone. We practiced several poses in which we practiced pulling in to the core. (If I’m starting to sound hopeless dippy, visualize this: while standing, take a step forward with your right foot. Keep you right foot forward so your feet remain apart. Now try dragging your right heel back as you push your left foot forward. Feel that resistance? THAT is pulling inward.) My instructor calls it “Hugging Back to Front.”

This idea of Hugging Back to Front has really hit home for me over the past week as I have been navigating a personal conflict from Hell. Working with PhD Smiley this morning, she asked me what it had felt like to stand up to this person for what I knew to be right. In thinking about it, I couldn’t help look back at past conflicts when my first impulse had always been to tuck tail; to identify how I could soothe that person and make everything better again. This past behavior seemed to be the sore neck and the bad knee; the unbalance in me. Going to meet this latest person on their own territory; holding my ground, and challenging their faulty assumptions was an action to correct that imbalance. I told PhD Smiley, “I don’t know how to describe it. It was like hugging back to front. Pulling in.” Securing my strength to my bones.

At this point the resolution to the ongoing conflict - still undecided! - feels secondary to the action I took to protect and defend myself mentally and emotionally. There were high fives in therapy this morning. I kid you not.

Inky

One of the Canadian’s newest tattoos:

I couldn’t find a color image, but I’m gonna take pictures of my own soon. Then you can see the FOUR OTHERS he has had applied to his body since arriving in the States. It’s not fair. He’s having all the fun.

If my dog could talk…

…this is the conversation we’d have every. single. night.

Ellie: Good night, dog.

Chico, the world’s stupidest dog: Are you sure you don’t want to play?  Look, I’m attacking you, don’t you want to play?  I love you!

E: Go to sleep, dog.

C: Do you mind if I chew on your shirt?  Do you want to get on some of this? It’s delicious.  I love you!

E: Quit it.  Stop!

C: Okay.  I’ll stop.  How about if I bite your legs instead?  I love you!  Oh, you’re hiding under the blankets?  Hey, your hair is still sticking out!  I’ll chew on that.  Mmm.  Conditioner, my favorite!  Love you!

E: Stoooop, please!  Let me go to sleep! *pause* Why are there DOG BONES IN MY BED?!?!

C: I buried them in the blankets so I could snack on them later.  Want one?  Love you!  No, seriously, have a bone.

E: Dog, I do not want your rawhide bone.  *toss* There it is!  Go get it!  Let me sleep!

C: Got it!  Whee!  You want to play, huh?  Grrrr!  I attack you!  Love you!

E: GAAAAAHHH!  STOP!  Dog, I’m going to turn you into a dogskin rug.

C: I wouldn’t make a very big rug.  I’d be more like a trivet.  Or a doily.

E: That’s true.  Go to sleep.

C: Fine.  Love you!  I’m cold, though.  Can I sleep with you?

E: Fine.

C: Awesome.  I love you!  You don’t mind if I just burrow under these blankets, do you?

E: Sigh.  Do we have to do this every night?

C: Zzzzzzz.

~Ellie