What The FUCK, Lane Bryant?
I went to Lane Bryant on Monday to use a gift card I’d gotten for my birthday, plus one of those “50 dollars off of a 150 purchase” coupons that are the best thing since sliced bread, and I saw that Lane Bryant has lost its damn mind.
They’re selling Muumuus. I shit you not. There is no woman on the planet that would look attractive in that shapeless sack. Even Morgan, of the glorious rack, wouldn’t be able to carry that dress with her boobs.
Also, I only saw three different skirts for sale. Why, Lane Bryant? Why do you insist we wear pants? I like skirts, dude. Make me a skirt.
I did find three pairs of pants, two very cute sweater-shirt-tie thingies, and some panties. I wanted a damn skirt, though, and the one I liked was waaaaaaaaaaaaay too big or way too small.
Lane Bryant, just say no to muumuus, okay?
~Ellie
Filed under Schnibbles | Comments (7)Where in the world is FatGrrl?
FatGrrl’s been re-grouping. Maybe I should say “Capital R Re-Grouping.” That’s what it feels like, anyway. I think about coming here to write and I start to feel so overwhelmed. I want to rant, I want to curse, I want to say some very unkind things about someone. The point is that I was fired from my job over a week ago. What I remember about that afternoon is that I had been writing in my food logs. I had f.i.n.a.l.l.y gotten them back on track and was filling them out completely. I was proud of my progress and I was proud of the way I had been good about bringing in my meal and snacks to work with me. I was thinking about heading to the staff kitchen to retrieve my dried fruit and cheese afternoon snack when I was called to the Director of HR’s office and “let go.” Back at my desk, I opened up my food log and wrote:
Happy Patriot’s Day. You’ve been fired.
I do have more to say about all of this, but I’m under constraints to keep it under my hat for now. For now, FatGrrl is on the job hunt. Wish me luck!
Filed under Schnibbles | Comments (8)Ellie Update: News from Texas
Hey, folks. Wanted to post a quick note to let you know that I’ve heard from Ellie and she and her family are safe. They are still without power, but the flooding wasn’t as terrible in her area as meteorologists were predicting.
Phew!
Hang in there, Ellie! Mwah!
Filed under Schnibbles | Comments (3)Pastor Gas
Morgan: “Sweet! I’ve got the speakers hooked up to the laptop!”
Canadian: “Throw somethin’ on. Let’s hear it.”
A moment of intense thought passes. Then….cue the Farting Preacher.
Canadian: “Oh.My.GOD!”
Morgan: “No, no, no. Hall-leh-LU-YAH!“
Filed under Canadia-Land, Schnibbles | Comment (0)Fat Friday - Chubby Origami
Fat activist Marilyn Wann has come up with an idea that will tell Japanese corporate culture that the whole thing they are doing with measuring waistlines, requiring weight loss in employees, and levying penalties if they don’t reach company goals, well, it just sucks! So she’s sending 1000 fat cranes to Japan.
This dose of fat and fun brought to you via Mouthfeel.
UPDATE: There is an interesting conversation going on over at Fatshionista surrounding the 1000 Fat Crane project, and the ideas that come up around the cranes, cultural appropriations, and race relations. Check it out!
Filed under Fat Fridays | Comments (6)Meat Off the Bone
I am prepared to admit, loudly and without shame, that I am an unabashed fan of Perez Hilton and the gooey, bubble-gummy celebrity gossip he posts daily. I can’t help myself! I love it. (Even as I write this, I’m listening to a YouTube video he linked to of Sarah Palin’s speech at the RNC.)
I was willing to look the other way when he bounded forth a year ago on a path to “get healthy” by losing 10 inches off his waistline. Whatever. I’m so done with current standards of “health,” and if his goal is to look good on the beach while shirtless, well, who am I to define what “good” looks like for him?
What I cannot overlook is advertisements that go beyond the pale of cruelty, and even horror. Take a look at this: A woman. Preparing to “Trim Those Thighs.” (Is that really the kind of woman they think needs to “trim” her thighs? Really?)
This is actually nauseating. We’ve all seen the parade of faceless fatties that the media loves to portray on TV, but I can’t remember ever seeing an advertisement so vicious in its visualization of weight loss. This reinforces every awful stereotype about a woman’s body as object - something to be used, molded, reshaped - carved - into whatever the viewer desires. There’s nothing funny about the play on words here. This ad is violent! The only time I want to see a fucking carving knife in an advertisement is when it is displayed next to an artfully chopped pile of vegetables and a jar of pasta sauce.
Butcher veggies, not women!
Filed under Fat(Riot)Grrl | Comments (7)Reflections on Fat and Marriage
Today marks for me one week of marriage. One week! And now that I have some expertise in the area (ha!), it only makes sense that I take advantage of this opportunity to combine my two areas of know-it-all-ness: fat and marriage.
Where I want to start this little treatise is actually six years ago when I was fresh out of college at 21, living on my own outside the structure of campus life, and starting my very first independent and intimate relationship. Not my first boyfriend - my first relationship. I say “independent” because I was no longer living at home - if and when things went wrong, there was no safe place to retreat to; no mother to hide behind. I say “intimate” because I had ventured beyond the high school rituals of holding hands and counting the successes of a date by the number of bases reached. I had crossed the line from making out to sex, and I took all the responsibilities that came with that very seriously.
I took this relationship so seriously, I think, because I was so shocked that it happened in the first place. Sometimes I would look at the boy sitting next to me in the car, his eyes fixed on the road, and I was just drowning in a big puddle of disbelief. Why am I here? Why is HE here? What could he possibly see in me? In this gross body? How can he not be repulsed? What could be so good about me that trumps my totally repulsive looks?
I was cautious - more cautious than I’ve ever been in my life. This push and pull with a significant other was something very new to me. Being so confident in my intellect and my ability to express myself in words, I had no problem charging in to a room in a way that let everyone know they best steer clear. (”That’s right, you better fuckin’ watch yourself or I’ll calculate your ass right into a corner!”) But dating this boy was a completely different animal. I was achingly self-aware of everything I said, everything I did. I watched him intently, trying to gauge his responses to me. I didn’t want to make a misstep, because I was certain it would break the spell, he would see me for the bloated and nasty person that I was, and out the door he would go.
My head latched on to this idea that this was my ONE chance to have a partner in this life, and it resulted in a draining and anxious obsession with the trappings of weddings and marriage. I bought wedding magazines and I spent hours poring over gowns and veils and rings and table centerpieces and napkin rings - yes! napkin rings! - imagining a perfect wedding down to the last detail. I would visualize the supernatural will-power I would muster that would finally allow me to lose all the weight I wanted, and guests would be blown away by the vision of beauty that I had become. I would be a thin, lithe, tall, poised and elegant bride. The bride to end all brides (except for Princess Di - because there is no topping her).
Of course, this boy I was dating had no idea of the immense marital plans I was mapping in my mind. I said not one word. Because what if he got scared? What if I made him nervous? What if he thought I was a freaky, clingy girl? What if he wanted to bolt? What if he did? What if he LEFT ME? I put everything into this one chance, convinced that I wanted to be part of this “club” where people are chosen. I was desperate to be chosen by someone who thought I was worthy of living a life with. Looking at myself, I didn’t see anything worthy.
Once my mind started asking those questions, it was a very short trip to shoving the wedding magazines under the bed and sobbing my heart out. Everything felt hopeless - I would always be ugly, and I would die alone. No one would ever want me. Cue the binge. And the next. And the next. Ad nauseum.
As it turns out, I did make a misstep. Somewhere along the line, something went wrong. I’d go into more detail, but I’m not even actually sure what happened. Towards the end of the relationship, we were struggling with the long-distance thing, and that’s hard for anyone. I don’t know if it was something I did. I don’t know if it was really all his issue. I do know that I wasn’t doing myself any favors in that relationship. I thought I had just one chance at happiness; that this boy - and no other - could be the one to pick me, and if it wasn’t him, there would never be another chance. I was wrong about that. So six years later, I’m now ready to say:
Ryan: Fuck you. And thank you for dumping me.
Right now I have the one with me who wants to be WITH ME. And really, I’m rather glad that he and I spent our first few months with several hundred miles between us. Just starting treatment when I met him, he gave me balance and time to work on myself, and while I did struggle and question why someone would be interested in me at all, it passed and I’ve never felt that desperation that I met with six years ago. He and I are good together, and we work well together. So why not work well together as long as we can?
Filed under BEDhead, Canadia-Land | Comments (11)Jeff: I love you. And thank you for choosing me.