On Fat

So despite the name of this blog, I didn't really expect to write too much about body image. Frankly, I'm kind of sick of talking about it as a "feminist issue." I mean, with everything else that we have to deal with--violence, racism, exploitation, fucking CONGRESS--I am supposed to add my ass-size to agenda? Please.

But that does not mean that I do not obsess over my ass size. And my thighs. And my gut.

I was feeling good about myself this weekend, and so I bought myself a bathroom scale for the first time in several years. Now, I know that I am at my fattest right now. A cocktail of various medications and recent situational depression have ensured this. So I shouldn't have been shocked by the number I saw on this scale. But I was.

Reader, I nearly cried.

I nearly cried because I felt so unhealthy, so ugly, so irreversibly unlovable. I should point out that during this recent fat period, I have resumed yoga, gotten laid, and rediscovered a sheer joy in my own company--and yet, that all felt beside the point when I saw this number. This number eclipsed all of that, leaving me with self-hatred and self-pity. Lord, I almost thought of buying Dexatrim or getting mono. I was like an after-school special.

I grew up skinny. I was picky, pain-in-the-ass eater whose mother was a registered dietician. I never felt fat until I was in college, and then I was surrounded by feminists who taught me to revel in a little extra chunk-age.  I learned to cut back a little and exercise, but not buy into the patriarchy. Age has slowed down my metabolism and the real world has slowed down my feminist response.

I calmed down a little. I am trying to make healthier decisions on what I eat and move my body a bit more. But I am still weighing myself every morning and spending time with hunger gnawing away at me. I look down at my stomach and wonder when my body decided to turn itself against me, or when I turned against it...

What is a Good Job?

So I got home late the other night, around 9pm, and there is this guy hanging around outside my apartment building. He immediately starts explaining that he is waiting for a friend (because that's not shady) and starts talking to me in a loud voice (ditto).

"I live over there," he says, point down the block. "And we love you guys, boy, we love you."
"Uh-huh."
"We don't see you around much during the day."
"No, I'm usually at the office. I'm just getting home now."
"Oh yeah, that's right. You people have, what do they call them...good jobs." Pause. "I don't mean that in a racist way."
"No, of course not. I was just wondering what you meant by 'good.'"

Richie or Ricky or Ralphie or whateverhisname then proceeded to ask me for a job. I told him that we didn't have any openings, but I would keep him in mind. Finally able to extricate myself from the conversation, I walked up the stairs and heard him muttering my name to himself and repeating, "I'm gonna remember that."

On Self-Conciousness

Gretchen Mol's nipples make me feel bad about myself. They are tiny--girlish and ladylike. I am a disgusting, expanding, overwhelming mess.

What is a Fat Girl Party Dress?

So have you ever gone shopping and put on a completely inoffensive dress, then looked at yourself in the mirror and thought, "Hmmm...." It's not that the dress looks bad--depending on the price and your needs, you might even buy it--but, it's the sort of thing that makes you blend into the background, even with proper accessorizing.

This phenomenon is most pronounced with dresses that look better as size 8 and larger (I live in NYC, so "fat" is a rather, ahem, elastic term). It is the sort of dress that your skinny friends will commend you on, because you finally found something to make your ass unembarrassing, but they are still the pretty ones. You are not enjoying your flesh, feeling beautiful and confident. You are the easy-to-ignore fat friend.

I've decided to name this blog Fat Girl Party Dress because I wanted to reference femininity, fashion, feminism, friendship, fucking, and all the other f-words out there. I've started a lot of blogs and because I was trying to write for other people, I have barely been able to start. Now I am, first and foremost, writing for myself.