5 Things You Should Definitely Not Bother Doing

1.  Eat your weight in ice cream.  Look, I know right?!?!  Sounds fantastic eh?  But I bet there’s a few things you haven’t really thought through.  You’ll get fat.  But it’s so much more than that.  By deciding to do this you’ll be entering into some kind of never ending “eating your weight” snowballing-time-space-continuum where as your weight is ever increasing from eating the ice cream, you’ll subsequently have to consume more and more ice cream in order to make it match your weight, which is continuously increasing.  You see?  Do you see?  It’s madness I tell you, madness.  Sugary delicious cold smooth and creamy heaven like madness, but madness nonetheless.  It’s essentially suicide.  So, you are welcome.  I basically just saved your life.  No worries though, you can pay me back by taking me out for ice cream.


2.  Start a rock band.  Let’s face it.  This is just stupid.  You can’t play any instruments, you can’t sing…and to be completely honest you don’t have any friends.  Better just stick to singing along to rockband by yourself…what’s that song that you love again…I’m a creeeeeep.


3.  Learn to shoot a bow and arrow.  I don’t know.  Maybe it was that Lord of the Rings marathon you had over Christmas holidays that Legolas sure is fox in tights if ever there was one.  Or maybe it was that one bizarre night when you got super drunk and dialed your crazy ex…went over to his house…had sad pathetic mistake sex and he has since promised to keep his distance only watching you from afar though he defines afar as through your bedroom window and on surveillance cameras that he installed when you went out shopping a few days ago.  Whatever it was, you got it into your head that becoming an Archer was one of your ‘must do’ activities of 2013.  Not to worry though, I’m here to stop this nonsense and save you from yourself.  Before you know it you’ll have spent $300 on a specialty bow and arrow set that will only get used once because when you wake up the next day to take stock of the injuries inflicted you shot your neighbor in the arm while he was out mowing his lawn, forearm bow-string burn, numerous paper cuts from taking down and putting up your target, you basically almost died! you’ll never touch it again.  Plus, paper cuts really hurt, yo.  Use your head.


4.  Stop stalking your crush.  Now I know what you’re thinking (huh?).  You’re confused (what?).  You’re unsure (uhhh?).  Am I really advising you to continue stalking your crush??  I sure as fuck am!!  I mean, you’re almost there.  I can practically feel her caving from here.  I’m telling you, it’s working.  If it’s not the excessive telephone calling followed by hangups or the endless texting of What Dooin? that wins her heart, it’ll be the way you regularly drive by her house or respond to everything she ever tweets on twitter (and I mean everything…even the jokes that require no reply).  I’m getting all ooey-gooey just thinking about the romance of it all.  Swoon.  I’ll be eagerly waiting for my invitation to the wedding.  I’ll want to have the chicken not the fish, just sayin’.


5.  Find a career that makes you happy.  I mean, sure, in theory this is a great idea.  But can we be realistic for a minute here? What with having to update your skills on your resume and having to take an hour to brainstorm all the possible career paths that might be compatible with your specific skill set like extensive knowledge of She-Ra comics, the ability to eat an entire pot roast in one sitting and an affinity for not wanting to touch coins because they’re just dirty and cold, I mean honestly, you really just don’t have that kind of time.  Plus, if you were to get a job where you were happy, it might lead to having the energy to finally use that gym membership (that you pay heavily for every month), you wouldn’t need to drink constantly and thus you’d probably bankrupt the liquor industry and those people have families too ya know.  I mean Think of the children!!!  Plus what about all the ex-girlfriends/boyfriends that will feel unloved if you were to stop getting almost blackout drunk on weeknights and drexting them gems like whaaaaat r u oing now? and I loooooooooooooooooooooove you and fuck you i dun lov you anyway and my favorite of them all alkdjf duqlen oin;as; me.  So, be responsible, be a good person, and be miserable for the sake of this world.


You Are Not Entitled to a Fairy Tale Wedding Day


[dropcap]I [/dropcap]thought about having a soft lead in, something about how lucky you are to have found someone you want to spend your life with and how wonderful that all is but let’s cut the shit and just get to it.

You are not entitled to a fairy tale wedding.  Ladies, this is not “your” big day.

First off, it doesn’t even make any sense that it would be.  It would make more sense to wear an outrageously expensive dress, force your friends to wear bullshit matching draperies, and create an entire-day-party centered around your privileged ass for say a 30th birthday celebration or some such you centred activity.

But here’s the thing, a wedding (and a marriage), are not about just you.  They’re about committing to a lifetime together, they’re about being in love and thinking to yourself that could spend the next 30-80 years with this person by your side and never even consider acting on your desire to kill them.

Because let me tell you sunshine, they’re going to be there, by your side, in your house, snoring in the bed, spilling popcorn on the couch, telling you jokes that aren’t that funny, presenting you with bodily afflictions that are disgusting, pouring all their worries and sorrows down over your head and hoping they don’t pile up too deep around your feet.  Marriage is a long hard road, kiddo.  And sure, there’s the great stuff too like all the love and happiness and joy-filled-memories that you’ll make but nonetheless, marriage is a tough go (hence the statistics on divorce).

So are you sure you want to start on that journey with a big bill strapped to your back and an empty bank account?  Wouldn’t it be smarter to spend that money on a down-payment for a house?  Paying off your student loan?  Or even spreading it out over the next 10 years so that you and your chosen one can take a vacation once a year in those first ten years (which I assure you, you will need)?  Or perhaps even just keeping a nest egg so that you don’t spend the next 40 years in constant and perpetual fear that you or your spouse will lose their job and you’ll become buried under debt?

But even if I can’t convince you that the money would be better spent elsewhere, allow me to reiterate the big point here (because the money/debt dynamic is just a symptom):  You are not Queen for a Day, you are not entitled to anything.

I don’t know what to tell you princess, but that way of thinking that you are entitled to anything really, is what makes you a big part of what’s wrong with this world.

I don’t know if you know this, but there are children whose entire lives are filled with a collection of single days more miserable than the next.  Days that would break you.  Days that you wouldn’t survive.  And then they die and that’s all they had.  Now I’m not suggesting that you should simply lay down your head and cry for the rest of your life over the misery of others or even that it is your obligation to save the world but it wouldn’t hurt to show a little awareness and humility in your life.

Weddings are not about showcasing how beautiful you are or how lavish a party you can throw for your friends and family.  A wedding is a declaration of commitment in front of witnesses.  That’s it.

I recently read an article by Sean Parker in defense of his elaborate wedding and he (and his wife) definitely have some bullshit entitlement going on.  He presents the case that richies don’t get out of fines etc. just because they’re rich but he misses a key component of the argument which is the fact that richies can of course pay the fines easily and carry on their merry-entitled-way to the wedding of their fantastical dreams.  And while people have a right to spend the money that they’ve “earned”, feeling entitled to do so (and still be beloved by the world) is a whole other level of obliviousness and entitlement.

Do you know why people love Kristen and that guy (adorable sloth meltdowns aside).  One very key reason is the fact that they’re waiting to get married.  Waiting for what you ask?  Waiting for equal rights.  They’re choosing not to get married until gay marriage is legal in every state.  Now THAT’s a dream worth fighting for.

Having your “high fantasy” dream wedding in a Redwood forest though, not so much.  I’m not a proponent of living a life of chosen poverty in order to give all money away to others but there’s a lot to be said for an awareness of the state of this world and being shocked by media backlash over your bullshit entitled richie wedding does not convey said awareness.

Here’s the sum up Bridezilla Princesses (and Groomzilla Princes), and Sean Parkers of the world:  Yes, if you can get your hands on the money you can spend it however you like but don’t be surprised when the world sees you as a blight on humanity.  This is your trade off so make your choice wisely (and while choosing, remember that most people hate weddings).

And if you don’t believe me, ask yourself why there are so many “reality” TV shows like The BachelorBridezillas and Say Yes to the Dress.  Reality TV is used to mock not celebrate.  The people on these shows are a joke, do you really want to be just like them?


Do you regret your lavish wedding?  How much did you spend?  What would you do the same, what would you do different?

An Open Letter to Daughters


[dropcap]She stands[/dropcap] in a school yard, on a playground, at a bus stop, on the sidewalk, reflected in the wet spots of my face

Your daughter.  Her daughter.  Their daughter.  Our daughters.

This world, is breaking them.

I want to tell her, that she is innocence and potential and full of enough ink to write her message across all the days.  I want her to know she can swaddle herself in cotton candy love; that she doesn’t have to seek it outside; that she is enough, but that if she wants to, that’s just fine too.  Tell her not to hold her breath.  Tell her not to apologize for taking up space in this world.  Tell her that no matter what, in the darkest hours of her darkest days that there is someone who loves her.  Tell her that that someone should be herself.  Tell her to look inside for reassurance and outside to reassure.

I want her to know that her hands are made of glue, and that the world is hers for the taking, that she has the power to put all the pieces back together.  I want you to tell her for me.

Long before she becomes tortuous and entirely adolescent, tell her that life is a series of stages.  Tell her that sexuality is fluid and flexible, tell her that she should think with her brain and care with her heart, tell her that mistakes will happen but that shame should not be a part of her life.

“When you have shame,” you’ll say, “they have all the power.”

Teach your daughters to live without shame and no one will ever control them.

I Am Not Disgusting

Remember:  I am someone’s little sister, someone’s baby girl, someone’s friend, someone’s love.  Please don’t be mean.  My heart breaks the same as yours.

I can show you a picture, paint it on an easel, move your hand across the words in Braille but you’ll never really get it, unless you once tried to talk to someone who thought you were Disgusting. 

It’s a special kind of hurt the moment you find out you’re a sideshow Freak, a detour to chubby town, a vacation gone whale hunting, and you’re swimming for your life from men who want to mount your head on their wall.

You are an endangered species, in a world of bridges and railroad tracks and ceilings with beams not strong enough to hold you, like arms that should cradle you but hang you out to dry and then forget until they look and you’ve blown away.

This post is not in response to this awesome SO BRAVE beautifully written post because that just feels way too antagonistic or in opposition, which is not what this is.  This is an addition.  A plus(size).  An addendum.  So here goes…

When you see a picture of a woman, exposed with the flaws she thinks she hasbut you see none, you stand up and applaud.  She has value.  Her hurt should be taken away.  You think I have no say in how she should live her life.  Who am I to judge.  She has the right to feel beautiful, be beautiful, goddamn it she is beautiful (because honestly, aren’t we all?)

And to be clear, her hurt is in no way less important or worthy than mine.  But, I have to wonder if that same go grrrrl reaction happens when an actual fat person, bares their flaws for you to see.  And though I dream that it does.  I beg for it to be so.  I would give almost anything for that to be true, for this to be a world where you don’t think you have any fucking say over my body.  I have a lifetime of experience that says otherwise.

I’ve never worn a bikini.  Bikini season means nothing to me, though I’ve spent most of life swimming away from whale hunters.  No insult is ever equal when it comes to fat people.  I’m never just a bitch like all you other lucky bitches get to be.  I’m always a fat bitch.  I live in constant fear that teenage boys will spit on me (and I’m thirtyfuckingone).  When I reject a man while online dating (politely), I’m never just a girl who rejected him.  Suddenly I’m a fat bitch that no one wants anyway.

I’m not really going to go into why I’m fat (which I am).  Because the truth is it shouldn’t matter, to you.  This is my body.  I am allowed to eat (which I do).  I am allowed to fuck (which I do).  I am allowed to be happy and not harassed or stared at.  I should be able to workout and not live in fear that you think I’m disgusting.  I should be allowed to just be me, in whatever shape that comes in.

I’m not lazy.  I’m not worthless.  (though even if I was, who are you to judge?).  I have value.  I hold two BA degrees.  I’m currently getting my MA at Concordia in English Literature.  I’m kind to people.  I get choked up on phone calls with my parents because I love them so much.  I want to make the world a better place.  I want to protect young girls whose sexuality is judged and mocked and held hostage.  I want to be the naked tits on the internet that makes it so no girl ever commits suicide after she couldn’t stand being harassed and bullied for amistake.  I want to bear the burdens so other little girls never have to.  I have a family who loves me.  I have friends who love me.  I have people whose hearts break every time you hurt me.  I have no less value because I’m fat.  You don’t get a say in how I deal with my body or my issues.  I spend my days trying to make people laugh for no other reason than the world needs more joy.  MORE FUCKING JOY.  I should be allowed to sit by a pool, any pool, public or otherwise and not have you think that my grotesque form is somehow obstructing your otherwise perfect existence.

And so here I am.  At a summer BBQ.  Unaware of a photo being taken of me.  By a friend.  Who doesn’t see anything other than her friend, the one who makes her laugh and writes “about the most boring shit in the world but in a way that makes it seem sooo interesting”, making a burger (or something lol I don’t really even know what I was doing) on her thighs, on a day when we were all just so fucking happy.

HUGE Thanks to @MmeSurly and her beautiful brave post that has allowed me to be brave and bare my body and heart.

UPDATE:  In my rush to get this post out quickly yesterday, I worry that it feels unfinished, that I never actually said the thing I meant to say which is this:  That I am enough.  You are enough.  Our bodies are our own.  Life is hard enough as it is without having people tell us what we can or can’t do, what we should or shouldn’t show the world, or how much fun and happiness we are allotted.  

That being said, by the absolutely amazing left-me-near-speechless outpouring of love and support and stories from other women and men about emotions and hurt and strength and bravery and desires to be stronger (I could go on but this sentence is turning into a grammatical nightmare of love)…by what this post has inspired you all to say, I know that even without these extra words you somehow understood exactly what I was trying to say.  So thank you, you beautiful brave people.  My heart, it runneth over.