You Don’t Have To Go Home, But You Can’t Stay Here

I USED to have a reputation as a party girl. and this fatbitch here lived up to it. i was pretty proud of it in fact. you could lay out four shots of ANYTHING on the bar, and girlfriend here would drink it. again, i’m actually proud of it. i had my very own custom drink at a bar and even would get the old “NORM!”-from-cheers-type of yell when i would walk into certain places. it was a very nice ego boost and helped my morbidly obese self esteem a lot. alcoholic-ally speaking, i realize that’s not really a good thing. eh. *shrugs* i had the reputation of being the first person on the dance floor and was going strong until the house lights came on and the dj tried shooing everyone away with Closing Time by Semisonic. i was a diva and people enjoyed it. i was a plus sized goddess and i had lots of followers (none of which were chubby chasers, thank you very much). i had a reputation. but in a very very positive way. people looked to me for a fun night of dancing and partying. i was everyone’s cruise director; friday night would roll around and i’d get a dozen texts of “what’s going on for tonite?” i was fun. and everyone had fun when they were with me. there was no shame in that. i was an inspiration to fat girls. they saw me dressing the way i wanted to, i got hit on, picked up, always had people buying me drinks, i always had dates, got hookups- you name it. anything us fat girls envied the skinny girls for- i did. and people noticed. it was fantastic. i was a chubby girl hero for fucksake.

now before you go and think i was some boozy slutbag (which in actuality, i was) i was also a good mom. i truly was. not in a Jerry Springer- “I GOT SIX BABY DADDY TO MY KEEDS, BUT I’M STILL A GOOD MOM”-defense-type of way- i really was. i was a proud mom. a boozy partier- mom. go ahead and judge all you want. my former marriage was rough and admittedly i married too young. so i got my second chance. and i didn’t waste a second.   but for as much as people loved the party girl part of me- they also loved how much i cherished my son.  i had a reputation for being an awesome mother.  IN YOUR FACE, NAYSAYERS!  i did it all!  true story!

but that was back in my hayday. i’m pretty much the same person as i ever was- but not really. i’m still a good mom and i still can do four shots without thinking, but i don’t go home with different people anymore. i volunteer a lot and spend more time in my jammies than i used to, but i still enjoy life. i don’t feel as inspiring to anyone anymore, especially fat girls, but, i hope that a younger version of me is out there somewhere, dancing with strangers, having all of her drinks bought for her and living life for all it’s worth.

but beyond good mom and a very active member of the Pittsburgh GLBT community, i don’t have much of a reputation anymore and i’m okay with that. i’m involved in a lot of things and do as much as i can, whenever i can, but don’t really mind blending in with the scenery. i still manage to stand out as i will never fit all of the way in because i’m am an obnoxious loud mouth with a hearty laugh- and that’s okay with me. if that is what i am known for, i’m absolutely okay with that.

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2014/01/17/daily-prompt-you/#comments

Purple is a Fruit

purple drinkok. it’s about time to finally get some things off my chest.  here goes.

  1. about five years ago, before everyone and their pets and their grandma’s pets had a blog, i wanted to start one- beyond my livejournal account that I’ve had since you needed invitations for livejournal.  i started writing for examiner.com and did this whole blog about bisexuality.  it was pretty awesome.  i started thinking of other topics i could write about; pop culture and whatnot, and decided that i wanted to do a zombie blog.  it was going to be written from a survivor’s point of view, or sometimes the zombie.  it was going to be tongue-in-cheek, and pretty humorous.  not having a heckuva lot of confidence in my crazy ideas, i asked someone what they thought- and they said to me- “i dunno.  no one cares about zombies.  vampires are in.  you should do a blog about vampires’.  meanwhile, a quick search brought up a zillion vampire blogs (thanks edward and bella!) and what confidence i had about a zombie blog was abandoned.  boy. am i kicking myself now.
  2. as i just mentioned, i wrote for examiner.com and had a purple4pretty great blogabout bisexuality.  it was great to be able to explain myself, along with my opinions about the subject while explaining it to others.  i thought it was successful, despite being a slow starter, until more than a handful of people basically shot me right outof the sky.  so no more bisexuality blog for me.  just the other day i saw a post about bisexuality on thegoddamn, motherfucking huffington post- and let me tell you- the article was terrible.  a toddler without grasp of english could have written a better article.  eat a dick, man.  eat a straight up dick.
  3. purple2way back in my live journal-ing days, i used to post my pithy anecdotes and hilarious musings in list format.  my live journal friends/followers complained that the lists made my posts too blocky and fragmented; they said that there was no flow and that listing made my posts less formal.  the other day as i sat reading how to blog like the pros and whatnot, they stated how LISTS ARE ALL THE RAGE…. seriously?  like, i know i didn’t invent listing stuff in a blog, but for bananas in pajamas-sake….
  4. lastly- and worst-ly- almost ten years ago i realized that my slutty brain could produce some very interesting reading material.  i started writing down fantasies and no holds barred hard core sex stories.  i was very proud of my smut-rotica.  and then.  i let other people read it.  let’s just say, i stopped writing dirty stories after their reviews.  the main complaint was that people wouldn’t be able to handle stories about sex- even if they were eloquently written.  the scenarios were too graphic and the descriptions were “too sexual” as someone pointed out.  “society is not able to deal with sex stories in an everyday way.  they want vanilla sex and even want THAT hidden behind bedroom doors”.  that was how it was put to me.  and so i stopped writing them.  and what pops up years later?  everyone’s favorite and instant sex classic- Fifty Shades of whatnot. it was what american women were waiting for.  and they couldn’t get enough.  and now- even disney mass produces mainstream sex stories. great. i give up.purple3

it all makes me want to crawl into a hole—.  it’s hard to be creative and original and i have always had performance anxiety that i’ll look like i’m copying or biting on someone else’s style (as the kids say).  i know that ‘nothing is new’ and i’m not naive enough to think that i’m going to reinvent the writin’ wheel or even that i’m gonna have a post go viral wi

th a cookie cutter subject that 9,999 people have already blogged about.  the problem is that i was dumb enough to let people talk me out of it writing what i wanted, the way i wanted.  i let my lack of confidence in my writing hold me back from putting my words out there in the way i wanted to.

purpletiniit’s driving me to drink. ok. so i drink anyways.  it’s MAKING me need a fancy frou frou girly purply cocktail. ok.  so another one.  whatever. don’t you judge me. i’m upset.

I Was Fat-Shamed By My Nurse Practitioner

i’m pretty sure the nurse practitioner fat-shamed me yesterday.

i was in getting a routine physical, and they have to get your height and weight as they always do (one day i’d like to come in 4 inches taller and see what they do). time for the horror every fatty has dealt with since the embarrassment of getting weighed in high school. i step on the scale thinking that the number should be lower, since I’ve been going to the gym and watching what i’ve been eating. then i think that i should take my scarf off since that will add about 9-10 pounds. and my shoes. yes, my skimmers. they should come off. i start to panic sweat, unhappy with this whole fucking process. the sweating alone added 4 pounds. and my jeans? HEY LADY! I’M WEARING JEANS! you can’t accurately weigh a person wearing goddamn jeans! what the fuck did they teach you in nursing school? and i’m wearing a thick sweater and a hoodie…. good lord- they MUST HAVE SAID SOMETHING IN NURSING SCHOOL ABOUT COLD WEATHER, RIGHT? thick clothes? HEAVY MATERIAL? HellOOOOO???????

both feet on the scale and then the look down. the red numbers flip around as if thinking; anticipating. this machine can smell my fear and it’s not good. this machine knows. it knows that i ate a peanut butter and nutella and banana sandwich at midnite last week. it knows that i haven’t really been eating breakfast. it’s just standing there, blinking, mocking and judging. it is deciding my fate. deciding. MY CELL PHONE IS IN MY POCKET AND SO ARE MY KEYS!!!!! Holy shit! A HEAVY ELECTRONIC DEVICE and MY KEYS- that are made from METAL– one of the heaviest substances on EARTH! i guess they don’t teach you THAT KIND OF STUFF AT NUSE PRACTITIONER SCHOOL! WHAT IN THE HELL IS A NURSE PRACTITIONER ANY GODDAMN WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY???????????

final number pops up. the verdict is in. 259.5. dammit. that’s exactly the same as last week.

oh well. eat a dick, Nurse Practitioner. eat a dick and write that down.

so i go sit on that papered table thing and think about what i want for lunch. and i happen to glance over at the notes the nurse scribbled down for the doctor. it was my height and then underneath, another number. “253.5” what the fuck? WHAT THE FUCK? “253.5”? really MS. NURSE PRACTITIONER? you lied? you wrote down 253.5? what the hell? are you embarrassed for me? does 259.5 make you uncomfortable? think i couldn’t take the truth? was my morbid obesity causing you discomfort? do you have to fill out an extra form because my weight was so high, that you had to fudge it? DOES IT UPSET YOU THAT I’M A HUGE FATTY AND STILL HEALTHY AND YOU PROBABLY LIVE AT THE GYM IN YOUR YOGA PANTS AND FLUORESCENT PINK SPORTS BRA AND NO CARBS!!! i’m FINE WITH MY WEIGHT! JUST FINE! I’LL HAVE YOU KNOW THAT I EMBRACE MY WEIGHT! ALL OF TWO HUNDRED AND FIFTY-NINE OF EM! INCLUDING THAT EXTRA HALF A POUND!!!! YOU ARE THE PROBLEM NURSE PRACTITIONER!!! fat people are just as good as everyone else!!!! FAT PEOPLE ARE HUMANS TOO! or did they not teach you that either??? I WILL NOT BE DENIIIIIIIIIIIIIIED!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! fuck you, Nurse PRACTITIONER! fuck you very much!!!!!!!!!!!

i walk out of there, all enraged, like you do when people get yer rage all up— and write down “253.5” in my diet journal when i get home, making sure to brag to all my besties how much weight i lost.

Gargelmesh!!!

You know who i would like to see read my blogs?
ACTUAL HUMAN BEINGS. having actual people read my blogs would be a start. i want honest-to-gosh PEOPLE to read. people that swear and drink. people that laugh and love music. people that are interested in connecting with OTHER ACTUAL HUMAN BEINGS and not just a bunch of greedy grabber, status climbing, book promoting, reality tv-watching, self-serving assholes. i want people to ACTUALLY read this blog, and actually have some feeling towards the things i say- and aren’t just looking for hits on their own blog.

it would be unrealistic to find other people that are like me, but if i could, that would be great. it would actually be better than great- it would be AMAZING. but since anyone that actually comes near this blog is actually just one of those self-serving bloggers that are only concerned in getting their own traffic, and they’ll just “like” me and then leave, like i’m a cheap whore, i’m going to go get some ham and say GARGLEMESH! but if you are real and want real connections with other real bloggers- hit me up!

i’m eating cookies, putting away the christmas decorations and watching AMERICAN HORROR STORY. what about you?

any takers?

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2014/01/14/daily-prompt-one/

A Quirk-ful Life

I have A LOT of bad habits. most are fairly harmless. BUT. i am not willing to admit them here or now. or ever. at least publicly. i masturbate at least once or twice a day, but i’m not ashamed of that in the least. i don’t even feel slightly guilty about it. i’ll just say that i chew my nails, that i leave the water running when i brush my teeth, and usually forget to use coupons and leave it at that.

what? you say i’m a procrastinator? that i make list after list and never finish it all? i have several books in the works and am too afraid of failure to finish them? ok. so you got me. so what? i admitted to chronic, daily masturbation- isn’t that enough? or i do need to also admit that i rarely follow through on anything? that i rarely vacuum out my car? am i supposed to talk about my swearing? about my negative nelly/cynical jaded bitch attitude? well, i won’t.

i love bloody gory movies, and don’t work out enough. i love carbs and when i actually get the chance to read- i enjoy young adult fiction. i don’t wear my seatbelt all of the time, and i’m a bit of a boozy partygirl, despite being a mother. i get dandruff and would prefer to wear pajamas constantly if it was socially acceptable. i just TODAY found out what macarons actually were. i don’t recycle as much as i could. i am extremely carnivorous. i DESPISE romantic comedies. i don’t consider myself a feminist and love when boys do stuff for me. i hate my dogs sometimes and don’t vacuum steps. i hate breakfast and red velvet anything. i’m judgey and hate most people. i am often late.

i am flawed. i admit it. hell, i didn’t even shower today and i was at the mall. BUT. i did take down and put away the christmas tree and visited a good friend. i probably said ‘the f word’ as many times as i checked facebook and ate too much junk food. but that’s who i am. and i like myself a lot- even if I’m not guilty for walking around the mall unshowered.

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2014/01/12/daily-prompt-quirky/

My Name is Theresa. And I’m a Realist.

I realized something the other day when people were still throwing new year’s resolutions about, and i was steadfast in my resolution to not make any resolutions. i was sitting quietly in the car as we drove around Atlantic City listening to Christmas music. we were trying to get the last of the holiday spirit before it disappeared into the chaos of another three hundred-and-some days. i watched the blazing marquees blink and flash and i wondered what was in abandoned and broken down buildings. i watched the groups of casino-goers scuttle about and i saw lonely people trudging home from their late night jobs. i felt so small, like you do when you are disconnected from rushing crowds and noisy happenings. i wondered, as you do, what those people were celebrating, and felt lonely for not being a part of their fun. i was quiet and introspective, like you are when you miss your friends and wondering if they were missing you too.

there was talk about what we would do if we were to inherit a lot of money. my boyfriend and i were dreaming of owning a campground or a bed and breakfast, and building the house of our dreams and traveling. realistically unrealistic, but with the right circumstances, possibly attainable miles and miles in the future. we talked about the past, and things he used to do in his old neighborhood, and like i do, i listened, wondering what my childhood would have been like if i was in his shoes. talk of ‘the way it used to be’ was brief, if only because it’s just talk, and there’s no potential in dwelling on the past, so the conversation went back to buying a boat and a camper, specific kinds of dogs, special vacations, all excited with possibility. my life being what it is, however, full of so much missed opportunity, so much disappointment, i didn’t give myself the chance to get filled with dreams. or even hope. i’m a realist. and we realists know better. we live in the now. we only allow ourselves realistic thoughts. we don’t dream or make WISH BOOKS or say things like “someday i’d like to…”. we just can’t. we can talk about the future in the short term, on practical attainable goals like- “in six months after we pay off our credit cards-…”, or “after i lose ten pounds, i’d like to-…”, or “next week after i finish work for the week-…”. attainable. practical. realistic. i am a realist after all.

i wasted a lot of my life wondering about the ‘what if’s’, and crying over my problematic past. neglectful parents, correctable mistakes, broken promises. these are things i know. but these are also things that i can no longer do anything about. they are done. they are in the past. they are the past. thankfully.

the future? i want to believe, and dream and hope and wish. but i can’t allow that. i don’t want to say, “after i lose 100 pounds i’ll buy that bikini to wear on our caribbean cruise”– there is just SO MUCH WRONG with that. it’s almost laughable. i won’t say things like, “i would like to go back to school if-…” because, well, i just won’t.

i can however, let myself say, “after my car is paid off next summer, i’ll feel more relaxed” and “by next year, our credit cards will be paid off, and we’ll finally be able to breathe a little easier”. these are things i can say. these are things that will happen. these are things that i know (*knocks on wood*, barring some unforeseen disaster- that is NEVER out of the possibility). but MOSTLY, for the most part, BASICALLY, (probably) those are things i know.

now, having said all of that, i still WANT things to happen. like, winning the lottery, or getting a huge burst of creative energy and also a miracle publisher and get my books onto shelves. or losing 25 pounds. i can hope for a dream job for my boyfriend. i can dream that my son will find his way through life easier than i did. but will i wait for it? will i dream about these things? will i allow myself the luxury of HOPING for them? absolutely not. i’m a realist. and realists don’t do that.

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2014/01/11/daily-prompt-forward/

Fat On the Outside

Talk about a time when i experienced being on the outside looking in?
that’s simple. every single time i go to the fucking gym. no joke. i’m not trying to be dramatic or cliche, either. it’s just that every time i take my fat to the gym, i become an outsider.

i go to a franchise gym where the slogan is that it’s a ‘JUDGEMENT FREE ZONE’- which is fine and dandy, but when i walk in, in my sweatpants, raggedy hoodie and non-designer sneakers, i get instantly judged, and might as well be put in a caged area for not being a natural born gym goer. to start, i am more than 100 pounds overweight, and although i don’t “LOOK” obese, by medical standards i am. interestingly, i am in better shape than a lot of my skinny friends, and actually can hold my own with a lot of exercise but i definitely don’t look good doing it. now, i know that no one really looks good sweating and getting all red in the face, but, most girls that i see at the gym wear more makeup than i did for my wedding. i’ve seen false eyelashes and glitter, even those glue on crystals– ON A TUESDAY NIGHT in winter. no, i’m not trying to compete, and NO, i’m not trying to pick up a date, i’m trying to drop a few tons, but i absolutely hate feeling like it’s Gym Class in high school- where the fat kids will ALWAYS be picked on, and never fit in.

people stare at me like they are worried that i’m going to have a heart attack, or pitied because my fat is flopping around. i know people will deny it, or ultimately say, “who cares? fuck em!” and all of that, but the truth is, it is a completely uncomfortable situation- from the moment i walk in, until i walk out. i am uncomfortable getting on machines and i am uncomfortable about getting off of them. i am nervous to use the weights and self conscious about using the other equipment. i rarely push myself, because i don’t like the looks i get; some that simply say, “gross” and “why are you bothering?’ and others are thinking “god, if i ever look like that, shoot me.”

and this doesn’t just happen at the gym, it’s just very obvious there. it happens everywhere. being ‘FIT’ or ‘IN SHAPE’ is as much a clique as being popular in high school. when i’m walking around the trails at the park, or roller skating, summers of softball, i feel excluded and not a part of what others are doing. Even the other day at the ski resort, i didn’t dare ski, because i hate not being able to fit in with people that are flexible and stronger, or even have better gear (i wore jeans, hoodie and some boots that i got from the thrift store that are in desperate need of another coating of waterproofing spray). i’m slower, less coordinated and not as resilient as everyone else, so it’s easier just sitting out and watching. it really sucks. the worst part is that my brain doesn’t understand that it can’t always do the same things that the thinner people, which makes things worse because i want to be out there skating and skiing, and even trying that scary cage-y bar lift-y machine.

i keep going to the gym and trying to be as active as i can, with the hope that i won’t be so big someday, won’t be so clumsy and ungainly and eventually won’t feel like i’m on the outside anymore. i know that there’ll always be the gym elite, the pretty ones, that wear expensive designer breast cancer-awareness pink sports bras, yoga pants that they bought from a speciality store online, and shoes made just for going to the gym that cost as much as my car. i’m not trying to compete, i’m really not, but, someday i would like to not feel excluded from something that most people take for granted.

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2014/01/09/daily-prompt-outside-2/