From Fat to Thin to Pregnant

There is a benefit to being a fat teenager (although when you’re a teenager it probably doesn’t seem that way): if you are a fat teenager who becomes a skinny adult, you have first-hand knowledge of how much it can suck to not be considered attractive, and that tends to keep you humble. Most of the people I know – myself included – who have slimmed down considerably since those awkward high school years are infinitely more confident than we were…but we never really evolve in to self-absorbed, vain assholes.

Assholes like that made us miserable during a very vulnerable time in our lives. We don’t want to be them. Ever.

But as difficult as it is to be overweight (in myriad ways), it’s devastating to get thin and develop a  sense of pride when you look in the mirror…and then fatten up again.

Now I’m not saying being thin is a requirement for having self esteem. I’m just saying for some people, it sure as shit helps. I am one of those people, and I’m not ashamed of it. I am happier when I am at a smaller size.

So when I not only got pregnant but got pregnant with twins, I got big. And I got big quick. And I got bigger than I probably should have because after the girls were born, I still had sixty pounds to lose. I was basically the same weight I had been in high school and one by one, I packed away the articles of clothing I was once able to wear, telling myself I’d wear them again. When life wasn’t so hectic. When the girls were walking. When my schedule at work changed. After the holidays.

Three years later, I wasn’t any smaller. I wasn’t any bigger either, but I definitely wasn’t any smaller.

I thought about it every day, wavering between telling myself  I was okay with it, that I had kids so it was understandable, and being thoroughly disgusted with myself. It consumed me.

And then, one day, I stopped. I stopped thinking about it. I stopped beating myself up. I stopped focusing on every bulge and roll and how wide my thighs were when I sat. I just stopped giving a shit because I didn’t seem to have the motivation to fucking do anything about it. I stopped having internal conversations with myself that mirrored the things all those fucking cunt girls used to say to me when I was fifteen. I just…stopped. Because the more I tormented myself over how I looked, the less I cared about changing it.

But then I changed anyway. I dressed up more. Wore makeup more. Put more effort in to myself. I wore jewelry, perfume, and smiled when I entered a room like I owned that bitch. I wasn’t dieting or exercising. I was just not giving any self-pity steeped fucks. And the bulges and rolls and and thighs and belly were all slowly, gradually, little by little…going away. And they went away because I stopped giving so much of a shit about them. I stopped letting them control me. They were just one facet of myself. They were fixable, should I get the will to fix them through hard work and dedication – but if not? Well fuck you, I’m still pretty. Maybe not to you, or her, or him, or them, but to me? I’m still fucking pretty.

Four years after my girls were born, I was nearly back down to the size I was before I became a mother. Not quite, but almost. I could probably be there again if I lost a measly ten pounds…but I don’t give a shit. Five years ago, I hated my body as much as I did in high school and it wrecked me. It made me sad and bitter, and that made me dislike who I was as a person. And that’s not in the least bit motivating.  Today, I am perfectly comfortable with the way I look – even knowing I could stand to do a few crunches.

Now I’m pregnant again, and I’m aware I’ll probably have around 15-20 pounds to lose after my son is born. Bring it the fuck on. At 24 weeks, I can still fit in (most of) the clothes I wore six months ago. I still wear makeup and perfume and dresses (without heels). I still look in the mirror and see one good-lookin’ broad, with or without the giant basketball I appear to be smuggling under my shirt. There’s a good chance I’ll never have the body I had at nineteen, and you know what?

I don’t want it. I’m not nineteen anymore. I’m almost 30, I’ve had three kids, I partied in my early twenties, I love the fuck out of high quality, rich food, I don’t like physical activity, and fuck you, I’m cute anyway. If you don’t agree, that’s cool.

I’m the only one who needs to believe it to be happy.

 


dec13Little Black Dress – December 2013

 

24wks
Same Little Black Dress – 22 weeks

How To Have Amazing Sex

If you’ve stood in line at the grocery store like, ever, you’ve undoubtedly seen shelves of women’s magazines, all offering a bright pink block letter promise of spicing up your sex life. Pleasing your lover. Getting the spark back. And so on.

Turn the pages and you’ll find a pretty unimaginative article that suggests trying sexy talk, using feathers or food, watching porn together, and a laundry list of other shit that you probably could have figured out yourself (or may have already tried).

Because apparently, the cure to a ho-hum sex life is as simple as throwing a little kink in the mix. First of all, cuffing your man to the bed and giving him a strip show isn’t kinky. It’s fun. It’s not kinky. Put down “50 Shades of Grey” and learn the difference, you vanilla bitches. Kink is not for the weak.

But I digress; I’m not here to talk about kink, I’m here to talk about how to have sex that is mutually satisfying and makes both parties unwilling to move for the next several hours. The secret is not in the bottom of a can of whipped cream or in the tattered shreds of lingerie torn off in the heat of passion. Those are temporary fixes; sure, they’ll get things going for a little while, but what happens when that stuff loses its luster?

You’re gonna go out, buy another magazine, watch another special episode of Dr. Fucking Oz, and hope someone will give you another band-aid for your broken sex life.

Fucking stop it. Save your money and your time. I’ll tell you how to have mind-blowing sex all the time.

Are you ready? Here it comes. Wait for it…

FUCKING COMMUNICATE, YOU IDIOTS.

Instead of assuming what your partner is going to go wild for in bed, instead of taking a shot in the dark (heh heh), instead of thumbtacking “101 Ways to Make Them Scream” above your goddamn headboard, just fucking ask!

It is not embarrassing. It is not awkward. It is not fucked up. This is, if not a person you love, then someone you give a shit about right? If someone is going to laugh at you or make you feel less than when you open up about any of your needs, sexual or otherwise, you have way bigger problems than a dull sex life.

A good partner is willing to listen and is open to criticism. They won’t dismiss your fantasies as gross or stupid or weird. They won’t be offended if you ask them to try something a different way. You know why?

Because they are probably as sexually weird as you are. 

Your foot fetish is not creepy. Your curiosity in BDSM is not twisted. You’re not really a slut if you want your boyfriend to call you one in bed, and you’re not gay if you want your girlfriend to try plugging you.

I’m not saying your partner is going to be 100% open to everything that you suggest. Everyone’s got a line. But most people with really extreme fetishes (like watersports, for example) are aware that their fetish isn’t for everyone and will be open about what they want fairly early on instead of springing it on someone three years down the line. Just like with everything else in your relationship, compromises can be made, deals can be struck, arrangements can be set in place.

BUT NOT IF YOU DON’T FUCKING ASK!

So please, put down the magazines, turn off your TV and stop listening to your friends. Listen to me, a perfect stranger on the internet. If you want to have good sex, you have to have a dialogue about what good sex is to youGirls, don’t be shy – your boyfriend really enjoys fucking you, and will probably welcome any suggestions that could make the experience more pleasurable for both of you. Boys, your girlfriend is probably more willing to get adventurous than you’re willing to give her credit for.

And keep in mind, talking sex isn’t restricted to exploring one another’s fantasies. Maybe you just wish she’d blow you more. Maybe you want to squeeze his ears between your knees once a day. Maybe you want to be on top more. Maybe all it would take would be you piping up and saying, “a little to the left, please”. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

Don’t be scared of sex, people.

Make it your filthy, naughty little bitch.

The Friend Zone: Women’s Edition

Women are notorious for taking perfectly dateable men and transporting them to a cold, dark place known as The Friend Zone. You’ve done it. I’ve done it. We’ve all done it. And we probably have at least one  “friend” that we’re kicking ourselves in the ass for friend-zoning.

But let’s not assume that this practice is exclusive to women. Men, I’ve found, do the same thing, and women are just as oblivious to it.

When it comes to The Friend Zone, there’s really no question as to why a man has been put there: the woman doesn’t want to date you. She will never date you. She will ask you to fix stuff for her, and she will bitch about the asshole she’s currently dating, but she will never date you, and that is clear.

Not so with men. They have what I like to call the Back Up Barn and it is here that they herd sad, desperate females with the oft-unfulfilled promise of “I dunno, maybe, one day, possibly, I guess.”

Here’s how to tell if you’re just another sexy sheep.

 

1. Obviously if he’s being up front with you about his other romantic interests then you are not one of them. Most women are smart enough to figure that out, so they pack it up and move on. But if he’s being deliberately vague with you about other women, or what his feelings are with respect to you, guess what? HE DOESN’T HAVE ANY. You’re a Plan B, sweetheart. A silver medal. Give it up.

2. If all of his compliments are with respect to your looks, that’s pretty much all he’s interested in. Feel free to fuck him all ya want, but don’t expect it to go further than that. Men are not as shallow as we make them out to be – he’s not pursuing a relationship with a pretty girl just because she’s pretty; he’s actually interested in her, on some level, as a human being. The majority of people aren’t going to enter in to a commitment with someone they can’t stand or have nothing in common with – and that includes men. If you think every guy who’s ever turned you down falls under that category, maybe you should ask yourself why you’re drawn to that kind of man in the first place.

3. You know how you’ll talk to someone every day, and there’s flirtatious banter and cutesy exchanges and winky faces and hearts and shit? Ever had that just stop abruptly, and suddenly your conversations (which you always seem to initiate) become forced, and there is absolutely zero explanation for it? There is an explanation for it: he’s talking to a girl who isn’t you. And if this happens every few weeks or so, he’s talking to a lot of girls who aren’t you.

Yes, people get busy. Yes, shit happens unexpectedly. But people who actually give a shit about you are willing to explain that. If a guy can spend three hours texting back and forthwith you,  he can spend three seconds texting you to say he’s busy at work, or out of town for the week. If he doesn’t, you weren’t that important to begin with. Get over it and find someone who does think you’re worth three seconds of their time.

4. It takes a lot for a anyone, male or female, to muster up the courage to ask a potential partner point blank where we stand as far as dating is concerned. That’s a really vulnerable position to be in – and if the guy snaps on you, gets pissed off, clams up, is visibly offended, or basically reacts in any way that isn’t civilized open dialogue, you’re a back up bitch. You exist solely for “just in case”. Otherwise, why is he turning this in to such an issue? Why would he make you feel about thisbig for asking a fairly simple question?

Remember ladies and gentlemen:

-You are no one’s second choice.

-You are no one’s silver medal.

-You are no one’s back up plan.

 

If you think that’s all you deserve, go be in a relationship with yourself for a while. It’s probably for the best.

How Women Should Respond to Criticism

Statement: You don’t have the body to wear a bikini.

Response: You don’t have the vocabulary to understand half the shit I say.

 

Statement: Women belong in the kitchen.

Response: Sexists belong in shallow graves in my backyard.

 

Statement: You’re a slut.

Response: No, I’m attractive and charming. You should try it sometime.

 

Statement: You aren’t very ladylike.

Response: I have tits and vagina. Those are the only requirements to be a lady, last I checked.

 

Statement: You’re fat.

Response: Go fuck yourself.

 

Statement: You’re a bitch.

Response: Cool, I’ll be sure to file that under Shit I Already Knew.

 

Statement: Wouldn’t you rather be working than at home with your kids/at home with your kids than working?

Response: Wouldn’t you rather be minding your own fucking business?

The Ten Things Men and Women Need to Stop Doing In Relationships

If there’s one thing I learned at the end of a 6 1/2 year relationship it’s that you have to pick your battles. 

I get that you might feel right. You might feel justified. You might be applying so deep meaning to what appears, on its a face, a very trivial issue. You might be compelled to explain your feelings to your partner for the next three hours. Really hash things out.

What the fuck for? You could just drop it and make the sex. Aww yiss.

Less bitching. More talking. Here’s how.

 

LADIES

toilet

1. Stop giving a shit about the toilet seat.

Who. Gives. A fuck? Is this really something you need to spend time discussing? No, it’s not the principle of the thing. No, it’s not a matter of respect. No, it’s not his responsibility. Look before you sit down. Just like they look before they pee. Why is this such an issue?

 

angry

2. Stop saying you’re fine when you’re not.

You aren’t fooling anyone, you know that right? He knows you’re not fine. Stop saying you’re fine. Grow up and tell him what’s wrong and quit making him walk on eggshells. In the grown up world, we call that communication.

 

angrytext

3. Stop picking fights during Guys’ Night.

You said he could go out. You encouraged it. You were all cool about it, like, “aww, baby, sure, you deserve some time off!” And now you wanna blow up his phone all, “I NEED SOMEONE TO HELP ME WITH THESE KIDS” and “WHERE THE FUCK DID YOU PUT ALL THE COFFEE FILTERS?!” and “YOU SELFISH BASTARD, YOU NEVER THINK OF ANYONE BUT YOURSELF!” lolwut? You don’t just sound crazy – you are being crazy. Knock it off.

 

couple-arguing_1208831c

4. Stop assuming he’s insulting you.

Sometimes guys don’t talk the words real good. But if this man really thought you were a fat, hideous she-beast, why would he be sticking it to you in the first place? If a joke crosses the line, tell him so – but not like a rage-fueled cunt. If it’s just poor phrasing, fucking let it go.

425.enchanted.112007

5. Stop expecting to be treated like royalty.

This just in: you are the princess of fuck all. Yeah, I know, every woman wants a boyfriend who will shower her with love and affection and shiny things and will bring her breakfast in bed and whatever else you think signifies true devotion.Tough shit – you’re not a fucking princess anymore than he’s a prince. You both fart, and are assholes, and forget to put your dishes in the sink, and swear too much, and your feet smell when they get hot and sweaty. In short – you are human. And while you have every right to demand that you are treated as such, stop expecting to have your ass kissed just because you have a vag.

 

GENTLEMEN

napkin

1. Stop fucking up our shit.

It really doesn’t make a bit of difference to us if you don’t understand why there are guest towels and house towels, or why there is fancy soap you’re not allowed to use, or why you can’t use the good dishes to microwave nachos. You don’t need to understand. Just respect our request to leave that shit alone and we’ll stop setting your ties on fire.

 

mowing

2. Stop telling us that there’s a “better” ways to do things.

It might be your way, but that doesn’t necessarily mean it’s better. If we’re getting the task done just as efficiently and thoroughly as you do, then what the hell do you care? Besides, if you keep pushing it, we’ll just make you do whatever it is.

 

watch

3. Stop bitching about prep time.

Oh, I’m sorry, does it bother you that I’d like to step out of the house in something other than gym shorts and bedhead? I know that totally works for you, but I personally would rather not go to lunch looking like a hobo’s asshole. And by the way, that old line, “you look beautiful no matter what” is fucking annoying. Stop saying it, because we all know it’s just a weak attempt to get us out of the house faster.

 

CT  SC-FAM-GAMER-WIDOW-3C 1108 EG

4. Stop treating us like bros.

No, we don’t want to be farted on. No, we don’t want to take shots for every kill we get in Halo 4. No, we don’t want to watch a marathon of American Ninja Warrior. Maybe sometimes that stuff is okay and we’ll indulge you, but that first indulgence does not mean we want to put on our favorite Affliction shirt and go pick up on bitches. We are ladies. Please treat us as such.

 

clueless

5. Stop playing dumb.

You are not Peter Griffin. We know you’re not an idiot. If you can’t remember shit, put reminders in your phone. Make yourself a list. Get a fucking whiteboard. If you didn’t take out the trash, admit that it’s because you were playing Battlefield all day – don’t tell us it’s because you were trying to fix the dishwasher or you were on the phone with important clients all day. We know it’s bullshit. We can see it on your fucking face.

 

 

Don’t Be A Girlfriend – Be A Bro!

Ladies, if you haven’t heard, men are no longer interested in girly girls with painted toes and pretty dresses. Men want a girl who can drink. Men want a girl who likes camping and fishing and getting dirty. Men want a girl they can show off to their friends and party with.

Men don’t want to date a woman. They want to date a bro.

Here’s how to give them what they want.

1. Burp and fart a lot.

Men love a gassy woman. In fact, if you can find a way to fart on them, that’s even better.

fart

2. Enjoy sports.

It doesn’t matter if you don’t care about them, don’t have a favorite team, or can’t tell the difference between an orange bouncy ball and the oblong brown one. If you want him to put a ring on it, you jump on his team’s bandwagon and you fucking like it.


football

3. Drink beer, preferably from a tube or funnel.

Real women don’t use glasses and they sure as shit don’t drink wine. They drink the fizzy, delicious man nectar otherwise known as beer, and they drink a lot of it at once. Then they kick ass at beer pong and throw up in a potted plant. Then they start taking shots while listening to Lil Jon.

kegstand

4. Fuck manners.

Only pussies don’t act super obnoxious in public. Don’t use your napkin! Remember to burp! Impede on the conversations of everyone nearby by loudly discussing tits and how smashed you got last weekend!

woo

 

5. Stop putting so much effort in to your looks.

A bro can be showered, dressed, and ready to go in under thirty minutes, especially if he has the complete line of Axe products. Shower, shit, and shave, then throw on whatever doesn’t smell like last night’s vomit. Deodorant optional.

makeup

6. Rid yourself of all girly paraphernalia.

Fuck your fluffy pillows and your Egyptian cotton sheets; get yourself a futon for fucksakes You don’t need vases of flowers, you need ashtrays and all of the liquor bottles from previous parties on full display. Is that a fucking chaise lounge? What the fuck is a chaise lounge? Get a goddamn tiki bar and take down any pictures of Marilyn Monroe that don’t show titties.

mancave

7. Watch better movies.

No one wants to see “White People Fall In Love Then Someone Dies” based on the novel by Nicholas Sparks. Drop all your bitch-made notions about movies and go watch SuperMegaFuckYou Lords of Domination and Dat Ass, Part IV. You’ll thank me later.

WALLPAPER - CHUCK NORRIS

(Chuck Norris doesn’t need a fucking meme, bitch.)

Fellas, if you don’t really find any of that to be particularly appealing when it comes to your mate, maybe you should start appreciating the other ways in which your partner can be your best friend.

 

You’re not a feminist. You’re a bitch.

There has been, in recent years, a much needed shift toward promoting body image acceptance among young girls and women, and that shift has been long overdue. I’m thrilled that it’s happening and given how ridiculous bullying is getting now, it’s a change that’s coming during a much-needed time.

The college diet plan worked marvelously for me (be poor, smoke cigarettes, walk everywhere) and for the first time in my life, I felt like I was cute. Not just cute, but hot. I kept my figure until I had my girls, at which point my body weight very nearly doubled. And while I don’t regret them for a second, it’s hard for a chick to go from this:

teen

Me, age 19

to this:

beforeMe, age 26 (two years after my girls were born)

But I’m happy to report that, four years after my girls were born, I finally got back down to this:

after

Me, age 28, September 2013

Aaaand now I’m pregnant again. Back to the drawing board. 😉

As a former fat girl, I can’t express how nice it would have been growing up to see someone like Adele on MTV, or to see more ads celebrating full-figured ladies. It would have been nice to be told by someone other than my mother that I was beautiful just the way I was. Now, that message is being spread everywhere – advertisements for name brand products, memes on social media, news articles, school campaigns. And that’s amazing.

But let’s not mistake a soapbox for a pedestal, girls.

The fact that some of us don’t want to be fat doesn’t mean we hate our bodies and it doesn’t mean we’re “fat-shaming”. And when you post shit like this all over Facebook:

curv2 curv3curv1
i
t basically makes you a hypocritical asshole.

Who are you to say what men actually want when everyone has a different type? If a man doesn’t like your curves, or your extra weight, so the fuck what? If it bothers you that much, then lose weight. If it doesn’t bother you, then stop bitching about it. It makes you look petty, not confident.

Do you feel that because you have this new-found, plus sized self esteem that you can go around judging the girls that might have judged you in high school? Skinny girls, medium girls, fat girls, petite girls, Amazonian girls…they are all beautiful to someone. You are beautiful to someone. Stop getting so offended that you aren’t beautiful to everyone – that’s an unrealistic goal and besides, you should be more concerned with how you perceive your own beauty.

Pointing to a girl who’s skinny and accusing her of having an eating disorder is shitty. Calling her vain and shallow because she goes to the gym is catty. People with eating disorders need help, not criticism, and people with the motivation to fucking jog at the crack of dawn deserve a major pat on the back.

You know what I’m doing at the crack of dawn? Fucking nothing. Bravo, ladies. Bravo.

So that covers body image. Moving on.

I assure you a woman who elects to stay home with her children – whether she has a college degree or not – is not wasting her life away for her man in some meaningless cookie dough and PTA filled existence. She is doing what makes her happy and what she feels is best for her life and her family. She is not submitting to the patriarchy, she is not being a subservient house wench. I know many women who are stay-at-home mothers, and if their SO came home and told her to go make him a sandwich, he would probably be asked if he forgot where the fuck the kitchen was.

It’s their choice. Let them make it, and don’t judge them for it. It’s really none of your goddamn business anyway.

Conversely, if a woman chooses to go back to work after her children are born, she is not a cold, heartless workaholic who cares more for money than her children. Like the housewife, she is making choices that are best for her  family in her  situation. She does not love her children any less just because she doesn’t see them as often.

The awesome thing about life in 21st century America – for all races and genders – is that you can pretty much live your life however you damn well please. If you find it necessary to demean a woman for making more traditional choices, you are not acting as a champion for the feminist cause, you’re being a judgmental twat. If you feel compelled to chide a woman for making choices that reflect her independence or ambition then you are not defending traditional values, you’re being a narrow-minded asshole.

Knock it off.

Now let’s get to the part where I piss people off. This should be fun.

Ladies, I’ve said it a million times: if you want equality then you need to be damn sure you want everything that comes with it.

You cannot demand that a man play both gender roles all so you can weasel your way out of the less pleasant parts of adulthood. If you demand he fix your car, it’s not going to kill you to make the man a fucking sandwich. Shit, make him two. Have you ever tried to replace a radiator? Would you like to try? No? Well baby girl, here’s the mustard and the bread. Hop to it.

You want him to vacuum and do dishes, rock on. But if you don’t have a job and he’s working to support your pedicure and video poker habits, you might wanna think about getting up off your ass and dusting some shit.

If you expect a man to shower you with love and affection then you need to understand that works both ways. You are just as responsible for making him feel like a man, particularly if he takes the time to treat you like a lady. You’re not being meek and submissive just because you bring him a beer and rub his shoulders. You aren’t sacrificing your strong, womanly values because you cooked dinner. It’s a partnership, not a battle for the crown.

You can’t promote feminism while simultaneously expressing disgust or disdain for a certain type of woman, and you can’t shit all over a man and proclaim that you’re exercising your rights as a proud, noble female. What you’re doing is being a bitch, and no one appreciates it.

Now I’d like to take a minute to celebrate a few of the beautiful women in my life. This is feminism.

deb

Debbie, mother of four, grandmother of five (soon to be six), housewife, married for over 35 years, and makes the best goddamn fudge in the world.

 

kate

Kate, early 30s, mother of one, extremely petite, loves yoga and nature because she is a dirty hippie. Recently graduated college.

 

kristen

 Kristen, early 30s, married, no kids, holds a degree in art history. My kids love the shit out of her.

tara

Tara, 29, mother of two, recently graduated. Black belt in karate and an amazing step dancer.

 

cassamb

 Cassy (seated) and Amber. Happily married, no kids (yet!). Cassy recently graduated – with honors, bitch.

jess
Jessica, 29, mother of one and a nurse. Enjoys karaoke and shopping. So. Much. Shopping. OMG.