Two years ago, I lost 100 lbs and last year, I gained 50 of it back. That’s ok, I’m an optimist. I choose to think of my ass as ½ full!
But I feel like it’s time to talk about the whole journey and tell the truth. I gained weight because being skinny was not what I thought it would be.
I have looked like this all of my life. Like most people, I hate myself. When I got skinny, I found out that I still hated myself. Only then I hated myself but I was really really hungry! And I was like, “You mean to tell me that my self-esteem has no correlation to the size of my ass?”
Being skinny was a mindfuck. I have always thought that I was street smart. But, when I got skinny it was like moving to a different street. I didn’t know any of the rules!
For one thing, everyone was nice to me. It was creepy! I couldn’t tell who the assholes were.
I’d walk into a store like Home Depot, all the male employees would come out, “Can I help you? Can I help you?” Damn. Who knew it was so easy to buy a hammer?
My male friends got all weird on me. Like I have always been very flirty. I would say things like, “Hey we ought to hook up sometime.” The guy would be like “Yeah, we should.” Then I got skinny and I’d say, “Hey we ought to hook up sometime.” They’d be like, “give me two minutes I’ll bring the car around.” No wait! I was kidding. We don’t have to consummate every joke!
Then all my guy friends started giving me the full- body hug. I didn’t even know that existed. They all were touching and squeezing and full-body hugging. It made me not want to go to open mics anymore. God I thought comedians were annoying enough.
I worked out 2 hours a day. The more I worked out, the more my guy friends got touchy/feely. I felt like I was in training for a date rape!
Suddenly everyone noticed me. It was like going from being invisible to being famous over night. One day, I’m sitting in a restaurant, writing in my joke notebook, and some guy walks up to my table. “Nice journal. Where’d you get it?” I start going “Oh, just Target or some place like that,” then I look down and see it’s just a composition book. Nice journal? I fell for nice journal? God, leave me alone! Can’t a girl sit alone in a Holiday Burger and wait for her drug dealer in peace?
This guy almost ran over me in the parking lot one day commenting on my “I heart Eagle Rock” bumper sticker. “You love Eagle Rock? I love Eagle Rock! Do you live in Eagle Rock? I live in Eagle Rock” I’m like “damn that dude really loved Eagle Rock.” My best friend Sally said “he loved what you loved. If you loved Jesus, he would’ve loved Jesus. If you loved Darwin, he would’ve loved Darwin. He didn’t heart Eagle Rock. He hearts your booty.” I found out that when a guy walks up to you, you have to shut him down immediately. Now I know why Sally is such a bitch!
People were constantly commenting on my body. “Oh my God, let me look at you. Turn around. How much do you weigh now?” I felt like I was on the auction block. I kept waiting for someone to ask to examine my teeth. I was like, “Um, could we please talk about something other than my ass?”
Also, I felt like I had switched sides and joined the enemy. People acted like I was now “in the club” and started to make fun of fat people in front on me. One day a good friend called me a skinny bitch. At first I was like “thanks!” Then I realized, oh wait, that’s bad.
I actually became even sluttier, if you can believe it. I exhausted my husband. I thought he was going to take out a restraining order to keep me 50 feet from the bed!
People acted really weird when I gained weight again. Like it was some kind of personal affront against them. I’m like, “I’m miserable, people! Give me a break! I didn’t give up cheese for this!”
I mean I even had stalkers. In fact, that part never changed. I still have stalkers. When you think about it, my stalkers were the only ones who really stuck with me though all this. So, thanks crazy guys!
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
Help! I don’t have a penis!
I just got off the phone with Wachovia bank. I recently bought myself a VW Beetle. I was calling to confirm that Wachovia received the insurance information that they were requesting, and that I had the insurance company fax to them. To my surprise, they REFUSED to confirm if they received the information or not until my husband called them and told them they could speak to me. Here is the strange part: it’s my car, my loan! I bought it without my husband even being there!! I put him on the loan as a co-signer. I am the primary borrower. He showed up at the end to sign his name when every thing was done.
When he called Wachovia, he sternly told them that it is my car, not his. The woman at Wachovia said, “Well, you are a co-signer, so you will be responsible if she doesn’t pay.” He said, “Yes, I am the CO-signer; she is the borrower. Why am I the only one listed on the loan?” The response was, “Well, Mr. Oliver, that’s how we do it here at Wachovia.”
That’s how they do it? Based on what? I know what. My husband possesses something I will never have - a PENIS. What other reason could it be? Think this is an isolated incident? It’s not. Keep reading.
I have filed joint taxes with my husband for 17 years. I am the one who goes to H&R Block every year and has the taxes done (usually without him going at all). I take the papers to him when they are complete, and he signs his part. Recently, I noticed that H&R Block has him listed as the “taxpaper,” and I am listed as the “spouse.” WTF? I asked them why. H&R Block replied “That’s how we do it.” I asked, “Based on what?” Here are the facts: alphabetically my name comes before his, my social security number is numerically before his, I make more money than he does (primary breadwinner), and THEY HAVE NEVER EVEN MET HIM! How did they respond? “Well, he’s the husband.”
I have done everything I can in my life to be a strong, independent woman. I own my own business, have bought every car-and our freaking house in Georgia-by myself without my husband’s involvement. I handle all the bills, manage the household. I have a Master’s degree for God’s sake. But, I will never have the one thing I guess I need to be considered a “borrower” or a “taxpayer.” I am now, and may forever be, THE SPOUSE. Well, they can suck my non-existent dick!
When he called Wachovia, he sternly told them that it is my car, not his. The woman at Wachovia said, “Well, you are a co-signer, so you will be responsible if she doesn’t pay.” He said, “Yes, I am the CO-signer; she is the borrower. Why am I the only one listed on the loan?” The response was, “Well, Mr. Oliver, that’s how we do it here at Wachovia.”
That’s how they do it? Based on what? I know what. My husband possesses something I will never have - a PENIS. What other reason could it be? Think this is an isolated incident? It’s not. Keep reading.
I have filed joint taxes with my husband for 17 years. I am the one who goes to H&R Block every year and has the taxes done (usually without him going at all). I take the papers to him when they are complete, and he signs his part. Recently, I noticed that H&R Block has him listed as the “taxpaper,” and I am listed as the “spouse.” WTF? I asked them why. H&R Block replied “That’s how we do it.” I asked, “Based on what?” Here are the facts: alphabetically my name comes before his, my social security number is numerically before his, I make more money than he does (primary breadwinner), and THEY HAVE NEVER EVEN MET HIM! How did they respond? “Well, he’s the husband.”
I have done everything I can in my life to be a strong, independent woman. I own my own business, have bought every car-and our freaking house in Georgia-by myself without my husband’s involvement. I handle all the bills, manage the household. I have a Master’s degree for God’s sake. But, I will never have the one thing I guess I need to be considered a “borrower” or a “taxpayer.” I am now, and may forever be, THE SPOUSE. Well, they can suck my non-existent dick!
