“You’d be so pretty if you weren’t fat”

Believe it or not, I have heard those words on more than one occassion. And yes, before you ask, they were directed specifically toward me. I was shopping with my mum, yeah yeah lame whatever, for some sweaters and stuff to update my wardrobe because as usual this winter I was without decent sweaters and long sleeve shirts; anyway I was walking into the dressing room, sweaters in hand, and just as I enter the little room I hear this woman telling  me that I have chosen some nice shirts. When I turn to thank her she said something else, and I wanted to smack the hell out of her. She looks me dead in the face and says “You know, sweetie, you’d be really pretty if you weren’t fat.” My jaw drops, and I bite back a stream of cuss words, which was a feat in its self; just about the time I come up with something coherent that isn’t full of cuss words and is just sarcasm and snark her skinny daughter comes out of the dressing room with a stack of jeans and shirts and the two vanished. Dumbfounded and irritated, I entered the dressing room and tried on my sweaters. This was not the first time someone has told me I’d be pretty if I weren’t fat. In fact, I’m used to it, though it still irritates me. I’ve heard those words from a variety of people, and, while it does still hit me hard at times, I’ve gotten to the point where I just want to look at them and say “Thank you Captain Obvious. I realize that if I were slimmer and more fit I’d be more attractive. I realize that my fat stomach is not pleasing to the eye. I get it, so I’m working on it. By the way, I’m well aware of the fact that I am not skinny, but that doesn’t make me ugly. Worry about your own body, thanks.”

Granted, I do need to lose weight. That is one thing I knew long ago, but with stress and mock and classs I’ve been so busy and so fried that I just couldn’t focus on working out and eating right. But I’ve come to the realization that I have to do it, I have to lose the weight and get in shape. Otherwise I’m just going to continue being huge and out of shape and unhealthy, and I just can’t deal with that. I’m tired of knowing that I am fat, regardless of what Wash, Spoony, D –, and everyone else has told me. I’m tired of not being able to wear what I want to wear, and I’m tired of feeling like a blimp next to my friends. I’ve been the fat friend for far too long, and I’m done with it. I know that I can be attractive, there are days when I feel absolutely fantastic about my appearance, except for my weight. Last night I took my measurements, so I could set myself some goals, and I was appalled. Needless to say I will not be posting them here, ever, but I have sert some goals and made a plan, and I’m going to reach them.

Today I’m a bit sore, and I’m glad. It means that I am working my muscles and burning fat. Every night I go at least a mile on the treadmill, which is really boring but effective, and I use the ab lounge, which I have affectionately named the Rack. I’m also weight training because muscle burn fat and I need to build up my muscle any way. That reminds me that I need to buy some wristbraces so I don’t destroy my wrists, especially my right one that I broke and never healed properly, doing curls and bench presses. I impressed myself last night when I was doing my lower body work out; I did 50 lbs on my legs, and, though I’m pretty sore, it feels pretty awesome. Also I’m pleased to report that my Slimfast shakes are actually fairly awesome; they don’t taste bad, and I think they are working. I wasn’t as hungry as I normally am, and I had a lot more energy. I’m already feeling better, and it makes me excited.

Quote of the Day: “Don’t you know you’re beautiful?
Don’t you know you’re beautiful?
Don’t you know you’re beautiful?
Just the way you are!”- Kellie Pickler, “Don’t You Know You’re Beautiful”

Stepping Over the Line, Mock Trial Style

So I wasn’t going to do a follow up entry on the tournament because to be quite honest there wasn’t much to talk about. We had some crazy judges, I thought we still did rather well, clearly I was wrong. Our scores were very poor. I’m very disappointed, and as the captain and senior mocker with the most experience many people look to me to find out what went wrong. The truth is I’m not exactly sure, and I will be up tonight reviewing ballots in between reading C.S. Lewis’ The Screwtape Letters and whatever other weekend homework I’ve got. I’ve got an idea or two about what went wrong, but I can’t be sure until I spend some time looking at the ballots. I do gladly take on the responsibility of being captain and being the one who has to buckle down and do the work. I’ve got the experience and I need to use it. Coaches come to me, other mockers come to me, and I’m barely staying sane. But I’m managing, as I always have. However, it is completely unfair to blame me for the team’s failings and to expect me to bear most of the load on my shoulders.

That brings me to the reason I’m doing this blog when I’ve already mentioned that I hadn’t planned on it. Last night Team Shagnasty had a scrimmage, like we do every Thursday night, and the Vilator, a coach, was the judge. All rounds that include the Vilator as judge involve not continuing straight through the round because he will without fail interrupt you and make comments during your directs, crosses, and closings, and generally that makes the round last forever. Also, the Vilator plays favorites, which is common and I’m used to it, and has little tact, which I am also used to. So Shagnasty was the defense and that meant that I directed the last witness, BNN President Kit Berkshire, and then closed. Vilator interrupts the Berkshire direct to rag on K about her British accent, which except for this crazy bitchy judge in round 1 all the other judges like. This would not have been a problem if that hadn’t sparked into a tirade about how our team was a waste to send to tournaments because we suck and basically implying that it was all my fault. Way inappropriate, embarrassing, and hurtful. I will not lie, it really got to me.

Now, I suppose you are wondering why I would be upset over this, since I am an adult and an experienced mocker who is used to criticism like this. Well here is why. First of all, it is terribly heartbreaking to be a captain who’s team comes out of a tournament with a record as bad as we did. It really upset me that we did that poorly, so to be constantly reminded of this is painful. It is also out of line to say that the team is a waste. It’s fucking October, the team was brand new with about four weeks of real practice and only two of us had ever been to a tournament. No one is on their A game this early, ever. He compared us to Mal’s team, which is ok because they did well, but to highlight that Mal’s team was up top while we were at the very bottom, and to do it so rudely, was inappropriate. Mal’s team is stacked, they have 4 returners who went to Nationals. The final blow of the night was when the Vilator looks directly at me and says this “It’s not fun to lose, is it?” Thus once more highlighting our failings openly and rudely in front of everyone, including Cornflake’s little sister, a guest. To me, that is stepping over the line, and I honestly am very pissed off about it.

So that is my mock trial entry, one I didn’t intend to write.

Quote of the Day: “The past is a foreign country. They do things differently there.” J.P. Hartley, The Go Between

On Being Strong…

There is no question that life has taught me that I must be strong. It has also taught me what it means to be strong and what real strength is and isn’t. Life has given me excellent guides in some of the women I have come into contact with. My mother fought cervical cancer and won. Both my maternal and paternal grandmothers lost their husbands and have survived to keep really living. My Great Grandmother has made it through TIAs and the loss of her husband. And Brandi, my mock trial coach and friend has taught me that it is OK to be a strong, brave, and intelligent woman, and that people like me can make it into law school and into the legal profession. So life, while being bitchy and cruel at times, has given me a great deal as well.

I am strong, and I know that. It sounds snide and concieted, but it’s the truth. I can take on most anything that comes my way, and I can handle a lot. I’ve been forced to become strong because I am female want to be a lawyer, because I am Southern and want the respect of my intellectual peers, because I am difficult to handle and want to be loved, because I have been dealt losses and heartbreak and must keep going. I can be snarky and abrasive, and I am harsh and sarcastic. There seem to be three categories that people around me fall into. I either take care of you, run over you, or meet you as an equal, and that makes it difficult for me to make friends, find love, and be handled. I’m the kind of girl who generally refuses to be taken care of and refuses to show weakness. I hide if I need to cry, and I make war against illness and attempt to push through it, often at the expense of my own well being. I chase people off, especially when they might see me at a weak moment. As I grow older, I grow more guarded. I protect myself, and I take care of others. I do battle with the world, and I rarely tolerate stupidity.

And so now I must be strong enough to realize that I cannot change the past. I must be strong enough to accept that loving him may not bring him back. I will be strong enough to realize that I can make it without him and strong enough to realize that I will find a man strong enough to handle me. I am strong enough to be weak, strong enough to let go. I realize that I don’t have to pretend that I don’t hurt to be strong strong. I realize that just because this happened doesn’t mean that I am not strong. I must learn that even the strongest of us cry and break, and I must learn that I cannot always be the one to take care of it all. My strength is nothing to regret; it is something to harness. I can and will be strong. I thank everyone who has taught me that, who has given me advice, who has stood not just behind me, but beside me. I thank whoever granted me this strength and gave me the strong women who have been my friends and guides over the years.

Readers, I leave you with this final note of the post. Be strong and have faith in yourselves. Don’t accept those who do not accept you. Don’t settle or give up your strength for anyone, and don’t let the weak bring you down. And to the men in my future. Take me as I am, with all my strength. If you wish to handle me, you better damn well be strong enough to do so. I’m tired of beign the sole source of strength for people. I may be strong, but I am not strong enough to bear it all of my shoulders, nor should I have to. I know that now. I am strong, and I will always be.

Quote of the Day: “Take me for what I am
who I was meant to be
and if you give a damn
take me baby
or leave me” Take Me or Leave Me, RENT

All is fair in love and war, so let the battle begin

Ominous title, no? Well as I write this a battle has begun, and I don’t intend to go down without a fight. Apparently for several months Spoony’s family has been trying to convince him to break up with me, mainly because his sister says I’m rude, and for some reason his mother does not like me. He has been forbidden to allow me into the house and this implies that he is not to spend any time with me. This all explains why we haven’t been going out, and why every day off he’s had has been spent doing something for them. They keep him constantly occupied so that I can be phased out of his life. They don’t like me, and thus they want to split us up. He doesn’t know what to do, since he must live at home due to the lack of a job that pays well enough for him to survive alone, and if he fights them too much he risks being kicked out and cut off with nowhere to turn. What his family doesn’t know about me is that I am a fighter, and that because I love him with all my heart, I will do whatever it takes for us to be together. They have started a fight with a very stubborn force to be reckoned with.

 My first dilemma is finding a way to get him out of that house. It seems simple, get an apartment. Problem one with that is that he doesn’t have the money to do it alone. Apartments are expensive here in the Boro, and decent ones are hard to finds. There is a solution, but it involves problem number two. Problem two is my lack of a car and therefore lack of a job. My problem prevents us from moving in together, which is what we both really want, because we can’t do that until we both have jobs and can both pay the rent and all the bills. So we can’t just fix this with an apartment to share. I wish it were that simple to fix. I wish it was that easy.

So here is what I’m doing. He says to be patient, that there isn’t much we can do. But I’m not the bulldog for nothing. I’m not the one they call the junkyard dog for no reason at all. I can’t just sit around waiting for things to change. Fo rme that would be more painful than taking action. I’m on the hunt for decent apartments and decent rental rates, at least then there is a starting point for us to work with. I’m also working with Mum to see about getting him a job with the city or county, since there is a freeze on state jobs at the moment. The good news is that he has is application in at the sheriff’s department, so my prayers are now in the direction of him getting that job.

Now this ordeal affects more than just the near future, as in my plans for the summer and what not. Spoony and I cannot get married without this resolved. Well we can, but it would be a big pain in the ass. I mean things will smooth out once he no longer lives at home, but if I’m going to marry the man, and yes I happen to know that he is very much a man, things have to at least be in the open. This means that I at least need to know why I’m hated, even if I can’t make them stop hating me. The thing is, I’ve met his mother all of maybe four times, and I’ve dug into my wonder southern grace and charm and been as nice as pie (said with my trademark accent) to her. I smiled and said hello, I even chatted pleasantly about mock, the weather, and Spoony. So what reason have I given this woman to hate me? Mum seems to think that part of it stems from the fact that Spoony is the last of her six kids, I’m in love with her baby boy, though at nearly 21 I’m fairly certain he is not a baby any longer. His sister on the other hand merely says I’m rude and openly refuses to say why. I’ve met her three times total. The first on Prom night when we went to his house for pictures, the second one night when we were taking her a bookshelf that she had sold for his mother, and the third was at his house. On the first occasion there wasn’t much time for chatter because we were in a hurry to get to Prom. The second we chatted for a moment while I helped the boys unload the bookshelf, but it was freezing and she was too busy talking to Spoony. The third and final time, we talked, she was polite and seemed ok with me, but I wasn’t sure what to say while she was browbeating him about getting a second job. The thing is I get quiet when I’m trying to impress stangers who I know I will be seeing and speaking to on a regular basis, mainly because when I’m nervous my accent gets Gone with the Wind strong. It’s one thing to talk to a bunch of strangers in a mock trial round; I may never see them again. And when on stage I’m not me. But it’s different when I know I have to impress someone I will see fairly often. So I didn’t want to say something stupid.

So I wish they would tell me why they hate me, how I’m rude. I sort of need to make things right if I’m going to have a future with him. I know now for certain that my mum and da can never meet them, that the wedding would be the only time that they’d be allowed in the same room with them. My parents do not approve of such domineering behavior. But I need to know what is wrong because if my tone, and I’m bad about tone, was ever in anyway offensive I know I can sound rude and should apologize. But if not, Spoony and I at least have the right to know what is wrong with me in their eyes.

So readers, I ask for your prayers that he gets this job so he can get an apartment and start smoothing this mess out. And I send out my prayers for anyone in this situation. I’m praying for a miracle now, and I normally don’t believe in them. I’m hoping that a resolution will come sooner than later, though I know from experience that we can survive this sort of thing.

Hark, Lucky speaks…

Ok, so I’m a terrible about this blogging thing. I hate that I never update as frequently as I would like to. Every time I decide to update something happens, and I fail to do it. Part of it is that I don’t like to post short pointless blurbs because a stupid part of me wants to give my, probably non-existent, readers something with substance. So here is a somewhat rambling and somewhat cohesive attempt at updating. I promise that I will try to update more frequently. That way you won’t think I have fallen off the face of the planet in some sort of bizarre accident.

Spoony and I saw Forbidden Kingdom at the theater, and it was a really awesome movie. I’m a total freak who fails at being a girl, but I love movies like that; I’ve always loved action and fantasy and I’m not really ashamed of it. That was the last date we’ve had, much to my disappointment, and we didn’t even get to see each other on our aniversary. He got me a gift certificate to get a mani/pedi as a present, and I’ve yet to be able to use it. He said he chose that gift because, and it’s true, I always complain about not being enough of a girl for him. He said it was a girly gift; he’s such a sweetheart. I don’t know how a guy I love so much can be so frustrating. Spoony works constantly, to the point of allowing himself to actually become sick from the exhaustion. And yet he won’t stop. He works full time already and is trying to get a second job, part time. I still don’t get why he needs it, even though he has told me his reason. Part of the reason I’m so upset is that I’m worried; I’m terrified of the phone call saying he’s managed to work himself into a hospital bed. And the other part is at least on some level selfish. I will never get to see him. I know what happens when he works like that. He never has anytime off, and that leaves us on the very farthest back burner. I can be patient, but patient shouldn’t mean never seeing him. This will be just as difficult as the distance, if not worse. Wish me luck.

Next on the list of things that I wanted to blab about tonight is something any American reader who drives can understand. What the hell is up with the gas prices these days. And don’t leave me comments on how it is all Bush’s fault. This is not a political post, nor is the focus of this blurb politics. It’s more economics than anything. It’s unethical and dishonorable to price gouge, and when a family has to choose between food/medicine and gas to go to work to buy more gas, there is something seriously wrong. I propose a significant fine on the major oil companies for every month their price is unreasonably high. These prices mena everything else is just as expensive. Studies have shown that the reason my gallon of milk costs me nearly five dollars is that my gallon of gas costs nearly four dollars if not more. This is why I refuse to do corporate law. I will not being some corporation’s hired gun to help them steal from the everyday people in this world. I do have a sense of ethics even if I want to be a lawyer.

I feel old lately. I mean I’ll be 21 in September, which means I’m not really old , but seriously, things have made me feel practically ancient. Songs come on the radio, and I remember when the song first came out, back when I was in grade school. I remember when gas was a $1.25 instead on $3.75, which by the way  made me feel like my grandmother because she always talks about gas being even less than that. Every time I think about things that become cool again, I remember when they were cool and I was in grade school. Like my kid brother was making hornets, and I was like ”Kid, I was making them, shooting them, and getting hornet ’stings’ way back when.” I then proceeded to unfold and trash them all because I remembered when kids got suspended for them.  Hornets, for those of you who don’t know, are pieces of paper, folded tightly, and are made so they are small but thick projectile weapons to be shot using rubberbands.

And finally, perhaps I won’t make such a bad wife after all. I manage this house pretty damn well, and I’m just the daughter. I practically play mother to all three other people in this house. I make sure there is food cook, laundry done. It’s me who makes the shopping list, who makes sure that everyone gets the things they need. I can cook, and I love to cook. I can handle the laundry and the dishes all while working on a paper or sorting out my kid brother’s homework problems. I’m hopelessly in love with Spoony, and we connect so well. I’m becoming in tune to his needs, emotions, etc. I’m not saying I’ll be susy homemaker, but I will be a good wife. If I can manage the stress.