Holding nothing back…

Archive for January 2009

Saturday night, DH and I went over to a friend’s house for a cookout. It was just us, friend, his girlfriend, his brother, and his brother’s girlfriend: three couples.

There was TONS of food: bacon wrapped, bbq-sauced, grilled mushrooms for appetizers; chicken breasts drenched in bbq sauce, grilled kielbasa, hamburgers, chips, dips, potato salad, etc. You get the idea. Three couples, but enough food for 10 couples.

After a nice visit around the grill while everything was cooking, we went inside to eat. I notice that the other two women BARELY touch their plates. I mean BARELY: maybe 1 of the mushroom appetizers (which were HELLA GOOD) 2 bites of their hamburgers, a bite or two of potato salad, and maybe three chips each. I’m not kidding! And I’m not the only one that noticed. DH noticed. Friend noticed because he asked if something was wrong with the food.

Turns out, there was nothing wrong with the food. Friend’s Girlfriend has had the lapband surgery, and Friend’s Brother’s Girlfriend has had gastric bypass. Oy vey. I was the only woman there that hadn’t had WLS.

Later in the evening, we were playing a game, and somehow or another, the subject of weight came up (why am I not surprised?); and I said something (non-depricating) about weighing 200 lbs. INSTANTLY, everyone in the room but DH (who knows better) starts in with the “compliments.”

“Well, you sure don’t LOOK like you weigh 200 lbs!”

“Wish I had looked that good at 200!”

“Yeah, but you carry it well.”



Fucking yada.

Then the subject turned to how much more weight these two BEAUTIFUL (just as they were) women had to lose, and then they looked at me expectantly. Like I’m supposed to chime in with how much weight I want to lose. You should have seen the looks of shock on their faces when I said that I am actually looking for a personal trainer that understands that I don’t give a flying fig if I ever lose a stinking OUNCE, much less several dozen pounds, I just want to be strong(er than I am now), flexible, and build some endurance. After staring at me in shocked, wide-eyed silence for a moment they start in with:

“But you’re so pretty! You’d be GORGEOUS if you lost a few pounds!”

Fuck you! I’m already gorgeous, thankyouverymuch.

“As good as you look now, you probably wouldn’t have to lose MUCH.”

I don’t have to lose anything to look good. You said yourself I look good right where I am.

“I wish I had your confidence.”

Honey, I didn’t always. This level of confidence and comfort with my body has been hard-won and only come RECENTLY.

WHY do conversations with other women always seem to devolve into Weight Watcher’s meetings? Discussions about current weight, pounds lost, pounds to go, calories and how to restrict them, fat grams and how to restrict them, good foods/bad foods, yada yada boringfuckingyada. I’ve worked too long and too hard to finally accept myself as I am, where I am. I have absolutely no desire to join into a bitchfest about my body and how HORRIBLE it is. Even if we restrict ourselves to discussing things that happen in our own homes (no world or national politics, no celebitchy gossip, etc.), there are so many MORE interesting things to discuss! Shit, we could discuss SOAP OPERAs and it would have been more productive and interesting!

To their credit, it didn’t take either woman too terribly long (maybe about 15 minutes) to realize that I wasn’t going to join in on the WW meeting and that it was boring me half to death and allow me to change the subject. I don’t know that I could have taken much more.

And most of my women friends wonder why the hell I prefer to hang out in the garage with the men! At least THEIR conversations aren’t impromptu Weight Watcher’s meetings.


This is pretty much typical of the types of jokes I get in my e-mail from my mother, and it’s typical of her attitude towards weight pretty much my entire life. The e-mail reads:

A woman goes to the doctor for her yearly physical.  The nurse starts with certain basic items.

‘How much do you weigh?’ she asks.

‘115,’ she says.

The nurse puts her on the scale.  It turns out her weight is 140 (I wish).

The nurse asks, ‘Your height?’

‘5 foot 8,’ she says.

The nurse checks and sees that she only measures 5 ‘ 5‘.

She then takes her blood pressure and tells the woman it is very high.

‘Of course it’s high!’ she screams, ‘When I came in here I was tall and slender! Now I’m short and fat!’

Ok, remember a while ago when I told you guys to mark your calendar because I would probably never use the BullshitMI as a voice of reason again? Well, ladies and gentlemen, aparantely hell has frozen over, because I’m doing it again! The woman in the joke “thinks” she is tall and slender at 5’8″ and 115. According to this BullshitMI calculator, that would be a BullshitMI of 17.5, or UNDERWEIGHT. Not just “slender,” but approximately 10 pounds underweight (and that’s to be at the very BOTTOM of the “normal” weight catagory). Her actual height and weight (you know, the ones that make her “short and fat” and raise her blood pressure so severely) is 5’5″ and 140. Same calculator shows her BullshitMI to be 23.3, or NORMAL.

And this is the kind of shit I’ve been fed since I was a child, by BOTH of my parents.  ::::eyeroll::::