what is love

My laptop died. I will curse Dell until I’m on my deathbed, because the company’s product has gone way, way downhill. I was assured that HP’s computers have seen plenty of improvement, and since it fit my (very, very small) budget, I went ahead and dropped the money on a new laptop. Getting the old one repaired would have been around $300, and why bother when I can get a brand new machine for just a bit more? And so, here I am, new laptop running and ready to rock and roll.

But that has nothing to do with this post; I just wanted to complain. This is really about love, and family, and the warm fuzzies you get from both. Sometimes. If you’re lucky. And I’m apparently a fairly lucky person. I kvetch about family and whatnot often, but honestly, they’re good people, and they’re at arm’s length by my own lack of effort. I don’t know how to interact with them, and so I just don’t. In my defense, I don’t know how to interact with anyone. I have a few family members that I’m closer to than others because they’re closer to my age, but that’s about it.

Semi-recently, I’ve made a very lame effort to change that. Death kind of kicked me in the face and made me slightly more aware of my mortality and the mortality of others. (Sidebar: I say slightly because I was a very, very weird child and would often contemplate death/sit in a corner and cry because someday my mom wouldn’t be around anymore and it could happen at literally any moment. Good job, creepy prophetic childhood self.) I tried to call people more, but admittedly, I failed kind of hard.

But alas! I’m trying again. My trip to Memphis made me miss these nutty people, and I started to think about how the kids in my generation in the family aren’t nearly as close as those that come before us. It made me a little sad and I wondered if it was just my family or families across the country. A brief conversation with Kat makes it seem somewhat standard nowadays, which is depressing. And so, I’m going to try to not fall away from my family. Let’s see how long I can keep this up.

PS The wedding was very nice. And as a bonus, here’s a video of my uncle and his new wife. My (former) Shamone people should get a kick out of it, at least.

PPS My dress looked pretty great but I didn’t get a shot with the shoes because wow, they hurt. This is what happens when I stop wearing heels for a year.

library day 4

I don’t know how to describe this library experience. I failed to make it to the library last month and instead just rechecked all my books. But I ventured back to the library the other day after shuffling out the door in 20 seconds to hurry for the bus. I actually had really great timing somehow magically. I can’t recall if I mentioned, but I’d decided to focus on specific things to research and become an “expert” on to make my library trips more focused. I was busy listening to my music when I heard someone shout, “HEY!”

Now, when you’re me, and you hear people shout that, you automatically assume you’re about to fall into a pit that’s opened up in the sidewalk. Don’t ask, it’s just how my brain works. So after checking for a surprise pit, I looked to see who was doing the yelling. This guy wanders up to me  and starts talking about how he was just singing Michael Jackson to himself because his girlfriend done him wrong. So he then proceeds to question me about whether I’m married or dating or if I have kids, yadda yadda. He then tries to get my number.

And then he follows me around the library. For ten. Minutes.

I think I mentioned before how much I hate for my library time to be disturbed. I also hate when people can’t take a damn hint. Eventually, though, he wandered off sans my phone number, and I went about trying to decide what I would focus on for my next few library trips. I settled on Greek mythology, horror movies, and Queen Victoria. Unfortunately, the library is set up very strangely, so I couldn’t find mythology books. But anywho. I got the few books I wanted, then headed to get lunch and then go home.

On the way home, there was another guy. This does not happen to me. He made small talk for a bit, and he was nice and polite, and then he asked for my number. I don’t understand. Twice in one day? And I must reiterate, I got dressed in 20 seconds. T-shirt. Pants. I didn’t even bother trying to make my hair look nice. I didn’t even remember that I shouldn’t wander outside looking like a mad scientist until halfway to the library. I mean this is what I looked like:

No effort whatsoever. I’m just genuinely confused by this. But….I guess hooray? I dunno. We’ll see. I’m honestly a little more excited about the books I got.

valentine shmalentine

It’s Valentine’s Day. I have a valentine, sort of, but that doesn’t mean I enjoy this holiday. I’ve never had a proper valentine in the commercial sense of the word. No guy’s bought me chocolate or flowers and I’ve never gotten a Zale’s diamond, and I don’t really mind it. I’ve never seen the point of the day; if you can only commit to showing your special person that they’re special one day per year, maybe they aren’t quite that special. Or maybe I’m overly cynical. I’ll go with both.

museum of fat love

Browsing around the internet as I am wont to do, I came across The Museum of Fat Love. It’s pretty much just a collection of stories from people about how they’re both fat and in love, which is something that, if society is to be believed, never happens unless someone decides to settle out of fear of eternal loneliness. It’s a nice collection, and a lot of the stories are really sweet, but one in particular – Sabreeshah and Anthony – caught my attention.

Anthony and I first met in college in 2006. Originally, we dated for seventeen months before we broke up last spring but over the summer, we decided to get back together. As you can see, Anthony and I are both big people (I’m holding steady at 254, he’s 302), but the only thing bigger than our love of food (and yes, we love food) is one another’s company and our love for one another.

Not to say that our relationship has been easy. We’re an interracial and interclass (the interclass thing is according to my father), and we also have our own mental issues (he has Asperger’s Syndrome, a high functioning form of autism and I have a milder case of Asperger’s coupled with ADHD (attention deficit hyperactivity disorder) that impact our social skills quite a bit and we’ve had a lot of issues, but we always seem to at least work on working things out.

Anthony was the first man whom I considered to be absolutely cuddly and adorable. He’s sweet, polite, good natured and intelligent with a sharp sense of wit and a wonderful ability to make any bad mood of mine vanish. He’s just about everything a woman could ask for. You really have to see him in person to get just how adorable I think he is. He has very sharp blue eyes and a big, beautiful smile. He was also the first man besides my father who called me cute and meant it.

I’m very happy to have him in my life and so, I have no qualms about showing him off.

What, really? She’s overweight, has assburgers, and is dating a white guy; the majority of my past relationships and non-relationships have been with white guys. She’s like me, but with a boyfriend. I find it kind of adorable that they both have assburgers and I’m not sure why. Maybe just for the amount of nervous awkwardness that there can be. I should try and find someone, but most of the time I just want to take a nap. At least I know it’s possible.

growing up chubby, part 1 – boys are stupid

This may come as something of a shock, but I was a skinny kid.

I was thin up until around 4th or 5th grade. You’ll never guess what happened that caused me to gain weight.

Yeah, screw puberty.

I had a full C-cup in 6th grade, when most of the other girls were barely working on A. And they just. Kept. Growing. Then my stomach and thighs and upper arms followed suit, as if it were some kind of race to see who could out-chub who. It’s awkward, growing up bigger than your peers, especially when you throw in that I was also taller. Thanks, family, for your awesome genes.

To compensate, I pretty much decided I had to be funny. People liked me when I made jokes, even though a lot of the time, they were unintentional. I can be kind of a blunt person at times. There are moments when I honestly don’t realize that what I’m saying can sound mean or overly critical, just because it seems like a logical thing to think or say. Thanks, family, for the assburgers. But in being so blunt, there’s apparently a comedic value, and that was my in-route to popularity. That, and my best friend at the time being super pretty. Thus began my career as the funny fat sidekick of various hot chicks, the one the boys would turn to only to get the scoop on said chicks. It sucked. But I smiled my way through.

Until junior year of high school, that is. During this time, there was a turning point. I was starting to hang out with new friends, and feeling pressure from the old ones. It literally hurt me to go to school every morning; I would have appalling stomachaches like clockwork. Finally, my mother agreed to get me checked out by a doctor, who diagnosed me with social anxiety and depression, and thus stuck me on Paxil. Not exactly the solution I wanted, but oh well.

You can imagine that with anxiety, assburgers, and much hotter friends to contend with, my love life didn’t exactly skyrocket. I had exactly one date in high school, and it didn’t really go too well. I could never be sure if my lack of attention from boys was because I was shy or because I was fat. I leaned toward assuming it was the fat thing. It bothered me more than I ever let on, and it still does.

However, nowadays I am about 90% certain that I’m a cute person, regardless of my weight. There are tons of other things to be insecure about, but as far as I’m concerned, I look good. I’ve still not dated much, but that’s my own choice and not because there aren’t offers. Been there, done it, got a cat instead. Most all of my friends are married or in the process of it, but I’m just not there yet. I thought I was, for a brief moment (okay, two brief moments, thank the Lord I saw the light both times), but I’m content doing my own thing. And I’m doing it while being fat, and that’s totally cool with me.