Seasonal Reflection

It’s an old tale that so many of us know well: Christmas comes and ruins the good nutritional intentions of many.

On the upside for me, I wasn’t even on any track to be knocked off of it at this point. The track is somewhere far away, distantly located on the other side the sunlight and chocolate strewn field through which I am currently frolicking while my clothes grow increasingly ill fitting.

So… as the year draws to a close what can I say I’ve accomplished?

I think the best thing I can come up with is my 4.0 GPA in grad school. Two classes into my Master’s degree and two A’s earned. Two wonderful semesters filled with learning new things.

When I’m in school I feel as though all the potential in the world lies spread in front of me. Sure, I may have a dead end job, but I am LEARNING! I’m learning something new and becoming something better. I feel positive, good, I feel as though I am going somewhere.

Also I am grateful to still be a healthy fat person. Thirty six years old and still no ill health effects as a result of being overweight. Doctors continue to tell me I’m playing Russian roulette with my life by not shedding the pounds, I believe them, I will continue to try and not give up. But still, I’m grateful that my sound nutritional knowledge seems to be sufficient to keep me in a state of good health in the interim.

I am happier and happier with my marriage and my husband each year as we grow to know and love each other better all the time. I feel cherished each day, cared for and valued. And I always have laughter and Ted’s “fits of weird” to enjoy. In a year that’s seen the destruction of so much, I’m so grateful for him in my life. We cling to one another like children in a storm.

So will this be the year I finally shed this weight? Will this be the year I become a rare success story? One of the teeny, tiny 5% of overweight people who will make a significant change in their BMI and STAY that way? I’m hesitant to make any promises I may not wind up keeping later. But as always, I continue to walk my road.

What else is there to do?

Who Knew?

Apparently I’ve been shopping in the wrong racial demographic for all these years.

A few weeks ago, Teddi took me shopping at a store called “Ashley Stewart” in Cheltenham. I’d never heard of it or gone in before and was my usual anti-shopping, grouchy, skeptical self as we walked through the front door.

As I glanced around I saw a number of things I thought were cute, but didn’t bother sifting through the racks because the store didn’t say “plus sized” anywhere, so I mentally assumed it was a store for ‘normal’ people, and not for me.

As I followed Teddi morosely through the racks I must have admired something or other because she picked it up and shoved it into my arms, directing me toward the fitting room.

To my utter shock, it fit. I tried on more, it all fit. Everything fit, nothing was insanely priced, everything was decently made, and everything was cute. A lot of it was even sexy. And if shopping at Lane Bryant and Fashion Bug Plus for most of my life has taught me anything – it’s that sexy clothes are a BIG NO NO for overweight women.

Not so here.

What strange, loving wonderland had I blundered into? What was this place?

Apparently the key was that Ashley Stewart is a clothing store for black women.

Apparently designers for black women think its perfectly okay to celebrate the generous curves of a woman’s body and let them be sexy instead of punishing them with cheap, overpriced, poorly designed clothes in horrendous mumu-type fabrics.

Holy crap… who knew this was even possible?

Scary Doll Attack

As of late this blog has been a lot more about whatever I happen to be thinking about today and a lot less about trying to loose weight. This is in all likelihood due to the fact that my attempts to loose weight recently have been entirely fruitless. No there’s nothing wrong with me metabolically, I’ve just been eating too much / moving too little.

At any rate, in the Christmas spirit of psychologically damaging toys, here’s something that set off my weird stuff-o-meter first thing this morning:

No, I couldn’t un-see the horror and now neither can you. Dolls kind of scare me. The closer they are to human looking the more they kind of scare me. On an artistic level I can truly appreciate the amount of work and love that went into making these things, but as a human being I’m slightly mentally scarred now.

They’re called “Puppenjungs” – which translates from German into “Doll Boys”. They’re sort of big too for dolls, about 24 inches tall, just big enough to wield a knife and slaughter you in your sleep while blinking sweetly at you with those overlarge Elfquest-Elf eyes of theirs.

They’re modeled to look like the Kaulitz twins, and part of the problem may be that the likeness is really pretty good. My first thought upon seeing them was: “dear God, I hope the real people they’re made to look like are not aware that they exist.”

Then I blundered over this:

Autographed picture. Which means that yes, they are in fact aware that somebody out there created and is toting their voodoo doll selves about the countryside. To make matters worse the one on the right appears to be reaching for the viewer, as though to collect your immortal soul…

How anyone can sleep at night knowing they’ve got evil doll doppelgangers is anybody’s guess. Yikes.

30th Anniversary

Today is the 30th anniversary of John Lennon’s murder, I realized this when our radio alarm clock went off this morning and the newscasters on KYW were talking about it.

Many know (and are horrified) by the fact that I’m no fan of Beatles songs, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know of and respect the legacy that they’ve left behind and understand their significant place in the history of music.

Ted was shocked that so much time had gone by since then so quickly. To me it explained why I had no memory of Lennon being killed, I was only six at the time.

It got me to thinking about the nature of obsession. Presumably Lennon was killed by a fan, so was the Latin singer Selena (by the president of her own fan club if I’m not mistaken).

In the case of a political assassination I can almost wrap my head around the motive; perhaps a person doesn’t agree with the beliefs of their target and believes they’re helping the world by ridding it of them.

But why do people kill what they presumably love?

And John Lennon of all people? The man was a pacifist who dreamed beautiful dreams about a peaceful world. I just don’t understand.

But then, maybe that’s a good thing.