It Never Goes Away

I have blogged here, sporadically, I'll admit, for many years now. I have tried to tell some funny stories and pass on whatever wisdom I thought I could to anyone who was of a mind to wade through it all. I've been irreverent, irrelevant, and irrational, sometimes all within one posting.

All my life -- or, at least, as far back as I can remember -- I have used humor as a weapon. I make jokes at my own expense, because it somehow lessens the hurt if you make the joke before anyone else does. And, there are always jokes. Always. The inevitable fat joke looms around me like vultures scenting out carrion. Or, that's what I've always told myself. Make the joke first, and it takes the sting out of it -- except, it doesn't. That's merely a coping mechanism.

I wasn't always fat. I grew up as active as all the other kids -- jumping rope, running, bike riding. Summers were spent outdoors until the last possible second, and you knew you were in trouble if you were still out when the street lights came on. I can still see, in my mind's eye, a much younger version of my mother standing on our front step, bellowing my (and my brother's) name like she was calling the farmhands in for dinner. I took gymnastics, ballet, tap. I swam from the very first warm day in the spring until the last possible second in the fall when my father would drag me out of the pool, blue-lipped and protesting.

It was only a matter a time before my family heredity set in, though. And, right about puberty, it came, with gusto. I come from a pretty full complement of larger people, and on both sides of my family. Wonderful people, all of them, but ones who just like food. I am one of those people. I like to eat. Eating has never really defined my life in that I am constantly planning on what to next put in my mouth. I have eaten to excess, yes. I have even self-medicated with chocolate, but I feel like everyone has done that at at least SOME point in their lives. It's not just about the food.

"Fat", though, HAS come to define me. It is the first thing that pops into people's heads when they describe me. Not "funny", or "intelligent", or even "nice." I am that "fat" lady. Those of you who have never grown up fat can never truly understand what it's like. Those of you who gained a little weight as you got older may think that you know how hard it was, growing up fat, but you really have no clue. How many nights I cried. How many nights I still do. How unloved you can still feel, even 25 years later.

I hold no illusions about myself. I am not "pretty", and never have been. I don't expect sympathy, or exclamations to the tune of "Oh, stop that, yes you are!" I know them to be untrue. I am plain. I know this. I have always known it. It wouldn't be so bad if it wasn't paired with "fat" as well. I am that friend that always had to get paired up with the unlucky best friend so there would always be two couples on whatever double date. Many times, I heard the comments about how hideous I was when they thought I couldn't hear. Hell, half of the time, they weren't even nice enough to try to hide those comments. I have been the subject of many a bet. I once even got a videotape where an obviously drunk college-aged guy was being egged on to vomit. One of the comments that was thrown at him as an inducement to vomit was my name and a picture of me. These young scions of nobility thought it would be a good laugh to not only tape it, but provide me with the tape so that my ugliness was not lost on me.

I go to incredible lengths to not look at my body. It only depresses me when I see it. I don't have a full-length mirror anywhere in my house. I spend awful amounts of money on clothes because they cost so much more for large sizes. There is even shame that I just can't go to a store and pick something off of a rack -- I have to try it on to make sure it will fit, or run the risk of having to return it later, and look some clerk in the eye and try to lie and say, "I didn't like that color after all." I lie to myself that I look good. I know better. I make goofy faces in pictures so you won't focus on what I really look like.

I thought that I would reach an age at some point where I didn't feel like the most unattractive person on the planet, or a total failure and waste of space, but it hasn't happened. And, unfortunately, it doesn't look like that day will ever come. I still get the comments, and they still hurt. I still hear people talk about me as if all the fat has blocked off both my hearing and my feelings.

It will never get any better, will it? Even if I did manage to lose some weight, I'd still be that ugly girl, on the outside, looking in. And there's not a joke in the world that will ever make that better.

Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night

Some of you who are long-time friends and/or Facebook pals may know about the passing of my much -loved Auntie B. I have spoken of her a time or two within these walls.

Auntie B. was was diagnosed with Brain Cancer in October of 2009. At the time, her doctors told us that it was terminal, usually within 3 years of diagnosis. This type of cancer, called Glioblastoma Metaform, was very aggressive. Auntie B. underwent the surgery to excise the softball-sized tumor a few days after her initial onset of symptoms. She made it through the surgery very well, and amazed us with her strong recovery. She was never one to moan about things -- she just put on her game face and got out there and got it done.

She was well enough to travel to San Francisco in May/June of 2010 for my brother's wedding. In fact, if it had not have been for her masterminding basically the whole trip, I'm sure it would have been a much different experience for my family. Auntie B. was lucky to marry into wealth, and she was very generous with the people she loved. Not only in monetary ways, but with love and affection, and her time and attention. She rented all but two rooms of an entire bed-and-breakfast in Cloverdale, California for our family for the wedding.

It was a wonderful trip -- we got to travel, spend time with family, and were able to share in my brother's special day. Auntie B. was happy. I was glad to see her looking so well . We got to talk, sitting out on the back porch at the inn, watching the sun shine down on the vineyards that surrounded us. We laughed. At was a wonderful time for us all.

Our luck was not to last, however. Scarcely a month later, her doctors would tell her that the tumor had returned, and was almost as large as the original tumor. "Letting it go" was not an option. She had another surgery, but this time, there was no bouncing back. She went home in a wheelchair, and never left it. She lost her battle on November 7th, barely a year later.

I miss her. I always will. I got a chance to visit her in early August before the second surgery, but then time slipped away from me. I had commitments -- work, school, Girl Scouts.... and I never got to see her again. I constantly scold myself that I should have MADE time, but I thought that it wouldn't come so soon. That there would be more days. And then -- there weren't.

I have always been petrified of death. I don't want to think about my life coming to a close; about no longer being and breathing. I start to slowly panic when I think about my lifespan being a finite thing. It scares me to my core. But, I have come to have a greater tolerance for it, because I know that Auntie B. will be one of the people waiting there for me. When my time comes, as it must to us all, I will hold out my hand, and feel hers within it once more.

Rest until then, Auntie B. I miss you, every day. I will be so happy to see you again.

The Cookies Are Trying to Kill Me

Yes, it's true. While most of you may not automatically associate Girl Scout cookies with "pure evil", I certainly do. Maybe it's because I see so many of them compared to most of you. CCW will feel my pain, having been a troop cookie manager in the past, but most of you get happy smiles on your faces when you know it's cookie time. Not me.

More evidence that the cookies are indeed trying to kill me -- the strained back that I got on pickup day. I apparently compressed the sacroiliac joint in the pelvis, and boy howdy, does it HURT! I have pain killers and muscle relaxers from the doc, but they are barely denting the pain.

So, you guys enjoy the cookies. I'm going to stay over here, out of the way.

Back From The (Virtual) Dead

Hello? Anyone still here? Or is it just me and the spiderwebs?

It has been far too long since I posted here, and even farther back for anything of substance. I missed all of my blog friends, and realized that I could easily remedy that situation. I think I stopped blogging because it had become too much like tooting my own horn. That's a contradiction in terms, I know -- that's essentially what blogging IS, but suffice it to say that I was blogging just to hear myself talk, and what I was saying was boring the hell out of myself. So, I stopped.

But, even though I "see" a lot of you on Facebook, we aren't connecting like we used to. *That's* what I miss. I miss seeing your funny anecdotes about the kids; or the newest thing that's driving you bonkers.

You haven't missed much with me -- still here. Still trying to earn a living, and not to get arresting for trying to sell my teenaged daughter to the circus. Taking each day, moment by moment. How's by you?

Vitriol Derailed

I was all set to post a scathing diatribe about my City and their so-called "Water Services" Department after the past two weeks of dealing with a leak in my front yard, but after reading The Wednesday Whine where several members have recently either lost a loved one, or have an ill loved one (one who is pretty much terminal at only 9 years old), I've lost the will to spout off at the mouth about things that are petty in relation. A young man in my community also just died, and while I didn't know him, I see those around me who DID know him locked inside their own grief, and it struck me how fortunate I really am.

What I want to do today is celebrate all that I have. I have the very bad habit of praying only when I want something, or when I wish I'd made a better decision. I've spent the last few years trying to cultivate prayer for prayer's sake alone, and I often don't display that enough.

Dear God --

Thank you. Thank you for giving me life, and bringing me into this world. Even though I have faced hard times, you have blessed me in countless ways. I have my family, who are the joy (and sometimes bane) of my existence. My wonderful husband loves me, and much to my astonishment, still finds me attractive after almost 20 years together. He is supportive, hard-working, and my best friend. My daughter makes me laugh every day, even when she's infuriating me. She has brought joy and light to my life, and to that of all of our family members.

I have my health. When I broke my ankle, I became sorely aware at how much I depend upon my mobility, and how lost I was without it. I have eyes and ears that let me enjoy art and music, and hands that allow me to create and touch my loved ones. And, those loved ones are healthy -- surprisingly so, for such a large extended family. Death has touched us, but we have lived through grief, and it has brought us together. We are stronger as a unit than as disparate individuals.

I have a home. Not all people in our nation can claim that, sadly. There was even a time when *I* couldn't claim that. The hopelessness that comes with not even having a place to call your own is beyond imagining. That we are the most industrialized and wealthy nation on the planet, and not all of our own citizens can lay claim to a home is a travesty of the highest proportions. No, my home isn't perfect, but it's mine. I have the freedom to come and go, and a certain amount of security from the cares of the world once I enter its shelter. It keeps me warm and dry, and safe, and I am grateful for it.

I have a job, which again, many of my fellow countrymen do not. I make a decent living, one that allows me to not only pay the debts that I have incurred, but also allows me things that are not necessary in this life, but help fulfill pieces of me. I don't need an entire room of crafting material, but it's something that I enjoy, and I like to use what I know to make others happy. Likewise, my husband doesn't need all the electronics we have, but it makes him happy. My husband works very hard, and his salary keeps our family afloat. His toil feeds us. I am grateful that he has this job, which allows us to subsist and thrive.

I have friends and hobbies that occupy space in my heart. My friends are generous and give to me in their knowledge and their presence. They feed my soul. My hobbies also feed my soul. Girl Scouting is as much for my benefit as it is for the girls that I shepherd through the program. I learn from them all the time. They teach me humility, and they keep me grounded in a way that very few hobbies do. My crafts feed the artist in my soul. They allow little pieces of me to be experienced by others, and when they travel away from me, I feel as if a piece of me has gone with them, but in a good way. In a sharing sort of way. Some people say that I have talent. If so, then God has given me that talent, and by sharing bits of it with others, I can impact them. And, when I impact them, I give praise to God for bestowing that gift upon me.

I have a mind, which allows me to grown and learn. My mind can take me to wondrous places, and with it, I have the capacity to be anything that I want. My mind is not afflicted with disease, like countless others, who suffer daily. I am whole, and healthy, strong and capable. Within me lies enormous potential -- all I have to do is make myself open to knowledge, and accept that challenge.

Thank you, God -- for all that you have given me, and all that you continue to gift me with daily. Thank you for allowing me to grow and experience, even though some of those lessons were difficult and hard-won. Thank you for loving me as your child, and watching over me. Thank you. I will strive to live my life as a fulfillment of the promise that you put forth for me. I only hope I am worthy of the task.

An Open Letter to the Little Shit Who Broke My Daughter's Heart

Dear Shit --

Hi. I'm Offspring's mother. You will probably refer to me as "Bitch" after this message, but that's not really my concern. What *is* my concern is my daughter. My daughter is a wonderful person. She's smart, talented, beautiful, and a damn sight better than a little puke like you deserves. She cared for you, and you broke her heart. You played her against other girls, and dropped her as soon as it was easy for you. She helped you with your problems, only to have you pay her back by making her feel insignificant and unloved. What a nice guy you are!

Now, you may think I'm older than the sand in Jesus' Jerusalem Cruisers, but I can assure you that I am not in danger of kicking the bucket any time soon, so I suggest that you stay away from my daughter. Or "the bucket" is not the thing I'll be tempted to kick the hell out of.

It galls me to no end to see you pop up in her Facebook feeds. You talk all sweet to her, like you didn't rip out her heart and stomp all over it. You're lucky you moved across the state, or you and I would have had a nice little face-to-face chat. I would *DEARLY* love to paste this on your Facebook profile, so all the other sweet girls who fall for your huckster charms would see that you're not the innocent, nice guy you claim to be. But, that would hurt my daughter, and I won't have her hurt anymore because of you. Plus, she's a strong girl, and she can fight her own battles. You may have hurt her, but you haven't broken her. She's made of stronger stuff than a creep like you can dent, Thank God. I, however, have absolutely no problem at all wishing you dead in a fiery explosion of some sort. And preferably with the most pain possible.

I understand that teenage boys are all out to "play the field" and have a good time, but you seem to forget that you are dealing with people's feelings. Not to mention their irate mothers. So, unless you care to meet this irate mother, I suggest you quietly disappear from her virtual life, just like you did from her real one. This is the only free pass you'll get. There's a great many things I would do for my daughter, and flaying you alive and staking you out under a burning sun over an ant's nest while covered with honey is only one of the scenarios that a little maggot like you would inspire.

Oh, and if you EVER refer to my child as your "Lover of the Day" again, I will make sure that I remove your testicles and roast them before your eyes before I stake you out.

Love,
Offspring's Mom

The Month in Review

Since I have not blogged in the last month, due to Christmas, vacation, and all of the yearly seasonal hullabaloo, I figured that I would pop in and let you all know that I am still firmly planted above ground, and give you the quick rundown of the last 30 days or so.

* November's end brought a culmination to my Fall Quarter class, in which I received an "A." Thank goodness. As I told my professor, going back to school almost 20 years after the original college experience, I had something to prove to myself, and the "A" confirms that I'm where I should be, and deserve to be.

* Thanksgiving was nice, including seeing my brother and my soon-to-be sister in law. We had a wonderful meal, good conversation, and lots of laughter.

* The end of November also heralded my 17th wedding anniversary. I'm STILL surprised that Juggling Freak picked me, and even more grateful that he's managed to put up with me after 17 years.

* The beginning of December brought torrential rain to our area, which put a dismal, gloomy mood on everything until it lifted. The kids at school were stir-crazy due to no outside time, and we were all champing at the bit to get vacation started.

* Our higher-up muckety-mucks tell us right before Christmas Break what a dire financial strait we are in, and make decisions to cut costs wherever possible, leaving people to freak out about losing their jobs right before Christmas. No firm decisions are made about who, specifically, or what programs get the ax, but we know it's there, looming over us.

* School ends on the 18th of December, and everyone is relieved to have some break time coming.

* Offspring, Juggling Freak, and I spend Christmas Eve with my mother; Christmas morning at our own house; and head off to his mother's for Christmas Day lunch. Many presents were opened, and much joy was shared. We had steaks and baked potatoes at my mother's, and we went out for our traditional Japanese meal with his mother. (That particular tradition was begun because his mother can burn Jell-O, and we'd like NOT to spend the holidays sequestered near the Porcelain Throne.) Christmas also confirms that Offspring is, indeed, one spoiled child. Spoiled, but hopefully, not rotten.

* We make a quick blitz trip to TheCityOfMyBirth to see my father, uncle, and Grandmother. Grandma is 90 years old, and getting to the point where I worry about how many more Christmases with her we'll have. So, we go up for one night, and pop in on her to give her our best and let her know that we are thinking about her. My father takes us to dinner, and we all hatch plans for my brother's wedding in May. All other family is occupied, so no other meet-ups manage to happen. (All of my mother's family are located there as well -- uncles, aunts, and assorted cousins.)

* We return home yesterday, getting slowed down on I-95 South several times by absolutely nothing. This is frustrating and gives me a tension headache. I stripped all the linens off our beds, and we settle down for the night.

* On tap for today was a trip to the optometrist for JF. He's having trouble with night driving and it looks like his previous prescription is no longer cutting it. Turns out he needs bifocals, which he jokes makes him feel old. Heck, as long as he can see, I wouldn't care WHAT kind of glasses they are!

* My elbow has been bothering me for days -- I was diagnosed with epicondylitis about 8 or so months ago, and it hadn't bothered me much until last week. The pain has gotten steadily worse, and now I'm constantly hugging that arm to my side. Squeezing the nozzle to get gas yesterday was excruciating, so it's off to the doctor for me on Thursday. Oh, joy.

You're all caught up now. Any questions? There WILL be a quiz later, which will count for 35% of your grade, so ask now if you're unclear on anything. :)