Thursday, May 15, 2008

I just cut myself on Occam's Razor.

Obesity tied to risk of psychiatric disorders, Reuters is telling me today (via Jezebel, that is). Naturally, since they're scientists (which then triggers a soundbite in my head of Bill Murray in "Ghostbusters": "Back off, man. I'm a scientist"), they're just plain old baffled and their gasts are somewhat flabbered at not being able to "fully investigate" the reasons why us fats seem to come down with depression, anxiety disorders, panic disorders, and phobias.

First of all, in my head I'm thinking, "well...that's a bit of a half-assed study, then, innit, if you couldn't quite 'fully investigate' something?" Kind of like going for a college degree and then deciding you couldn't fully complete all four years of study. You don't wind up with a shiny diploma for thinking "boy, I'd sure like to have a degree in something" and then fucking off to do something else.

And the other thing, the thing that's caused my forehead to become embedded in my IKEA it any fucking wonder the fat tend to be more depressed, etcetera? Not because of our fat, but...oh, I don't know...the reactions we tend to get from the outside world because of it? I know it's been hard to put a spring in my motherfucking step when I've been called a fat bitch by a car full of teenage boys. It's a bit of a push to turn my frown upside-fucking-down when almost everywhere I go in the media or on the internet I'm being cheerfully informed that I'm a horrible, disgusting, lazy creature responsible for multitudes of ills in the world, from global warming to terrorism. I'm waiting on the edge of my seat for hysterical stories claiming the food shortage and higher price issues the U.S. is currently having is due, somehow, to the Obeeeeesity Epidemic. Why, it's a never-ending festival of laughter and joy being tagged as something less than human and undeserving of respect and love! As Howard Stern once proclaimed, "a waste of a perfectly good vagina".

Undoubtedly, there will be a cavalcade of articles at various "lifestyle" websites holding this study up as more inspiration to continue dieting yourself silly and doing whatever it takes to reach the miraculous state of thinness that is easily achieved if only you'd just fucking TRY HARDER YOU LAZY, LAZY ASS. If you would only stop stuffing your silly fat face with all manner of cookies and donuts and candy bars and Big Macs and WORK HARD TO BE THIN, you could be happy. Shit, it even insinuates in the article that us bummed-out chubs can't help but reach for the pint of Ben and Jerry's when we're sadclowning, so it's just a vicious circle that perhaps, one day, Very Smart Scientists can break. But only after they get large grants from the weight loss and bariatric surgery industry.

Seeing as I am someone who wanted a college diploma but dropped out after three years so therefore, I have a college diploma strictly because I wished it, I'm going to tighten up what theory this study is trying to put forth:

If you're not fat, you won't be sad.

BOOM. PRINT IT. SCIENCE. Hell, it's as much of a viable theory as this one from Ann Elk (Miss). If you're thin, absolutely nothing bad ever happens to you, you're never sad, you're never sick, and you wake up every morning whistling "Zippity Doo Dah". If you're fat, well...I think we all know just what it means.

I know it's not scientifically sexy to Occam's Razor shit like this, because Occaming studies doesn't get you the fat cash from the weight loss industry. But holy crap, how about taking a step back, donning the ole Thinking Cap, and positing that perhaps a sizable chunk of us having issues with depression just might be having those issues because the never-ending story shoved up our generous rectums is that WE SUCK? And the message isn't coming just from the media or whatever--loads of us get it from the people who are supposed to love us unconditionally, like family or friends. Incorporate the bigger picture into your study, Mr and Ms. Wizards. Then maybe I'd be more impressed and I wouldn't have to lord my clearly superior theoretical skills over you.
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Tuesday, May 13, 2008

It's okay to want more...right?

So I'm kind of half-heartedly wading through the online dating "scene", just kind of scoping out my options. My general attitude about it is probably not the best, in that I irk easily and I have certain things that I just cannot let go of: my preferences when it comes to religion and children...and spelling and grammar.

I thought it would be in my best interest to head to websites that are specifically geared towards teh fats. I dutifully put up my profile and pictures (I think the one where I'm wearing a hat shaped like a shark is bound to attract scads of fellas), and sat back to await the flood of interested parties.

Because of COURSE there would be a flood, people, COME ON. I'm ME.

The flood...well...the flood consisted of some of the most violent spelling errors I've ever witnessed. Now, don't get me wrong--I'm not talking about a transposed letter here and there. We're talking passages of spelling errors. And apparently, my religious beliefs (or lack thereof, I should say) as well as my disinterest in having children...let's just say it didn't stop me being messaged by a gentleman whose entire introductory profile paragraph was about his love for Jesus and how if I didn't love Jesus, we would not be COMPATIABLE(sic). Dude, it says very very blatantly in my profile that I am an atheist. Therefore...I must say one could conclude that I do not love Jesus. He's a nice guy, we just don't have much in common and don't run in the same circles.

Then I had another message from a guy who loves "weman" and wants me to know that "weman were made for us men". Which is...fine...I guess? I mean, rock on with your bad self, if you want to go with that approach. But the most lolleriffic thing for me was that why yes, he was willing to relocate for his perfect lady love. And why wouldn't you be willing to relocate when you live...IN GHANA.

Of course, there's the voice in my head that says I'm being too picky, that I'm being too much of a snob to be so bent and unmoving about the spelling and grammar, that I'm being a pedant. And someone like me (that is, FAAAAAT) shouldn't be so picky. Rather, shouldn't dare to be so picky. After all, who do I think I am? I'm old, I'm plain, I'm certainly no fashion model--who am I to be such a stickler when I should be grateful that any male is paying attention to me?

Thing is, though, no matter how irritated I get with myself and how downright hateful I can be to myself, there's still enough of an ego in me where I know I deserve better. At the very least, I deserve someone who can write a semi-snappy, well-crafted motherfucking dating profile, for Christ's sake. Frankly, I've still enough of my ego preserved from my teenage years where I thought I was the shit where I'm occasionally genuinely baffled as to why I've been rejected by some of the men I've been rejected by. Especially when seeing what kind of women they wind up with. Back in high school, I had myself a little crushola on a guy that was a year younger than me. My kind of guy--kind of shy, fairly geekish, could play the piano like a son of a bitch, and had a very dry, silly wit that made me swoon. He knew that I found him foxy and didn't seem that perturbed by the concept. Little did I know that a girl that I was mentoring somewhat in the high school radio station had her eyes on him, and dammit if she didn't snatch him right out from under me.

When it all went down, I was truly, truly baffled. I barely thought "shit, it's because I'm such a fat fucking cow"--it was more "what the FUCK??? She's--she's--she's EWWW!! And dumb! And not funny! And weird (not in the fun way, either)!!" I was boggled for months. Even looking back now, I'm having a moment of "BWUH???". But that could be the ridiculous amount of snot that is currently coursing out of my nose thanks to a sinus infection breaking up.

I'm sorry, my sinuses derailed my train of thought. All right. Yes. Got it. Bottom line, I know what I want. And what I want is what I want, and can spell "want" correctly. And at the end of the day, I sincerely and wholeheartedly mean it when I say I would rather be alone (despite my whinery) than settle. Because I deserve what I consider the best, and the size of my ass is not going to alter my criteria.

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