Wednesday, April 28, 2010

Of course it's because of the toys.

Being a FA blogger who shies away from taking apart articles and studies because I don't feel I'm terribly good at it means that I tend to avoid the terror-filled shitpiles of "lifestyle" and "OMG OBESITY GET IT AWAY FROM YEW" articles on pretty much every single website in existence. But as I was perusing the Yahoo Entertainment page, I came across this gem:

California county bans fast-food toys to stem child obesity

I didn't think it was physically possible for me to roll my eyes so far back into my skull!

I just...I can't even construct a reaction to this nonsense that isn't laden with sarcasm and disdain, everyone. From the hand-wringing about that - that - FAT-PUSHING SLATTERN MCDONALD'S!!! to the mind-blowingly dopey "Well gosh, our kids are just so darn persuasive so therefore we are incapable of saying no to them when they demand McDonald's"'s sincerely appalling to me that people this incapable of critical thinking and simple logic are in positions of power.

Look, I'm not a parent nor do I have any plans or desire for becoming one, but I spend plenty of time in the company of parents who have young children (ostensibly the TARGET of the FAT-DEALING EVIL THAT IS MICKEY D'S - THE D STANDS FOR DEVIL!!!!) and let me tell you, none of them have any hesitation looking at their kids and saying "yeah, fuck no" to anything from "can we have McDonald's" to "can I get on the shed and play Superman". I would suspect a vast majority of parents are just as capable. In online brawls about the evils of fast food and whatnot, the mystical Horrible Strawparent is always conjured up - you know, the one that everyone's seen giving her infant a bottle of Coke and a fistful of cotton candy (and it's always the mother, of course, NEVER the father). Horseshit stories about pretend people doing things leads to horseshit "Childhood Obesity Epidemics" and a government program that has no qualms about othering fat kids.

I'm sure I've said it before, but of course, I'll repeat myself: it never fails to astonish me how so many people are willing to roll their eyes and treat with utter cynicism so much of what is reported by the media and handed down by the government, but the second it has ANYTHING to do with fat? Holy SHIT does the logic go bye-bye. Forget about it. Even if scienterrific geniuses of the modern age, the most brilliant scientists ever to walk the earth lined up at a press conference Mercury 7-style and each stated unequivocally that the kids are okay and that good eating and physical activity is great for everyone, not just fat kids, and that fat is not a death sentence and you know, dieting doesn't work, really, and hey, while you're at it, it's none of your fucking business what anyone else's health status is and you can't tell someone's health status by looking at them and oh, let me show you our sciences, I guarantee the average person would call it all hoo-hah. Which simply goes to show you that it's really not about health and it never has been. It isn't enough to feel as good as you can - there's no point to it if you don't have the "right" body to go with it.

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Sunday, April 18, 2010

The cure for what ailed me.

I had a grumptastic day yesterday. A pair of loungetastic pants that I loved have gone missing, so as part of my fruitless hunt for them I decided I should go through the items in my dresser to see what still fit.

Ooooooh, mercy, it was a bit brutal. I've gained a bit of weight over the last few months, enough to bump me up a size or so, and as I chucked pants and shorts and skirts into a Hefty (hurr) bag, I got crabbier and crabbier, plannier and plannier about all the different ways I needed (NEEDED) to get rid of these damnable pounds that have crept up on me. Never mind that 95 percent of the items I was tossing were items that I haven't worn in literally years and had no immediate plans to wear, they were SIGNS, FABRIC SIGNS OF MY HIDEOUSNESS AND SLOTH.

So I grumped and muttered and ventilated into the ear of my gentlemanfriend (who I'm just going to call Mr. Blasphemies because it's easier than conjuring up new ways to avoid saying "boyfriend" because I'm 38, for Christ sake) for a while, knowing that the next day (or "today", if you will) I would be shopping with my sister who has lost 70 pounds and can't get through a conversation without making mention of it and that's not the kind of shit you want to hear when you're having a bad body day. But I hoped that perhaps a decent shopping excursion might perk me up. Not any random shopping, though - the only cure for what ailed me would be a jaunt to Vive La Femme in Chicago's Bucktown neighborhood.

Now, I hate shopping for clothes. My taste in clothing is generally not what is sold by Lane Bryant or Torrid (well, not anymore *HEAVY SIGH*), and I'm small-boobed and big-bellied - hard to find things I find to be flattering or, hell, comfortable for me. So I avoid shopping for clothes as often as possible, preferring to shop online or making twice a year treks to Lane Bryant to find something that I don't completely hate. But shopping at Vive La Femme is such an antidote to my shopping loathery. Owner Stephanie Sack is a force of friggin' nature, a character of characters, who will spend all the time you need picking out pieces she thinks will work on you and encourages you to try things that you might never try on your own. If you're in the general Chicago area, it is so worth the trip (and the hunt for street parking) because I walked out today feeling like a million bucks and then some - and let me reiterate, I. hate. clothes. shopping.

Added bonus - she's got some pieces from Lucie Lu in store, so I was able to try on and walk out with this dress - Marianne from The Rotund was definitely right - this dress is HELLO BOOBY, so I'll be throwing a tank top underneath this. Speaking of Lucie Lu, I ordered this dress a couple weeks ago and a) it looks really cute on me and b) I got it in, like, 30 seconds. Seriously, I think I ordered on a Thursday and got it on a Saturday. So thus far, my experiences with Lucie Lu have been quite positive. I would definitely encourage giving them a whirl.

(Notes: Vive La Femme, as well as Lucie Lu, swing into the pricey range. However, I will say that for the buck, you're getting a lot of bang and life out of clothes as compared to, say, Lane Bryant or Avenue. Also, while VLF states sizes between 12 and 24, there are plenty of things in store that would fit those of us over 24. I generally roll a 26/28 on the bottom and a 22/24 on top. Stephanie is fucking magic, I swear.) Read more on this article...

Wednesday, April 7, 2010

And now, a message from Your Royal Highness.

(h/t to Shakesville)

"When we get fat, we fool ourselves with every kind of lie imaginable. By 2008, my weight started creeping up and I said, 'Oh, I still look good at 150. I still look good at 155. I still look okay at 165. Some of my clothes still fit at 175.' And nobody was saying 'You're fat.' I was like a bank robber who was getting away with it."—Kirstie Alley

Well, first off, who's "we"? But that's just my initial reaction to yet another gigantically unhelpful quote from the annals of Kirstie Alley.

But let's see how I've fooled myself, Kirstie. I fooled myself for years believing that I wasn't worth a good goddamn because I was fat. I fooled myself for years believing I wasn't worth love or friendship or success because I was fat. I fooled myself as a child and adolescent by enduring verbal abuse from adults (TEACHERS!) who were simply "trying to help" by openly mocking me for being fat - I couldn't believe they didn't have my best interests at heart, because after all, they just wanted me to be "healthy", right? I fooled myself with endless diets that always failed because it was "my fault".

I must have been fooling myself when something - I couldn't even TELL you what at this stage of the game - kept me going, kept me living, kept me from shrinking into a corner and completely falling apart despite everything telling me that I was bad, wrong, awful, terrible, ugly, horrible, disgusting. And when I finally made up my mind that I was enough, that I was worthwhile, that I fucking rocked socks on epic levels as a fat fat FAT FAT FAAAAT woman, well, shit. I am clearly the Queen of Foolvania for daring to think that. You know what I've gotten away with? Freedom. Contentment. Calm. Joy. Enormous amounts of laughter. A real affection for goat cheese. Traveling the world. Shaking hands, making friends. ("Eric Stratton, rush chairman, damn glad to meet you.") Better health, both physically and mentally. Love - and not "in spite of" my being fat. Or that fucked up, creepy conditional shit where it's "okay" as long as I'm trying to lose it all. Actual full-metal no bullshit support and comfort and snuggles and smooches and nudity love.

Your experience is not universal, Kirstie. And you don't speak for me, or loads and loads of people like me. And it's my goal to see to it that there are more being added every day to the loads of people who have gotten away clean.

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