I think its time to come clean and tell the world that I have a problem. My closet in my bedroom doesn’t close. I can’t see the floor and I have so many clothes hanging and sitting all over my room that don’t fit me. I’m a hoarder. I like to keep everything. I collect clothes, newspapers, little bits of string, dolls, purses, anything! But mostly clothes that don’t fit me. I have old clothes from grade 6 that I hoped I could fit into one day. Last night, I tried on my vest from my awful grade eleven ski trip. It zipped up,but oh boy did I deserve to be called Pillsburgy Dough Girl!
Everything has sentimental value to me, and I can think of a zillion reasons why I shouldn’t throw things away – like “oh I bought that dress because that day the nice boy texted me and told me I was pretty, so now I need that dress and I never want to throw it away, because it brings me good look” or something like ” I looked so good when I was twelve and wearing it maybe it will look good on me again” or like ” my mom bought me this dress and so I never want to throw it away”. Throwing things away just makes me feel so sad, because like maybe one day I might want that dress back, and start looking all over for it, and then yell at myself because I shouldn’t have given that now-vintage dress away.
Now, I’ve organized my closet. One side has clothes with tags on them of items that do not yet fit me (but will very soon). The other side has all my purses and shoes because I love shoes, and come on – all purses and all shoes fit fat girls. The last corner of my closet is filled with my yucky behemoth clothes and shleppy sweater capes that really don’t do anything for me anymore.
I need to donate baggy clothes and maybe, if you’re lucky, I’ll consider giving away some purses. (Only the fakes though) Anyone interested?
You know you’re insanely bored when you start to stalk yourself on Facebook. I’m not ashamed to say that I did just that for the last fifteen minutes. Usually when I’m bored, I look up some awful persons profile that did me wrong in the past. I start at their first pictures from 2006-2007, when they were really thin and good looking, and believed in wearing makeup and grooming themselves. Then… I make way up to 2013. I giggle a bit, and start to feel super good when I notice the majority of the pictures just keep getting worse and worse, and the grooming habits start showing less. I notice a lot more duckfaces and hiding behind walls and leaning over and stuff. I know the picture tricks, trust me, just look at my old 2007 pictures.
While Facestalking myself, I noticed that my pictures are going from gross to fantastic. Is it wrong that I keep staring at pictures of myself? Like, I actually think I’m beautiful, and my pictures really show how happy I am and not fake. By the way haters, I hope you’re looking at my page and going: ” damn girl, I was mean to that pretty little thang, now look at her…. mmhmmm”
I feel pretty.
This post is in no way to make other peoples misfortunes make me feel better about myself. I’m not a bully and wish happiness and butterflies for everyone. Everyone is special in their own special way.
C is for cookie that’s good enough for me. X is for Extra Large that’s made for large fatties. I hate the letter X. Today’s post is brought to you in part by the letter X. The letter X is a terrible terrible, terrible, ugly, frightening letter that makes fat people feel even fatter. Who even thought that X would be a nice letter anyway? It just looks so mean and full of anger.
When shopping for clothes, I always needed to go to the bottom of the pile of neatly folded t-shirts to make a mess, or to the back of the racks to find the sizing starting with X. On a really good today I’d be an XXL. However on fat days, I could go up to XXXL. You know you’ve gotten to the point that you’re really fat when they start putting numbers in front of the X’s because there isn’t enough room to fit all those hideous letters on the tag! That X never wanted to leave my life. It was just this evil letter that would lurk around like a creepy mouse in the house and never leave.
I love that I finally see an L closer to the X now. Shopping in regular stores and clothes looking normal on me makes me feel amazing. I’m down to an XL, and can’t wait to say goodbye to that evil little letter that likes to hang out in my closet.
It’s been a week since my last rant, and I think that perhaps I was a little too easy on my SG friends. The weather here in Iglooville Canada has been quite nice and people all around me are slowly losing clothing by each degree the temperature goes up.
I just thought that I would share a couple of friendly reminders for my skinny friends:
1) Belly tops were popular in 1997. Britney was the only one who was able to pull it off properly. You look like a giraffe wearing baby clothes, and you should really consider putting on some longer clothing.
2) Butts are supposed to fit into shorts, and should not be worn as underwear. Didn’t your mother ever teach you how to dress?
3) When wearing skirts or short dresses, please ensure you have a nice pair of pantaloons on as the rest of the world isn’t curious to see what you have going on up there. (I mean, I personally know of some pervs that may be interested, but the majority of us don’t like to get flashed for no good reason.
Anyway, I’ll be nice for now, but I’m sure when summer comes around I’ll have a lot more complaining to do!
Cake does not like me. Cake does not want to be my friend. Cake is a clingy boyfriend that will stick onto you and never let you go. I have decided that Cake and I are no longer able to be acquaintances. Cake is a life ruiner. Cake makes me happy for a little bit and then makes me feel fat and yucky five minutes after eating it. There is no “I” in CAKE, therefore I will separate myself from the evil beast.
Walking away from cake feels better than eating it.
It’s time to get serious. I don’t care if I embarrass myself or my family, but being a fat kid is never easy, and I truly believe that discussing the issues I faced as a child and young adult will be freeing as I wash this negative fat girl out of my system.
Growing up, our parents will sometimes say, “don’t eat this” , “this is bad for your skin” or something along the lines of “if you eat this you’re going to get fat and get pimples”. I loved all food. I loved to eat sweet things, and anything covered in chocolate. I liked pizza, even chocolate covered pizza – I would eat it all. By the time I had hit my heaviest, I was spending all my hard earned video store money on pharmacy bought junk food and hiding McDonalds bags under my bed. I would go to some corner store, and buy whatever had the least amount of wrapper, and which ever was the biggest bang for my buck. I’d buy those $8 chocolate bars, that would last a normal person at least three days, and hide the wrappers in a purse; which my mother would find less than 72 hours later and yell at me for it. I was never allowed to eat cheese, so I would buy a pack of 10 cheese string, and eat them all before my mom could notice that I would have them. I was ballooning, and played stupid and told myself that I didn’t know why this was happening. Dr. Mommy Ronnie Ginger diagnosed me with a rare disorder and told me that I was a closet eater. She did have a point: in front of people, I would never eat, but behind closed doors, everyday was a free for all with anything I could find.
When sneaking out of the house to buy food wasn’t an option, I would make what ever gross concoction I was able to come up with. I think once I microwaved a potato, put some processed cheese on it and crumbled a fish stick on it. I was only eating because someone told me not to. My mom also asked me to brush my hair everyday when I was a kid, I never did that. No one listens to their parents when they’re that age.
I felt deprived because my entire life the good food would be hidden from me. I always had to order a salad instead of a cheeseburger. I had to get the fat free Italian dressing on the side when everyone else had a ceasar salad with extra dressing. I wasn’t allowed bread.
I always felt bad that I never listened to my mom. I just felt like she was singling me out and wanted me to be the different one from the other kids. I always assumed I was being picked on when really she was just looking out for me. I guess I learned my lesson!
Today, something magnificent happened. We all know about the miracle that occurred last week, and this one is on the same page. I am a very jolly giant. So jolly in fact that when I wear heels I’m almost as tall as Shaquille O’Neal. Also, when I don’t wear heels I’m still some sort of Lakers basketball player.
Anyway, back to what I was saying about being so jolly and giantesque. Growing up I always had to wear dresses as shirts because the extra fabric would be more flattering on me and I’d get like an extra three inches of room in my shirts to fit in my super cute teeny tiny tummy (ya right!). This morning, I put on my regular pair of panty hose with the usual run in them, and decided that maybe I should try one of my shirt/dresses on to see how my progress was going. So, I put it on. It fits, and it flows and I look normal. It’s a little short, but I don’t care because I have these fantastic legs that people wish they had! I feel so pretty and flowy, but to be honest: when I look in the mirror I feel like I look like a little figure skater wearing something Julia Roberts should have worn in Pretty Woman. To be even more honest, I don’t care, I’m confident in how I look. Not only is this dress now a dress, but there is actually room in it! It’s worn how the models in the magazines show it should be worn!
Miracles keep on happening!