Remember to flex

Although I feel comfortable with my body, I do have an issue when others are feeling it. With clothing on, there’s no problem; it’s all about shape and form, sort of like Spanx. With clothing off, that’s a whole other story.

Thankfully, the people I’ve been involved with were never of the meaty kind. If they had a couple extra pounds, it was hard and not the flabby kind. I’m not of the same breeding.

Recently, I’ve had the opportunity to show off my dedication to a lax lifestyle and an overabundance of chocolate to someone new. The thing is, as much as I knew I had nothing to worry about in the jiggle department, I got a little uncomfortable because the paramour’s body didn’t have an ounce of fat.

So, what did I do? I flexed. Everything. The last thing I wanted was a lava lamp-like effect going on. There wasn’t any flinching (believe me), and I got a workout at the same time.

These are the days of my life

When I talk about my relationships, people have a hard time believing half of the things I say because they don’t sound plausible. Sadly, they are. It’s like a cheesy soap opera, of sorts. These are the days of my life.

A few months ago, I thought there was something promising between R and myself. Things were progressing and then they suddenly stopped. Without going into too much detail, I discover R was having several other promising things with other people. Several.

After meeting up with R and later throwing R out after a brief conversation of awkwardness (and truly ugly declarations), I send a note to a friend of mine about the happenings.

As you know, I've been jerked around way too much this week and it's not a feeling I am particularly fond of. I got ditched 2x by R (now the name of the shithead) then I discovered that R posted a couple of things online (looking for a friend, BF, FB or BFF). Yeah, I know. You're already thinking, I find all the crazy ones out there. Like a fucking magnet.

Get a text being all 'how's your day' and such. Text a bit only to be led on with interest (all fake). Oh, and there was also another online posting (I was getting suspicious and I was right being it).

On top of that, R deleted me on Facebook (after adding me). Wtf, right? Some people, I swear...

So I went for a climb on the stairmaster. I yawned a bit b/c it was late so I teared up (which usually happens when my eyes are tired). The crying felt so good, I forced myself to yawn several times just so I could 'vent' in a way (I hardly ever cry). I kept on telling myself, I deserve more, I deserve better, while climbing away.

And after all of that, I took a shower and started writing this rant to you.

I can almost see the hourglass turning around with the music swelling up in the background...

Blackity black black

It’s Friday night and three of us are going out for a night of drinking and dancing. There’s nothing else better to do, so we might as well have a little fun.

Initially, we were going to a trashy club, and I dressed appropriately (old jeans and a v-neck). Then I find out they want to go to a swankier club. I have no idea what to wear because I know we’ll be bouncing between several places on the bar crawl. When all else fails, dress in black. Everything looks the same in the dark.

When I meet them at the club, they’re overdressed, as if they’re hitting a Roberto Cavalli after party. I throw off my black coat to show more black underneath.

“We have to give you a makeover,” says my best friend, D.

“Why? I didn’t think I’m that badly dressed.”

“No, you need more colour in your life.”

“I have colour. I think I have one red sweater in my closet. Granted, I never wear it and the rest of my closet is 75% black, and the rest blue and grey...” I trail off.

It’s not that I’m adverse to colour, but I don’t like it on me no matter if it looks good, or not against my skin tone. I’ve always liked black. It goes with everything, can be worn any time of the day, is appropriate for any kind of occasion, and you can always hide stains when running off to an important meeting with a swipe of water.

If you want to give me a colour makeover, make sure it’s in black.

Skinny bitches are more neurotic than fat ones

It’s a Friday night and I’m watching a bit of TV. D is over and he’s in the kitchen pouring himself a drink. We’re talking about some random thing when my phone starts to beep. It’s my friend, S.

i think i just got text dumped :(

Who have you been dating? You naughty girl.

married guy #2 wigged out from guilt. after all this work 2 be thinner, nobody wants me :(

3 billion men. You’re just fishing in the wrong pond.

i’m going to be 34 in a couple weeks. i’m starting to panic. i’m going to die old and alone...!

Another text comes soon after.

i’m freaking out. i’m old! after 35 its over!!!!

I call it being eligible. I don’t need anyone to make me feel like a man.

Yah because you’re a guy. After 35, its over for women!!! Im so depressed :(

If you want to come over, D and I are watching a movie.

But, she can’t. She’s just going to have a drink and go to sleep because she has an early day tomorrow.

What I can’t wrap my head around (and what D later talks about) is how neurotic she gets when she can’t get some fat, ugly, married guy to show some interest in her. She lost a lot of weight because she believed that was the reason why she ‘repelled’ (her term, not mine) men.

“Skinny bitches are more neurotic than fat ones,” says D.

They can’t blame their size for the lack of attention. They realize there’s something wrong with them that poundage can’t take the fall for. No one paid much attention to me when I was big or small, so I know it lies beyond the physical. Maybe she should take a look, deep within and see what’s her issue because I can’t answer it for her.

The best new years resolution

The best new years resolution is to not have one. The time wasted thinking about the items should be spent on enjoying life and the year ahead.