Archives for posts with tag: sarcasm

I should be a what? Did you seriously just break one of the major laws of the ladies by saying I should be “an inspiration to other overweight (thanks for softening the blow by not outright saying FAT) people” because I bike to work and do Bikram yoga? Look, Skeletor, I may be weighing in more than I’d like, but I kick ass, look good, and can squash you like a bug. You may be used to these anorexic looking, padded bra wearing, scrawny coeds from college, and you may think you’re being “nice” by complimenting my exercise level for “my size” but seriously, you’re being very insulting.
The universe is well acquainted with my constant struggle with my weight which is thwarted by a slow metabolism linked to a family history of thyroid deficiency, a love of food, a history of some really crappy eating habits that I keep sliding into (homemade pecan pie to reduce my stress load? Why not?!), a lifetime of a sedentary life style, and about 10 years of near poverty. You think poverty has nothing to do with it? Load up your cart with fresh vegetables and fruits and nuts, then load another with prepacked food stuffs. Calculate calories per dollar, and my near vegetarian, no prepackaged diet all of a sudden gets expensive. It’s not everyone who has to choose whether to eat healthy or put gas in the car. So insulting my weight not only insults my weight, but also my financial status, my poor emotional relationship with food, and makes me feel like less of a person because I don’t fit into a standard cookie cutter mold of the idealized scrawny, big breasted woman.
Frankly, my exercise level should be an inspiration to everyone, along my constant recommitting to going organic, sustainable, and local food stuffs. Most importantly, I inspire myself. I am amazed how great I feel after biking ten miles into Bellingham, and even more amazed that I want to do more even though my legs are shaking by the time I get off my “g-ride” (I’m still trying to think of a good name for my pink motobecane cafe latte….). I may not be a skeletor, I may not be outright obese looking (Doctors would say I am!), but I’m happy with where I’m headed and my reasons for heading down this path. Besides. Can you do this? (Taken last year, but trust me. I can bend even further back than this, and Bikram does determine your life health by your back bend. I think this is a good sign!)

hey, I can point behind me!

Bring it on, Skeletors.


masquerade style bunny rabbit mask

handmade by yours truly!

As a fashionista, I always pride myself in showing up late, fashionably, of course. Dressed to the nines, featuring a BCBG wool dress with a  tail pinned to it, a handmade mask, bunny shoes, and my favorite thigh high leg warmers, I was a toasty addition to the party of everything from a stewardess, Lady GaGa, Snow White, and cross dressing men, showing exactly how terrible Uni boob really is, and some poor boy attached to a horse costume. Entering the party on the later side, I missed my usual carousing with the drunken boys I am familiar with, and found myself engulfed by family and friends that were neither my friends or my family. Needless to say, feeling out of place, considering I only knew a few of the people, and all of them not well, I was immediately glommed onto by what I would consider the most slimy of gentlemen, and I am using that term lightly. This particular gentleman struck me so much as a car sales person, I couldn’t help but wonder if that was his costume, considering he was wearing a just ill fitting suit and tie. Since I had no romantic inclinations, I tried to dodge him the rest of the evening, but everywhere I turned, bam. There he was in my grill. At the end of the evening for me, this poor gentleman makes the worst mistake ever: has one of his girlfriends approach me for my number. So unclassy it hurts. At this point, I am irritated, not in the slightest bit tipsy, and very grateful I live just two blocks away. I bid adieu to  my hosts, and wish her family and friends a safe Halloween, and headed for the door. Bam. Again. Now the bastard wants to try to guilt me out of my number by asking well, how am I supposed to see you again? I simply said chance. If it is meant to be, we will see each other again. But since I have control over the situation, it won’t be anytime soon or intentional. I felt rude, and flushed from saying something so heinous to someone else, but I felt the colder I was about it, the less likely he’ll keep up the efforts to win me over. Fortunately, it worked this time. The poor dear went off with his tail between his legs.

To make the hook up scene worse, the hostess’ husband kept on trying to tell me how much more wonderful my life would be with a man in my life. Being at the moment a devout singleton, I had to give the “oh, brother, how confused are you” look to the guy, and tried one last time to explain that if you are lonely because you have no one to “share your life with” typically means you live an unfulfilling life not worth sharing with anyone. Managing to fail to penetrate his alcohol laden skull, he tries to hook me up with two of his brothers, neither one catching my interest. After all this, I decide it is high time to leave.

So all in all, my Halloween was hi jacked by a not so great party highlighted by crappy costumes, girls complaining about how poorly their shoes fit (suckers, i tell them where to get good shoes, and they try to defend Nine West. Nine West has terrible shoes, really.), nasty looking desserts and snacks (kitty litter cake, with brownie poo. not the best to look at, and a culinary shamble), terribly behaved men, and some really awesome decorations. The hostess was fabulous too. Next year, it’s off to wherever the most people flock to… no more house parties with strangers with candy.