This is why I'm fat.

My parents took exotic cooking classes as a hobby, so we ate all around the world from quiet, unassuming Oklahoma City.  My mum is a wizard.  So are all her sisters and their daughters and their granddaughters.  But guess who was skipped by that particular gene?  Yep.  Me.  Oh the irony.  The painful irony to have this sophisticated but sensitive palate yet lack the ability make nom magic like Mum.  It does explain, in part, my physical state though.  That state being big.

Therefore, I like being in the kitchen but it's for eating, not cooking.

Let's talk about fluff for a sec, because, y'know, it's what people talk about.  Trust me, Cosmo and Glamour obsess about size way more than I do but it is a favorite topic.  And for me it's as much positive as it is negative for Cosmo and Glamour.  And that's why their editor's opinions will never, ever matter.  The diet industry is a biggun, speaking of girth.  That's a bunch of ad dollars, so you can't 100% blame them for it but in a way, you can.

Negative attitudes and opinions never matter because most of the time, people just act like they hate something in an attempt to make you feel bad for liking it.  Don't think that's true?  I just defined passive aggression, which is the third most common element in the universe behind hydrogen and stupidity.

Back to weight.  Recently, I attended a gathering where multiple members of the same family were present.  Perhaps multiple is too conservative.  More like upwards of 20 or 30 people who all shared DNA.

Something I noticed...  Among the members who were big, and most were bigger than 'average' by height and width, the fat ones were all fat in the exact same way.  Every single member carried their weight in the same place on the body.  All of them, the same shape, just different sizes or slight variations.  Tell me again that part about how the way your body looks is always a choice?  It's a choice for some but not all, maybe not even most.

Now this isn't nanotechnology or some great science at work.  I'm not claiming it to be anything more than an insomniac babbling online because the musical group on Conan tonight was a bust.

But seeing that whole family reminded me of my family and Mum and her sisters, and their daughters and granddaughters.  We're all some level of fat and again, with the exception of me, healthy like oxen.  Anyone who expects people of ginger origin to be sickly never met my mother's relatives.  They live hard and they live long.  By live hard, I do mean they don't sit still for long.  OCD and ADHD may have be introduced to the gene pool by my ancestors.  Buuut, some of them have also smoked and drank, practically out of the womb, they're still smoking and drinking and knocking on the door of triple-digit birthdays.

If you think body shape isn't as much genetic as eye color or cancer, that's alright.  But if you think that gives you validation for treating big people like shit, you're dead wrong.

You can still hate me for it.  That's your problem, not mine.  If you would like for me to attempt to change your mind, prove to me first that it's worth my time and energy.  We can iron out details in private.  =^_^=

My study of shit attitudes is the same as my study on how fat happens.  Observing people, except with attitude, it's about the way they act in different kinds of situations, the way they are susceptible to influence.

You might have a shit attitude if:
You hate more things than you like,
You hate trying anything new,
If you do try something new, you hate what you tried,
You hate it when people like something you hate,
You hate when people like something you don't hate so you hate on whatever they like,
You hate it when people are happy and you don't feel like they have earned nor deserve it,
You hate it when people are happy, even if you do think they deserve it,
You rarely think anyone deserves to be happy or successful,
You hate anyone in a better station in life than you because you think you've earned and deserve to be on top,
You think you're owed something from the rest of us because you manage to tolerate everyone else despite hating them,
You're a selfish, rude, oblivious fuckhead.

Now do you see why shit attitude opinions don't matter?  Because the only thing haters do is hate.  They maybe aren't thoroughly one-dimensional, but not far from it.  And they hate everything, so hating you or something about you is inevitable, unstoppable and affects you only if you let it.

That's what I've learned.  And this is why I'm fat.

The most frustrating part.

Mean people are awful but their meanness is actually the second most frustrating thing about encountering them.  The most frustrating thing is, for me, the inability to comprehend WHY they are mean.

It's kind of silly to call a major media outlet mean.  So many people contribute content that it really is impossible to asses whether they intend to be hurtful.  Perhaps some do but I don't think CNN would be one of them.

CNN did frustrate me today though, and it was due to a mean girl encounter sooo the two aren't ... what's the term?  Mutually exclusive?  Unrelated?  I don't know but I think you get it.

For the past several Fridays, CNN.com has posted stories about body image and perceptions of beauty.  Miss American's anorexia recovery was one of them.  There was also a story about FATshion.  My heart did a little woot woot when I read that one.

Today, I read this story by Shanon Cook who is incredulous that a man found her pregnant silhouette attractive.  She used so many fat slurs it was like someone played a tape loop of my past.  I wanted to crawl under my desk and induce puking into my trash can.

For obvious reasons, acceptance, tolerance and kindness are high on my wish list for society.  My story is not uncommon.  Because I am fat, I was brutally bullied from 6th grade until I graduated high school.  Even in adulthood I have been called names in public, humiliated and physically assaulted over my weight.  That's probably why my blogs don't have a lot of range.  They're either completely shallow fluff or they're about the things that hurt me.  Write what you know.  ^_^

Being treated like a piece of subhuman shit due to my appearance hurts me.  Wouldn't that hurt almost everyone?  So when I see news pieces, TeeVee shows, movies, pictures, etc. that are size positive or even size neutral, I do a mental cartwheel because it means that maybe history will stop repeating itself.

But then I read Shanon Cook's piece and I think it will never get better.

Here are some examples of what she said:

"And then there was the belly -- a massive dome of a thing, so immense that Lennox looked like a wee Scottish lass beside me. Jessica-Simpson-on-the-cover-of-Elle, no. Sexy, I was not."

"I didn't tell him that excitement doesn't really register when it takes a forklift and three bodybuilders to raise you out of bed in the morning."

"This dude thought I was hot. But how could he? I mean, I looked like an upright hippopotamus."

Wait, though, it gets really confusing and that added fuel to the frustration fire.

She says pregnancy allows women to not be neurotic about their size for a moment, so she enjoyed it by eating "truckloads" of candy and feeling good in spite of herself.

What?

Did I miss something?  Is she saying that only when you are pregnant can you love your body if it's big? And CNN published it?

Why?  Why can't we love our bodies always, regardless of how big or small?  And why does CNN give us an entire series about diverse beauty and body image then turn around and run another tired old fat = gross story?

Seems like every publication goes balls out when it comes to fat hate stories yet they'll print an anti-bullying story on the very next page.  What message is this?  Is it intentional?

Hate totally bums me out.  It hurts; it causes me to ask all these questions and the absolute most frustrating part is that I will never know the answer.

A Cure for the Common Fattie

As we know, the bigger you are, the more universally hated you are.

I mean, even Carrie Fisher said the world is a hostile place for a fat person.  She is not wrong.

Yesterday I visited the endocrinologist for a follow up on my issues.  Got CAT scan results.  The good news - nothing is wrong.  The bad news - nothing is wrong.  Square one again.  Still have the pain and the hyperhidrosis but they dunno what's causing it.

This endocrinologist came highly recommended by several people, including my regular doc and my psychiatrist.  So I was expecting the best possible treatment.  First visit went alright.  He tried to push WLS on me, gastric bypass.  Told him no go.  He backed off.

Yesterday he brought it up again, as if he had forgotten I said absolutely not.  And when I reminded him that I wasn't going to do it, he shamed me by making a condescending remark that he thought it was "interesting" that my hyperhidrosis wasn't affected by my weight and sent me on my way.  He even had the gall to refer me back to the Revolving Door Dermatology Warehouse.

Anyway, I left in a huff.  Feeling like a substandard human because I am not small enough to be treated like everyone else.  Not my proudest moment.  I'm angry at myself for letting someone get to me and for allowing myself to feel that way.

Seems like I am seeing so much fat hate lately. More than usual.  I'm probably still miffed over the couple who openly made fun of me last week.  It's all weighing in my mind.  (Weighing... puns... I'm so clever.  *snort*)

Instead of whining about it, I've decided to just buy in.  If you can't beat them, join them, right?  That's what they always say and they always know what they're talking about.

Hate fat people?  Of course you do.  Everyone does.  So let's eliminate them.  These are the most popular techniques currently in use by the diet industry, Cosmopolitan Magazine and millions of commenters all over the internet.

First of all, insults make fat people thin.  I haven't seen this work with my own eyes.  But I know it has to be effective because it is socially acceptable to belittle and shame big people.  Remember the Bowflex guy who "gave all his FAT clothes to his FAT friends?"  That was a national ad campaign.  So that tells you right there that the entire nation can't think of anything worse than being fat.

Bullying, that's another one that really hits home.  Ohkay, this one didn't work on me unfortunately but it probably is helpful to the ones who actually survive it.  I know, I survived it too.  But I'm a bad example because ...  ...  Mmmm...  Hrmmm.  Well, I guess it must work because of science or something.

Alright, now we have the obvious one, diet ads!  Almost every single commercial break has at least one, sometimes several.  There are pills and gadgets and garments and meal plans and you can even hire someone to remind you on a regular basis what a foul, disgusting pig you are.  I think her name is Jillian Michaels.

Of course, you can't watch anything on E! or read anything in mainstream lifestyle magazines without having attention called to the fact that you're a horrible warty fat toad.  All the fashion trends are focused on looking as small as possible.  Smaller is better.  Always.  Amazing summer beach bodies perpetually belong to the stars who have hired a trainer, nutritionist, plastic surgeon and chef then spent all their extra time in their private home gyms to shed an extra five pounds.  And if THEY can do it with their busy schedules and tight budgets, then we slovenly blobs have no excuse.

The next time you are out and about and someone remarks on your size, you immediately apologize!  Then you thank them for helping you keep feelings of shame and embarrassment right under the surface.

Also, go to the nearest bathroom and barf up everything you've eaten for the past three weeks then sell everything you own and hire that trainer lady to scream about all your physical misgivings in your face while you sob on a treadmill.

Fuck.

All.

That.

Shit.

You know what needs a cure?  We do.  All of us.  I have so many friends who put themselves down constantly.  Stop it.  Please.  You're not accomplishing anything positive when you do that.

You read the magazines and think that's how you /should/ look when you roll out of bed.

Let me tell you something.  For 10 years I worked full-time as a makeup artist.  I've seen professional models at 5 a.m.  They have zits, bags under their eyes, scars, crusty cuticles, weird veins, hair growing in strange places.  EVERYONE DOES.

But after a couple hours of hair and makeup, soft lighting, professional photography and a gifted graphic artist retouching the picture, they look like what you see in the magazines.  IT IS ALL A FACADE.  It isn't meant to be lived day in and day out.  It's art.  It's someone's vision.  Flawlessness does not exist in anyone.

What you see as flaws in yourself aren't flaws at all.  They're part of being human.  Stop being so hard on yourself.  I've got to do the same thing.  I have completely unrealistic expectations of who I'm supposed to be and it causes me nothing but endless disappointment.

Fact: Fat people are big.  They're not dumb, they're not lazy, they don't stink.  (Yes, there ARE people in this world who are ignorant, unmotivated and smelly.  Those people come in all shapes and sizes.  Fat has nothing to do with it.)

Fiction: Hating and humiliating fat people will make the world a better place.

I don't know how to make this any clearer.  But the body shame has GOT TO STOP and I'm starting with me.

Maybe it's just a bad mood?

The idea of never leaving my house again appeals to me more and more every day.

I used to think it was because of how I was treated in high school that made me hate people.  That has something to do with it, but I am starting to realize I hate people because they're awful.

By people, I am talking specifically about mean, stupid people.  And usually mean people are stupid and stupid people are mean.

Does the stupid make them mean?  Not sure.  I've encountered below-average intelligence people who were delightful.  Perhaps the ones who are stupid by choice... those are the mean ones.

Yesterday, with some help from a co-worker, I finally busted a story tipster in a massive lie.  Biggest lie I've ever heard in the newsroom.  And it was a lie told about something tragic that affected thousands of people.  That makes it even worse.  I've had a gut feeling since May that the story wasn't true and to have two sources this week verify that I was right felt quite nice.  Renewed my trust in my own instincts.

Today someone called the magazine all pissed off because we keep addresses on file.  Dead serious.  He didn't think we should do that.  Never thought I would have to explain to someone that we need to keep their address so we can mail the magazine to which they've subscribed.  Is there some magic delivery service I don't know about?  Psychic Unicorn Express will bring your mail to you without having to know your address?

When my in-laws called this afternoon with an invitation to sushi, that temporarily lifted my foul misanthropic fog.  They suggested my favorite place, too.  Bonus!

Tonight they were running 10 minutes late but I parked and went inside anyway.  Not long after I sat down, a couple was seated at the booth across from me.  And they didn't even try to disguise their staring.  There are people in this world, in my town even, who look more unusual than I do.  So why the hell am I always getting the up-down eyes?  The staring was followed by whispering, more staring, more whispering then laughter.  I pretended not to notice, keeping busy with my phone.  Telling myself they're talking about something else, not me.  Stop being paranoid.  I busied myself texting Mr. Buffie and fiddling with chop sticks.

Once my in-laws arrived, the couple then broke out in hand gestures, confirming my suspicion.  The woman was trying to determine how big my chest was in relation to her own frame, looking at me and adjusting the length of her arms held out in front of her.  I continued to pretend I didn't notice.  My father-in-law was telling me about genetically engineered soybean crops... I think.  At that point, I was lost in my own head, angry, frustrated, desperate to escape.

It's funny because earlier today I read an article about restaurants who adopt a no-kids policy.  It reminded me of a few specific situations where I was dining out and was verbally harassed by groups of teens.  It has even happened with older people but it's usually teens.  Why are teenagers so hateful?  Was the teenage Buffie that hateful?  I had opinions about people at that age, but I don't ever recall making unprovoked statements to strangers in public.  Never had the urge to do anything horrible to someone unprovoked, I don't think.

In a way it was cosmic to read that story then relive something I've experienced so many times before.  Those experiences are always the first thoughts that flash through my mind at the mention of going out in public.

I was probably born predisposed to have anxiety or agoraphobia.  My mum tells me I was about 3 years old when she noticed I had an abnormal aversion to strangers.  Bullying and fat-hate exacerbated it and here we are.

People can't be changed.  You can't turn a mean stranger into a nice one anymore than a mean stranger can turn me into a thin person by insulting me.

But what do I do?  Continue to endure it?  That doesn't seem reasonable.  I don't know what to do.

All I know is the more I'm exposed to the general public, the more I only want to be around my family and friends or go only to certain places where I haven't had a scary experience.

Mr. Buffie, bless him, he has spoken up for me before and I truly appreciate it.  It was probably nine years ago that we were having lunch at Braum's when a table full of late-teen/early-twenties boys were having an obvious laugh about my body.  At some point, they were even talking (yelling) directly to me. As per my M.O., I ignored them.  Mr. Buffie walked over to their table and hit it with his fist.  That got their attention.  Then he politely told them to stop.  Know what happened?  They threatened him.  You know, the typical "how DARE you NOT sit there and tolerate my bullshit" bully attitude.  Ultimately they did leave without incident but for a moment, I was sure we were going to be physically assaulted.  So in addition to a couple other failed attempts to speak up, speaking up isn't looking like a practical solution either.

Sometimes I wonder if this rules my life.  I've blogged about it... a lot.  But it's because it affects me... a lot.  Maybe saying it rules me is too extreme.  However I can't deny that it does cause problems for me AND Mr. Buffie on a much-too-regular basis.

I want to be adventurous and spontaneous and experience new things but my anxiety swallows me whole.

Therapy helps.  When I have slacked off on treatment, the anxiety becomes remarkably worse.  So I know continuing to see the psychiatrist is the right thing to do.

I'm just not sure it's enough.  I have this goal, maybe a dream, that in the future I'll be fearless.  The problem with my dream is that I forget to include hate in my vision.

Thankfully, I'm happy in my own skin.  Life is good... better than good.  Life is great!  My family is incredible.  My friends are the best examples of humanity ever in history, no exaggeration.  I have kitty cats.  Even my job would be absolutely perfect if it weren't for dealing with strangers.  Then there are the material things, so many wonderful things.  I'm thankful for all of my possessions although they don't matter one fraction as much as family, friends and kitties.  Basically my needs are not only met but exceeded.  I live a fortunate life and I know it.

Hrmph.  It's a puzzle I can't solve on my own.

Mostly, I just don't want to hate the world anymore.

Strange things are afoot at the Circle K.

Shit has been weird lately.  More weird that usual.  Hard to believe, right?

Several weeks ago, I decided I was fed up with having hyperhidrosis, so I went to the Revolving Door Dermatology Warehouse (where you never see the same doctor twice!) and the Flavor of the Week Nurse Practitioner referred me to another dermatologist in Olathe.  She all but swore on her life that Dr. Olathe was the answer to my problem.  If you don't know your greater Kansas City area geography, Olathe is an hour from almost everywhere on the Missouri side.

Of course I request an ass-crack-of-dawn appointment because the more work I miss the more it will pile up on my already buried desk.  And we all know how I LOVE to get up ridiculously early and fight obnoxious commuter traffic.

Once I'm in front of Olathe's Super Dermatologist, I tell her to please perform the treatment that Revolving Door NP claimed Dr. Olathe did.  Uhhh... nope.  Never.  Has never treated hyper-hell-drosis in the fashion that RDNP assured me she did.  At first I was peeved with the seeing of different people at every appointment and the getting up stupid early and the driving an hour away from home to the tune of almost $4 a gallon for gas.  But now I'm fully pissed off and I have a strong suspicion that RDNP referred me to Dr. Olathe just to get me out of her office.  Bitch.

That week got even more mega fun when I realized RDNP didn't give me a refill on the pill I take for my breakouts (and it is coincidentally a pill Nice Fat Lady Doctor prescribed to help my circulation for the steroid-induced vein damage from several years ago when my body decided to attack itself and produce awful itchy hives almost every day for two solid years... but when Nice Fat Lady Doctor moved to a different practice group, I decided to just get it from the dermatologists because they were prescribing the same thing even though it was for two different reasons).  TMI?  I thought so.  Moving along...

Call her office.  Request the drug.  Another nurse calls me back (ha, figures) and said RDNP won't refill until I get blood tests.  So I have to go to a lab (thankfully there was one within my home zip code) and get poked.  That was the day they took seven vials of my blood.  Waited a week, got test results.  Called RDNP because, of course, she isn't going to call me.  She says there's something wrong with my endocrine system.  No pills until I see endocrinologist.  I'm assuming since I've already chased wild geese in Olathe, maybe she'll send me to Wichita this time.  Perhaps Topeka.  Hell, what about Denver?  Guess I caught her in a good mood because the endocrinologist is in Overland Park.  Bad part?  Can't see me until almost a month later.

Here's the deal with the pills...  When you're on them, you don't even notice they do anything.  But once you quit them, gird your loins.  Pain.  Unbelievable pain.  Pain like I have never known before.  Whatever empathy or sympathy I had for people with chronic pain, it's a million times more now.  Holy shitballs, worst agony of my life.

After a week or so, I couldn't take it.  Called RDNP and literally begged her to give it back.  With a crap-ton of attitude and reluctance, she called in a refill.  FOR HALF THE STRENGTH.  Boo.  What a whore.

Screw her though, I'm taking two pills instead of one and I'm never going back to the Revolving Door Dermatology Warehouse anyway so I'll get my fix from the new Not-So-Fat-But-Still-Nice-Lady-Doctor I started seeing a couple years ago.  In your face, RDNP!

The health weirdness has persisted though and I am concerned.  Sometimes I'm stay-awake-all-night-and-fret worried and other times I think it's probably minor and this will be one very expensive quest to find nothing of significance.

Did I ever tell you about the time I worked for someone who had chronic pain?  She drove me batshit.  In the moment, I was certain she hated me because no matter what I did, it was always wrong or not good enough.  She probably could have conducted herself better but I probably could have tried harder to understand why she was always channeling Satan.

When the pain started, everything was on my nerves.  There's a particularly noisy neighbor on our block and they picked an amazingly bad week to turn it up to 11.  One night I had taken some Vicodin and just wanted to try and get some decent sleep.  Pain meds help but the only time during this ordeal when I haven't been miserable is when I'm sleeping.  It was between 10:30 and 11 p.m. on a Monday or a Tuesday night.  At this point, school is out for summer so all the teen fuckheads are running loose in the streets later than usual.

Noisy neighbor house is Teen Fuckhead HQ.  I think just one or two teens actually live there but at any given moment, there are at least five cars in the driveway and on the street.  A frequent visitor has a TRAIN HORN and likes to show it off.  Annoying.  Obviously compensating for lack of girth, if you know what I mean.  But if he feels the need to show it off in broad daylight, I can tolerate it occasionally.  It's when he uses it in the middle of the night that truly makes my blood boil.  Between him and the boom cars, it's a wonder anyone in this neighborhood sleeps through the night.

So yeah, I'm hopped up on meds and trying to escape the horror show that my body has become... on the verge of drifting off then HONK!  A few seconds later HONK HONK!  Another couple of seconds HONK HONK HONKHONKHONKHOOONNNKKK!!!

Are you fucking serious?  I look out the window and of course there is a teen fuckhead convention across the street and Honky VonHonkerstein is parked in front of a fire hydrant and attempting to summon someone inside Fuckhead HQ with her horn.  Aren't the little shits born with mobile phones these days?  Couldn't she text whoever was inside???  Of course not!  I mean, it's late in the evening and people are trying to sleep so the horn is the obvious choice.  Duh!

My rage took on telepathic powers because Mr. Buffie was out the front door before I could even get to the stairs.  Rude Teen With Horn got a piece of his mind.  I fully expect toilet paper in my trees any day now.  Haven't seen her car since that night.  Fine by me.

The Saturday after Honkpocalypse, I needed a pick-me-up so I went to the salon.  When I got home, I failed to notice Mr. Groundhog Day at the mailbox.  We call him Groundhog Day because, as nice as he is, we always have the exact same conversation with him.  Everyone does.  He will tell you about his job, his wife's health problems, his daughter and the Civil War.  In that order.  Every time.  And usually for half an hour.

It is officially hot in Missouri and people with hyper-hell-drosis are especially sensitive to heat.  The last thing I want to do after having a relaxing morning is stand in the sun and listen to Groundhog Day tell me about the Civil War.  I was in furious pain, melting and dying from boredom.  The situation was made worse by the fact that Mr. Buffie had lunch waiting inside.  So close, yet so far away.  Like being caught in a bear trap.  A Civil War bear trap stuck on repeat.  Once I chewed my leg off, I ran for the door like Flo Jo.

Poor Groundhog Day.  I feel badly for him but how do you nicely tell someone you've already heard everything they're about to say and you don't have an extra 30 minutes to hear it again?  You don't.  You chew your leg out of the bear trap and limp toward freedom.

Anyway, pain, work, more pain, no sleep, work, pain, and a week has passed.  (I'm back on the pills but it takes a while before they start doing their magic.)  It's Saturday again and a friend of ours has asked us to dinner.  He's a chef and he's making cochinita pibil, margaritas and some of the most incredible salsa known to humanity.

I'm getting ready for dinner, siting at the vanity in my bedroom when I hear sirens and horns.  An ambulance and a fire truck are in front of Casa De Groundhog.  Really wanted to rubberneck but I didn't want to be late for yummy goodness, so I went back about my business.

Then the night before last, I was in bed not sleeping as usual and heard what sounded like air brakes outside.  It was almost 3 a.m.  Got up and was able to see an ambulance in front of the Groundhog house again.  Strange because there were no sirens, not even coming up the highway.  I couldn't make out much else.  It was there for about 45 minutes and then left, again with no sirens, no flashing lights either.  What does it mean when an ambulance comes to your house at that hour and in such a way?  Mrs. Groundhog does have some serious health issues.  Dreadful thoughts lately and I'm sad for the Groundhogs because they are good people, even if I do actively avoid one of them.

Yesterday wasn't necessarily weird but it sure wasn't fun.  Went to the New Nice Lady Doctor for the routine physical.  Ladies you know the one.  NNLD has been keeping an eye on the vein problem in my legs for a while now and out of nowhere sent me directly to the hospital because with the recent godawful pain, she was thinking possible blood clot.  Needed that like a hole in the head.  Shot my entire day.  But a few hours later, another nice lady at the hospital said I wouldn't be admitted and she let me come home.

Today is where the weirdness came back.  Went to the psychiatrist for the usual anxiety disorder treatment.  He likes to take my vitals every visit.  My blood pressure was through the roof.  He didn't even want to talk about anxiety.  He immediately called NNLD and asked if she could see me or if I needed to go to the ER.  ER!?!  Hold up, Mr. Psychiatrist, you didn't say jack to me about the ER.  If my blood pressure wasn't already on the moon, it is now.  ER?  Hell to the no.  ER = lost time at work + expensive + potential for needles + no kitty cats.  No gracias.

I should mention that when I got home yesterday, I broke yet another toe.  Not too bad this time.  Probably just cracked it but that was another shock of pain that I could do without.

I explain to Mr. Psychiatrist that the BP is probably because of my toe.  He notices it's huge and purple but doesn't think it is bad enough to cause the BP to spike.  Asks me to chill for 10 minutes in a quiet place and he'll check it again.

Is this just a fat thing or do blood pressure cuffs hurt everyone?  He used a different cuff when he checked it the second time and it hurt so bad my eyes watered.  It was kind of him to apologize for that but he didn't apologize for the ER scare so I'm holding a bit of a grudge.

NNLD was able to see my this afternoon.  She was kind of tripping on the BP too.  I admit, it was high. Not as high as that day Mr. Buffie dragged me to the urgent care clinic in the snow because my little tumor thing was infected but it was close.

Third BP check, same result.  Chill for a while.  Fourth BP check, can you guess?  Ah yes, same result.  So she orders an EKG.  Nurse comes in and puts about two dozen sticky things on my chest, arms and legs.  I think it was really more like 10 but when she was peeling them off, it felt like someone jerking giant leeches out of my flesh.

Want to know what happens next?  BP check!  How do you think it went?  Same result!

Weird Alert:  EKG was normal.  Blood tests from yesterday's physical were normal.  Basically every other exam that's been done on me (other than the hormone/endocrine junk) has been normal.  Same as it ever was... same as it ever was, to quote David Byrne.

So why are my blood pressure numbers so high they require commas?  Yeah, my toe hurts but I have to agree with Mr. Psychiatrist, it doesn't justify this.

NNLD gave me pills, I see her again next week.  Another reason to lose sleep but I'm trying to put it out of my mind.

Now for what will hopefully be the end of a series of odd events... As I was driving home from the hospital yesterday, I noticed a car in front of me had 'RIP' written on the back window with shoe polish, along with a person's name and a giant heart.  I recognized the name as an acquaintance who had been pointedly and repeatedly unkind cruel to me about six years ago.  Elephants never forget.

When I got home, you know I went directly to Google.

Without divulging too much, I will say he was engaging in dangerous and illegal behavior and thankfully he did not injure or kill anyone else in the process.

I joke that if I could go back in time, I'd probably do some serious physical harm to the people who taught me all I know about hate, bigotry and bullying.  But I would never wish them dead.

Maybe there was a good side of him?  I never saw it, so I wouldn't know.  This is the first time I've ever been faced with the death of a known bully.  It's awkward and a little confusing.  By no means will I celebrate what happened to him.  But I won't lie, I am not mourning the loss in the slightest.  I'm sure his family loved him.  However I wonder if there are other big people he treated like shit, unprovoked, based solely on the fact that they're fat.

It's weird because I intimately know the profound life-changing damage people suffer at the hands of bullies and I am thankful for one less bully in this world.  But I also know bullies' families love them and his family is suffering the ultimate loss.

Perhaps there are times when death is neither a negative nor a positive.  It all depends on which side of the fence you're standing when it happens.

In my personal experience, death has always been sad, but also strange in some way.  This time, it is only strange.

Maura and the Big Fat Horror

Do you know Maura Kelly? I didn't until today when my bestie Lisa posted a Jezebel link about her on FB. Maura stepped in a big fat pile of shit with a recent blog she wrote for Marie Claire.

Turns out Maura thinks "fatties" are disgusting. Granted, she later apologized but... not really.

This isn't the first time a chick rag has gone there. Cosmo does it all the time with their absurd diet tips peppered through issue after issue. I cancelled my sub to W magazine years ago when they ran the Nan Kempner story with a pull out of her quote, "I hate fat people."

Later that same week, I cancelled my sub to Elle magazine for a similar reason, although I don't recall now what the specific story was. Seems like it was E. Jean's column...

You know how hard it is for a makeup/accessories/fashion junkie like me to swear off all the mainstream girlie mags? I haven't touched a Glamour in years. And their constant fat bashing is why. I'm not going to give my money to any pub that preaches hate or discrimination. Note to advertisers, you might pick your placements a little more carefully. We're watching you.

There's a light in the dark though. -evil grins-

How about Twitter search results with THOUSANDS of tweets speaking out against Maura Kelly's unabashed size discrimination. Not just size acceptance peeps either. Folks from every walk of life were appalled. Men, women, all ages, all colors, all sizes, from all over the world. The message was clear - fat hate isn't going to be tolerated.

If you're looking for some excellent new people to liven up your Twitter stream, you'll find them. I found several. (Thanks Maura! ~winks~)

Reality check... We still have a long way to go. I saw an article this week about size discrimination in the workplace. But stories revealing the truth about manipulated images in magazines give me hope that fat bashing will cease to be socially acceptable someday.

Maura, I hope you can come to terms with your self-loathing. I know this experience is going to set you back a little but as a journalist, you should have thought it through better. Learn from it. Learn that no one is "disgusting" because of how they look. Learn that you're not "disgusting" because of how you look either.

Actions on the other hand... sometimes actions are disgusting and your 'Mike & Molly' blog was an example of that.

If you ever want to feel better about yourself and the way you look, my advice to you is stop reading magazines like Marie Claire.

Your Fluff Welcome Here

"Aw, look, poor thing, they won't let her shop. Yeah - like those salesgirls in Beverly Hills aren't bigger whores than she is." ~ Romy White, "Romy and Michele's High School Reunion" (1997)

I bet more than just fluffies can relate to this:

You show up to an establishment you've never visited only to discover you're a fish out of water, like a group of Mennonites at a frat boy's bachelor party.

In my experiences, it involved discovering the hard way that a certain biz was either not fat-friendly or straight up fat-intolerant. Not naming names *cough*cough* The Plaza *cough*cough* but I have stumbled across a few such places and it never fails to surprise, disappoint and incense me.

As a gesture of consideration to my chunky brethren and... uhhh... sisteren? (That's not a real term is it? Pfft. Do over! See next sentence.) In support of mah fat peeps and their sizes-other-than-fat family and friends, I would like to give those living in or planning to visit my adopted home town of KCMO a little guidance to the more chub-accessible attractions.

Noms... this city has some good ones. Nice variety too, if you can tolerate the irritating lack of good Cajun food.

Asian food:

Saigon 39

According to some reviews, they serve substandard pho. I like pho but that isn't why I go to Saigon 39. Their chicken fried rice is wake-up-in-the-middle-of-the-night-craving-it good and if you like peanut sauce, theirs is superb (but pricey).

Fat Tolerant: Has tables with metal chairs and booths. Chairs do not have arms and booth tables are not affixed. Crowd is always a mixed bag but not too teen-infested. Restroom is spacious. Staff is polite but don't show up close to closing time because you may have to get it to go.

Minuses: Not really wheelchair accessible and parking can be a bitch during peak hours.

*LGBT Friendly Bonus Points

Asian Tiger

Super yummy traditional and modern sushi, ah-mah-zing pan dishes and one of the best non-bar cocktail menus in town.

Fat Friendly: Has tables with wood chairs and booths. Chairs do have arms but they are wide-set and only partially the length of the seat. Booth tables are not affixed and seats are comfortable. Charming, pleasant usually-quiet atmosphere. Haven't seen a big group of teens dining unsupervised there yet, which is a Buffie-Bonus. Staff is polite and respectful. Wheelchair accessible.

Mexican food:

Pancho's

Simple but satisfying and inexpensive menu. Very casual local chain with 24/7 drive thru windows.

Fat Tolerant: I admit, I almost never dine in at Pancho's because drive-thru rocks and I'm always in a hurry. I view drive-thrus at places that aren't national chains as a nod (intentional or not) to the chunky monkey customer. The location I frequent has fixed-table booths only. I can squeeze into a booth if I can't avoid getting take out but it isn't comfortable. Staff is polite and respectful.

Minuses: The location on Main is not the best place to be for people traveling alone after dark. Have had close-encounters of the potentially intoxicated/violent/generally criminal kind one too many times in that area.

Sol Azteca (now called Sabor Y Sol)

I haven't been since they remodeled but I have it on good authority that it's the same management and menu, which leans Tex-Mex. *giddy* Excellent price/portion ratio and leftovers heat up beautifully for lunch the next day.

*UPDATE*  I've been to Sabor Y Sol a couple times since they re-opened and it's everything Sol Azteca was and more.  They now have made-fresh-when-you-order-it guacamole that will land your ass in rehab.  The interior is much brighter now.  Tables and chairs are still fat-friendly.  Staff is great.  FOOD IS INCREDIBLE and more than reasonably priced.

Fat Friendly: Has tables with metal chairs and booths. Booth tables are not affixed but the spacing can be tight depending on how busy they are. Ladies' room is spacious. Wheelchair accessible. Staff is polite and respectful.

American noms, like burgers and steaks, yo:

Courthouse Exchange

Best freaking burger on earth next to OKC's Belle Isle Brewery Honey Pepper Bacon Burger. Onion rings so incredible they won over notorious hater of onions, Mr. Buffie.

Fat Tolerant: It's down a flight of stairs in the basement of a historic building, so it's totally not wheelchair accessible. Has tables with wood chairs and booths. I think some of the booth tables may be affixed but I don't remember. Crowd is adult but can be lively later in the evening. Ladies' room is spacious. Staff is polite and respectful.

Hereford House

It's a KC staple known for incredible steak. Pricey but if you're craving a /real/ steak, it sooo fits the bill.

Fat Tolerant: I only rate it a "Tolerant" and not a "Friendly" because the staff (usually just the hostesses) can be on the rude teen/mean girl side. Has tables and booths. I think some booths have affixed tables. Crowd is sometimes overly yuppie but that's at every "classy" steak joint, right? Ladies' room is spacious. Wheelchair accessible.

Barbeque, (spelled the right way - with a q) also known as BBQ:

Rosedale Barbeque

This was my first experience with KC BBQ and it was love at first bite. Beef sammichs, ribs, burnt ends (which is a clever but unjust term for delicious chunks of smoked brisket), cole slaw and the most sinful french fries in nom history. Definitely has a "dive joint" vibe but isn't filthy gross or anything like that. Respectable selection of very cold beers.

Fat Friendly: Has tables with metal chairs that generously outnumber the fixed-table booths. Ladies' room is spacious. Wheelchair accessible. Staff is polite and respectful.

BB's Lawnside BBQ

Hybrid restaurant and blues bar that has, of all things, an amazing meatloaf dinner on the menu. Also try the BBQ nachos... yes NACHOS! Bar has both liquor and beer for those who prefer a cocktail instead of a brew with their smoked meats.

Fat Friendly: Family style tables with an assortment of metal chairs. Crowd is varied but never teen heavy. Ladies' room is spacious. Wheelchair accessible. Staff is polite and respectful.

Multifariousness for the multifattieousness...

More noms:

Waldo Pizza

I am generally NOT a fan of pizza but I am coo coo crazy for Waldo Pizza. My fave is a spicy beef and sun dried tomato pizza with honey-wheat crust and extra sauce. The ultimate combination of savory, cheesy, sweet, hot, crusty and chewy. Westport Room special ranch dressing contains crack, I'm pretty sure. Never tried to actually shoot up with it but the idea has crossed my mind. Impressive beer/liquor selection. This ain't your average Chuck E. Cheese folks.

Fat Friendly: Has tables with wood chairs and booths. I'm not 100% sure but I think the booths have fixed-tables. Crowd can attract teens and kids because pizza seems to have that effect but I have never been disturbed to the point of panic. Ladies' room is spacious. Wheelchair accessible. Staff is polite and respectful.

*LGBT Friendly Bonus Points

Movies:

Tivoli Cinemas

Mostly independent films. Some of my favorite movies I've watched here.

Fat Friendly: Theaters are on the 2nd floor but there's an elevator. Smaller size means every seat has a great view. Wheelchair accessible. Staff is wonderfully polite and respectful.

Minuses: Seats are older and on the small side but I'm able to wedge myself into them without much discomfort. Sit in the back if you need to stand up a couple times during the flick so you don't block the view of the people behind you. Decent leg room despite the seat width.

*LGBT Friendly Bonus Points

Bars:

Knucklehead's

If you're from KC and you long for the old Grand Emporium, Knucklehead's is a most suitable substitute and a regular Candye Kane tour stop. Blues, beer, liquor and noms. What else do you need?

Fat Friendly: Totally mixed bag of tables, chairs and booths. Crowd is fun but mature. No fratmosphere. Wheelchair accessible. Staff is polite and respectful.

Missie B's

Gay bar featuring delightful drag shows with unforgettable emcee - Dirty Dorothy.

Fat Friendly: Tables with regular chairs and bar stools. Ladies' room is spacious. Staff is polite and respectful, and in Dorothy's case, family.

*LGBT Friendly Bonus Points - Duh, obviously! LoL

Glamorousness:

Blo Salon Studio

If you think I have awesome hair, and I do (not bragging, just saying) then go to Blo and get some, too!

Fat Friendly: Salon seats have arms but they're wide set. Restroom is spacious. Wheelchair accessible. Staff is polite and respectful when it counts and devilishly hilarious the rest of the time.

*LGBT Friendly Bonus Points

Oasis Tan

Shut up, I know excessive tanning is supposed to be harmful, dangerous, whatever. I know, I know. But I don't overdo it and I cheat with spray tans. Speaking of spray tans, they have VersaSpa, and it's kickass.

Fat Tolerant: Variety of beds feature some larger, more spacious models. There is a weight limit and the staff I've dealt with answered my weight-limit questions professionally and respectfully. VersaSpa booth easily accommodates BBWs and most SSBBWs. Restroom is spacious. Wheelchair accessible. Staff is primarily young women who don't give off that "mean girl" vibe at all. That is a rare find in a tanning salon.

Shopping:

Mary Kay

Skin care and cosmetics that will rock your socks.

You know I had to put MK on my list. Hello! The consultant comes to /you/. Does it get more fat friendly than that!?

Lia Sophia

High quality costume jewelry sold via home parties. Like MK, LS consultants bring the shopping to you. Many of their necklaces are extra-long. Measurements for necklaces and bracelets are listed, eliminating the guesswork when it comes to fit.

And those are a few of my favorite things. By no means is this list complete. I would imagine there are many more fat friendly/tolerant places to haunt in the KC area and as I encounter them, I'll gladly share what I find.

Peace, fluff and equality,

~Buffie

Otherwise I never would have known.

I'm fat?

WHAT???

Why, thank you for pointing that out. I was completely unaware until you so helpfully clued me in. I owe you a debt of gratitude. Because of your disdain for my size, I will immediately begin starving myself in order to gain your approval.

/end sarcasm

I have become "memorably" numb?

Tonight I had my first "you might be fat if..." experience.

You might be fat if...

...The lady who used to work at the donut shop sees you 2 years later at her new job where she's a hostess and she recognizes you but you don't have any idea who she is.

That was my big clue this evening.

Backstory: I go to this one donut place mayyyyybeeeee 4 or 5 times a year. (Not saying I only /eat/ there 4 or 5 times a year but usually Mr. Buffie just runs in and grabs a half-dozen on the way to work while she-who-is-not-a-morning-person waits in the car. So I personally don't step foot in the donut shop all that much.) /end Backstory

Tonight we went to grab a bite after an obscenely long day at the office and the very nice hostess lady says "Hi! Haven't seen you in a while!"

I'm thinking "Hi, haven't seen you... uhm, ever."

Then she says she knows me from the donut shop, where she used to work 2 years ago.

What does that mean???? Who has a memory like that? Does that mean I'm memorably fat? I've always jokingly wondered if they have fat "Wanted" posters in places like Chinese buffets and donut shops (like John Pinette says) but now I'm thinking - do they /really/ keep tabs???

Mr. Buffie is the one who pops in there 90% of the time and she doesn't seem to recognize him at all.

Not exactly paranoid but definitely perplexed and possibly even intrigued....

What makes someone memorable? (I know what makes someone memorable to me but what's the general consensus? I feel bad for not remembering her. She was a nice chick.)

Are you "memorably" fat? What was your first clue?

When Bad Weekends Happen to Good Buffies

Last weekend was probably the worst damn string of events ever to happen to me. Or at least the worst that could happen without anyone dying.

But I learned something.

And it really wasn't "worth it". (How is "worth it" determined anyway?)

Friday night, for reasons I don't feel like discussing, I had to attend a high school football game. This involved 3 things I really fucking hate.

Outside.

Football.

Teenagers.

Some people are sexist. Some people are homophobic. Some people are elitist. Some people are racist.

Buffie is teen-ist.

I think that's a made-up word, but I don't know the real word for a person who hates teenagers as much as I do. Even when I was one, I hated it. You know why I hated it? Because of other teenagers.

I've said this before, but I'd rather face off with all of the Taliban on a bad turban day than have to spend 5 minutes with a person between the ages of 13 and 19.

Is it wrong of me to think like that? Yeah.

But you know what was MORE wrong??? How those fucking bastards treated me when I was a kid. So I feel like I have bloody earned the right to hate teenagers. I have also earned the right to hate frat pukes and other people who generally behave badly in public and in the presence of a fat person. All of them can go eat a scoop full of rat turds.

There were thousands of the sons of bitches there. One screamed in my face, completely unprovoked, and thought it was funny. Mr. Buffie considered knocking him the fuck out for a moment but thought better of it, what with the possibly going to the jail for the assault and all.

Poor Mr. Buffie. I practically rode him piggy-back all the way through the crowd. He had to hold onto both of my hands to assure himself I wouldn't randomly start smacking the ones who got too close to me.

You'd be proud of me though. I survived an entire 30 minutes before making a wild dash to the car and I didn't hit, poke, choke, kick, trip, shoot or shove a single one of them. I might have maybe kinda sorta perhaps accidentally shoulder checked a couple, but hey... you get in my space, I'll get in yours. Turn about is fair play, yes?

Mostly fair play.

They shoulder check me with a wimpy little piece of shit teen shoulder. I shoulder check back mad-fat-chick style and teen asshole spins like a top. I win! hee hee

Did I mention I have had bronchitis for two solid weeks? At the time I didn't know it was a flare up of bronchitis. I thought I was just really effing sick with the cold from hell and my mood was certainly not improved through abuse of NyQuil and obscene amounts of hot tea and whiskey. So let's add that to the weekend I hope goes down in history as the worst there ever was.

That sums up my Friday night.

Saturday I spent in a stupor, tissues shoved up my nostrils and a pillow over my face wishing for all the congestion in my head and chest to either turn to sand or explode and end my misery.

Lying down was completely futile because all the fluid nastiness in me made it impossible to breathe, meaning I got about 3 hours of actual sleep Saturday night.

Then there were the convulsive coughing fits that shook the foundation of my house and made me feel like I would literally pull the Kleenex away from my mouth only to see a chunk of my lung on it.

Now the sickness and the teenagers were really quite enough to make my weekend a total waste of time but ... unfortunately ... that wasn't all.

Guess what I got to do Sunday morning??!!

Wake up early.

Isn't that cute? A foul, snarling, snorting swamp beast being jerked out of slumber after only 3 hours of sleep.

Guess why!!?!?

To go to CHURCH!

Know what happens when you wake up a grumpy, ill, atheist, put her in uncomfortable "church" clothes and make her sit through the most awkward and dreary two hours of "I done so wrong and Jeeesus is pissed but he loves me anyways 'n I shure don't deserve it, oh Lawd, can you puhleeze fergive me and now let me sing to you some of the most depressing music you'll ever hear"?????

My Sunday. That's what you get.

I never understood why someone would be "militant" about something. That's why, even though I feel the way I do about religion, I would never ever in a million billion years have considered becoming a militant atheist.

Well, now I get it. I SOOOO totally get it.

Militant atheists probably don't get invited to church by their friends and family.

The dear people who invited us to church on this particular day, they mean the world to me. This certain day was extra special for one of them and they said it was so important to them for us to be there.

These same dear people asked me point blank, back in 2001, what church I attended. I politely explained I didn't. They wanted to know why. So I told them why. They said, "oh, that's alright, everyone is different."

I took that to mean they understood how I felt about church. I felt confident that I had explained my position on religion. For all I knew, on that day, it was made perfectly clear that myself and these wonderful people had different upbringings, different views and we were still cool with each other.

But over 8 years and a number of denied requests to attend church later... I'm starting to wonder if they didn't get the point.

Both of them were made aware back in 2001 that I was not looking for God but if I ever changed my mind, they'd be the first to know. Both of them assured me there would be no pressure. No attempts to convert me.

For the most part, they've stuck to that agreement. However, I have to wonder. Why keep inviting me to church???

It isn't like something happens there that a person like me wouldn't experience in Jesus-free settings. If I want to hear weepy awful music sang by a pleasant but off-key group of seniors in robes, I would go to a nursing home and host a singin-in-the-shower karaoke contest.

(BTW, why does there always have to be that one church lady who thinks she missed her calling to be on the stage of an opera as the star soprano and now she takes it out on everyone else in the church choir?) Whhaaaaaaaaaaaa Jeeeeeesssssuuuuuuuussssssss whaaaaaaaaaooooooaaaaa!!!!! Haaaaalllll-aaaaaaa-llllllooooooo-yyyyyyaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!!! *BANG* (That's me, shooting myself in the ear.)

If I wanted coffee and donuts before a meeting where people cry, I would join a group therapy session that takes morning appointments.

If I wanted to sit in an uncomfortable chair while someone stands in front of me telling me how I do bad shit but they love me anyway, I'd go home, do something to piss off my mum then perch on a stool covered in thumb-tacks and listen to her chew my ass.

If I wanted to have my already suffering sinuses be put through torture by the smell of old, mothballs, furniture polish, dried flowers and too much stanky perfume, I'd visit Hobby Lobby on senior discount day on a July afternoon when the store a/c isn't working.

See? No church needed to experience any of the same church-things and I can do all of that shit minus Jesus stories... which in my opinion don't make a damn bit of sense anyway.

I don't know what Jesus really said. He didn't write any of that stuff in the bible. Other people did. And just as sure as I'm relating to you now the wretched things I went through this past weekend, if Mr. Buffie wrote the same story (cuz he was there through it all) I fucking assure you, his spin would be different than mine. So why should I have to trust what other uneducated people wrote down about shit they didn't understand in a time when there was no scientific thought put into much of anything and read a version of it that has been translated who-the-fuck-knows how many times by people who may or may not have been sticklers for accuracy and believe it's not only true but the like pinnacle of all truth in life? Uhm, no thanks.

Hey, if YOU wanna believe it, do it. More power to you. Oh please be my guest. And believe it with all your heart. Just don't ask me to believe it with you. Besides, your faith isn't affected by how I think, so don't worry about what is going to happen to my soul when I die. I'm not.

Now these people who invite me to church on a not-infrequent basis, they're usually rather understanding (as they should be) when I say no. They kind of make a squishy face and pretend to have momentarily forgotten the whole "Buffie doesn't do Jesus" thing. But lo and behold, they'll invite me again in another 6 months and we go through the confounded awkward mess all over again.

This one time though... I thought dammit, maybe they'll leave me the hell alone if I go just this once, and it should count in spades since it's a special occasion and all. Maybe this will make them happy and it'll be over with. I can consider it my good deed for the DECADE.

But no. No, no, no. Not not but no. Hell to tha no.

Now that I've gone this one time to appease them, I've been invited to come back by all the nice people there and even my dear (and I really don't say that sarcastically, I freaking love these people) friends (they're actually family) are inviting me again.

Listen, friends (technically relatives, but whatever, I consider you friends, too)... I adore you. I truly do. You're two of my favorite people in this whole world and I'd do damn near anything for you. Shit, I have gone to church for you. I'd almost rather set myself on fire than go to church, so appreciate that gesture for what it was. But ya gotta get it through your heads. This isn't something I care to repeat. Ever. I told you before, if I change my mind, I'll be all up in yer churchin. But that day hasn't come and if I were you, I wouldn't hold my breath.

I know you two love Jesus and I am positive Jesus loves ya right back. I realize church is a huge part of your lives, but it isn't the ONLY life you have. Like it or not, we're family. That means I'm part of your lives, too. And you're both a big part of mine. A part I love and cherish. We do tons of stuff together and we have a blast and the other stuff we do doesn't make one of us horrendously uncomfortable. Can't we just keep doing those things? Why does it have to be church?

Tell you what, if you're going to insist on inviting me to church, I'm going to start inviting you to blues concerts and burlesque shows. I know loud music and scantily clad chicks shaking their asses isn't your thing but tit for tat, hey?

I'll even trade you one for one. For every time you go to a dive bar or a nudie show with me, I'll go to a meeting of the God Squad with you. Fair?

Getting my point now?

That's what I thought.

Since being a militant atheist isn't really my style, I'll just return your church invitations with requests for you to join me for cheeseburgers at the Shady Lady or I'll ask you to a Rumblejetts show.

Because I know you two love naked tits and raucous jams as much as I love bible time. (Holy shit! This blog is long.)

In the end, I learned that if only my weekend had more strippers, beer and rockabilly music, and less teens and apostles, it probably wouldn't have sucked such a huge bag of dicks.

All Aboad the Bipolar Express!

If mood swings were amusement park rides, I would be more fun than Disney World.

Thursday was awesome. Friday I felt so... judged. -shudder- It was like high school all over again.

Have I ever mentioned how fucking awful high school was?

Back then, I didn't understand how much those people would ultimately not matter to me. It's not that I wanted them to like me and it's not that I agreed with their opinions of me. I just wanted them to leave me alone. To me, it wasn't asking for the world but I wanted so badly to be invisible to them. I figured people couldn't effectively attack what they didn't know was there.

They hated me for being fat. Put me down. Told me I should hate myself for it. Told me I needed to lose weight, change how I looked, change how I dressed, blah blah blah... They did it every single fucking day. Even physically assaulted me from time to time. Pushing me down, knocking my books out of my hands. They taught me how to hate, that is for sure.

Yesterday, I told a friend about going to my first HS reunion and how I never planned on going until Mr. Buffie talked me into and I just resisted the whole way there. Only stayed for 45 minutes, but in that time I learned a lot.

I learned that the people who really went out of their ways to treat me like shit were living miserable pathetic lives. Makes sense, they were miserable and pathetic in high school and zebras don't tend to change their stripes.

I also learned that we underdogs moved on and were stronger for surviving the experience. Seemed like most of us geeks, nerds and dorks are doing just fine.

The attempts to bring us down by the miserable, cruel and hateful ones didn't have much success. For me, it was motivation to get the fuck out of there as quickly as possible and get on with life in a world where they didn't exist.

So far my plan is working. Hee hee hee.

Heads up to you "popular" mean kids in high school, those of you who think you're so damn cool and get a bang out of humiliating your less-than-trendy classmates ... enjoy it now because after graduation, it's all downhill for you. Next time you're at the gas station, take a good look at the person selling you cigarettes with your fake ID. That's you in 1 to 4 years and it will continue to be you until you die of loneliness or go to prison for your 5th DUI or defaulting on your child support, whichever comes first. If I were you (and I'm glad I'm not and never was) I'd be a little nicer rather than suffer the wrath that karma is going to rain down on your designer knock-off ass later.

Today I don't feel judged anymore. LoLz Glad that passed. Guess a distant memory came back to haunt me for a second and now it's gone. Eventually it won't even be a memory because if I keep trying really hard, I will someday kill those particular brain cells with prescription meds and lots of alcohol. Kidding! Only kidding. You guys know I don't drink that much. Ha!

Guess I /could/ actually follow through - for once. 19Mar09

This is the blog I was going to post last night until I decided not to. (Why I decided not to is irrelevant.)

I was massively pissed off when I wrote it (can you tell? LOL). And even though I think it's generally a bad idea to perpetuate negativity, there are times when a girl has had just about all she can take. Saturday night was one of those times.

Do I think it will ever change? No, not really. I don't think the day will come when I can go where ever I want and never have to encounter this kind of thing again. We just don't live in that kind of world.

I do feel like I've kept my mouth shut about it so many times, that I owe it to myself to try something different. Instead of ignoring it like I usually try to do, the other day I decided to face it as head on as I can and say what I've always wanted to say, but didn't out of manners and crap.

The best policy for dealing with bullies, idiots and assholes is to ignore them. Really it is. I learned that a long time ago. To acknowledge they even exist is often more than they deserve. But you know how it is, gotta mix it up sometimes. Got to go against the status quo and scream when you should be whispering.

So here goes.

(Oh... I apologize in advance for being a downer. I'll make up for it next time and blog about wack stuff that isn't so forking serious! *SMOOCHIES*)






Dear Mizzou Losers at El Maguey on Saturday night,

Yes, I did hear you. So warning each other to “not be so loud about it” was just about the most pointless thing you could have done. And considering the source, that’s saying volumes because you all probably lead lives that are defined by pointlessness.

Fat people, contrary to what you may think (if you’re even capable of thought) are not always deaf. In fact, some of us hear exceptionally well. Especially when a table full of drunken fuckups out on the town and without dates (not surprising) is loudly expressing distaste at the sight of a large woman trying to enjoy a nice meal with her husband and her father.

Be thankful, useless losers, that my dad didn’t hear you. I am thankful for that myself because I would hate to see him go to jail for beating you the way you likely will be someday when you’re in prison. Be thankful, buttfuckers, that my husband didn’t hear you, because he can inflict nastiness on a vehicle that no army of mechanics could un-do. Be thankful none of you are worth their time.

Perhaps I sound like a scorned person blowing off steam from the comfort of the internet. In some ways, I am. But keep in mind that _I_ am not the one who talked shit on _you_ then hid behind menus and snickered like a bunch of ill-mannered 8 year-olds. I am not the one who can’t act right in the company of others. I am not the one who makes my parents ashamed of me. I am not the one who is an embarrassment to be seen with in public.

I’m talking major shit on you right now and owning every last bit of it. Not anonymously, not trying to hide it, not attempting to disguise myself in any way. Brave enough to respond? Please do. I am actually interested to know why you hate fat people. 

Did a fat person do something to you personally in your past and you’re too ignorant to know that it isn’t necessary to hate all fat people due to the actions of one individual? If that’s the case, did their fatness somehow play a part in the way they allegedly wronged you? I fucking dare you to answer that question fully and completely. Prove me wrong. Show me that you can articulate an answer. Demonstrate that you can justify your actions. Go for it. My email is BigCutieBuffie@yahoo.com. Leave a comment on my blog if you want. I’ll post it for everyone to see. Or do I have bigger balls than you?

Do you hate fat people just because you’re too backwoods stumpwater college puke drunk immature and stupid to think for yourself and because Hollywood says thin is in, you can’t see beyond it? You don’t have the energy or the impetus to have an open mind or independent beliefs? Are you too lazy to formulate your own opinions? Enquiring minds sincerely want to know.

Know why I’m above you? Let me spell it out – I hate you almost as much as you hate me. The difference is – I didn’t hate you until you gave me a reason. You hated me just because you had nothing better to do and a mind too small to do anything about it. The other difference is, I am telling you why I hate you. Had I not been concerned about the legal ramifications for my husband and my dad defending me, I would have told you right then and there what I’m telling you now. However my love for my family comes leaps, bounds and miles before my desire to try and straighten out backwards-thinking ignorant bastards like you.

Next time you pull some hateful shit like that on a stranger in public, I hope it isn’t someone with as much will power as me. I hope you mess with a fat person who is angry, armed and unstable; and I hope they unleash a wrath on you that even your next door neighbor will never forget. I also hope that I am never in the same county as you pathetic turds, but if I am, I do hope you’re still as dumb as you are now and I hope I get to witness the lot of you receiving much deserved bruises, busted lips, black eyes and bloody noses.

Try dressing better or growing up and maybe you won’t be having date-less dinners with your worthless friends so much.

May you all succumb to STDs and intestinal parasites.

Truly,
Buffie

PS... I don't know if you pukes really attend school at Mizzou or not, but several of you were wearing Mizzou shirts. So if you don't really go there, then you're totally regoddamnedtarded for spending money on the clothes. LaLaLaLame!

So we all caught fat flu? Fox doesn't even try to hide the fact that they're haters. 26Jan09

Excuse me while I preach to the choir...

Found this while perusing Fox News online. (I literally had nothing better to do.)

http://www.foxnews.com/story/0,2933,482788,00.html

Apparently getting fat IS contagious. Wait til the size-phobes and Mike Huckabee get a hold of this. We'll all be quarantined and forced to eat nothing but steamed soy beans and bran flakes until we're "cured" of our infectious fattedness. 

And on the same page is this story… http://www.foxnews.com/story/0,2933,483204,00.html

Jessica Simpson gained 3 ounces!!!! A sure sign of the apocalypse! 

Maybe she caught the fat flu?

I realize this is Fox News… not exactly the height of reputable reporting right? But there are people who read this stuff and think it’s Gospel. Even people who write and propose legislation. It’s dangerous when a major media outlet hypes something like fat being contagious. 

Am I a scientist? No. Not even in my fake life. But you'd be better off trying to convince me the world is flat than trying to make me believe one iota of this story. Not buying it, not even as a possibility.

Bet you a dollar if we follow the funding behind this "research institute", we’ll find Slim-Fast or some other diet giant behind it. 

http://www.opensecrets.org/lobby/cli...esearch+Center

Ah, well... look at that.

Nice try, Jenny Crank and NutriShitstem cronies. At least you took a shot at fear mongering from a different angle. Clever. Very clever.

BTW, Fox what did fat people do to piss you guys off today? Did you accidentally hire someone from Glamour Magazine for your news staff or something? Wackos.

Do you really know what you think you know? 03Oct08

I have fake boobs. 

I have never lied about it. Never tried to deny it. Never been ashamed of it. Didn't con anyone to pay for them. Didn't hate myself before I had them. Didn't get them to fix a relationship or please another person.

I have fake boobs. 

That's all. It's the same as saying I have long hair.

But for reasons unknown to me, there are some people who seem to think that my having fake boobs means a plethora of other things, such as:



I am shallow.

(Granted, I'm not "serious", but that doesn't equal shallow. I have depth, I just don't wallow around in a humor-less fog all the time.)



I am a gold-digger.

(If I'm a gold-digger, I'm damn bad at it. Mr. Buffie isn't exactly Trump and I work a full time job and two part time jobs and I'm a penny pinching nut when it comes to bills and crap.)




I am a slut.

(I don't even have a response for this. OMG, just ridiculous.)




I have a poor self-image.

(Pushaw! As if. LOL My ego is mostly checked, but I definitely don't look in the mirror and cry. Heck yes I think I'm cute! And what? What?)




I am desperate.

(Again, where to start with this. I don't get it. What do boobs have to do with desperation? I need a clue here.)




I am deceptive.

(Judging from the many TMI awards lining my mental shelves, I would have to say I /should/ try being a little deceptive, instead of sharing my business with the world. Maybe then I wouldn't get in so much trouble sometimes? But that's not my style. Sorry. I like to share far too much to be considered deceptive by any stretch of the definition.)




I am fake generally, inside and out.

(Again, I'm prone to goofy, fruit loopy mood swings but that's 100% Buffie - Not from concentrate. - Serious doesn't equal sincere any more than lack of seriousness equals fakeness.)



If I may speak freely for a moment.

The fact that some people have openly (thankfully not here) made these accusations about me because my boobs are silly-cone is --- 

--- SUCH A CROCK OF BULLSHIT!!!!!



I don't know why this is bothering me because I have no reason to give a shit about a stranger's opinion, but I am soooo over it. And I'm over seeing other girls with fake boobs go through the same GARBAGE.




Here's the truth.


I have fake boobs.






Trust me, it really doesn't go any futher than that. There's no need to ASSUME you instantly know a dozen other things about a person based on ONE trait.


How often are assumptions really accurate? 



Over time, we have learned that:


Making a negative assumption about a person's character based on their skin color is rarely accurate and there's really no correlation between skin color and behavior.


Making an assumption about a person's character because they're a member of a particular political affiliation is rarely accurate and there is diversity among the membership of almost any political party or group of people.


Making an assumption about anything based on only one piece of data is scientifically unsound and leaves the assume-er wide open to looking like a fucktard for popping off about what they *think* they know as opposed to what is fact.



I realize I am preaching to the choir. However I'm just not in the mood to argue this point with the people who believe I'm a slutty, shallow, gold-digging, lying bitch just because my boobs are purchased.

Therefore, to make things easy on myself, I thought I would just open a debate in a place where I am most likely to receive instant agreement with my perspective. LOL

I'm so clever and smart. It's because I have the fake boobies, y'know... ~winkies~

Perez Hilton goes from fat... to fat hater? Must be bitchy cuz he’s HUNGRY! 09Aug08

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She LIES! Jillian Barberie and Nutrisystem LIE LIE LIE LIE LIE! 05Aug08

How fucking dumb do the folks at Nutrisystem's ad firm think we are? That's a rehtorical question. Obviously they think we're extremely fucked up to believe their shit products actually "work". 

Case in point:

Jillian Barberie is now doing the "I lost weight on Nutrisystem and YOU can too! Here's my fat 'before' picture and look at my cocaine-slim frame now!" schtick.

Here's where I have a problem. Her "BEFORE" picture was OBVIOUSLY taken while she was preganant! DUH! Her pregnancy was in the celebrity gossip rags for one thing. Plus, in the "Before" photo, she's all baby-belly. No actual "fat" is seen on her body. 

She lost 40 pounds on Nutrisystem! (What she fails to mention is that she lost 18 pounds on the day she GAVE BIRTH.) I don't really know if she had assistance from the nose powder, but let's face it, that's how a lot of Hollywood achieves the whippet look.

What pandering bullshit is this anyway? Come ON Nutrisystem. Don't feed me yellow snow and tell me it's a lemon slush. 

But it just goes to show how many morons in this world, in 2008, still adhere to the belief that fat people are generally stupid, lazy slobs. Here's a newsflash, stupid lazy slobs come in ALL shapes and sizes. Likewise fat people possess an array of qualities, including intelligence, motivation, cleanliness and beauty. Get with the NOW already. 2009 will be here in a matter of months. Do you really want to be the last person stumbling around in life with a bunch of tired, old, lame stereotypes clouding up your thoughts? Not saying folks have to learn to "like" big people if they don't already, but they could at least not assume we're all dumb as a sack full of hammers.

For the record, Nutrisystem's diet doesn't sound appealing at all. Even if I wanted to be skinny, I wouldn't eat that stuff. Countless people describe it as unedible, salty, horrible looking, awful tasting microwave food. Nooooo thanks. Fresh salads and running around the block sounds by far and wide like a better deal.

So that's three shove-it's in one day!

A Shove It to Nutrisystem.

A Shove It to Jilliam Barberie for allowing her pregnancy to be exploited in that way.

An earlier Shove It to the fear mongering media.

That was exhausting. Shoving is good exercise. ~winkies~