The Fat Girl's Bible to Feeling Awesome, The Old Testment

If I didn't know so many miserable fat girls, I wouldn't write this. I was a miserable fat girl for way too long, so these are the words of wisdom I have to share because honestly, I think its worth sharing (me and my delusions of grandeur, don't ya know)... Normally I'd do the "suck it up, no one really gives a shit" thing and the things I've learned would go unsaid. But fuck that.

 Fat girls, skinny girls, all grrls, gurls and girlie girls are fucking awesome. Don't you forget it.

Mr. Freddie Mercury will provide the tunes.

CHILDHOOD AND IMPRESSIONABLE YEARS

I am a fat girl. I've been fat since I was 6ish. Wasn't always fat, I've got proof.

When I was three and firmly in the TrollBait stage of my development.

 Around 4th grade, I really began to chunk up.

At my best friend's 8th birthday.  Chipmunk cheeks!

 By 8th grade, I was a 14 juniors and sporting a fat roll.

Besties ForEVER!!! 3rd grade and ever since.

This was about when I was put on the first of several diets. None worked. My (undiagnosed) health issue couldn't be resolved by dieting! Silly parents, diets are for adults! What should have happened, was my mom take me to the doctor to address the issue, and maybe my PCOS and insulin resistance would have been nipped in the bud.


Freshman in high school, I was an 18.

The dangles on the ceiling fan are porcelain faucet handles, Hot (lights) and Cold (ceiling fan).
The year 1995, when stripes and Elmo were hot shit.

My junior year prom was interesting. My mom made me a dress in the most awesome shade of Mallard Teal. Couldn't find anything in our local area that was snazzy and in my size to get off the rack.

I love that color. So much feels.

College, well, college was an experience for someone admittedly bookish and antisocial. My best friend called my roommate to tell me to get my "ass out to a party and live". There was talk of a cast iron fry pan as a physical means of peer pressure... I was more social and tolerated in college, but I did not have a boyfriend and most of the guys I knew were friendly enough; my roommate was the eye candy and I was the side of humor. I was great to hang out with, but anything else? Nah, bro.

Until I got married, I was somewhere between 22/24. After my divorce, I shot up to a 28 and stayed there for about 7 years before I went paleo diet and sooo much exercise. Got to a 20-- which for me, was epic. Felt so accomplished for shedding almost 80 pounds. Know what I consider my dream size? a 16. That'd be just perfect for me. If I were to get skinny, a 16 is as far as I'd want to go. I'm not greedy. I still want to be "full figured". A part of that, I think, is due to being fat most of my life. To a point, it has defined who I am and how people view me. All the jests about Baby Beluga and Oh shit! Look at those tectonic plates shift! Thunderthighs! ... those have left an indelible mark.

Tyrion Lannister is right. Wear your weakness as an armor and it can't be used against you. I'll be the first to crack a fat joke about myself in order to steal the bully's thunder. I'll take that power away, twirl it like a baton, then use the same tactic to comment about them. They don't like it when the tables are turned. Bullies never do.

I used to hide behind my fat. It took a huge revelation (which I call the Tea Theory) for me to finally embrace who I was, and even then, it took some adjusting from 27+ years of conditioning resulting in "Fat is bad, fat is ugly, fat can never be attractive."

To some, perhaps.
But not all.

One of the hardest thing for many people to grasp is acceptance of self. It's easier to accept other people with flaws than it is to accept one's own quirks or perceived shortcomings. There's a set ideal of what we are supposed to be, which is fed in part by the media, and in part by those around us. I could put on make up and look great... but I'd still be the pig wearing makeup, according to some. Things like that can stick to someone, far longer than they'd care to admit. I speak from experience.

Whether one is thin or chubby, skinny or super-sized, perfect strangers do not have a right to tell you to gain or lose weight. It's rude, and odds are, the person already knows what they look like and don't need a verbal mirror on the wall talking back-- our chubtasitc minds already take care of that for us, okay?

My daughter is six. I don't want her feeling as though she needs to diet to make others happy when she's older. I want her to be happy with herself. If I can get that nailed when she's young, then she'll have it with her for life from the get-go and won't have to learn the hard way like I did. She is so much more than something to look "pretty"-- why is pretty so damn important? It causes trouble. Helen of Troy, anyone? Pretty is not what its all cracked up to be. Pretty can get one only so far in life. Pretty is for moments, because life tends to get down and dirty.

If there is one thing that we must teach our daughters, it is to cherish how special they are without appearances coming into play. Appearances are fleeting, evolving. Accepting oneself, I think, is much more important than anything else.


_________________________________________________________________________-
Tea Theory

People are like tea. There are many kinds of tea, and not all teas are pleasing. I can't expect to be everybody's cup of tea because not everyone is my cup of tea. Doesn't mean one tea is better than the other; both are equally pleasing to those who prefer said teas.

A FanGirl's Guide to Westeros.

I can admit it, HBO's Game of Thrones sold me first episode. For a couple of months my brother would keep bringing up Game of Thrones. Whoop de fucking dooo. Didn't care. He burned the first season onto DVD for me and he had to hound me to watch them. So I finally did. Watched all of season one in a single sitting.

With YouTube being the wonder that it is, I have assembled a guide for those who are audio/visual learners. Those who have read the novels (Admittedly, I'm on A Clash of Swords right now) will appreciate the nuances that narration can bring. Those new to the wild land of mind games in hopes of scoring a throne will enjoy a perspective not really expounded upon in the series.

And for those of you who haven't yet seen GoT for yourself, give it a whirl. It's fantasy, but a more gritty version of Lord of the Rings. A version filled with lust, violence, and songs of pwning disrespectful families. It's very character driven. And Tyrion is my favorite.


On that note, let me get down to business.


Westeros has a history that goes back twelve thousand years. Yeah. So I'll use THIS VID as a way to bring you up to speed before you get going below.

[each link will open into a new window. heads up on that.]

WAY IN THE PAST
-History and Lore The Children of the Forest, The First Men, and the Andals. [Indigenous peoples, treaties and invasions]
-The Age of Heros [300 years before the start of Book/Series]

NOTABLE PLACES
- History and Lore of Valyria [Where the last invaders came from]
-The Free Cities [Cities in Essos, a contient across the Narrow Sea]
- Harrenhal
- Dragonstone

RELIGIONS
- Old Gods and New
- The Drowned God

ORDERS OF PEOPLE WORTH NOTING
- The Night's Watch
  - as told by House Stark
  - as told by House Lannister
- The Maesters
- The Warlocks
- The Alchemists Guild
- The Free Folk

THE GREAT HOUSES OF WESTEROS
- Targaryen
   -Character Study
- Baratheon
- Stark
  -Character Study
- Lannister
   -Character Study: Tytos and Tywin   |  Cersei, Jamie and Tyrion
- Tyrell
- Greyjoy
- Arryn

20 YEARS BEFORE THE BOOKS/SERIES START
Robert's Rebellion
THE MAD KING, AS TOLD BY:
- Lannister
- Stark
- Baratheon
- Davos Seaworth

ROBERT'S REBELLION, AS TOLD BY:
- Baratheon
  -Stannis Baratheon
- Catelyn Stark
- Targaryen
- Tyrell
- Davos Seaworth

THE FIELD OF FIRE, AS TOLD BY:
- House Targaryen
- House Stark

THE SACK OF KINGS LANDING, AS TOLD BY:
- House Targaryen
- House Baratheon
- House Stark
- House Lannister

After the rebellion
THE GREYJOY REBELLION, AS TOLD BY:
- Theon Greyjoy
- Robb Stark
- Stannis Baratheon

MISCELLANEOUS
- House Clegane

Das Tingles

Music. For me, it's the heartbeat of life. Every moment has a theme song, it's only a matter of finding said tune.

There are some songs that ...



...make me want to dance.

...make me meh.

...remind me of a special someone.

...inspire novels.

...make writing fantasy easy.

...appeals to my inner nerd something fierce.

... make me tingle.
Like Kit Harrington does. Rawr.

A Fucking Magical Night, my friends.

Between the new Game of Thrones episode (Aww, I feel so bad for Sansa and Tyrion! She should smile though-- Peter Dinklage is way hotter than Jack Gleeson. She missed a fucking bullet train with that psychopath. Anyhoo, the bit where Tyrion is describing the shrine he'll build himself [being the God of Tits and Wine and all] at the next brothel he visits... priceless. I'd love to party with that Lannister.) and getting THE BOSS ARC, ohmygoodygoodness, last night was pure lip-nibbling entertainment.


Being that Chapter 16 has been published online, I scrolled straight to Chapter 17 and devoured the rest of the novel in a couple hours. If you have not had the pleasure of eyehumping Neil Elwood, you have no idea what you are missing. If I could sum up THE BOSS by Abigail Barnett in three words, it'd be something like this:

Pure. Fucking. 

Awesome Sauce.

In a great many ways, I can relate to Sophie. But there were times I felt frustrated that she'd risk her relationship with a guy who adores the hell out of her, when she feels the same (but with more anxiety). Sophie is a well-rounded character; snarky, intelligent, independent and quirky. Neil is pretty spiffy, himself. Take away the money, and he's still a likable and approachable male lead. And hot as all hell, oh yeah [ignore my swoon, please]. Here is a kinky old man I wouldn't mind visiting for a length (wink wink) of time.

There were plenty of heart-melting and panty-pooling moments as Sophie and Neil push each other to new heights of sensual exploration. Awkward moments abounded, too; Neil's adult daughter overhearing one of their bouts d'amour and making for a very uncomfortable breakfast. Emma could have easily been a one-dimensional character; someone who hated who her father dated, being a Daddy's Girl and all. But no. She adapts and evolves into someone I can grudgingly respect; even through her introduction will not be long forgotten.

Between navigating that borderland of Fuck Buddy and Something More, and trying to keep head above water when it comes to a cut-throat business ethics and balancing a very tawdry sex life with one's incredibly nummy boss, Sophie has her hands full.

When all is said and done, I will continue to recommend THE BOSS to people who love naughty reads, despite me making this face when I tried scrolling down to read the next chapter and realizing there is no next chapter. 

One's Reasoning Behind the Self-Publishing Path.

I have a bias against the publishing industry (and not due to Fifty Shades of Grey, actually.) lasting well over a decade. And while there's a big part of me that would love to be acknowledged by a publishing house that I've got some story-weaving skills, there's one thing that stops me from being completely gung ho.

Once upon a time, a great many moons ago (something like 13 years) I worked at a bookstore. A nationwide retailer. I learned a horrible secret.

You know how books have something in the first few pages about how if one received this book without a cover, it's considered stolen, and the author never got its due?

Yeah. If there is too many copies of a certain book that goes over the store's listed inventory, for whatever reason, the book gets pulled, the covers "stripped," and then it is placed in a trash bag to be delivered to a dumpster.

Maybe I'm secretly way more anti-Nazi than I thought, because whenever I was assigned the job of stripping books, I died a little inside.

Why, I wondered, could they not donate them to establishments like libraries, hospitals or prisons? So wasteful in so many ways. Frankly, as an author, I would rather my novels not be wasted.  Why waste the paper, the effort of shipping and stocking, just for someones work to end up in the trash? I realize that is the whole premise of a bookstore, to have a variety of works available, but to just throw them away?

To me, that's fucked up.

So I went with publish on demand.

And I'm way okay with that. If someone buys my books, I'd hope they'd pass it along rather than toss it. Or if they had to destroy it, let it be a matter of survival. Survival is good. I've even seen an edible survival book.

Regrouping after two and a half years of working the front line.

An update for THIS POST

My gramma has been placed in a home, for now.

She declined to the point of not wanting to get out of bed- couldn't get her up to use the bathroom. She couldn't move her feet to walk, nor bear any weight on her knees. For a week straight, she'd slide off her bed because she couldn't brace her feet aginst the floor, so I was picking her up every time she thought she could support herself and refused my help to support her as she stood.

The three times I managed to wrangle her out of bed and into the living room, she'd refuse to eat anything. Unless it was sweet. Ensure? Oh you mean the chocolate shakes! Got those chocolate shakes. She wouldn't even eat soup, and she loves soup!

Now, she's had periods where she'd do that-- just stay in bed and not interact with people. Or she'd think it's 6am but in reality, 3pm, and cannot understand that it's not the way she thinks. The big difference is that this time it's lasted a lot longer than the usual one or two days.

I am not a small person. Just shy of six foot and overweight. I'm strong, but I'm not strong enough to haul a person room-to-room all Master-Blaster style, let alone a person who's two-thirds my body weight. [Actual conversation: Why can't you carry me?  Because I'm not the Incredible Hulk.] Anytime I needed to move gramma, it required calling my brother or my mother to help so we could get her to the bathroom/shower. And there's nothing more that Gramma hated was when I'd get her shower going. Who am I to tell her she needed to bathe? Seriously, she'd ask me why her bathing habits were any of my business. Hygiene - it's not just a theory.

We told gramma if she couldn't or wouldn't get of bed, we'd take her to the hospital. They didn't do anything, couldn't do anything. She wasn't injured and all her blood work came back fine. They chalked it up to her Alzheimer's advancing. So they released her. One of the nurses on duty understood our situation and called the local nursing home. They had a bed open, and thus she was transferred to the care center where teams of qualified people have the support, tools, and resources to provide the level of care Gramma needs.

She's doing well, more alert than she was before. Gramma thinks she's at home (which in one way is good, that her anxiety isn't getting triggered, because that was a biggie. She had gotten violent with me a few times because I wouldn't flag down the cars driving down the street to take her home, since she was already at her own house. Right now, she thinks she's at home and that all the people around her are her family, the ones she's been missing. That's the part that saddens me.) It'd be nice if her local children (other than my mother) would visit her. Kids and I bring her Frappuccinos. She loves the strawberries and cream.

If she can regain the strength to walk again, either with her wheelie-walker or her regular one, she will come home. Mom doesn't hold out much hope for that.

So, I'm out of a job. I've worked customer service most my adult life. This has been, by far, the most emotional draining experience of my thirty-three years.

-Gramma not recognizing me or my children or trusting us. When we'd identify ourselves, we were called liars or worse.
-Not having support as agreed upon. Even soldiers in war get a few weeks of R&R every now and again.
-Getting blamed for everything. My grandmother is not an animal who can be trained, like some of my family assumes. She has a free will, and exercised it whenever she could. Me telling, suggesting or helping her was not welcomed.
-Verbal abuse of me and my children. She would be especially mean to them when I was out of the room.
-Physical abuse. She's hit and bruised me with her cane, deliberately. She tried kicking the cat and tripped over a chair.
-House-wide sleep deprivation. Routinely at 2-3 AM, trying to wake me or my kids up.
-Mopping bathroom floors at the wee hours because disposable underwear were beneath my gramma's dignity. She'd go commando instead of wearing them.

There's a lot more, but it felt like a crushing weight of everything on my shoulders. My son has ADHD, and combined with someone with Alzhiemer's, it was pure fucking Hell on bad days. Did you know I once counted how many times she asked my son how school was (it was a Saturday) and it was 186 times, starting from 9am to bedtime. 186 times of saying it was Saturday, so no school, or that it was fine, Gramma. Just fine.

It's really exhausting, let me tell you. Especially on a constant basis. I realize I'm most likely coming off as a whiny bitch, but I'm okay with that. I am entitled to my feelings and frustrations.


So, now for the PSA

Alzhiemer's has been described as diabetes of the brain. So watch the carb intake and make sure to eat healthy.

Please make a living will, so if you are ever in a position where you cannot advocate for yourself, your family will know your wishes. Don't leave it up to them to figure it out as things go along. Planning for the future is important.

If you know a caretaker, or have a family member that utilizes a live-in caretaker, you would so totally make their day by giving them a break. An hour's respite is a truly marvelous thing and ever so rare. Caregivers [Moms, too] can give so much of themselves over to the care of others, that they don't take care of themselves. Sometimes a little reminder of taking a break is needed.

[/end PSA]


So now I find myself on a new pathway in life. Other than to keep writing, I don't know what I'm going to do. Pretty sure I'm too burnt out right now to get back into customer service, so something new.

Life is an adventure I plan on experiencing while I have the mental faculties to do so.

In Defense of Ros. And Fuck You, Joffery [A GoT Rant]

Once upon a time, there was a castle in the north called Winterfell. And outside the mighty walls of said castle, dwelled a wee village with its own whorehouse. But this was no mere whorehouse; it held a gem by the name of Ros.

Ros was a rambunctious redhead with big breasts, and had the ability to charm men using her, uh, wiles. She put Theon in his place and flirted with Tyrion. But then war came when the Lord of Winterfell died by order of a shitheaded little fucker who severely needs to get his throat ripped out by Nymeria, you know, after being curbed American X style. Then his head rent from his body and stuck upon a pike and marched around the capital city so all can cheer that the incestuous bastard who is the sum of all that is wrong in the world  is FINALLY fucking dead after tormenting so many poor lives. Yes, I fucking hate Joffery, and if I sound slightly unhinged, pardon moi. I just hope the fucking producers write a death worthy of such an arrogant sack of blonde puke and spunk. Seriously, if he gets poisoned and dies in his sleep, I might rampage. I fucking hate him, and here's me hoisting my tankard high in hopes that he suffers.   Ahem, I digress.

Ros was a bright woman with ambition. She knew her fate lay where there were people and power.  She traveled south to Kings Landing and got caught up with Littlefinger the fucking fucktard son of a bitch. Mr. Littlefinger was not a good man to work for, and as Ros came to find out, cared little about the workers in his brothel.

It was within the walls of Littlefinger's establishment, that a baby was murdered. Rumors flew of him selling his depressed sex workers to deviants as soon-to-be-dead toys. Littlefinger cared naught for any, unless something went amiss with his profit margins.

Littlefinger didn't give much of a shit that Ros was forced to beat another prostitute under the king's direction as he got his fucking jollies.

After suffering horrible experience after traumatic nightmare, she worked up the ranks in search of a better life.

Ros, the bright and beautiful woman, left her former profession behind and became assistant to Littlefinger, and privy to his schemes, especially a specific scheme involving a young noble woman held hostage at court. A young noble woman who grew up in the castle of Winterfell.

Despite being a spy for the Master of Whispers, Ros cared about the young noble woman, being that they both grew up in the same area, and the noble woman's father was once Ros' lord.

Ros told the Master of Whispers of Littlefinger's plot.

Littlefinger found out.  Littlefinger was a spiteful prick.

He gave Ros to Joffery as a plaything. And as the sack o'Lannister spunk got his jollies, he killed the one character I really liked. 

Oh, Joffery. I don't need to tell you this, I'll share because it applies.

FUCK YOU.

I was shocked to find out how Ros got written out of Game of Thrones. Granted, she wasn't a canon character, nor terribly important to the plot, but I found her fun and refreshing. And I liked how all the men at Winterfell "knew" Ros.

A) I'd like to thank the producers for having her on as long as they did.

B) Seriously, I hope they do justice with Joffery's death (ahem)

C) For reals. G.R.R. Martin can't let them do anything less.