Tuesday, May 13, 2014

She Had Every Right To Bitch

I've been fat and I've been anorexic. I'll take anorexic any day of the week. It's been so bad since I've gained weight that I've considered committing suicide over the weight.  I'm over 40--weight doesn't just fall off. A month on the thyroid medication hasn't helped yet. I kept up walking about 10 miles in total with Guy on Friday, but by Saturday, I could barely walk, I was so worn out. My random knee pain, which is excruciating, has returned.  The whole situation just feels like it's never going to get better. My family is not supportive or encouraging. 

I've been trying to find the right dress for Luke's graduation banquet and graduation, and it's been failure after failure. Shopping online doesn't help, but I have a decent grasp of my size, and I'm fooling myself. That's the caveat of shopping online--you don't get to try things on and have to end up returning them. 

What's most disheartening is the fact that I asked my son to watch this clip (transcript below) to get a better understanding about how heavier women feel out in the dating world. What'd he say? "Yeah, I watched it. It's stupid. It's just some fat chick complaining about how she's fat."

And we're not supposed to do that. And we're supposed to thank the heavens for every crumb of attention any man chooses to pay us. It's all out of sympathy, anyway. No matter how we try to dress flatteringly, it ultimately doesn't matter. In the episode, Louis CK turns down the fat girl for a date she's asked him for more than once.

Transcript of "Louis" courtesy of Jezebel:

Vanessa: Ugh, dammit. That is so goddamn disappointing, Louie.
Louie, you know what the meanest thing is you can say to a fat girl? "You're not fat." I mean, come on, buddy. It just sucks. It really really sucks. You have no idea. And the worst part is, I'm not even supposed to do this. Tell anyone how bad it sucks, because it's too much for people. I mean, you, you can talk into the microphone and say you can't get a date, you're overweight. It's adorable. But if I say it, they call the suicide hotline on me.
I mean, can I just say it? I'm fat. It sucks to be a fat girl. Can people just let me say it? It sucks. It really sucks. And I'm going to go ahead and say it. It's your fault.
Look, I really like you, you're truly a good guy, I think. I'm so sorry. I'm picking you. On behalf of all the fat girls, I'm making you represent all the guys. Why do you hate us so much? What is is about the basics of human happiness, feeling attractive, feeling loved, having guys chase after us, that's just not in the cards for us? Nope. Not for us.
How is that fair? And why am I supposed to just accept it?
Louie: You know, Vanessa, you're a very, really beautiful—
Vanessa: If I was a very, really beautiful, then you would have said yes when I asked you out. I mean, come on, Louie, be honest here. You know what's funny? I flirt with guys all the time. And I mean the great looking ones, the really high-caliber studs? They flirt right back, no problem. Because they know their status will never be questioned. But guys like you never flirt with me, because you get scared that maybe you should be with a girl like me.
And why not? You know, if you were standing over there looking at us, you know what you'd see? That we totally match. We're actually a great couple together. And yet, you would never date a girl like me. Have you ever dated a girl that was heavier than you? Have you?
Louie: Yes I have, yes I have.
Vanessa: No no no, I didn't say have you ever fucked a fat girl, Louie. I'm sure you have. Every guy has. I mean, when I met you, if I had said, "Hey, do you want to go to the bathroom and screw on a big can of peaches?" you would have gone for it. No, I'm saying, have you ever dated a fat girl. Have you ever kissed a fat girl? Have you ever wooed a fat girl? Have you ever held hands with a fat girl? Have you ever walked down the street in the light of day, holding hands, with a big girl like me?
Go ahead. Hold my hand. What do you think is going to happen? You think your dick is going to fall off if you hold hands with a fat girl? You know what the sad thing is? It's all I want. I mean, I can get laid. Any woman who is willing can get laid. I don't want that. I don't even need a boyfriend or a husband. All I want is to hold hands with a nice guy, and walk and talk —

Spoiler alert: He holds her hand at the end.

Sunday, May 11, 2014

Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, He walks into mine

Let's say I could call you mine.....in an alternate universe.

Your life would be drastically different.

Yes, we might live in the city. Maybe not as swanky as what you're used to, but I'd make you a home. I'd be pleased to make you a home wherever you desired.

Your belly would never be empty at 9:00 pm when you got home from work. You'd never have to stop for a sandwich. I would understand the long hours and the missed connections, and would appreciate the days like yesterday, which had to take some major planning. I'd have something waiting for you, because you work really hard.

I'd rub the tension out of your neck. I'd reenact all of the bland, benign fantasies I've had about you for 5 years but peel you off the ceiling if given the opportunity. I'd treasure the flecks of gray in your thick, dark hair. I'd grasp it with passion. I would kiss you constantly, annoyingly so, probably. I would tout you to all of my friends as the sexiest guy pushing 60 that I've ever laid eyes on. Your ready grin and hearty laugh make me want to be around you more. I get butterflies when we're going to see each other, but you put me at complete ease once you're standing beside me.

(Pardon the formatting issue I have below.) Understandably, your ego is your ego at work. I'm used to that. You don't take it home or out with your friends. Your humility and regular Guyness is very attractive. That's cool. We would laugh at the same crap because we find the same crap funny. Even when I get annoyed with you when I don't get your jokes, you don't get mad. You explain. I appreciate that. We'd talk about things that interest us, not just the daily ins/outs of mundane life. Your brain would almost explode being exposed to me for any great length of time, but you'd wonder how you lived life without it for so long. You'd ride my mania with me for however long it lasted and wouldn't judge me when I'm depressive, knowing that too would pass. I wouldn't feel judged for either mood, actually.  You have never and never would belittle me for what's wrong with me. Being with you is very stabilizing, in fact.  

I wouldn't expect the world and would make my own way in life, because you'd encourage me to do so. I'd anticipate that you'd give your support, as you have, but you'd let me take my bruises as I deserved them. Not coming from a home with any sense of entitlement, I've taken my hits and continue to learn my lessons. Some of that doesn't work out. But you never tell me to give up. You wouldn't do that. Your wisdom is something upon which I rely. 

You'd hold my hand when we cross the street, and then when neither of us wants to let go, until something happens where a free hand is necessary, you might momentarily let go. I'd feel comforted and protected when you do that. You'd hold my jacket. You're a true gentleman. You'd sweetly hold me. You're tender and soft and I feel safe with you.

I'd immortalize you in more art and poetry than I already have. You never have grasped the concept of being one's muse, but you make me want to write beautiful things and make beautiful music, just by being who you are.

I'd try and teach you that it's not the sins of your past or the sins of your present or the sins of your future that define how you get into the heavens. I'd try and teach you that love, in all of its manifestations, precedes and precludes any type of bad thing a human might do, because to be a good person and to give love to someone else is paramount to wallowing in the ills of the past or the foibles of the present. I'd teach you more about your soul and its place than any church could ever teach you, because I know. Don't ask me how I know. I just know. Remember the Ganesha statues? The Elephant god? He's the god of removing obstacles. Perhaps that's why I'm so drawn to him.

I'd respect the relationship you have with your children, as you would mine; understanding that none of the children need a substitute parent. I'd appreciate the non-hovering advice you've given me towards my son which you've pressed me about wisely and kindly and have trusted my judgment as his mother. To me, our age makes no difference. Besides, I'll need you to help me pick out a suitable college for my son in just a couple of years.

Likewise, I'd respect the relationship you have with her. The history is long and complicated, and you did raise 3 children together, but I just don't see you closing out your golden years in such a structured, cloistered, predictable, apathetic existence where you're not given your props for being as wonderful and interesting as you are. Then again, I might be slightly biased, because as if it wasn't already blatantly obvious, I'm in love with you.

I'm sure I've mentioned it blog after blog or at least in person more than once, but meeting and getting to know you was better for me than the 999 piece puzzle I gave you for your birthday. Meeting you and growing close to you was more like the monkey stone I just gave you....weighty, obvious, slightly obtrusive but ultimately calming, soothing and a constant reminder of someone's thought of you. It's smooth, just as our conversations are.

You'll have to forgive this perpetual dreamer, the idealist, the writer who takes bits of reality and turns them into grand fantasies. To me, the time we spend together is paradise. You may think of yourself as ordinary or run of the mill, but in my eyes, you're the bees' knees. More so than any saintly statue or rosary one could carry, no, I don't deify you. You're flawed, and distant, and cantankerous and irritating at times; but ultimately, it's all a part of you and who you are.

When we say "I love you," we mean it. We always have, from the first time you told me that on the phone when you left work one night.

Without putting you on a pedestal, I'll put you on one anyway. I'll also be the first to knock you off it if you think you're getting too big for your britches. I should think you'd do the same for me, as reciprocal as our friendship has been, sided far more on my side than yours, though I understand. I truly do. I can't say I'm 100% happy about it, but I accept it as part of you and your makeup.

I think it was about 3 years ago, we met for a drink after work, Pepsi, and I asked you, "I thrill your soul. What do you plan on doing about that?" Oh, were you flustered. To date, I still haven't gotten a sufficient answer apart from the fact that with every passing encounter, I am more convinced that you mean it when you tell me you love me.

I've never been a big believer in "what's meant to be will be." We are born with conscious choice. We are born with free will. We are born with, conversely, temptation and wily desires that we must weigh against the ultimatum of what's truly our own happiness, our own mess, how messy it might become, to follow what our hearts and minds actually blaze. Courage, braveheart.

Come on, I'd prance (read: stumble) in stilettos for you for at least 5 minutes if you promised to catch me if I started to fall, which, of course, I would.

So many songs remind me of you, and I'd make you more CD's if you'd get your damn player fixed, but for tonight, anyway, and I heard it on Pandora earlier and nearly started to cry, this expresses my sentiment towards you tonight. The lyrics of this song are selfless. George Harrison's "What is Life." While Harrison acknowledges the betterment and treasure of his life with that of his beloved, he resigns a loss or lack of love with support and encouragement. Pandora. It was that or "Instant Karma" by Lennon. Great drum fills, but not exactly appropriate, though "we do all shine on, like the moon and the stars and the sun." Oh, my darling, not to go off topic, (ME?), but "Karma's" got some of the best drum fills in rock music, bar none. Have a listen.

Apart from my Ambien nap, it's nearly 3am, so I think I'll call it a night. Thanks for a terrific 42nd. It was all I wanted and more. I know it took you a lot of work, which I appreciate. We'll keep an eye on the City Winery.

PS--you missed out on church tonight--not only Steve on drums but Meg on keys--they did a spectacular job....me, I did alright, as I usually do.

Time for bed. When you feel under-appreciated or unloved, realize there's someone out there who adores the living daylights out of you.


"...But if it's not love that you need, then I'll try my best to make everything succeed. Tell me, what is my life without your love? Tell me, who am I without you by my side?"

Here, Guy, consider this a favor:

Sunday, May 4, 2014

The Other Side

Happy Dreams: Seeing my dad's face with a literal aura around it, a holy spirit, and I got to just stare at his face for the longest time, looking in awe at his ocean blue eyes. His smile was huge, but not crooked anymore like when he was alive. He looked perfect. Then he said, "I love you, Annie," and said, "I love you too." And he was gone, and I woke up. He literally just stopped by to say hello, but his aura was magnificently bright. I like those little reminders that he's still with me.

He was absolutely perfect, he wasn't jaundiced from alcohol, his smile beamed like he'd had his teeth capped (which I guess, in heaven, is an option), and our gazes met for what felt like hours, though it was probably a matter of a few seconds. But what stood out for me the most was the light around him. It was unlike any other I'd ever seen and not a product of my sedative/hypnotic sleeping pills. He was trying to tell me one of two things: 1) We're ready for you to come home or 2) Please, no matter what, don't give up.

Overall, I had a restless night's sleep. I was up 3 or 4 times and I'm not sure why. Yes, the Dad dream starkly awakened me, but other than that, I don't know why I was up so often. When I did get up again, at 8:30, I'd missed an email by 6 minutes from the chair of the department of my school program. She had some news. The school has decided to administratively withdraw me from the program because I failed to complete an internship last year, and when given a second chance, that all got messed up too. Keep in mind, classes start tomorrow for summer term, and I was ready to go, not thinking there'd be any trouble. I got 2 A's and a B last term, got all of my work in on time, and was pleased and looking forward to continuing towards my masters degree, but...

Essentially, yes. I've been kicked out of school.

There is an opportunity for appeal of this decision, for which I will voraciously fight at all costs.

Or maybe I won't.

Maybe #1 was right and as we all are painfully aware in life, not all of us are meant to grow old. Friday, I'll turn 42, the same age my dad was when he died. It seems so young, but feels so old. It's the answer to the meaning of life, according to science fiction writer, Douglas Adams, you know. 42. I do have plans with Guy for my birthday, after a 5 hour class downtown.  A walk around the Art Institute. Dinner, jazz and time to talk. I'll grant him enough time to see me then, but after that, I honestly can't make any more promises to anyone. Tomorrow night, I'm seeing Meg. She has enough going on not for me to bother her with my foibles. Everybody does, really. Which makes my fights and my decisions solely my own. I've reached out to my Pastor, who maybe can talk some sense into me as to why it's not a supremely superb idea to join that light.

If I lose school, I lose everything. I stand to face tribulation for which I'd prefer to admit myself to a psychiatric ward rather than deal with the wrath which I'd face at home from my living parent. I will have disappointed too many people. For as much as I promised, I vowed I wouldn't fuck things up, I guess I fucked up irreversibly this time.

With the blithe form letter from the school with a "take care" at the end of it, and a blatant lie in one of the reasons why they want to dismiss me, I decided to go over the heads of any committee they might converge and wrote a pleading letter to the president of the school. If their mission statement is to provide and improve social justice for those more unfortunate, those who are in need, and if the president stands by the fact that his door is always open for student concerns, what could it hurt?

Meanwhile, my financial aid will get fucked up again, my stipend on which to live delayed, and I'll go broke. I haven't received any child support from my ex-husband for 2 months. I'm bleeding money keeping Luke and I afloat. I have a small life insurance policy which'd be enough for Luke to cremate me, and get through high school. Although he hates staying with and living with his father and the new wife, he's resilient enough to adapt, I think, even though he calls me every day when he's with his dad. Tonight, we're supposed to watch "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest" together, Luke just having finished the book and planning to write his book report based upon the novel. (I made him promise to watch it until he finished the book.)

I purposely have kept my mother out of the loop on all that's been going on, because I wouldn't need to kill myself--she'd kill me on her own, and I mean that sincerely. She's not exactly the smiling light in my dreams. She's the one who reminds me that I'm overweight, fucked in the head and a colossal slob who drains her of any joy (not that she has any, which is her own fault) in her life, which is an indirect mirror image of what my father's life was to her.

I have the means and I have a plan. It's a matter of executing such plans that's up for debate. Don't send anyone after me; you won't find me. I do and am trying to think of my son, who adores me and I him, but his life will be made 100 times more horrible as well if I get booted out of school. And what kind of life is that for him? He's already unhappy, except for when he's with me, which is something to strongly consider. I just don't know what to do now...fight or flight? Does the administration of my school honestly want a student's suicide on their conscience for the rest of their lives? Because it would be. I'm sure they'd sleep well at night.

Going to hell, I'm not worried about. I strongly feel my soul will eternally carry on, just like my father's. This is where Pastor's input would come in handy. I don't necessarily believe in eternal damnation, especially for those who have suffered enough on earth. I've been on the slow suicide train for years already.

"Where can a bum find dead and bored? When you gonna make it stop raining, Lord?"