Monthly Archives: November 2015

Fat Flirting

Freeform thoughts, In the here & now, ,

flirting3
You’ve often heard me refer to flirting, although granted it’s usually been in the context of flirting with food. I’ve got an honorary  black belt in that, in the way that only a fat girl who’s spent the majority of her adult life on one diet or another could begin to understand.

All those teenage magazines that I read back in the seventies and eighties..? I paid attention, and they taught me everything I know about holding that gaze for just a beat too long, looking away with a coy smile and then looking back again…conveying I want you with my eyes whilst the rest of my body adopts an I couldn’t care less stance…whether it’s with a bloke or a sausage roll, the principle is the same, right?

I admit it…if I’m feeling mischievous I’m an outrageous flirt. I love the innuendo and the banter, and I’m here to tell you it’s possible to get away with far more as a fat girl than you ever could as a skinny girl. The reason for that? Nobody takes you seriously when you’re fat. Your banter is pretty much guaranteed to be taken as a joke..nobody’s going to believe that you mean it, you know that they’re actually being chatted up. By you.

More accurately the object of your banter would never in a month of Sundays think that you’d imagine they were remotely interested in you…I mean come on, you’re the fat girl. It’s a laugh. I’m not imparting this from a place of bitterness, heaven help me don’t think that for a minute…I’m a single girl by choice these days for the reasons I’ve already shared. But I still like to flex my flirting muscle from time to time, from the safety of my fully paid-for fat suit.

Some of my more risqué conversations have volleyed back and forth for hours, ending in a good laugh, a bear hug and all around agreement that it’s been a top night. If I’d turned serious and acted like I expected it to go somewhere the poor bloke in question would have almost certainly broken the land speed record getting the hell out of dodge, and spent the next few weeks afraid to leave the safety of his front room.

There are exceptions to that rule of course, I came horribly unstuck on a holiday once in the land of camels and hookah pipes…my attempts to secure a good price for a terracotta tagine almost ended in disaster when I found myself practically engaged to a man with funny eyes and something stuck in his beard. I mean how was I to know that buxom blonde women are highly prized in certain parts of the world.

If not for the quick thinking of my taxi driver who – thank God – had clearly watched Starsky and Hutch far too many times, my life could have turned out very differently indeed. I might have been tending goats now instead of writing my blog, imagine that.

So yes, I think I’ve found the one thing to talk about that perhaps I might miss about being fat. In Skinny Town I won’t even be able to flex my pulling muscle with a sausage roll but you know what…I’ll adapt. After all, nothing tastes as good as being skinny feels, right?

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Oh No, Five Oh!

Freeform thoughts, In the here & now, Reflections on past times, , ,

chanel cake

So, that’s it then…I have officially reached the point where my age starts with a five, not a four. I wasn’t sure how I’d wake up feeling today…at forty I was fine, I embraced it. At thirty, I thought my life was over, seriously I think I cried for a week. At twenty…crap, that’s a lifetime away, I don’t even remember how I felt back then. I’m Fifty. I need to try it on for size you know? See how it fits. I could deny it of course…cling to forty nine like a drowning man would cling to a life raft? The flaw in that plan is that I’ve told you all now…me and my big mouth.

I wonder what my fifties will bring? My twenties were all about my boy – he was little, I was first and foremost a mum. I’d pressed the ejector seat on a really bad choice of husband and it was me and kiddo against the world. In my thirties – once I’d gotten over the trauma of actually being thirty  – they were all about being a mum, going back to school and getting some smarts, building my career…oh and winning a fairly gruelling battle with the Big C.  Husband number two came…and went…watch closely, there’s a theme.

In my forties I was more in control. I still made some bad choices but I was getting better at recognising the fuck-ups and dealing with them quickly, so that’s a bonus at least, right? Husband number three was despatched almost before he’d arrived although not before wiping out my bank account and teaching me some very thorny life lessons. But that was at the very top of the decade…I’ve enjoyed my forties on the whole. I stopped chasing the fairy tale and I got to know me.

As I turn fifty, I’m in control you know? Apart from needing the odd tena-lady obviously if someone makes me laugh till the tears run down my leg. I know what I want, having spent a lot of time over the years experiencing what I don’t want. I love my family, my friends, my career, and now I’m writing too, and the more I write the more I want to write…I suspect I’ve unleashed the beast. Putting yourself out there is daunting but to discover that like-minded people enjoy your stuff fills me with a joy I can’t describe.

It’s a shame I’m still fat, but you know what? Whilst I would have loved to have sashayed into my sixth decade as a skinny string bean, I know this is my time. Time to break out of this life-limiting fat suit once and for all, but exactly when is just semantics…I will be fifty and fabulous, even if it’s technically the day before I’m fifty one. And what’s more, I’m planning to stay there – I already know I’m going to need to mortgage my skinny soul against the commitment of counting a food budget for the rest of my life but hey, if that’s what it takes to prevent my home in Skinny Town being repossessed then bring it on…once I’m there, this time I’m there to stay.

So all in all, early indications are that hitting my big birthday isn’t going to trigger any kind of nervous collapse…we live to march another day, posse! 🙂

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Fairy Tale Lite

Freeform thoughts, In the here & now, , ,

bunting-clip-art-622216.

One of my biggest flaws over the years has been my tendency to look at life in a ‘Once upon a time’ kind of way – I’ve always been blessed with a really positive optimistic outlook, and whilst that’s great, I’ve learned to my cost that it’s best not to cross the line and expect life to mirror a full-on fairly tale…very rarely does that charmed life exist. Don’t get me wrong, there have been times – really really dark times – where fixating on a positive outcome has prevented my mind from wandering to places it might otherwise not have entirely recovered from, and that has served me well. But marry the optimism with naivety and blind faith that things will work out ok and that’s where things have occasionally descended into farce.

My problem has always been that I just don’t see the big red flags waving at me as I breeze through a given situation. Actually that’s not strictly true…I see them, I just don’t recognise them for what they are. To you and the rest of the world they would look like red flags spelling danger…to me, they look like bunting. They may as well have balloons attached. The only way I can describe it, is that sometimes the line between wanting something to be a certain way, and believing that it is that way gets really blurred.

The best examples I have are nothing to do with dieting…it’s a pity that my blog relates to dieting rather than dating because for every dieting anecdote I could share with you, I have ten which involve my quest to find Mr Perfect, many of which would make your toes curl and your hair stand on end. Following the incident in Brazil with the thong, which I covered in a previous post, I called off the search and have remained contentedly single ever since.

Much as a life companion is an appealing thought, my wish-list is fairly demanding and I’ve kissed more frogs than I care to admit. Hell I even married a couple of ’em. I have one of the best track records E.V.E.R for being drawn to fantasists, winos and weirdos, all of whom appear utterly charming to me so that’s definitely an area of my life which should remain undisturbed for now.

I’m trying really hard to anticipate the bumps in the road that I might encounter on the way to Skinny Town, so I don’t have to worry about failing to see them until the very moment I’ve face-planted and everything’s gone to shit. To be fair, whilst the question of relationships doesn’t directly relate to my weight loss journey, as anyone who identifies as an emotional eater would agree, often the force-field surrounding them can have a massive knock-on effect on the speed at which you can fall off the wagon.

I’d be very confident that should the opportunity present itself to remain locked in a room for the next 18 months, or alternatively be swathed in relationship-free bubble wrap, nothing will shake the dieting resolve or knock me out of the sweet spot. Therefore, that’s what has to happen…it’s part of my strategy.

Whilst I appreciate that’s a bit like someone who doesn’t eat chocolate saying they’re not going to eat chocolate, I’m nailing my colours to the mast on this one anyway.  My life will remain a Prince Charming free zone. As you peel away the dress sizes there’s no getting away from the fact that your stock value rises on the relationship front. The smaller you become, ironically the less invisible you are – you’ll have to trust me on this one, having skittered up and down the size continuum several times I’ve experienced it first hand.

My fairy tale, on this occasion is the lite version, no Prince Charming required 🙂

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The Lurgy Diet

Diet update, In the here & now

sick-in-bedAnother week down…so that makes me one week closer to where I’m headed, right? It’s been a rough one to be honest, I’ve spent most of it buried somewhere underneath the poorly blanket in my beloved armchair, my plans for the weekend in tatters following the onset of some rotten lurgy that snuck up and pinched my voice on Tuesday when I wasn’t looking and hasn’t quite handed it back yet.

I’m so glad that I had a really quiet one last weekend…despite all my frustrations with the wonky subscription feed, having to liaise with tekkies across two time zones meant I was working in the blog most of the weekend, so in between this test run and that, I managed to pretty much draft all of this week’s posts, otherwise there may have been a distinct wobble in your reading material this week!  As it is, beyond the odd feeble tweak and edit here and there in between coughing fits they were good to go, hopefully none of you were any the wiser. I still sound a bit like Minnie Mouse but I’m no longer begging for someone to put me out of my misery.

So, from a diet perspective it’s been a good week…I’d love to claim the credit but actually my throat was too sore to swallow. Not that that would have stopped me in past times…you would have laughed, I’m so in the zone I even caught myself looking on the back of bottles of cough medicine for nutritional values mid-week. Having said that, every cloud has a silver lining – I feel distinctly skinnier! Not too long ago, I would have been quietly furious that I’d finished the dieting week with unused points, and you might well have found me cramming as many naughties into my face as possible to make sure I used up every last one.  Curiosity pushed me into an encounter with the bitch in the bathroom this morning, and I’m happy to report a 2lb loss this week…I’ll take that 🙂

I’m going to try and get some fresh air tomorrow, I haven’t left the house in 4 days and I am climbing the walls with cabin fever! The same Christmas fair we missed this weekend does move around, and my friend and I might follow it next weekend depending on what she’s up to, so hopefully we haven’t missed out altogether. It will mean her coming to stay with me rather than the other way around since it will be nearer here than there, but that might work out ok – we have a hot tub in the garden and it’s that time of year now where there’s enough of a snap in the air to make it an awesome place to relax and catch up so providing I’ve managed to kick the lurgy into the long grass by then it will be lovely.

I’m glad to say all the issues with the subscription feed seem to have been resolved, and our subscriber list continues to grow – I value each and every one of you. Every comment, email and new subscriber request reminds me how lucky I am to have all of you along on this journey with me – you’re making a world of difference. I promised honesty, and the thought of ‘fessing up any wobbles pretty much keeps me hitting it straight!

Have a great week everyone, and thanks for your continued support x

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Why Would I Do That?

Freeform thoughts, In the here & now, , ,

leftovers

So I think we’ve established by now that I have a fat-girl mindset. Even during those golden periods in my life when I’ve managed to shed the pounds and do a fair impression of being a skinny girl. I’ve never stayed skinny long enough for it to really get inside my psyche and I’ve certainly never felt like a skinny girl from the inside out. Not that I’ve recognised that before of course, but then it’s not the first time either that the process of tipping out my head spam like a collection of lipsticks, fluff and crumbs from the bottom of an old handbag for examination and discussion with you guys has helped me to shine a light on things I’ve never considered before.

Something that skinny string beans do, that I’ve never done is to leave food on my plate. Just the thought of it fills me with horror…I mean, why would I?  I’m at the opposite end of the spectrum…you’re far more likely to catch me licking the plate than leaving anything on it. Which would, I’m sure, prompt a skinny string bean to throw me exactly the same look of bewilderment that I’d give her for leaving half a pork chop and a dollop of bread sauce…or worst still, a roast potato, I mean that’s practically a criminal offence.

We’ve talked before about my broken ‘full filter’ and the fact that I don’t know when to stop but that’s a bit different…leaving something on your plate is something people offer up as a strategy to manage their weight. Come on, that’s like torture with every meal! So I’m eating something I’m really enjoying…I’ve done the mental calculations, I reckon I’ve got maybe eight mouthfuls left. I’m crafting my final approach, what’s going on the fork with what..what morsel can I use to mop up the gravy..? What’s the best big bit for the last grains of rice to cling to…it’s all planned like a military operation, and yet you want me to lay down my knife and fork now?? And leave the rest..?  Why would I do that??

That’s like living in a world where you walk away from every meal feeling cheated. It’s the scenario with my cheesy bugle playing on a loop, at every meal time. No matter which way up I look at it, I just don’t get it. Other strategies I understand…use a smaller plate? Yes I can see the benefit of that. Cook just the right amount so you don’t have the opportunity to overload…yes, I get that too. But cook it, enjoy it and leave it when you’re not actually in danger of bursting at the seams…no no no no!

Not only have I always finished everything on my own plate, many’s the time I’ve found myself flirting with the leftovers on everyone else’s plate too, especially when my son was little. Stuff he didn’t eat like a fish finger here, or a handful of fries there never made it as far as the dog’s bowl or the bin…somewhere between clearing the table and stacking the plates I’d find myself hoovering up whatever was left. My friend had the same issues but she was more disciplined than I was, even back then…she would encourage her son to tip pepper over the food he left on his plate to stop her picking at his leftovers. I always thought that was a great idea, I just never told my boy in case he actually did it.

It’s hardly surprising that an aversion to leaving food is hardwired into my DNA, if you’ve read my blog from the beginning and you saw the post Born Chewing you’ll have some idea of the relationship I formed with food from a very early age…that photo of me demonstrates more than words ever could how finishing every morsel of food was considered something to celebrate. But I’ve spent the last thirty odd years since reaching adulthood sidestepping every opportunity to unplug my wires and untangle them. I’m trying to do that now.

Smaller portions, yes. Better food choices, yes. Leaving food on the plate..? It’ll  never happen 🙂

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