Fatty Gets the Last Laugh

Hey Maura Kelly, remember when you wrote that piece of drivel "Should Fatties Get A Room (Even on TV)?" How did it feel seeing Melissa McCarthy walk across stage in front of MILLIONS upon MILLIONS of views to accept that Emmy?


Did it make you a little sick inside?  ***" To be brutally honest, even in real life, I find it aesthetically displeasing to watch a very, very fat person simply walk across a room."***  Did you want to run and purge because a fat person has gotten an award that will never touch your hands?

I've got news for you sweetie, you are a jerk.

In a society where girls are bombarded with images of slender sexuality and giant, fake boobs (see Toddler and Tiaras, more on that later) there stood a proud, confident, large woman who got where she was by being herself.

I love Melissa McCarthy in all her wonderful, funny humor.  And I love that she makes no apologies for her size.

Like that foot you've choked  on?
  

What was I thinking?

I was doing a little cleaning up across the multiple social sites I am on, deleting old contact, blocking people that have no right to be in my life, I popped into my draft sections of my blog.  Some of these things make no sense to me, but obviously at that point I thought it was good.

What the hell was I thinking?

• "9:49-You are officially my hero" --Why is a point in time my hero? AM or PM?
• "Confidential to M" --Who the hell is M?  Was it really confidential if I was writing it on Teh Internet?
• "Kicking glass bottle to avoid muggers"--Is this a public service announcement I'm working on?
• "I think of elephants AND zebras"  
• Rat Dropping--Don't even ask.  I have no idea.

 So I can't think of anything else, so I'll leave you with this hilarious picture.  It's the greatest thing I've ever encountered on the Fl beaches.

Milestones #2 & 3

Back in March, I reached my first milestone, 101 posts.  It was a fantastic feeling, waxy buildup on teeth included.  And now 6 months down the road, I'm at 2 & 3.

(Actually, I'm behind.  These things happened last month but since I'm the only one who keeps track of this, I'll write about it when I damn well want to.)

Milestone #2
The Kiddo started Kindergarten!  I couldn't be more proud of him if I wanted to.  

Heirloom lunchbox

 
There were no tears that day.  When he greeted me at the end of the day, his exact words were, "I had so much fun, I forgot to miss you!"
I take a lot of pride in the statement.  It is proof that I've done a hell of a great job raising this kid.  So to all the assholes over the years who said I was going to raise a momma's boy/sissy/weakling, I can say, "Screw you."  He's not the biggest kid in the class, but he's not the smallest.  He's still deathly afraid of butterflies, but he's the most out-going.  His penmanship is awful right now, but he amuses his teacher with his comical facial expressions and Italianesque hand gestures. 
He'll be 6 in less than 2 months and he's doing great.  So for all those who told me I couldn't raise a healthy child without a father, how do you words taste now?

Milestone #3
Happy Blogaversary to me.  I've been here at My Daily Diatribes for over a year now.  What started as a bad blind-date with an awkward handful of posts as I sought to find my voice, has turned into a full-blown love affair with the written word.  Over the past year I have come to face some of the more comical aspects of life around me, faced some of my fears, bared my soul, sought support, and found strength in becoming me.  

• Thank you so much for all the wonderful people who have encouraged me along the way.  
• Thank you to the people I've met through Aunt Becky and The Band.
• Thank you to my business partner Amanda Abella, for giving me advice on how to stop whining and start making my writing my job.
• Thank you to Jenny Lawson who makes me laugh, cry, and feel better for being quirky, wonderful me.
• Thank you, my readers who come back time and time again to catch up on my ramblings and think I am the bees knees.  I am STILL surprised that people read this stuff.

Stay tuned for year 2!

Committing Myself

So here's something embarrassing about me, my dirty little secret (other than the fact that I am watching Phineas and Ferb while I write this).  My life is bordering on Teh Normal right now.  And I don't know what to do.

For so long I've lived in a constant state of CHAOS that now I am in a position of near normalcy, I feel totally out of whack.  According to my shrink this isn't uncommon.  I mean,

• I have a ton of talent some which I recently discovered (thank you YouTube tutorials on Kompozer web design!), 
• I have a growing clientele base, 
• I've got a great group of people that I can reach at any moment (seeing as some live in the UK, one in Hong Kong, and the rest are scattered across the US it's high percentage that one of us will be online)
• My Kiddo is absolutely flourishing in school
• I am actually able to let go of a lot of the hatred and doubt that I've struggled with for years

yet I feel like things need to be out of control in order for me to feel secure.  I've been so accustomed with being in a constant of turmoil that I feel so out of touch, like I need to create some insanity.

What I realize that I am looking for is a way to sabotage myself.  And that is SUCKTASTIC!

I don't want to be THAT girl that is always in over her head.  I've  been there for years and I want to leave it behind.  Yes, this is a new and (for now) unpleasant experience of having to rediscover normalcy, but I have to settle into this new routine.

How weird is that?  Feeling uncomfortable that my life is now bordering on Teh Normal. 

I am going to make a commitment to myself, right here and now that I will not sabotage myself.  I will do what I do best and I will continue on this calmer path.

I know I can do it. 

Am I an adult who enjoys cartoons?  

Yes, yes, I am.

When 18 isn't 18

I was 17 when I met him.

He was 23.  He was a former Marine.  He was a jackal hiding behind a songbird.

I was 18 the first time he touched me.

18.

I was a legal adult.  By the time I was able to admit to myself what had happened, the statute of limitation had expired.

I was 18, but I may as well have been 12. 

I grew up in a very conservative, very sheltered household.  I was a homeschooled, outspoken sports jock, who preferred a good book to fawning over the local high-school meatheads.  But that didn't mean I didn't dream about having my first kiss.

My parents didn't allow me to date, which meant if a boy wanted to see me, he'd have to come to the house so we could be chaperoned.  Of the three boys that dared to come over to my house for dinner, 2 never called me again, the other turned out to be gay.

I had no working knowledge of boys, emotions, or physical responses.  Sure, I knew the physical act of sex and procreation but that was only because I read my science books.  My sex education went like this: "Sometimes boys want to kiss you a lot.  You just have to tell them no."  Put like that, it seemed to me that kissing was an awkward event that girls merely tolerated while they were dating.

When I went away for a weekend visit at what would become my Alma Mater, I met him.  It was at a dance, "A Night in Old Vienna." Girls were dressed in mock ball gowns from yesteryear and boys wore ties and coats.  Dance cards were given to the visiting kids, so they could meet up with different people on the dance floor.  He was third on my list.  For years I wondered how God could have allowed his name to appear on my dance card.  I realized in the end, it didn't matter.  I was his target.  One way or another, he would have found a way to get at me.

He was charming and flattering.  Praised my intelligence and wit.  He said I was pretty and that the boys at home were stupid for failing to see what they were missing.  I thought I had found the perfect man.  What I didn't know was that I was going to be another victim to this serial predator.

For six months, we corresponded by mail.  He sent me a country CD of love songs for my 18th birthday.  The man in the letters was so polite, so well spoken, so considerate of me as a whole person.  He said in his letters that he would 'protect my virtue.'  I was in love.

My first kiss was during a walk in the wood.  The next night, he taught me to french kiss by the water sewer lines on campus.  The first time he touched my breast 2 days later, I objected, said I didn't feel comfortable with him doing that.  He assured me that it was okay, that 'lovers have rights over each others bodies.'  I didn't know what to say, how to respond.  It didn't seem right. It felt so dirty. 

I felt dirty.  But I loved him.

I stayed with him for 5 months.  I hated every minute of it.  But I stayed because I was scared, because I didn't know better, because I felt ashamed, because when I tried to say no he always talked me out of it, because the one time I tried to physically run away from him he chased me and tossed me against a building.  But something inside me still loved him.

He did things to me.  He mocked me.  He hurt me.

The night he forced me down on him, I thought I was going to die.  I was choking, I couldn't breathe.  I was crying, begging him to let me stop.  He wouldn't let me.  When I couldn't do what he wanted, he finished himself off.  I was horrified.  I was disgusted.  I wanted to die.  I no longer loved him. 

I wanted him to die.

That was 12 years ago, but this is the first time I've shared this without breaking down in tears.  During those years I did some horrible things, to myself, to others. I hurt a friend, I lied to family, destroyed property, blacked out from booze binges, narrowly avoided arrest twice, and got dumped while 20 weeks pregnant.

I can't undo what happened or how my life was effected, but I'm making peace.  All things happen for a reason, even when they don't make sense at the time.  I'm not whitewashing the pain or the events that took place, but I am understanding how my life path has been shaped and not destroyed by what occurred.