CBD 3: Of Pain and Dependence

In fifteen days, I have the surgery to fix my left leg.  As the days start to dwindle I become more and more frightened.  I'm not scared that something could go wrong, although, that is a concern.  I'm also not worried about dying, although, that too is a very big concern.  I'm scared of being in too much pain.  I don't like being in pain.

Christmas Eve, I was talking with my friends, Rachel and Josh, about my concerns with pain.  Josh likened it to a really bad sunburn.  You're basically in intense pain for a few days then it just stings if you rub it the wrong way or knock into something.  As he was saying this I tried to remember a time when I'd gotten a really bad sunburn and couldn't remember it.  Apparently, my deep thought came across as a blank stare which it probably was.  I had to admit that while I'd had slight sunburns--the type that sting for a few hours and then your skins starts peeling--I'd never had a really bad red-lobster-type sunburn.  Josh teased me about my skin not being so fair but it wasn't that he's whiter than me.  I have such a fear of having a really bad sunburn, of being in pain, that I practically take a bath in SPF 50+ before I go out in the sun.  

This led me to a realization.  I've always avoided/taken precaution against being in pain and now I'm headed straight for the lions den of pain.  I'm allowing a doctor to break my leg and put pins into it to keep it steady.  I'm going to stay in some kind of pain for the next six months.  The idea of being in pain with no escape scares me more than dying.       

On top of that, I'm going to be dependent on others.  I haven't been dependent on others since I was a child.  Now, I'll need someone to help me cook, clean, get dressed, and who knows what else.  I know that my family and friends are happy to help and I am grateful to have them. However, it's like walking a tight rope.  When do you stop being the friend and start being the burden?  I don't want my friendships to change and I fear that they will and that it won't be good.  

There's also being seen as less than superhuman.  Don't misunderstand me, I don't mean that I see myself as some sort of Wonder Woman but I do see myself as someone that is always available, can be counted on to help, and is the strong one.  I'm the strong person that can nearly always be depended on and now I'll be the weak person who will be depending on others.

I keep thinking that maybe I should just skip the surgery, live with the pain, give up the dream of a 5K, and find other ways to get the exercise I need.  Some days I even convince myself of this and I do all kinds of stuff.  Then the next day --sometimes, later that night-- I end up in so much pain I'm reminded of why I need the surgery. 

But which pain is worse?  The pain I'm in now or the pain I'll be in because of the surgery? 

Is there anyone out there who has had to wear a leg brace halo?  Can someone tell me how much pain I'm in for?  

First Speech on Beauty

A month ago, I gave my first speech on body love.  Actually, I was asked to talk about being an empowered woman.  I won't lie, I was flattered to be thought of as a women of empowerment especially since as of late I feel like a woman just trying to survive the day.  I'm not where I imagined myself being two years after getting my Master's degree and my finances are still iffy at times.

So since, I didn't feel very empowered I wasn't sure what to really talk about.  Also, my focus has moved from empowerment verses oppression to body image.  I've been reading a lot on society's perception of fat and beauty, being healthy at any size, and body acceptance/love.  After a lot of procrastination and discussion with a co-worker I decided to go ahead and talk about body love/positive.

The whole time I was doing my outline I kept thinking that I was going in the wrong direction, that this wasn't what they wanted to hear.  These ladies are in college looking to professional women for guidance on how to become empowered in their careers and here I was giving them advice on how to feel beautiful.  However, I kept going because my message was the only one I had to give.

I titled my speech Empowerment through Beauty except I never really felt like I got to the empowerment through beauty part.  I mainly focused on how to change your perceptions of beauty by surrounding your self with images that more closely match what you look like, pushing yourself to accept compliments, urging friends to not talk about themselves or others negatively, and not to talk badly about yourself.

After I gave my speech, I was relieved to have gotten applause instead of food thrown at me.  And the best part happen when everyone started to disperse.  Several women came up to me to compliment and thank me!

So, the lesson here is to go with your gut, heart, feeling, whatever.  I went with my gut, shared a message that I felt was important even though I mind said it was wrong. 

The Greatness of Christmas

Today, I'm taking the time to talk about why Christmas is so damn important to me.  I think too often during this time of year we get bogged down by the stresses of the holiday and we tend to complain instead of really celebrating and embracing the joy that is Christmas.  It seems to have become the fashion to complain about the consumerism of the holiday and how we're forgetting that it's Jesus's birthday, blah blah blah.  And we do this complaining while standing in line in department stores buying presents.

The thing is, yes, there is a bit of consumerism to the holiday but that consumerism is just as important as sitting around reading and/or listening to the story of the birth of Jesus.  If it wasn't well then there wouldn't be a Black Friday, haha.  giving.  Admit it, most of the gifts you give aren't given out of obligation but because it is a tangible way of showing your family and friends how much you love, care, and appreciate them.  We give gifts to see the smile on a face and a twinkle in the eye.  We give gifts because it warms our hearts.  Seriously though, the consumerism isn't about receiving it's about

Growing up Christmas was the holiday in our house.  My dad loved Christmas.  He started itching to get the tree and all the decorations up on Thanksgiving.  He was usually only able to restrain himself until December 1.  Then it was on.  As the tree went up, the walls of the house started to reflect the colors green, red, gold, and silver, the lights and ornaments got hung and all the little knick-knacks got unwrapped and displayed. The sounds of Christmas music or Christmas movies filled the air while the smell of cookies filled our nostrils and permeated our clothes.

Even when there was very little under our tree we still had a tree with lights and ornaments.  We had the sounds and scents of Christmas.  We had each other.

After, my brother and I grew up and moved out to start our adult lives, my dad still insisted on getting the decorations up before we got home.  There was no such thing as a small Christmas to him.

It's been seven years since he died and we still keep Christmas going where ever we are.  Sometimes, it's hard because so many people want to complain instead of celebrate.  They get annoyed by the Christmas music blaring from my computer or car speakers.  People don't seem to understand how hard it is for me to celebrate when I'm celebrating for not only me but for him, too.   

I miss driving with my dad through the rich neighborhoods, point out the houses with the nicest lights and decorations.  I miss complaining about my dad playing his favorite Christmas album--Elvis Presley-- over and over.  I really hated that damn album but I would give anything to be in our old house helping my dad string the tree lights and listening to Elvis crooning, "I'll be home for Christmas".   
 

I guess what I'm trying to say is, stop complaining about the madness of it all and just enjoy it!  Focus on the good things like Jesus (if you're spiritual), Christmas trees, music, decorations, family, friends, and love.  Embrace this season because it only happens once a year and each year can be very different from the year before.

Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, and Happy New Year.    

For you daddy...

 
  

10 Random Facts

In response to my favorite Blogger The Militant Baker's blog, 10 Random Facts about Jess the Militant Baker, I'm posting my own 10 Random Facts blog.  By the way if you've never read her blog she is fucking awesome.  She's become my inspiration and main hero.  Enough fangirling.

1. I have a thing about missing socks.  I hate when I lose a sock.  I will spend hours, days, weeks, months, and even years looking for a missing sock.  I'm not saying I don't do anything else but I will take time out of nearly day looking for a missing sock.  I chalk this up to one of my obsessive compulsive disorder (OCD) issues.  
   
2. I love Phillip Seymour Hoffman.  I think he's sexy, not what society says is sexy but what is truly sexy.  He's an amazing actor.  He makes you feel for whatever character he's playing.  Don't believe me?  Watch Boogie Nights, specifically they scene when he tells the object of his affection that he's in with em.  If you've ever loved someone who has never loved you, you'll understand.  That shit is real.  He has a great speaking voice, beautiful eyes, and a nice smile.  If he had his arms around me I'd feel, safe and warm, and loved.  Still think I'm nuts?  Check out Empire Falls, you'll want to go to Martha's Vineyard after that.
   
3. I can still wear the blue sweater I got when I was in the 6th grade.  I don't dare wear it outside the house but it's warm and soft and has held up fabulously considering how old it is.  Heck, I'm wearing it right now.
4. I love grilled cheese sandwiches.  I cannot get enough of them.  If they're on a children's menu at a restaurant it takes all my strength to not order one.  There's nothing better.
   
5. I do not like tomatoes except for tomato soup and that has to be a certain type.  Tomatoes are one of those foods that I've never grown out of disliking.  There's something about their texture and tastes I just don't like.  And before people start saying,  well, what about spaghetti sauce and ketchup I don't really like spaghetti sauce or ketchup.  Also, could we please stop using that argument because it's ridiculous.  I mean so much is done to the tomato during the cooking process that it doesn't taste much like a tomato once you're done.  So far, the only way I will consume a tomato is if it's creamy tomato soup, no chunks of tomato please.
6. With the exception of tomatoes most of the foods I dislike go back to an event that has left me with a bad memory.  Best example, I hate green beans.  My first grade teacher decided that she was going to make all of us try green beans.  I told her I'd tried them and didn't like them but that wasn't good enough for her.  She made me eat a fork full in front of her.  I swallowed and promptly vomited them right back up.  They tasted that bad.  Side note, the teacher was torn a new one by my parents for forcing me to eat them after I'd said I'd tried them and didn't like them.
7. I will nearly always pick salty over sweet when offered snacks.  I've never been one for cake, ice cream or candy.  Don't get me wrong, I like sweets but I love potato chips and french fries.
8. Sometimes, I don't like to be touched.  This really has to do with my OCD.  Most of the time I have it under control and it doesn't bother me but sometimes I'm so uncomfortable.  It takes everything in me to keep from recoiling when a person wants to shake my hand, pat my shoulder or hug.  I have to prepare/remind myself before I go into huge social settings that people will want to touch.  Truly, it's not them it's me and it's not a fear of germs.  It's a fear of otherness, of an unfamiliarity.  I pretty much hate when I'm in this mood.
9. I can eat an entire large box of Captain Crunch Berry cereal in one day.  I always say I'm just going to have one bowl then I eat the whole damned box.  It's like crack which is the reason I don't buy the stuff. 
   
10. Mr. Spock is my favorite character from Star Trek (the original not the reboot series).  I identify with him the most.  He's half Vulcan and half human.  I'm half Mexican American and half white.  We are both part of an otherness that no one but we understand.  I'm still learning from Mr. Spock.  I love him.         
    

 

Keeping Promises

I got excited today when I found a winter belt I'd forgotten I'd purchased back in March when it was clearance priced.  Isn't that always an exciting moment?  When you rediscover something you forgot all about?  It makes you want to change your outfit immediately just to wear whatever it is you just found.  Or maybe it's just me...

I grew up poor.  So, there were never moments when I found forgotten treasures in my closest or drawers.  Usually, I was digging around for something I hadn't worn so often that it seemed I only had that one shirt, pair of pants, skirt, socks.  Every summer my mother would promise me a new wardrobe filled with lots of blouses, pants, skirts and shoes for when school started in the fall.  And every fall I'd go back to school with maybe one or two new outfits and two pairs of shoes.  It wasn't my parents' faults.  When it came between food and electric and tons of fancy clothes, well food and electric won out.  Usually, I was lucky to get two new outfits and two pairs of shoes. 

I promised myself that when I grew up I'd make enough money to not only pay my bills but to also afford all the clothes and shoes I wanted.  I do not make millions of dollars and my clothes and shoes are not name brand--not that Prada or Gucci makes anything that fits me except maybe their shoes--but I do have nice stuff.  I also invest in a lot accessories, make-up, and my hair.

I'm not trying to brag or make anyone feel bad or jealous.  Really, I'm justifying myself.  I get teased and sometimes criticized for shopping.  For some reason people thing that my shopping is an addiction and a waste of time and money but for me it's fulfilling a promise I made to myself.  And there is nothing wrong with that. 

If you have a promise you've made to yourself then go for it.  As long as you're taking care of your responsibilities then I say go for it. 

CBD #2: An Apology Letter to my Left Leg

Dear Left Leg,

I'm sorry I'm going to have surgery on you.  I'm sorry for the pain I'm going to allow you to be in.  I'm sorry that you'll be broken and reset in order to make you longer.  I'm sorry that you'll have to be encased in a metal cage with thin rods sticking into your flesh down to the bone for six months. 

I'm sorry for the scares that you will have after the leg brace is gone.  I promise I will apply as much Neosporin and/or Mederma I can put on you.  And if that doesn't work to erase the scares or, at least, make them almost invisible I will wear pants, jeans, tights or panty-hose to hide your scares.  For that I am sorry too.  I'm sorry you won't feel the sun or the cool wind on your bare skin but through cotton, denim or nylon.  But you will always be beautiful to me and maybe one day neither of us will be self-conscious of our scares.   

I'm sorry that I wasn't happy with your length.  That I wished you to be as long as my right.  And I want you to know that even being shorter you've done an admirable job of taking me to the places I've needed to go and holding me up when I needed to stand. 

I'm sorry I've hated you at times.  I don't hate you now.  I wish I'd never hated you.  This operation isn't because I hate you it's because I love you and I want us to both be around for a long while.  You're hurting left foot and when I try to adjust my step to stop hurting left foot I end up hurting you.

We haven't been happy lately.  We've been moving like an old person in a haze of Vicodin.  It's not good for us.  I want us to stand, walk, and run.  I want us to do a Color Run.  We can only do that if I have this operation on you. 

Please forgive me and understand.  I'm doing this for both of us.  Even after the operation you will always be my shorter leg.  You will always be a part of me.  I love you left leg.

Love always and forever,

A+

Fashion for Plus-Sized Kids

 I saw this story in my Yahoo news feed this morning:  The Fashion Fairy Godmother Determined to Help Plus-Size Kids

This quote stuck out to me the most:  

"It’s not just about getting a bigger size, and it’s not about taking plus-size little girls into women’s stores just to find clothes to fit them,” she says. "I saw that all the time, and it struck me how they never got to look like little girls,” says Smith. “It wasn’t fair.”

I remember all too well having to go into sections of departments stores made for older women and wearing clothes that weren't age appropriate but fit my body.  I felt uncomfortable, self-conscious, and ugly.  I wanted to be hip and popular but instead I was funny looking and a loser.  While the other girls pranced round in well fitting jeans and cute tops, I wore baggy pants with an elastic waist band and a too large blouse in some flower pattern. 

I know some will say that these kids just need to be put on a diets and exercise programs and will blame their parents for not caring enough about their kids' health.  But the reality is, it's not that simple.  There are a lot of factors involved including socio-economics and genetics.  Speaking as a person who grew up poor and fat, my parents tried their best to feed us properly but sometimes it was just about feeding us.  As far as exercise, I ran around outside and played with my brother and our friends all the time.  We had triathlons--running, going across the monkey bars and riding bikes around the neighborhood as fast as we could.  I was just a fat kid and fat kids shouldn't be punished for not fitting into what the media and society says is correct. 

This woman understands this and is helping children the way children should be helped.  She not trying to force them into self-destructive behavior that will lead to low self-esteem and eating disorders.  So, fucking KUDOS to this woman for being caring, understanding, and loving!  

Love Your Body

Some friends of mine went to an annual Halloween event our town has every year.  I love going to this event.  Kids, adults and even pets are dressed up in costumes.  Last night there was even a Ninth Doctor!  And I missed it all. 

I missed it because I knew I wouldn't be able to walk around without being in pain.  It hurts to stand or bend my left foot too much.  My right thigh is constantly on fire because I've had to shift all my weight onto it because it's stronger and my right foot. 

I'm not jealous that my friends went just envious.  I feel like I'm missing out on life.  You never realize how much you rely on your body to take you places and help you enjoy life until one part of it isn't working properly. 

I urge everyone to stop hating your body because it doesn't look the way that media and society say it should look.  What does it matter if it can move you?  I'm not saying you shouldn't care what your body looks like because yes, looks are important but it's what's inside the package that is the most important.  And if you look hard enough you will find parts that you love for purely aesthetic values. 

Just remember that you should love your body more for what it can do than what it looks like.  Love your body because it takes you were you need to go and more importantly where you want to go.  It helps you to live life and be happy.   

Congenital Birth Defect (CBD): Entry 1

I have been dealing with some medical problems the past month.  I haven't wanted to write much on it because the emotions I'm experienced are not on the positive side and this blog is supposed to be about loving your body and developing and maintaining high self-esteem.  And right now I'm not loving my body and my self-esteem is taking some really hard hits.  After talking with a colleague he told me I should really blog about it I did some thinking and decided to write about what I'm going through.  Part of loving your body and maintaining good levels of self-esteem is also acknowledging that there are time when you hate your body and you feel worthless.

So, I'm going to start a special series regarding my on going medical problems.  I'm going to be honest and expose all sort of things about myself that I don't really like to show off.  It's not going to be pretty but being sick isn't supposed to be pretty.  Being sick is not like in movies, where the hero or heroine are pale with circles under their eyes but still managed to look beautiful.  And sometimes people who are ill don't look ill, like me.

So here goes...

I was born with a congenital birth defect.  My left foot and lower part of my leg are shorter than my right.  When I tell people this they have a tendency to say, "Oh I have the same thing.  Lots of people have that."  I'm not sure if they're trying to make me feel better by showing me that I'm "normal" like everyone else or if they're trying to tell me that I'm being a drama queen.  Either way, my birth defect is not the same as everyone else with a millimeter difference in arms and legs.

My leg and foot differences --an inch and half-- are big enough that I've had a life time of issues.  When I was born my foot was bent forward meaning my toes touched my kneecap.  I was put in a cast for several weeks.  My mother was in tears believing she'd done something wrong, my father was just freaked out.  After lots of different doctors, I was finally put into the care of a pediatrician who knew exactly what was going on and sent me to see an orthopedic leg and foot specialist.

What caused my leg and foot problems was just series of uncontrollable events.  I was the first born and so my mother's womb and uterus weren't as stretchy.  So, I was cramped.  I also shifted around causing my left leg and foot to press up against the womb wall while the right was hanging loose allowing it to grow.  I had regular visits to a podiatrist and when I got older and started wearing proper shoes my parents had to buy me sturdy shoes with lots of support and put a lift on my left shoe.

I hated those shoes and the lift.  The shoes were always brown leather Oxfords that looked, to me, more like boys' shoes than girls' shoes.  I wanted to wear patent leather Mary Jane's but they weren't sturdy enough.  And then there was the lift.  The lift was always a different color from the sole on the shoe.  If the sole was black the lift was white.  The lift always stood out so that everyone could see it.

From the age of six to nine that shoe and its lift always made me an object of curiosity and a target of bullying.  I wanted nothing more than to be just like everyone else.  I looked forward to the day when I would have the operation that would fix my foot and I wouldn't have to wear ugly boy shoes with a mismatched lift.

When I was seven we moved from Illinois to Texas.  The podiatrist in Texas decided that I didn't need the operation or the lift.  He'd decided that I the inch and half wasn't significant enough to put me through the pain of an operation and recovery..  So, I was cleared and I didn't have to wear the lift anymore. 

However, because I didn't have the surgery this put my back at an angle which sometimes caused back pain and at one point I had back spasms.  I had a visible limp when I wore shoes with a heel higher than two inches and my hip also hurt when I walked in two inch heels.  Finally, there were times when my right leg would hurt from putting the weight of my body on it for too long. 

Even with all these problems I wasn't in too bad shape until recently.  A month ago I stood up to leave work and my left foot hurt.  I thought it might be my ballet flats which have very little arch support.  I went home changed shoes and headed off to do an event for a charity.  Well, the pain started to get worse and I decided to go to the doctor.

At first my doctor thought it was a strained tendon and advised me to roll my foot over a frozen bottle of ice water four times a day.  After about a week of trying this I decided to go back.  They did some x-rays and called me to tell me I had a congenital birth defect (duh) and sent me to a podiatrist.

The podiatrist confirmed that I do have congenital birth defect (again duh) and went on to explain what was happening with my foot.  Apparently, my body has been auto correcting my step so that I can complete the step and not fall over.  This auto correction means that I step on the outside of my left leg which causes lots of pressure.  It also causes my leg bones to bow which causes the auto correct, which causes the pain, which causes the bowing...you get the picture.  Since, we live in a small town the doctor decided to send me to the big city of Houston to see an orthopedic surgeon there. 

The new doctor wants to do an operation that will lengthen my left leg and straighten it out.  This will relieve the pressure and basically make me better. 

I'm scared and I'm worried but I'm also not one to get bogged down in fears.  I just suck it up and go for it.  So, I'm sucking it up and going for it which is proving much harder than it should. 

So, there you have it.  I'm going to continue to blog as much as possible.  Although, I will be writing about my leg I'm going to try and not make the blog all about that because really who wants to read about me whining and crying, lol. 

The Appearance of Health Rather Than True Health

So, I've been checking out gyms the past couple of weeks.  I have a trainer who comes to the gym I work out in but I'm I'm just not really happy at my current gym.  Looking for a new gym has been an interesting experience, to say the least.  What strikes me most is the way the owners/operators of these places believe they know why I want to join their facility even before I say.   

They see me a fat person and assume that I want to lose weight.  When I tell them that losing wait is not my main goal, that I'm happy with my size and shape they seem gobsmacked and feel the need to remind me that If I start working out regularly that I will loose weight and that's a good thing.

Yes, it is a good thing but it's not the only good thing and for me it's not the best thing, it's just a thing.  It's taken me a long time to come to terms with my body and be happy with my physical appearance and bothers me when others see me and assume that I'm not happy with myself.  For me the best thing is a return to the stamina and strength I had two years ago before my knee injury and financial problems. The later of which kept me from seeking medical assistance to correct the knee problem.  Two years ago, I worked out five to six days a week and I was still a curvy woman, in fact, I was an even curvier woman.  I was a clothing size bigger back then.   


Wednesday's gym visit was a particularly difficult one.  The gym itself was nice.  It wasn't crowded, it was well maintained, and had a nice variety of machines.  However, the owner left something to be desired.  I left the gym deciding that I would never step foot in there again. I seriously think he broke my Dick Alert.

He started off by saying that he wouldn't take my money unless I was going to be dedicated to changing and getting results.  If I wasn't going to dedicate myself, well then I shouldn't be there because I was a walking advertisement for his business.  If people asked me where I worked out and I said his gym but I didn't look good, well what did that say about his gym?


When I told the owner that I'd suffered a knee injury that took me two years to correct he said, "Do you know what caused that injury?" and before I could answer he answered, "if your knee didn't have as much weight to hold it wouldn't hurt."  I was too surprised, annoyed, and hurt to respond, however, if I had been in a better state of mind I would have told him he was wrong.  I should have said that my injury was actually caused by a wrong move I did during Zumba, an exercise activity.  I also have a few other medical issues that have nothing to do with weight but have to do with age (as I get older the existing conditions get worse).  But, I didn't because I was too embarrassed and pissed off that he was making me feel ashamed when I have nothing to be ashamed of.  

However, I have to wonder if I had told him would it have mattered?  Or would he have seen me as a person in denial?  I have a feeling I would have been Ms. Denial for him and here's why.  After, diagnosing my knee injury, he proceeded to lecture me on eating habits.  Eating when depressed causes you to gain weight, then you're even more depressed and you eat more, etc.  I told him that I didn't eat when I was depressed.  I also didn't eat much in general and I didn't eat a lot of sweets.  He decided I had a low metabolism because I didn't exercise enough.  Go figure.  The truth is, I'm a *recovering bulimic (a blog for a different time) and I still deal with a lot of deeply root issues regarding food.  I did tell him that I was a recovering bulimic which was extremely difficult task--telling a stranger that you use to binge and purge.  You never know how they'll react.  But, I felt I needed to stand up for myself and my body and the reaction I received was one of bafflement.  He quickly recovered and was back to talk about maintaining a healthy life style with exercise and diet.              

It's taken me a long time to accept and love my body.  I've learned from past experience that although I may lose weight, I will never be a super thin person.  I will always have curves.  When I go to the gym or try an activity I go into it with realistic expectation and goals.  I don't expect to drop to a size 10 and have a six pack.  I expect I will probably suck at the activity not because I'm out of shape but because it's a new activity.  My goal is that I will strength my body, reach new limits, and have fun. 

So, it's insulting to me that when some fitness people look at me they seem to think that my desire to join a gym has more to do with the appearance of health rather than true health.   







*I say recovering because I'm not binge eating a purging the way I once did.  However, I feel that no one ever really recovers from an eating disorder because it's a constant struggle.  If you or someone you know has an eating disorder I urge you to get help.  The National Eating Disorders Association is just one site you can go to but there are tons.  Just use Google.

Cry It Out

Today I cried.  I didn't want to cry but I did.  I came home, with my left foot hurting and a head full of sad thoughts, to hungry cats and dirty dishes in the sink.  My brain doesn't like crying.  It makes me feel weak and whiny.  My heart feels differently.  It doesn't care about being weak or whiny.  It just wants a way to vent the pent up hurt, frustration and anger its been experiencing for the past two weeks.

September 17, would have been my father's birthday.  He died November 24, 2006, the day after Thanksgiving.  We weren't always close.  When I hit puberty we both suffered some major growing pains. However, when I left for college the distance helped us to heal.  We'd done too much damage to each other to be best buds but we were closer than we'd been in years.  There are moments he's missed out on that I wish he'd been around for.  He loved to travel, something I inherited, and he would have liked to hear about my trips to France, Germany, Switzerland, and Spain.  He only managed to get a High school diploma and although he was able to brag about me getting a Bachelor's, he would have enjoyed bragging about how I'd not only gotten a B.A but as an M.A. and one day I'd get a PhD.  

I think about my Latino side and how much my dad wanted me to embrace it.  I didn't look as dark as the kids in school and they picked on me relentlessly.  They spoke in Spanish about me to each other and laughed when I didn't understand what insults they were flinging at me.  I didn't want to be Mexican American. I pushed that side of me away, hating the music, the food, the language, and the customs.  And now that I'm older and wiser I realize how stupid I was being and how much I hurt myself trying to hurt someone I loved.  

I spent so much time denying one side of me that now, as I attempt to reunite my halves, I feel at times as if I'm not enough.  I'm not Latina enough, I'm only half.  I'm not white enough, I'm only half.  I have no authority to speak on Latino matters or to guide other Latinos.  It makes me feel like an impostor and I hate myself.  

I hate my white skin, light hair, and fat body.  I hate that I seemed to have dropped a clothing size but the scale says I've gained ten fucking pounds.  And I know that it's probably muscle from working out the past two months but the number on the scale has me freaking out.  And I hate that people keep trying to tell me that it's muscle weight but if I want to keep losing weight I should try this, this, and that.  When really I don't want to lose weight I just want to be healthier and believe that the NUMBER DOESN'T FUCKING MATTER!!!!  I want to believe that my body is beautiful even if it's rounder, larger, and shorter than what's on TV and in movies and magazines.  

Yesterday, I saw this video and for a few moments, I felt better.  

  

But today, standing at the sink my hands in the warm soapy water, my foot and heart aching I burst into tears and cried.  

Some will say that writing this blog is my way of trying to get sympathy and maybe that's true.  But, really I want you to know that you're not alone.  I know how you feel because I have these moments, too.  And even though we might not like it, even though we might feel weak and  whiny sometimes it's good to cry it out.  

Fake Geek Girls

I've heard a lot lately about the persecution of Geek Girls by Geek guys (not all Geek guys but there is definitely a good number out there).  I can only make guesses as to why Geek guys would attempt to push us out of the geek culture.  Is it that they think we aren't real?  It feel like it.  It's like they're so afraid that that we're a mirage that they do and say anything to prove that we are fake even to not only their detriment but ours.  Perhaps, it's that reality isn't perfect.  They've spent so much time mulling over, daydreaming, and fantasizing over perfect fictional female character that real females just can't live up to fictitious perfection.  What ever the reason it seems to me that if you're a heterosexual geek guy you'd be jumping for joy that there is finally a heterosexual geek girl who not only understands but shares and encourages your geeky interest. 

Geek girls should be treated like the fucking holy grail but we're not.  Instead, we're accused of being fakes, wanting attention, and quizzed, as severely as those suffering the Spanish Inquisition once, about our knowledge of the thing we love.  We are told we're band-wagoners who only got on board when a movie came out or a show was rebooted.  Even if we've answered 100 questions correctly, the moment we either answer question 101 wrong or admit we don't know the answer we are labeled Fake Geek Girl.

The treatment of Geek girls has scared me away from going to a couple of conventions, most recently a convention centered around Sci-Fi, which is what I focus my geek love on.

I am a Trekkie which means I possess a shit-ton amount of knowledge of the television shows and movies.  However, I don't know everything.  I don't know seasons or episode numbers/titles.  I'm also not well versed in Deep Space Nine, I didn't like Voyager, and I never seen an episode of Enterprise.  I've read several memoirs and the books by Shatner.  However, I've never read any of the books based on the series written by other authors.  I also like the reboot movies despite other Trekkies disliking of them.  My focus is on the original Star Trek and the Next Generation and specifically on the character development.  Even more specifically on Mr. Spock and his particular story arch.  All that being said, I'm still hesitant to go to a convention because I don't want to be quizzed, accused, or labelled.  It makes me sad because in the "real world"--for lack of a better term-- I don't have anyone to really discuss Trek with on a deeper level.  And if I start talking to someone about it they get a glazed look on their face or shake their head and good naturally tease me, "you're so weird."

I found this video online and I only wish I'd seen it before the convention I missed rather than after.  However, I've seen it and my point is, I am a Geek girl.  I might not be an all knowing Geek girl--and why would I want to be-- but I am one and no one has the right to quiz me, accusing me of otherwise, or make me fear conventions. 

         

Friends

When I first started working I made friends with a girl named Roseanna.  She was full of energy.  Since, she was of Spanish decent she spoke proper Spanish, not Spanglish.  It was a point of envy and admiration among our co-workers who spoke Spanglish.  So, she was teased for her language skills while I was teased for not know any Spanish.  We were also teased for possessing such light complexions.  Hers was obviously inherited from her Spanish parents and mine was from my mother.  We knew our co-workers weren’t being malicious and liked us each but we bonded over our differences.  And we had a lot of them.

Physically, we only shared one thing in common.  At 5’ we were both short but that was all.  Roseanna had curly black hair, blue eyes, a big smile, and weighed probably about 100 pounds.  I had wavy brown hair, brown eyes, small lips, and weight twice as much as her.  However, she never seemed to notice.

I remember one year during Christmas she insisted on going shopping after work.  For various reasons, I’ve never liked shopping with other people and that day I especially didn’t like the idea of shopping with someone who could fit into everything.  But I went because she wouldn’t take no for an answer.

We stopped in a few stores and while she busied herself with the clothes racks I looked at scarves, hats, purses, jewelry—the things I could fit into.  Finally, in one store she found what she was looking for—a pair of black corduroy shorts.  She stepped out of the dressing room to check herself out and a sale clerk decided to checker her out too.  He walked up and started making small talk.  Of course, I felt like the third wheel and started to sidle away when she turned to me and asked, “Alicia why don’t you try something one?” 

The clerk and I exchanged a look, because nothing in this store will fit.  Neither of us would say it.  He looked contemptuous and I looked guilty.  I told her I didn’t see anything I liked and she persisted not understanding why I didn’t just try something on for fun.  I just kept insisting that I was fine.  She paid for her shorts and we were on our way.

While we sat in the food court sharing fries she persisted in asking me why I wouldn’t just try something on.  I finally told her that nothing would fit me in the stores she went too except for scarves and hats.  After staring at me for what felt like an eternity she asked, “Really?”  She was seriously in shock and I had to explain to her that I really was too big.  She didn’t believe me and was sure I was just imagining things.    And I realized that Roseanna saw me in a way that others—myself included—did not.  She didn’t see my size.  She just saw me, her friend, who would look cute in a dress or a blouse.

Shortly, after our shopping trip Roseanna’s family was transferred out of state and she went with.  So, we never got to go shopping again.  And I always regretted not taking her to the store that carried clothes that fit me.  I think if I had, she would have compliment and encouraged me to embrace my body and pushed me to see how pretty I was.

I think that’s what all friends should do.  Friends should boost you up when you’re feeling low.  Friends should support you when you want to lose weight but not urge you to lose weight.  They should not see the size of your body but the size of your heart. 

Camp Gyo

Periods have always been something akin to Fight Club.  I know you're laughing and I know men are shaking their heads and saying, "Eww, no" but I'm serious.  Men's responses of "eww" just proves it because for most women if you say fight club we roll our eyes and say, "Eww, the movie where they beat the shit out of each other?" 

Still don't believe me well let me prove it.  The first rule of Fight Club is you don't talk about Fight Club.  First rule of Periods is you don't talk about Periods.  Periods are that thing that women hint at--time of the month, monthly visitor.  Men make crude jokes about it--on the rag, never trust something that bleeds for a week...you get the idea.  The thing is we rarely call it a period or menstruation.  It's this huge taboo subject.

When I was in the fifth grade one of my classmates went to the girls' room and after about five minutes she was screaming hysterically.  She'd gotten her first period and thought she was bleeding to death.  Her mother hadn't told her about periods.  So it was up to some very distraught teachers and a school nurse to explain what was happening to her.  I was lucky because my mother was a little less secretive about her period and while she didn't go into great detail I did know what it was and that I should hate it.  

A few weeks after my classmate's nervous break down the school decided they needed to show this film about "sex education" to all us girls and boys.  They got parental consent forms from each of us and we were separated into a room for girls and a room for boys.  We where shown a terrible film and given an equally unhelpful book neither actually told us a thing about sex.  It was all about body development and maxi-pads.  At recess we compared notes and traded books with the boys.  They weren't told about our periods and we weren't told about their voice changing.  However, we all concluded that the girls got a raw deal in this growing up thing.  

Words I Hate

There are certain words and phrases that are used for curvy women that I absolutely hate.  I hate them because they just sound fat.  When you hear them you automatically think of a physically big person and when you think of a physically big person you think of someone who doesn’t fit into society’s definition of attractive, sexy, hot, etc. 

It also bothers me that women will adopt and even try to make the word their own, like it’s the word bitch.  Sure we’ve adopted it and made it our own but the thing with bitch is that it’s a word that can be applied across the board to all shapes and sizes of women.  It’s not used on just one physical type of woman. 

So what are these words I’m talking about?  Well, honestly there are probably more but I decided to talk about my main three.