Ramble:Small Town Living.

I hate small town living. When I was in high school I loved it. Lived for it. Now, its just too much. Because of my brief hiatus from school I’ve been hiding out, only going to work and a few selected family gatherings. Every time I go out I remember why I hate it so much. It’s because I always get asked the same question “How’s school going?” Ahhhhh. If I could punch every old all person who ask me that! School is not going. Thanks for making me feel smaller. It would be all the same if I walked up to them and asked…Hey, how’s that life threatening tumor going? Ya know? Like I’m pretty sure you know I’m not in school because when you call the house 7/10 times I pick up the damn phone. Anyway.  Its not about old people. I really do love them. This is about my mother and her need to send me on store runs.

1. I hate going to the store. I do. If I’m not getting anything I don’t care!!

2. She always wants some shit that’s not regular. Like the moss that grows on the under belly of a cow.

3. Its always at the 1 or 3 stores I hate to go into because there is the greatest chance I will run into someone I know.

4. It takes 30 min. to work up the courage to go to the store. Then another 30. to get fresh because I feel the need to over compensate for not being in school, so I can’t look like anything that resembles a bum.

5. I always one into one of the 8 people I was horrible two in high school.

6. They have 5 kids and I have to pretend that it’s the best thing to ever happen to them.

7. I can never find what the fuck I’m looking for because normal stores don’t sell the shit I was sent to get.

8. I’m forced to go to another grocery and look for the same shit and run into another person I have no desire to see.

9. When I want someone to talk with me on the phone so I can look to be in a rush, none of my so called friends want to answer the phone.

10. I always get in the longest slowest line in the store.

This just happened to me a half hour ago. Except this time, I had to go to fucking Wal-mart. Did I mention that we have the biggest Wal-mart on the fucking east coast?  Filled with people I know and again HAVE NO DESIRE WHAT SO EVER TO SEE. I’m walking the isles all dressed up crackberry in hand like I had a busy and productive day, when the reality is I’ve only been up since a little after noon.

I tell you this is horrible. I don’t know when I got like this. The things I do to not appear like a bum. I’m not a bum. I’m really not. I read books and blog and several other things that don’t care to say right now.

Now, I’m blogging in a perfectly good outfit that I can’t take off because I know that in the next hour I will be sent on another store run.

My outfit is better than yours,

 

KD

One Semester Painful, Two Equals Death

Right now I should be on some overcrowded Amtrak train with about 6 oversized pieces of luggage. Inside these pieces of luggage rest my entire life, or the one that I’ve seemingly pieced together over the past 4 years. I should be awaking from my second or third nap and we should be somewhere outside of DC. There should be about 5 or 6 people that I can spot that look to be on the same journey I am. My phone should be flickering with text messages and voicemails of my friends telling how excited they are for me to get back and how me must celebrate our first night back after we unpack. Or maybe, I should be watching some illegally downloaded movie on my laptop to drown out the sound of the annoying middle aged white lady who wants to tell me her life story. I probably pretended to be slightly interested until Baltimore, and that’s where I settled into my first nap. My second nap would have started around the DC engine stop.

 

 My ass starts to hurt from sitting so long somewhere around Richmond. That’s my cue to hit the snack car, which is at the complete opposite end of the train. I hate walking the train. I can never seem to keep my balance. My knees always lock too tightly and I fall, a minimum of 8 times. I make it to the snack car with only 5 dollars in cash. I always spend it all. 5 dollars will get you chips and a can soda. You can’t argue with those reasonable Amtrak prices. I make it back to my seat safely, eyeing maybe 3 reasonably attractive people on my way there.

 

Once the snacks are gone, I reach for my head phones and plug myself into to a masterfully crafted playlist that took me hours to make. Recline the stiff seat engraved with my ass print and try to zone out. Try to ignore the nervous that’s making my stomach rumble. The nervous that is making my toes tingle with that pee pee feeling. As hard as I try, ignoring it never makes it better. Just makes it more intense. There is always this type of anxiousness that I’ve only felt on the way back to school on the Amtrak train. On this six hour ride between the naps, and the movie, and the lady who snores, there is only time to think about what the semester will bring. What memories will carry over, which ones will be forgotten, and if any new ones will be made. And in my mind, its this big Broadway production with sex, lies, scandal and a happy ending. A 4.0 is the best happy ending you can get.  The music is not helping that. It’s just providing the soundtrack for this nervous Amtrak fantasy. My legs begin to feel heavy. So I twist and turn and stretch as much as this space shared with this middle aged hag who beings to annoy me more with every snore she exhales. I want to push her to the floor. I wish I remember what stop she got said was hers. Maybe the next one?

 

The conductors keeps passing, they never have any answers. I wish they were more like first class flight attendants. I could really use a vodka tonic. It wouldn’t cure this anxiousness, but maybe it would make my legs lighter and put me to sleep again. To bad they don’t. Old ass men. Grey ass beards. One of them stops and informs our car that we will be an hour late to our destination.

 

Great, just what I need, a 7 hour train ride with these feelings stuck in my gut, my brain and now my fingertips. I need to write. I pull out the ratty composition book that I only use for train rides with the words “Without Permission” scribble across the top in bold graffiti style letters. I find a page that wasn’t scribbled on and begin to write about things that are of no concern to me right now. I write of love and heart break and death. I should be writing about being nervous or depression or insomnia. It always harder to write about what’s right in front of your face. I write anyway. I try to scribble stanzas about the sleep I know I’m going to lose. Or the way I know my stomach will Boy Scout knot it self into something dangerous. It’s always this same.

 

This ride. This fucking Amtrak ride. It never gets easier. It never gets harder either. It’s just always the same. The same.

 

Right now I should be on that train. I’m not. I’m still in my bedroom wondering why I didn’t push myself to get up and go to church. Wondering why there was no college fund, wondering how much money was wasted on heroine and crack binges, wondering why a father wouldn’t want more for his boy, wondering if I’m the only one who believes in this dream that I’ve busted ass to make a reality.

 

I wonder if they know how much I would give up so much for the nervousness of that ride right now. That fucking Amtrak ride. I would give so much. That ride, as nerve racking as it was, was good for me. It was apart of me that I could cling to with out feeling guilty. At the end of that ride, no matter how much my ass hurt, or how heavy my legs felt, I knew that opportunity was waiting at the other end. It welcomed the challenge of a new semester, but not this semester, or the last one. Regretfully, this semester I only welcome the challenge of throwing myself back into the “real world”. Becoming part of the working force, trying to scrape and dig and save my way back into a new semester, a semester closer to graduating, and becoming the adult I believe myself to be.

 

 

Fat Girl Confessions

I wrote this today, its really rough but I liked it enough to share. Read and comment.

 

I can feel myself gaining weight. I can feel the fat forming between my thighs and around my biceps and triceps. I can feel my skin stretching. I can feel it pull and fold over itself trying to make room and make it slightly comfortable. I can see my waist line expanding. What use to fit loosely in a size 4 now struggles to find room for the curves in an 8, and I refuse to buy anything bigger. I can feel the fat taking over my face, pushing up and making it harder to keep my eyes open. I am not Asian! I can feel the skin getting loser and dropping and making my chin so heavy that it has to create a new one just to support the highness of what use to be my cheek bones, now resembles Dizzy Gillespie’s cheeks mid way through a performance of Summertime.  

This is sad. and my oily skins makes it look like I’m dripping in sweat and makes it look as though I just ran a 5k marathon, when I only walked to the elevator. I can feel my self getting fat. It’s the strange stare of the cashier at the supermarket or Dunkin doughnuts or at the McDonalds drive through window. When did it become criminal to order a tea and a plain bagel or a salad?  I know how people think. Though my size 4 jeans rest in the bottom of some 4.99 target storage container, I still have my size 4 vogue sample sale mentality. I see the fat girls. Kankles! Moose Knuckle. Their food stains and their too small bras and the dimples that show when they wear stretch clothes. I use to love going to the gym, but I don’t have to leave the house to eat. It’s less judgmental. I don’t have to subject myself to the stares and the whispers of the thin girls on the treadmill whispering about my 180 failed diet attempts.

They don’t know me. The me who could wear anything to the beach,  The me that made men crawl on their knees, that had 8 marriage proposals before the age of 22, the me who  earned state gymnastics champion 3 years in a row. How could they? They probably see some suburban mom with 3 kids and a husband who no longer finds me attractive. I wish. At least then I would have a reason smile.  I wouldn’t come home to the apartment and the cat that I hate but don’t have the balls to drown. 

Its just me in this one bedroom the clothes I desperately want to fit into again and the bags of elastic waist band pants that leave my cheeks wet and my eyes puffy every morning. I don’t even bother to put on make up. Why would I want to draw more attention to my disappearing neck. I have the cutest turtleneck sweater dress that probably has enough elastic to look slightly decent on my enlarged frame, but damn that neck, or what use to be my neck. And I would have to wear a thong, and no one has seen me naked since size 6. There is Martin from the train, but I know he’s a chubby chaser. I remember back when I could find my size anywhere he would comment on how I should eat more. I am not that desperate to have a man in my bed to subject myself to his ham hock fantasy. I’d rather stick to my vibrator, and even that is becoming a bit of a work out.

Now, on the train, I choose not to talk to anyone. I stuff my face in a novels that I have sent to my house because the isles of the corner bookstore are to narrow for me to fit down. They lady who runs the store is nice to me. She calls me every Tuesday and tells me what new releases are coming in. This week I’m reading a 10 day diet book. I always order hard cover. That way I can hide. There is nothing worse than a fat lady with a diet book. To the rest of the world Im reading Jane’s love and sex something or another.

  I do really want to be healthy. I want to be a size 4 again. I want a reason to smile. I guess somewhere down the line I forgot how to live and eating became the next best option. I want to blame him. And blame her too. I can’t. I can’t blame them for the elastic of my panties cutting of my circulation and leaving unsightly lines in my once bragged on thighs. He loved them would kiss them gently before he ran his finger and tongue between them.  He’d spend hours down there, telling me to wrap my legs around him tighter. Then run his hands across my abdomen and continuing until he found a nipple to rub between his thumb and forefinger. There is nothing worse than a fat woman with small tits. My tits were perfect against my size 4 body. They now look like I need a training bra. June apples my mom used to call them.

 I use to be cute and loved and popular. Other fat girls urge me to join there packs. I refuse. They find comfort in their size. I don’t. I won’t and will never. They splash on make up, and go to bars. They are fashionable, but not sample sale fashionable. Fat girl’s fashions are always a season late and never in flattering colors. I stick with basic black and white. I am a fat girl nun. Not apart of the world. I’m just a passer by.  The other fat girls smell my fear. They try to console me. I don’t want their sympathy. I don’t want to be in the herd of cows in the buffet line trying to down our sorrows in gravy. I want a martini and I want a cute guy to buy it, one with a name that I won’t care to remember in the morning.  The last guy to buy size 8 me a drink was 47 and married and only wanted to fuck me on Wednesday nights at my place when we was supposed to be bowling with co-workers. Size 4 me would never get such a horrible offer. Size 4 me got the job and the apartment and the Birkin bag and the Choo’s and Prada luggage set. Damn that Prada Luggage set. He brought it for the honeymoon, along with the Michael Kors bathing suite. The bathing suit I was going to be afraid to wear because of the heartbeat growing inside of me that he had nothing to do with.

The heartbeat, that selfish size 4 me created in a afternoon romp with one of my co-workers. Size 4 me loved him, but didn’t love the idea of being tied down to someone who on a scale of 1 to 10 was average. Size 4 me was a 10 on any scale. My co-worker was a 10. He worked in the mail room, but his face screamed upper management and I screamed and he had his way with me 3 times a week for 3 months. Condoms at first, that was a must, but then it became so passion filled that I threw caution and protection in the wind.

The heartbeat was created on a Tuesday. I remember. I had just gotten my hair cut the day before, and on that Wednesday he was fired for stealing. Maybe his face didn’t scream CEO. Maybe it was just a cute face and a huge cock with a slight bend to the left that touched  and crushed my g-spot ever time he let me get on top. I blame him. I can’t even remember his name, but I know that he used to call me Lola, which was insane because my name was Cindy, size 4 Cindy, with the glowing chocolate skin. He used to call me Cici, but he was only a 5.

He loved me though. I can say that without an ounce of hesitation. I loved that he love me, and he loved me right until I started showing. He cancelled the wedding and offered to pay for the abortion. He couldn’t raise a child that wasn’t his. How could two beatufiul brown skin people raise a half white baby. I wouldn’t have any of that. The baby was mine. Mistake or not, I was going to love it. So he left.

I lost the baby in my third trimester. Some strange complications that I care not to talk about. No one was there the day I came home from the hospital with only one heartbeat. No one has been here since. My parents refuse to talk to me and my dad only sends chain letter emails because he doesn’t know how to remove me from his mailing list, but I know they are ok.  My mother is a bitch just like me. She would hate to see me like this. She would hate to see me period.

So I hide, in my apartment. My room full of shit I can’t fit and bags full of plus size black pants and white blouses.

My only friend is food and an occasional bottle of wine.

I miss him. He now dates a Brazilian size 2.  I bet she’s satisfied with him being a 5, hell, he looks like an 8 since my ranking dropped. I still think I’m find my self attractive on some days. Like, right after I just get my hair done and my eyebrows waxed. I bet he still loves me and wants to fuck…I mean make love to me even though I’m sure the journey from my thighs to my nipped is less desirable and more of a challenge now.

 I saw him the other day. He didn’t recognize me and I’m glad he didn’t. He looked good. Still only an 8. I’ve dated 10’s, had them ready to pledge their lives to me. Ha! The good ol’ days, when being a bitch made everyday more exciting, now, when I’m bitchy I’m just the angry fat girl. My office at work used to be filled with pictures of me out on the town with girls. I took them down when I started buying bigger clothes. I didn’t want to hear “Wow, you were so thin back then”. I doesn’t matter. I’m still size 4 Cindy on the inside. Even if the outside is a size 8 and it will stay size 8, because if I reach 10 I’m jumping out the fucking window, and I haven’t given my self enough fat to cushion even that fall.

 

My life never looked this cool…

This is my life. if you didnt know me before.

I took all of these. and if I do say so myself they are pretty fuckin fly.

 

 

 

becasue a picture is worth a thousand words and Jill Scott is magical

The start of something new…

1. Take a 10-30 minute walk every day. And while you walk, smile. It is the ultimate anti-depressant.2. Sit in silence for at least 10 minutes each day. Buy a lock if you have to.3. Try to get enough sleep.

4. When you wake up in the morning complete the following statement, ‘My purpose is to____ today.’

5. Live with the 3 E’s — Energy, Enthusiasm, and Empathy.

6. Watch more movies, play more games and read more books than you did in 2007.

7. Make time to practice meditation, yoga, tai chi, and prayer. They provide us with daily fuel for our busy lives.

8. Spend more time with people over the age of 70 and under the age of 6.

9. Dream more while you are awake.

10. Eat more foods that grow on trees and plants and eat less food that is manufactured in plants.

11. Drink green tea and plenty of water. Eat blueberries, broccoli, almonds & walnuts.

12. Try to make at least three people smile each day.

13. Clear the clutter from your house, your car, your desk and let new and flowing energy into your life.

14. Don’t waste your precious energy on gossip, issues of the past, negative thoughts or things you cannot control. Instead invest your energy in the positive present moment.

15. Realize that life is a school and you are here to learn. Problems are simply part of the curriculum that appear and fade away like algebra class but the lessons you learn will last a lifetime.

16. Eat breakfast like a king, lunch like a prince and dinner like a college kid with a maxed out charge card.

17. Smile and laugh more.

18. Life isn’t fair, but it’s still good.

19. Life is too short to waste time hating anyone.

20. Don’t take yourself so seriously. No one else does.

21. You don’t have to win every argument. Agree to disagree.

22. Make peace with your past so it won’t interfere with the present.

23. Don’t compare your life to others’. You have no idea what their journey is all about.

24. Burn the candles, use the nice china, and don’t save it for a special occasion. Today is special.

25. No one is in charge of your happiness except you.

26. Frame every so-called disaster with these words: ‘In five years, will this matter?’

27. Forgive everyone for everything.

28. What other people think of you is none of your business.

29. Time heals almost everything. Give time, time.

30. However good or bad a situation is, it will change.

31. Your job won’t take care of you when you are sick. Your friends will. Stay in touch.

32. Get rid of anything that isn’t useful, beautiful or joyful.

33. Envy is a waste of time. You already have all you need.

34. The best is yet to come.

35. No matter how you feel, get up, dress up and show up.

36. Do the right thing!

37. Call your family often. Keep in touch with them.

38. Each night before you go to bed complete the following statements: ‘ I am thankful for ___.’ Today I accomplished ____.

39. Remember that you are too blessed to be stressed.

40. Enjoy the ride. Remember that this is not Disney World and you certainly don’t want a fast pass.

You only have one ride through life so make the most of it and enjoy the ride.

Be Blessed!

and this is nothing of mine but its helpful!