Category Archives: fat

Am I just too old?

If you’ve been with me for a while you know I love to dance.

I took formal lessons as a wee tiny preschool kid. I hated ballet and loved jazz and modern.

I am an avid bootyshaker. Put on music I like and my ass is moving.

I love bellydance. I’ve done a bit, I have instructional DVDs.

I just love all the dancing.

My relationship with my love of movement started when I was about 13 and my breasts grew to a size that was uncontrollable.  I did not have access to the most basic of bras and at one point was outgrowing them at a rate of two a month (yes going up at least one to two cup sizes a month) and everything hurt either physically (the weight of my actual breasts causing tissue damage etc) or emotionally (being bullied by everyone including teachers/adults) and I shut down any idea that I could move my body.

I remember watching the high school drill team practicing in the morning and yearning to do that as well.  I made myself give it up.

Along with my run away tits, I gained quite a bit of weight. I believed if I was fat my boobs would be less noticeable.

It was terrible.

I got a breast reduction at 14 and movement opened back up to me. I was a cheerleader (yeah for real tho), I tried playing volleyball, I was on the drill team. I tried a lot of things.

What I did not have back was that freedom and joy with dance. If you are a lover of dance you know the feeling I’m talking about. Soaring, flying, feeling like the most beautiful thing ever.

I was still deeply self conscious and battling budding eating disorders and trying to preserve the veneer of self esteem I had.

There was no joy.

I did a little exotic dancing (not really legal but that’s a whole other story) I went clubbing a lot in my early 20s. I loved it. Often out at clubs after hours I was there again, feeling that beat in my hips and floating in that joyful feelings.

So let’s fast forward.

I’m closing on 40.

I’m fat.

I have shitty knees.

Sometimes I find myself compulsively watching dance videos. I learn (ish) new steps. I twerk at home alone in my bathroom though not well.

I think about sexy dancing to music.

Sometimes I practice hip shimmies while I stand waiting for the bus.

And that asshole voice in my head starts in.

I’m too fat.

I’m too old.

The fuck am I doing.

Rinse repeat until my joy is pretty gone.

I vacillate between wanting to give it a shot and feeling like there are eleven million reasons why I shouldn’t. I hate that I have so much baggage with this.

If I start bellydancing at night at home, would I be okay?

What if adding dancing to my daily approximately 30-45 minutes of exercise would it change my body?

Could I handle that?

I get scared and then I sort of wilt.

I tuck the desire, no fuck desire it is beyond that.

I am YEARNING to dance again.

I want my legs to be big and hard as stone again. I miss almost kicking myself in the forehead, I miss feeling a slickness in the movement of my hips and having that communicating with the divine through the sway of my hips feeling.

I know it got a little woo at the end but I do feel something divine in moving my body.

And then there’s those fears.

I don’t know what to do really.

I don’t want to take “dance” classes that are basically a thin veneer for lose as much weight as possible.

I don’t want to spend money to be miserable.

I want to be a wee fat dancer.

I promised myself some time ago that I wouldn’t pass 40 without trying again. Letting go of the fears and doing the things I love to do.

I am going to try starting with a flexibility thing. Try to ease some of my joint problems with limbering up.

And then dance?


I hope so.

I want to try and there will probably be tears and angst.

I hope as I get more bendy there will be a release of some sort. An ascension.


Sorry. Got woo.

Here enjoy one of my favorite bootyshake songs. Bojangles by Pitbull ft Yin Yang twins.

Shake what you got how you can.

I’m gonna do the same.

Homo Out.


Revisiting Intuitive eating and the Food Police

For the last few months I have been revisiting my use of intuitive eating.

I’ve had what I consider to be kind of a fraught relationship with the concept of intuitive eating because as I’ve figured out I thought my food intuition was broken.

I was finding flaws in almost every way or method I was eating. I was placing a lot of heavy judgements on myself because I did not believe I could/am good at feeding myself in a way that is fulfilling.

One of my issues going in is that when I have strong emotions (stress, joy, feelings) I tend to lose my appetite in a way that makes the idea of eating gross.

I kept feeling like, because I was having a hard time calming down with the judgements and just letting my body do the thing I know it knows how to do, I have been making a serious effort to take my own damn advice and not be so much of an asshole to myself.

As some of y’all might remember I am on a bit of a quest to run past turning 40 in a few years with some shit worked out.

This is part of me working my shit out.

Now I have finally figured out a few things about how my body broadcasts hunger and what I can eat/can’t eat often.

  1. When I am having a day where I have more general pain (I don’t really want to go into that too deep right now) I tend to want my plain room temp/tepid water in the morning while I get ready.
  2. I cannot force myself to do breakfast.
  3. I like something with my coffee. A cookie or pastry etc. Something a bit sweet for my first hour or so at work.
  4. Generally speaking I like an actual meal sized food between 5-6ish.
  5. Ideally I get some meat/fish protein in there.
  6. Snacks are essential.

I have the worst habit of treating myself like the upset parent trying to get a kid to eat a la my favorite Louis C K bit ever. NSFW/KID language.

I get frustrated with myself because I AM that kid that you want to go EAT MOTHER FUCKER YOU WILL DIE.

So, I dial it down and eat. Rather than trying so hard to “correct” my food issues I’m working with them and I ask myself, am I sated? Am I no longer hangry? Okay good. Just eat the food.

Generally speaking my natural inclination leans toward having veg to graze on (not too much because I will poop my brains out, another reason why being a vegan was miserable for me) and tea and water and stuff.

Sometimes if I want some, I eat some candy. Eat some fruit whatever.

Which brings me to food policing.

Actually instead as a little homage to Roxane Gay I want to show you how I make something that might not sate me plain churched up while I am at work.

I picked up an Annie Chun sweet n spicy noodle bowl. Plain these are just meh and are never satisfying to me. Here is how it looked, not pretty but so damn good.

This shit right here.

This shit right here.

So for my taste I need a bowl like this, a Mrs Dash type seasoning. I use some I got at the dollar store with chips of dehydrated garlic, onion, pepper, basil, celery seed and whatnot. I cook the noodles and drain them then add the sauce that comes with it, my faux Dash, Sriracha and stir. I let it sit.

Then I will buy or use leftovers for protein. Sometimes I grab a packet of tuna or if I’m feeling fancy like today a packet of salmon. Sometimes I use chicken, a few weeks ago I had left over tofu and used that.

I broke up the fish and added it along with some leftover sesame seeds and voila.

Not pictured are the sugar snap peas I’ve been snacking on all day.

While I was at the store, I mostly just grabbed what felt like it would be good and was happy until, some asshole I don’t even know decided to stop and “congratulate” me on my food choices. Except for my safeway brand sparkly water, that got a little bit of a chiding.

My first instinct was to tell this person to fuck off.

I let them finish and then asked if they were buying my food because that is the only way how I feed myself is any of their business.

Here’s the thing.

Regardless of how passionate you are about your food, your food politics, your food ethics, your food needs- you are not the boss of people who need to eat.

You don’t know what my or anyone else’s dietary needs or desires are so keep your shit mout shut.

If someone broaches the topic with you, go nuts.

Share recipes whatever but don’t just walk up to random people with that shit it’s rude.

It doesn’t matter if the person is the fattest fat person you have ever seen in public or if they are the thinnest.

I know that some people do this out of concern, or what they think is concern and interrupting the daily life of another person to let them know you don’t like how they eat/walk/dress is not concern. It is acting like an entitled jerk so don’t.

If what you care about is food justice, that means you’re down for people who eat junk food as well as those who eat other ways. It means you don’t get to tell them what to eat, but fight for their access to fresh food.

If you care about healthy food, the ethics of the food industry etc how you feel on a personal level in your lived life is one thing but you don’t really have the right to impose that on the personal lived lives of other people.

If you want to educate about your particular food issue, the onus of appropriate behavior is on you not the people you are trying to preach to.

I look at it this way.

Dialogue is awesome and can be really enjoyable.

Proselytizing? Not so much.

that’s all for right now.

Homo out.

Fashion Regrets. I has them.

I was looking at faux leather leggings earlier and planning fall outfits in my head and I was taken over by the saddest nostalgia.

I was thinking about being a little baby fatty, in my midish twenties. I was a bit bigger than I am now and I remember I had some money for clothing.

If some of y’all are my age or older you may remember the leather pants Melissa Etheridge used to wear. Something like this, think jim Morrison with hips. I remember finding a pair of faux leather pants very similar to that and I tried them on.

At the time I almost started crying in the dressing room because I had a little belly and my big ass thighs and smallish butt.

So I was thinking about those pants and I wish I had bought them. Only because I would probably still have them and I want to wear them.

Right now at the size I am (small fat, round. Awesome belly) I want those pants. I want to wear them with a thin black tank top, with my little belly hanging over the low ass waistband. I want to wear them with my Docs or with the semi engineer style boots I have.

I feel like it would be perfect.

I am in mourning for all the clothes I didn’t think I could “pull off” because of my wee fat body. Because I believed that I would legitimately make people sick if they saw my belly and my muffin top (FUCK I loathe that term) or if it was clear that my stomach isn’t flat and my thighs not only touch they fucking cuddle while I walk.

I find it retroactively upsetting.

I am mourning the affordable underwire bikini tops, the booty shorts, the perfect fit sturdy twill zip front dresses, the pleated butt showing minis.

I am so sad that I was so ashamed of my fine ass chubby body I missed out on so much fashion awesome.

And now fast forward a bit more than a decade and I am seeing “vintage” (I think things should be older than a decade to be vintage but whatever) stuff that if it were in my size would be perfect and is just like stuff I had when it was all new.

I’m so sad.

And yet, I’m also scouring for these fashions and others because I’ve discovered that part of living in super health conscious Seattle means I have come to really enjoy traumatizing other people with my fatness.

For instance.

I was wearing one of my favorite things (this maxi skirt from Deb Shops in black of course) and a woman, maybe my age or a bit younger stopped me to let me know that someone had spanx on sale because she could see my “trouble” areas…you know my fat jiggling ass and was trying to do me a solid.

I smiled and told her politely that I like my jiggling trouble spot and I don’t need any Spanx.

I was really amused.

The thing is, I know that people tend to think I am way younger than I am but the fact is the older I get the fewer fucks I give.

The older I get the more amusement I get from the discomfort of other people in terms of my body. From the young ladies who were appalled at my furry armpits and unshaven legs to the friendly ladies offering advice about what’s flattering.

I just don’t care.

I want to spend my middle age looking precisely how I want to look.

Similarly I have been trying to refine my plans for body modification so I can start saving up.

Behold Maria Jose Cristerna.


I love her.

I love her.

If you don’t know who she is check her out on the internets.

I think she is one of the most beautiful human beings on the planet. She is honestly the epitome of looking however the fuck you want to me and I want grow up to give that few fucks.

I may not want her mods specifically but I want to reach my twilight years decorated and looking exactly how I please.

I wish someone could have told me way back then that I could in fact look how I want when i want. I wish someone would have told me that over and over again.

Sometimes I still have to tell myself. I still struggle on occasion with presenting myself the way I think I should versus how I want to.

Sometimes I lose faith in my own ability to support my need to look how the fuck I want to look.

Shit is hard but looking back at the young woman who so wanted to wear the things but was afraid to because OH NO FAT I think I can do it.

To that end I have my little stash of tattoo references, a list of a few more face holes I’d like punched in my dermis. I am learning that I can and should relearn how to sew in a more serious fashion.

This summer this is pretty much my look:

Dark lips and no fucks given.

Dark lips and no fucks given.

I’ve been experimenting with a few sheer items of clothing and trying to figure out layering when it is hot out. I haven’t been entirely successful but the evolution into an Evil Alien Nazgul Queen is happening.

And I will let it happen.

Even if it hurts sometimes.

Homo Out.

Musings on Using Thin Privilege and whatnot.

Right now my body is a size that means I have some degree of thin privilege.

Not a whole bunch but some.

This was my outfit from the other day.


I am not really as small as I look sometimes because of how I wear my clothes but I am not visually obviously still fat. It is quite a thing.

If you ask most medical professionals I am about to drop dead any minute.

Ask me and I’m borderline close to being too small to feel comfortable.

That aside, I am relearning how to use my degree of thin privilege to further my ideas about bodies and fatness.

For instance.

Not too long ago an indie designer I have admired for a very long time sent me a message on tumblr to tell me that something or other of theirs was back in stock, I had commented on a post about it months ago.

I went off to look and saw that their current sizing is bizarre. As in their size L had an upper measurement of a 30″ waist and 38″ hip.

So this person from looking at some photos of me assumes that I am relatively normatively sized and when I asked them privately about their jacked up sizing, they asked what I was worried for?

Well a.) the size L would be too small for me and b.) I am here for fat people.

Even though I am not currently sized out of a lot of clothes, I am still sized out of a lot of clothing I like. So I get my foot in because I have some thin privilege and then I start talking about fat folks and I still will not accept that making clothes for fat or really fucking fat people is impossible.

Size matters regardless of what size I am.

Said designer isn’t speaking to me anymore.

What irritates the shit out of me is the presumption that in order to care about a thing, in this case fatness you have to exemplify the thing.


Even if you didn’t know that I was fatter at one point, the thing to know is that my point is still valid.

Why isn’t this available in bigger sizes is a serious question.

What irritates me even more is that now that I look not fat, (not thin but not really fat) people want to listen to what I have to say. I don’t like it. You should have listened when I was fucking fat.

At least fat in the someone looks at me and knows I’m fat kind of way.

Given that I don’t wield a lot of privilege in other ways, I am kind of enjoying learning to use it as a weapon. For good that is.

I will say that while I do have this bit of thin privilege I can’t say that I identify with thinness or even average-ness on a personal level.

Being that my perspective on body politics is a fat shaped (both identity and physically) lens, I am finding it easier to reject the idea that I am supposed to be happy with my weight loss or talk about it positively. Emotionally that has actually made the change in my body way easier to deal with and talk about in a truthful manner.

The truth is I am still not thrilled about it. I am accepting it as something my body decided to do and trying to maintain my health without bullshit.

But I am not really happy about it and that is okay.

This is something I’ve settled on fairly recently. Trying to deal with my negative feelings about my weight coupled with being uncertain if I should keep talking fatness etc was rough on me.

And then of course I went back to some core FA things.

  1. The size of my ass doesn’t change who I actually am.
  2. Smaller ass does not miraculously  make life better.

Concepts that I have talked about for years and really needed to remind myself of in recent times.

It will never get old to have that core to fall back on when shit gets rough regardless of the actual size of my ass.

That said.

Let this be my perhaps monthly reminder that Fat Acceptance is good for everyone.


Homo Out.