My Big Fat Monologue

(originally posted April, 2006)

With my writer’s block soundly smashed to smithereens, I return to my post to ponder over a subject that people often tiptoe around on eggshells. Considering where I’m going with this one, that’s almost laughable. I usually avoid wearing stiletto heels out of fear I’ll break them, so that whole walking gingerly around on anything is sort of a non-issue for me.

I unabashedly and unapologetically stand on the mountain top (and that mountain, in my fantasies, is a mountain of Junior’s Cheesecake, STRAIGHT from the corner of Flatbush and DeKalb Avenues, but still I digress), fork raised, and proclaim to all who will hear me:

I… am a FAT chick!

YES! I said it, gotdammit! I’m FAT. Not phat, thick, curvy, fluffy, zaftig, Rubenesque, big-boned, pleasantly plump, chubby, chunky, or heavy-set. I got more ripples than a bag of chips and more waves than a water park. Whyyabullshittin: I had to double check the last belt I put on to make sure it didn’t say “Michelin” in raised white letters. HOWEVER: Let’s not get it twisted… I’m not the fat friend that the skinny girls drag on dates to cockblock, or hold their purses at the club. At the risk of tooting my own horn: I’m probably one of the flyest fat chicks you’ll ever meet…I just know my limitations and work well within them.

I know some folks reading this are cringing while others are shocked and still others are laughing. “Fat” is just an adjective, like tall, short or skinny, and maybe if more of us used it to describe ourselves where it applied, the stigma attached to it would disappear. Example: people have attempted (unsuccessfully) many times over the years to insult me by calling me fat. Most of those folks are either ugly or stupid, and with enough effort I could potentially lose weight so I still got a leg up on the competition!

There are a billion reasons why I’m still heavy (even six years post-op from gastric bypass surgery). For starters, my eating habits and exercise regimen are woefully inadequate. (Hey, man, let’s call a spade a spade.)

Some of it may be psychologically rooted. Maybe deep down inside, the real me is hiding behind all these layers of adipose tissue, longing to be noticed but afraid of the attention at the same time (now there’s one to bake your noodle, huh?). Then again, maybe I’m using my considerable bulk as a shield because in spite of themselves, fat people are sometimes invisible, or at the very least, marginalized and forgotten to an extent.

My closest friends make all kinds of excuses for me. Some of them say that they don’t see me as fat (HA.. take a look at the size tags in my jeans, why don’t cha). Some of them say that my “fly” diminishes my fat but again… I don’t always see myself the way other people see me. I’m just glad that I’m blessed with more than a reasonable amount of health, physical strength, mental acuity and devastating charm (haha). Contortonist-like flexibility and a creative, yet freaky side don’t hurt either.

My dear sweet babysis, Bella, once remarked that I had so much personality that I need the XXXL bod just to contain it all. (I thought that was hella sweet, too. Thank you, Bellissima!). I always say that God made me fat to keep me humble, because if I were a size 12 NOBODY would be able to stand me but I don’t think that’s especially true either. I’ve been heavier than I am today, and I’ve been thinner and the contradiction was that the thinner me was more conservative. That came as a result of seeing how differently the thinner me was treated by people who knew me before, but that’s a whole ‘nother blog.

However, the most important thing, be I fat or thin or anywhere in between, is that I am HERE, and refuse to let anyone or anything steal my joy. I have found my voice and I will shout my message from the rooftops until people stop listening, or until I go hoarse. I will bleach my hair blonde and wear clothing capable of turning heads and popping eyes at every opportunity; I will ride my motorcycle like I stole it and drive my truck like the ass end is on fire and the Devil himself is chasing me. I will dance like no one’s watching (even if they are) for the pure joy of bouncing my ass all over the place, and most importantly, I will laugh much and love hard in the skin I’m IN, because life isn’t going to wait “until I lose weight.”

…would that we all find a measure of happiness and confidence enough to all get along, and live life as abundantly as God ordained… *sigh*