A Little Something You May or May Not Have Known About Me

I don’t think that it should come as any surprise to anyone, but I like to write. I always have. I think half of it has to do with my love affair with paper and pens, it’s an “addiction” that I picked up from my mother who, likewise, picked it up from her own mother. It takes will power stronger than gravity for me to be able to pass up the school supply isle at any store; but, sadly, I usually give in and end up in said isle looking adoringly at the packs of pens, pencils, and paper as if they were cuddly little puppies in need of a loving and caring home. It’s really rather sad, but, as “addictions” go, I guess it’s not so bad. The same could be said for books—don’t get me within 100 yards of Barnes and Noble, the day will be shot if I end up in there—but that’s a whole other issue.

Since the intensity of my illness, picking up a pen or a pencil and actually WRITING something on paper has become rather difficult. My already kindergarten-like writing has gotten worse because I lack the strength needed to hold the pen properly and write. As an avid writer with ideas bouncing off the walls of my brain, it’s very frustrating for me to not be able get them onto paper. I know what you’re thinking, “Christine, you have a computer, you’re typing your blog on it, do the same with your stories”. I wish that I could do that, trust me, I’ve tried; but I just don’t get the same satisfaction as when I have a pen in my hand—which has completely disfigured my middle finger—and am writing what’s going on in my mind on paper. Doing this blog is a little different, since blogs are viewed on the computer, scattering my words out into the cosmos for whomever to read. Anyone else, on the other hand, rarely sees my stories, they are mine, my way of release, I guess you could say.

One of my favorite authors is a woman by the name of Lurlene McDaniels. Her genre is youth fiction and generally deals with young people with cancer. I have read a significant number of her books, if not nearly every book she has ever written, so, I guess naturally, my writing tends to be in that same field. I wish that I could say that I am improving and getting close to her caliber of expertise, but I would be lying to myself if I actually believed that. I know that I have a lot to learn and probably should take some courses on writing, but, considering my present situation, that just isn’t going to be happening. One story I’ve been working on since I was a sophomore in high school—I was a sophomore in 1995—and have yet to finish it. I get the proverbial writer’s block and put it down and start working on another story that’s in my head until I get writer’s block again, so it’s a vicious cycle of rotating stories.

Recently I started on a completely different type of story. It’s written as if it were the diary/journal of a 20-something young woman of, how should I put this…girth. I call it Diary of a Fat Girl and it is somewhat autobiographical in the sense that the scenarios that happen to the girl in the story are actual things that have occurred in my own life. I think that there is a preconceived notion in the world that all people who are chubby, girthy, horizontally challenged, and every other synonym or pun you can think of for fat, WANT to be that way. Or that we have made ourselves that way because we are lazy people who do nothing but sit on the couch watching T.V and munching on everything in the house. As a woman of Size, I can tell you that, for the majority of us, that is not true. Here is a little excerpt from my story Diary of a Fat Girl:

Dear Diary, October 10, 2008

As Halloween draws ever closer and two, yes, 2, different Halloween parties stare me in the face, I now have a challenge set before me: Find two different Halloween costumes for the two very different events. The slogan, if you will, for this plight is: Will one fit? The criteria for the costume(s) are:
(a) One must be from The Wizard of Oz
(b) The other needs to be something gothic, rock ‘n roll, or punk so that I fit in with the crowd at the party (I’m thinking vampire or gothic doll)
(c) Both must fit
(d) Neither one of them can be a sheet, bag, or random piece of cloth strung together around my body and called “a costume”. It must be the real deal!
Now, if I were, say, a size 2, this wouldn’t be a problem in the least; but if you tack on an extra 2 and make it a double digit (a.k.a: 22), then add another 2, it would then bring the grand total to…drum roll please…24. Yup, I am, roughly, the size of two Marilyn Monroes put together, wider than the average armchair, my hips do not fit through a turn-stile at a theme park. I am, without question, a girth-y woman.

However…

…do not mistake my self-deprecating attitude as that of one who is ashamed, embarrassed, mortified, humiliated, or any other synonym the dictionary holds about her Size. I am, in actuality, comfortable with who I am. I am large-and-in-charge, big, blonde, and beautiful, squish-y, portly and proud!

Now, back to the task at hand…

So, this morning, with purse in hand and costume ideas in mind, I made my way to the local mall, eager to find everything that I could possibly need. A gentleman greeted me at the door and asked if I needed help finding something in particular. “Yes, I am looking for costumes that cater to the girth-y, the large-and-in-charge, in short: I am looking for plus-Sized costumes…of any kind,” I told him. After snickering at my fat-person humor, he politely (and I use that term loosely) informed me that there is no specific section for “my kind” that it’s basically hit and miss on what might “go up to my Size”. He did, however, offer up some (in his mind) friendly suggestions:
(a) Buy all black clothes in one of “your” stores, put on some white make-up, buy some fangs, and call yourself a vampire (Strike one, honey.)
(b) Go to Wal-Mart and buy some sheets, wrap them around yourself, buy some gold sandals, paint some leaves gold and put them around your head and go as a Grecian Goddess (Strike two, doll, no sheet-costumes allowed)
(c) Buy a clown costume. Those always fit plus-Sized people (Strike three, thanks for playing, but you’ve been ejected from the game)

After politely grinding my teeth into some semblance of a grin and listening to the worker’s suggestions, I bid him farewell and set off on my own through the store, determined to find something…anything that would meet all of my criteria and prove that moron at the door wrong about my options. So, without a backward glance at the naysayer, I began perusing the isles of the fine Halloween retail establishment. At first I was getting discouraged because everything I was finding on the first rack was labeled “Standard Adult”; but, after taking a couple of trips around the aforementioned rack (hey, I never claimed that because I’m of an above-average size automatically means my brains are above average as well!), I realized that it was full of capes and gloves, so there was no reason for any further panic…PHEW! With that bullet dodged, I gladly moved on to a more challenging section (one that I determined, prior to my approach, that was, in fact, actual costumes)…gothic-style. My strategy was to go in and find something I liked, see the biggest size it went up to and then, if it surpassed the size 20 mark, I was going to see if there was a way to squeeze my Marilyn Monroe-sized (times two) butt into it! To my utter glee, I found a Victorian Vampire costume that was marked “Adult Plus 20-22”, so I snatched it off the rack as quickly as I could (you never know when another person of Size might come by) and scampered off to another rack to see what possible treasures it might hold.

Fast-forward twenty minutes…

…the fruits of my labor (I walked all over that place, so surely I burned enough calories to fit into that 20-22!) were few, but I gladly marched over to the mirrors—there weren’t any dressing rooms—and began trying on costumes. The first one I tried was the original costume I had found—the only one marked for “my kind” that I liked for the party on the 31st and fit my criteria—and, thanks to the invigorating walk around the store, it fit—a little snug on the hips--(even over my street clothes)! After a few turns in the mirror and a couple of moments trying to figure out why there was a superfluous piece of fabric tucked into a loop smack on top of my butt (turns out it was a mock bustle), I removed the costume and moved on to the next one, a more “vamp” vampire. However, seeing as how that costume was marked “Adult XL (12-14)”, it wasn’t much of a surprise that it didn’t even make it over my head, so that costume, and the two other “Adult XL (12-14)”s headed back to their homes, destined to wait for a skinnier “big” girl to come along and snatch them up. And, to put a little rain on my semi-sunny day, I couldn’t find a suitable costume for the Wizard of Oz themed party, so that meant I would have to resort to Plan B: Find a black dress at one of “my” stores and call myself “The Wicked Witch of the West” (but I would never admit it to the imbecile at the door!). Determined to make it look like I had found an over-abundance of what I needed, I stashed my basket with a vampire wig, fangs, black nail polish and lipstick, white face powder, a long witch’s wig, green and black striped pantyhose (granted, they didn’t actually fit all the way up to my waist and would be turned into knee socks, but no one need know that!), green face make-up and, to cap it all off, a witch’s hat and broom. With my loot in hand, I marched right up to the counter and plunked everything down, eager to prove that I, a woman of Size, was able to find everything that I needed in a store largely catering to the “normal” sized individual. After plunking down nearly $200 (I am convinced retailers punish the large-and-in-charge by making us pay, sometimes, double what the average person has to pay), I took my bags and proudly walked out of that store, giving the blockhead at the front door a somewhat smug smile as I waved to him with my two brimming bags.

Mission semi-accomplished…

Now safely back within the confines of my home, I need to come up with a solution for my Wicked Witch of the West (WWOTW) costume. Should I break down and just do as that dingbat at the door said: “buy an all black outfit at one of “your stores” and call myself the WWOTW? Or should I be proactive and do a little research before, maybe, venturing out to another costume shop? It’s a difficult decision to make, but I’m going to have to come up with something fast.

I’ll keep you posted!

Ambree
P.S. Please don't steal any of my writing :)

Me actually made as The Wicked With of the West, but from the play "Wicked", so I was really Elphaba