Friday, July 30, 2010

Fake The Funk

I don't know how I would have gotten though the last couple years without the phrase "Fake it til' you make it". There are so many times when you just feel blah, but for whatever reason you got put on another face because "Blah" simply won't cut it.

I don't know if you're able to tell, but sometimes, in certain situations, I can get very nervous, uncomfortable, and awkward. Even if I'm not feeling confident, in an good mood, or looking my best, for the most part I try to keep my head up and pretend that I'm cool, relaxed ,and confident.

Lest we forget that every woman has her moments though.

BodyMagic



Me and my body magic. It was love at first sight. Before we met I was suspicious, as I always am when someone or something claims to do something that just doesn't seem possible. Well, I was moving back to DC in a couple days and I just wanted to look my best. Even though I worked out quite hard during the summer, the stress from moving and living/eating with my family just didn't give me the tighter figure that I wanted. And oh, did I mention that my spout with L.A. living had left me in a drought for the last 2 years? Yeah, buddy. Me and L.A. had broken up for sure and I couldn't wait to haul ass out of that lonely desert. And I wanted to be able to meet people again, without feeling uncomfortable and awkward.

Anywho, when I first put on my body magic, it was like all the rolls were smoothed and the jelly was tightened. I felt so much better in my clothes cause they just fit so right. Yeah, I had to arrange a couple bathroom breaks before putting it on, and I definitely had to limit my liquid intake because taking it down to go to the bathroom was just too much work. But those were minor sacrifices I was willing to take to have a hour glass figure.

As I started working out and eating better in the next couple of months, I found that I didn't need the body magic that often because I was becoming more secure with my shape as it was. And of course after my 23 Day Affair, I put that cumbersome thing in the back of my closet, hoping to never have to use it again.

These days, not feeling at all confident with my shape, I've had  to pull out the body magic on occasion. Every time I do, it's just like the first time. Smoothing, lifting, and such. But I'm reminded around my friends, and also with Stacy, that it's just an illusion. Um.. please don't wrap your arms around my waist... you will surely find a hundred metal clasps dead-bolting my belly from protruding out.

Other than that, my body magic is a great way to "fake it 'til you make it". Just please don't touch me.

Coming out of the Woodwork

Woodworkers. Kristina (BFF)  and I use this term frequently. Coined by our experience from men (and women) who, despite time and disinterest, come back into our lives to try and re-open a chapter that we thought we closed long ago. Since I started dating during college, I've experienced my share of Woodworkers (WWs), some being multiple offenders.

The real problem with WWs are their intentions. Most of the WWs in my life have called on me because they've gotten bored or lonely (all of which is probably self-initiated and none of my concern). For the most part these men left your lives 1) on their on accord or 2) was asked to leave, both reason offering red flags for why they departed. In my opinion, the most common reason why someone leaves your life is because they were though with you or you were though with them. Now I'm not talking about old friends you lost touch with; when we talk about WWs, we're really talking about people who you cut out of your life. Period. They don't have to be men either. Sometimes they're frenimies who were swaying too much on the enemy side. Now, you haven't talked to this person for maybe months, years sometimes, and then here they are- calling, emailing, texting, knocking on your door--literally coming out the Woodwork.

Now its nice to think that this person missed you, they've been thinking about you and so forth. However, 9 times out of 10 you stopped talking to them in the first place because they did something you found unacceptable. You might be thinking about the good ole' times and maybe how you missed them too. But beware, always remember the reason(s) that caused the separation.

These days I don't bother with WWs because in the past I've found I've gave too many 2nd, 3rd, and even 4th chances. I hate to say it but people rarely change as the years go by. And whats worst is that you find that you're even more limited in what you can tolerate as you get older. So essentially many things you were fine with 2 years ago are now  no-no's. The combination of your maturity and the WWs (usual) inability to change mostly ends up in disaster after a so-called "reconciliation".

So beware of the WWs. Forgiveness is a great and wonderful thing but that doesn't mean you have to be bosom buddies again. In any case when dealing with WWs, take your time to see if they have changed and whether you're able to have a place for them in your life.

OR, be like me, and just adhere to a sweeping rule : NO WOODWORKERS!

The L Word

My favorite time with Stacy is bed time. We have the best pillow talk ever. Usually, we stay up long after we're supposed to be sleep just chatting and laughing until 1am and then I wake up in the morning exhausted and having to go to work. Now, I'm not sure whose fault is is but I suppose it;s mine. However, him acting as a willing participant, I guess he's a little at fault too.

So this particular night we were going to bed when he randomly said "You know I care for you, right?"

Now, have you ever said something so quickly without thinking and immediately wanted to take it back. Well, I did. I blurted, "Well, I don't know why."

He turned away, "Why do you always do that? you don't believe me when I tell you these things. It's almost like you feel like you don't deserve it or something"

Great way to hit the hammer on the nail.

He finished, "Makes me so mad."

All I could do was apologize but there was no good explanation. There's nothing I could say to explain to him why I didn't believe him without summoning a psychologist.  So I just apologized. I attempted to say that it's hard for me because I didn't know why he liked me. And that's true. I wasn't his type at all, yet we were together. Stacy was really active and pretty much fit and I knew he previously been with all thin women. It would have been different if he was chubby or at least was a chubby chaser but he wasn't... and that made me feel extremely insecure.

 He responded with, "You're not usually my type but I like you despite that".
At least he was being honest, but he was still upset. At this point he was turned away from me and wouldn't let me touch him. He was having a moment.
"I dont want you to feel that I dont care about you because that the opposite of how I want you to feel. I need you to trust me."

So I kept apologizing while he turned away and was silent. Then finally he said "It's OK".
"I want to tell you something but it's hard to say"
"What is it? Tell me." I asked.

After going back and forth for a couple minutes about what he wanted to tell me, I couldn't figure out if it was good or bad. Stacy's so easy going most of the time that he's a hard person to read. I never know what he wants because he never asks for anything and I never know how he feels because he rarely shows any strong emotion. He's always... chill. So at this point, I hadn't a clue what the hell he wanted to say.

 he finally said,

"I...love you."

OMG.

Phatties

I use the word "Phatty" with the most respectful intentions. For me, it's a term of endearment. A lot of girls use BBW (big beautiful women) and other acronyms, but for me I found using the word "phatty" to describe ourselves is empowering. I mean, clearly Phatties have a lot more...um...fat on their bones--and that's OK. So I find the term both ghetto-fabulous (i.e. Baby Phat) and accurate. Cece from "The Big Girl Blog" uses the term "Plus-Sized Princess (PSP)". I dont care for the term "plus-size" but love "princess"... so overall I'm satisfied with PSP.

I hope no one is offended by my use of the term phatty. What do you think? What are some ways that you prefer to be called that distinguish you apart from thin women?

I Hate My Job

Well, not really. But I hate what I’m doing. I push paper all day long and it’s not the kind of paper (green) that I’d like to be pushing. The job is just so mundane and tedious. It’s not the sort of career that I had imagined… but I suppose in this day and age I should be thankful. It’s close to home, and they let me have flexible hours while I finish grad school. They pay me well enough since I can support myself on a part time salary. But with all this said, it makes it that much harder to find something else that could make me happy.

I mean, who wants to wake up in the morning and think to themselves, “damn, how many PTO hours do I have left?” (hoping its enough to call in that day). I just hate it. I want to love my job as it appears that it’s unlikely that I’ll score a rich husband. And for the first time in my life, I’m seriously entertaining the thought of playing the lotto… just so I can give the deuces to my boss.

I try looking for jobs that I actually wouldn’t mind doing but they aren’t as convenient as my current place and they don’t pay nearly as much. So just to earn what I’m earning now I’ll have to work twice as much and still go to school at the same time. Yeah? No…

Still, I can’t keep this up much longer. I don’t want to look up, 30 years have passed by and I’m still doing this. But maybe this is what I need to do until I finish school… then I’ll be more flexible?

I put in an application for a new job last Friday, I hope they call me.

Phatties and Suspicion

I have been trying to figure out if is a natural suspicion that all women, or specifically phat women carry about men. Every since I was young, I’ve always been suspicious of men, their actions, and their intentions. Is not really like I’ve been wronged in the past, because honestly I guess no man has ever lied to me… but it’s hard for me to take some things that men say for face value. I suppose listening to the experiences of women around me, internalizing the idea of men being “big, bad wolves” from my dad, and generally what society tells women about men “being men”, I think I’ve just picked up the notion that it’s better to not be completely vulnerable with a man. Because of this, I tend to put up walls, I rarely share my true emotions without some sort of validation, and even true intimacy is difficult. This natural suspicion held me off from telling Stacy that I liked him for a long time. We would even text me and say “I know you like me, why won’t you just admit it?” and I would reply, “Why admit something that isn’t true?” Thank God he was more secure than I.

I hear the stories of my friends when they tell me about how a guy has swept them off their feet. A couple of days go by, weeks even… and they tell me how they’ve given up the goods and the guy 1) won’t speak to them anymore; or 2) only calls them now on for a booty call. And each time I hear the familiar line of events, I sit, listen intently, shake my head in horror, and gasp at the particularly cruel moments while secretly thinking “What did you expect?”

So when I think about, I think my suspicion is a curse and a blessing. It’s kept me from getting burned by bad men (though I’ve had my share of singes), but It has kept me from tearing the wall down for men who deserve it.

Am I the only one with this suspicion?

28 Day Affair: Summer Edition

So remember those hideous pictures I was telling you about? Well, they’ve got me thinking that it’s time to start growing…er…shrinking in the opposite direction. Since my last extreme diet, I had been yo-yo-ing around a descent weight for about 6 months, going up and down, and for the first 3 months I was just out of control. The last two months, I’ve sincerely tried getting my eating and exercise situation together but it has always been so short lived.

Needless to say the last few moths have been a self-esteem altering roller-coaster. I guess like other phat girls, I feel best about myself when I’m on the low side and worst when I’m on the high. These last months I was definitely all around the spectrum. When Stacy and I got together on V-day, it was a good time for me because I was till basking in my weight lost from the month prior, but as the months have passed, my relationship with Stacy (and my personal esteem) has suffered as I’ve gotten heavier.

Talking about it with my BFF, a fellow phatty, we’ve come to the conclusion that I always feel uncomfortable around Stacy when I’m not feeling great about myself. He says nice things to me and my natural suspicion (you’ll read about this later) makes it hard for me to take him seriously or trust him. Anyway, I think that’s another subject in itself.

On to my current status:
 I just can’t take the discomfort anymore. And despite my better judgment, I’m starting to embark on my second extreme affair to rid my body of these few extra pounds that aren’t sitting well with me. I’m not a skinny girl, and I’ll definitely will still be a phatty, but it’ll be a size I’m more comfortable with.  I really, truly want to lose weigh the old fashioned way. But right now I’m too impatient and I fear that if I don’t see some changes soon, Im going to set myself in a funk, get depressed and then at that moment, I won’t be able to do anything to help myself.

I’m on Day 5 and I’m not starving but the cravings to eat are awful. I go to the gym when my roommate is cooking because I can’t stand the aroma. It’s OK… just 23 days left.

Sigh. I hate this yo-yo-ing. 

Thursday, July 29, 2010

Stacy

Stacy...Um I dont't even know how to start this post, but I feel it's essential to understanding my stories.

So I met Stacy, technically, about 4 years ago. At the time, I was "talking" to a mutual friend named Bruce. So me and Bruce just chilled sometime, he wasn't anyone too special but a member of the fraternity my chapter was friendly with in college. I was a Junior at the time...  Ummm Maybe a fourth year Junior.

One night I went out with my friends to nice club around the way. It was cool, good music and such, but around midnight I was hungry and bored. So I told my friends I was leaving and caught a cab to Adams Morgan  to go to my favorite diner. I knew Bruce hung out in Adam's Morgan a lot so I texted him to see if he was there. Sure enought, he was in a bar just across the street. After I got my patty melt to go, I went across the street to meet him... and that's too where I met Stacy for the first time.

Now I don't really remember my first impression of Stacy, but I did remember him and that's more than I could say about him.


I think we spoke briefly, then rode by his house while Bruce dropped him and his roommate off and that was the last of that.

I seen him again at a club maybe about 6 months later and I hadn’t seen him since then until a couple months after I moved back to DC. I was at a lounge feeling great when I first saw Michael, a guy that was close friends to another guy I went out with when I was in college (it’s kinda ridiculous how small the degree of separation is in DC) and spoke to said to hello to him. He was with Stacy of all people, and I was so surprised to see him that I couldn’t help but to start a conversation.

Looking back on it, it was shameful how much information I knew about Stacy without really “knowing” him. I knew his full name, what department he was in at college, what major he was, where he was from, and also that he had recently finished grad school. I don’t know why I remembered these things… I’m usually not the type to keep up with people like that… but from FB and those brief meetings, he always stuck with me.

While we were talking, he definitely seemed nice enough; polite, cordial and such. I asked him if he was still in school, where he worked, and the same ole’ run around. Eventually we exchanged numbers and a few weeks later we met for happy hour.

Our meeting for happy hour was really nice, besides being sick and only being able to hear out of one ear, we had a nice chat and he was pretty easy going. Later, I found out that when he saw me at the lounge he had no idea who I was and it was so weird that I knew so much about him and he knew nothing about me. In the lounge it was so loud that he couldn’t even catch my name—and didn’t find it out until looking at my license when I offered it to the waitress while ordering a drink. Basically he went on a date with me without even knowing my name.

The next several weeks Stacy and I continued to go out and get to know each other. It was so easy going and comfortable with him that I started to like him and everyone else fell by the waist side.  When he took Christmas break off to visit home and I missed him it occurred to me that I liked him more than I thought I did.

So these days... I love Stacy. I think about him all the time. Everyday. What's he doing? what's he thinking about? is he thinking about me?

Does he really love me? This is the real question I suppose.

Sometimes the question makes me wonder what love really is. Maybe neither one of us even know what love really is.

ummmm....

23 Day Affair: New Year's Resolution

I was 23 days into this all liquid diet and I couldn't wait for news years day to finally come. That's when I told my self that I was going to break the fast and finally have something to eat. It had started off as the master cleanse diet (ie. Beyonce) but after 10 days or so I couldnt drink anymore of that lemonade concoction so I just started drinking whatever was on hand.... juice, milk, beer (dont judge me)... all long as it was edible, I'd drink it.  I would like to claim I was using the diet to cleance and rejuvenate by system but I knew I wasn't fooling anyone... especially my friends and co-workers who asked me what was that yellow liquid I keep drinking all day. I dont know about other phatties, but sometimes I feel like I reach a place with my weight  where it's just no longer acceptable. I have to lose weight and I have to lose weight now. This "phat epiphony" is usually brought on by a particular fat picture that undoubtedly was taken without my consent, or some type of change that made me realize my body wasn't growing in that direction I'd hoped for. Too tight clothes, decreased male attention, or overall discomfort were the main culprits.

Anywho, I said enough is enough and started my journey to stomachs pangs, frequent bathroom breaks, and eventually a smaller waistline.

Around the 19 day I was craving steak like no body's business. Never being a meat fan, lord knew where the craving came from but I figured it was some craving created by something my body was clearly missing: Something savory, chewable, and with protein.

Now, don't get me wrong, I'm not saying this was a healthy or good way to lose weight, I'm just telling what I did and what happened. I think we all do things that we know aren't right and this happens to be something silly I did to find a way to feel comfortable with myself (because really thats the main reason why anyone wants to lose weight).

Why 23 days u ask? Because I tried to start on the first of December to the end and just couldn't do it. I spent the next 8 days starting and stoping.  On the 9th day, I just did it.
During my 23 day affair with liquid, the morning was my favorite time of day which is amazing for me because I loathe mornings and will sleep to noon if you let me.  I loved waking up to get on the scale to see how much weight I had lost. 2 llbs here, 1 there.

On day 10 I ended up going to a holiday party at Stacy's.  I went to H &M earlier that week and found a fitted black dress, something to show off the 15 lbs I'd already lost. I had a great night, and felt so confident. I lot of the guys there I had already knew and it seemed like they were particularly nicer to me... maybe a fluke but I doubt it. Mingling was easy and I wasn't clingy to Stacy even though he was the only one I was dating.

The success of the night just made me want to continue. Stacy was going back west for Christmas and I know I had time to work on me and the diet while he wasn't around. I knew that because most of my friends were away, I wouldn't be persuaded into eating by going out, partying, or hanging out with friends.

The new years party I went to with my sorority sister , Quinci, was the light at the end of the tunnel. We got there early, dressed and glowing and I felt better than I had in a long time...umm. sans the hunger.
I was 24 lbs lighter and I saw it in my face, feet, waist,...everywhere.

On the dance floor, as we were part of the special perks of being so early, I noticed that they had a buffet. Hell, it was only 3 hours till Jan. 1st and they had macroni and cheese, fried fish, meatballs, and greens. I told Quinci I was just gonna have a taste ( and OMG is was the best thing I've ever tasted in my life).  The rest of the night was a mix of drinking ciroc on the house, texting Stacy, and thinking about what wonderfulness I was going to finally eat in the morning.

Fast forward to the morning...

I was lying in bed and totally out of it, memory blotchy but from the look of the vomit next to the bed, I knew I had too much to drink and me and the diet had officially broke up.

Black and White

It been about three days since V-day and I've been told everything from "That's your man" to "Umm, not really". I really had just given up on getting advice and thought that I'd have to ask him myself, which, by the way, I didnt want to do. Its nerve racking to have to confront someone and basicially ask them if they like you or not. (in this case asking him whether he like me enough for a relationship which meant puting myself at risk for rejection). I mean, I knew Stacy liked me...but I wasn't sure how much. Being the procastinator that I am... I decided to put it off. I had originally planned to go to Jamaica with Kristina next  month for my Birthday. I'd let him know how I felt then, go on vaction without contact with him, and give him a chance to think about it ( A.K.A. a chance to miss me).

He ended up calling me shortly after making that decision. We talked... small talk really. How was your day? what's planned for the weekend? I got a paper due tomorrow... blah blah blah.... So then he asks me whether I've spoken to my mother lately.

"Yeah, I spoke to her yesterday, actually I talked to her about you"
"Oh yeah? What did you call me?"
I paused.
"I called you Stacy... what else am I supposed to call you?"
"Well, I mean you could have called me your boyfriend..."

omg.

Grey Area

So after V-day, I was super excited about my new relationship with Stacy. Though I've dated a lot since moving to DC after high school, I hadn't really found any consistent, stable, and monogamous relationship over the years. In fact, prior to moving back to DC a couple months back, I was determined to find a nice guy--and I did.

On my cloud of happiness, it occurred to me that we were exclusive, but... was he my boyfriend?

"He's your boyfriend. You two are exclusive. It means the same thing," Kristina told me on one of our daily rants and raves.

I tried believing her but my natural suspicion in life told me that it wasn't so black and white.

One day talking to classmate in my MA program, I explained to her my situation. We had a good re pore; but she had a terrible habit of being too harsh and downright aggressive. Sometimes I liked it, other times, I avoided her. But this time, I forgot her habits and spoke to her as friend, woman to woman.

"So I'm afraid that us being exclusive doesn't make him my boyfriend, per se"

Without even looking up from her news paper she curtly said, "He ain't your man--ya'll are just f*cking. Exclusively."

Damn.

Valentine's Day- Part 2

On the couch I started to realize how I had planned for a completely different kind of Valentine's Date. It was already nearly 10pm and I hadn't spent as much time with Stacy as I wanted. Afterall, I did have to get ready to go to work in the morning and couldn't stay up all night. So we started to snuggle and it was nice. Soon, we were having the type of night that I had in mind. Later, we were up just talking and we brought up the subject of exclusiveness.

"Let's talk about it then" He sat on the edge of the bed and told me he hadn't been exclusive with anyone before. Well I hadn't either, I thought, but I didnt say it.
We talked about why we should do it and the reasons why not. I was all for it. I mean, I really liked him and wasnt seeing anyone else. Why not?

Eventually he said "Ok, we're exclusive."

Valentine's Day- Part I

I had been seeing Stacy for about 3 months when we found ourselves still dating by Valentine's Day. Now V-day is also like a hit or miss form most women; it's great when you have someone, pretty much depressing when you don't. So this year, I was particulately excited... and also curious if Stacy was going to live up to my expectations. For the past few weeks I been talking to my BFF, Kristina, about it; obsessing about whether or not he knew V-day was approaching, if he was planning something special, getting me a gift, and so on. Based on Stacy's track record, I didnt really see him as the romantic type. He was a guy's guy, a man's man. He's the guy who's obsessed with sports and played football, hockey, or lacross in college. He's a classic guy who likes his nice car, still shares a house with his college roommates, and goes to bars with the guys on a friday night. He likes his beer, maybe a little jack and coke, and homestyle cooking. Goes to the the gym to work on his musles, social but not too social and dresses well but not too well. A good guy but usually those hard guy type don't consider the expectations of V-Day, let alone plan anything romantic. So basically, my expectations were minimal but they were there. The weekend before V-weekend, I asked Stacy over the phone whether he had anything planned for Sunday (v-Day). Well, I was a little more to the point with it as I was tired of speculating.

"So do you have anything planned for me next Sunday?"
He laughed. "What are you trying to ask me?"
" I just asked you what I was trying to ask you"
"Yeah, we can do something then, what do you want to do?"
"Well, why dont you think of something and then we'll get together then?"
"Cool"


So, the day finally came and he had let me know we were going to his house for the evening. I figured he planned on cooking for me which was kinda sweet considering I've never seen him cook anything.
I was supposed to be ready for him to pick me up at 8 and I settled on wearing some black leggings and boots and a black shirt (simple, chic, and slimming). One thing I loved about Stacy was that he was always on time. In our whole history of dating, he was never more than 5 minutes late from the time he said he would arrive. Usually he was waiting for me to finish getting ready since I'm late much too frequently. So it was a surprise to me when 8:10, 8:15 and 8:20 came and he hadn't called me yet. I decided to call him to see where he was.

"Hey, what's up? Are you still coming?"
"Yeah, I got into a couple things, but Imma be there soon"

8:30 came and went. 8:40. 8:50. Consumed with fears that he really doesn't want to see me tonight and this is his way of trying to get out of it, I called again.

"Stacy, are you sure you're still coming? If something came up and can just tell me"
"No, everything is fine, I'll be on my way soon as soon as I can."

9:00. 9:10.

I called Kristina in a fit. "Is he really going to stand me up on Valentine's day? What should I do".


 I went on about how I couldn't believe he was doing this, he's never been late before, why now? It was 9pm and I was thinking about where and with whom I could go out  for the night since I was damned if I'm going to stay home and cry about how I was stood up on V-Day. Most of all, I was hungry as hell. The last couple days, I wasn't eating too much in an attempt to drop some weight before V-day. I had know he was going to cook so I figured that day I'd wait until the evening to have a full meal.

I don't know if you've ever seen an upset and hungry phat chick, but I was definietly in a f-ed up mood.

"I don't know what to say" Kristina told me as I was walking out of my building heading to Subway on the corner for a sub. "This doesn't sound like him. he's like a hour late. I'm so sorry. Dont worry about going out tonight, just go to subway get your sandwich and go to bed. When he calls you later tonight--which he will, just tell him you're already in the bed."

"Ok, I'll get this sandwich and go back home."

As soon as I got back got to my room, I opened by my sandwich and had a strong urge to cry... partly because I was so upset and a little because I was mad I starved myself for the whole day.
Then he called.

"I'm on my way and I'll be there soon."
I looked at my clock and it was 9:25.
"Stacy, I already took off my clothes." I lied.
"I dont care. Just but something on--anything"
"Ummm...ok."


When he finally came, he was dressed really cute, but had these raggedy timberland boots on..like he was walking thru the snow all night. I ignored them and turned on my silent treatment. I was still mad but asked him why he was so late.

"My car was stuck in the snow."

For a hour and an half? I thought.. I didnt say anything else and we rode to his house in silence.

"Winny (his nick-name for me), are you going to stop being mad soon?"

"Maybe, I dunno"

When we got to the alley where he parks his car I saw how much snow was there. He explained how he couldnt get out of the snow banks even after the help of his roommates and had to call a tow truck. I began to soften up because I knew he was telling the truth; there was so much snow. But--I was still upset.

I was right about him making me dinner, he reheated everything he made and gave me some wine while we both sat eating in the dinning room. Afterwards we sat on the couch and watched some TV and I asked him where my flowers and chocolates were. He looked puzzled.

" You know for Valentine's day, some women want chocolate or flowers or something..."
"Oh you're talking to me now?" he added" but I made you dinner."
"But I really wanted chocolate."
"You should have told me then." I gave him a face and he said "Ok, I'll get you some. Don't worry".

Please Don't Tag Me!

This morning I decided to check facebook and then realized that it was a big mistake. Front and center some fool (a friend) has uploaded all these hideous pictures of me when I specifically told that heifer that I'm in no mood for pictures. Lord knows how that translated into "Please snap a couple pics of me clearly disheveled and caught off guard; and oh yeah... go right ahead and tag them on facebook too". I don't know if this is an issue that many phat women share (Great women who just happen to be a little fatter than the rest), but I hate the camera. It always seems like its a hit or miss to my self-esteem. Sometimes I'll catch a picture of myself and I feel like I look absolutely gorgeous. Other times, well... I'm sure you get the point. Anyways, I can't figure out for the life of me why there isn't a button to restrict  fools (or friends) from posting ugly pics without approval.

Sigh.

Maybe I need to start a FB group in support of one. Until then, I'm untagging.

Crown

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