I Split My Pants - Part II

I told him how I ripped my pants and had to call Quinci. How I was just tired of feeling uncomfortable and awkward and most of all about how I was tired of my weight and this pants malfunction had made me even more frustrated.

"Well, do you want to lose weight?" he asked
"Yes."
"Do you want me to help you?"
"No." The last thing I needed was him to be giving me dirty looks if I popped a cookie in my mouth or went hard into some ice cream.
I added, " And please don't bring this up again unless I bring it up first" I could imagine how upset it would make me if he periodically asked me how's my diet going, whether I went to the gym, or how many pounds I've lost/gained. I shuddered at the thought.
"You're fine, Winnie, You're fine" he kept repeating. " I love you and you're beautiful".
When he said that I finally started to feel better.
"You know you've got to tell me these things" he smiled, "I thought it was something serious."

We talked for a few more minutes and I asked him if I could have a moment to get myself together. He left the room and told me he'd send Quinci down as soon as she arrived.

When she got there I told her about what happened and she gave me the leggings.
"I don't know why you do this to yourself" she said " you're so pretty, you could be a plus size model,"

But I'm not a model I thought. And I never said I was ugly. Sometimes, people just don't understand. That's why I hate to bring it up in the first place.

Stacy came in and checked on us a few times and I thought it was so sweet. He really was concerned. We ended up going upstairs later to join the rest of the party but since it was still early, there was only a few people on the porch and the patio. While Quinci went outside to say hello to everyone, I  peeped the kitchen for something to eat. I knew that it was Day 6 but I was just so hungry and keeping this hunger strike during an emotional episode was just too much. I saw a cake of brownies on the counter, I cut me a piece, and went to sit on the couch.
As I was enjoying my little brownie, Stacy walked in and asked me if I was fine. Realizing that I just told this man I want to lose weight I couldn't have him see me eating a brownie, So I put it by my side, shook my head and smiled--- my mouth full of chocolatey goop.

He smiled back on his way outside and I finished eating. I thought about what just happened and how we crossed a major bridge in our relationship.

A wall had just came down. I had never, ever, ever told a man that I wanted to lose weight. And certainly never cried in his arms about it.

Oh, boy... Stacy was wearing those walls out.

Day 8: I Split my Pants - Part I

I was hoping, since it was Day 6 that I'd be able to wear my favorite jeans. Granted, they were still too tight, and weren't infused with the comfortable stretch like my other jeans, but I didnt really have anything else to wear (hadn't washed clothes in weeks). So I put on my spanx and hope they'd take care of the muffin top and kept it moving. When I hopped in Stacy's car I immediately felt something rip. Where and how bad, I wasn't really sure but I was praying that it was something I could hide. Stacy's house parties always made me nervous about my appearance so I was literally panicking inside. When we got out the car, I kept my backside  away from him, just in case the rip was worst than I hoped. We walked in the house and I made a bee line to the bathroom. Low and behold: I had split my jeans down the crack of my ass and my spanx underneath were staring back at me. Thank God I didn't wear a thong.  That little comfort unfortunately wasn't enough because I was starting to have a breakdown. I went to Stacy's room and sat down. I called Quinci (who lived a couple blocks away) and asked her to come asap. "Oh, and bring a pair of leggings too"  I told her, because those would be the only things I could fit from Quinci's closet.

I dont know why I just didnt wear leggings to begin with. I started to cry because I was so tired of being fat. I mean, the day before I was walking home from work and this girl came hoping down the stairs from her apartment and she was so cute. Tiny little thing wearing little shorts and a tank top. Not really what I'd consider a cute outfit but it looked cute on her since she was so tiny and fit. Just the look of that girl made me drop a couple tears behind my summer shades because it was hot as hell outside and I couldn't step out the house with shorts and/or a tank top no matter how hot I was.
So being frustrated with my favorite jeans ripping, my ass seemingly not getting smaller despite not eating for days, and just the embarrassment of it, I cried.


When Stacy came in, I wasn't crying but my eyes were still red. He asked me if I was OK. I had thought about telling him everything that had been on my mind... from the weight to my insecurities, but  it all just sounded crazy. And to tell this man I just split my pants? Aww, hell no. I told him I was fine.

"What's wrong? you're making me scared" he sat down.
"Nothing, I don't want to talk about it." I said. I didn't look at him.

We went back and forth for about 10 minutes and he just wasn't letting it go. So slowly, I begin to tell him what happened and started crying again.

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?