Fat girl blogs put a smile on my face.

Sometimes, when I'm feeling like a cow and I can't bear the sight of my own double chin, when the sound of my thighs rubbing together is deafening...a good way to brighten up my mood is to read fat girl blogs.

Fat girls blogs open up a world of fatty goodness. They celebrate the almighty curve. They show me that yes, I can wear a belt. I can wear a snug pencil skirt. I can be creative with my clothes. And oh yes, big girls can rock a stiletto pump.

Brave girls.

And since fat girls share this unique camaraderie (chub rub, spanx, wide width shoes), I get to find out where to find cute big girl clothes. Nothing saddens me more than to see a big girl wearing matronly, shapeless, fugly clothes. Just like skinny girls, fat girls come in all shapes and sizes. Some fat girls look like apples on sticks. Other fat girls are all cleavage and back fat. Then there are the fat girls with a whole lotta hip and junk in the trunk (that's me!). I am always more than willing to point her in the direction of fat girl heaven.

I mean, I like to be as helpful as the next girl. But to be totally truthful...fat girls that don't dress cute give us all a bad name. It's just another excuse for someone to say, ew...she's a cow and she can't even find cute clothes to wear!

And that is so, so untrue.

I think some women who've gained some weight lose any and all motivation to look nice. They believe that since they are no longer skinny, what's the point? So they settle with whatever is hanging in the back, or in the plus size section.


It's all ugliness. Hideous, hideous ugliness. Let me tell you something, ladies. There is always someone bigger than you. Fatter than you. So, you don't got it that rough. And you don't see these girls lamenting over it. They figure, shoot, I'm still gonna look cute. Yes, I will pour myself into these "skinny jeans" and pointy-toed flats. If Beth Ditto can go out and perform in her spanx--can allow herself to be photographed nude, for goodness sake-- then surely I can brave a fitted top and some chunky jewelry.


There are some haters out there who will snicker, stare, gape open-mouthed, sippin' on the Haterade with a thick straw. Like, dang, I didn't think they made skirts in that size. Fine. Let them. But if you are comfortable..if you feel beautiful...if you've wasted countless years self-hating and doubting yourself, then work it out. If your husband/boyfriend/significant other thinks you are gorgeous and tantalizing, then work it out. I have.

Some days, anyway.

Those are the good days, right? Lord knows I've lived enough bad fat days. Celebrating the good fat days seems in order, don't you think?

Saks in the City.
Young, Fat & Fabulous
Too Fat for Fashion
The Pretty Pear


"Taking Woodstock"

Is anyone else really looking forward to this movie? I am a total hippie at heart. For whatever reason, this time period really intrigues. I would have enjoyed nothing more than to be a dirty, long-hair, protestin', spliff rollin', long skirt-wearin', frizzy hair parted down the middle, concert-goin', patchouli-wearin', free love havin' hippie.


I saw the previews for this movie on Saturday night. I was totally excited! I never knew the back story to Woodstock, and how it happened. It didn't give a release date, it just said coming soon. Can't wait.



So we made it. We've been married for twelve years now. Yes, we're both ragged, torn and bloody from the effort, fingernails holding on to the embankment for dear life, rocks and rubble falling in our face...but we made it.

Ok, so I'm a little dramatic with my words but those of you married for longer than a minute know what I'm saying here.

Married life is tough. It's glorious. It's this other person with a beautiful golden glow enveloping their spirit, hummingbirds and butterflies streaming around their head, please don't ever leave me because I'll die without you. It's the gate of Hades, it's oranges flying past your head in the heat of battle (inside joke), it's this feeling of wanting to drive yourself off a cliff, Thelma and Louise-style, so you can be free.

Oh wait. That's just me.

I'm fully confident that God joined us together. He sat up on His throne, looked down and said, "Yes, these two of my children shall be together. No one else could possibly want them." This man is my soul-mate, if there is such a thing. I know that I am the perfect woman for him and he is perfect man for me. When I look at it from that perspective, it just makes sense. Sometimes, I love him more than I love myself. I could never be apart from him no more than I could chop off my arm and send it overnight express to Thailand.

I need him. I need my arm, too.

So I am committed to this man and this marriage. But I'll be real...it's hard. What I resolved to do is to deeply take in the good times--enjoy it, savor it. Hold it close to me in an embrace to tide me over when the bad times hit.

What we both want, desperately, is to be successful at this marriage. We may not have prosperous careers, build our dream house, travel the world, sell a painting for a million dollars, have good credit or drive a brand new car off the lot...but this marriage and these children...more than anything, we want to succeed at that.

We want to be unbreakable.

Which is the same title of one of our favorite "me and you" songs by Alicia Keys. We see ourselves in all of these couples (except for Oprah and Stedman, Russell and Kimora--[who just had Djimon Hounsou's little African bundle o' joy] for obvious reasons). So I leave you with some of the lyrics. Ahhh, every time I hear the line about struggling like Fo and James Evans, or having enough kids to make a band like Joe and Katherine, I get all emotional and stuff.

sniff sniff

We could fight like Ike and Tina
Or give back like Bill and Camille
Be rich like Oprah and Steadman
Or instead struggle like Flo and James Evans
Cuz he ain't no different from you
And she ain't no different from me
So we got to live our dreams
Like the people on TV

We gotta stay tuned
Cuz there's more to see...Unbreakable
Through the technical difficulties...Unbreakable
We might have to take a break
But ya'll know we'll be back next week
I'm singing this love is unbreakable

See, we could act out like Will and Jada
Or like Kimora and Russell makin' paper
All in the family like the Jacksons
And have enough kids to make a band like Joe and Katherine.

We're living our dreams
We're living our dreams
We're living our dreams
We're living our dreams

And we got to stay tuned
Cuz there's more to see....Unbreakable
Through the technical difficulties...Unbreakable
We might have to take a break
But ya'll know we'll be back next week
I'm singing this love is unbreakable

Happy anniversary, love. What will the next twelve years look like?


Hey, you'se guys!

I've been told by the people who've known me the longest and the most intimately that I can be somewhat of a snob. I always combat this with, "I'm not snobby, I'm just shy!"

Tis the truth.

But one thing I will totally own up to is this: I'm somewhat of a word ho. I can be ghetto fabulous with the best of 'em, speaking in spanglish and ebonics and all that good stuff. I be knowin'. But when people mispronounce words or conjugate improperly or straight up make up words...that drives me freakin' nuts! It's like I can't even process the conversation because I'm still thinking of the ignorant thing they said just a minute ago.

I was listening to the radio on the way home today, and this woman was giving a shout out, "Whenever people come into our office, they always ask, 'What station are you listening to?!' You play all the old skool james! I just wanted to say I love the music you'se guyses are playing!"

I can't believe they put that on the radio! Who says you'se guyses? Seriously?

I used to work with this woman who acted like she knew everything. It used to grate on my nerves like you wouldn't believe. She knew everything about credit scores, home loans, the type of screws we used to buy for the warehouse, foam core board--she was exhausting!

And her favorite word was supposibly.

"Supposibly we're supposed to get Friday off."
"Supposibly, Candice is messing with that married guy."
"Yeh, we were gonna go to Mickey D's for lunch but supposibly the boss is gonna buy us all King Taco."


Sometimes, when I got up the nerve, I would tell her, "It is supposedly. There is no such word as supposibly."

"Shut up. I like supposibly."

Um, okay then.

Then there is the word ask...but its pronounced ax. "I axed you to get me a cup of kool-aid." or "He axed me if I wanna go out Friday night but I told him I have to get my hairr did."

It's ask. Ask. Aaaaaaaaaagh.

Oh, what about the youse? Which, I believe, is the plural form of you. Yeh, you is singular and youse is plural. Like, "Are you'se guys coming to the park on Sunday? We're gonna cook some carne asada!" or "You'se are craaaazy."


I cringe when I hear people say this: "Oh, I answered this question uncorrectly." or "I saw him at the mall. He was totally inrecognizable!" Aaaaaaaagh.

And last but not least, the word conversate.

"Hey, sit down so we can conversate, girl."
"I like him cuz he know how to conversate."
"Supposibly, that fool be conversating with all kinds of girls. He is inbelievable! I axed my mom and she said he is no good. What do you'se guys think?



Just sayin'.

What words drive you cruu-azy?


Lazy girls don't wash, they wipe.

For as long as I can remember, I have completed my nightly ritual of washing and moisturizing my face. Without fail, I have done this. I don't care if I've been drunk, high, studied all night, been to the beach all day, had some spontaneous lovin', sick in bed with the flu...shoot, just given birth...I have stuck to my nightly ritual.

I don't know what it is, but I can't sleep comfortably if my face is dirty. I am disgusted by the thought of those nasty ladies who leave their Mac studio fix plastered on their faces, their mascara cemented to their eyelashes.


Maybe it's my fear of acne. My intense dislike for the feeling of oiliness on my cheeks. Or the years of subconscious training I received from all the beauty mags I've read over the years.

That is the cardinal rule: Never go to sleep with your makeup on.

It's not something that I particularly enjoy. There have been countless nights where I've nodded off in front of the TV. I could have easily switched it off, rolled over and been countin' sheep. But nooooooo, my ritualistic mind starts working double time.

You need to go wash your face. Must wash face. Come on, get up, go and wash your face. It'll only take you a couple of minutes. You don't even need to warm the water first. Do it with cold water--it'll be refreshing!! Wash your face. WASH IT NOOOOOOOW.

FYI, yes I do talk to myself that way.

So I drag myself to the bathroom and wash my face. Then moisturize. Like clockwork. I could prolly do it asleep. But alas, I cannot. So night after night, it's this struggle.

Then I found these. Now, I've cleaned my face with the chil'rens butt wipes before, so the idea was already planted there. But this stuff is made with this sole purpose in mind.


I bought a little refill back and put it on my nightstand. Now, when I'm feeling super lazy or super sleepy, I just reach over and grab a little face wipe, clean my face and I'm all clean and sparkly.

If it makes my life a tiny bit easier, I am a devotee.


Some trends should never come back.



On Saturday, chillin' like a villain on the shores of Huntington Beach, I was doing what I love to do best. It provides hours of entertainment for me and I never tire of it.

People watching.

Give me a comfy seat, some sunglasses, perhaps a cool beverage and a snack or two and I'm good to go. A partner next to me can be fun but isn't required.

I don't even need a magazine to keep me occupied. I mean, who needs an InStyle mag when you are sitting on the beaches of sunny California, with literally hundreds of people from all walks of life strolling past you?

So I'm sitting there with my baby bro Josh when these two hipsters jog past us. They are wearing this silky/spandex pair of short shorts. I guess they could pass for booty shorts--booty shorts for men. Could those be...? No, that's impossible! Dove shorts? I haven't seen a pair of Dove shorts in years! My Dad used to sport those all the time.

"Oh dear Lord. Those dudes are wearing Dove shorts!" And I laughed, remembering these hideous shorts way back in the 80's, when they were popular. Totally unforgiving with that silky/spandex material, with little slits up the side...sometimes they would have half blue and half white, with a little Dove in the corner. Oh my, how they were completely ugly.

I believe I owned a pair or two.

My mom didn't really like me to wear them out of the house, because it showed my butt too much.

"Oh yeh. They are coming back in style now. I'd wear them...if they were a little bit longer." He said and I looked at him like I rode the short bus. Seriously Josh, you would wear them? I got the heebie jeebies. What is this world coming to? Acid wash jeans, bubble skirts, skinny jeans, crimped hair...and now Dove shorts? Surely the Apocalypse is drawing near.


Then I got this flashback (which totally explained the heebie jeebies)...being a kid and visiting my Dad in San Diego over the summer. We'd be relaxing in front of the TV after a long day of swimming in the pool. My Dad would be sitting on the floor with his back against the sofa...wearing the Dove shorts...with nothing on underneath but...his junk (spilling out the side).

It was the 80's and all.

So to me, Dove shorts are synonymous with a pair of purple plums.

Oh my. Sometimes I really wish I didn't have such a good memory.

**I looked high and low for a picture of Dove shorts...couldn't find any! So the plums will have to do.


Missed opportunities

For some crazy reason, spending the 4th of July down at Huntington Beach sounded like a good idea. Normally, we always spend it at home with family, we relax, watch fireworks over at Mt. Rubidoux and celebrate Mom's birthday, which is on the 5th. But this year, we were adventurous and decided to hit the beach.

Along with 250,000 other people.

But I have to say, despite the crowds and general craziness of this holiday, the overall mood was a happy one. We had family reserve a fire pit at 4 (!) in the morning, and as the morning progressed, more and more of us showed up. The chil'rens had a good time swimming in the freezing Pacific ocean and the weather was beautiful.

And we only had to park about 3 miles from the actual beach to find parking.

That's what happens when you arrive nearly four hours behind schedule. But it was ok. Mike dropped us off and I did my Socorro-crossing-the-Rio-Grande imitation, crossing PCH and Beach Blvd. with five chil'rens (two were with their grandma and I had my nephew with us), six backpacks, two ice chests, a table, an assortment of chairs, a huge pile of beach towels, four packages of tostada shells (for the ceviche--duh)...all balanced on a skateboard.

For reals.

Gangsta, I know. But we did it. In the midst of all this were family and friends. There were a few people I didn't know, friends of my cousins. At one point, we were all sitting around the fire pit, laughing and eating and dancing to the music on the radio. We were having fun, you know?

A young mom with two little ones decided to plop herself in the chair next to me. No, she didn't try to strike up a conversation and neither did I. My eyes were too busy counting heads, making sure everyone was accounted for and didn't wander off. That and waiting for them ribs to come off the grill. She just discovered an opening to the circle and wanted in. The entire time, I could hear her struggling with her kids who were both toddlers. She had them on her lap, and she was doing her best to keep them there, despite their whiny protests and their best worm-imitation, trying to slide out of her grasp. All they wanted to do was run around and join all the other kids running around and having fun. In her frustration, she was speaking to them in a pretty gruff voice, slamming them on her lap, yelling, hissing...basically man-handling them. It got to the point where it was really bothering me. But I thought twice about saying something because she didn't know me from Adam. And you know that saying, if you don't have anything nice to say...so I just picked up my chair and moved somewhere else.

I know, very Christian-like.

About half an hour later, she moved her chair over by me again. I was like, duuuude. And she started up again, man-handling her kids. Then I was all, are you serious? I believe at one point I asked her if she could move over so I could fit another chair in between us. My sister, who was sitting across from me, said she was watching the entire time and she was quite entertained. Apparently, I was wearing my angry eyebrows and flaring my nostrils and this was funny to her.

But I totally don't remember doing that. Heh.

The next day I told Michael about it and he just smiled and shook his head. "Maybe she wanted to sit by you. Maybe she wanted you to talk to her. Maybe she wanted to hear from someone with six kids of her own."

And I was just sitting there with my mouth open.

I was confused because I didn't get this vibe from her at all. You know you can tell when someone wants to talk to you. I didn't get that from her. And we were never really introduced so how could she possibly know about me and all these chil'rens? He went on to tell me he heard some of the ladies whispering, as I was walking toward the water with my girlies.

Oh, that's Renee's cousin.
Oh, really?

Yeh, the one with six kids.

Sigh. Then I started thinking. Then I felt bad. Then I felt sheepish. Then I felt like a failure.

I missed an opportunity to help a young mother. That's what happened. This is something I always strive to do. I know how hard being a mom can be, and I always want to give some encouraging words to a mom so she can smile and keep pressing forward. Lord knows how many women God has put in my path for just this purpose, and it helped me immensely. I've been that mom, exasperated with her kids.

They could have just turned up their nose and asked me to move my chair, just like I did to this young mother. It's like I was put in this particular place with a task set ahead of me...and I failed miserably.

And I don't really know why. What was I doing that kept me from seeing this young woman as someone who needed a kind word and not someone who I just needed to move my chair to get away from?

My mind wasn't on my Father's business. And it should be. And this is something I am striving to change. I want to be a blessing to other people and not turn a cold shoulder when someone needs help.
Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...
Pin It button on image hover