Get Dressed!

I heard something today:

"Clothe yourself with compassion."

I think we all need to do this a little more this year. And, remember, be compassionate to yourself first, and it will naturally flow out to others as an end by-product. Hug more.

And now, on this last day of 2006, I think I hear a Dirty Martini calling my name.....

Hugs and peace! Fatima

What I Love

My crazy right-wing husband, sleeping in late, waking up and thinking it's a workday and then realizing it's Saturday, the way Riley wakes up next to me and immediately smiles when she sees me, cuddling with all three of my girls - or any one of them at any given time, the smell of coffee more so than the taste of coffee, Chai tea, any kind of milk (not dark!) chocolate, loud family get-togethers, laughing so hard I can't breathe and it leaves my face and my stomach hurting, crazy funny emails between me and my sister, or between me and my friend, Paula; snowmen decorations, getting my nails done, purse and/or shoe shopping, jewelry, singing a Christmas song in church on Christmas eve and then suddenly finding myself tearing up because of the tradition of Christianity that has been part of my life forever, the scene in Steel Magnolias when Sally Fields gives her gut-wrenching speech at the cemetery after the death of her daughter, freshly fallen snow; funny, mean things that Alex says, when Stephanie has her "blond" moments and we all make fun of her over and over again, being loved even tho I'm frequently a bitch to everyone in my life at some point or another, having multiple TVs in our home now so that I no longer have to watch "Strongman Competition" shows with my husband with glassy eyes as he gives me all their life stories and statistics (Oy!), soft cotton pajama pants, CSI (it rocks dude!), but only the original with Grissom, Dave Matthews Band, REM, my dog Zoe (cuz she's a little simple), getting an unexpected package, going to bed early, getting out of a jacuzzi when it's really cold outside, anxiously awaiting the next Dean Koontz or Stephen King novel; cartoons, books by Augusten Burroughs, the compassion I have toward gay people and the struggles they must endure in this life and the comedy they use to overcome; Spongebob Squarepants and Patrick Star, making fun of Polka music, well, pretty much making fun of anything has always been a favorite past-time, cooking something fun, fond memories of my mom and dad when we found something funny, buying a new book or CD, a piece of beautiful classical music that brings tears to my eyes, my crazy extended family, my immediate family, my friends, old and new, you.

Evil Fatima

This is what I wish she looked like, and this is what I wish the standard was. But that's just because I'm feeling evil and a little hungry at the same time.

I WILL be normal - even if it kills me.....

I think I'm trying Ms. Cho's concept today (see yesterday's post). And I may even try it tomorrow and the day after that - just to see how it goes in my head. I'm interested to see just what I'll do, what I'll eat.

I want so badly not to care; not to obsess over my choices or lack thereof. I want to just go to the fridge and pick up something to eat like normal people do; whether it's an apple, a chunk of cheese, or a piece of last night's pizza.

I don't want to live in front of the fridge anymore - or the pantry - or stare at the cookie aisle at Safeway like it's a shrine to some Eastern Goddess. I don't want to try this to lose weight (in MC's blog, in fact, she said she initially gained weight). I want to do this so I can begin to mentally and emotionally let go of it all. Step away from the brownie, Fatima, step away. Or - what the hell? Step right in and have two brownies if that's what you want to do. My point is that while I want to live with food thoughtfully - I no long want to obsess over it. It's never done anything worthy of being obsessed over.

The days of obsession are going to be over - not immediately - but they are on their way out. My life has no room for them any longer.

Peace. Fatima

Margaret Cho is my Hero

Her blog is hilarious, well okay not all the belly dancing shit - I can live without that. But it is probably really good exercise.

You should all read: http://www.margaretcho.com/blog/fuckitdiet.htm

This may be one of the funniest, truest and deepest posts I've read in ages. Many years ago I had a friend tell me that her therapist told her that when she found herself obsessing over something/someone, just run with it. Obsess over it/him/her until you simply can't anymore. You end up sick of them; you are tired of thinking about them, tired of stalking them, tired of planning things with/for them - in fact you are just truly ill when you think about them. I would imagine that the obsession itself is simply exhausting - not to mention that the object of our obsessions is never worth it in the first place.

This is what the "Fuck It" Diet is all about. I'm willing to give it a try.

Peace! And thanks Margaret!

Fatima

Waiting to Die

That pretty much describes my childhood and my early adulthood (until around 33 or so). I seriously thought that I was going to die - soon - of something. And if nothing reared its ugly head at the mammography place or the pap place or the X-ray place, then I figured I just had something that the doctors couldn't detect yet - BUT IT WAS COMING! Surely, I was not meant for a lengthy stay before it was my turn to shuffle off this mortal coil. Most people call this being a hypochondriac. I called it normal. My husband called it fucking crazy. They're all just adjectives to me.....so who cares?

At any rate - after MUCH therapy, I realized that when I was a kid I was often under a lot of anxiety and stress and didn't know how to deal with it. Let's face it, how many 6 year olds do we see walking around with a gin & tonic and a cigarette to help them with their stress? None. Kids don't handle stress all that well; they internalize it. Us adults know all too well how to medicate our stress away. I digress. Getting back to me (!) as a kid, I just figured I was going to die and that was how I handled my stress. I must have done something bad and that was why my life sucked, therefore I'd be gone soon - somebody "up there" must hate me. So I overdid a lot of things in hopes of "getting it all in" before the end of the earth struck. Or if not the end of the earth, then perhaps a limb of a tree striking just me, or a rabid dog bite, or a roller coaster flying off its tracks.

Now mind you - I have a family history of bad habits, disorders of alcohol, drugs, food, etc., so it shouldn't be any surprise that I too fell victim to many of these. But my epiphany the other day - on I-95 somewhere between Maryland and South Carolina - was that perhaps I overeat "just in case" it's the last time I can have pecan pie, or Honeybaked Ham, or Aunt Ethel's famous pie or dip or whatever. What if this upcoming office party is my last? What if this wedding next month is the last one I'll go to? What if this is the last cruise I go on? Well, then damn! I better just set up a cot at the buffet if that's gonna be the case!!

So, apparently I've still got just a "tad" of that doom & gloom in me that I had as a kid/early adult (about my early demise) - that I've got to simply let go of. Because if this is indeed the last Snickers I eat, and I get run over by one of the local commuter buses out of Baltimore this afternoon - so the hell what? Something tells me that as I drift out of consciousness and begin to see the white light (hopefully!) - that freaking extra portion of mashed potatoes or hot fudge sundae isn't going to have quite the same appeal or interest it did last week.

What say you?

Fatima

Christmas Grits

Welcome back - happy holidays - and all that crap. Hope yours was spendorific!!

Only in the South do they eat a 2- lb. bowl of grits for breakfast. And I'm not talking just any old grits, or plain grits with a little butter and salt. Oh, no. The Christmas morning tradition is a HUGE, ginormous pot of grits, two (TWO!) sticks of butter, a pound of ground sausage, 6 eggs and about a pound of grated sharp cheddar cheese. Seriously. I call it "A Heart Attack In a Bowl." Now this would keep any normal and sane person full for about 10 days - not our family. Hell, we're already plotting the lunch menu about 10 minutes after the list bite of grits.

Oh, and that last missive I posted before I went away for the holidays about getting out and walking in between meals.......well, if walking between the aisles of the local Piggly Wiggly fishing for missing grocery items counts as exercise, then I did good. And my other goal, you remember the one about eating fruits - well, there were minuscule pieces of fruit in Uncle Arnie's congealed cranberry salad - so again, I'm going to chalk that up as a success. Baby steps, baby steps.......

Meanwhile, my 18 year old who is a size 4, eats THREE pieces of cake at the family reunion, in addition to her regular full-plate meal, and fails to gain one ounce. Whose genes does this crazy cracker possess and why didn't I get them???

I'm tired now so I'm going to sign off soon - however I did have an epiphany on our drive home from SC to MD - which I'll share with you all tomorrow regarding a food dysfunction which I recognize in myself but I'm not sure how to get beyond it. But I will leave you all with these classic Lennon/McCartney lyrics during this blessed season which we heard on our drive home today:

Imagine no possessions
I wonder if you can
No need for greed or hunger
A brotherhood of man
Imagine all the people
Sharing all the world...
You may say I'm a dreamer
But I'm not the only one
I hope someday you'll join us
And the world will live as one

Much love and peace to you all. Be kind to one another. "So shines a good deed in a weary world."

Fatima-full-o-grits!

Holidaze

We leave tomorrow for the South with its many deep fried wonderfulness and rich foods made with much sugar and butter - YUMMMM. So, I'll be gone from here for a little while.

My oath to myself is that I will snack on fresh fruit in between meals, drink lots of water - but that I will allow myself the pleasure of enjoying the large family meals with glee and love. Oh, and one dessert, not my usual sampling of all 40. Oh, and a few drinks.

I might even try to work in a few long walks............I'll let you know how I did when I return.

Merry Christmas!

Fatima

Random Thought on Choices....

People "in the know" are always telling us Fatimas to "make better choices" or "make healthy choices."

Uh. Hello? If we either knew how to do that or had the willpower to somehow choose the raw broccoli over the double fudge brownies at all the freaking office luncheons, then we wouldn't need your help in the first place, would we!

Fatima leaves work............

;)

The F-Word

The other day my sister and I were talking about blogs. Apparently she had one awhile back but has since closed it down.

I said, "Really? Oh. You didn't tell me about it."
Her: "Well, yeah, I didn't want you poking fun at me."

Now, I have no idea what her blog was about, or if it even had a theme, but she was right. I'm sure I would have teased her about something, somewhere along the way. That's my right as the older sister. Here's the difference between me and her: I don't give a shit. Make fun of me all you want; tear down my opinions, challenge my social or political views, call me names, make fun of my clothes, my latest attempts at a hairstyle, I could totally care less. Seriously. I simply don't give a shit.

Someone can walk in my office and ask for me, and I really don't give a rat's ass I hear someone say, "Oh, she's the blond bitch in the cubicle around the corner." Or, "Yeah, she's here, but watch out, she's in one pissy mood today." Don't care if someone utters the word "bitch" when they think it's out of my hearing range - and it never is. Don't lose sleep if someone thinks I'm cheap, lazy, careless, loud, thoughtless, you name it - my first thought is 'whatever.' And that's terrible, but that's pretty much the way it is.

But don't let that "F" word come out. You know the word - not the one you can't say on TV, but the "F-A-T" word. Because as they say in the South, "thems fightin' words." It's kinda like when people have a black friend and then that black friend pisses them off and they get into an argument. The poor black guy is now bombarded with "Stupid nigger" instead of just "Stupid."

I confess: one time, a random young Asian girl cut me off and almost caused me to wreck with my toddler in the car. If she was white, she just would have been a "stupid fucker" and would have gotten the finger. However, what I yelled (to really no one in particular because my windows were rolled up) was 'you Stupid fucking gook idiot." (I also have anger issues, but that's just going to have to be for another post and/or another blog altogether!) Ha. Now, I don't think of her like that. Hell, I don't even know her. ButI'm sure if I did, she's a lovely person regardless of her race. But you see, it's when "People-Who-Can-Be-Labeled" piss us off, it's a whole other ballgame.

Once we can label someone - old, young, Asian, Black, Fat, Mexican, Middle-Eastern, Male, Female, Goths, Punks, Skaters, Deaf, Blind, - we can now add various lovely little adjectives when we speak derogatorily about them - or to them in some cases.

So, while I don't care if someone calls me a bitch, I'm now in the "fat bitch" category. Be Damned! I'm not a big fan of the dreaded female "C" word either - but at least I'd rather be called just that than a "Fat C---" I was watching Flav-O-Flav (a guilty pleasure I confess) and one girl told another girl "Get yo skinny ass up outta my face." Now see. I just don't consider that to be a cut down or degrading. I'd sell one of my beloved kids to have someone say that to me! And, I'd probably give them their props and get the hell outta their face - and walk away with a smile because they called me skinny!

You see, the "F" word to me is like the "N' word to my African American brothers and sisters. On my drive home last night, I was pondering why that is. And I believe it's because I've called people that before (not to their face okay????!?!?!?) but in my mind or to a friend, "Oh, she's just a crazy, fat bitch." Or, "If that fat bitch doesn't quit honking her horn, I'm gonna kick her ass." Or, "I wish that fat cow would move her moon head so I could see the movie screen."

And now the karma has come back to haunt me!

Be good to others!

Fatima

Skinny Bitches

I hate skinny bitches. Never have liked them. Never. And I'm not talking about the ones who really eat right and exercise and lift weights in order to have their disgustingly in-shape, hard bodies. Those women must be admired and commended. Hard work should always have value. I still don't like them, but I admire the time and effort they put into their health.

I'm talking about the skinny bitches who eat junkfood constantly and only exercise when they're walking from their front door to their car, and still only weigh 110 pounds and wear a size 1 or 3.

And the things they say send me righ through the fucking roof:

• I forgot to eat lunch.........(WTF? I never forget to eat. Ever)
• Oh, I eat a LOT. I just don't seem to ever gain any weight. Giggle. Giggle. (No, you don't. You throw it all up later, you skinny bitch. What? Do we all look stupid to you?)
• I was so busy, I didn't have time to eat (There's ALWAYS time to eat. Reschedule that meeting with your attorney or your tax advisor, but for God's sake, at least get to a drive-thru and eat and then go to your meeting with ketchup on your blouse.)
• Oh, I just stay so busy all the time. I guess that's why I don't ever gain weight (I usually go into a homicidal rage here and must walk away. Right..........like the rest of the world just sits at home in a closet all day. Like we don't have jobs and kids and shopping and soccer and ballet and yoga and meetings and walking the dog and errands and house cleaning and business trips - only YOU do, and therefore that deems you so busy as to weigh only 100 pounds!)
• No cake for me; I'm trying to lose that last 5 pounds. (What last 5 pounds? You only weigh 105 pounds - what part of your body are you trying to lose? Your eyeballs? Then you'll be happy?)

Stupid, stupid, stupid, unappreciative bitches.

Well, at least I'm not bitter!

Peace!

Fatima

Dysfunction Junction

Someone once said that friends are God's way of saying sorry for the family you got. Yes, there was and is dysfunction both in my original family, as well as the one I've now raised for 20 years. I don't think it's escapable, not on this earth anyway. We're all broken to some degree, so naturally, our relationships are going to show that. And, we're all looking to be fixed in some way or another. Is that where the term "fix" came from with addicts I wonder....

I've learned two things: 1) that we all "fix" ourselves in different ways, most of which are ironically detrimental to our overall health and 2) that at my age, I can no longer blame my family for how I turned out. It's okay to think or act that way 22 - but at 43, it's simply redundant and pathetic. When people start blaming their parents or spouse (or whomever) for the outcome of their lives, I quickly tune out. Been there, done that. And it doesn't even solve the problem - whatever it is. And to be truthful, I didn't turn out so damn bad. Just a few quirks and kinks here and there. I suppose the usual adjustments could be made - but overall I'm peachy most of the time.

So, what dysfunction was in my family of origin? It would be quicker to talk about what wasn't. But the usual suspects were there: alcohol, eating/weight issues, drugs, emotional barriers, criticism, blah blah. But when I think of my upbringing compared to others' stories I've heard or read about over the years, mine was a walk in the park.

I don't like what's left. It only leaves me to blame. Dammit. That's what I was afraid of.....

Out here.

Fatima Pissed Off

Thou Shalt Not Lie

I'm going to lie today. I've already planned it. I wonder if that's that called premeditated lying. Anyway, I have no intention of going to church today, and while that - in and of itself - is no big deal, I plan to lie about it rather than deal with the real reason I don't want to go. The real reason I don't want to go is that I no longer fit into anything that's even semi-attractive. I have about 5 or 6 good outfits now at my new size (15/16) and I've more than exhausted their use. Additionally, it's the beginning of winter now and I should be wearing pants. Oh...but no. I no longer fit into any pants, so it's going to be a breezy miserable winter wearing my 5 or 6 skirts that still fit (and they still fit only because they have elastic waist bands).

So, getting back to my lie. My lie for today will be that my tooth hurts. That isn't exactly a complete and total lie, because it's semi-true. I had the "root canal from hell" last Tuesday, and I'm already on my second round of anti-biotics and painkillers. But would said pain keep me from a great sale at Macy's? Hell no. But, you see, no one at Macy's knows me, and knows that only 2 years ago, I was a size 10/12, and have ballooned up to a size 15/16. They can't say to themselves, "Gee, poor girl, she really let herself go. Wonder what happened..."

I hate having to see people I know (and love) at my new size. I'm okay around strangers, but it's hell going to work every day, or seeing neighbors, family, etc., knowing what they're thinking. And I can tell you that I know what they're thinking because I've thought it about other people when they've gained weight, lost their hair, got a boob job - you name it. Whenever something changes about our bodily appearance, others are bound to notice unless we work at the National Institute for the Blind.

Today, the only positive thing I can think of right now that I 'll be doing is drinking some SlimFast shakes and wrapping some Christmas presents. I'll be doing this in my cute "one size fits all" pajama pants. I wore them yesterday too, and to bed last night. Now that I see this in print, perhaps I'll get another pair of pajama pants out. The "Hello Kitty" ones I bought at the onset of my weight gain are perky!

How has it come to this? Lying to my family while wearing pink Hello Kitty pajamas. I feel like I'm 6 years old again. More importantly though, why do I think no one wants to see me when I'm big. Or, is it really that I don't want to see me when I'm big? That's probably more accurate.

Peace. Fatima-in-Pink

The Virgin Blog (Dec 16, 2006)

Welcome! It's that time of year again when folks begin talk of upcoming New Year's Resolutions - a gruesome failure-ridden tradition I gave up many years ago. Why? Because they never work. Not only for me, but they don't work for you either (admit it), or for your partner, your mother, or your co-worker. And, if they ever say they made one up and it stuck, they're lying to you. Leave them immediately, if not sooner, and do not associate with them ever again. However, in the back of my mind, this thought always lingers: "Fatima, if you were to have a resolution, not that you would, but if you were going to, what would it be this year?" And year, after year, after year (you get it...) it's always the same thing: Lose weight, get in shape. Always in that order. Never varies. Never works either.

So that's why I'm here now, and that's why you're reading this. First, let me just say this to our Middle Eastern sisters, that I apologize for the use of "Fatima." While a very nice name in other cultures - here in America it implies, well, that I'm fat. I could have gone by Chunky or Miss Piggy, but Fatima says the same thing with a little more dignity. I feel better now that I've covered my PC bases.

I decided that instead of making some half-assed attempt at yet another resolution, I'd write instead. I'd write about me, my bad habits, etc., and try to glean some insight as to how and why I got to where I am today, and then find my way (with your help of course) out of this Dunkin Donuts dark tunnel and into a healthy lifestyle. You know the type I want to be. They disgust and intrigue us at the same time. We find them fascinating even though we loathe them. The soccer moms who look similar to the now older Cindy Crawford. Healthy hair & skin, fit, in shape; they always choose carrot sticks over potato chips; and they always, ALWAYS, exercise. And by 'always,' that would imply to someone like me at least 3 times a week, but it's probably every day of the week to those women. Bitches. Be that as it may, then a "bitch" is what I aspire to be. I do this not to seek out a man (I'm happily married for 20 years); I do this for myself. But I also do this for my 3 year old - my baby who I had at midlife (40) and who I'd like to see grow up.

So tonight was my shitty first draft attempt at a blog, designing it, telling myself I'll keep up with it. I will eventually make it look pretty, and hopefully you and I both will want to come back to it. I must learn a little more about adding images, music, links, etc. All that will come in due time.

Peace! Fatima