Mo Livin' Large

"They're the exception, and we're not the exception, we're the rule!"

~ Gigi (Ginnifer Goodwin) He's Just Not That Into You

Hello friends. It's been awhile. My fault entirely. But I'm back and ready to share with you what's been going on with me.

As you may recall, I recently posted a profile on Plenty of Fish (read my profile here) and unbelievably, I met a boy. In truth, one can hardly call a 47-year-old man a boy, but hey.... And yes, I said 47. I like my men like my cheese, wine and steak... well aged. LOL.

Clark responded to my profile on POF and to be honest, I thought he was a scammer his pictures were almost so well done. Clark playing golf, looking out at the water... it reminded me of the pictures Phoebe's grandma (Friends) kept of her dad that turned out to be just the picture of some guy that comes with the frame.  It wasn't until I saw a picture of him with Brandon Inge that I realized he was the real deal because let's be honest, as good as scammers can be, you can't fake that. And as often happens, emailing through POF became a bit of a hassle with schedules and work so we progressed to texting.

Clark asked about meeting me on Good Friday after work. I said sure, but told him I couldn't meet until at the earliest 6:30 because I work at an accounting firm downtown and it was at the tail end of tax season. He said that was too late. I (kinda) joked with him that perhaps he shouldn't book two dates in one night. Clark responded by asking if he could call me that night instead. I said sure, not really expecting to hear from him.

Lo and behold, he called. And even stranger, we talked for three hours.

The next morning, I woke up about 8:00 am and Clark texted at 8:30. We went back and forth most of the day texting with long pauses while I was at the hair salon or while he was out mowing the lawn. And then at eight, he called again and we talked until 1 am.

Throughout those two conversations, Clark and I talked about everything and anything. No topic was off limits. I found out the reason he said 6:30 was too late was because he works in Royal Oak and gets off work at 2:00 and lives in Clarkston. He found it hilarious that strippers freak me out. We both disliked the movie The Descendants (he hated it; I just didn't find it as appealing as other George Clooney movies though we both thought the best scene was when Clooney was running (don't want to ruin it for anyone who hasn't seen the movie)). He's the kind of guy that would be willing to go to the hair salon with me if I agree to go hit some balls with him at the driving range even though I explained three different golf pros have told me I'm not good at golf because my big boobs prevent me from following through with my swing. Clark takes his steak medium rare, wears boxers or boxer briefs, hates skinny jeans, and agrees that if your significant other doesn't like your chosen scent, then maybe you should really consider changing it.

I was smitten. Oh Lord was I smitten. Yet I was also hesitant because of his penchant for using the word curvy to describe my figure.

When you're my size (3x or 22W/24W) you come to realize that certain words have certain connotations. Voluptuous covers plus sizes ranging from 14W to 24W, rubenesque seems synonymous with fat (which would be me and I'm not saying that to be self-deprecating; it's the truth), and curvy is a word that the majority of the population uses to describe women at the low to mid range of plus size. Marilyn Monroe and Adele are curvy; Melissa McCarthy and I are fat. Cute, definitely, but fat. Top of the plus size range if you will.

So you can see why I may have been hesitant when Clark kept talking about me being curvy. And on the Monday after Easter I (literally) called him on it.

Throughout our conversation regarding my size Clark assured me he used the word curvy as a euphemism. That no matter my size (which I did tell him but that he pleaded ignorance to), he thought I was pretty. And to please, please send him more pictures of myself (in his defense, never once did he ask me to send him a naked picture which I give him credit for).

So I sent him more pictures. Including one very strange shot of Sassy Booties and I at the company Christmas party where I thought the addition of strings of beads were appropriate. But all three pictures I send would give him a much clearer picture (no pun intended) of my size.

And it was mid-morning Tuesday when I received the text from him saying he didn't think it was going to work between us but good luck.

To be continued....

 

"I'd have to say that, in general, models take themselves too seriously....

.... Basically, they are genetic freaks who spend a couple of hours in hair and makeup." ~ Rebecca Romijn

Last week, Macy's posted a load of pictures centered around their Spring plus size apparel on Facebook.

I swear, you would have thought they'd posted a picture a grisly crime scene with the amount of flack they received over those pictures. Over 75% of the 250+ comments were about the models and how they aren't plus size because no one appears to be larger than a size 10 or 12. The fans went on and criticized the clothes themselves, saying the clothes were matronly, the prints unflattering for women of size  and that there was no use of color.

Either I'm getting old or my sense of what's stylish and attractive isn't what it used to be, but I found absolutely nothing wrong with the clothes. I admit, after reviewing the website for awhile, I found quite a few pieces I would never consider buying, but the reality is not only can I say the same thing about Lane Bryant, but I actually found more at Macy's I'd like to buy this spring than I did from Lane Bryant.

A dozen or so years ago, I actually used to work for Marshall Field's here in Michigan, which for those of you who don't remember is now Macy's. Back then we had a half dozen racks of Koret and Alfred Dunner which, with the exception of a few (very few) select pieces, were synonymous with granny clothes. Jones New York was our primary suiting brand, though we had a bunch of suit sets for $79.99 in the dresses departments that again appealed to our 70 and over clientele. Evening dresses cames in about five colors: black, navy, champagne/ivory, mauve and powder blue. And we also seemed to carry every Liz Claiborne horizontally striped t-shirt and sweater known to man. 

In short, with the exception of the (at the time) new Ralph Lauren lines, my paycheck was never in imminent danger of being in the negative with all of the clothes I was buying. In fact, more often than not, my friend B and I were blowing up the Comments and Suggestions box with requests for a more stylish selection, more color choices, and just an overhaul of the complete buying-for-plus-size process. 

I personally think that in 12 years, plus size fashion has come a long way. Not only do we have the mainstays of Lane Bryant, Avenue, and Ashley Stewart, but designers such as Ralph Lauren, Tommy Hilfiger, Michael Kors, Calvin Klein, Karen Kane, Marina Rinaldi, and Jessica Simpson, among many others, have jumped on the bandwagon. We have a wonderful selection of plus size apparel nowadays.

So why are all of the Macy's Facebook fans crying foul regarding the lack of plus size models? Don't they realize how far we've come? (I'm being sincere here. I really just don't get it).

I received a catalog for Roamans, an online plus size store, about three weeks ago. Last week, I received a catalog for Jessica London, another online plus size retailer. Neither catalog featured plus size models. And these are plus size specific companies. I browsed through Avenue's website and again, by the Macy's fans definition of plus size models, no plus size models were to found on Avenue's website either. In fact the only plus size companies Macy's fans used as examples for plus size models were Torrid and Lane Bryant.

So isn't it ironic that Lane Bryant's Ashley Graham is also found on Macy's website modeling for INC International Concepts, Nine West, Spense and Macy's own brand Style&co?

Yes, I would love to see a woman larger than a size 12 model clothes for plus sizes. Am I going to take Macy's to task for not using such a model like most of the commentators on Facebook did? No. Or at least not right away. Because I firmly believe that plus size specific companies, such as Avenue, Lane Bryant, Roamans, and Jessica London need to raked over the coals for alienating their clientele first before Macy's, who caters to all sizes, gets called in front of the firing squad first.

Oh, and the dress? I just bought it at Macy's last week. Like I said, lots of things I want to buy there this season.  ;)

 

"I have lived my life in a culture that hates fat people." ~ Camryn Manheim

The other day, my friend Mary posted about a great haircut she'd gotten at Great Clips. Which of course led to a whole series of comments about where people are getting their haircut, how much they're paying, etc.. Being me, I of course volunteered my salon's information, which ended up leading into a discussion about why I had left my last salon.

I just want to say here and now, I'm not a salon hopper as a habit. I leave a salon for a small handful of reasons, which usually revolve around the stylist moving, I've moved, or I'm unhappy with the costs or services. I went to a salon in Sterling Heights for almost four years. I loved the salon, the stylist, the colors, and the cuts, but in the last year I was there, my stylist was getting so overbooked that her services started to suffer. My final straw was when I got my hair highlighted and there was noticeable root "growth" that had never gotten colored to begin with.

Small digression: I love my hair. I have great hair. Therefore, spending a few extra dollars on my hair is okay with me, especially when I'm employed. Finding a stylist you like and who does a great job can be difficult. In the five years I lived in Chicago, I spent the first 18 months searching for a stylist I liked. The search proved fruitless and in the end it was easier for me to travel back and forth between Chicago and Royal Oak for great hair cuts and color. So I know how difficult is to find a new stylist.

After I left the salon in Sterling Heights, I went back to the salon I'd been going to in Royal Oak when I lived in Chicago (logistically that's kind of hard to follow, I'm sure). I LOVE the stylist I had at this salon. She was friendly, she was quick, she was efficient, and I LOVE her work. I do. On the rare occasion my usual stylist couldn't fit me in, I'd go to the owner, whom I also adore.

It was the rest of the salon I couldn't deal with.

At first, I tried to shrug off my feelings of discomfort. As someone who has been plus-size the majority of her adult life, I'm always very conscious of the fact that I am most likely the largest woman in the establishment. Normally, after a short while, say twenty minutes to a half hour, I relax and enjoy myself. Usually, I can even forget all about my size and its connotations.

But occasionally, I can't.

And my last salon was no exception. In fact, the longer I went there, the more noticeable it was that I was the fat kid.

Though I have my rare moments, I'm not someone who slacks off in the appearance department. My hair and make up are almost always done, and while I'm not trendy, my clothes are still stylish. I have fun jewelry, love to experiment with make up and if there's a fault to be had in my appearance, it's that I really don't give a flying fig about my nails so sometimes they're either broken or unfiled. Combined with the fact I shower on a daily (or more) basis, there's really no reason to stop and stare when you see me on the street.

Except for my size of course. Which in all honesty, I'm not 100% convinced I'm large enough for people to stare at.

Yet every time I stepped foot in that Royal Oak salon, I felt like I could be the mother of Gilbert Grape. Google it if you need a refresher.

People would constantly stare at me. I mean, sure, sitting in a chair with foil squares on top of your head isn't exactly the norm, but it's not out of place at a hair salon. Since I would go over my appearance with a fine tooth comb before I went in the salon, I knew I hadn't sprouted a third arm, or more likely, spinach in my teeth or whatever. Again, I'm not some country bumpkin who just won the lotto and came to the big city from my Holla (Hollow) because I wanted a make-over.

In the mirror I could see the smirks. The "Oh look, the fat girl thinks she's going to be prettier if she gets her hair done at an expensive salon" smirk from a patronizing stylist. Some clients would just stare right through me as if I wasn't there, which always amazes me. How do you not see the proverbial elephant in the room? The worse were the double takes. The people who would just be walking along casually from the shampoo bowl back to their stylist's chair, not really paying attention to anything but then they'd look in my direction and BOOM! I felt like they couldn't get back to the chair fast enough to tweet about the latest fat kid sighting. And every time I went to pay for my services, I couldn't get through the transaction fast enough to get away from the pitying looks.

When I found myself hiding in the bathroom while waiting for my color to develop on my last visit I decided enough was enough. I wasn't going back.

Again, my decision had nothing. at. all. to do with my stylist; I still refer clients to her occasionally. And truthfully, I feel bad for leaving without saying a word. I'm sure the owner, one of the nicest guys imaginable, would feel absolutely horrible if I told him why I left. Looking back, I should have said something. It wouldn't have changed anything for me, but perhaps they could have had sensitivity training or something (cue bad The Office scenes here). I don't know.

But for now, I'm perfectly content to continue seeing my new stylist in another Royal Oak salon where women of all sizes work and get their hair done.

 

"When I see someone who is starved, they don't look alert....

They don't have boundless energy. If you're too skinny, it looks like you're near death." - Kirstie Alley

Remember my friend Marshall? I heart him for sending me this text message this morning.

"Always be a first-rate version of yourself...

... instead of a second-rate version of somebody else."  ~ Judy Garland

When I was in college, I dreamed of being Carrie Bradshaw before I had ever heard of Candace Bushnell, let alone Carrie Bradshaw herself. I wanted to be a successful writer with a series of love affairs living in the big city. In fact, the only differences between Carrie and I is that I had every intention of using my oven for more than just sweater storage and my big city would be Chicago rather than New York.

By the time I was 25, the only part of that dream to come true was I lived in Chicago. Instead of writing, I was working in an administrative assistant capacity for a Fortune 500 company. Instead of a series of love affairs, I had found the guy I believed to be my Big (yes, it was Dipshit. I did actually love the big cow at one point). Oh... as intended, I was using my oven for more than just sweater storage.

What I hadn't counted on was my personality completely morphing into the woman I thought Dipshit wanted me to be.

That isn't exactly fair to Dipshit, actually. He hadn't asked me to change, nor do I think he really expected me to. Yet I will hold him indirectly responsible for some of these changes which again, may not be entirely fair but hear me out.

He was the first serious relationship I had ever had, and as I mentioned last week, I would've followed him to the most mosquito-invested corner of Asia to own a pig farm I was so into him. This would have been a huge declaration of love for me as I'm widely considered to be an all-you-can-eat mosquito buffet.

Instead, I let him walk all over me. We moved to Chicago in September of 2000 after 16 months of having a long distance relationship (I was in Michigan, he was in Hawaii - it doesn't get to be much bigger than that and still be within the same country). My original intentions had been to live in separate apartments  and finally, finally date like normal couples. But because we'd already discussed marriage, Dipshit and most of our family members all thought it best to live together. And so I caved.

Score one, Dipshit. Mo, zero.

By the time we got married two and a half years later, my self esteem was zip. I think  I was convinced that if he stayed with me, he must love me despite the fact his actions were screaming "I don't love you." I was also of the mind that I couldn't do any better, and Dipshit was a better alternative to being alone. In short, misery loves company.

Some prime examples of Dipshit's actions that I chose to ignore.

• While he was going through four months of National Guard training in Virginia, my sister had a traumatic head injury, to the point where she was in neurological intensive care. It took me three days to hear from him despite the fact he had his cell phone on him, was staying in a hotel, and not only had I left numerous messages but so had his family.
• Before our wedding, I had a horrendous problem with athlete's foot (which is the only communicable disease he gave me, thank God). One night, I wanted to be romantic (read between the lines) and all Dipshit could talk about was my damn feet (and no, he didn't have a foot fetish). After repeatedly telling him he was killing the mood and to please stop, I ended up storming out of the room in tears and sleeping on the couch. He never came and got me.
• Our last Christmas together as he was preparing to go to Iraq, we were at his parents' house Christmas morning. His parents inquired what Dipshit got me for Christmas and before I even said anything, Dipshit responded, "I didn't get her anything. It just wasn't a priority."

Is it any wonder I struggle with self esteem?

The most horrible thing about it though wasn't that I was putting up with this crap. Nor was it the fact that I kept trying to change myself to make him happy. The most horrific part of all was that I didn't even realize what I was doing. I completely lost my sense of self.

I won't lie. Like most women, I have issues with self esteem. Take into consideration that I'm plus size and now multiply those self esteem issues by ten. And so I think in many ways, the fact I went through such a major personality change was in fact a reaction to the environment I was living in. I desperately wanted to be loved and because this man said he loved me, I believed him (but don't ever try to sell me ocean front property in Iowa).

In fact, Dipshit himself knew I had changed. A few months after our wedding it was Valentine's Day. Again, I wanted to be romantic and Dipshit rolled away and said, "I just don't find you attractive anymore." A huge fight ensued (imagine that) but part of the reason Dipshit was no longer attracted to me was because I had zero self confidence. I think one of the most brilliant yet horrendous things I ever said while with Dipshit was, "How on earth do you expect me to have self-confidence when I'm married to a man who never compliments me, never has sex with me, and never puts my needs on the priority list?"

It was the truth. Simply put.

It wasn't until Dipshit and I were well into our separation/divorce that I learned from conversations with both friends and family (and even a romantic interest I had stayed in touch with for many years) of how much I had changed. I wasn't as outgoing, I wasn't as funny, each time they had seen me with Dipshit I had been  nervous or anxious. But most of all, I was bitter. And angry. Sadly, while I was better than I had been, I still hadn't been the me I like to be until recently.

Case in point.... One of my closest friends in the whole wide world sent me a message recently on Facebook (we're in the midst of a communication vacation - nothing permanent). Amongst other things she wrote, "I have been keeping up with your blogs and post and wanted to say that you seem to be more like yourself these days...more like the amazing woman I first became friends with. I hope all is going great for you, or at least on the road to great."

I'm not there yet, B, but I'm definitely traveling down the right road. Much love.

 

"It is not easy to find happiness in ourselves...

 ... and it is not possible to find it elsewhere."  ~ Agnes Repplier

Just a heads up, this is one of those I'm putting myself out there blog posts.

In Friday's post, I wrote "I met a new guy I'm sort of interested in. As suave as I'd love to pretend to be, I'm not and my insecurities regarding my looks came into question. His text message back to me was, 'Well, get over it. :) Every guy likes a girl who likes herself. Cuz if you don't like you how do you expect others to like you.'

First, I'm not going to be able to get through this post without mentioning the new guy a time or two, so I'm going to nickname him Marshall because he's into martial arts.

Now that that's settled....

I've been turning over Marshall's comment in my mind a lot since I received it. I was super impressed that this guy, who's actually closer in age to my sister than he is to me, not only had the balls to call me out whenever my insecurity reared it's ugly head but that he also told me not what I wanted to hear (I won't deny I occasionally go fishing for compliments) but what I needed to hear. And so even if nothing ever materializes between Marshall and me, I will always like and respect him for those two reasons. The second reason I've been turning over Marshall's comment in my mind so much is because I know myself well enough to admit: I'm not my own biggest fan.

Don't get me wrong. There are things I truly like about myself. I think I'm a good writer, I know I'm a great cook (hey, my size should go a long way in proving I can cook), and I love my sense of humor. I'm of above average intelligence (most of the time), quick to grasp new concepts, friendly, and there's no denying I'm outgoing. I could go on about more things I like about myself, but I'll preserve what modesty I have left.

Yet I am sooooo quick to jump to the, "It's not him/her, it's me!" point the minute someone says something I personally deem to be a criticism. Case in point: I had said something to Marshall about maybe getting together one of these days and his response was somewhere along the lines of that he was too busy at this time between work and his martial arts training. I immediately took that to mean he was rejecting me. A very nice interchange followed and that's when Marshall made the remark about how I needed to like myself before anyone else could like me.

But it's sooooo hard. And yes, you can picture me using a whiny junior high voice because hey, I deserve it.

I don't have the greatest self-confidence. In a society where looks are deemed the deciding, determining, all encompassing factor, it's extremely hard for a plus-size woman to have self confidence. When you're raised by two parents who were both very body beautiful focused, having a chubby kid garners a lot of criticism (remember when I mentioned my mom used to tell me I could be so pretty if....?). I felt like a constant disappointment to them despite the fact I got good grades, was well liked by both my teachers and my peers, and played piano well.

And while it's embarrassing to admit, I will admit to a certain level of promiscuity in college and beyond. If a guy I found even remotely attractive showed an interest in me (yes, even Sasquatch was deemed attractive with the help of alcohol), chances were high that I'd embrace my inner wanton and go a lot farther than was healthy in the hopes the boy would want to date me. YES, I completely understand this is self-destructive unhealthy behavior but again, I was in college and therefore, slightly delusional.

When I met Dipshit, I was ripe for the picking. He was my first boyfriend, my first love. He could've promised me a pig farm in the hottest, humid-est, mosquito-infested part of the world and I would've followed him anywhere I was so desperate for someone to love me.

What a crock.

I will one day write a blog, or perhaps a series of them, regarding my relationship with Dipshit. It's too much to cover in this one post but our relationship goes a very long way down the road to my self-worth issues. Suffice it to say, he was someone who consistently chipped away at my self esteem (probably in an effort to get me to break up with him but who knows), cheated on me, and chipped away at my self worth some more.

While we were going through the divorce, I once asked why he didn't want to at least try working on our marriage. He looked me up and down and scornfully declared, "You're just not worth it to me."

And I believed him. Sad to say, but in many ways, I still believe him.

It took me two years after the divorce was final to start dating again. I just wasn't in the right place. And again, I won't deny that once I did start dating again, I may have unleashed my inner wanton a time or two (or acted like a horny slut, whichever you prefer to say). I dated a married guy, and by dating I mean we went to dinner, did the movies a few times, went to bars, slept together, etc.. For two years. He's since divorced his wife and has a new girlfriend after telling me, "You're a good friend, you are, and I enjoy talking with you. I'm just not romantically interested in you."

I've been hit, I've been hit! And no, I won't deny the hit could have come from Karma.

I've made a few other bad mistakes since my divorce (anyone care to take out a hit on Mike for me?). And I've made some  really good mistakes, too (there's a certain guy out there who shares my birth date whom I will always think of when I hear Sheryl Crow's "Favorite Mistake").

But the biggest mistake I'm making is not liking myself. So instead of finding a man who is going to wave his magic wand and try and make me feel better about myself, I'm going to get to know myself better. And while I may not like every aspect of myself (because really? I'm not perfect and I already know that and I'm not going to pretend to be), I really should at the very least like myself.

And Jen, while I realize you've been trying to tell me this all along, it's very different coming from someone whose known you all of two weeks and not thirty-two years. Love you!

And Marshall, thanks.

 

 

 

 

"Just around the corner in every woman's mind - is a lovely dress,...

... a wonderful suit, or entire costume which will make an enchanting new creature of her."  ~Wilhela Cushman

Remember last month when I mentioned I'm following a blog written by a fellow plus-size lady by the name of CeCe? Well, she wrote a blog last Tuesday entitled "Not All Fat People Are Slobs." I began leaving a comment on CeCe's blog when I realized I pretty much was writing a blog post of my own and decided, "Hey, great idea! I'll write this on my own blog instead."

To summarize CeCe's blog post, she attended a party during NYC's Full Figured Fashion Week where she observed that everyone in attendance was dressed to the nines in clothes that flattered their figures. Meanwhile, CeCe also wondered "So, why is it that whenever they talk about obesity in America, they use footage of people in cotton shorts, baggy t-shirts with their bellies jiggling as they hobble down the street?"

Most of the plus size women I know take pride in their appearance. They dress in figure-flattering clothes that they launder properly and iron. They get their hair and nails done, they use make up, and in short, the size of their clothes is just a number. Not to toot my own horn, I'm often complimented on my appearance as well (well, on my clothes at least).

What I always find amusing though is when certain people compliment me but there's always this undertone of surprise to their voice. It's as if they're in shock that a woman on the farther end of the plus size scale can find something that's *gasp* fashionable and attractive. Good heavens! What next?

Yet taking pride in ones appearance and putting yourself forward as a plus size lady to reckon with usually results in.... invisibility? Yes, invisibility. As physically large as a plus size woman may be, it seems that no matter how much pride she may take in her appearance, it doesn't make one iota of a difference because no one is going to take much notice anyways. It's as if we're in this little invisible bubble where we can see out but with the exception of the people we're interacting with, no one else can see in. Given the fact that we take up an above average amount of space, the invisibility phenomena is a bit ironic.

Odder still.... The prettier and more fashionable a plus size lady is, the more it seems as if she "invites" the same amount of ridicule her more "sloppy" sisters who wear sweats and t-shirts out in public get. How many of us have heard, "Oh, she's got such a pretty face. It's too bad she's fat" when out for a night on the town? My mom's line used to be, "You'd be so pretty if you just lost weight. Just run around the block and eat lettuce leaves." Because somehow the weight loss is going to result in my face being prettier? What?

I'm going to digress for a moment and write about CeCe's question regarding how the media always manages to find people in cotton shorts, baggy t-shirts, etc.

Above, I mentioned the more pride a full figured woman takes in her appearance, the more likely she is to become invisible. On the other hand, the less pride a full figured lady takes in her appearance, the more she (unfortunately) opens herself up to criticism and ridicule. For some reason, it's perfectly okay for the rest of the population to run around looking sloppy and unkempt, but the minute a larger person throws on sweats and a t-shirt, the whole damn world seems to have something to say about it. It won't matter if you're sicker than a dog standing in line at Walgreen's to buy Sudafed or if you ran into the grocery store to buy a loaf of bread and some milk on your way home from the gym. Suddenly, you now face the firing squad hitting you with, "Oh, look. She's too fat to buy clothes that don't have elastic in the waistband" or one of my favorites, "Hey, maybe if you got off your fat kiester you wouldn't be so fat!"

And maybe if your beer gut wasn't so large your penis wouldn't be so small. Oh wait, did I just write that out loud?

It does seem to be the case that the media goes out of their way to find the sloppy looking "obese" people when discussing the obesity epidemic. But think about it. If the media were to show plus-size men and women living it up and having a good time and leading normal lives (YES, we DO lead the same lives as skinny people!), would it really make obesity seem like such an epidemic? Probably not. But if society is shown pictures of larger people walking down the street dressed unattractively in sweats, it puts the obesity epidemic in front of everyone. Because the truth is, being larger is more unattractive, sinful if you will, than simply being... unattractive.

Another blog post for another time.

P.S. - If you haven't done so, or wish to do so again, voting on my next hair style is still open until noon on Thursday! Check the poll to the left.  ;)

Whoever said money can't buy happiness simply didn't know where to go shopping.

Bo Derek said that. The irony in using this quote today is that it's about that one item all women dread shopping for. Swimsuits. And if you don't know why I'm mentioning irony about a Bo Derek quote being used in a blog post about swimsuits, then you need to crawl back under the rock you just came out from under.

Okay, so it's been awhile since I've posted about anything related to being plus-size, so let's make up for lost time and discuss different sites to purchase a plus size swimsuit.

There's the usual full figure shopping sites such as Lane Bryant, Avenue, Catherine's and Fashion Bug. Followed by the department stores i.e. Sears, Macy's, JCPenney, Lord and Taylor and Parisian (which unfortunately doesn't have a website for shopping in your jammies ease). And finally, the typical discount stores such as Wal-Mart, Target, Kmart, and Meijer (again, no online buying so hence, no link). I'm going to assume you know all about those already and get down to the nitty gritty. The sites you may not be aware of.

First up: Kiyonna. Now, Kiyonna's selection is by far the smallest with only two styles. But they're so cute, I just had to include them. That, and I've been on a retro kick lately. As I mentioned in a previous blog post featuring Kiyonna, don't let the price stop you. Kiyonna's quality is worth the quantity of money.  The pic at right is Kiyonna's Ava Convertible suit. Adorable, right? 

Secondly, another website featuring vintage swimwear for plus sizes. ModCloth. I've personally never ordered from this site, but I've heard nothing but good things about them. My one problem with the site in general? There's no way to sort plus sizes from the misses. Even so, check out their adorable dresses and stuff for the home.

Next I bring to you one of the best known sites world wide for swim suit shopping. Land's End. Known world-wide for the quality of its swimsuits, Land's End not only has one of the largest selections of plus size swimwear, but they're also one of the few sites that caters to both plus size petites and plus size talls. One of my favorite perks of Land's End? You basically get to design your own suit. They have both soft and underwire cup tops, you can shop by cup size, and the colors, styles, and selection of swimwear is hard to beat. And right now, all of their swimwear is 25% off until May 17th.

H2O Wear is another good site.  They go up to a size 32, cater to all heights (short, regular and long torso anyone?) and they have both one piece and swim separates options. The site itself can be a bit tricky to navigate, but the site may be of particular interest to those of you who frequent the community, gym, or backyard pools as all of their swimwear is chlorine resistant.

Swimoutlet is a site offering a variety of higher-end swimwear brands at a slightly reduced rate. It's worth checking out as they have some cute stuff that may be hard to come by.

Always For Me is a site catering strictly to plus sizes. They feature a lot of swimdresses and one pieces, and allow you to shop by cup sizes (always a great option for us busty gals). The one thing I'm not enamored of? Their tankinis don't have a mix and match option for tops vs. bottoms.

Another site with a great selection of swimwear is Swimsuits for All. Now they start at a size 8, but don't let that stop you from checking out 12 pages worth of adorable plus size swimwear. They carry up to a size 34, have the shop by cup size option, and also have a selection for Breast Cancer survivors. Plus, they carry the a larger variety of the brands you'll find on Swimoutlet.

And finally, the site I bought my suit from last year. Swimsuits Just For Us. This site covers it all. Mastectomy patients, large sizes (24W-34W), mix and match pieces, and polyester suits for chlorinated pools. My only complaint about the site? Their return policy is just two weeks. So I still have the board shorts I bought last summer that were not only too big but scratchy as well. 

So there you have it ladies. A pretty inexhaustible list of sites to find pretty plus size swimsuits including Delta Burke, Penbrooke, Speedo, MiracleSuit and so many others it will make your head swim (as always, that pun was totally intended).  

What are you waiting for?

This topic comes up so frequently that there's really no point in trying to give credit where credit is due.

I have a quite a few friends, both in Michigan and Chicago, who are plus size. These are the women I share my Lane Bryant coupons with, email Kiyonna links to, and ask if they've tried the new such and such so and so has to offer. These are the women I can relate to best, because they're walking in my shoes.

So often I find myself commiserating or venting with these women at how hard it can be to be a bigger woman in today's society. I've had guys walk up to me in bars and ask where the Twinkie sale is. Kids have pointed at me out of the back end of their parents' mini van with puffed up cheeks mouthing the words, "You're fat!" Even my own mother used to say the infamous, "You could be so pretty if only you'd lose weight." Because in today's world, being fat is one of the biggest sins you can commit, and no matter how pretty your face is, how fashionable your clothes, how witty your banter is, or how genuine you are, you're still fat. And that, my friends, is a sin.

What saddens me even more however is how quickly so many plus size gals buy into this line of bullshit. That somehow theses beautiful, smart, fashionable, glorious women are deemed unworthy to live the lives they want to live, deserve to live because of their size.

So many times I've asked my girlfriend Hope to join me on a girls night out only to have her tell me no. When I press her for a reason, ninety percent of the time it's because she "doesn't want to be the fat girl at the bar." Um, hello? Hope? Hi, it's me. Mo. Your size 22/24 friend. I AM the fat girl at the bar. Duh.

Don't get me wrong. I've had my share of embarrassments as the fat girl at the bar. Some I've mentioned, but yeah, there are also the times I've simply said hello to a guy after squeezing in next to him at the bar only to hear him say to his buddies, "Dudes! The fat girl next to me is hitting on me!" Which begs the question: when did simply saying hello become synonymous with hitting on people?

I've watched in quiet horror as one of the most beautiful women I know hides her body under clothes three sizes too large for her. This woman has a rockin' hourglass figure I'd give my hair for (which is saying a lot because I love my hair ninety percent of the time) but so often it's hidden under shapeless sweaters and sweatshirts.

That's not to say I haven't had my frumpy moments. Nor am I going to deny that I've turned down my size four wearing sister on a girls night out invitation because I just wasn't in the mood to roll up my plus-size sleeves and be the good time plus size gal you see dancing to the cupid shuffle with a Long Island in her hand.

But I'm not turning down every invitation that comes my way. These days I'm more likely to turn down someone not because I'm large, but because my wallet can't handle it (by the way, if you know of any executive / sales / marketing assistant jobs, let me know, will ya?). I don't want to put my life on hold because I'm waiting to lose weight. It's the only life we've got, you know.

It's like John Lennon once said. "Life is what happens when you're busy making other plans." Stop planning on how great your life is going to be after you lose weight, and start living your life now.

It's Oh So Quiet

So I've been really quiet lately, I know. There's been a few reasons for that but the two most outstanding reasons are that 1) I'm too afraid to step on a scale, and b)  work has been keeping me super busy.

Why am I so afraid to step on a scale? Well, I admit. My eating has been out of control. Every single lunch last week was take out, and I had carry out for dinner at least twice as well. And snacking on Better Made BBQ Kettle Chips doesn't help, though I've also been snacking on beef jerky as well (3 PointsPlus for a 2 oz. serving - totally worth it to me). Some lunches were salads, but loaded down with feta, blue and American (National Coney Island's "cheddar") cheese, and there was no low-cal dressing added (not that I couldn't have, just that I didn't).Then there was the Hudsonville Michigan Deer Traxx gallon of ice cream with the Sander's Fudge I consumed over the course of the week before last (never let it be said that I don't support Michigan companies). Various splurges at Starbucks and Biggby, and a $15 purchase at the Macy's candy counter on Saturday have rounded out this food frenzy.

My plan of attack this week is just to get back on track. Slow down and begin eating mindfully again. Start bringing my lunch to work again. And to drink water like it's going out of style (with all this snow we've had, I should just take a glass outside and fill it up!).

And to get back on the scale. The only thing I have to fear is.... well, fear itself!  :)

A little something to go along with my title.