Monthly Archives: February 2015

Loving a Big Girl In a Fat Shaming World.

I am slim, and I love a big girl… On PURPOSE!
I say “on purpose” because she was never “skinny”. She was big when I pursued her… on purpose. I make this distinction because I am fully aware of your pity. I’m not as oblivious as you may think.
When we are walking down the street together, I can see it in your eyes. I can see it in your body language. I can hear it in your whispers as we pass. In your snickers. As though she somehow tricked me into a relationship. As though she somehow is undeserving of my love because of YOUR prejudice. In fact, the only thing keeping me from busting you in the mouth for that “poor guy” comment that you didn’t think I would hear, IS my love for her. In that moment, her not knowing about your ugliness altogether, is more important to me than lifting you out of your shoes for it. You’re lucky she didn’t hear you too.

She is smart. She is funny. She is compassionate. She is passionate. She is independent. She is a great mother. She is the best wife. There is no human being on this planet that I would rather be with. She is the most important thing in my life.

But all you see is fat.

She is voluptuous. Curvy. Vivid. Vivacious. Full. Complete. With the most sensuous lips I’ve ever seen, and the gaze of a succubus. She sets my blood aflame. She is my siren, and my muse.

Yet, even in the privacy of her own home, she hides her skin from the one person who loves her body wholly and completely and wants nothing more than to see it.

Fuck you for that. Fuck you SO much for that.

Oh, it’s a “health issue” now that you’ve been called out on your prejudice?
Okay, let’s talk about health then. SHE runs several half marathons a year, while your treadmill is collecting dust in the garage. SHE hiked Half Dome and ran a half marathon the following weekend, while you were playing Xbox. She is up at five in the morning, lacing up her running shoes while you are reaching for the snooze button. She is at Zumba after working a ten hour day, while you are picking up a six pack. She is at Tabata while you are curling up for a nap. She is at Yoga, while you are nursing a hangover. She is picking up a salad wrap, while you are stopping for a burger and fries. She eats better than me AND less often, but you assume I’M the health conscious one.
The truth of it is, she probably knows more about diets and clean eating and healthy habits than anyone I know, BECAUSE she has felt the need to try ALL of them… because of you.
And you have the audacity to offer up unsolicited and unwanted health advice?!

No. It’s not a “health issue”. It’s a jealousy issue. You are jealous that she is SO completely loved, inside AND out, while you and your values keep finding sorry, shallow, superficial partners.
Huh. Funny how that works.

See, the thing is, prejudice, hate, and callousness are WAAAY uglier than fat.

So, you can take your pity for me, and your prejudice for her, and shove ’em up your ass.
I love her more than life itself, and she deserves nothing less.
I HOPE that burns you.


Rock Bottom

In the hope that maybe it helps keep someone from having one of their own, I give you my “rock bottom” story.

I know what it’s like to have a dozen assault rifles leveled at me.

Wait. Let’s back up a bit. Maybe a little history will help you fully grasp the severity of my situation.

Being the son of an “outlaw” biker, I grew up around drunks, and wild biker parties. Drunk was normal. Drunk was what normal people did when they weren’t at work. Get home, activate drunk. That’s life.
Let me give you a highlight example- when I was 15, my dad had a mild heart attack, early in the day on the fourth of July. The party was going to be at our house, so we had a well stocked beer fridge in the garage. I’m talking, stocked for a small army of alcoholic bikers. STOCKED.
I was tasked with finishing all the beer in the house before my dad got out of the hospital. You know… because the doctor said he shouldn’t drink when he got home. A task I welcomed, and “accomplished” in stride. So while my dad recuperated in the hospital, I spent the next three days absolutely annihilated. And nobody saw a problem with that.
THAT was my normal. That’s where I’m coming from.
Needless to say, I was physically dependent on alcohol before I was old enough to purchase it.
Now, it’s important to understand, when I say, “physically dependent”, I don’t just mean, “I really liked to have a drink on the weekends.” I mean, if I did not have booze in my system, I would get DT tremors, cold sweats, migraines, irritability, severe mood swings, and the occasional mild seizure.
Do you know how embarrassing it is for a twenty year old to have to hide his unsteady hands?

Anyway, fast forward a dozen years, a wife, daughter, and mortgage later…
I started early that day. As I always did on Saturdays. See, I liked to get extremely drunk, as quick as possible, to make up for all the lost drinking time spent at work during the week, then “maintain” throughout the course of the day… until I passed out. A typical Saturday grocery list was, a bottle of Hot Damn 100 proof, two tall cans of Joose (think Four Loko) and a thirty pack of cheap beer.
I would pound down the harder stuff, then chug beer for the rest of the day.
This day was no exception.
I was as drunk as I set out to be by noon.
My buddy came over sometime in the early afternoon, and even though he didn’t drink, my alcoholic logic saw it as an excuse to get super DUPER drunk. “Wooohoo! another person! Party time!” Feel me? So I doubled down. By the time he left, I was completely blitzed. Staggering, slurring, belligerent, unreasonable… just gone.
The next few hours get blurry, but I know I was a nightmare to be around, to say the least. And certainly not capable of responsible parenting.
Sometime in the evening, my wife made the wise decision to remove herself, and our then toddler daughter from the house. Unfortunately, my then alcoholic logic didn’t think it as wise then as I do now.
See, I hated being completely alone when I was drinking. HATED. Even if I was the only one drinking, and making a complete ass of myself in doing so, as long as I wasn’t alone, I didn’t care. Until the next morning anyway.
So when my wife informed me that she was going to be taking our daughter, and staying the night elsewhere, I flipped out. I started a horrible screaming match in an attempt to convince her to stay.
Makes perfect sense, right?
Seeing the futility of my attempts of drunken persuasion as she quickly threw together an overnight bag, absolutely enraged me, so I resorted to desperate measures.
This next sentence is the hardest, most embarrassing sentence I’ve ever written in my life.

As she reached for the door with our daughter in her arms, I threatened to shoot myself in the head if she left.

Yeah. That happened. Now, I wasn’t actually suicidal. Just, really angry, really drunk, and totally irrational.
She was on her cell with 911 before she even left the stoop. She informed them that I was astonishingly drunk, had threatened to hurt myself, and had the weapons to do so.
Overhearing her panicked conversation to the 911 operator as she headed to the car angered me even more.
“I’ll show her!” I thought. “I’ll call the cops right back at you!”
So I came back inside, and called 911 myself, to inform them that my sober, rational wife, just “kidnapped” our daughter. Now, I don’t remember exactly how that conversation went, or what was said, but the operator was aware of the situation from my wife’s side, so kept me talking on the phone while, unbeknownst to me, the police surrounded my house.
After the police were sufficiently dug in, the operator told me to step out on the front porch. Without questioning, “why”, I stepped outside, and was completely shocked and startled to hear, “FREEZE!” and find myself looking at about a dozen cops crouched behind their vehicles, with assault rifles trained on me.

It was at that moment that I finally realized I had messed up. Big time.

From then on, I was extremely hostile, but compliant. Went onto the lawn with my hands up, as directed, got tackled, rolled around and handcuffed with a knee in my back. Then, I got to sit there, handcuffed on my own front lawn, with no shoes or shirt on, and what felt like the whole world looking on, as the cops went through my house and seized my guns.

Because I had not actually committed a crime, and the officer in charge was EXTREMELY generous, I got to stay the night in the emergency room on a 5150 hold, babysat like a child, rather than in the drunk tank.

This was hands down, the worst night of my life. But it pales in comparison to the shame of the next morning. Suffering from unimaginable guilt, and a hangover for the record books, the doctor went on to tell me that I was incredibly rude to hospital staff, and need to be VERY grateful that I was not arrested, as that is what many of them wanted. He would also tell me that I had enough alcohol in my bloodstream “to kill a horse”. After a mental health evaluation, I was ever more mortified, but free to go.

Shoeless, shirtless, smokeless, embarrassed to tears, and awfully hungover, I got a ride home and immediately called my wife to blubber my way through an apology. Which, to my surprise, she accepted.

While this was certainly my rock bottom moment, it was not the start of my sobriety. I would go a few months without drinking, start to feel like I had control of myself, then convince myself that I could handle “just one”. But every single time, one turns into two, which turns into six… then the can is open. Thirty pack. Back to square one.
This went on for a few more months until my wife promised to leave if I did not get help. At that point, I finally accepted that alcohol can just NEVER be a part of my life, got help, and got sober.
For good.

Thank you for reading. And thank you to my wonderful wife for seeing in me the man I had yet to become and suffering through all that it took for me to become him. I am so sorry it took so long.

Viva la resistance!

Since our earliest civilizations, those who would seek personal power over communal growth, have deliberately and systematically divided and oppressed us to suit their needs.
They have divided us with imaginary borders, and taught us to condemn those on the other side as less than human. They have divided us by race, and taught us to hate those with a different skin color. They have divided us by gender and sexual orientation and taught us to devalue the worth of a human being. They have taught us that opposing religious and political ideals can never work together. They have taught us to value competition over cooperation. They have taught us to loathe ourselves for not being the impossible specimen of what they would have us believe is physical perfection. They have installed a financial caste system, and told us to be grateful for our indentured servitude. They have taught us hate, and told us where to direct it.

We are divided and conquered.

See, as long as we are wrapped up in hating each other for these imaginary reasons, we are too busy to direct our anger where it should be. As long as we are clawing each other tooth and nail for crumbs, our attention is not on their plate. They have flooded our lives with hate for the sake of their own greed.
But that’s just it… it’s all a lie.

I believe hate is the greatest lie. And by contrast, love is the greatest truth.
In a world consumed by hate, love is a revolutionary act.

With that, I have heard the call to arms. With kindness as my sword, and compassion as my shield, I will fight. I will let my light be the barricade on which the darkness breaks. And on my dying day, when I stand before my creator to answer for how I have spent my life, I will raise my head and proudly proclaim,

“I have loved!”