Sunday, May 12, 2013

A & F You.

Lately I've been beating myself up a lot.  I mean A LOT.  I'm sure this will come as a huge surprise to all of you, but I'm not perfect.  It's ok.  Sit down if you're feeling light-headed.  Have a glass of water, or some vodka.  Breathe into a paper bag.  I know I just rocked your reality but it's going to be fine.  You had to face it eventually.

I'm overweight.  And while losing 25 lbs had somewhat lowered the volume on the "you are a fat piece of shit" voices in my head, a recent plateau has sort of kicked my self-esteem in the ass.  And by "plateau" I mean several weeks that have consisted of three days of bingeing followed by four days of starving myself.

I'm undateable.  I don't really know why this is, but it is.  It has been proven again and again.  There was a time when I had it on good authority (the aforementioned voices) that my undateability was due to my fat-piece-of-shit-ness.  But I had expected that the minute my BMI moved from the obese area on the chart to the overweight area on the chart men all around would suddenly be able to see past the now slightly thinner layer of fat and notice my redeeming qualities.  Alas this has not been the case.  The men who say they want a no-drama, low-maintenance, real woman actually seem to want a 25 year old hoochie-mama with fake nails, fake eyelashes, fake boobs and fake hair.

This is not to say I have not had suitors, but seventy year old men, men who are six inches shorter and 50 pounds lighter than me, men without teeth, men whose opening line is "nice body baby"...these are not my target demographic.  Call me picky.

My house is falling apart.  The one point of pride I had, the fact that I've managed to keep this house, the only house The Boy has ever known, for seven years post-divorce, has been overshadowed by dysfunctional smoke detectors, wrinkly carpet, broken screens, freakishly healthy weeds and faulty wiring.

Then there's my outlook on life.  As you might have guessed I'm not exactly a ray of fucking sunshine lately.  It could have something to do with the fact that my stupid foot is still broken.  Maybe there's some truth to the whole exercise-endorphin-mood thing.  Who knew?

But my point is this...I've been doing a really good job of beating myself bloody, figuratively speaking.  This is a long-cultivated skill, learned at a very young age.

When I was twelve my mom took me shopping for school clothes.  She was appalled to discover that, at the prematurely advanced height of 5'9" I was wearing a size 13.  This prompted my first diet.  Every day for lunch I had a peach.  And only a peach.  Oh and I could have as many ice cubes as I could eat.  The "you're a fat piece of shit" voice was born.  It was kept alive through my teens by a steady diet of bullies, barbie, mainstream media, TV, magazines and boys who, while I had no problem finding a date in my teens, made it clear that I could stand to take off a few pounds.

And by no means am I delusional enough to think that I'm at all unique in all of this.  Find me a woman who doesn't beat herself up over her appearance on a daily basis and I'll show you....hell I don't know, because I don't think she exists.

And then this waste of skin comes along:

Uglier on the inside.

I'm not really upset that he doesn't want ME shopping in his store.  I'd be about as likely to want to wear something from Abercrombie and Fitch as I would wear a pair of overalls from Baby Gap or a pair of work boots from...well, wherever they sell work boots.  What pisses me off is that this ugly inside and out sorry excuse for a human being has found yet another way to separate what he and society consider the pretty people from the not so pretty people.

In the past, what, 50 years or so we've managed to drastically reduce discrimination on the basis of gender, ethnicity and sexual orientation but we, as a society, still place such a value on size that shitbags like this are allowed to publicly admit not only to wanting to keep the the less-than beautiful people (as judged by him) out of his store but also he flat-out states that he discriminates in his hiring practices....and that is LEGAL.

That's right...he couldn't say he hires only one gender.  He couldn't say he only hires under a certain age (though it's implied and obviously very very true) or ethnicity but it's completely legal and professionally acceptable for him to admit to hiring only thin employees.

That, my friends, is some serious bullshit there.

Like the teenage girl who is five pounds (FIVE POUNDS) overweight isn't beating herself up she has to feel self-conscious when she goes into A & F with her skinny friends, not to buy clothes...because she knows they won't fit her...but just to BE with her skinny friends while they shop.  Tell me she's not going to go home and dive into a pint of Ben & Jerry's when it's all over.  This is how it starts.

In the end I think karma will stomp this guy's ass into a pulp and I'll tell you why.  His target customer, cute and thin as they may be....for the most part they don't have the kind of funds that can support a company of that size.  They go to school, they hang out at the mall, MAYBE they work part time at McD's for gas money but a pair of A & F jeans would be a week's pay for them so guess who buys them....their overweight, overworked, middle-aged mommies.  I'm sickened by the fact that I have supported this fucktard, either by giving The Boy gift cards so he could shop with his friends, or by following him around the dark, cologne-soaked store while he picked out an overpriced shirt or pair of jeans.  No more.  And I'm not alone in this.

We beat ourselves up enough every day...the last thing we need is some botoxed, capped teeth, overpaid pretentious self-loathing turdbag telling us he doesn't want us in his store.  

My guess is American Eagle and Aeropostale are loving this.  As for me, I'm happy at Wal Mart.  They have a whole department made just for me.  :)

Today's lunch.....A mother's day treat.  A mocha frappe and chicken McWrap.  I'll starve myself tomorrow.