The Forbidden {-Fiction-}

I was captivated with her the moment we met. Rather, the moment I saw her glide into the dining room that first time: Her long dark hair, her bright eyes, her full lips, that plump ass, and those boobs. Fuck me, her boobs screamed for me to manhandle them… to grab a hold and squeeze… to plant my face between them and let each tittie slap me on either side of my face while I breathed in her essence.

She was fat though.

And fat chicks don’t cut it with us most of the time. (Truth is, though, that we all like some meat, we all like to grab a hold of something. Fuck yeah.)

Anyways, so, Beth walked in and the more she moved, the more her hair bounced, the more her boobs jiggled… the harder I got.

But I had no idea who she was and couldn’t ask Brad or Chuckie- though I’m sure they woulda loved to talk about her tits. So I just watched her any chance I could- like when she’d walk into the break room. Man, I loved watching her bounce. And I also started chatting it up with Marilyn, the old lady with sagging boobs that worked at the front desk who knew everyone and everything about the nursing home.

Several weeks after seeing Beth that first time, I was leaving and noticed Marilyn sitting alone at the front desk so I asked if I could use the phone.

“Dan, you know I can’t let employees use this here phone,” she replied.

“I know Miss Marilyn, but my grandma’s been real sick and my phone is dead,” I replied, holding up my turned off cell phone.

She looked at me and nodded her head for me to come behind the desk. I dialed the number to my own cell and asked my ailing grandmother if she needed me to bring anything during my visit that evening. I thanked Marilyn after hanging up with grams and left. And the next day, when Marilyn asked how my visit was with sick old grams, I asked about the new chick who happened to be talking with one of the residents near the piano in the community center.

 

“Oh that’s Beth,” she smiled, turning back to me. “She came in from one of the agencies to help with marketing. She seems real nice.”

Marilyn’s bloodshot blue eyes studied me for a moment before she added, “Are you sweet on her, Dan?”

 

I told her I was, but that with my sick grandma and all the moving I’d done over the past couple years, I was a little rusty in the making friends department.

I Am

I am sarcastic and kind
I wonder why some people are so stupid
I hear her amazing laugh
I see her beautiful smile
I want this to last forever
I am sarcastic and kind

I pretend that my feelings don't get hurt
I feel fulfilled by her life
I touch her sweet soft skin
I worry what will happen when we're gone
I cry when a soul passes on
I am sarcastic and kind

I understand she's what it's all about
I say to enjoy every moment like it's your last
I dream that my hair wasn't so gray
I try to stay positive
I hope all of her dreams come true
I am sarcastic and kind

such a shame

My mom likes to tell people that when I was a newborn, I was so tiny that she’d tuck me into a shoe box inside an open drawer to nap. I was her third and final baby born and I "slid right out.”

As a small child, I was a shit of a kid wanting nothing to do with baby dolls and girly stuff and everything to do with soccer and boy stuff. I didn’t watch a lot of TV; instead, I was always outside playing with friends. But then my parents split when I was 9 and absolutely everything changed. I didn’t know what was going on because nobody explained anything—they just told me what to do and I did it. Like go to three different grammar schools and four different high schools. As a result, I had no friends.

No friends but food.

I've recently lost nearly 20 pounds of this bullshit fat, but nobody can notice. Twenty pounds is nothing to sneeze at but nobody can tell I've lost it because I have so much more to lose. It's disgusting, really. And sad.

I try so hard not to dwell on how much more I need to lose to be closer to an average size. Instead, I try to focus on the fact that I feel really great right now: My energy is up, I sleep better at night, I'm more active with my Lovie when it's not 100 degrees out. But then something like yesterday happens and I get slammed into the reality of it all: I'm morbidly obese.

I got certified in CPR yesterday afternoon.

When it came time to kneel on the floor in front of our victim (a dummy) to check for signs of life and/or perform CPR, I knelt just fine. Yeah it wasn't comfortable to kneel but it wasn't comfortable for any of us. When it came time to join our hands together to perform chest pumps, I did just fine. When it came time to lean in to the victim to check for air, I nearly fell over. Literally. And when it came time to breathe into my victim, I simply couldn't do it.

I couldn't bend over enough to give my unconscious victim mouth to mouth resuscitation. My huge boobs and big fat belly stopped me from bending over enough. I tried with all my might to force the fat to move, but it wouldn’t budge and I couldn’t pinch the victims nose and breathe into its mouth at the same time.

WHAT IF THAT WERE MY CHILD ON THE FLOOR?!?

I could feel my face get hot and refused to look up from my dummy.

While I’ve been fat most of my life, I’ve never been one to let it define me. It’s a part of who I am, yes, but it’s not all of who I am… until a moment pops up when shame seeps inside of me and takes over.

Celebrate!

We celebrated the end to the disgusting heat wave with an impromptu trip to the zoo. It was still hot (in the sun) but we had fun and somehow, it made the weekend seem like a little vacation. Hooray.

RWH/WOE: Freedom {fiction}

Nobody ever told me it would be like this. Nobody.

They all said that time would go by so fast, that I should enjoy it all while I had the chance.

Enjoy what? The screaming? The crying? The endlessness to it all?

Time couldn’t possibly move any slower; I don’t understand what the fuck everyone was talking about it “going by so fast.”

I’m so fucking tired.

I don’t want this.

I’m not strong enough for this.

And where the fuck is Hank in all this? Why the fuck can’t he ever get his lazy fucking ass out of bed and help me? How the hell can he sleep through the screaming and crying? Even when she’s not screaming and crying, doesn’t he still hear it? Am I the only one that hears the screaming and crying 24/7?! LUCKY ME!

When Hank’s gone and she’s crying, I strap her in the swing and take a shower. I didn’t always do this but she doesn’t move. Only her mouth moves when she’s screaming and crying. And sometimes her head moves and her hands and feet wiggle. But it’s not like she’s going to fall out of the swing, crack her head on the floor and finally shut up. It’s just not going to happen that way.

At first I tried picking her up and feeding her or holding her or rocking shushing singing to her but she doesn’t shut the fuck up once she starts. So now I just lock myself in the bathroom and turn on the shower. Sometimes I get in the shower and just let the water run over my body, hoping that each spray of water are knives slicing into my scalp and skin.

But I can still hear the crying. Motherfuck, it doesn’t ever stop.

And when I finally unlock and open the bathroom door, there she is tucked in the swing. Nobody came and took her. She didn’t fall out. And she didn’t shut up.

When I move in closer, I can see that she’s still. She looks rather peaceful. Her lips are pursed together, her eyelashes curl over her silky skin.

She’s not crying, she’s not screaming, but I swear to god, I can still hear her.

Dear god, I feel so motherfucking trapped. How the hell did I get into this fucking mess?

TILTW: 6.30-7.6

* This Summer is only technically a couple weeks old and, once again, it's proving that I'm just not a Summer person. I hate the heat and humidity. And, apparently, so does Lovie. Have you seen the photo above? That was taken last Saturday (or maybe it was Sunday) when it wasn't even 90 yet, wasn't even 11AM. She lasted a whole 20 minutes before saying, "I wanna go inside and watch TeeBee."

* I'm not a compulsive overeater like I thought I was. I overeat, for sure, but after seeing the movie Lbs on July 4th while Lovie was napping, I'm certain mine isn't as severe an addiction as some. I still feel that food can be addictive because we absolutely have to have it to live, but I just don't feel like I'm as addicted as some. Lbs is one of those movies that sticks with you well after it's over... I really recommend anyone seeing it.

the Fourth

Independence Day has never been a big deal in my family growing up. I think divorce will do that to a family. From what I can recall, I generally spent most July 4ths with my dad who is very much a get-outside type of person. He hates staying inside; he's always got to be doing something.

I remember visiting some people who were somehow related to his mother's cousin on a couple different July 4th holidays. Their house was one of about a dozen or two that circled around a little lake. We'd eat BBQ and pasta (of course), play with sparklers and water, ride paddle boats. And at night, we'd watch the fireworks over the lake. Looking back it was pretty damn cool, but as a preteen and teen, I hated it. I was so bored. I knew nobody but my dad. Yippee. I wanted to be out with friends partying. But I didn't have many friends because of how often my mom moved. Besides, my dad was/is great at laying on the guilt trips about seeing him.

When I became an "adult," I still didn't do much on the Fourth; I could probably count on one hand the number of times I've seen a fireworks display on the actual Fourth- or in honor of it. 

I just hate the crowds of people, the sweat, the smoke, the clusterfuck of ...everything.

Now that we have Lovie, however, I'd really like to change some of this. I'd love nothing more than to have some sort of "tradition" for something we do on or around the Fourth. But I don't have any family related to my mother's cousin who live on a lake to visit and neither does my husband. (Actually, Taye probably does since both of his parents are one of eleven children {could you imagine?!} but there are so much family it's confusing.)

July 4, 2010

Lovie was only 6 months old on her first July 4th in 2010 so we treated the day like any other weekend day off with her and just hung around at home.

July 4, 2011

Last year I insisted we do something so we packed some bags and headed out to the park for picnic (with McDonald's) and play. But Lovie was quite off and it got hot fast so we were back home by early afternoon to discover Lovie had a 103 temperature! It was horrible and I felt awful for dragging her out in the hot just to start some sort of tradition.

July 4, 2012- hey, at least it was a red, white, and blue bath!

This year... well, this year the 4th fell smack dab in the middle of the week. As you're well aware. We had no plans going into it but I did look up some parks and pools nearby in the hopes of having some sort of plan. But as the day neared and the damn heat rose, we ended up doing nothing. It was just too damn hot to leave the house.

Instead, we woke early, watched TV, had some breakfast and then just did whatever which consisted of painting with water colors for about an hour, painting with finger paints for about 10 minutes (never again- will leave that for school), took an hour long bath, watched Mickey Mouse Clubhouse, had a hot dog for lunch,

is there anything more American than a hot dog, Cheetos, and applesauce?

took a two hour nap, made pancakes with playdoh, ate popsicles, watched more MMCH, ate dinner, watched Olivia, and went to bed. Well Lovie went to bed. Then Taye and I chilled out on the couch not touching one another, not moving, trying not to sweat even though the air conditioning hadn't shut off once all day.

It was like any other day in our house when we're all home together.

So actually, it was damn lovely.

Even without any BBQ or water play or watermelon or fireworks.

things that make my hair gray

Sitting on the couch together watching TV like we do every evening, Lovie pops her head up and asks for more milk, smiles big, and lays her head full of tight curls back on my chest. I rub the beads between my fingers and tell her she’s got to get up for a minute so I can fulfill her request. She sits up and I leave her there on the couch, alone, completely trusting that I’ll return.  
 
I’m her provider of food and clothes, rest and shelter, love and guidance; I'm her Mama. When she sees something new, she always asks, “Mama! Did you see it?” When she sings to a song on the radio, she demands, "Sing, Mama!" When I cuss at another driver on the road, she scolds, "Mama!"
 
She's my world, the air I breathe. My life.
 
I remember updating my Facebook account days after first being home with her to include a quote: "This is what it's all about."
 
I meant her.
 
She's the reason I was put here on the earth…the reason I lived the shitty times…the reason I kept going. This became clear the moment she was placed in my arms.
 
I imagine that every parent feels this way, right? I mean…they must.

My mom was barely 18 when she had my sister. The first four years of my sister's life was spent with my grandparents. After my mom met and married my dad, my sister moved in with them and my dad adopted her. My parents then had my brother, and years later, me. We lived the American Dream in a suburban bungalow. When I was 9, my parents split and my mother morphed into a partyer. I became the parent while both my siblings escaped by joining the armed forces as soon as legally possible.
 
By her mid-20s, my sister had her first two kids. When they were pre-teens, she left them with her soon to be ex-husband, seeing the kids when it was convenient for her. Years passed and she remarried and had a third child whom she left when he was 11. She still has a relationship with all of her children (and a grandbaby), but, again, she’s flying solo these days.
 
My brother was a daddy by 23. Several years later, his wife left the boy with my brother and the two became inseparable. About eight years later when the boy started becoming rebellious, my brother allowed him to live with his ex-wife. My brother then moved thousands of miles away and it’s been years since he’s even talked to the boy, now 20.
  

I know these lives are theirs and not mine, yet I still can’t help but wonder if I will follow this same path. I pray daily that it stops with me.
 
It must stop with me, I think as I sit back down next to my lovebug. “Thanks, Mama!” she beams, taking the sippy cup from my hand and laying her head full of curls back on my chest.

mini LMFAO: Yeeeaah

I'M SEXY AND I KNOW IT

an interview

this photo and interview took place last night- about 7 hours before she officially turned the big 2.5

(i LOVE being five, by the way.)