All summer I've been hearing about this great new show on CBS that is finally showing average bodies on tv. It's refreshing, they said. It's novel, they said. It's about time, they said, that network tv was portraying fat people as real people.
I beg to differ.
I watched the first episode and I am not amused. As a fat girl myself, I was put off by the whole thing. To me, it was a half hour of fat jokes stringed together with a weak plot. To me, it was a vehicle to use all those fat jokes writers stack up and can't use in other shows because there's no fat people on those shows.
Mike and Molly sucks. If the producers and CBS want to be soooo original and soooo inclusive of the average American body, perhaps they can have a fat character or two in a show who add something more than a punching bag for bad jokes. Perhaps they can build a show that has fat people in it just because. Perhaps they can have chubbier characters who are experiencing average situations and not taken from a fat person's point of view. Because, you know what? My point of view as a fat person is pretty much the same as everyone else's.
To you I say good day.
xoxoSallyS
Monday, September 20, 2010
Tales from the Tina File
We live above a woman we named Mange Personified. She's trash. Pure. White. Trash. She's got a five year old girl named Raven. She wears jammie pants a lot. She used to date the landlord (hereby known as Rat Tail, since he sports one) who lives right across the hall from her. But they broke up. Since then, they like to fight in the hallway. I'm not certain, but it sounds like she stands in her doorway yelling and he stands in his doorway trying to diffuse her insanity. Mange is also a wealth of tales, some of which I'd like to share with you.
Such as last night...
We were watching tv when we heard yelling. Having heard yelling before, By and I took our positions at the top of the stairs. There, we are completely hidden from Mange and Rat Tail but can hear every trashy word.
Mange was yelling at Rat Tail for lying to her. She ranted at him for not keeping promises and breaking his word and not being truthful. In the middle of her raving, we heard Raven crying and then Mange screeching at her to go read her book. She's a great mother. I can only aspire to be like her.
We could hear Rat Tail talking softly to her, trying, we presume, to calm her down. Mange only got angrier. The eff bombs dropped, her voice got shriller, and then she laid the gem of the night, and the nugget to their fight...
"Why won't you make love to me sober?!?!"
From what we can gather, Rat Tail gets himself liquored up before going over to hit that. He actually used that phrase once to By and I when he broke the devastating news that he and Mange no longer date. He "hits that". Charmed, I'm sure.
Needless to say, Byron and I started laughing so we had to skitter back into our apartment before we got caught. Mange has a vicious temper and would have skinned us alive. From what we can gather, Rat Tail had plans to go to Mange's place for some amour, but got drunk instead. As Byron said, if he had to have sex with that beast, he'd need to be at least drunk, too.
Things got weird after that. We heard banging noises, like someone was being beaten. We think Mange took the boots to Rat Tail, but who knows. After the beating noises, the doors slammed shut and all went silent. I hope they went to their respective hovels, but I suspect Rat Tail went to fulfill his promise.
The phrase "making love" now has squicky connotations, thanks to Mange.
Chapter One-ingly Yours,
xoxoSallyS
Such as last night...
We were watching tv when we heard yelling. Having heard yelling before, By and I took our positions at the top of the stairs. There, we are completely hidden from Mange and Rat Tail but can hear every trashy word.
Mange was yelling at Rat Tail for lying to her. She ranted at him for not keeping promises and breaking his word and not being truthful. In the middle of her raving, we heard Raven crying and then Mange screeching at her to go read her book. She's a great mother. I can only aspire to be like her.
We could hear Rat Tail talking softly to her, trying, we presume, to calm her down. Mange only got angrier. The eff bombs dropped, her voice got shriller, and then she laid the gem of the night, and the nugget to their fight...
"Why won't you make love to me sober?!?!"
From what we can gather, Rat Tail gets himself liquored up before going over to hit that. He actually used that phrase once to By and I when he broke the devastating news that he and Mange no longer date. He "hits that". Charmed, I'm sure.
Needless to say, Byron and I started laughing so we had to skitter back into our apartment before we got caught. Mange has a vicious temper and would have skinned us alive. From what we can gather, Rat Tail had plans to go to Mange's place for some amour, but got drunk instead. As Byron said, if he had to have sex with that beast, he'd need to be at least drunk, too.
Things got weird after that. We heard banging noises, like someone was being beaten. We think Mange took the boots to Rat Tail, but who knows. After the beating noises, the doors slammed shut and all went silent. I hope they went to their respective hovels, but I suspect Rat Tail went to fulfill his promise.
The phrase "making love" now has squicky connotations, thanks to Mange.
Chapter One-ingly Yours,
xoxoSallyS
Saturday, September 11, 2010
My Husband is a Brave Man
We went to a comedy club last night. Those who know me know that I have a donkey bray of a laugh. If something tickles my fancy, I let the world know with my big, loud, hearty laugh. So Byron coming to a comedy club last night had the potential to be embarrassing for him.
I sat next to this young girl who fiddled with a gum wrapper all night. She would rub her fingers on it and smooth it out over and over again. She also had a weak laugh. Normally, she would have driven me crazy and I would have been distracted by her ticks. Not this time. I let out one of my donkey brays and she looked at me in horror.
We saw Debra DiGiovanni. She made jokes about big bras, skinny girls, roofies and her love of young boys. I laughed all night. The phrase "rape me where I land" will forever make me giggle.
It was a fun night. And Byron says he wasn't that embarrassed by me. In November, we're off to see David Sedaris. That should be a night of laughs. I cannot wait. I cannot say the same for Byron.
Uproariously Yours,
xoxoSallyS
I sat next to this young girl who fiddled with a gum wrapper all night. She would rub her fingers on it and smooth it out over and over again. She also had a weak laugh. Normally, she would have driven me crazy and I would have been distracted by her ticks. Not this time. I let out one of my donkey brays and she looked at me in horror.
We saw Debra DiGiovanni. She made jokes about big bras, skinny girls, roofies and her love of young boys. I laughed all night. The phrase "rape me where I land" will forever make me giggle.
It was a fun night. And Byron says he wasn't that embarrassed by me. In November, we're off to see David Sedaris. That should be a night of laughs. I cannot wait. I cannot say the same for Byron.
Uproariously Yours,
xoxoSallyS
Saturday, August 21, 2010
The Midnight Horror
Last night, By and I were fast asleep when the door buzzed at 2 a.m. Shocked and surprised, we opened the door to our young neighbour, Jazzy, who was crying hysterically. We pulled her into our apartment, thinking she's drunk and there's some silly tizzy next door. How wrong we were.
Jazzy was attacked in her apartment last night.
Jazzy is a little 18 year old girl from small town Alberta. She just moved to the city a couple months ago and from what we can hear at night, has been living it up.
Between sobs, she told me she was attacked and raped. I made her call 911. She and some friends were at a bar last night, and she met an older man. He paid for her friend to go home in a cab, and took Jazzy back to her place. He walked her up to her apartment, where he shoved her inside her apartment and attacked her. The rest of the story gets blurry, and it's none of my business.
She went out that night, she said, "to forget what happened two weeks ago". What happened two weeks ago is the scary part. Again, she went out with friends. She says she had two drinks and doesn't remember anything until the next morning when she woke up bloodied and in pain.
From her account, this little girl was raped twice in two weeks.
Jazzy shook me up last night and even today. What shakes me the most is that she was a victim twice in as many weeks. I think back on my youth and all the dumb things I did and thank god that I was never a victim.
No one's home at Jazzy's house this afternoon. I hope she's safe. We saw her come home this morning in a cab. I hope she's in a safe place, where she can heal. It's a tough lesson to learn, and poor Jazzy learned it the hardest way possible.
xoxoSallyS
Jazzy was attacked in her apartment last night.
Jazzy is a little 18 year old girl from small town Alberta. She just moved to the city a couple months ago and from what we can hear at night, has been living it up.
Between sobs, she told me she was attacked and raped. I made her call 911. She and some friends were at a bar last night, and she met an older man. He paid for her friend to go home in a cab, and took Jazzy back to her place. He walked her up to her apartment, where he shoved her inside her apartment and attacked her. The rest of the story gets blurry, and it's none of my business.
She went out that night, she said, "to forget what happened two weeks ago". What happened two weeks ago is the scary part. Again, she went out with friends. She says she had two drinks and doesn't remember anything until the next morning when she woke up bloodied and in pain.
From her account, this little girl was raped twice in two weeks.
Jazzy shook me up last night and even today. What shakes me the most is that she was a victim twice in as many weeks. I think back on my youth and all the dumb things I did and thank god that I was never a victim.
No one's home at Jazzy's house this afternoon. I hope she's safe. We saw her come home this morning in a cab. I hope she's in a safe place, where she can heal. It's a tough lesson to learn, and poor Jazzy learned it the hardest way possible.
xoxoSallyS
Friday, June 11, 2010
Ole! Ole! Ole! Ole!
I love the World Cup. I hardly ever watch sports, let alone get excited by them, but I love the World Cup. It's not the cute guys running up and down the field that makes me enjoy the matches. I have a completely un-sports related reason.
My Nanna.
In 1998, I graduated from Saint Mary's and my Nanna came over for it and stayed with us for quite a few weeks after. Nanna was a sharp woman. Her eyes may have been giving out, her hearing was not that good and her knobby knees gave her trouble. But Nanna knew what was going on. She never missed a beat. She could talk knowledgeably about any topic. Including the World Cup.
That year, we watched a lot of soccer with Nanna. She told us what teams to watch for, who was favoured to win a certain match, what player was a star. We couldn't figure out how she knew all this since she couldn't read the newspaper. But Nanna knew.
Her favourite tea that summer was Lapsang Souchong, a nasty tea that no one liked but her. When a match started, someone would make her a cup of nasty tea and she would sit in her favourite chair and start telling us who was the favourite and which team should win. She was always right.
So this year, when a match starts, I will think of Nanna. I wish I had her insight to the game. I wish she was beside me, telling me who plays for which team and who to look for.
That summer, she also watched a lot of Jerry Springer with us. The show was still new back then, so it was a novelty for everyone. Nanna was a very proper woman. No swearing, no belching, no tooting, no vulgarities. But Nanna loved Springer. Secretly, though. We would watch the show, she with her tea. When the commercials started, Nanna would throw back her head, tutting.
"Can you imagine, Janie!"
"These must be actors, Hilda!"
"They can't be serious, Sally!"
When the commercials ended, she would shush us all and become enraptured with Jerry again. She would laugh at the guests, grab my arm and say "Imagine that, Sally!"
I am imagining, Nanna. I am imagining you beside me, holding my arm, telling me you love me again. I can hear you laugh and sing and hug. I can smell your perfume and your Laspsang Souchong tea. I'm watching the World Cup with you, Nanna.
xoxoSallyS
My Nanna.
In 1998, I graduated from Saint Mary's and my Nanna came over for it and stayed with us for quite a few weeks after. Nanna was a sharp woman. Her eyes may have been giving out, her hearing was not that good and her knobby knees gave her trouble. But Nanna knew what was going on. She never missed a beat. She could talk knowledgeably about any topic. Including the World Cup.
That year, we watched a lot of soccer with Nanna. She told us what teams to watch for, who was favoured to win a certain match, what player was a star. We couldn't figure out how she knew all this since she couldn't read the newspaper. But Nanna knew.
Her favourite tea that summer was Lapsang Souchong, a nasty tea that no one liked but her. When a match started, someone would make her a cup of nasty tea and she would sit in her favourite chair and start telling us who was the favourite and which team should win. She was always right.
So this year, when a match starts, I will think of Nanna. I wish I had her insight to the game. I wish she was beside me, telling me who plays for which team and who to look for.
That summer, she also watched a lot of Jerry Springer with us. The show was still new back then, so it was a novelty for everyone. Nanna was a very proper woman. No swearing, no belching, no tooting, no vulgarities. But Nanna loved Springer. Secretly, though. We would watch the show, she with her tea. When the commercials started, Nanna would throw back her head, tutting.
"Can you imagine, Janie!"
"These must be actors, Hilda!"
"They can't be serious, Sally!"
When the commercials ended, she would shush us all and become enraptured with Jerry again. She would laugh at the guests, grab my arm and say "Imagine that, Sally!"
I am imagining, Nanna. I am imagining you beside me, holding my arm, telling me you love me again. I can hear you laugh and sing and hug. I can smell your perfume and your Laspsang Souchong tea. I'm watching the World Cup with you, Nanna.
xoxoSallyS
Saturday, April 17, 2010
Book Review - "The Bishop's Man"
It was a frustrating read.
Before Christmas, I bought Linden MacIntyre’s book “The Bishop’s Man”. I just got around to reading it the other week, after all my reserved books from the library came and went. (Loved “Galore”, adored “The Birth House”, sent packing early “A Sea of Poppies”.) I cracked MacIntyre’s book, expecting an astonishing book and one that would leave me thinking for days.
Yeah, I thought about it. I thought it was frustrating to read this book. And not because of the subject – Catholic priests diddling children and the aftermath in small-town
When I finished the book last night, the final sentence read “Wondering what might be going on”. Indeed,
Bookishly Yours,
Things a larger woman should not wear - Episode 1
Capes.
Because you will look like this:
I saw a larger woman wear a cape yesterday. Although her hair was lovely and she had really nice shoes that I coveted, the cape took all that loveliness away.
You've been warned.
Fashion-platingly Yours,
xoxoSallyS
Because you will look like this:
I saw a larger woman wear a cape yesterday. Although her hair was lovely and she had really nice shoes that I coveted, the cape took all that loveliness away.
You've been warned.
Fashion-platingly Yours,
xoxoSallyS
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