I came to work yesterday morning and on my desk was a CD entitled "Walk to Fit." Someone had (kindly?) left me a fitness CD. Anonymously. There was no note on it, although that might not have made it any better. It was a busy morning, so I didn't have much time to think of it. But when lunch came, and I stared at the CD over my dish of strawberries, I became irritated. I asked a colleague if she knew anything about this, and she was shocked someone would do that. My perplextion grew to anger.
A fitness CD... You see, I am big. Giving a big girl a fitness CD is the equivalent of giving a middle aged man brochures on erectile dysfunction, 'cause, you know, he's of that age and probably needs it.
I called my sister, my wise and fearless sister. Jane was furious. Jane hops when she's really mad, and I could tell she was hopping on the other end of the phone. She's also a teacher who is working on her Master's, so she has very strong feelings about discrimination and harassment and can articluate herself very well. She encouraged me to take this to HR, to complain, and to stand up for myself.
So I did.
I called HR, I told my managers, and I emailed my colleagues saying someone left me the CD and I would like to return it to its proper owners. No word yet on who left it. I was sad last night, and Byron hugged me and told me he loves me just as I am. And you know what? So do I.
I'm not sad anymore. Some fool might think he or she was helping me by giving me this lame CD, but they know nothing about me. My weight has no bearing on what I do at work or how I do my job. My weight is my business and my concern. Anyone who thinks they can anonymously (!) give me advice can drop dead.
I've always been large. I've been teased growing up, but I've never had the feeling that being this size has completely limited my life in what I can do. And I have always felt that if there were things in life that I could not have done because of my weight (be a waitress in college, for example), then those things weren't really that worth it.
Before all you fat-haters out there get on me, know this. Bugger off. My overall health is fine. I go to the gym and walk to and from work. I am done making excuses to the likes of you for what I am. Digusted? Look away.
I am not embarassed by this, nor am I that angry anymore. Their advice is unwarranted and will remain unheeded. I know who I am and what I am and I have enough people in my life who love me for that. To the anonymous donor, here's some advice: Get a life and mind your own frigging business.
Beautifully Yours,
xoxoSallyS
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Sunday, January 2, 2011
Tales from the Tina File... Chapter Two
As the snow falls here in Edmonton, I think back on the summer. And with those thoughts come one of my earliest encounters with Mange Personified. Her fight with a crackwhore.
Shortly after we moved in, we realized that our new apartment had some faults. Such as Mange. And, after a few weeks, our neighbour across the hall. By and I left our house one morning, and the neighbour's door was open. In the hallway sat a scrawny girl putting on her boots, looking very strung out. We left and thought no more of it. We came back to get something, so I ran back to the building. The scrawny crackwhore was storming out of the building as I unlocked the door, and I could hear screeching from inside. It was Mange, screaming at the crackwhore.
Life is not worth living until Mange comes running down the stairs towards you in jammie pants (natch), a camisole with no bra. My life is now richer for this experience. Jealous? You should be.
Mange was screaming "f*ck you" to the crackwhore, who was screaming "no, f*ck YOU!" and that exchange of brilliance went on as the crackwhore ran down the alley. Rat Tail the Landlord and his roommate stood in the hall and they seemed proud of Mange.
We call the roommate "The Slave", since Rat Tail does nothing around here. The Slave shovels, mops the halls, handles all complaints and even walks Rat Tail's asthmatic chihuahua Arnie.
I went into our place to get something and The Slave showed up at the door. He said that Mange won't let anyone bad in this building (ha!) and will stand up to anyone doing anything illegal in this place (ha! ha!). The Slave said the crackwhore was a "friend" of the new neighbour, and was strung out on drugs. Did he not know that he was strung out most of the time, too? The smell of weed is pungent from their apartment. Now the new neighbour was being kicked out because he works in the oil patch, would not have been here a lot, and when he is here he brings crackwhores home.
Mange was just coming back to the building from chasing the crackwhore down the alley as I left. She was still raving and cursing as the door closed. Mange was Rat Tail and The Slave's hero. I, on the other hand, just witnessed a crackwhore fight.
Would anyone like to help us move?
Normally Yours,
xoxoSallyS
Shortly after we moved in, we realized that our new apartment had some faults. Such as Mange. And, after a few weeks, our neighbour across the hall. By and I left our house one morning, and the neighbour's door was open. In the hallway sat a scrawny girl putting on her boots, looking very strung out. We left and thought no more of it. We came back to get something, so I ran back to the building. The scrawny crackwhore was storming out of the building as I unlocked the door, and I could hear screeching from inside. It was Mange, screaming at the crackwhore.
Life is not worth living until Mange comes running down the stairs towards you in jammie pants (natch), a camisole with no bra. My life is now richer for this experience. Jealous? You should be.
Mange was screaming "f*ck you" to the crackwhore, who was screaming "no, f*ck YOU!" and that exchange of brilliance went on as the crackwhore ran down the alley. Rat Tail the Landlord and his roommate stood in the hall and they seemed proud of Mange.
We call the roommate "The Slave", since Rat Tail does nothing around here. The Slave shovels, mops the halls, handles all complaints and even walks Rat Tail's asthmatic chihuahua Arnie.
I went into our place to get something and The Slave showed up at the door. He said that Mange won't let anyone bad in this building (ha!) and will stand up to anyone doing anything illegal in this place (ha! ha!). The Slave said the crackwhore was a "friend" of the new neighbour, and was strung out on drugs. Did he not know that he was strung out most of the time, too? The smell of weed is pungent from their apartment. Now the new neighbour was being kicked out because he works in the oil patch, would not have been here a lot, and when he is here he brings crackwhores home.
Mange was just coming back to the building from chasing the crackwhore down the alley as I left. She was still raving and cursing as the door closed. Mange was Rat Tail and The Slave's hero. I, on the other hand, just witnessed a crackwhore fight.
Would anyone like to help us move?
Normally Yours,
xoxoSallyS
Monday, September 20, 2010
Review: Mike and Molly
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
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
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
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