Random Acts of Kindness

My (very) elderly neighbor is frail. She has mobility issues and she sometimes needs an oxygen tank. She gets the newspaper on the weekends, and our paper deliveryman/woman always chucks it into the vestibule. He/she doesn’t know that this little old lady struggles to bend. So every weekend morning, I get the paper and put it on her window ledge. So she doesn’t have to struggle in finding out that very little, if anything, ever happens in the big scary city.

ImageOMG, a cat went missing!

So after I went to Big G’s family dinner yesterday, and after someone kindly let me cut in line at the gas station, I started to think about what yesterday was all about. I am of course thankful for my family, for my friends, for my health (50% of the time at least), but I also think that everyone should stride towards doing something to make things just a touch nicer for themselves and for other people. Sort of like Pay It Forward without the little kid dying at the end.

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Sorry. Should have made a spoiler alert.

So today, when everyone in America is out trampling people to death for a new flat screen tv at Walmart, do something kind to or for someone else. Help an old lady at the supermarket to reach the can of peaches. Let someone merge into traffic (but only if they use their blinker goddamnit). Ask the teller who has probably been on their feet how their day has gone, and really mean it. You will be surprised to see how people respond to random acts of kindness. It makes you feel good.

ImageAsk yourself: What would GaGa do?

Until next time, stay classy (and good to one another) Salt Lake.

Losing Myself: Again

 

Hello world! I have lost 110 pounds. Which is something to consider, given the fact that I am writing this on Thanksgiving. I am still struck by the fact that I have been able, in the last eleven months, that I have almost lost half of my body weight. That’s sort of insane. Right?

 

ImageSeriously. This is happening.

So, after going to Utah County for Thanksgivikkuh (thanks Big G!), I find myself wearing clothes that I haven’t worn since the Clinton administration. It’s hard to believe that a year (almost) ago I was so big that airports had to declare me in the cargo section because I was a person of size.

ImageSuper Fun Day, BTW, is adorbs.

So go ahead, judge me. On a night that is dedicated to decadence, I will stay strong to essentially, and literally, become half the man I used to be.

Until next time, stay classy Salt Lake.

What the Flock

Ok. I know the old saying is that people that live in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones. And I don’t live in a glass house (I do have a shit-ton of windows though), so I feel like I am allowed to throw whatever I want. Stones. Shade. Bottlecaps. The works. As I watched two little girls on Ellen dancing with Britney Spears, the commercial break featured a commercial about trees that were pre-lit and flocked.

ImageWhat the flock are they talking about.

Flocking is where people take amazingly decorated trees and spray something one can only assume causes cancer all over them so that they look fake, ugly, and covered in papier mâché (I know, I’m so fancy, huh). They look crusty, and gross, and children under the age of eight are probably at risk of eating the white crud, causing digestive issues, and again, the cancer. I know that I am known for tackiness, especially when it comes to holiday decorations.

ImageThis will be me some day. Some day.

I get wanting to celebrate the holidays. I like being festive. But when it looks like a Lowe’s paint can full of separated drywall paint sharted all over your Christmas tree, I can’t support that. You want to have a giant tree with fiber optic lights? Sure. Pre-lit? Not a problem. Obnoxious color schemes? I’ll back that up. But flocking is ugly. There, I said it. I think it looks terrible. It detracts from what would otherwise be a lovely tree.

ImageIt’s a little full. Big tree. A lot of sap.

BTW, totally tangentially related, my father lives for watching Christmas Vacation every year, solely for the scene where Randy Quaid is emptying his raw sewage into the local sewer system in his underwear, terrifying the Griswold’s neighbors and smoking a cigar. He’ll be spaced out, puttering around the house or getting food, until either he notices or we tell him that the scene is coming up, wherein he would leave a firefight to sit on the couch and watch the scene.

ImageWords. There are no words for this.

So please, everyone. Don’t flock. It’s not cute. Stay classy (and festive) Salt Lake.

The Curse

Oh, HELLO 2am! Where have you been all my life? Here I was squandering you away with sleeping so that I could go to work and raise money for poor people to help them get housing. What an idiot I was. I could have been up, awake in the middle of the night for absolutely no reason, with no recourse or option of sleeping. How the hell are you?

ImageI’m super. Thanks for asking.

I don’t know how long I’ve struggled with sleep problems. Maybe my whole life. At least the parts I remember, so since what, age 5? I wake up for no reason. Warm milk is a joke; warm showers work on rare occasion. Over the counter sleep meds are like Pez at this point. Typically I will watch TV, watching the Ronco infomercials educate me on the newest and improved kitchen gadgets. Food dehydrators! Sandwich machines! A blanket you can wear because you’ve given up all hope on any form of intimate relationship!

ImageJudge not, lest ye be judged.

So I sit here, having finished my edit of the draft of the book, utterly and hopelessly awake, considering my options. I can go lay in bed, in the pathetic hope that by laying in a dark room I may actually fall asleep for a few more hours so that I am not drinking pots of coffee tomorrow. Or I guess today. Fat chance on that. I could watch Hulu but Wednesday nights are slow. Or I could blog about my frustrations, in the hopes that someone out there has some new and improved meds, something like Ambien, but not so strong that I drive to Smith’s asleep in the middle of the night to buy cranberry juice, which for the record, happened two years ago. Which is why I don’t take Ambien anymore.

ImageTrust me. For the record, waking up to receipts in your pockets and cranberry juice in your refrigerator with no recollection of driving is terrifying.

So until next time, stay classy (and awake, in the middle of the f-ing night) Salt Lake.

Twerking through Illness: A Primer

When I woke up this morning, I realized that my body had lost the battle. I have another sinus infection. Well, strike that, it’s probably the same one I had last month that I “powered through” without antibiotics because (and this might be something you don’t know about me) I am allergic to penicillin, which means that I always end up with second-line antibiotics. Which means that I will eventually become patient zero of some mega-epidemic that decimates the human population.

ImageAnd I don’t want to be responsible for the demise of civilization.

So after watching the last episode of Glee (I admit it, I have a thing for the guy who plays Jake) I threw on some clothes and dragged my infectious ass to the grocery store. I picked up my prescriptions, which I am faithfully taking this time, and bought some matches. Because I realized the other day I didn’t have any and, again, you need to be apocalypse-prepared in case there’s a rapture or some of the crazier things that happened in This Is The End.

ImageEmma Watson, you are hilarious. Marry me.

So I came out of the store, unlocked the Toaster, and saw that there was some sort of flier underneath my windshield wiper. Frustrated, I hit the blade and snagged what ended up being a little note. I pulled over (if you shouldn’t text while driving, reading is probably also something you should avoid, right?) and started to read it. Apparently, I rock the bed head look with a Pac-Man shirt, because it was from a lady who had seen me in the parking lot and thought I was, in her words a cutie.

ImageSigh. I ask the gods for unsolicited numbers, and the ladies respond. What a cruel world.

So I find myself sniffling through terrible morning television (which I am convinced would correlate positively and strongly with Utah’s nation-topping prescription drug abuse problem), and smiling to myself that someone thought that I was pretty. It doesn’t happen as much as I would like it to, and while Katie didn’t pick up on me batting for the other team, it made me feel good. If only my milkshake brought all the boys to the yard. But that’s its whole own blog post. Losing 108 pounds apparently makes you more attractive. Who knew?

ImageShoutout to me and my cousin, looking pretty during my east coast vacay.

I will try to conference in to a few meetings today to stay busy, and I think I’ll edit the book, which I think needs a few more gratuitous sex scenes. Right now I think there are only 2, which is ridiculous; 42 chapters with two sex scenes? What is this, Puritan University? I ain’t having it. So give me a buzz if you’re bored today, because I’ll be convalescing for the rest of the morning, watching the drag queens sing to me like sirens while chasing the cat off of the dining room table.

Until next time, stay classy (and healthy goddamit) Salt Lake.

Vibrams: Condoms for your Feet

I have infamously bad taste when it comes to footwear. I like anything that doesn’t require tying my shoes, and I live for velcro. And when I found these shoes that separate your toes on a clearance at REI (whatever the hell I was doing, don’t ask, it must have been for work or something), I knew I’d found my new favorite shoes.

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I know they’re ugly. But they’re some comfortable!

After a 5 year long stint with my Crocs (which I have been told by others are clunky, ugly, and even offensive) I’ve switched gears on good weather days to my Vibrams, which keep my toes from bunching and provide basic arch support. And while they’ll never win a fashion contest, they are f-ing comfortable as all get out. And I can typically find some when I hit up my favorite places in the whole wide world: Clearance sales.

ImageI live there. I bought a house there. One man’s trash is my treasure.

So while I know there are haters out there that think my finger-toe-shoes are ugly, I say bring it. Because at the end of the day, as you judge me for my footwear, I judge you for your tacky sweaters and assless chaps. Which I thankfully missed last night when I went out with V. We rocked Try-Angles (where people who should not have been wearing nothing but underwear in public were the only people participating in the underwear night) and then I hit on my favorite bartender for a drinky or two while trying, and failing, to get the one hot guy to notice me. He, instead, spent all night chasing boys that frankly I thought I was cuter than. Pretentious? Maybe. But still true.

ImageOk, I think I’m cuter than this, no?

So now I’m in the process of editing the book I wrote in less than two weeks. Which was madness. I’m firmly planted on the couch after playing with Newbs, watching terrible Sunday afternoon television and wondering how to spend the rest of my weekend. Movies? Reading? Making out with some hot dude that just shows up at my house, wanting a cup of sugar?

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He can have all the sugar he wants.

So until next time, stay classy (and fashion-impaired) Salt Lake.

The Trans Community and Women of Size

I almost titled this blog posting, “and now for something completely different.” But I knew that would be a ruse. A RUSE! Because although I can’t wrap my head around why I find genderbending so fascinating, you all know full well that I have blerged in the past about some of my favorite campy drag queens. Especially Willam. I heart Willam.

 

ImageThat is a wig. NURSE.

But as a (former) person of size, I find it intriguing that this community is far more supportive of plus sized women than the mainstream. Sure, there are fashion models that are advertised to be plus-sized, coming in at a whopping size 14 (which last I checked was the average size of an American woman), but the fact that I’ve seen more glamorous, larger than life drag queens isn’t solely due to the fact that I enjoy watching videos of spoof songs by the trouble triplets. It helps, no doubt. But let’s examine the evidence.

ImageMeet Vicky Vox.

Vicky is amazing. She has fabulous fashion sense, she can dance and sing just as long and as hard as her skinnier counterparts, and she’s fierce. The fact that she is visible in the trans and drag queen community shows just how all-encompassing their community is. She is brash, and inappropriate, and she makes me smile. This isn’t to detract from women like Gabourey Sidibe or Melissa McCarthey or Adele. They are also icons of popular culture.

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We could have had it ALLLLLLLL.

These women are incredible. And the exception. Modern America dictates that women be stick thin, which fairly boggles the mind considering that a third of us are overweight or obese. It’s challenging to think that I feel more confident that my nieces will learn more about how to accept however their bodies end up by watching pretty boys in dresses as opposed to confident, secure women in the media. So the next time you’re in the Chik-Fil-A drive through, waiting for your McDiabetes meal (which I miss dearly, and think back on fondly), try to think out loud and name five celebrity women of size.

ImageAnd you can’t use any of the ones listed in the blerg. Sorry ’bout it.

Until next time, stay classy (and whatever the hell size you want to be) Salt Lake.