Fat Life, Stage 2. October 24, 2002.

Dear Journal,

Oh my god, today was the 2nd time in like a week some guy has made a rude comment about my weight!  friggin T.J. was like “Oh, Allison’s fat too, she needs her money.”  This was after Nick B. had asked for a dime so he could feed his fat self.  I just stared @ him + was like “that wasn’t funny.”  He was like “I was just kidding,” but I said it wasn’t cool.  He kept saying sorry but I wouldn’t say OK so eventually he stopped.  Come on people, I’m not even that big!  I mean its not like I even need over 13 size pants, and most are big on me!

W/e, well I get so stupid when I’m talking to Craig!  I say things some-times that make me look so dumb!  Ugh I hate how I do that.  Hopefully he knows me well enough to get it that I don’t usually act that way, especially by accident!  Can’t wait till tomorrow.  If something dramatic happens I’ll def write even if I’m sad.


Allison Pickering: not taking shit since 2002.  Amen and Hallelujah, Little A!  I am much more the advocate for forgiveness today, but I think the presence of hard-nosed chicks on this planet are necessary for the good of all women.  If I found myself saying “this is the second time in a week so guy has made a rude comment about my weight” in 2012 though, I would already be on America’s Most Wanted because this string would have snapped long ago.  8th grade seems a little late to have negative social graces.  Come on, people!  I feel like a phoenix having risen through the ashes of middle school, and I say this on a day I’ve started a 2-4 week cleanse called the Fat Flush Diet.  Yes, you read correctly.  Somehow I am actually loving it after the 48 hours of excess I had this weekend on top of the weeks glutenous, unemployed blob life I’ve been living at home.

When you grow up, you assume total control of your body.  Unfortunately, for some women and the hoards of men wishing the upkeep of dat ass/stomach/legs/etc. would, for the love of God, match their stunning faces, not all grab the fat by the rolls the way we should once we realize it’s time to get our shit together.  Some of us “try,” others do, and many fall into a tragic pit of despair, eventually dragging their lard asses to food addicts anonymous where they admit to God and each other they have lost all power over the inanimate substance of sustenance.  I will not become the latter as long as I am connected to any social media outlet or are required to face the public.  I have also reached a jedi-like point where I know genuinely that “there is no try; only do,” and therefore am done with trying.  I want to feel good, and I’ve accepted it does take a lot of hard work and resistance to temptation to get what you want.  Duh!  The kid who flunked history class last semester sure won’t be passing in the spring without some serious dedication.  I also really want to work and live in New York City, so hopefully a tandem working of goals here will keep me more focused than ever.

I once found this “Stages of Fat” blog post I hope you’ll enjoy.  The one I gravitated to, of course, was “Stage 2: Topanga Fat.”  Here it is for you to giggle at and be slightly, if not totally, turned on by:

I loved this in particular for its unapologetic highlight of not making exercise a priority because you still get laid just the way you are; this has been my private/drunkenly public reason for not getting in great shape for years, but I saw the light this summer and I’d prefer to get asked out at stoplights and chased out of bars than settle for the winners I’ve accepted into my life thus far.  I’m ready for real men, and, more importantly, my real self from the inside out.  Just be warned, she is awesome and knows she’s hot–if her self-love gets out of control, all friends and acquaintances alike have permission to slap said future self in the face; acquaintances who give slaps for this reason will instantly become inner-circle friends.

Obviously I am hungry now, so I’m going to read Michael Pollan’s Food Rules which was just dropped in front of me by my mother’s wonderfully health-conscious friend, Pat.  She may be the angel I’ve needed while living at home.  Wish me luck and a high tolerance for cranberry juice in the next few weeks!


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