I just got a catalog from Jessica London in my mailbox. The cover features a size-6 model wearing a pretty periwinkle shirt/shell set. Having never heard of this company, imagine my surprise to discover that they cater to women who wear sizes 14W-34W.
I say, "cater" but what I should say is that they sell clothing to this group of women--they cater to the misguided illusion that women who wear plus sizes need to be deluded into thinking that they will suddenly shrink to a size 6 upon donning the outfits.
There is not a single model in the entire catalog with a BMI over 20. Gah!!
I don't wear plus sizes anymore, so I can't buy anything from this company--and if I were wearing plus sizes, I wouldn't know from the cover or inside shots that they carry them!
How is this considered "good" marketing?
I am hoping it isn't--or that it doesn't continue to be.
Things gotta change.
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
A Year Ago...
Anniversaries are pretty cool. Usually. I am a sentimental girl who thrives on marking time and remembering when. So, it should come as very little surprise that I am sort of "celebrating" a very odd anniversary.
Get to it, woman! What anniversary?
The anniversary of the major blow up event that led to my eventual divorce and rebirth as--well as me.
Sure, I made strides toward the newish me. I started the weight loss MegaChallenge thing. I went back to school. I got great haircuts and color. But it wasn't until I did the heave-ho to the marriage that I actually felt like I was making progress.
I haven't been very forthcoming with the events leading up to my divorce. It isn't shame so much as not wanting to be a dirty-laundry-airing someone. I guess being raised Southern has a stronger hold that I would like to admit. I mean, geez, it wasn't until last year that I could say out loud that I might need to lose a few (read: 50) pounds!
At the risk of sounding like a curmudgeonly marriage-basher, I just have to say, "If you hate your marriage, get the hell out of it!" If it is sucking the life out of you what are you doing sitting there making up excuses to stay?
Perhaps this is a message to the me of 2-4-8-12 years ago who thought she could work hard enough to make it all okay. Perhaps it is a message to my stuck friends who are miserable and keep hanging on. Perhaps it is totally misguided, but if I had only had the courage to walk when I first figured out that my marriage was a bust I might have saved myself and my children a whole lot of pain, grief, and therapy.
The great news? I am out of there!
Deep breath.
I am so happy to be on the other side! If I had known how precious life would be without that constant gnawing, I'd have done it so much sooner! Life has been so, so, so sweet.
Sure, there are still days when nothing seems to go right. Car parts still break. Kids still get sick. Computers still crash. The difference is that I start out with the emotional energy to deal with those every day stresses without the chronic downer of an unhappy, abusive, controlling, spiteful spouse to suck me dry before I even get started.
Yeah, I know that everyone acts in their own time. I am hardly one to point fingers--I procrastinate better than anyone I know! I wanted to make sure I had exhausted all possible options for saving the marriage before I left. Unfortunately, I almost lost my life in the process.
No, I didn't plan on getting a divorce when I stood in front of God and everybody in that parade float of a dress. Thank God I was able to change my plans before I met Him face to face--and that I get this whole new shot at figuring out what I want in life and going for it!
So, it has been a year since I figured out that if I didn't end my marriage that I would likely end up dead. I am alive! Happy birthday to me!
Get to it, woman! What anniversary?
The anniversary of the major blow up event that led to my eventual divorce and rebirth as--well as me.
Sure, I made strides toward the newish me. I started the weight loss MegaChallenge thing. I went back to school. I got great haircuts and color. But it wasn't until I did the heave-ho to the marriage that I actually felt like I was making progress.
I haven't been very forthcoming with the events leading up to my divorce. It isn't shame so much as not wanting to be a dirty-laundry-airing someone. I guess being raised Southern has a stronger hold that I would like to admit. I mean, geez, it wasn't until last year that I could say out loud that I might need to lose a few (read: 50) pounds!
At the risk of sounding like a curmudgeonly marriage-basher, I just have to say, "If you hate your marriage, get the hell out of it!" If it is sucking the life out of you what are you doing sitting there making up excuses to stay?
Perhaps this is a message to the me of 2-4-8-12 years ago who thought she could work hard enough to make it all okay. Perhaps it is a message to my stuck friends who are miserable and keep hanging on. Perhaps it is totally misguided, but if I had only had the courage to walk when I first figured out that my marriage was a bust I might have saved myself and my children a whole lot of pain, grief, and therapy.
The great news? I am out of there!
Deep breath.
I am so happy to be on the other side! If I had known how precious life would be without that constant gnawing, I'd have done it so much sooner! Life has been so, so, so sweet.
Sure, there are still days when nothing seems to go right. Car parts still break. Kids still get sick. Computers still crash. The difference is that I start out with the emotional energy to deal with those every day stresses without the chronic downer of an unhappy, abusive, controlling, spiteful spouse to suck me dry before I even get started.
Yeah, I know that everyone acts in their own time. I am hardly one to point fingers--I procrastinate better than anyone I know! I wanted to make sure I had exhausted all possible options for saving the marriage before I left. Unfortunately, I almost lost my life in the process.
No, I didn't plan on getting a divorce when I stood in front of God and everybody in that parade float of a dress. Thank God I was able to change my plans before I met Him face to face--and that I get this whole new shot at figuring out what I want in life and going for it!
So, it has been a year since I figured out that if I didn't end my marriage that I would likely end up dead. I am alive! Happy birthday to me!
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
Brain fog rolls in...
Have you ever really wanted to blog but had so few firing brain cells that you just couldn't make an entry make sense to save your traffic??
No?
Well, lemme fill you in on what it is like. I have opened the Blogger word processor no less than 15 times in the past week and started typing. I get about 5 paragraphs into it and go back and re-read what is there. I shake my head in utter dismay because it is completely unintelligible. I close the browser window and assure Blogger that, yes, I really do want to navigate away from the page without saving my changes.
Gah!
It isn't that I don't have any news. I do! I saw 145 lbs on the scale on Sunday. I went to the gym on Saturday. (Sure it was closed when I got there, but I actually laced up my shoes! That has to count for something, no??) I could tell you all sorts of stories about my wacko family--including that my mom and step-dad moved an hour away without ever officially telling me that they had bought a new house. I could even update you on my grad school progress. (Did you know that textbooks no longer come with covers? They are still over $100, but they are all paperback. I could rant for hours on this alone!)
So what, you ask, seems to be the problem?
Allergy med head.
Ugh.
I don't know why my immune system takes such strong offense to the change of seasons, but let the temperature adjust by 10 degrees and I am practically incapacitated for 2 weeks. I am allergic to just about every plant and animal on the globe. My allergist actually took pictures of my scratch tests--the reactions were so strong that my whole body looked like one big, swollen mosquito bite. Oh, and lucky me, I am one of the 3% (not a scientifically-based statistic. Go look it up if you want to know. I can't be bothered in my state.) of the population that reacts to allergy shots by getting worse. Tack on a metabolism that runs through meds in half the normal time, and you have a recipe for allergy med head.
So, forgive me if I am somewhat unaccounted for as fall arrives. I am wandering around bleary-eyed.
No?
Well, lemme fill you in on what it is like. I have opened the Blogger word processor no less than 15 times in the past week and started typing. I get about 5 paragraphs into it and go back and re-read what is there. I shake my head in utter dismay because it is completely unintelligible. I close the browser window and assure Blogger that, yes, I really do want to navigate away from the page without saving my changes.
Gah!
It isn't that I don't have any news. I do! I saw 145 lbs on the scale on Sunday. I went to the gym on Saturday. (Sure it was closed when I got there, but I actually laced up my shoes! That has to count for something, no??) I could tell you all sorts of stories about my wacko family--including that my mom and step-dad moved an hour away without ever officially telling me that they had bought a new house. I could even update you on my grad school progress. (Did you know that textbooks no longer come with covers? They are still over $100, but they are all paperback. I could rant for hours on this alone!)
So what, you ask, seems to be the problem?
Allergy med head.
Ugh.
I don't know why my immune system takes such strong offense to the change of seasons, but let the temperature adjust by 10 degrees and I am practically incapacitated for 2 weeks. I am allergic to just about every plant and animal on the globe. My allergist actually took pictures of my scratch tests--the reactions were so strong that my whole body looked like one big, swollen mosquito bite. Oh, and lucky me, I am one of the 3% (not a scientifically-based statistic. Go look it up if you want to know. I can't be bothered in my state.) of the population that reacts to allergy shots by getting worse. Tack on a metabolism that runs through meds in half the normal time, and you have a recipe for allergy med head.
So, forgive me if I am somewhat unaccounted for as fall arrives. I am wandering around bleary-eyed.
Tuesday, September 05, 2006
Swimwear Shopping or How I Faced the Dragon...
I last bought a swimsuit in February 2005. I weighed in the 190 pound range, and everything I tried on looked like what it was: a rather snug garment doing its level best to hold in all of the lumpy parts without splitting a seam. After trying on no less than three billion suits, I finally found one that I could tolerate. I have to admit that it did a pretty decent job of snugging in the bulges and holding up the flab and I wore it faithfully to pools and gym spas for over a year.
I don’t know when I noticed how large it was. Probably around the time it got warm enough to put on a swimsuit—so, June? But then life exploded and I just lived with it because, quite frankly, I would rather pluck nose hairs—even strangers’ nose hairs—than try on those latex sausage casings. That is, I used to prefer all sorts of tortures over facing the three way mirror in my almost-nakedness. But how was I to know that even this trauma could be reduced to a memory??
Labor Day is officially the best day—price wise—to purchase swimwear. Everything is 75% off and the racks still have loads of options. Any other year of my life, the following paragraph would be filled with how much I hate swimsuit shopping. Not this year. I will say that it took my very best friend practically dragging me to the mall to even get me started in the direction of replacing my trusty casing. He is a very, very patient man, (he would have to be to be my best friend after the couple of years I have had, no?) but even he was getting tired of hearing me bitch about how huge my suit was and how un-pretty I felt in it.
So we went shopping. He asked my size—in past years that would have been met with an “oh—I don’t know—um—huge??”—and I said, out loud, “Let’s start with 12s and then we can adjust.” He proceeded to pull one of every—and I do mean every—size 12 possibility off of the 20 rounders. When he had a good arm load, he handed them to me and shoved me toward the dressing room saying, “I’ll keep digging; you get started.” And so he did and I did. Out of those first 30 suits, 25 were just wrong—cut, color, fabric, or bra just didn’t do anything for me—but the other 5 were definite possibilities. When I found a suit that I was feeling pretty good about —sit down—I walked out of the dressing room and asked how it looked. Each time, I would bring an armload of non-contenders and he would replace them with his latest finds.
We finally narrowed it down to 3 that did all the stuff I wanted. (Made me look incredible, supported my post-pregnancy and weight-loss self, and covered my ass—there is nothing worse than a bulgy, saggy, up-the-butt suit.) I wanted 2 suits (75% off!!) and we decided on 2 of the three just before we noticed an adorable suit on a mannequin (I have never been the size of a suit on a mannequin!!) and said, “I might as well give it a shot.” It fit perfectly, I look fantastic in it, and long story longer I walked out of there with 2 terrific suits that I cannot wait to wear in public!
So, yes, weight-loss groupies, even the dreaded swimsuit phobia can be a thing of the past. I feel invincible!! Well, except for that little gall bladder thing that sent me rushing to the hospital last Thursday, but that is for another post.
I don’t know when I noticed how large it was. Probably around the time it got warm enough to put on a swimsuit—so, June? But then life exploded and I just lived with it because, quite frankly, I would rather pluck nose hairs—even strangers’ nose hairs—than try on those latex sausage casings. That is, I used to prefer all sorts of tortures over facing the three way mirror in my almost-nakedness. But how was I to know that even this trauma could be reduced to a memory??
Labor Day is officially the best day—price wise—to purchase swimwear. Everything is 75% off and the racks still have loads of options. Any other year of my life, the following paragraph would be filled with how much I hate swimsuit shopping. Not this year. I will say that it took my very best friend practically dragging me to the mall to even get me started in the direction of replacing my trusty casing. He is a very, very patient man, (he would have to be to be my best friend after the couple of years I have had, no?) but even he was getting tired of hearing me bitch about how huge my suit was and how un-pretty I felt in it.
So we went shopping. He asked my size—in past years that would have been met with an “oh—I don’t know—um—huge??”—and I said, out loud, “Let’s start with 12s and then we can adjust.” He proceeded to pull one of every—and I do mean every—size 12 possibility off of the 20 rounders. When he had a good arm load, he handed them to me and shoved me toward the dressing room saying, “I’ll keep digging; you get started.” And so he did and I did. Out of those first 30 suits, 25 were just wrong—cut, color, fabric, or bra just didn’t do anything for me—but the other 5 were definite possibilities. When I found a suit that I was feeling pretty good about —sit down—I walked out of the dressing room and asked how it looked. Each time, I would bring an armload of non-contenders and he would replace them with his latest finds.
We finally narrowed it down to 3 that did all the stuff I wanted. (Made me look incredible, supported my post-pregnancy and weight-loss self, and covered my ass—there is nothing worse than a bulgy, saggy, up-the-butt suit.) I wanted 2 suits (75% off!!) and we decided on 2 of the three just before we noticed an adorable suit on a mannequin (I have never been the size of a suit on a mannequin!!) and said, “I might as well give it a shot.” It fit perfectly, I look fantastic in it, and long story longer I walked out of there with 2 terrific suits that I cannot wait to wear in public!
So, yes, weight-loss groupies, even the dreaded swimsuit phobia can be a thing of the past. I feel invincible!! Well, except for that little gall bladder thing that sent me rushing to the hospital last Thursday, but that is for another post.
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