Category Archives: Weight/body image

Extreme Generic Shopping.

I had to drive out to my sister’s house today. While I was there, she offered to take me to a little store around the corner from her house that she described as having “cute clothes for big girls.”
My very first thought was to say something like “Um, maybe another day!” because, well, shopping for clothes when you’re as big as I am is a leeeeeeeeeeettle embarrassing. But, here’s the thing. My sister has a great sense of style and I would have been stupid to turn down an offer to have a personal shopper. So, once again, I stepped W-A-Y outside of my comfort zone and went with her to do a little shopping.
I won’t bore you with the details of the trip (which basically consists of me saying “but this is way too tight!!” and my sister saying “YOU HAVE TO STOP WEARING THINGS THAT ARE TOO BAGGY AND ONLY MAKE YOU LOOK BIGGER!!”) But, I will tell you that I now have actual, real clothes that are not track suits and that they are kind of cute, even if I’m not 100% comfortable wearing a shirt that shows all of The Rolls..
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If I told you that I got all of them there clothes for under $100 would you believe me? No? Ok, but what if I told you that that I bought them at a place called… ARE YOU READY FOR THIS?? Mrs & Plus Size. You’d probably believe me then, right? NO!?
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Duuuuuuuuudes.
Translation: Old and Fat Wimmins! WE’VE GET YER JEANS RIGHT HERE! I mean, what else could that possibly mean? Why must it be so hard to shop for plus size clothes? AND WHY ARE THEY MOCKING ME WITH THEIR BIG YELLOW LETTERS?
But… $6.99 t-shirts that fit. I forgive them

Juicy “Fruit”.

I recently made the decision to start working out again. There really are no words to express how happy I am to be “back in the gym” so why don’t I just go ahead and show you a picture I took last night as I was getting ready to leave to go torture myself on the elliptical machine.
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(No, you’re not imagining it. I really am that beautiful. )
I hate going because I am a total trainwreck at the gym these days. (Thank you, Hashimotos.) My legs have actually given out on me while on the elliptical, I start wheezing after 10 minutes, I have to continually check my heart rate (because I’m not supposed to let it get over 150). It’s embarrassing, man. And yet, I soldier on because I know that it’s crucial for both my physical and mental health.
I don’t have high expectations of losing 70 pounds like I did before. My motivation is purely to improve my health so that sometime in the near future I’ll stop feeling like I’m half dead and maybe have the energy to give my husband an unexpected blow job again! And if I’m lucky? I’ll drop a pound or two.
In other news…
Next Wednesday I will be boarding a plane at 7 in the morning and making my way to New Jersey and then, New York City. My mouth literally waters when I think of all of the fun that I am going to have seeing old friends again, (and possibly, hopefully, meeting new ones) I could come up with a list as long as my tittays hang of reasons NOT to go (OMG! I need FIVE DIFFERENT OUTFITS!?!) but the benefit of being surrounded by friends in a city that I love outweighs every single one of the excuses I can come up with to not go.
(Did that make any sense? The Hash is RAGING today and I am having trouble thinking straight. Or maybe it’s not The Hash at all, but the effing smoothie I have been trying to drink since breakfast messing with my brain because who knew a pound of fruit could taste like something that comes out of ones ass?)
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A pound of fruit? MORE LIKE A POUND OF JUICY FART, MAN. No, seriously, it actually tastes like a fart and I’m kind of pissed off that I spent $10 on 4 bottles of that crap.

I Wanna Soak Up the Sun.

Yesterday, a a friend asked me how I was doing.
My response?
I’m doing good today. I’ve just been keeping myself busy, going outside to enjoy the sunshine and soaking up the love of my family.
It’s amazing to me how dramatically my spirits lift when I step outside and feel the warmth of the sunshine on my skin.

For too long, I’ve been dwelling on the fact that my body is at war with itself. I’ve been dwelling on the fact that I no longer recognize my body in the mirror. I’ve been dwelling on the fact that I’m going to have to take medication for the rest of my life. I’ve been dwelling on the fact that I wasn’t taken seriously the first time that I knew something was wrong.
Oh! Poor, poor puffy me.
I have made a decision to stop dwelling on the negative, as real as it is, and to start focusing on that which is good and that which is wonderful. I am blessed to have health insurance that allows me to seek treatment for that which is wrong with me. I am blessed to have an imperfect, but wonderful family who continue to love me and support me even though I’ve not been the most pleasant of people to be around.
I am choosing to seek out that which is beautiful in the world around me. I pay close attention to the little things. The pretty flowers that are blooming around me. The sound of my boys jamming to “Under the Bridge” in the garage. The soft touch of my daughter’s hand on my arm as I read her a bedtime story. The unexpected hug from my husband as we pass each other in the hallway.
It is these ordinary, every day moments of my life that give me the strength that I need to keep me from crawling back into bed and dwelling. I grab onto each little moment with both hands and hold it close to my heart.
While this shift in thinking hasn’t magically turned my life into one big Chocolate Covered Strawberry, it most definitely has helped me pick myself up off of the tear soaked floor and try to enjoy life again. And for that, I’m grateful because, ALL things considered, I have a pretty sweet life.
In closing, I would like to leave you with some pictures of the absolute funniest thing in my life at the moment.
My daughter attempting to “cross her eyes” and yes, I ask her to do it at least 10 times a day.
I realize you won’t find it as funny as I do, but even still.. enjoy.
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Dear Body,

(If you pay any attention to my sidebar, you may have noticed a linked titled “learning to love my body”. That’s a letter that I wrote to my body on May 15, 2006. I am re-posting that letter today for BlogHer’s “Letter to my Body” initiative.)
Making peace with you, learning to love you is harder than I imagined it would be.
You gave me my beautiful children, my three beautiful children. It should be easy to love you for that reason alone. I do love you for that. I do.
But, my God, I hate you too.
I hate you because I am a slave to you. I hate you because there are so many things in life I’ve not been able to do because of the fears and insecurities I have about you.
Your sagging breasts embarrass me.
Your gaping hole of a belly button repulses me.
Your stretch marks humiliate me.
Your loose, hanging skin infuriates me.
The excess fat that you continue to hold onto so tightly angers me.
My husband loves you. He desires you. He thinks you’re beautiful. Sexy, even. I don’t understand how he can feel that way. I truly do not.
I want to feel the way he does about you. I want to love you. I want to love looking at you, or at the very least, not want to puke when I look at you.
It’s hard to look at you without crying. Especially when I compare you to other, beautiful bodies. Or to the way you used to look.
You used to be so beautiful.
I know it’s not fair to compare you to other women, or to your young self. But it’s hard not to. Everywhere I look, I’m bombarded with images of bodies that look nothing like you. It’s hard not to feel like a freak of nature when all of the images I see look so completely different than you. I once saw images that looked similar to you. It was a campaign for “real beauty” and I cried with joy and suddenly didn’t feel like such a freak. But then? I heard people talking about how ugly those bodies looked and how they were repulsed by what they had seen, and how those women had NO business taking pictures in their underwear because no one wanted to see all of that and suddenly, my tears of joy turned once again to tears of shame and hatred towards you.
I’ve become more comfortable with “The Clothed You.” I would have NEVER taken Aerobic Dance Class in the past because I would have been too ashamed and self conscience of my Lumpy Ass, or the Jiggly Arms. But after having shed a few pounds, I have learned to accept my Clothed Self.
But when the clothes come off, HATE HATE HATE what I see.
I’m tired of hating you, of fighting with you, of wishing you were different. So very tired of wasting all of my energy in that way.
I just wanted you to know that I don’t want to hate you or be ashamed of you anymore, I’m just completely lost as to how to NOT feel this way anymore.
But I’m working on it. Be patient with me.
(photo removed.)

Let’s play a game. Every time I say “My Thyroid” you get to punch me in the vagina.

It’s been 25 days since I began taking my daily thyroid medication and guess what? I still feel like ass.
And not a happy ass either. A sad, tired, balding, forgetful, dry, fat ass.
There have been a few positive things happen since I began taking my medication (.25mg of Levothro*d). Within 4 days I started my period, which had been missing since the beginning of November. I also initiated Sessual Relations. TWICE! That may not sound like a big deal, but considering that the last few times we’ve had Sex I actually asked “do you care if I just lay here?” (Answer: of COURSE NOT!) it was a pretty big deal to me.
But, for the most part, there’s not been a significant change since I started the meds.
I feel particularly bad today.
“How bad do you feel?”
I feel SO bad that I took G to day care, even though it was my day off and I slept from 8:30 to 10:30.
I did manage to drag my ass out of bed and head to Kohls to buy a new outfit.
Shutup! At least it's not the black Daisy Fuentes suit!
Sadly, it’s another track suit, but! It’s not velour! And it’s not of the Daisy Fuentes variety! (About the striped shirt… It fit. I bought it. Howza’bout we never speak of it again. Ok?)
I also began the process of cleaning out my closet. I had been thinking about doing it for some time now (which is why I wrote the post and decided to share my humiliating “one outfit” secret with you.) I knew it was time, and the comments that were left on the post gave me the “push” that I needed to do it. That said, it hasn’t been easy packing things up. Why is it so damn hard for me to get rid of these clothes? I’ll tell you why. They remind me of a time in my life where I was healthy and happy. They remind me of concerts I went to with friends that I loved. They remind me of nights I would put on my Stetson hat and Justin Ropers and go Line Dancing (Don’t make me bust out The Watermelon Crawl.) They remind me of a time when I could buy clothes because they were cute and not because they made me look a little less obese.
There were a few pieces in particular that I’m having a hard time letting go of, but I’ve pulled out a storage box from the garage and they’re going to a local thrift shop this weekend.
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This dress from Old Navy is probably the one that is the hardest for me to part with and probably because it’s a size 6. I can pull this dress out at any time and say “Look! I used to wear a size 6!” I’ve secretly dreamed of fitting in that dress again for EIGHT YEARS. Time to let go of the dream.
Same goes for these (short) shorts from Old Navy.
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I’ve not worn shorts since somewhere around 1999 and yet I hold onto those shorts if only to hold them up and say “I can’t believe I used to fit in these.”
It’s time to move on.
That doesn’t mean I have to give up on losing weight. That doesn’t mean that I’ll never fit in a size that I feel comfortable in again. It just means it’s time to start living in the here and now. And the “here and now” is a size 20, not a size six. DID YOU HEAR THAT BRAIN?
I absolutely have to focus all of my energy and getting healthy and right now getting healthy starts with getting my thyroid medications just right so that my body is functioning properly.
I’m tired of feeling the way that I feel and I’m hoping that adding a few pieces to my one outfit wardrobe will perhaps add a little joy to my daily life because I’m tired of looking so damn…
Hashimoto.
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(Taken last night, just before bed. I know.)

Making Daisy Proud.

I’d like to introduce you to someone.
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Meet My Outfit.
My One and Only Outfit.
The one outfit that I wear every single day. And I’m not even kidding.
She’s a black velour sweat suit that I got from Kohls and yes, she is of the Daisy Fuentes variety.
Here’s the deal.
When I lost weight, I threw away all of my fat clothes because “I’m never going to be that fat again for as long as I live!” Then, I gained weight back and bought a “few things to last until I lose the weight again!”
Strangely, I refused to throw away my Skinny clothes when I gained weight because someday I’m going to fit into those size 7 pants again!”
Picture or Video 1628So, I am stuck with a closet full of clothes that DO NOT FIT ME. Not one thing hanging in there fits me.
There are clothes ranging from a size 6 to a size 18 and not a single thing fits me.
Not a single thing.
“Why don’t you just go buy some new clothes!” People say.
“Because I refuse to buy clothes in this size!” I say. “They’re ugly and expensive and HATE HATE HATE WILL NOT DO IT.”
And so, I am stuck with one black velour sweat suit that I wash every night and wear every day.
It’s so sad I want to cry.
But I won’t! Because IT’S STUPID TO CRY ABOUT DAISY FUENTES SWEAT SUITS FROM KOHLS.
(Oprah’s all “but it’s not about The Daisy Fuentes sweat suit! What’s really going on here, Y?)
Today, as I went through the clothes hanging in my closet, I kept asking myself “Why are you hanging onto these clothes that you’ll never fit in again?”
I can’t come up with a good answer.
I know I should pack them up and start buying new things that fit. But I can’t let go. I keep holding on to the dream. I can’t help but think that in holding onto those old clothes, I’m hindering myself from moving forward and finding true contentment where I’m at RIGHT THIS MINUTE. I need to stop living in the past and make peace with the present. I finally realize this and yet, I continue to keep those clothes on the hangers in my closet.
If only I could find the strength to pack those clothes up and to go shopping for clothes that I’m comfortable in, even if they are a size 20.
I don’t know if I can find the strength to do it.
Besides…
This Daisy Fuentes suit is really fucking comfortable.

Thank you for making me feel safe enough to actually hit “publish” on this one.

History of The Fat:
High School: Thought I was fat. Starved myself, took laxatives, worked out excessively. Still thought I was fat.
Twenties: Gained 20 pounds first few years of marriage, was a whopping 145 pounds. Went on crazy diets and worked out excessively. Got down to 130 pounds. Still thought I was fat. Got pregnant, gained 50 pounds. Started working out 6 weeks post partum. Lost the weight. Still thought I was fat. Got pregnant, gained a buttload of weight again. Lost the weight. Still thought I was fat as shown in the picture below that I recently found on my computer titled “stillfat1”
stillfat
Thirties: Gained weight. Lost weight. Missed out on events with friends and families because I thought I was too fat to enjoy my life. Gained weight. Lost a lot of weight. Still thought I was fat. Went through a severe depression. Turned to food for comfort. Gained weight. A lot of weight. I didn’t just THINK I was fat now. I WAS fat. Went on anti depressants. Gained more weight. Saw the numbers 200 on the scale. Wanted to die. Found out I was pregnant with a child we didn’t plan. Tipped the scale at 250 pounds. Had the baby. Felt disgusting. Decided to lose the weight by eating right and working out hard. Documented it on the internet. Lost weight. Over 70 pounds of weight. Stopped losing weight. Couldn’t lose anymore weight no matter how hard I worked out. Became discouraged. Gained weight. Gained more weight. Started to feel depressed, ashamed. Tired. Wondered if there was something else wrong. Doctor said nothing was wrong. Stopped working out. Started eating a little more than I should. Tipped the scale at 225 pounds. (You read that right. two.twenty.five)
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(My Ass is all “Hello! Would you like to rest a cup on me?”)
Found out that there WAS something wrong. Something called Hashimoto’s disease. It all made sense. The inability to lose weight. The gain. The depression.
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(That right there should be the poster for what my “condition” looks like. Dry skin, frizzy, thinning hair, puffy face. Exhaustion. Depression. DROOPY EYE.)
***
I’ve tried to write about my weight gain at least 20 times. And every time, I sit here and start typing, then I delete. I type again… delete. Walk away. Try again.
Delete.
Today—I decided I wasn’t going to delete. No matter how bad it came out, not matter how horrible it sounded or how many mistakes. I was just going to write and write and write and get it out once and for good. I want to delete what’s up there. It’s horribly written, it’s not what I wanted to say, but I’m not going delete it.
I don’t know why it’s so hard or why I’m hitting a wall, but it is and I am.
Maybe it’s because I don’t want it to turn into a book, or because I’m just tired of talking about my weight, or because I meant what I said in this post and I am trying to be a good example to my daughter and not focus on my Feelings (nothing more than feelings) when it comes to my weight. God knows I’ve wasted a great deal of my life being consumed with how I feel about my weight (see: Self Centered Asshole.) and I’ve been working really hard to change that.
That said: I’m fat again and it sucks.
I hate getting dressed. Nothing fits me and I refuse to buy the ugly ass clothes they sell in my size, so I wear the same velour sweat suit from Kohls pretty much every day.
I’m ashamed. Having lost a great deal of weight and documenting it for the internet was a wonderful, mostly positive experience for me. But having gained the weight back, I feel like both a fraud and a failure.
I realize that there is an explanation for the weight gain. There’s a “condition” that I can blame it on, but the truth is that had I continued to eat right and work out, the gain wouldn’t be so severe. But the truth of the matter is that I couldn’t work out. I have been so tired, so overwhelmingly tired, that it’s a struggle to get out of bed most days and even THINKING about getting on the treadmill or lifting weights makes me weep. Literally weep.
I certainly could have made better choices with food, but the truth is that I was trying to make myself feel better with food.
I’m not blaming the entire weight gain on My Thyroid. I mean, my thyroid didn’t force me to eat BBQ chips at midnight. My thyroid didn’t make me eat sugar cookies with chocolate frosting. I take full responsibility for making bad choices. That said, I now know that my thyroid was the reason I hit a wall with the weight loss and the reason, no matter how hard I worked out, I couldn’t lose a single pound. I know that it’s the reason I gained 3 pounds after doing the Atkins diet for 2 weeks without cheating one bit. And so, I’m trying to be kind to myself in that regard. I’m trying really fucking hard to not completely fall apart and hide from the world because I know that to a certain degree, it was out of my control. (Again, I KNOW THAT I HAD SOME CONTROL AND THAT NOT ALL PEOPLE WITH MY CONDITION ALLOW THEMSELVES TO GET THIS FAT SO SAVE YOUR ENERGY, OH HATERS AND DON’T WASTE YOUR TIME CREATING FAKE EMAIL ACCOUNTS TO TELL ME THIS, OK?! OK!)
It’s not easy. I AM ashamed. I DO feel disgusted with myself, with the way that I look and feel, but I’m trying with everything in me to not let it consume me.
I’ll never be the girl who hugs her fat rolls and tells them that I love them because they’re beautiful and precious, but I most certainly am trying to be the girl who loves her life and the people she’s been blessed to have in it more than she hates the way her body looks.
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(Look! Proof that it is possible to be totally ashamed of the way that you look and yet pose, with fish lips (because fish lips TOTALLY make your face look thinner!) and pretend to be happy and comfortable showing the world how fat you are again!)

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HAHA@ my life.

Me: I am glad I didn’t give into my “feelings” and cancel. I had so much
fun with Jodi. I’m really glad that I went.
Him: And why were you going to cancel?
Me: The usual reasons. I’m fat and I have nothing to wear.
Him: Well then, lose weight and go shopping. Seriously.
I suppose that a certain someone who dreams of hunting pigs has had it up TO HERE with my whining about my weight.
But you know what? I’m right there with him. More on that once I get this “notice of suspension” from the DMV taken care of.

Life Changing Words

This morning I read something that has shaken me to the core of my being.
I was reading a post at Blogher by Denise on a book titled “Perfect Girls, Starving Daughters.”
This subject is near and dear to my heart, because I am a mother to a daughter and I am a woman who has spent the majority of her life hating (not feeling comfortable with) her body.
The last line of her post knocked the wind out of me and I’ve been crying every since I read it.

More than 1/2 of American women 18-25 would prefer to be run over by a truck or die young than be fat. More than 2/3 would rather be mean or stupid than be fat.
Would you rather be mean or stupid than fat? And what, exactly, is “fat”? 5lbs overweight? 50lbs? At what point would you rather be dead… if you’re a mom – at what point would your daughter want to be dead? Have you asked her?

It is quite possible that those words–that ONE question– has forever changed me.
I want desperately to put into words WHY it has affected me so deeply, but I’m having a hard time doing that.

Perhaps the answer is really as simple as this: “I don’t ever want my daughter to feel the way that I have felt for most of my adult life about my body.”

I may not have ever wished to be dead rather than fat, but in so many ways, I have been dead. I’ve locked myself in my house, I’ve avoided people that I love, I’ve stayed home from celebrations like weddings and birthday parties and turned down invitations to nights out with friends because I was too ashamed to be seen in public as a fat person/

I wasn’t always overweight but I felt shame about the way that I look. But now I AM fat and I struggle to come to terms with this body.

I hate it.

I will always hate being fat. I am uncomfortable. I hate that my thighs rub together when I walk. I hate that I can feel my belly hanging when I sit down. I hate that I can see lumps in my arms when I look in the mirror.

But does that have to mean that I hate who I am? And that I have to walk around feeling like I need to apologize to the people in my presence for being fat?

Sometimes, I feel like my Body Hate is a drug and I am addicted. I wasn’t happy when I was thin. I’m not happy when I’m fat. I am ashamed that I feel this way about my body. I hate hurting people that I love and yet, everyday, I wake up and make a choice to hate myself for being fat.

As I’m writing this out, it doesn’t even make sense to me.

I’ve made some positive changes in regards to this issue. I’ll give you one example. I used to use horrifying language when talking about my body and I have made the choice not to do that anymore. But even though I don’t talk about myself in that manner anymore, I still feel that way about myself.

My daughter is watching me, she is learning from me and even though I may not walk around saying terrible things about myself like I used to, I most certainly am not living life to it’s fullest because of my weight.

At what point would your daughter want to be dead? Have you asked her?

I keep hearing those words running through my head and I want to change. RIGHT NOW.
For good.

I have tried so many times to change, to learn to love my body. But I’ve never really and truly found the answer. Is there an answer? There has to be answer.

Perhaps the answer is that I have to learn to be content. Content with who I am as a human being, not with what size jeans I wear.

I have to stop focusing on the negative and the feelings I have in regards to my body   and start thinking about the people in my life who love me, the people who I have hurt deeply because of my body issues.

I have to start thinking about my children– especially my daughter because I don’t ever want her to say she’d rather DIE than be fat.

We Interrupt My Healing for an Important Rant

I just had to take a break from my “Healing Hiatus” to talk for one minute about shopping for Fat Clothes.
I’ve written about this before, but I feel like I just have to write about it again, because WTF?
Why must every site describe their PLUS SIZE clothes with words like “funky!” “hip!” “Stylish!” “bold and SEX-AY!”
WHY?
I guess they just want to make sure that everyone knows THE LARGER LADIES CAN BE STYLISH TOO!
Except, I’m pretty freaking sure that Mumu’s are neither bold NOR sexy.
But! I’ve been told that they are comfortable and they do hide the various rolls and lumps, so perhaps that is what I shall order to wear for The Panel!
Who needs bold and sexy when you’ve got “Hides gut rolls!”
Seriously.
Also, can we talk about the prices of size 18 clothing? YES, I’M WEARING A SIZE 18 (and last year, I was wearing a 14, so imagine just how much bigger my face will be in all of the pictures. IF you get a picture, that is, because I plan on carrying a water bottle and squirting anyone who dares to get near me with their camera. SERIOUSLY. I WILL SQUIRT YOUR ASS.)
(And if that doesn’t work, I’m seriously considering using my enormous tittays as Weapons. I’ll be like “put down the camera and on one gets Titty Whipped!”)
Anyway.
There really are some stylish, sexy beautiful articles of clothing out there for women like me, but I can’t afford them!
You see, I don’t normally pay more than $25 per article of clothing, (I’ll push it to $29.99 if Old Navy has a cute dress that is not on sale.) so for me to even THINK about spending $50 on A SINGLE ITEM OF CLOTHING actually makes me want to throw up. I can’t bring myself to do it! I just can’t.
What am I going to do? I need new clothes. And when I say “need” I really and truly mean “NEEDS“. I only have TWO outfits that fit me. I rotate them throughout the week. (Don’t believe me? Ask Lena Jo. Every time she suggests we meet for lunch or coffee, I’ll be like “Just let me know when, so I can wash my black skirt!” And oh, how she laughs, because it’s true! TWO OUTFITS!)
I’m either going to have to stop being so cheap and frugal for one week of my life and spend a few $$ on some nice clothes, OR, I’m just going to have to go ahead and order me 3 of these. (In different colors, of course.)
I hope you enjoy the guest posters that I have lined up for you while “Operation Let My Neck Heal” is in progress. Confession: I have been known to hate it when people have guest posters on their site, because I don’t go to peoples blogs to read OTHER PEOPLE. HOWEVER, there are some really great writers out there who I love and I thought it would be fun if they would bless me with some of their Genius. SO, really, it’s all about me and my needs.
(But seriously, check back, it will be worth it, I (HINT!) promise.)