It’s better to look good…

Kids, never take your bowels for granted. And that’s all I have to say about that.

In the past week as I’ve been ill and looking for comfort reads and pretty things to look at, I have bought In Style, Vogue and today, Vanity Fair. Don’t judge. I rarely break down and read Harper’s Bazaar because while all magazines are Fattist Dillholes, HB comes right out and admits it. And I really prefer my fashion magazines to lie to me, frankly.

Anyway, I bought this month’s Vanity Fair today, the one with Tom Ford on the cover trying to stick his tongue into the ear of a naked Keira Knightly while Scarlett Johanssen lounges nekkid across the bottom of the shot. You can see her butt. Seriously, does this child have parents? Would you ever do that pose knowing your mother would see it? Oh, what, I’m the only one whose parents ever shamed her? Fine. Keira Knightly’s body looks so airbrushed I had to smile. But there’s something about looking at this that made me feel, I don’t know, I guess a little irritable in general. Because all the bras at the website www.figleaves.com, recommended by In Style were all very beautiful, if you’re a 32B. If you’re Keira and Scarlett’s size. Which I believe we have well and truly established that I’m not. Jealous, not because I want to look like them, I honestly don’t, but because these women don’t have to worry about their bodies or their health or the ability to get around or fit comfortably into an airplane seat. They can just wear whatever they want, shop wherever they want, their bodies will not fail them. They are free to concentrate on other things. Free to be judged on their minds and not their packaging. Free to wear cow print without fear! Free to wear purple without having to ask someone if it makes them look like Barney! Free to oh dear god I’m all of a sudden starving. Seriously. How is that? I just ate a freakin’ apple. Isn’t roughage supposed to fill you up? Stupid roughage. Fuck roughage! Supposed to fill you up? Doesn’t. Supposed to make you poop? Doesn’t. Wait, am I sounding like my mother’s mother? No, I’m not. If I were, I’d be chiding you for touching my collection of Avon perfume collectible bottles and coaching the cowboys in the westerns appearing round the clock on my t.v. But do you ever find yourself, those of you in your 30s anyway, sitting around talking to close friends or family about your health and your bowel movements? Telling them “I’ve got this thing…” or “Have you ever had…” or “Does this look bad to you?” Oh shut up! You know you do, too!! Wait, what was I talking about? Look out Hondo! He’s hiding behind that rock! He’s got a gun!!!

Right. Actresses and their perrrrrfect little bodies.

But then, actresses do stress about their bodies, don’t they? Maybe more than any other women, anywhere. Their bodies are their jobs, after all. And as far as their bodies failing them, I read a story in Vogue last night about a model who was diagnosed at 25 with melanoma. Not delighting in that, I’m just saying. It can happen to anyone. And aren’t really beautiful women always complaining that people often don’t give them a chance to be smart or witty because of their looks? Are we all in this body obsessing thing together? I want to say that I truly admire women who genuinely love and fully accept their own bodies. It’s just that I’m not sure I’ve ever met any.

Perhaps dieting is the least of my worries. Maybe I have more important work to do elsewhere. Maybe a lot of people do.

But before I throw it all to the wind, let me give a little shout out to my less-fat ass that lost 3 pounds in the last week. Which gets me back down to my pre-holidays weight of

T minus 43 and counting.

Olympics and Pr0n

Re: my concern as to whether I should accept this part at the Rep despite the fact that I may have been cast as a fat sight gag, apparently I am smoking crack (according to some heretofore very reliable sources) and also, a wise friend confided, delightfully, that he would do a nude scene if it were tastefully done and important to the storyline, if it meant he could show of a rockin’ bod. Although I think he may have meant that in an “if I were you” kind of way. I don’t think he’s an actor so that would make his choice to do a nude scene even more interesting.

For the record, if I had the body of these Olympic figure skaters, people, I would be doing porno. And not the tasteful, plot driven kind. Hard core PORNO. Watch for that “T minus” number to hit around the 130 mark. And then look for me in the back room of your favorite Korean video store.

A brief side note on the Olympics: I didn’t watch most of the opening ceremonies but I did watch the parade of athletes part, which is my favorite. I love the teams that only have one athlete and the African teams. Cause, you know, where the hell do they train? (why, the U.S. of course) My favorite part was the 52 year old lone athlete from the Virgin Islands. She’s competing in luge. Sorry, I don’t think I made that clear enough. She’s fifty-two earth years old. And she’s not one of those hip, Hollywood looking 52 year olds. She looks like my mom. White hair, glasses, a little too heavy for an athlete. It’s her sixth Olympics. She beat cancer. I. Heart. Her.

Dick Buttons got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. He is ripping these pair skaters new holes. The chick commentator keeps giving us the all-important who’s-a-couple-in-real-life info. Which, A) come on. It’s hard enough for women to get commentary jobs in sports, could you step it up with some hard facts? and B) How can you be a pair skater and not be a couple with your skating partner? Anybody whose crotch gets that close to my face owes me at least a drink, if not jewelry.

I digress. It’s a severe sinus headache weekend, and as we all know, I take weight loss any way I can get it. My jeans should be feeling a little looser by Monday…

T minus 40 and counting.

It’s all an act

So I have good news and I have possibly overthinking news. First the good. I have been cast in two small roles in an upcoming show called Dearly Departed at the TN Repertory Theatre. That means I will get paid a niiiiice little chunk of change and get to act on a big stage and nothing on the set will have come from my living room and props and my costume will be someone else’s problem, not mine. Ahhh, the joys of professional theatre. Of course, I haven’t asked for the time off yet to do this (they rehearse during the day) but I think it will work out. My company is in restructure and it needs me.

Now, the possibly overthought bit.

This is a “southern comedy.” Think Greater Tuna, if you’ve ever seen that. Many of the parts are doubled up, so I am playing Nadine and Delightful. Nadine is a very funny part, she has one scene, and should be a lot of fun. And more importantly, easy. And then there’s Delightful. In the play, Delightful’s father, who was a mean, ornery type elderly man, has just died. Delightful deals with her less-than-ideal upbringing by constantly eating junk food. She says three words in the whole show. Not three lines, three words: “Okay,” “beans,” and “bye.” That’s it. The rest of the time, she appears in scenes and eats and, and this may be where I’m overthinking this, basically sets up the fat jokes. Now, the thing is, maybe they aren’t fat jokes. Nobody ever calls her fat. No one ever references her size. It could still be funny if a thin actress were sitting on stage stuffing her face and being mute and looking vapid…. but it’s funnier with a fat girl.

In all my years of acting, I have never been offered a fat girl role. I know, it’s actually amazing, what are the odds? But I really haven’t. And now I’m a little concerned that I may have just accepted the role of the fat sight gag. Maybe it could be played either way. With or without a large actress. But they’re not going with a thin actress. They’re going with me. Over the last week since I was invited to the callback, I have wavered between excitement at the prospect of working again with the Rep (an experience I thoroughly enjoyed a few years ago when I did a few bit parts in Christmas Carol), and righteous indignance at what I was being offered. Are they offering me this because I’m funny? Or because I’m a physical gag? And does it matter? For what they are paying me and the future potential of working with them again, shouldn’t I just suck it up and not even think twice about it? Are my friends and family going to be embarrassed when they see the show because they know, but don’t want to point out, that I got the part because I’m fat? That’s the worst part. Am I simply overthinking this? I do that sometimes.

If I had been offered a part in Metamorphoses at my regular theatre company, I would have taken that part and definitely turned Dearly Departed down. But ironically, I wasn’t eligible for a part in Metamorphoses because I am too fat. Odd how suddenly out of nowhere, my weight it coming into play with regard to performing, even as I am losing it. (yeah, slowly, I know)

Look, I’m gonna do it. Of course I am. I’m just saying, if the role were only Delightful, without Nadine, I’m pretty sure I would have turned it down flat. Even though it would have been the easiest money I had ever made. I don’t need the money. And if I don’t work at the Rep ever again, it wouldn’t really matter, I get plenty of work elsewhere. But I want this funny Nadine scene. And I want the change in schedule from my daily grind. Plus the money will be helpful and let’s be honest. It’s nice to work every once in a while for a fully funded theatre company where all I have to do is show up and act. I’m just wondering. To the point that I have to move the question to the top of my Burning Questions list.

1. Am I selling out?
2. To what extent does my size help me as a character actress and to what extent does it hurt?
3. When you order pasta in a restaurant, why does it always come with a side of bread? Like you aren’t getting enough starch already?
4. Indian food isn’t really all that fattening, is it?
5. Why do restaurants always used white cloth napkins that leave schmutz in your lap? Why don’t they change to black napkins? Who the hell is wearing white pants? Ever?
6. Are all my Burning Questions really food related?
7. How did that happen?
8. At what point did American parents become obsessed with their children?
9. Do these pants make me look fat?
10. Buying some flowers for yourself on valentine’s day: sad or sassy like a Mento’s commercial?
11. Does this look infected?
12. What’s in this year’s Oscar nominee gift baskets?
13. Where’s my Oscar?
14. What the hell is wrong with muslims? People draw unflattering cartoons of God and Jesus all the time and you don’t see us trampling anyone to death. Well, not over that anyway.
15. Is it possible for Sarah Jessica Parker to get on my nerves more?

Yeah, I’ve got me some issues. Don’t act like you’re surprised.

T minus 40 pounds and counting.

God bless the Sagittarius

YES!  Check it out, y’all.  In light of yesterday’s entry, I decided to read up a little on Sagg rising.  Just, you know, for kicks.  I don’t live my life by astrology, but I’m here to tell you that it’s weird how accurately it can describe some people.

Read this part:

You are usually very honest, though it is also true that your too-candid remarks can sometimes be misinterpreted as rudeness. Negative influences associated with Sagittarius rising stimulate a tendency for self-indulgence, which makes you pompous, grossly overweight, dependent on drugs or alcohol, or too opinionated and cynical. On the positive side, Sagittarius gives a love of drama and the theatre, good food and drink, dancing, sports, animals, and, as a rule, you’ll never miss an opportunity to travel. You are likely to be involved with publishing, education, religion, art, or music, either as a profession or hobby.

IT’S NOT MY FAULT!!!  It’s my sign to be grossly overweight!  Is was ordained!  In the stars!  Yes!  This completely absolves me of any personal responsibility for my weight and health!!  I’ll never be thin no matter what because the stars decree it shall not be so.  I can’t fight that.  I can’t fight the universe.  I can’t….  I….  but….. it says…….

<sigh>

Fine.  FINE.  I know.  Yes, I hear you.

I said I know.

Why do you always have to ruin my excuses?

MyFat.com

You know my favorite part of the State of the Union address was A) the part where W. said that Americans were the only ones liberating concentration camps at the end of WWII, and B) the part where he said it was now required for every American to join MySpace.com as part of his “No Employee Bored At Work” program. I, for one, support this new program and look forward to W’s next, Jesus, what does he have, 14 more years in office? Wow. I’m not anti-W. I’m not pro-W. As we’ve discussed before, I am a militant moderate. I’m just to the point now that I was with Clinton toward the end of that whole young (albeit admirably chunky) intern debacle. He’s good, he’s bad, WHO CARES? Can we just move on to beating down on someone else now? I’m bored.

Now about this MySpace thing…

Sydney made me do it. And I can’t say I have been altogether unhappy with it. I’ve found some people with whom I haven’t connected in a long time and I love that. Although I wish more people from my high school would stop having babies for 5 minutes and discover the internet. They’d better get moving. It’s law now. (“Strategery!” – W.) Anyway, some people have really cool home pages on MySpace. They put in colored backgrounds and songs and graphics and whatnot. Whereas I? Can’t figure out how to post to the message board. Seriously, I can’t believe I managed to get my photo up. Bless my heart, I’m pitiful. My parents’ college dollars at work.

I’ll tell you one thing I have discovered, though. Sometimes, “people” send you an “I want to be added to your friends” notice…. “people” who have ulterior motives…

For example, some guy, we’ll call him Dillhole, wanted to be added to my list. He seemed okay. I got all excited. Yay! Someone thinks I’m cool and wants to be my friend! Whereas in real life, Dillhole is in a band, and just wanted to get everyone on MySpace on his little message list so he could advertise his suck-tastic garage band “gigs.” I eliminated Dillhole from my friend list with extreme prejudice. Spamming, ulterior-motive having bastard. That’ll teach him! Just like I teach all those telemarketers when I hang up on them! No doubt they immediately stop and examine their lives and what they’re doing before storming right into their Indian teenage manager’s office and throw their headsets in his Cheeto crumb covered lap and say, “you know what? She’s right! Ms. Algagree (my to-date favorite telemarketer variation of my name) is right! I do suck!”

What were we talking about? Oh yeah, MySpace “friends.” So now whenever “people” send me a request to be added to my friend list, I check them out thoroughly first instead of just adding them willy-nilly.

And now, MORE to the point. This morning I received a request from someone calling herself “Flaunt.” I don’t know that I have any friends who would call him/herself that, so I was suspicious. I went to the page. This person appeared to have other friends. The photo told me nothing, so I clicked on “more photos,” expecting to see pics of a person I did actually know, and who would shortly be receiving a taunting message from me about that retarded name and weird photo.

Y’all, “Flaunt” is the name of a “trendy, plus size boutique” in Nashville. A plus size… clothin… boutique.

Now.

I’m not even going to pretend that I do not shop in plus size stores. I do. I have an as-yet-unused Christmas gift card to Lane Bryant in my kitchen drawer. It’s all true. I am still a plus sized girl. But what I couldn’t figure out is how they knew to market to me. I didn’t put my weight or clothing size in my profile. I didn’t mention anywhere that I was size XL (say it with me now, “for Xtra Lovely”). How did they know to send me this? Where did they get their informa……

My photo.

These bitches looked up all the Nashville females and then looked at their photos to see if they were fat. I have a decent photograph on my page. I didn’t realize I looked all, you know, like I needed to be marketed trendy, plus sized clothes. You know, when you’re overweight, especially if you’ve been that way for at least ten years, you just kind of get used to seeing yourself. It’s not that you can’t see that you need to drop some weight, but when you see photos of yourself, or worse, on video, it’s a little startling. I guess no one sees herself the way others see her. I just finished a play called “Spoon River Anthology” and I wore this outfit that I thought was kind of flattering. But then I saw the photos from the show and said, “good lord, is that I what I look like?” But you know, a lot of people say that, even the thin ones. It’s weird. Reality vs. perception. And not just when it comes to looks. I was recently involved in a discussion about astrology and learned that your sun sign general description, what you would think of as “your sign,” (Virgo, in my case) is the way you are inside, or the way you see yourself. Your moon sign, or rising sign, (Saggitarius in my case, a trait I share with Elvis) is the way others see you, or the way you present yourself to the world. Virgo and Sagg are two very different signs. Am I really two entirely different people? Neat and anal on the outside, soft and chewy on the inside? Thin and confident on the inside, chunky and second-guessing on the out? I always thought what you see is what you get with me, except for the weight. I am more than what I weigh. Wait, that’s not… I mean I am more as a person that my weight. Not that I weigh more than I’ve been… no… forget it.

So to make a long story even longer, I am not adding Flaunt to my friend list. Not because it’s for XL girls but because I don’t wear trendy clothes. Shout out to all my libarian and kindergarten teaching homies! Word! My denim jumper, wooden jewellry, sensible shoe wearing peeps! Woop!! Woop!!

T minus I don’t know I haven’t weighed in since last week and counting.

That’s me on the right. I got me some teeth.