Back on the couch again

I'm like a piano that needs tuning every so often, and right now my octaves don't match. It's critical to tune after each move, and I am overdue. It's cyclical. Every few years I find that my life starts to spin off it's axle and before I know it, I'm in an unfamiliar or uncomfortable place.

Up until about 2 years ago, I lived in Charlotte, North Carolina. I didn't like it very much, but it was home for about 6 years. During that time, I attempted to find many elusive things...independent bookstores, alternative spiritual centers, a restaurant with a booth deep enough to accommodate my stomach comfortably while I ate...sorry, back to the point.

I also had some experience in trying different counselors (therapists, life coaches, or whatever the en vogue term is today). I found one that I liked, but she was too granola-y, touchy feely for my husband. Then, a friend recommended another one, and I liked her a lot, even though she was a gorgeous barbie doll. She was smart, funny, and felt like a sincere cheerleader (for me, not for the Springfield Spartans). I don't think my husband got as much out of the therapy as I did, but somehow, without my even realizing it, my self-esteem and overall mental health improved tremendously. Then she moved (dammit) and referred us to a colleague. This one was very insightful, called it like she saw it, and provided a lot of relevant, helpful suggestions. We both liked her very much, but we only saw her 3 times, and then WE moved.

Since we've been in Atlanta, we've seen 2 therapists. One, who I can't say enough about, did not accept any insurance and was too expensive for us. Then, the one she referred us to who was fine but I didn't really have a strong connection with (except for the fact that she brought her dog to the office each day, and I loved that).

Now the time has come to suck it up and begin the hunt again. I need to do a better job of prioritizing my life, and I need to find some of the self esteem and identity that I seem to have left in NC.

I HATE LOOKING FOR A THERAPIST! First of all, I can't afford it without health insurance, so I'm at the mercy of the list of providers on my plan. I'm sure that there are plenty of talented folks out there, but that's just it... too many to choose from. How am I supposed to narrow it down?

I would like the therapist to have these traits (in no particular order):

1. Be on my insurance
2. Have many years of experience
3. Not look like 1) a psychopath or 2) super earth mother-y
4. Have an office that is convenient either to work or home
5. Have hours that will fit into my life
6. Not be a pastoral counselor but be comfortable in discussing my new age-y ideas
7. Not have pink walls in her office
8. Have a first name that doesn't make me laugh
9. Be smarter than me but not act like it
10. Able to provide honest feedback and really participate
11. Not be physically attractive to me
12. Have a great sense of humor
13. Keep us on topic (so we don't waste an hour talking about American Idol)
14. Give me assignments so I don't just show up and wing it.
15. Be like Paul Weston from HBO's "In Treatment" except without the soulful eyes or sexy Irish accent (see #11)

That last bit is actually really what I want. The type of therapy he practices is called Psychodynamic therapy, and it has to do with the relationship between the patient and therapist being a microcosm (Really? Did I just use that word?) for our external relationships. Based on my limited understanding of different methods, this one seems like it's the most analytical and that the therapist will make observations and connections that the client doesn't readily see. I think that the time has come to really commit to addressing my issues instead of just putting a bandaid on things.

I will be talking with a prospective therapist tomorrow. By all accounts, she meets my criteria, and she also uses a tool called the enneagram which fascinates me. I'll be interested in seeing how it works in a therapeutic setting.

More after I meet with her. I hope this won't be a lengthy process; I can be very impatient!

Mirror mirror on the wall, who's the fattest of them all?

Ever walk into a room and instantly know who's the most popular? Who's the wealthiest? Smartest? Getting laid the most? It's a skill, and I have a similar one. Within a nano-second, I know who the fattest in the room is, and (more importantly), if it's me.

Ever since I was but a wee chubette, I was acutely aware of the proportions and sizes of those around me and how I measured up (or in my case, out). I know it sounds like the beginning of an after-school special starring Meredith Baxter-Birney and her ever-so-slightly chunky on screen daughter, Tina Yothers, but fear not. There is actually a little bit of sick joy in walking in to your first day of 7th grade and learning that a new fatty has moved into the neighborhood, and you're no longer the most obvious target of ridicule.

You might think that this sixth sense would lose it's potency as I moved into the world of adulthood, but, as usual, you'd be wrong. As you get older, start making your own money and decide who you want to be, no one wants to be the blob with the great personality. I would actually look for ways to maximize my assets and find good makeup, girdles that would earn their money, and shoes that helped to distract people from my ever-widening waistline. With a little help from Stacy and Clinton from TLC's What Not To Wear, I even got an idea about the kind of clothing that would best suit my front-heavy body (all boobs and belly, no ass).

As I moved through my twenties and into my 30s, I found myself as a manager in a call center, and I was EASILY the fattest of them all. Once, the management team was looking for a team-building event and someone got the idea that horseback riding would be fun. He looked into this only to find out that there was a weight limit of 250lbs, and he diplomatically asked one of my co-workers if that would exclude any of us. Being over the "horse weight" became a running joke between me and my gal pals, even though it always stung a little.

Part of my manager responsibilities was to hire new customer service representatives. The caliber of applicants for this job was a wasteland, and so I spent a lot of time interviewing people. I became good at deciphering candidates' skill sets and could make excellent hiring decisions. It was actually one of the parts of my job that I enjoyed and I took pride in. Until...

She came. A woman who dwarfed me with her ginormous hips, elbow cleavage, and monster jowls. She was pleasant and smiled a lot (a trick all fat girls learn early on...as if to say, "I'm harmless...even though I look like I could eat you at any moment.") I looked on her like a lion looking at his prey. It was my chance.

Although she was very friendly and had a good attitude, something about her screamed, "flake." So of course, I...HIRED HER! I know it was wrong, and she did not end up being a good employeee, but for a year, I was not Queen of the Flub, and I LIKED IT!

Then, she waited until she qualified for short-term disability and went out and got gastric bypass. I couldn't believe it! I hired her to distract from my own girth, and she had the nerve to try and lose weight! BITCH!

So, she lost some of the weight; not a ton, but enough to allow me to resume my position as fattest of them all. I loathed her. How dare she!? I hired her unqualified fat ass and this is how she repaid me?

Well, on a positive note, her hair started to fall out, so at least I had better hair than her. Some people just don't know how to appreciate what they get!

Thank God for our Independence and a 3-Day Weekend!

Based on this week's title, you are probably thinking that I am a patriot; that I am spending this holiday weekend ruminating over what it means to live in a democratic society and imagining what it must have been like for our forefathers (and the fore-mothers behind each of the forefathers-pushing, nagging, fretting and encouraging them) to live during a time when they (at times) risked their lives in order to give me the life I have today.

No.

I'm just so glad to have a FUCKING DAY OFF! Thanks Fore-dads!

This week has been really rough! I started a new job about 2 months ago, and while I'm grateful every day for my employment, I had forgotten what it means to manage people.

Over the last year, my mom has been in the process of getting a golden retriever puppy. The litter of little dumplings arrived last week, and my mom has been sending pictures, documenting their development, and many of the pictures are of the bitch nursing her 8 pups. I marvel at how patient she is, and how red her nipples are from the constant puppy attention.

What does this have to do with my job of managing people? I, the Fat Bitch, have 9 employees, and, while I respect each of my employees as an adult, I am amazed at their neediness. My figurative nipples are cracked and bleeding from their interminable hunger for answers, direction, and reassurance. Add to that, I rarely have the answers since I am just as new as most of them!

I know how to manage people. I have done it for years, and, working in HR, I have coached other managers on how to do it effectively. I have mastered creating the illusion of endless patience. I have a perma-smile on my face each time one of them comes to my door. I am an Academy Award winner when it comes to answering really dumb questions without betraying my thoughts of "How do you make it through the day!?" or "What do you think, sweet pea, it's the same answer it was the last 87 times you asked!" or "Get the fuck out of my office before I throw my stapler at you!" (More to come on my violent work fantasies in a future installment of CoaFB.)

The thing is, I actually like most of them, and much of the time it's really not their fault. The majority of my team is new, and even when they know the right answers, some of them lack confidence to just make the decision without someone else's blessing. Also, we were hired to take on some new business, and although my boss seems to think that everything is spelled out perfectly, it's not. There is a lot of "gray," and we are all feeling a little unsure of the actions that we are taking. I try not to rely on my boss too much because she is swamped, and I want to appear competent and confident. Also, I don't want her nipples to crack.

I am working about 10 hours/day, and most of that time is putting out the various fires that spontaneously erupt from 9am-4pm. When my employees begin to leave, that's when I actually have enough uninterrupted time to get my work done! While I have worked long hours before, the constant pull of my energy to feed my team is exhausting! Every day feels like 2, and hence, I NEED THIS 3-DAY WEEKEND!

There. Now that I have vomited up my work frustration on you, I feel much better and can begin to enjoy my time off. Now go clean up, you smell like puke!

FB

Meet the Fat Bitch

279. That's the number of pounds I have amassed over the past 35 years, after you subtract the 6 lbs. 2 oz. that I brought with me at birth. As best as I can remember, 8 years ago (before I met my husband), the magic number was 240.

"Well," you think charitably, "she must be tall." You'd be wrong. I'm the very average height of 5'6". And just so ya know, I would have to be about 9 feet tall for the height/weight equation to work out right.

The funny thing about me is that I have a really distorted perception of my body. I think I'm thinner than I am... then, someone takes a picture of me. I don't ever recognize the white, fleshy mound of flub in the picture. Also, I'm surprised how often I run into doorframes. It's like I don't realize that I have arms. I think that I'm only as wide as my torso...not true, and I've got the bruises to prove it.

One thing I will say for myself is that I think I have a pretty face. I would rather be a pretty fat girl than to be an ugly size 4. Mercifully, my husband agrees. When we met, he was actually a fatty too. There is something comforting about being with a fellow flubb-o. Now that he's lost a significant amount (via a routine surgery gone oh-so-wrong), and since I've gained my 45 pounds of love, it's not nearly as comfortable for me. Although I find him very VERY attractive, this really bitchy part of me wants him to gain back all the weight he lost. There's just something about being smaller than your husband that makes you feel all girly and petite. I know I'm a total asshole to think this, but look at the name of the blog for Christ's sake!

Also, for you younger lassies, when they tell you that your body changes when you hit 30, they are telling you the truth. My stomach hangs a good 4 inches lower than it used to, and my boobs are not nearly the anti-gravity orbs that they once were.

Throughout the course of my blog, I hope to share with you my good days, bad days, fat days, fatter days, and all the bizarre shit that happens to me. I'm more than a fatty... I'm a fat bitch!

P.S. - If you're reading my blog, you're either a fat bitch, a chubby chaser, or a friend of mine. In any case, you'd probably really enjoy reading one of my favorite authors, Jen Lancaster. You can check out her blogsite at http://www.jennsylvania.com/. She has written several books, including my personal fave, "Bitter is the New Black : Confessions of a Condescending, Egomaniacal, Self-Centered Smartass, Or, Why You Should Never Carry A Prada Bag to the Unemployment Office." You'll really appreciate her humor, especially if you are a woman of size, a former sorority girl, or someone who wishes you could say everything you think without the fallout.