Who Will Join Me In The “Anti-Resolution Revolution”?

So, it’s been a while since we chatted about the fat acceptance thing.

I’ll bet you’re wondering how I’m doin’ with that.

If you aren’t wondering, then this post probably isn’t for you…check out today’s Ten Post Round-Up or proceed to the next post.

As I was saying…

I’m doing great. I have to admit, there were a few days where I thought I would lose faith in myself. I discovered an unopened bottle of weight loss pills, a few weeks ago. Although I haven’t gotten the urge to pop any of those pills, I still have the bottle stashed away. At the time that I discovered it, I decided that I would see what my weight was doing (I was afraid of freaking out if my weight sky-rocketed from lack of dietary substitutes and/or exercise…I have been in a leg cast for more than 2 months, but my ankle was in bad shape for 6 months prior to that).

Well, I haven’t taken a single pill, drank a single diet soda, eaten a single sugar/fat-free perishable, or broken a single sweat (except for some light physical therapy for my upper body arthritis) and my weight has not gone down, but neither has it gone up.

I got rid of all my “skinny” clothes and replaced them with some clothes that compliment my shape and personality (and I might add, they make me look damn good). My last hurdle is finding a great bra and, unfortunately, I will have to get one custom-made for me personally as they do not make the size I really need (according to market standards I’m a 36DD, but that is too loose and 34DD is too snug). Thankfully, as a fat chick, that is my worst problem. My overall health is pretty good and I have no problem getting hit on by either sex and that definitely helps my ego, no matter how fat my jeans make me look.

One dramatic change I have noticed in myself is that I have less tolerance of fat “intolerance”. I have always been annoyed at fat jokes. But, I am finding that I am even more annoyed at my friends who whine about how big their butts are or how their new diet is working out (”this time”).

On my birthday, a friend got me a birthday cake. I tried to hand a piece to another friend and she declined because she was on a diet. Mind you, the piece was the size of bite-sized candy bar, but she apparently had eaten all of her “points” that day and despite the fact that she was hungry, she didn’t want to spoil her diet. Having been there, done that, I understood her restraint. Not too long ago, I probably would have even admired it. But, this time, I just found myself pitying her. Here we are in a room full of people partying because it’s Dizzy’s birthday and she can’t party because she’s on a diet. What was worse is that she didn’t say “diet” as if it were a life-affirming plan, but “diet” as in “I must make myself suffer in order to meet some arbitrary ideal”. I was sad for this, but also sad that this gorgeous woman was torturing herself AGAIN.

Then, there’s my best friend, the pole-dancer (and a damned good one, I might add), who keeps inviting me over to her place to workout. She only lives across the courtyard from me, so it would be like grabbing the newspaper to join her. But, she also works at a weight-loss clinic and I just know that if I let her dictate even the most innocent of workout routines, soon she will be insinuating herself into my pantry. I love her to death, but I won’t even let my best girl rap to me about her weight loss secrets. She’s a stripper (who also does exotic dancing *wink-wink*) who needs to stay thin to stay employed. I’m just a DJ, I love my “lovely lady lumps, my humps, my humps, my humps”. Oh yeah, I also like the idea of eating whatever the hell I feel like in generous amounts whether I’m really hungry or not.

Then, there’s my other thin girlfriends who complain about how fat their asses are getting and I have to resist the urge to slap them upside the head with a Twinkie. They’re really polite when I tell them that I don’t do diets and that I love every ounce of my 185 pound frame. I get the idea that they think I am kidding myself and yet, I can’t get over the idea that they are the ones who are living in denial.

Then I read how gossip columnists are ripping on Jennifer Love Hewitt for having the audacity to wear a bikini despite the fact that she has issues with cellulite. My first thought was “So &^%$ing What!”

My second thought was an idea for a “coming out” party of sorts. I actually heard about some other fat chicks doing this in the blogosphere and I’m thinking I might jump on the bandwagon.

I’m thinking that on December 31st, around the same time that other desperate women are proclaiming how they will lose weight this next year, the rest of us fat chicks should post pictures of our bikini-clad bodies on our blogs. We should call it the “Anti-Resolution Revolution” and resolve to not worry about our own fat asses for another year and work toward accepting ourselves for every ounce of body fat and every lump of cellulite. It’s like giving the rest of the fat-hating world the finger and giving a smiley face to those who love and accept us.

I’m still mulling the idea, but if you want to join me in my “Anti-Resolution Revolution”, let me know and we’ll show the world that fat chicks really do rule!