I don't know why

I'm really fucking cranky all of a sudden. Why? Why?? Because I'm fat and none of my clothes fit. Because JRB had to go out and buy a stupid DQ cake, which is, like, my favourite thing ever. Not really, but I do love them and they're my favourite thing in this apartment right now. I'm so sick of thinking about this, so sick of being bothered by it. Then, of course, I could say 'fuck it, I'll just stay fat' but that's not an option either because we don't have any shitting money. See? Top three topics, one paragraph. Fuck.

IMO

One of the things that caused an "Aha!" moment in my life was a little novelty coaster my BFF gave me which said 'Everyone is entitled to my opinion.' My first thought? I'm not opinionated! My second thought? Let me tell you my opinion on opinions.

The "Aha!" was the realization that people see me very differently than I see myself and it made me wonder what I was doing to promote and influence the false perception that people seemed to have about me. It took me down a path of questioning and observing that included dozens of personality tests, self-help books, singular friendships with people out of my normal social groups, an in-depth analyzation of my upbringing and my family (a moxy crew of people who were made, bought and borrowed), and an awful lot of pot (shut up, it helped me observe and analyze myself... and it made me giggle.)

Here's what I discovered: the person everyone saw on the outside was not the person I was inside. (Which turned out to be a large part of the combination to understanding my unhappiness.) But you know what was even more important to learn? The person I see when I look at someone is very likely not the person they are inside, either.

When, as a child, they taught me that everyone was equal, I thought that meant everyone was the same. Obviously I knew people looked different and had different upbringings in different places surrounded by different people. But I honestly and wholeheartedly thought that everyone knew the differences between right and wrong, good and bad, yes and no. I thought everyone felt the same way I did about the simple, obvious things like the death penalty, how to treat animals, and gender, sexual and racial equality. I thought that no matter who you were, you understood the basics and, if you didn't, it was only because it hadn't been taught to you properly, if at all.

So, back then, in the course of conversations with people I knew and people I didn't know, I discussed my ideas as absolutes. And when the people I was speaking with didn't contradict what I was saying, it only strengthened my belief that I was right. When they did disagree, I assumed it was because they didn't understand as I understood. I felt I was completely open to hearing the opinions of others, even if they were wrong. Because everyone has the right to be wrong.

Today you will rarely, if at all, see or hear me voice an opinion. There are no more absolutes, there is no such thing as black or white. There are only perceptions, learned behaviours and ideas, wrongs that are accepted as rights and vice versa. I still believe what I believe and I feel strongly about a lot of things. But I also understand that other people have opinions that are different than mine. And virtually nothing I say will change their minds... because I know that virtually nothing they can say will change mine.

And that's my opinion on not having opinions.

Top three just announced!

You will come to see over time, dear non-existent reader, that the three main topics of my bitching are weight, money and my man. Not that I won't whine and complain about other things but, if I continue using this blog (because, let's face it... when it comes to writing my shit out, I'm kind of a fickle pickle), those are the three you'll see most.

Today I seem to be somewhat bothered by all three. And that's how I can tell that the real issue is probably me and, for the most part, I should just keep my mouth shut and see if it passes.

That drives JRB crazy. Yes, there's something wrong but that doesn't mean that I want to sit here and bitch about it. I bitch it out in my head enough, I have no interest in letting that poison into the air, too. Eventually, when nudged, I'll let it out a little, we will deal with it and it will be over. But I hate fighting more than I hate doing laundry (and that's a lot) so I try not to do it more than once a week.

So, last night when he was at work, I made my favourite macaroni and cheese dish. It's a weird different recipe and the first time I tried it, I didn't particularly like it. Now I would be more than happy to jump into a huge vat of it and eat my way out. Yum. Anyways, I wrote on my Tumblr (which he always reads) that I had decided to make macaroni because there's not a lot he can eat right now and that I hope he likes it, I'm such a good girlfriend, love my man, blah, blah, blah. But he comes home and doesn't even acknowledge it. To tell you the truth, I was hoping he didn't want it because then I get to eat it(!) but give me something, man. Throw this bitch a bone already. I believe this is close to the number one problem women have with men so I'm not unique but I still want a kiss, a thanks for thinking of me, a swat on the ass, something. Acknowledgement. That's all. So simple. Boys suck, with their stupid penises and ungrateful ways. Buncha weirdos.

That being said, last night I ate so much of that fucking macaroni, I'm sure I gained five fresh new pounds of fat. It was so good; I got so full. I am well aware that the only way I'll get through this weight thing is by changing the bad habits I've developed. The other day I promised myself that I'd start doing that by only eating meals that are prepared at home, i.e. an end to the take-out habit. So the deal was I could eat whatever and as much as I want, as long as it isn't take-out. And I probably ingested twice as much fat and calories than a super-size Big Mac combo. Does that mean I should chuck it and get a burger tonight???? No. That means I need to continue on and trust that eventually I'll kick that habit and move on to the second step of eating better at home.

I was going to make this a well rounded entry and touch on each of my big three topics but I don't feel like talking about money now. What's the news? In short, we're broke, it sucks, story at eleven, peace out.

I blame my grandfather

When it comes to my life, I seem to struggle between the two worlds of all or nothing. And because I've spent so much effort trying to rid myself of the extremes, the idea of dieting freaks me out. Okay, I'll be completely honest with you - I kind of don't want to put in the effort. I totally don't want to put in the effort. Hmmm... I think I just answered the question of why I'm so fat. I have not, however, answered the question of what I'm going to do about it. Meh. Baby steps, bitches.

Fat is a four letter word

There was a time, not so long ago, that I whole-heartedly believed that once I was finally able to rid myself of my numerous life-long issues with food I would no longer be fat. I thought that my weight problem was completely in my head, caused by the fact that I was miserable, I hated my life and body, my family had screwed me up in my formative years and I couldn't find a man to love me just as I was.

Never one to settle with not-good-enough, I spent many years and tens of thousands of dollars getting my head on straight. Today I love a man who loves me like no one ever has. My relationship with my family is strong and fulfilling. I'm content(ish!) with my work, my home, my car and my bank account. I love my life. I am actually in love with my life.

And I am fatter than I have ever been.

How does that work? I mean, I was wrong, obviously. All of the reasons may have been the right reasons but they didn't change the big picture. Controlling my weight is nowhere near as easy as I thought it would be. I boast to myself frequently that food no longer has control over me but, if that is true, why do my eyes keep leaving this screen and slipping over to that chocolate bar that sits on the table behind my computer? If I no longer have issues with food, why am I so full? And, most importantly, why am I so fat?

Bitch blog

I like this new blog. Every day I think "hmmm, what can I bitch about today?" and then I laugh because that's just silly. I like silly.

Oh, sorry, supposed to be bitching.

*ahem*

Fucking blogging is bullshit, man.

Work sucked ass today.

My boyfriend is a in pain.

His kid is super silly and we're having a fun night.

D'oh!

Dammit!

I couldn't maintain, man. I broke.

Being bitchy is bullshit, man.

*teehee*

Worky woes

I'm old. I've learned some important life lessons. I won't bore you with the details but basically don't let anyone link your name with your blog when you are bitching about your work.

Don't ask me how I know.

Okay, I know because one time I was up for reasonably good promotion that I'm really fucking glad I didn't get but back then I kinda wanted it and the other person who was up for the job found my profile name on a dating site and went boink boink boink and found my blog where I had made one negative comment in a sea of awesome 'I love this place' kind of stories and shit hit the fan. I didn't get the new position, I quit the job I did have and forever damaged my relationship with the owner of the company who just happened to be one of the best and oldest friends. Yes, I handled the whole situation extremely bad due my devastation that the personal information on the rest of my blog was found out but fuck you who are you to tell me what I should have done, mutherfukr? What.

Anywhoo... I won't be making that mistake again. If you figure out who I am from reading this? Don't fucking tell anyone or I'll slit your throa... just kidding. I rarely make the same mistake twice.

As I mentioned, I am tremendously glad I didn't get that job because if I had I wouldn't be where I am right now. And I love my job. Didn't always love the boss but that's another story for another post. Today's story is about the attitudes of your subordinates and where those attitudes come from.

GMP, the captain of our ship (who yesterday someone aptly referred to as "a pit-bull in a chiwawa's body') goes through phases of having it in, giving it to and taking it out on various staff members. I mean, she is really good at the business side of things... just a LOT lacking in the interpersonal skills department. I had my own extensive turn on the toe of her boot and it wasn't pretty.

Well, it looks like it's RAT's turn right now. The woman has only worked there for five years but suddenly has an "attitude problem" and tomorrow the boss is going to give her a stern talking to about her work ethic. But here's the real issue: GMP was off for the past two days and left MAT in charge. MAT says she totally doesn't want to be the boss but goes on quite the little power trip when she is number one in command. So she makes demands and gets irate when someone doesn't jump at her bidding. Neither of MAT or GMP seem to realize that people react to the way you speak to them as much as the words you say. If you try to boss a strong willed 50 year old woman around, she is not going to like it. She is not going to hurry to do everything you tell her and take the initiative to do even more just because you barked orders at her like she was some kind of disobedient dog.

Why is it that GMP and MAT are appalled by her bad attitude but I find that RAT does everything I ask her to do, in a timely and efficient manner. Could it be that she prefers to be treated with a little dignity and respect? No. Jesus, how silly of me. Sorry. I must be an idiot.