I woke up the day after Christmas, briefly forgetting that it had happened. That is, until I walked into my living room to find crap everywhere, empty wine bottles from the previous night’s celebrations all over the counter, and I turned on the news to promises of weight loss and finally, finally, being a less suck ass version of yourself. Ahhh yes. It’s December 26th. Time to feel bad about the entire year closing behind us, and look hopefully into the new one armed with fancy diets and gym memberships.
But, I didn’t feel bad about the year closing behind me. Could it have been better? Sure. Could I have made less mistakes? Always. Could I be stronger? Yeah. Would it all have been more enjoyable if I weighed less? Nope.
If you want to take on 2015 by joining gyms and focusing on weight, high five. You have my complete support… from here. More specifically, my house, a restaurant booth, doing stretches while watching Roseanne in my living room, and on the sideline of whatever race you are running while holding a motivational sign and a flask. I will be your biggest cheerleader.
My hopes for 2015 no longer reside underneath the needle of the scale in my bathroom. They reside in my ability to throw away what I no longer need, be happy with what I have, and be excited about what I hope to be in 2015. Here’s the official roundup.
I think this is a fat girl thing for me. Sometimes it feels hard enough for me to be accepted, I’m hyper worried about doing anything to jeopardize it. As a teenager I would always be the house with beer. As an adult I am the one who overspends on gifts and turns the other cheek when I shouldn’t. I mean, if I stopped bribing people to be my friend and stopped letting them treat me like crap, would anyone be left? The answer is yes. Lots of them. It’s 2015, do you like me? I don’t care. I’m a great friend. I love hard and give freely, but I also work hard. I deserve friendships based on equality. I deserve to be liked as much as I like, and supported as much as I support. Wanna be friends? Awesome.
It’s really easy to sit here and think, why not me? I’ve been working on the internet for 8 years, and in that time, I’ve done a whole mess of sitting back trying not to be envious when someone else got an opportunity I didn’t. There is no success in that kind of anger. So, I just kept my head down, focused on doing what I loved, and waited for my turn. It worked. A rising tide raises all ships, remember that. Being bitter and lashing out about being excluded would have only kept me from the perfect fit opportunity waiting for me. My 2015 was worth the wait.
I keep trying to make these happen for me, but the fact of the matter is that I pull my jeans up too high to make these look good. Having denim hanging off my hips and a low crotch looks cute in my head, but in practice, it just means my underwear sticks out and the tops of my thighs touch through the drapey crotch area. Jennifer Aniston is the demographic for these pants, Brittany and her upper thigh fat are not. I surrender.
Days go by between posts here, and it’s not because I don’t care, it’s because my best writing is scary writing, and that takes time. There is a tiny person who lives in my head, like the cartoon version of Lizzie Mcguire, only my girl has frizzier hair and faded black leggings, and she sometimes has to spend a few days screaming “YES JUST WRITE THAT EXACT THING STOP BEING A PUSSY AND FOCUS.” My goal for 2015 is to keep conquering bigger and awesomer platforms; the radio, television, your book shelf. I have a post it note above my computer screen in my office that says “Will this make the world better for Gigi? Then DO IT.” I surround myself with every reason in the world to be a loud woman, so that I have no other choice but to act loudly. And now that I am starting the outline of my next book, my little cartoon Brittany is working overtime. She deserves a raise and massage. One of those fancy happy ending ones.
I recently had some guy comment on, like, 20 of my Instagram pictures that I looked like a dude. Which is weird. If my parts look like what he thinks boy parts look like, I have to question what kind of boy parts he’s looking at, because somewhere along the way someone has clearly lied to him. This would probably have been a humiliating thing to me a few years ago, now I just laugh and block him, not because I’m embarrassed, but because I don’t need anyone wasting their time defending my vagina on the internet when we could be doing way better things with our time. Also, my vagina is a big girl, she can stick up for herself, it’s the only way she’ll learn. Joking aside, I have found paying attention to the good that people put into this world is more rewarding than the bad. It’s disrespectful to give more power to the one person yelling NO than to the millions of you yelling YES. I am grateful for every one of you, and the least I can do is give you the respect and acknowledgement you deserve.
Bring It, 2015:
Last week we took the kids to a University of Toledo basketball game, and with 4 minutes left, I looked at Andy and whispered that we should go to avoid the traffic mess after the game. The kids totally didn’t want to leave, but we insisted because we’re adults and know traffic is the suckiest thing ever, and that trumps the last 4 minutes of a game we had been playing Trivia Crack through, anyway. (Holy shit, are you playing? Me too, I’m addicted, you should totally challenge me.) That night I laid in bed feeling horrible about making them leave. They were having a blast, eating peanuts and cheering for the home team, who the hell cares about traffic? There are worse things than sitting in a warm car singing the soundtrack to the New Annie and dicking around on my phone. Instead, I push ahead so hard that entire moments whisk by me in the name of speed and convenience. My experiences range from every day to extraordinary, and I don’t give either scenario the presence it deserves. Instead, I am always five steps ahead, wrapping my brain around surviving whatever is coming next instead of realizing all the cool shit happening to me right this second.
I have serious boundary issues… with myself. Even though I know I am over-extended, I rarely say no. In my head, I assume that will make me a better person and make everyone like me more (ahem, see above), but in reality, it often makes me present my worst self; tired, not invested and resentful. In 2015 I’m saying no and being way more selfish with my time. I’m taking more rainchecks. I’m shoving Andy on the bed and locking the bedroom door more. I am letting more calls go to voicemail (but seriously, don’t leave me a voicemail. I’ll never listen to it. Text me like a normal human.). I’m getting down on the floor to play more with my kids. And I’m going to bed without my phone. I’m not sharing my sleep time with anyone, anymore. 2015 is the year of me, and I feel very Lebron James saying shit like that, but I mean it.
It’s mine. And I can’t fucking wait.