The Craziest Diet I’ve Ever Tried (Part One)

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It was a rainy Spring day as I sat in Dr. L’s office. Dr. L was an endocrinologist at the largest Upper East Side medical facility in New York.

After she went over my results, she glanced down at my feet. “Cute boots,” she said.

“Thanks,” I murmured.

They were bright orange rubber rain boots with cute little white flowers. A drag queen had given them to me the year before. Usually I would jump right into the random “only in New York” story behind the shoes, but I couldn’t. I was too busy trying to maintain composure despite the lump in my throat. This was a new doctor, but these weren’t new results….

She had run so many tests, drawn so much blood, and there was still no explanation. I am 100% healthy, no diabetes, no high blood pressure, no nothing. Everything about my body is perfect… except that I am overweight.

She went into the age old suggestions: Exercise… Portion Control… Fruits and Veggies…”

I sat there nodding mechanically. Tears began stinging my eyes. I felt an eruption of emotion and I’m not sure if I was speaking to myself or her but I heard myself saying “I do those things, and… it’s not working!”

I couldn’t make eye contact, I found myself fixated on my boots. Last week Dr. L saw me wearing nothing but a blue paper jacket, but in the statement I just made, I felt truly naked.

Dr. L took a pause and looked at me, her eyes softening. She sat down on the edge of her desk, “Well,” she began “we need to explore other options.”

Then Dr. L mentioned something that had never crossed my mind, “weight loss surgery”.

My mind began to race… Wasn’t weight loss surgery for people on the Discovery channel who were confined to their beds for years at a time?? I was a young, fashionable, active girl who still took dance classes weekly (and rocked it), I easily trot up the stairs when exiting the subway and I walk just as briskly as the next New Yorker… do I really need surgery to reach my goals?

“Absolutely not.” I replied, “No.”

Dr. L smiled “Good, that’s what I wanted to hear. I really think you can do this, now– we have a program that I think may work for you. Its been very successful…”

She wouldn’t tell me much about the program, just that it would drastically change my eating habits and calorie intake. She signed me up for an informational meeting the next week.

Though it was still raining, I left her office in a sunny mood. I tucked my jeans into my rain boots and walked through Central Park on my way home. Might as well get a head start on (yet another) weight loss journey.

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A Plus Size Princess & Online Dating

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In the craziness that is New York City Nightlife, is it possible to meet “Mr. Right”? The general consensus of my single girlfriends, plus size or not, is No.

But I would magnify that decision dramatically when it comes The Scene. While many of the plus size divas who attend these events seem to be open to love, the men who flock to the parties seem to view a plus size woman as a sexual fantasy, not a potential relationship.

So, what’s a girl who is looking for The One to do? I was brought up to expect certain things from a male who was interested in me. I am looking for courtship, chivalry and of course ultimately… love. After much disillusionment I realized I probably was not going to get that from a guy that I met in a club, BBW or otherwise….

One of my old co-workers recently became engaged. When she called me with the news, I asked how they met.

“Officially, we met on the subway,” she said. Then she lowered her voice, “but between you and me, we met on the Internet!”

This was the third successful relationship I had heard of that started online. Maybe my past experience had scarred me. I hadn’t looked into the Internet in years, maybe it was time for me to revisit. I started with the sites whose commercial theme songs I knew by heart, but after weeks I had little to no response.

Then I began to do some research, ha! I should have known that there were sites specifically for plus size princesses. I found an online community where you could register to be on sites based on things like religion, race and body type preferences.

I began talking to a banker named Matthew who worked on wall street, we had been talking via phone and Instant Messenger for the past week. One night Paige was over and as she checked her email on my computer I heard the chime of an IM come in (I had forgotten to log off).

“‘BKBANKER’, hmmm I know that name,” Paige said.

EEK! Paige was getting a glimpse into my new dating world and I didn’t like it. “That’s a friend of mine,” I said “I don’t think you know him…”

“I do,” Paige said. “Is his real name Matt?”

How did she know?

She saw the look on my face and laughed, “CeCe are you on an online dating site?” I had no choice but to confess. As it turned out, Paige was on the same site and, according to her, so were many of the other BBW’s from DIVAS.

“I used to talk to Matt. You shouldn’t bother with him– all he wants is sex.”

Augh! Here I thought I had found a loop-hole, a way to get out of The Scene and still find guys who were interested in a plus size princess. Somehow, I ended up walking right into the online version of the scene I was trying to avoid.

I wasn’t going to loose hope completely, I still had an inbox full of messages, hopefully from men Paige had never spoken to….

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A Dating Hazzard: The Dating Drive-by

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I was in a bit of a funk, but it was Friday night and Paige was in the mood to do something, so she came over. As we looked up things to do, she came up with an idea to call a driver (yes, as in taxi) that she had met, well… in a taxi.

They had been talking for a few weeks. Somehow on her drive home she decided she should show him a picture of ME, and from that point on, he had been calling trying to get her introduce us and according to her he also wanted to hook her up with “one of his boys”.

I didn’t care about meeting Driver, but Paige wanted to meet Drivers Friend. This put me into the role of “wing-chick”. Paige sat at the foot of my bed dialing Drivers number as I lay in bed holding a stuffed animal and staring into space. As she got off the phone, she shrieked with excitement.

“They’ll be here in 1 hour!”

I crawled out of bed, and managed to brush my hair, apply some make-up and throw on a denim skirt and an off the shoulder black top. At which point I crawled back into bed. The next 20 minutes as we waited for a call from Driver, consisted of Paige routinely spraying herself with body splash and reapplying lip gloss.

The phone rang and we made our way downstairs where Driver and Drivers Friend were waiting in a car (no, not a taxi). Paige walked a few steps ahead of me, and as she did I could see the men whispering to each other. As she approached the car, Driver rolled down his window. She reached in and shook Drivers Friend’s hand.

“He cant get out of the car to meet you?” I muttered under my breath. Paige hushed me with a sharp glance.

Driver opened the door and swung his legs onto the street, he leaned forward and looked me over, Drivers Friend stayed put.

“So, listen” Driver glanced back to his friend who was staring straight ahead, “He’s really tired, so we can’t hang out tonight, but we just wanted to come by and say ‘hello’.”

“Oh… okay, no problem– it is kinda late,” Paige replied nodding.

“Um, are you joking??” I blurted out.

“Listen I’m sorry,” he said to me, “but hey– maybe I can get your number?”

“Um, you can get it from Paige,” I lied and walked back to my building.

I turned around and Paige was leaning into the car, shaking hands with Drivers Friend.

It seemed I was the only one who realized that Drivers Friend had changed his mind once he saw his date for the evening. It was obvious that his level of fatigue was in direct connection to his interest in the female before him. I could have bet money that as they sped off, Drivers Friend suddenly had a burst of energy at which point they probably made their way to a bar or club.

I had heard of scenes like this before, a blind date that is supposed to entail a timely event like coffee or dinner is suddenly cut short when both parties meet and the uninterested party suddenly only has a “few minutes” before they have to be somewhere else.

This is a Dating Drive-by, and we had just become victims.

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*Cricket… Cricket*

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I’m going to keep this short.

After over a month of follow up calls and promises to make plans, he has fallen off the face of the earth.

Don’t judge but… I thought he was The One.

*sigh*

Unless there is some Universal redemption to this tragic tale of could’ve been love… he is not.

I will spare you the “coulda shoulda wouldas” (ranging from kissing him to being 30 pounds lighter) that have been swirling in my head.

I don’t know what happened, but what I do know is that I need to keep it movin‘.

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I’m in the Fat Girl Closet

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The other day, I witnessed someone ask an effeminate acquaintance of mine if he had a “boyfriend”. While this man triggers my gaydar each time I see him, I know that he lives his life as if he is straight. The look on his face was a mix of emotions. It was as if for a moment, he was startled into the reality he constantly works to ignore. The odd thing was that I understood.

I understood because, I am in the Fat Girl Closet.

It is a rare occasion that I acknowledge the fact that I am larger than most of the people I know. I don’t talk about my weight, instead, I ignore it. I’ve convinced myself that if I pretend its not there, people wont notice it.

But every once in a while I will get startled into the reality that even if I say nothing about it, the size of my body speaks for its self.

Its not that I’m ashamed. I know that I am attractive, I just don’t want to be defined by my weight.

Like a few weeks ago, I decided to go swimming at my gym. I had recently purchased a black vintage inspired halter-top bathing suit and as I slipped on my pink sequined flip flops and walked to grab a towel a woman stopped me and said, “You have confidence!” I wasn’t sure what to say, so I just smiled. She took this as a cue to continue, “I love seeing a woman of your size who isn’t embarrassed!”

Though I was in a Manhattan gym locker-room with women who were a size 10 or smaller, it wasn’t until she made her comments that I became self conscious.

She had outed me as Fat.

I even keep the BBW scene a secret from my skinny friends. Although they’ve all been out with me at mainstream clubs and see that I don’t get much “action” I don’t want to admit that I have to go to a special club to meet guys. (I don’t think I have to make the comparison between me secretly going to BBW parties and person secretly going to gay bars… I’m in the Fat Girl Closet!)

Until I started writing this blog, my weight was something that was reserved for quiet conversations with my Mother and sisters. While I love sharing my experiences here, I often wonder if I do it because its more or less anonymous.

Dana is my only friend who knows about thebiggirlblog, I don’t share it with my skinny friends (who all know that I write and pester me about blogging often). Sometimes I want to tell them, but having them read my experiences would pull the curtain down from the facade I’ve been maintaining that my weight has no effect on my life.

My weight does not define me.

…Okay, maybe it does.

Perhaps the person I really don’t want to know how much being an overweight person in New York City defines me is… me.

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