LIZ'S RANT I
LIZ'S RANT I
(although tec i rant all the time, this is the first one i've titled. hehe and foamy is my inspirtation. hehe)
They say that if you let someone go they’ll come back to you if it’s meant to be. But how does one know what is or isn’t meant to be? Do you just sit back and have faith that one day your love will come floating back to you on cloud made for two? Do you date around, love around, walk aimlessly around, until they’ve decided to love you again, if they ever do. And why do us hopeless romantics, us optimists, us dreamers, always end up waiting around for good things to “Just happen” to us. Why do I have to wait for her to realize that we deserve another chance at this? Why do I have to sit on the sidelines cheering her on while she gets her heart played with by another? And as a good friend I continue to buy hot dogs and diet cokes and watch the game, whispering plays in her ear when she wants me to. Why do I have to mope around waiting, wondering, wishing for a second chance with the only woman I will ever love? Why should I date around, make googly eyes at other woman? Perfectly fine woman, woman who are beautiful and kind and funny and just plain old amazing. But woman I will never love and who will forever be compared to that ONE woman who I am still waiting for. How is that fair to them? To me? To her? How long do I wait before I resign to old maid hood? 30’s? 50’s? 60’s? If I’m still waiting for her by then does that make me a hero or a zero? Does that make me a romantic or a sap who wasted her entire life being devoted to a woman who will never love her back? Does that make me an amazing hearted person or a pathetic loser who just doesn’t know when to cut her loses and when the fuck to move on? Some days I feel like both…
You know what I hate? People who make those damn ugly deals. Deals like “If neither of us is married by the time were 35, we’ll get married ok?” WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?!??! So instead of waiting for love, instead of trusting fate, your going to settle down with your “best friend” of the opposite gender and raise a family? What kind of bullshit is that? Doesn’t everyone deserve their chance to spend the rest of their life with their true love? Doesn’t everyone deserve their chance to spend the rest of their life honoring, cherishing, and protecting that one person who makes their heart skip a beat, that one person who can make you cry because their soul is just that beautiful and you can see it every single time you look into their eyes? (Peka, when I tell you that your beautiful this is what I mean, not only your outsides but what I can see in your eyes) So can the fucking crap about marrying your gay best friend or whatever, just because both of you are alone and feeling pathetic. It may be fun, and you know what, it may even work out. But will you wake up one day at age 60 and be bitter and miserable because you never got a chance to find your soul mate? Because you choose mediocre happiness over the real deal.
God I use a lot of slang and clichés. Its kinda sad that someone for whom writing is a passion, I still can not come up with a single original thought. Maybe that’s because every single thing, every single emotion has already been said and expressed and over processed so we just rephrase it over and over again trying our best to sound provocative or intelligent or somehow insightful. Only I never do. I exist merely to pine and ache and long for things I will never have. Either that or to cure cancer and if the second is truer than the first then I have a lot of catch up to do. Only I am not smart enough for that one, I got a C in chemistry. It just wasn’t for me and the teacher didn’t speak English any better than my dogs and there was this girl who hated me, that distracted me constantly with her trying so hard NOT to look at me, and I was trying just as hard not to look at her and that was because if we ever were to look at each other one of us would turn to stone with hate and the other would waver with forgiveness and she wasn’t ready then, she didn’t trust then, she hated me then all because I had chosen her and I hate myself for hurting her even though this entire story is long time gone and doesn’t even matter to anyone any more. Her ghost still haunts me when I say things like crucify, push pop, or friend. And I can’t even hear her voice anymore inside my head when I read her writings. I use to be able to, just as she use to be able to read my thoughts and know when something was wrong simply from a hello. And I ache to have a friend like that again. Someone I can trust whole heartedly with all my fucked up thoughts and know she will understand. What does she sound like when she trusts, does she trust? How could I forget something so simply, so important? And why do I think of her when I think of first heart break, and why do I think of Joe and date rape, and why do I think that waiting forever just wont be long enough to get my light back. And the questions keep on coming and Zac keeps on drumming and my head hurts from all the pressure. Why do I continue to write about people who do not give a flying fuck, who can let go of the past when I cannot? Who can look towards the future and forget my name and all my tears become the rain that waters their flowers of denial.
And the only thing I’m in denial about is that fact that I’m so damn fat. I’ll be feeling good about myself, walking down the street with my head held high, knowing that my makeup is perfect, that my clothes fit just right, just tight enough in the “right” places. And I’m singing a song and walking along just fine. Until I walk past a glass plate window, a mirror in the mall, a car window, anything that reflects my fat ass back up at me. And my confidence, my self-love, my smile all wash down the drain with the Pepto I took last night to keep my dinner up and my acid down. And I don’t know what to do. I know I’m fat, I can see my chub every single time I look in the mirror, my triple chins and my face so circular that my nose looks like a gathering of bone inside a ball of lard. I have to shape, no figure, no curves, no muscles. All I have is ROUND, LARGE, and nasty. How can people look at me and find this attractive? How can people be my friend and not tell me that I am such a monster. How can a girl who looks like me ever have the confidence that I once had. I use to think I was beautiful, what happened? When did I become this ogre? Or has my self-love fallen away with her love? I wish there was a magic pill I could take, a surgery I could afford, or a God I could pray to that could lift this curse and make me human again. And you know what’s even more funny? The fact that until about two weeks ago, I never realized how truly fat I was. I mean I’m not blind, I knew I was a big girl, but I never knew hot big until two Saturdays ago. Let me tell you an embarrassing, shameful secret of mine. I have always judged myself based on other people. “OH, I’m fat but I’m not AS fat as that woman who just walked by in her spandex pants and too tight shirt with her sixteen rolls popping out, so I must be ok.” Or “Ohhh, I’m fat but I’m not AS fat as that man with his shirt tucked in and the beer gut the size of Montana, so I must be ok.” See, people and gentleman I am truly the WORST kind of fat person. I make myself feel better by not being AS fat as someone else is and that’s just not right. But that all changed on Saturday. “I’m not as fat as her am I?” I asked my “best friend” of a beautiful black woman who I figured was at least twice the size of me, by height and weight. And she just looked nervous and didn’t say a word, looking down at her feet and changing the subject as fast as she could. “WHAT!!!!!!!” I thought, how could she possibly think that I am AS fat as that woman who I thought was WAY fatter than me? And that my brothers and sisters is when I realized that my prospective has always been WAY off and I truly am as fat or fatter than ½ of the people I have made myself feel better by weighing inside my head. And that is when I made myself sick and I could no longer look in the mirror. Welcome to the fucked up world of Lizzie the FAT clown. And you know what I have exercised, I have eaten better, and you know where it gets me? Sore, tired, hungry and miserable. So I guess the question remains, do I want to be a monster or do I want to be sore, tried, hungry, and miserable? The world may never know…
Ok, I guess I’ll stop ranting now…it feels good to get off my chest the exact same things I always get off my chest. I guess they will always keep coming back and clinging to me until I cure myself of them once and for all. We’ll see…
Join us again next week for Liz’s Rant II! Same fat time, same fat channel
(although tec i rant all the time, this is the first one i've titled. hehe and foamy is my inspirtation. hehe)
They say that if you let someone go they’ll come back to you if it’s meant to be. But how does one know what is or isn’t meant to be? Do you just sit back and have faith that one day your love will come floating back to you on cloud made for two? Do you date around, love around, walk aimlessly around, until they’ve decided to love you again, if they ever do. And why do us hopeless romantics, us optimists, us dreamers, always end up waiting around for good things to “Just happen” to us. Why do I have to wait for her to realize that we deserve another chance at this? Why do I have to sit on the sidelines cheering her on while she gets her heart played with by another? And as a good friend I continue to buy hot dogs and diet cokes and watch the game, whispering plays in her ear when she wants me to. Why do I have to mope around waiting, wondering, wishing for a second chance with the only woman I will ever love? Why should I date around, make googly eyes at other woman? Perfectly fine woman, woman who are beautiful and kind and funny and just plain old amazing. But woman I will never love and who will forever be compared to that ONE woman who I am still waiting for. How is that fair to them? To me? To her? How long do I wait before I resign to old maid hood? 30’s? 50’s? 60’s? If I’m still waiting for her by then does that make me a hero or a zero? Does that make me a romantic or a sap who wasted her entire life being devoted to a woman who will never love her back? Does that make me an amazing hearted person or a pathetic loser who just doesn’t know when to cut her loses and when the fuck to move on? Some days I feel like both…
You know what I hate? People who make those damn ugly deals. Deals like “If neither of us is married by the time were 35, we’ll get married ok?” WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?!??! So instead of waiting for love, instead of trusting fate, your going to settle down with your “best friend” of the opposite gender and raise a family? What kind of bullshit is that? Doesn’t everyone deserve their chance to spend the rest of their life with their true love? Doesn’t everyone deserve their chance to spend the rest of their life honoring, cherishing, and protecting that one person who makes their heart skip a beat, that one person who can make you cry because their soul is just that beautiful and you can see it every single time you look into their eyes? (Peka, when I tell you that your beautiful this is what I mean, not only your outsides but what I can see in your eyes) So can the fucking crap about marrying your gay best friend or whatever, just because both of you are alone and feeling pathetic. It may be fun, and you know what, it may even work out. But will you wake up one day at age 60 and be bitter and miserable because you never got a chance to find your soul mate? Because you choose mediocre happiness over the real deal.
God I use a lot of slang and clichés. Its kinda sad that someone for whom writing is a passion, I still can not come up with a single original thought. Maybe that’s because every single thing, every single emotion has already been said and expressed and over processed so we just rephrase it over and over again trying our best to sound provocative or intelligent or somehow insightful. Only I never do. I exist merely to pine and ache and long for things I will never have. Either that or to cure cancer and if the second is truer than the first then I have a lot of catch up to do. Only I am not smart enough for that one, I got a C in chemistry. It just wasn’t for me and the teacher didn’t speak English any better than my dogs and there was this girl who hated me, that distracted me constantly with her trying so hard NOT to look at me, and I was trying just as hard not to look at her and that was because if we ever were to look at each other one of us would turn to stone with hate and the other would waver with forgiveness and she wasn’t ready then, she didn’t trust then, she hated me then all because I had chosen her and I hate myself for hurting her even though this entire story is long time gone and doesn’t even matter to anyone any more. Her ghost still haunts me when I say things like crucify, push pop, or friend. And I can’t even hear her voice anymore inside my head when I read her writings. I use to be able to, just as she use to be able to read my thoughts and know when something was wrong simply from a hello. And I ache to have a friend like that again. Someone I can trust whole heartedly with all my fucked up thoughts and know she will understand. What does she sound like when she trusts, does she trust? How could I forget something so simply, so important? And why do I think of her when I think of first heart break, and why do I think of Joe and date rape, and why do I think that waiting forever just wont be long enough to get my light back. And the questions keep on coming and Zac keeps on drumming and my head hurts from all the pressure. Why do I continue to write about people who do not give a flying fuck, who can let go of the past when I cannot? Who can look towards the future and forget my name and all my tears become the rain that waters their flowers of denial.
And the only thing I’m in denial about is that fact that I’m so damn fat. I’ll be feeling good about myself, walking down the street with my head held high, knowing that my makeup is perfect, that my clothes fit just right, just tight enough in the “right” places. And I’m singing a song and walking along just fine. Until I walk past a glass plate window, a mirror in the mall, a car window, anything that reflects my fat ass back up at me. And my confidence, my self-love, my smile all wash down the drain with the Pepto I took last night to keep my dinner up and my acid down. And I don’t know what to do. I know I’m fat, I can see my chub every single time I look in the mirror, my triple chins and my face so circular that my nose looks like a gathering of bone inside a ball of lard. I have to shape, no figure, no curves, no muscles. All I have is ROUND, LARGE, and nasty. How can people look at me and find this attractive? How can people be my friend and not tell me that I am such a monster. How can a girl who looks like me ever have the confidence that I once had. I use to think I was beautiful, what happened? When did I become this ogre? Or has my self-love fallen away with her love? I wish there was a magic pill I could take, a surgery I could afford, or a God I could pray to that could lift this curse and make me human again. And you know what’s even more funny? The fact that until about two weeks ago, I never realized how truly fat I was. I mean I’m not blind, I knew I was a big girl, but I never knew hot big until two Saturdays ago. Let me tell you an embarrassing, shameful secret of mine. I have always judged myself based on other people. “OH, I’m fat but I’m not AS fat as that woman who just walked by in her spandex pants and too tight shirt with her sixteen rolls popping out, so I must be ok.” Or “Ohhh, I’m fat but I’m not AS fat as that man with his shirt tucked in and the beer gut the size of Montana, so I must be ok.” See, people and gentleman I am truly the WORST kind of fat person. I make myself feel better by not being AS fat as someone else is and that’s just not right. But that all changed on Saturday. “I’m not as fat as her am I?” I asked my “best friend” of a beautiful black woman who I figured was at least twice the size of me, by height and weight. And she just looked nervous and didn’t say a word, looking down at her feet and changing the subject as fast as she could. “WHAT!!!!!!!” I thought, how could she possibly think that I am AS fat as that woman who I thought was WAY fatter than me? And that my brothers and sisters is when I realized that my prospective has always been WAY off and I truly am as fat or fatter than ½ of the people I have made myself feel better by weighing inside my head. And that is when I made myself sick and I could no longer look in the mirror. Welcome to the fucked up world of Lizzie the FAT clown. And you know what I have exercised, I have eaten better, and you know where it gets me? Sore, tired, hungry and miserable. So I guess the question remains, do I want to be a monster or do I want to be sore, tried, hungry, and miserable? The world may never know…
Ok, I guess I’ll stop ranting now…it feels good to get off my chest the exact same things I always get off my chest. I guess they will always keep coming back and clinging to me until I cure myself of them once and for all. We’ll see…
Join us again next week for Liz’s Rant II! Same fat time, same fat channel