Quitting like a Fat Babe does.

 

stardust

Babes. I fucking quit my job. A job I loved. A job I was good at, that I think made a tiny difference. And, let’s be real, a job that paid half the bills and meant that we could have fancy cheese sometimes.

That is some messed up, holy shit, mid life mother fucking crisis business, no?

Rhetorical question – IT IS OBVI WILDLY RECKLESS. Especially for a fat babe with a protestant prairie work ethic. YOU NEVER QUIT A JOB WITHOUT ANOTHER JOB. It is the middle class mantra of prairie people since time immemorial. But I totally fucking did. So there.

Welcome to the party. Confession: by party I mean the exact opposite.

I am fucking exhausted. Babes I’m tired. The kind of tired that makes me want to sleep for days. The kind of tired that makes nothing seem worth getting up for. The kind of tired that often requires expensive therapy and significant life changes. And, y’all, I have been tired for a while. So I quit.

Look it was either quit or lose everything, so the choice was a no brainer. I mean, babes, I pretty much have it all : partner that I love and that I still think is a total babe who is kind and patient and knows how to fix shit, a scrappy kid that is pretty much the best thing that ever happened to me, a couple dirt bag dogs, a mostly un-fucked up family that loves me, enough disposable income to ensure that I look sick as fuck, and a place to lay my head every night – not the worst life. In fact, kind of the best life.

And then there was a moment in time (my fucking birthday if we are going to be specific – which I am) where my S.O. was all ‘get your head out of your ass and engage with the people who love you like you love them back or I am outta here’ – Babes that is the kind of sentence that you fucking pay attention to. And then you fix it.

The reality of my life is that my anxiety has always been a tricky little fucker. And the other truth is that the kind of work that I do is deeply impactful – in all the good ways and all the really fucking bad ways. And then this other shitty thing happened where my crazy went and tied itself to land and humanity and the ways that this planet and her people are so sick. Babes, there is no escape from a sick planet. A lover once said to me ‘i don’t know how you can manage your anxiety when the world is so full of hurt’. She nailed it, babes, how do we manage in a sick world? How do those of us with giant hearts who feel things hard and long and deep stay afloat?

The hard truth is I have no fucking clue. I can’t tell when I am sick and when I am just anxious. I feel like I am dying every single day. I can’t turn off my worry about dying and leaving my little girl, I can’t stop being afraid that she will turn out like her mama, hurting in a world that needs more love and heart and peace than we can give. I can’t stop wondering whether today will be the day when my partner has just had enough of it and walks out the door.

Honestly, babes, anxiety has pretty much meant that I can’t have nice things (or maybe, secret confession, that I don’t deserve them). Or at least that’s how it feels. A lot.

That is why I had to quit the ever loving hell out of my job. Cause this is the kind of wonky brain stuff that fucking destroys lives and I may be crazy but I am not stupid and I was not gonna go down like that. Hell to the fucking no. Cause babes, on my clear days, I know that we are all worth fighting for, I’m worth fighting for fer crissakes. My people and community and this planet deserve a fat, kind hearted, blaspheming warrior femme to bring the noise, the chaos and the motherfucking style.

Now I get that quitting a damn job is maybe a large-ish gesture and that many people just hire a life coach or do yoga or something less, well, drastic. But I am a babe that tends to lean towards the dramatic, the hysterical, the ‘burn it with fire’ approaches to significant life problems. I mean why do anything halfway, amiright?

K, and to be clear i am also fully aware that quitting a job the same day you first think about quitting said job is not just born out of enormous balls and recklessness, but also privilege and a partner who works, so I get that I sound actually ridiculous. But here is the goddamn lowdown: I have until mid February to figure out what the fuck do with myself that will give me energy instead of suck the life out of me. I gotta figure out how to live in this world in a good way for my family and my community.

So the current plan is to start by doing myself a solid and taking some time to chill the fuck out. And from there, I am banking on the fact that adventure awaits.

So I quit. I worked my last day Friday. So that I can live.

First Day at No Work:

Post Work Out:

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My new work has an even more casual dress code than the clinic!

My New Co-Workers and Office:

 

The bar for efficiency and work ethic is extremely low here. Like, if I stay awake and don’t pee on the couch I will have surpassed my colleagues by significant amounts.

 

 

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‘Dressing for my body type’ like a fat babe does.

I am on a tear today. Trust when I say there is a lot to be on a tear about. Babes, honestly I see myself as a positively oriented person. I do. I really feel like a glass half full kind of babe. And today is no different; its just that my glass is half full of bullshit. Kay fine, its totally full. Whatever, haters gonna hate.

Here is the deal. The internet is ablaze with some real world shit – my social media is currently packed with badass activism. The kind of activism I want to put my energy into: harm reduction, prison and justice reform, calling out rape culture, and decolonizing the ever loving hell out of healthcare. That’s what’s up for me and the people I love right now. And of course I’m also trying to be the least amount of racist i possibly can as a white settler here on Turtle Island (which is to say still pretty racist, but hopefully a little less all the time). So y’know I’ve got some shit on my mind.

And then today. Today, babes, I learned that my college put together a learning module about professionalism that asks that I wear clothes that flatter my body type and infers that I think twice about piercings, tattoos, and eye rolls.

**EYE ROLL**

Whiskey. Tango. Foxtrot.

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does this ring make me look fat?

I can’t even babes. I will say right now that I am gonna be real real for a sec about some gender shit. By now most of you should have gathered that my fat babe utopia is for fat babes of all genders, but today I need to address some motherfucking lady business. I work in a gendered profession so when I read things like I did today all I can think is ‘how have we let ourselves use up so much goddamn energy on hating ourselves and fatphobia?’. And then I remember that our capitalist and colonial system has brilliantly co-opted women’s bodies(especially BIPOC bodies) as a first line of defense against those of us thinking about rising up. It is devastatingly unsurprising that my colleagues feel that this is the pressing issue on the table for my profession. It is because it is also the pressing issue in most women’s minds. The average woman spends an entire month a year worrying about appearance. A goddamn month babes. That’s 12 hours a week. Of that, 1 hour and 45 minutes is spent on worrying about being/getting fat (the rest is a more generalized ‘i look the worst and everything is terrible about me’ kind of worry). No wonder we have no time to smash the state, we are too busy destroying ourselves. That is how this system works to keep us separate, judgmental, and cold. Body policing babes. It is sapping our goddamn energy and taking away from the work that needs doing.

So, to get a little social work-y for a sec – lets unpack some of the ways we are fucking with each other – cause I believe that it has to start with fat babes, those of us who are already on our way to flipping tables about this stuff while also looking as babely as we wanna. Fat Babes can handle the duality of our lives – we get that we can care about how we look at the same time as we challenge how we think about how we look. Fat Babes, yall, we are complex motherfuckers.

Maggie’s Top Three Fat Hating Phrases That Keep Us All Down.

1. ‘Flattering’.

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Clearly I’m not the first genius to come up with this thought.    Naturally there is a crop top. #croptopsforalloccassions
 First off fucking fuck flattering straight to fucking hell. What the hell does flattering even mean? It is just another way that we have learned to hate on each other. I have been told wearing stripes is unflattering…so is showing a little belly, so are tight mini-skirts, same for bikinis, and shorts. Too bad all of these things figure prominently in my spring/summer 2016 fashion game. Reality check. I know a million hot fat babes who buck these trends every. single. day. And they look like righteous babes in their sick threads. So what are we actually saying when we talk about ‘flattering’? Well first off, if we are talking about fat women, we are saying they are not covered up enough in billowy clothes to hide their fat- basically it isn’t flattering to wear clothes that make fat more visible. In general though, we are saying there are rules to follow – especially if you are fat and woman identified- and if you don’t follow them then we will put you in your place. We say ‘why can’t she just wear clothes that are more flattering for her body’ which means ‘i would never ever wear that because I know the rules and I would never break them because then other women would judge me too’. It is a vicious cycle of nonsense where no one quite knows the rules, and we really dont wanna break em so we distract from our lack of knowing by judging and assessing everyone around us and the beat goes on. This is some classic white people comedy of manners realness. And it will never end unless we all just stop using the word flattering forever. FUCK FLATTERING.

2. ‘Dressing for your body type’.

Let me just tell you how to do this once and for all. Find clothes you like. Put them on your body. Ask yourself ‘does this fit comfortably? do I feel hot?’. If the answer is yes to both then you have successfully dressed for your body type. Bravo.

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Can you even with this hot fat babe model from http://www.readytostare.com        And also that sick tee – beyond babes, just beyond.

If you feel amazing in what you are wearing where do the rest of us get off having a shitty attitude about whether you should wear that crop top with those leggings (you totally fucking should, btw.)? Stop policing each other, stop having an opinion about what we can and cannot wear. Guess what? If it is on my body, I can wear it. The ‘dressing for your body type’ trope is just another way of making women feel like they can’t wear what they love. Wear. What. You. Love. Life is too short babes. People are gonna hate us no matter what we wear; especially if we choose to be unapolagetically fat in the world and you know what? Better them than us. That’s not about dressing for your type, their shit is about body hatred and fatphobia, straight up, served ice  cold.

 

 

3. ‘Does she think she is getting away with that?’

Get away with what exactly? Wearing clothes other people don’t like to see on bodies like mine? Easy. I just get dressed.

maggie
Cage bras, babes. Pretty sure we should all be ‘getting away with this’.

When we wear clothes others don’t think fat people should wear, we never ‘get away with it’, we just don’t give a shit, or at least not enough to cave. Believe me, I know that when I wear a bikini to the beach that people are gonna have a thing to say. And babes, trust me, I spend time harnessing my inner fat babe bitch to get ready for whatever other women wanna throw at me. For real though babes I’d rather not-it would be way easier if women just stopped shit talking my steaze and *actually* let me ‘get away with it’.

These types of phrases are coded body policing. Most women experience it at some point in their lives and fat women live with it on the daily. This is on top of the month a year many of us spend doing it to ourselves. We spend so much time hating fat that we don’t even realize that we are wasting our lives on something that doesn’t even matter.

Fat.

Babes, it’s not a dirty word unless we make it one. Even fat activism has been diluted by body positivity. I’m all for loving our bodies, but my personal feeling is that until we get right with fat, we aren’t gonna get anywhere with another love yourself anthem. We need a fucking fat revolution so we can get to the actual revolution.

Cause babes, imagine if we all just stopped.

Imagine if my college put all that energy about appearance into integrating the TRC health recommendations from the Truth and Reconciliation Comission into nursing.

Imagine if all the fat phobic body hating clatter in our minds just quieted down.

Imagine if we could stop worrying about the giggling group of teens at the beach or the mothers cluck clucking at the school, or the women working out next to us at the gym.

Imagine never having to hear someone berate themselves for enjoying a piece of cheese before they eat said cheese.

Babes in this version of the world we could get some goddamn work done. We would have an entire month of spare time to give capitalist, racist and colonial systems the shit kicking they so richly deserve. We could stand in solidarity with fat babes fighting deep injustice on the frontlines; we could love each other so fiercely.

It would be so beautifully quiet. We would suddenly have time and space and peace to think. So much beautiful fat babe energy to focus on creating a just and kind and loving world. A world where we gather in the streets to honour, resist, celebrate, love, acknowledge, and engage with one another. In booty shorts, if we want.

Smooches.

Shopping in the world like a fat babe does

Babes, I’m a shopper, I am. Fat vanity is my total game and I’m not ashamed to say I give many fucks about my appearance. Like, really a lot, a lot. I want to present in the world in a certain way and performing my gender and fat femme identity is important and helps me feel able to meet the universe head on. Also, I wanna look hot.

I love clothes and adornment and I love finding cool shit to wear. And babes, I’m pretty good at it. I have to admit though that sometimes my shopping gets a little out of control. I blame feelings of fat babe fashion scarcity- y’know, when you are like ‘I better stock up on this halfway decent sparkly sweater cause you don’t know what kinda plus size nonsense they are gonna come up with next’.

I have been scarred more than once by plus size whimsy- the weird razzle dazzle that ends up on random clothes. Like somehow if you bedazzle jeans enough, or embroider enough flowers on tops, or sew enough lace onto a dress that somehow this will fool people into thinking I’m skinny. Babes, there is no known number of sequins that can distract you from my fat ass (thankfully). To be clear, I am not opposed to rhinestones, sequins, lace, or flowers. I AM opposed to using them to try to hide my fat. I am beyond over plus size design that believes if you look deeply enough into the sparkle you won’t notice my fat bod. That is some fucked up fashion logic, y’all. Screw ‘slimming’. I am not here for clothes that want me to hide in them and really, sequins should be used for the power of good, not evil.

I’m also old enough that, for much of my 20’s, plus size fashion was largely about designing clothes to keep you from being seen. Cause why would a fatty want to be noticed in the world.

Fuck. That. Noise.

But I digress.

Whimsy and invisibility have directly led to my scarcity based shopping process. For real, I have been known to buy the same outfit twice, just in case.

Babes, do not do what I do. It is a shopping flaw. It’s unaffordable and it is what sustains the fast fashion industry, so basically the worst. Besides, things have gotten better, not great, but better for a fat babe’s fashion game.

I have spent the last couple of years trying to shake the twin shadows of whimsy and scarcity while shopping. For too long they have haunted my fat babe psyche and are the reason I have two pairs of the exact same goddamned sweat pants.

Babes, welcome to my fashion thunder dome: one babe enters, one babe leaves with only what she needs. Follow me into the ruthless world of the shopping trip and come out the other side unscathed and with a super cute outfit for your trouble.

Here is my shopping game plan – designed specifically to help me avoid being decimated by consumerism and my own personal fat babe shopping demons. These 6 key shopping strategies help me avoid a panicked shopping frenzy and major buyers remorse.

1. I only shop when I’m feeling A level hot. Basically I have to feel like the whole world wants to get with me and I’m all ‘meh, I’m busy’. Happily for me I’m often A level hot.

2. I put on my current favourite outfit before leaving the house and I don’t try on anything that I feel is less cute than the outfit I’m wearing.

3. Never buy doubles. Unless you are buying bras, but otherwise, never. Babes just don’t do it. It seems like such a good idea, but that is just the other side of the scarcity coin, and then you have two pairs of the same pants for the swap pile.

4. Avoid the ‘cute enough for a fattie’ fashion. Y’know, the shit that is made out of fabric that looks kinda ok but feels like shit, or that has just a little too much business going on. These items can be sneaky and sometimes they make it into the change room, but don’t let them come home with you. No matter how much they whine about it.

5. Bring a friend. Someone who will give it to you straight and not let you make bad choices. Friends can’t make it? That is why we have smartphones. I have been known to text change room photos to other fat babes for second opinions.

6. Look beyond the whimsy. Sometimes you gotta see past the sequins. I have a stitch ripper and I have used it to make clothes that fit great, wearable. Sometimes a fat babe has to take matters into her own hands and sometimes the whimsy can be removed.

Ok babes, come top shopping with me:

 Ok. See? Pretty cute right? Casual, side pony, didn’t try too hard, but still looks slammin’.

Then I take off the coat and scarf…

  BAM!!!!!!!!
That is a leopard print t-shirt dress. Top that Winners…if you dare.

K, first up:

 ok, teal. You are tricky because I love you no matter what. You could be a misshapen sack and I would have a hard time leaving you behind. Babes, honestly I probably would have bought this if my brother had not been all ‘it’s ok, but is it really worth 29.99?’. THIS IS WHY YOU NEED A FRIEND! Or a younger brother who doesn’t care that teal is like, a really hard colour to come by.

Ok on to the next. Now even though it is still in the effing deep freeze of the Canadian prairie, spring shit is starting to pop up, and I am so desperate for this ungodly season to be over that I tried this on:


  Cute right? Cute print, nice shape, can be knotted for all your crop top needs…WRONG. This is a trick top. The fabric was awful and I overlooked it for aesthetic. Do not buy clothes that feel shitty because you are wooed by a print. Fabric. Is. Everything. I don’t care what it actually is made of, just don’t buy shit that feels gross on your body. I have had to learn this lesson multiple times, don’t be like me.

Also, don’t buy clothes for a season that is not yet upon us. Especially spring fashions. Now I am aware that what I am suggesting is a seemingly impossible task for those of us who get 6 months of winter. I know babes, you just want it to be over, and a tank top in a rack full of winter wear is like seeing the first robin, but just leave it there, in nature, for the next fat babe to see.

Ok moving along.

Well, this happened:

 At first I was all ‘maybe?’. Cause y’all, I like a deep V and a horizontal stripe as much as the next babe, but then…
  There was the issue of extra side fabric. Why? What is the point? Just, no. This felt like some straight size designer got stuck making a plus line and was all ‘extra side fabric for drapiness, sure. Whatever.’. Just cause people clearly hate their jobs does not mean fat babes should have to pay. Lazy design or evil design-You decide.

Either way this top is a mess- at least on me. I will say that it is so interesting how one item that looks crap on one fat babe can look brill on the next. Our fat bodies are all so different that sometimes shit that is an epic fail on me will look sick as fuck on you. Pretty sure that extra side fabric is a universal fail, but I am prepared to be surprised.

Ok, I was totally sure I was trying on a dress next, but I was deceived by this tricky tunic:

I love the print and feel strongly that a denim vest or black cardigan and clunky boots would make this totally work appropriate.

Babes then I noticed the slits:

 on each side. A TUNIC. Now I have nothing against a tunic, I just don’t like being surprised. And this print as a tunic gives me pause. I phoned a friend. Well texted, cause I had to send pics, natch. Here is the text convo:

Me: Is this work appropriate or just ugly granny?

Me: K just looked at the pics I sent and I’m thinking ugly granny?

Gill: I feel like you look hot and would rock that dress. 

Me: It’s a tunic. 😦

Me: I feel it is too ‘tragique fat girl fashion’ for me.

Gill: I understand those concerns. 

And there you have it. When in doubt mull that shit over with someone who has your best interests at heart.

Finally, this shopping trip started to pay off:

 This is more like it. Fabric I can totally live with even if it is that cotton feeling rayon. That print is fucking awesome and this length is perfect for a mini skirt. And I like it as much as the leopard print dress I came in with. Also I can’t wait to wear it which is an excellent sign.

And so endeth my shopping trip. One cute top, singular. No doubles, no nearly there fashions. No feeling shit about my choices. All thanks to my guidelines for avoiding fat babe shopping traps.

Now fat babes, I showed you mine, show me yours? How do you avoid personal Fatshion “dont’s”, and bring home only the cutest most wearable things? How do you take risks and still manage to dodge the plus size weirdness that exists out there. Tell me all your secret strategies!

Cause babes we gotta wear something, so figuring out a way to make shopping fun and effective is a deeply useful fat babe skill.

And remember, your fat bod is fucking perfect. If clothes aren’t working don’t despair- we don’t need to take on plus size designers poor choices as a reflection of our body’s worth.  It is not a matter of your body not fitting the clothes, it is the clothes not fitting your body. Which is the clothes’ loss not yours.

Go forth and adorn. Smooches.

 This is how I wear that top, by the way. It was not cropped enough for me so a quick knot helped make it work, dontcha think?  💋

Beth Ditto spring 2016: fashion like a fat babe does.

Babes. Beth Ditto has come along way from the Granville dive bar show she did when I saw her in all her sweaty fat bitch glory; schooling fat bashing hecklers by getting more naked way back in 2002, van-city. We were all messier fat queers then. We may have grown up a little, but that fierce as hell fat babe attitude still speaks to me in a really real way.  And those hecklers from back then? Well they can now eat it, cause Beth Ditto is famous as fuck-all thanks to her fat, naked, fuck you, punk rock attitude. Oh and also, now she is making clothes I covet as well.

This is not the first time that Ditto has done clothes (remember that Evans collection a million years ago?). It is the first time she has been able to do whatever the fuck she wants and the results are pretty freaking boss, if miles out of my price range. I figured if I have to dream of the day when 400$ for a dress for everyday wear is within my price point then the rest of you babes can join me. Also, I am just happy for a collection that doesn’t bedazzle my ass or try to force me into a statement tee with another goddamn cupcake on it. Cause y’all cupcakes are for eating not wearing, amiright?

This collection is an unapologetic and body-posi collection that breathes life into an otherwise tedious and honestly kinda boring plus-size fashion world (i mean there are some notable exceptions, but I will save those for another day). The whole goddamn thing is sick as fuck but here are my top faves from the collection:

https://i1.wp.com/i.dailymail.co.uk/i/pix/2016/02/15/13/3132BBEB00000578-3446595-Kwao_left_in_a_printed_jumpsuit_from_the_collection_and_fellow_m-a-3_1455544167415.jpg
modern love jumpsuit times squares – beth ditto 2016

Babes, THAT IS A JUMPSUIT!!! Ok, i am a sucker for all of the jumpsuits – I have never met one I didn’t like, but this one is so goddamn good – the print, the shape, the deep V. There are even pockets for chrissakes. There is nothing that i don’t like about this thing – except that at 395$ it may never find its way onto my fat bod. So good though, right?

Or this goddamn piece of brilliance:

https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/1057/5410/products/19-01-Leggings-color-eatyourmakeup_1024x1024.jpg?v=1455318141
summerweight legging – eat my makeup

OK BETH DITTO, YAAAAAASSS

I can’t even believe a bodycon look in such a fierce print exists in the fatosphere. I feel like these tights exceed every expectation that I have in a legging. And there is a goddamn matching top. Head to toe bold print – I mean this thing is basically me as a fabric. And after that 400$ dress 115$ seems like a bargain, albeit one I will never have.

Here is the top:

I am not even remotely about the turtleneck and I still like this dress. The draping/pleating, whatever that is is so stinking stylish.

Or this casual Friday ensemble:

https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/1057/5410/products/14-01-Kimtee-color-electriceyes_grande.jpg?v=1455317519

I like an oversize top with a skinny jean as much as the next fat babe, and this top does not disappoint. I mean this print and the cut of this tee looks so damn good.

And finally, bubble dresses make an appearance in this collection. And who the fuck doesn’t love a good bubble dress? No one. That’s who. Here’s one in black, but if i’m being honest I would buy every other one in the collection first – I mean in the age old battle of prints versus black I think it is pretty clear who I am rooting for.

https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/1057/5410/products/05-01-Bubble-color-noir_1024x1024.jpg?v=1455317421

Now I know the styling on this collection is kick ass but I have all of the faith that this collection is as good in person as it is on the models and Beth herself – Tragically I will never know for sure.

I mean, babes, I would literally do some sketchy motherfucking shit to get my hands on a 50% off coupon code, but my guess is that is about as likely as getting fast fat fashion to stop making shit in that weird slippery micro-fibre. So I will stick to my original plan of obsessively going back to the website – https://bethditto.com/ and looking at the hot babes in clothes that are meant to kick some ass and take no prisoners. It is as rock and roll as i am going to get from my computer screen. That is to say, just rock and roll enough.

 

Ima just say a little prayer to the fat babe fashion gods and hope that some goddamn magic will come my way and wrap these thick thighs in some goddamn printed lycra from the punk rock queen herself. Smooches, babes and may all your fashion dreams come true.

 

 

Gay curling like a fat babe does

Ok babes, things are about to get prairie as fuck. Cause y’all I just spent the weekend at the Bison Cup; curling like the righteous fat babe athlete that I am. For those in the know the Bison Cup is the gayest goddamn bonspiel on the prairie. The fruitiest and most talented of gay curlers gather from across the country to curl and get laid. With varrying degrees of success on both counts. And once a year I dust off the old broom and grace the gay curling league with my fat queer presence. And my bang on sportsing fashion sense. Because what I lack in skill I make up for in hotness, and really isn’t that what athleticism is all about?

So, as a ‘naturally athletic’ and fabulous fat babe I can tell you that there is no other fattie at this bonspiel throwing rocks in a leopard print mini skirt. That is some next level sportsing, babes.

Now before we go on i need to tell all of you about the game of curling. Don’t be deceived by the fact that you can order beer down to the rink while playing or the fact that there are tiny ashtrays in the benches at either end of the ice- those things are simply a distraction from the dirty truth of the matter. This game is motherfucking hard. The fact is whether you are drunk and chain smoking or not, you have to lunge like way more than once, and you are on ice, and shit is really slippery.

And actually, I have maybe curled a handful of times in my whole life. Whatever.
I started at the bonspiel in 2015. Miy team was called Maggie’s First Time. Here we are last year:

 just when you think gay curling can’t get any gayer- it totally fucking does.

My team thinks I have now played enough times that next year we can be Maggie’s Been Around. Which I certainly have.

So although I am certain that all you fat babes want in on the minutia of every single point we made in the whole tournament- the truth is I am still pretty unclear about how one actually scores a point, so instead you are just gonna get game highlights and by highlights I mean pictures of what I am wearing.

Here we go:

  Gay curling looks a lot like regular curling except with drag queens and teams that dress up every year (this year ‘Friends of Dorothy’ and ‘the Golden Girls’ were the stand out teams for costumes- ‘Sophia’ curled with a tiny silver purse around his wrist all weekend which is a difficult task even for the most athletic of babes).
Friday I met up with my team after work-they had already curled once that morning and won so they were feeling pretty good and I was looking pretty good so we were basically ready.

We played a team called ‘mamas boys’ who were from Toronto and Winnipeg. The only way Kevin could get his mom to agree to play was if they let her skip- hence the name. She was a two time provincial champ so the Toronto gays were more than happy to have her top them all over the ice. And in turn they crushed us thoroughly. Now here is the most charming thing about curling- whoever wins buys the losing team a round of drinks. Basically even if you lose you win. So we spent the rest of the night watching curling and hanging out with this charming team. Here’s me wearing the most fetching little beer jacket:

Next day we played at 830am. Fortified with Macdonalds breakfast we were ready.
 This is me in my sportsing dress and shades (cause everything was too bright).

This is my full curling ensemble complete with yellow headband and curling shoes.

I need to pause for a moment and encourage all of you to just look at that curling rink bathroom keeping it classy with a wall of mirror and a vase of silk flowers. It’s the prairie and there is no irony at the curling rink. This shit is for real.

Ok, the shoes.  I am overjoyed at having those black curling shoes cause I have been ruling the rink over the past year in these beauties:


Those are some 1970’s curling shoes that my skip bought at a garage sale for two bucks. #prairiebargain

Along with this beauty:


Known as ‘the hammer’ this broom and those white shoes have been my curling gear for the past year. This year my fat babe vanity got the better of me and I retired the shoes. To be clear, curling fashion is basically an oxymoron but at least I now look less like a throwback to a bygone era, y’know?

We played a couple of games on Saturday and we almost won one of em! And i managed to keep both of my rocks in play on one end! So proud.

As a ‘natural athlete’, my sportsmanship is exceptional so we had a ton of fun with our opponents anyways.

Here is me being serious about curling:

 oh and did I mention I use this little slider cause otherwise I can’t get up on the ice? Fat babe adaptation for the win. So sportsy.

Then we were done for the day. One Epsom bath later it was time to get ready for the banquet. Here is what I ended up with:

   Why yes that is a green sparkly crop top with my leopard pants and DKNY jacket. My eyes may be wild and, shall we say, eccentric, but my curling game is on fleek, as the kids say.
Here are some banquet shots:

  Mike is the second and he wears his kilt curling. This gives me life.

  My skip looks fab, but all she cares about is that this dress has pockets. Her priorities may be off, but she is soaring to epic fat babe status here.

Rob is our third, so handsome in his floral shirt and neck scarf.

We may have lost at curling, but we won at babeliness.

All in all the weekend was most definitely a gay old time. Homo curling, who knew it was a thing, and who knew all they needed was a fat babe curling in mini skirts to bring out the natural athlete in all of us.

197

healthcare providing like a fat babe does

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Don’t let the nurse-y side eye get you down.

Babes. I have a confession. I try not to tell people unless they already know me and think i’m not the actual worst. I’m four posts in to this blog so I’m thinking if you are still with me that you are ready. Here it is: I am a health care provider, a nurse to be specific. A fat one, but still. And on behalf of healthcare providers I would like to offer you fat babes my sincerest apologies for our dickish behaviour towards fat. We, as a group, are deeply uninformed, thoroughly incompetent, and essentially body phobic assholes. Its not you, it is so totally us.

We don’t read the articles about health(if you want that) at any size, we don’t see the journal articles about how fat people live longer, we have never heard of the ‘obesity paradox’, we don’t go out of our way to learn about how to make space for fat bodies in healthcare. And for this i am deeply sorry.

We consume the same epic bullshit media as the rest of the world and it makes us bad at our jobs. You know what i mean, yeah? Oprah talking about bread and weight watchers in the same breath, vogue cosmo marie claire who do a ‘size issue’ once a year (as if that gets them off the hook for the other 11 months), celebrity magazines dedicated to dissecting celebrity bodies (too thin, too fat, what not), and shame-y public health campaigns that, for some reason, love to use exactly no evidence for their social marketing. Healthcare providers have been trained in the same way that  all of us have – to hate our bodies and to believe that changing our physical appearance is the answer to living life to the fullest (Fun Fact: it’s not).

Then your friendly wannabe docs and nurses et al go to healthcare school. In the beginning it’s ok. We learn that there is no magic bullet in healthcare, that healing is complex. So far so good.

Unfortunately for fat babes everywhere, eventually shit gets really real in healthcare school and we learn the most messed up logic fail in medicine:

That ‘lifestyle changes’ are the solution to it all- wait, what? Especially for fatties – oh hell no.

Suddenly, despite that earlier training about how there is no magic bullet in healthcare, we are taught that, for fat people, there is and that bullet is a diet. It is this moment where everything goes sideways and all of a sudden losing 20 pounds will cure cancer.

And so this begins our training in talking out of both sides of our mouths; learning to say things like ‘dieting doesn’t work’ at the same time as we tell you that ‘losing ten pounds will cure whatever ails you’. It is nonsensical at best, and, actually, harmful at worst. Yay.

We are totally and hopelessly fucked up when it comes to taking care of fat babes.

I am not going to get into it with anyone about whether losing weight is or isn’t good for you – perhaps another blog I will just post an epic list of journal articles backing up my shit, but not today. BECAUSE THE POINT IS MOOT. The fact is that all of this conditioning and weird health care training has lead healthcare providers to believe that we get to have an opinion about someone else’s body. The straight up truth is: no, we fucking don’t.

We don’t need to weigh you at every check up to do our jobs, we don’t need to lecture you about your food choices, we certainly don’t need to give you gowns that barely cover your hot asses, and we definitely don’t need to prescribe weight loss as a cure all. Doing these things is not healing, it is not sound medicine, and it is not trauma informed. It is about punishing you for being a hot fat babe that believes you have a right to be cared for by the healthcare system (which you completely do, FYI). Ima say it again to be totally clear: none of this stuff is about true healing nor is it about health. It is about being a massive douchebag.

You have the right to come and see us with a flu, or a sexually transmitted infection, or a broken bone without hearing about how your body needs to change. You have the right to talk about post partum depression without being told to lose weight. Hell, you have the right to see us about high blood pressure, diabetes, and sore backs (you know ‘fat people problems’) without us talking to you about how your body needs to change. Unsolicited advice, lectures and shame are not acceptable healthcare interventions nor are they effective.

And yet. And yet.

So many fat babes see their healthcare providers with dread in their hearts. Or they don’t go at all. We are denied healthcare(however subtly) because of how healthcare providers talk to us, or we get healthcare that doesn’t actually get at the heart of healing. And we internalize it – we blame our fat, or our lack of strength, our confidence or our motivation. We turn it inwards instead of looking at why we feel these ways.

So, i would like to say a few things as a healthcare provider. The poor care and cruelty we display in serving fat people is not your fault. Your dread and fear and avoidance are brilliant goddamn survival strategies. You have adapted to shaming and problematic healthcare in the most reasonable and honest way. You are protecting yourself in the best way that you can from a system that is far from kind. Fat babes deserve better. We deserve healthcare providers that honour how our bodies have gotten us this far, that see that fat babes are the strongest survivors, and that our fat bodies have carried us through life, have created life, have survived trauma, and have made us the fierce hot babes that we are.

I know that most of us don’t get that kind of care. I know because I don’t get it either. So, fat babes, survive healthcare providers, survive us however you have to: by stepping on that scale or by refusing to, by demanding better care from your provider or by quietly searching for someone new. However you navigate your way among us is the right way. Your glorious bodies are not any of our business unless you want them to be.

You are beautiful and you are fine. Your soft bellies and strong thighs are getting you through this world, not us.

Smooches.

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That tank top says ‘blah blah blah blah’. Im not saying i wear it to the doctor’s, and im not saying i dont. 😉

Getting through winter like a fat babe does

So babes, as most of you prairie people know this is the time of year where winter shit gets really real. The first lovely snow of the season is a distant memory, it is too cold to be outside, and it feels like winter should be over when we still have another half to go. The snow is no longer a sparkly crystal wonderland-winter is now a shit storm of dirty snow and grey skies and you can tell we have given up on life because, virtually at the same time, we have collectively stopped shoveling the walk cause really, what’s the point. And that babes is why it is super important to do whatever the fuck it takes to get you through the next few months. For me it is taking lots of pictures of myself in summer clothes and dreaming of bathing suits and beaches. It is also a time where I spend money I don’t have on spring fashions that are hot but not the most practical. So welcome to my retail therapy clusterfuck- wherein you get to watch yours truly talk about the clothes I’m excited about in an attempt to make it to spring.

So first things first: I totally bought the shit out of this top yesterday:

 It’s from additionelle and this is what it looks like on their model. So wholesome right? I looked a little closer and I’m thinking I could work that into the Maggie b spring rotation. Here is what it looks like on me:

 I’m super excited about it cause I think that it will look slammin with a bra and mini skirt. It is pretty boxy and fully cotton which I am really here for. My guess is I will wreck it within the first 5 wears, but who cares cause it’s cold and winter and I look hot. And at the end of the day if a hot fat babe can’t warm up winter who the heck can? Smooches

#fatbabe #plussizeblogger #additionelle

 

Taking up space like a fat babe does.

imageI’m here for the fat babes of the world.

For those of us who put on our fat babe armour every damn day and go out into a world that can be a real dick to us. A world that sometimes gives our armour a run for its money. I’m here for fashion and makeup and adornment because loving myself is a goddamn act of resistance. I’m here for giving zero fucks about what others want me to be and how they want me to look. I’m here to make space for the beauty and joy and admiration our fat bodies deserve. I’m here to take up fat femme space in the world. I’m here cause I’m hot and I think my fashion game is pretty fucking tight and I wanna share that with other fat babes. I’m here cause I wanna be and cause y’all, I have some shit to say. So this little blog is my public love letter to the fat babes of the world.

Fat Babes, I love you.

#fatbabe #bodyposi #eatit #fatblogger