Second Life (for me!)

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I’ve written before about being “Cyber-ly-Abled“:

“I love being able to have unencumbered sex with my sweet osezno, relieved of the logistics that real life would dictate. And what’s wonderful is he, too, is able to suspend reality, allowing me to be free… outside my body… and flying inside my mind. It is a gift he allows me that is completely dependent on the mechanism with which we communicate; the computer. Together, we tangle, we swirl together, we move around as if we were two feathers dancing on a current of air. Real life sex was never so uninhibited. It is a joy to be in this luscious place without my lifelong concerns… and occasional anguish… revolving around my body size, history of sexual abuse or even (seemingly) illogical psychiatric issues.”

This was written before I knew anything about Second Life.

Second Life is a virtual world. Mind you, I have never played a video game past Pac-Man nor done anything with virtual reality. In fact, when someone tried to get me into Second Life, I balked, thinking it was a religious thing. She finally dragged me to screen share with her, to show me what it really was, and within moments, I was hooked.

I was able to make myself into an Avatar… and Avi or AV… and I could make myself anything I wanted. Not just a woman, nor just a man, but Second Life has an endless array of creatures from vampires to mermaids to fairies and elves. If you feel like being a tiger one day and a transgender space person the next, you can do it! Easily and all but free of charge.

I, however, created my AV as a woman. An adorable blonde woman with a bit of flesh on her (and I know she looks small, but believe me, there are plenty of women with stick legs and enormous breasts in Second Life). I have my girl’s hair short almost always, but look! She has hair! After being bald for years, it is delicious having a choice of hairs to wear.

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I am also able to wear clothes that are lovely, classy, dressy, sloppy… whatever I want, I can find it in the Marketplace. Yes, I have to buy most of my clothes, but many things can be had for very, very inexpensive prices.

 

And the SHOES!

The shoes.

I can wear the highest heels every single day if I want. I can dance for 6 hours and my feet never hurt and I am not crippled with pain the next day.

 

I can wear angel wings and be amazingly sexy if I want to be.

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I have not been in Second Life for a year yet, so I have not explored a fraction of what it has to offer. I have not ridden horses, driven a car, been a mermaid in the ocean, gone sailing, ridden a surfboard… even role played… which is a huge offering of Second Life.

I have also not had SLex… Second Life sex. I decided to be there for at least a year before having any sex or doing anything kinky. I am certainly a weirdo for it, too, but so be it. I have 3 more months until I am 1 year old (in Second Life time) and have to make any decisions. For now, I am having a blast with what I have done.

I hang out at a Commune.

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I have flown while dancing.

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I found an enormous writing community that is extremely supportive of everyone’s writing progress. It is with this group with whom I am participating in the NaNoWriMo challenge and doing the Snatches and Dashes.

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We even have workshops where published authors and professional editors come in and teach us wonderful new skills.

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And Live Music!! Who knew there was live music online like this! I have found all kinds of genres from ballads to Bagpipe Rock to amazing folks music.

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I’ve also gone on a date to France.

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And the museums! So many museums.

And a million parks to go to… to have fun on playgrounds, to meditate in Japanese Gardens, to wander the Botanical Gardens… just so, so many places to enjoy.

There really is so much more than I can even express. I am glad to share my experiences with anyone asking.

I am purposefully not sharing my name because I also love the anonymity of Second Life. I want to create my own community of people that do not know me in real life. At least yet.

Are you in Second Life?

 

I Got a New Bed!

I know you are thinking, “So what?” Well, it is a HUGE deal to me because I am a fat girl and the previous bed was nearly a hammock from my big butt on it for 4 years.

So I researched beds for fat folks and settled on Big Fig.

I took a nap on it… well, 2 of them so far… and I love it more than I could have imagined.

The main reason, besides comfort, that I needed a new bed is because, when I am sick, I spend a LOT of time in the bed and one that is easy on my body will help me rest more.

Here is a cutaway of the bed so you can see how really different the bed is… so many inner springs, many slats in the boxspring and several rails on the metal frame. Made so much stronger than regular beds. And a 20-year warranty!

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And no, they are not paying me to talk about them.

I will let you know what a full night’s sleep is like soon.

Wheeee!

Halloween Candy

This was written for a 500-Word Snatch on Second Life… in 30 minutes.

The first day I remember it getting cold in Orlando was almost always on Halloween night. We’d have our flimsy costumes ready weeks in advance, then the night of Trick or Treating, we’d have to bundle up, covering our lovely Japanese kimonos or flowy Princess dresses. Not fun!

But we didn’t have to hide our pillowcases we’d hope to fill with candy that night.

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I was a fat kid. I am a fat adult. I loved Halloween! It was a day that lasted for weeks (if I played my portioning out decently). Candy, candy, candy.

This was in the olden days, back when we wandered alone, sans parents, always after dark, not before. We knocked on doors for a 5 block radius, knowing almost every person who opened a door. (Can you imagine that today? Ha!) This was also before the health food kick started encouraging folks to offer “healthy” treats… “Garbage” I would have thought in my youth.

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No, give me the Snickers, the Milky Way, the Three Musketeers. Chocolate, please. And more chocolate, please. Candy pumpkins were alright, candy corn, boring… Smarties? Well we could eat those in about 40 seconds. I marvel today we got candy cigarettes in our Halloween pillowcase. My kids didn’t believe me when I told them about them. “True stuff,” I said!

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After gathering the night’s haul, we’d go back to our respective homes, find a space big enough to hold the largesse and dump the goods out, ooh-ing and ah-ing at what we saw spilling out of the cotton sack. My eyes quickly assessed the haul and even midair, could pick what was going right into my mouth, what was going into my bowl for later and what was being tossed into the trash.

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Once the separations had been made, mom would come around to see what we had. Even if she was hovering over my head a mere 5 minutes after coming in from outside, I would have already hidden much of my stash, knowing she would want some of the goods herself. I was a piggy girl; hoarding food was normal for me. I learned it from mom.

When mom had moved on to the other kids, I began unwrapping what I’d chosen to eat before bed. Unwrapping the crinkly papers, I barely tasted what I popped into my mouth as I swallowed and was cramming in the next chocolate bar, my fingers having barely let go of the wrapper I’d just pulled off.

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Every Halloween, I was sick to my stomach by the time I was sent to bed, an hour past our usual bedtime. I’d lay between the sheets writhing in pain, but kept my mouth shut about it lest mom give me a lecture about trying to eat so much so fast. I knew, every year, when I sat down with my candy, still in my rumpled costume, that in about 20 minutes I would be so sick to my stomach, but I could not help myself with this candy free-for-all.

Yeah, Halloween. Delicious holiday tinged with a bit of a stomach-ache. Isn’t that like many holidays anymore?

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Fat Girl Stories: Chafing

Lifelong Fatty

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Fat bride in 1982, surely chafed, even in December.

I grew up in Orlando, Florida.

Walking to and from school for 12 years. Marching in the band during summer and fall… for hours…for 6 years. Pregnant with my first (who was born in October) while gaining 80 pounds. In the Florida heat and humidity then, too.

I was a chafing fool.

A Variety of Chafing Locations

So being fat, I swear I chafed in the gamut of places on the body one could rub two pieces of flesh together.

  • Under-boob
  • Under pannus
  • Thighs
  • Underarms

Before Chafing Solutions Existed

Baby Powder

Baby Talcum Powder Container

It took 60 seconds walking outside for the powder to become a paste

Cornstarch

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Bandanas

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Bloomers

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Chafing SUCKS!

Fat Girl Stories: Hiding Food

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Binge Eating & Food Hoarding discussed.

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If I died right this moment and someone had to go through my room, either throwing things away or giving them to my kids, they would find, in several different locations, stashes of candy.

Quite the mind-fuck seeing the candy juxtaposed with the insulin and metformin, isn’t it.

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Learned Behavior

I come by the behavior honestly.

Growing up, mom was periodically on diets. When she was, so was the entire household. I called the feast or famine cycle, “Celery or Eclairs.” Either mom created delicious baked goods or we had celery and carrots filling the refrigerator. It didn’t take long to learn to bulk up for the famine that was surely to come in a couple of weeks. As a ravenous fat child, I scavenged for calories when we were supposed to be eating far fewer of them.

You see, my mom hid candy, usually plain M&Ms, in her drawers, under her marabou-lined lingerie. Being a nosy brat, I scoured the room, looking for the candy, then eating it when it was finally in my greedy hands. I didn’t process the information that mom would know I had eaten it when she couldn’t find it. That was irrelevant. Eating it was the goal and eat it I did.

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crispy M&Ms keeping company with my meds

Hoarding

When I was in a relationship (pick one), invariably my partner would have issues with my food intake. Reading my Facebook Memories makes me wince as, nearly every 2-3 days, I was starting yet another new diet or forcing myself to go to the Y.

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When I went to the Y, I would ride the exercise bike until I sweat, go as long as I could, then get off and get in the car to go home.

And then began the fight, the tug-of-war to eat before I went home. Carl’s Jr. was open; I could go through their drive-through. I could go to the grocery store and get something quick to consume. Whatever I chose, I wouldn’t be able to eat it all, so would need to either throw the rest away or bring it home with me. (Another wrestling match in my head.)

I hated throwing the food away, especially when I could eat it later. So I’d tuck the leftover burger or sourdough baguette and cheese in my gym bag and hope Zack wasn’t awake so I could hide it in the closet.

My shoe holder (a long canvas bag that hold 12 pairs of shoes) was my favorite hiding place. Fuck, that is gross looking at that now. Then, it seemed like a brilliant idea.

I had to move slowly so the wrapping didn’t crinkle too loud, betraying my plan.

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Visceral Reactions

I’m sitting here trying to figure out how to explain how much I hate discussing food with anyone, partners most of all. My body tenses as if I was about to be assaulted, every hackle raised trying to protect my Self from the (invariably) negative and judgmental bullshit about to come out of their mouths. Yeah, yeah… I know… “they mean well.” Well, it doesn’t feel well. It feels horrid, defending myself, my size, my food choices, intake and why am I still fat even after dieting/exercising/having a gastric bypass/using medications/etc.

Don’t I know what eating so much/exercising so little is going to do to me? Don’t I see my Cuban relatives as the Cautionary Tale for my own future with diabetes?

Today’s Freedom

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my low glucose drawer

I haven’t had but the briefest mentions of my weight with anyone besides medical people in over 2 years… and it has been heaven. Sitting and writing, even this far out, I can still feel the intense tightening of my muscles as I remember the inevitable tap dance discussion of my weight and food the moment someone began with, “Honey, I am worried about you.”

I’m not stupid. I was a health care provider. I’ve read the articles and papers about being sedentary and fat. I know my life span is infinitely shorter because I don’t “exercise and eat right.”

But the freedom from the stress of discussing it cannot be described. Doesn’t that account for something?

It does in my world.

Fat Girl Stories: Ugliness

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artist, Jenny Saville

Avoiding my reflection at all costs

No mirrors, no glass windows

Nothing form-fitting

Overlooking any signs of weight gain.

Self-consciousness submerges into unconsciousness.

At the height of ignorance

I spill secrets with abandon

Forgetting the flayed flesh

That comes with disclosure.

How stupid could I have been?

I whirl around with joy

And smash into the looking glass

Shattering my image into a million broken shards

I fall back to earth with a heavy thud.

Barely breathing, I do not move.

Slices ooze.

My raw hands hurry

To scoop up pools of blood

Mixed with tears;

It will not reabsorb.

I am fat.

Fat fat fat fat fat fat

Fat fat fat far fat fat fat

Fat, fatter, fattest

Loved, yet still so unlovable.

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