This is exactly what my closet looks like.

The Empress over at Good Day, Regular People just put my closet into words.  I can barely manage to clothe myself most days, and it isn't for lack of quantity.  I simply have nothing to wear.

I had high hopes when maxi dresses came into style, because, let's face it, they're basically stylish muumuus.  Turns out, though, that I am short and not entirely graceful.  Also, maxi dresses do not solve the issue of having to get dressed for work every day.  Bummer.  Thank goodness I have to wear a labcoat.  As unflattering as they may be, at least they cover my unavoidable muffin top. ;)

Grown-ups have gameplans. I win.

Ya know how when you're a teenager, you think that your 16th bday is going to be this huuuuuge change in your life?  Like, you'll just wake up that morning feeling like adolescence is no longer screwing you over and the world is now yours?  Then, of course, you realize that 16 feels exactly like 15, except that the pain of not having a car has gotten a bit more noticeable... so you spend the next two years waiting to turn 18 because you just KNOW that you'll wake up on your 18th bday feeling like a brand new grown-up.  18 comes... 18 is uneventful.  You can suddenly buy cigarettes and lottery scratchers, but quickly realize that you have no desire to spend your hard-earned minimum wage on either one.  21 will be fantastic, though... You're sure of it.  Oh wait... you've been drinking with your friends for years now.  The only difference is that now you can do so in public.  Damn.

Turns out, the "big change" happens on your 25th bday.  Or at least it did for me.  I turned 25 yesterday, and it was the weirdest thing to just wake up in the morning feeling 25.  Now, anyone over the age of... let's say... 28 probably... is going "F you, Bethany!  You have no idea!  Wait until you're staring down the barrel of 30!"  The near 40 crowd is lightly sobbing.  The 50+ crowd is laughing histerically at how little I know about getting old.  Let me just clarify, I'm not saying that I woke up feeling old.  It's more like... I woke up feeling like I had suddenly, irreversibly, and very clumsily entered adulthood. 

This is all very strange because, like many, I had to do the "growing up too soon" routine.  Friends and family have always considered me the mature one.  I've been working full-time or close to it since high school, sacrificed many a party in order to finish my undergrad in 4 1/2 years, and have been working for the government for over a year.  I really don't fit the definition of a "kid."  Yet, somehow, there's always a piece of me that still feels like the awkward 16 year old surrounded by people who know how the world works.  But yesterday I woke up feeling like I needed to become one of these "grown-ups" I keep hearing about.

So, since it looks like I'll be surviving into adulthood afterall, I'm going to need a gameplan.  Here's what I've got so far:

1.) Teach the dogs to be useful. --  I don't plan on having kids any time soon.  In fact, I don't plan on having kids... I just think it's safest to assume that I may feel differently in the future.  This isn't really a big deal to me (or to bf, thank goodness), but it creates a bit of a problem with our household.  See, everyone knows that the only reason people have kids is so that there's someone to do the household chores (don't act all shocked... I'm on to you people), which is awesome because, well... I hate doing the damn dishes.  BUT, if I don't have kids until I'm 30, and then those kids require another 5-6 years of training before they can be put to work (talk about slow learners... sheesh), that means that I'm going to have to do my own dishes for the next 10-11 YEARS!!!  This is unacceptable.  I've given the dogs an ultimatum... either they get a job and start supporting their own kibble habit and contributing to the rent, or they're going to have to pitch in with dishes and laundry.

2.) Take a class on how to write a damn grocery list.  --  I swear, I was good at this once.  My mom taught me to write the best damn grocery lists ever.  They were laid out in the order that I would find things in the store.  They included alternates in case the price of orange juice was particularly high that week.  They even specified what flavor of Rice-a-roni I needed.  All of that is gone.  I'm pretty sure that when I was cramming for my biochemistry final in my senior year, I lost a significant amount of basic knowledge.  I'd like that back.  Why the hell do I have blueberry muffin Pop Tarts??

3.) Transfer my belongings from the back of my vehicle into my apartment.  --  Okay, maybe I still spend more than your average 40 hours/week at work, but this isn't college anymore.  I'm not driving from Job #1 to Class to Lab to Job #2 to Home-so-I-can-pass-out-for-a-few-hours-before-heading-to-bf's-house-for-the-weekend.  The exorbitant amount of crap in my vehicle is no longer excusable, and the "just in case I need it" story quit being valid when I lost the ability to find anything that may have otherwise been useful.  While I'm at it, I might think about unpacking those boxes that I haven't touched since two apartments ago. 

4.) Learn to use a weapon.  --  Let me just say, I am not one to believe in far-fetched theories of conspiracy or science fiction.  However, if there is a zombie apocalypse/alien invasion/vampire uprising/terrorist holocaust/hippy rebellion, I would really hate myself for not being prepared.  Therefore, I feel that it will be in my best interest to be well versed in the use of several different weapons.  Giant hammer is my first pick, but to be honest, I'm going to need to build up some upper body strength before that can be effective, so I'll be starting with ninja stars.  I like the idea of weapons that put a decent amount of distance between me and my opponent.  I briefly considered a flame thrower, but being attacked by fire zombies doesn't seem like it's going to help the situation.

5.) Learn to walk in more than just one pair of high heels.  --  I have one pair of heels that I can walk completely comfortably in.  I have a handful that I can fake it fairly well in.  I also have several that are reserved specifically for events where I will be sitting 90% or more of the time.  True story.  I'm pretty sure that I'm going to have to fix that.  There's a point where this is no longer endearing, but just a bit sad.

6.) Come to terms with the fact that my metabolism is only going to get shittier from here on out.  --  Let's face it, this is no longer the Freshman 15... *cough*40*cough*... that I'm dealing with here.  The biggest "Holy-shit-I'm-25" issue I've been dealing with is the fact that my body is not going to have any easier of a time dealing with my weight from this point forward.  It's like in the movie "Knocked Up"... Annoying older sister is talking about loser boyfriend and says, "He's overweight.  Where does that end?"  Where does it end?  I'm perfectly okay with spending my life a little chubby, but am I where I want to be?  When do I put down the ice cream and say, "Alright... time to grow the hell up and do this!"

Right. F'ing. Now.  The elliptical and I are about to become best friends.  Not the real kind of best friends, but the kind of best friends that talk shit about each other behind their backs all the time.  Ya know... like every girl you ever knew in high school. 

Man, I hope this isn't some kind of temporary "I'm 25!" euphoric burst of will-power.  Please let this suvive the weekend.  I really want to learn to use throwing stars.

I think mean things.

I am a generally nice person.  I like making people happy, and there is very little that I wouldn't do to help someone out.  That being said, I am also sarcastic and a bit pragmatic, with a little bit of genetic short-temperedness thrown in on occasion.  These qualities may seem like faults, but, properly harnessed, they are actually the superpowers of the moderately insecure.  You see... good, nice people will tell you that each person is perfect in their own way, and that we shouldn't judge those around us, and that everyone is beautiful... and so on.  To this, I say, "Yeah, right." 

I have found it to be a good exercise to occasionally recognize the faults of others.  Particularly, of the "beautiful people."  Now, this may seem shallow, mean, and self-serving... but that's only because it is.  However, it is also a helpful tool for remembering that nobody is perfect.  I happen to be chubby... but at least I don't have [tiny boobs, awful skin, a horrible mole].  Likewise, any girl who does have [tiny boobs, awful skin, a horrible mole] should be able to say to herself "Sure, that sucks... but at least I'm not fat." 

**Keywords: "to herself" - This goes from being a harmless confidence booster to outright assholeishness when you start directing such comments to the outside world.  Don't make that leap... unless it's warranted.  In that case, all bets are off.**

Want to see how it works?  Ok, follow along...

It is easy to be jealous of someone that looks like this:

But why should you not be jealous of Megan Fox?  Three reasons:

1.)  No human being should be this attractive.  Therefore the only logical explanation is that Megan Fox is a cyborg.  No one wants to be a cyborg.

2.)  Megan Fox wears an awful lot of makeup, and occasionally it ends up looking like this:

... which is funny because I always imagined that "hooker Barbie" would retain the blonde hair.

3.)  What the.....?????


At least I don't have brachydactylic toe-thumbs.  ;)

It's about to get heavy, folks.

Alright, I fail at blogging.  The thing is, there’s a fairly serious topic that I knew I’d need to address eventually, and I pretty much just chickened out about it.  I actually attempted to write out this story a few times, but each time I did I could just picture my father rolling his eyes and saying that I was making a big deal out of nothing.  But ya know what?  The whole point of this blog was to help people break free of the judgments of others.  I’m going for it.

I had kind of a messed up childhood (don’t worry, it wasn’t “beaten-and-locked-in-a-closet” messed up… more like “broken home with brief periods of white trash drama”).  I originally considered telling the whole story here, but it’s long and kind of makes me sound like I should be on a talk show or something.  Just know that my parents got divorced (a lot), my dad’s second wife was a manipulative bitch (mom’s second husband trumps all other bad marriages, but he’s mostly insignificant to this story), and my dad and I had, at best, a distant relationship.

When I was 9 years old, my mom, my baby sister, and I were in a horrific car accident.  The circumstances leading up to it are part of the white trash drama that would make this post insanely long, but the outcome was that I was sent to go live with my father, his new wife (possibly gf at the time?  Don’t really know… doesn’t really matter), and her two daughters because my mom was in a coma.  Now, I could insert all kinds of anecdotes here about how much this woman disliked me… how she told that just because I was “book smart” didn’t mean that I would make it in life because I had no common sense… how she would constantly talk shit about my mom not only right in front of me but TO me… or even just how she constantly made me feel like an intrusion on her life… but that’s really all besides the point.  Her biggest issue with me (or at least the one she liked to pick at most) was my weight.  

See, I was a chubby kid.  Not morbidly obese or anything… and I was still very active and such… but this woman was hell-bent on getting me to lose weight (despite the fact that she was no Barbie doll herself).  Not a problem in and of itself; done the right way, helping a child to lose weight can be one of the best things you can do for their physical and emotional health.  This woman, however, decided to take it upon herself to tell me that I was fat and put me on whatever fad diet she happened to be wrapped up in at the time.  I most vividly remember the cabbage soup diet.  Sweet Jesus that soup was disgusting!  *Sidenote:  I blame that godforsaken diet for my continued hatred of pretty much all vegetable soups.*  The funny thing is, that’s not the stuff that made me hate my body.  I really thought she was just trying to help me, AND I desperately wanted her approval, so I had no problem following these dumb diets.  Besides, I was just a kid… what the hell did I know about nutrition?

The first thing that really tore me up was when I learned that during her court testimony (my dad was trying to get full custody of me at this time… Parents, please don’t put your kids through that shit), she’d told the judge that I was obese.  OBESE.  She had labeled me.  She had labeled me with the ugliest word I could imagine in my 9 (10?) year old brain.  To me, at the time, “obese” referred to people who were so fat they could barely move enough to scratch beneath their rolls.  It wasn’t a medical term; it was a slur.  I imagined her saying it with such disdain, like I was some dysfunctional blight upon the world.  

Following that, it was actually my dad’s actions that began to tear me down.  I already knew that my stepmother thought I was disgusting so her comments were expected and easier to dismiss, but up until his second marriage, I can’t ever remember my dad showing any kind of disappointment towards me.  Granted, my dad was (is) distant and passive aggressive, so there weren’t many situations in which that’d really come up, but I definitely felt a noticeable change.  It was like he’d just needed this woman to point out how defective I was and then suddenly he went, “Hmm… yeah, you’re right.  This kid is definitely fucked up.”  Like I said, my father is highly passive aggressive, so it didn’t take much for him to cut me down.  Things as simple as “You do NOT need to be eating that toast…” or slapping my hand away from a bag of chips that they were eating from made me feel like a complete freak.  One particularly damaging instance came about when my stepsister and her mom were joking about my stepmother’s “thunder thighs.”  Attempting to join in on this mother-daughter bonding banter, I made some similar joke… and my father immediately looked at me said, “Well, I seem to remember that we’ve been buying your clothes in the ‘husky’ section.” (By the way, fuck you, children’s clothing manufacturers.)  If my heart had sunk any further, I think it would’ve dropped through the floor. 

I lived with my father and stepmother for about 3 years, I think.  The last year, in the 6^th grade, I finally decided that I could NOT go on letting my parents be so disappointed in me.  I was going to lose weight, and they were going to be proud of me, and they would love me, and rainbow unicorns would burst forth from the sky, ridden by pandas made of cotton candy.  Seriously, I just knew that if I lost weight, all would be right with the world.  So, I’m 12 years old; I live with 2 parents who would much rather not deal with me than teach me anything of value; and I know nothing about nutrition except that when you eat, you get fat.  *click*  I was a damn genius.  If I threw up whatever I ate, it wouldn’t make me fat!  See, when I was in 6^th grade, we hadn’t yet been taught about eating disorders, so I had no idea that this was actually something that people did, nor that it was something that you SHOULDN’T DO.  I thought I’d just discovered the secret to life. 

The bulimia was short-lived, actually.  I would cry involuntarily whenever I threw up (still do… thank goodness I’m not much of a drinker), so it was hard for me to hide what I was doing, which I felt was of the utmost importance because I didn’t want my parents to think that I was “cheating.”  Also, the vomiting made my throat hurt, and I hated that.  After a few weeks, I rationalized that the sore throat was probably what kept more people from losing weight this way.  Instead, I started skipping meals whenever I could, and eating tiny meals in between.  When I had to eat (family dinner, etc.), I’d be in the bathroom right afterward or else would vow to skip the next meal in repentance.  I’m not entirely sure how I even managed to keep this up, but it went on for a few months.  I did lose some weight, but when I look back at pictures from that time, I don’t like the way I looked.  Mostly, my head looked too big.  Go figure.

 Thankfully, my dad announced that he was getting another divorce shortly thereafter, making me both extraordinarily happy to be rid of psycho-wife #2 and far too consumed with the change in circumstances to continue my ridiculous “diet.”  The following year when the subject of eating disorders was introduced at school, I remember just thinking, “Oh, fuck… I am never telling anyone that I did this.”  I never did tell my parents, but years later I decided that I trusted my then-boyfriend enough to open up to him about it.  He was amazingly supportive, and even though I’m not sure what I expected from finally talking about it, I think I got it.  Since then, I’ve shared it with a select few people, but I’ve never wanted to make a big deal about it.  I’m obviously not proud of it, but I was more concerned that people would think I was just seeking their pity.  I don’t want pity.  Especially because, unless you’ve been there, you really can’t understand it.  The eating disorder is just a symptom.  Whenever I hear about someone going through this, I just remember how much I had to hate myself to get to where I was, and I wish that I could make them understand that it’s just so unnecessary to hate yourself like that.  It’s so unnecessary to focus on one stupid flaw that has so little bearing on who you are.  What I really want is for people to pay more attention to what they’re teaching kids about their body and about their personal worth, ESPECIALLY during the preteen years.  No kid deserves to feel like a square peg being repeatedly rammed at a round hole.

TL;DR - I have daddy issues and developed an eating disorder when I was 12.  It was short-lived and I learned from it.

So that’s my sob story.  That’s where I’m coming from when I say that I UNDERSTAND how hard it is.  I understand how isolating it can be.  And I now understand that it doesn’t have to be that way. 

That was not a fun post, but I promise to post more often now, and not to be such a downer next time. =)

You are what you wear.

I've just added a 3rd reason to my list of things urging me to drop weight:  I want to be able to wear what I want to wear.  Seriously.  It's a tough world out there for a chubby girl who loves clothes.  Matthew and I are having pictures done in a couple weeks, so we headed to the mall this past weekend for some photo-worthy ensembles.  Now, I may be a "jeans and t-shirt" kind of girl most days, but I appreciate good fashion.  Apparently though, if I were a size 5, I'd have a lot more fashion to appreciate.  There just aren't many options for the plus size crowd.  Thank Life for Torrid.  While I'm still able to shop at "normal" stores, it's so much nicer to be able to walk in to a store and not have to wonder whether I'm looking at sizes meant for me or meant for the 14 year old version of me.

Anyhow, the point of this post is to start an ongoing list of style guidelines to help us chubby gals not feel so miserable in the fitting rooms.  The following suggestions come from years of experience in retail, as well as years of experience in being fat, so believe me when I say that it's good advice. ;-)

Tips for Loving Your "Fat Clothes"

1.)  YES, YOU MUST TRY THINGS ON.  I know that the fitting rooms are like chubby girl Hell, but seriously, it's even worse to get home with something that just doesn't work.  You won't return it, because you'll be too embarrassed to admit that it was too small or too unflattering, and there's a good chance that several months from now you'll try it on again because "it couldn't have been that bad..." and then you'll get to relive the horror of seeing yourself in it.  I know, I've been there.  But the advantage to trying things on in the store goes beyond that.  Firstly, you've got sales associates at your disposal.  They get paid to help you find things that look good... so take advantage of it!  I find that plus-size stores are the best for this because most of the time you're being helped by someone with similar issues, so she knows what's up.  Secondly, you can try on things that you wouldn't normally think to wear.  You would be absolutely shocked how much different something can look on the hanger versus on your body.  Step out of your comfort zone and try something new! 

2.)  BIGGER IS NOT BETTER.  I blame both designers and consumers for this.  See, chubby girls like to think that if they wear bigger clothing, it will hide the fact that they are chubby.  Designers, therefore, create bigger and bigger clothing for plus sizes.  When I worked at LB I would constantly be shocked at the array of giant muumuu-like outfits (which, by the way, would always come in outlandish patterns of leopard or snakeskin or the dreaded florals).  Once, we got a collection of "fall blazers" that literally looked like someone had taken their great-great-grandmother's curtains and made a box with sleeves.  People bought them.  I pitied them.  Say this out loud:  Bigger clothing makes me look BIGGER.  Seriously.  You may hide a roll, but you also add 20 lbs to your overall appearance.  Wear the correct size and avoid things that hang.

3.)  Similarly, SMALLER SIZES DO NOT MAKE YOU SMALLER.  Interestingly, some people take rule #2 to the opposite extreme, and somehow fool themselves into thinking that if they buy a smaller size, it means they aren't as fat.  Be realistic with yourself.  The number on the tag has no bearing on what size you actually are... just buy what fits!

4.)  NO CLINGY FABRICS.  Clothing that hugs your body is good.  Fabrics that stretch along your skin are bad.  Avoid clingy synthetic fabrics at all costs.  It is also a good idea to stay away from silks and satins, which can be equally unforgiving.

5.)  NO ALLOVER PRINTS.  This rule should apply to thin gals as well, but it's less of an issue for them.  For some reason, designers/buyers seem to think that plus size women want huge bold patterns on everything they wear.  Don't fall for it.  Patterns attract the eye and make things look larger.  Opt for solids with patterned accessories or layering pieces.

6.)  KNOW YOUR FLAWS.  It's okay to want to disguise certain parts of your body.  If you hate your upper-arms, look for flutter sleeves in the summer time.  If your belly always bothers you, search for tops with strategically placed ruching or wrap styles.  There's a solution for everything.  Having trouble?  See rule #1.

7.)  KNOW YOUR ASSETS.  Personally, I think this is even more important than #6.  Playing up the parts of your body that you like will help you to feel confident in what you wear.  Even something as simple as knowing what colors look good on you will help you to find pieces that you can wear happily, even on a "fat day."  For example, I happen to look great in blue-reds, so I try to always keep a go-to item in that shade around. =)

8.)  YOU ARE WHAT YOU WEAR.  If you allow your weight to make you dress like a slob, then you'll come off as a slob.  Learning to love your body means accepting it and embracing it... not hiding it.  So keep it classy. ;-)

The world is NOT a fat joke, Bethany.

The fact that I accept myself doesn't mean that I'm not sensitive about my weight, and this confuses a lot of people.  I was very fortunate to have never really endured bullying in school.  My classmates didn't make jokes at my expense (or if they did, I wasn't aware of them and therefore they didn't have much impact on me) and, for the most part, my "fat kid" self-image was the result of my own insecurities.  (My father's second wife is one glaring exception, but even with my lingering hatred for the crazy woman I cannot blame her for the sum of my body issues.)  Sad truth:  this is still true today. 

I can't recall any instance in my adult life of someone actually insulting me because of my weight, and yet I am still chronically aware of the potential fat jokes that arise in my everyday life.  Every little blip relates back to my weight.  Spill food on myself -> sloppy -> fat.  Knock something over -> clumsy -> fat.  I am aware of the fact that people with far smaller butts than mine have knocked things over before, and that sometimes ketchup just doesn't stay where you put it, but somehow these mundane hiccups in human activity immediately trigger the thought that someone saw it and thought to themself "Hahaha... that fat girl just dripped ketchup on herself!"  Even in explaining that, I feel a little crazy, and yet I find it incredibly hard to train myself not to do it.  The saddest part is that it isn't even just my screwups that trigger this kind of response.  If I go to the grocery store and buy ice cream, I worry that the cashier thinks I'm fat because I sit around eating ice cream all day.  The good news is that this crazy train of thought doesn't keep me from doing normal things, but it does bother me that I have to actively set aside such thoughts sometimes.  A chubby friend of mine (who will remain nameless unless she so chooses) once admitted to me that if she went to a fast food place, she would always order two drinks so that the cashier would think she was sharing her meal with someone instead of eating it all herself.  Meanwhile, I have thin friends that will walk into a McDonalds and order a #1 super sized with extra sauce and down it in public without thinking twice.  Why do we do this to ourselves?  Do we really think that the 16 year old kid running the Taco Bell drive-thru cares whether we eat TWO tacos???  And even if he does... why on earth do we care?

Dear Bethany,

The world is not one giant fat joke.  Get.  Over.  It.

-Me

I'm Bethany. I'm chubby. I don't hate myself.

Don't get me wrong, there are certainly days when I wonder why on earth no matter how big my pants are, I still struggle with "muffin top," and I absolutely wake up some mornings thinking to myself, "sweats and hoody, sweats and hoody, sweats and hoody."  I'm given to understand, though, that everyone has days where they wish there was something different about their body, so I don't hold that against myself.  Overall though, I rather like me.  I think I'm pretty cute most days, I'm intelligent, and I'm strong.  I'm never going to be thin or perfect, so why hate myself for being who I am?

When I was in college, I worked at Lane Bryant (aka: chubby girl heaven).  I'm kind of loud, and kind of opinionated, so I quickly became pretty comfortable talking to my customers about their body issues (which, of course, were my body issues as well).  After my first few months there, I slowly began to realize that so many of these women HATED their bodies... because no one had told them it was okay not to.  From the teen girls trying to find something hip and trendy at the only plus size shop on the Central Coast to the more seasoned ladies who spent their shopping time cursing the junk food they ate in their youth, each one of them gave me the same shocked and awkward look when I would begin openly talking about the dirty truth... that we were f-a-t.  In a matter of seconds though, they would realize that I wasn't being offensive, but that I was simply stating the obvious.   Let's face it ladies... it's not like if we don't mention it, no one will notice.  So why not open up in the comfort of those who understand?  I loved knowing that being open about my body allowed others to gain a little acceptance of theirs.  One time in particular, a younger woman (late 20's - early 30's, perhaps?) was talking about how self-conscious she was about the weight and stretch marks left behind from her pregnancy.  I laughingly assured her that stretch marks weren't the end of the world, and added that I (only 21-22 at the time) looked like a bear had mauled my stomach, and I didn't even have a baby to show for it!  A minute later, this complete stranger shyly asked if I would show her my stretch marks.  She hadn't met many young people that had them (or at least that admitted having them) and she wanted to see that she wasn't the only one.  Without hesitation, I walked her back to the fitting rooms, and showed her the hated purple lines that cursed my tummy.  I swear, I watched a 100 pound weight lift from this gal's shoulders.  For a split second, my coworker looked at me like I was crazy... until she saw the smile on the girl's face.


I guess what I'm trying to say is that I want to put a little more of that into the world; a little more of the "Yeah, being fat sucks, but that's no reason to hate yourself or stop living your life like the beautiful person you are!"

That being said, I am also trying to lose a few pounds.  There are two primary reasons: 1.)  Matthew and I have started talking about a wedding in the next couple years, and, honestly, plus size wedding dresses are hard to find and are often... well... ugly.  2.)  Future health.  Sure, I'm pretty healthy and active now, but you never know how things can progress.  I want to make sure I can keep up with the kids when that time comes.  Again though, I will never be a thin person, and I'm okay with that.  People often tell me that I "could be thin if I wanted to."  Aside from making me want to slap them (seriously, who wakes up in the morning and says, "I wanna be fat today!"?), this statement is mostly untrue.  A bout of bulimia when I was a preteen (to be discussed in a later post) rendered me pretty thin for my body type, but I looked awkward and disproportionate, and I have no desire to return to that.  Also, I hate cardio.  I hate running.  I hate the elliptical.  I'm not going to pretend otherwise.  I swear, I read 50 FB status updates every day that say something like "I just got back from my favorite place on earth... the GYM!!!  and I feel so AMAZING!!!  I can't wait to go back tomorrow!!!  I may be fat, but I'm now in love with the treadmill!!!!!"  Ok, maybe that's a little exaggerated, but you get the idea.  No offense to anyone; if that's how you hype yourself up then more power to ya.  But I'm gonna be honest and say that when I get back from my morning workout, it takes a good half hour before I stop wanting to kill something and can actually enjoy the post-workout endorphins.

So, in conclusion........... I'm Bethany.  I'm chubby.  And I don't hate myself.  Feel free to join me. =)