Polar Bear

Polar Bear
My Boy

Wednesday, August 25, 2010

Google, Facebook, and other handywork of the devil

Ok, so I really don't hate Google.  In fact I rely on it everyday, however...

Last night I watched a movie in which the lead character, a self-proclaimed loser, Googles himself only to find there are no hits for his name.  And I wonder, "Oh holy Mary what the hell are my Google hits?!?!?"

So I Google myself, and several hits come up, most from my latter professional years, a few from my sports career if you look really close.  Yes, of course I looked close!  And I literally cringed...and threw up a bit in my mouth.

So I was in the upper part of the pack popular in high school, a jock, not a bouncy bubbly airhead that filled the upper spots of popularity.  I refused to bend and conform, yet I was popular, especially among jocks, and considered myself pretty social.

In college I was very social and outgoing.  Popular, and less bee-atchy than high school so I had more true friends.  Sports helped alot to help me find like-minded individuals, and I had a blast in those years.

Then I got fat.  And at the time of Googling, following my full body cringe, I realized why I had that visceral response.  I wanted to be invisible.  I WANT to be invisible.  To disappear.  I don't want anyone to find me, seek me out, ask to do lunch.

I wear hugely baggy clothes, mostly my husband's big T-shirts, but also my own.  Monstrous items-I'm not kidding.  I will not wear a T-shirt unless it hits, and preferably falls a touch below, my outer upper thighs.  I am a size 14, but wear XXL and 3x clothes-because I want to cloak my own misery-somehow I think if I hide my flab, people will forget it is there and see me for the happy, super cool chick I am inside.  Deep inside.  But let's face it, most people judge at face value, and will never get past my weight.  I talk to guys at work and the cool chick inside thinks, "He is flirting with me".  Then my outside insulating shell reminds that cool chick inside to catch a glimpse of herself when passing a window and get a damn reality check.

So now I dream about when I am skinny and I will litter the internet with semi-naked photos of myself looking all sexy-fied.  I dream about all the exes and people who treated me horribly stumbling across those pics and kicking themselves in their own asses for letting me go and discounting my potential.  Most of all, I dream about wearing clothes my own size, answering emails from old friends to meet up, looking people in the eye.  Coming out of hiding.

And let's face it, when I do get skinny, people will be drawn to me, will flock to get my attention, because I am a badass, deep inside-and I will be vibrant, like I used to be.  But mark my words, I know my friends, I know my enemies, I know my judges and critics, and I will not be swayed by their changes in affection.  Being fat has opened up my eyes to the stuff of real loyalty.

But until then, the demon-spawn Facebook will have to wait for my awesomeness (and semi-pornographic pictures) to be unleashed on its site.

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