Nude is beautiful. Just not on the furniture, please and thanks.

There was a meme all over Facebook this week about a woman who reportedly wrote a response to a bulletin posted at a gym. I  do not know if any of this is true, so the journalist in me resisted posting it to my wall.

Also, many of the memes included a nude photo of French model Tara Lynn (pictured here) sitting in a wicker chair. While she is certainly beautiful and I appreciate tasteful nudity, I don’t like naked people on furniture. It’s an phobia I have about ass-matter-transfer, one of the multitude of reasons I would never be comfortable at a nudist colony, and totally not relevant to this discussion.

Any old hoo, this is the text of the meme:

A while back, at the entrance of a gym, there was a picture of a very thin and beautiful woman. The caption was “This summer, do you want to be a mermaid or a whale?”

The story goes, a woman (of clothing size unknown) answered the following way:

OK. There’s a lot going on in that meme, and it has generated a lot of discussion.

For some, it’s been eye-opening that beauty does come in all shapes and sizes.  

For others, this seems to say that it’s OK to be obese, no matter what the consequences to your health. (I follow this blogger on Twitter and she’s smart and funny. I totally get where she’s going here.)

My take, for what it’s worth, is this: If some staffer at a gym really posted that flyer, it’s a condescending way to isolate and shame women and it sends the wrong message. In other words, that person is a douche.

Women should not be shamed into fitness because of their appearance, ever. This is not a way to incentivize exercise, at least it’s not for me. The horrific memories of school gym classes come flooding back and that is one of the reasons I’ve always felt like I don’t belong in a fitness facility. Every gym teacher I ever had was Sue Sylvester. True story.

But I am trying to convince myself now that I do belong. I remind myself that I do not swim to look prettier in my swimsuit. I swim, despite all the cellulite jutting out for the world to see, to improve my health.

To the woman who wrote the response that has now been tweeted and liked around the Internet, I am almost there with you. Whales are not overweight and they are certainly not unattractive. They are powerful, graceful and fit. Mermaids are not real and certainly not aspirational. I want to enjoy food, drinks and ice cream, too. I want to embrace my curves. But I also know that too much “cultivation” is going to kill me.

If losing weight has the side benefit of looking better, then that’s great. But the goal for me is to alleviate my arthritis pain and help my mobility. My current weight is impeding my career and my personal life. I have no illusions that I will ever be thin or look like the images in magazines, which are totally unrealistic and, frankly, unattractive.

Fifteen years ago, I was fit and active. I walked more than 20 miles a week and had no problems with blood sugar, blood pressure, cholesterol etc.

Still, I was 40 pounds over the weight I am supposed to be for my height.

Tara Lynn (with clothes) is gorgeous and curvy. And a size 12, from what I've read.

I have always had a round ass and chunky thighs, and no matter how much shame is shoved down my throat, I always will be curvy. I was not OK with that when I was younger. I loathed the way I looked and those body images haunt me to this day. It’s part of the reason that, as I became older and less active, I piled on so much weight — I found comfort in food that eased the pain of never feeling pretty enough.

People who do not have emotional issues with food will never understand that statement. Those who do know exactly what I mean.

This seems a little harsh.

It only motivates me to want to tell this sweaty bitch to lighten the fuck up already.

(Source: des051195, via imgfave)

Let me explain, as I can feel my ass widening as I am typing this and I suspect I will have a jeans explosion to deal with soon.

I came home for lunch instead of eating frozen shit at my desk. All the way home I am thinking about the fresh fruit and greens we have here at the house and the wholesome-yet-delicious lunch I could make for myself. Hell, I even have some anti-oxidant, Omega-3 rich grilled shrimp I can feast on.

And then I got here and let my dogs out and then I remembered we have a leftover cheeseburger in the fridge. Grilled Angus beef 80/20 — the perfect fat to lean ratio for a really tender burger– topped with colby jack cheese. And we have sesame buns.

Before you can say mandarin oranges, I had that burger nuked, on the bun and in my rather empty belly.

Well, I didn’t have breakfast, so I was really hungry. And those calories in that burger are really two meals because of the skipped breakfast, so not so bad.� And I did top the burger with mushrooms, which are loaded with potassium, so that’s practically health food (let’s pretend they weren’t sauteed with butter, m’kay?)

Then I noticed we had a big hunk of Boston cream cake left on the counter.

Let’s just say it never had a chance. Nor did any of the crumbs. Or the creamy remnants on the fork.

And I am miserably full now. But I won’t be full later, and I will want more food for dinner, and I am pretty much out of calories for about two days.

If I can’t be a good example, at least let me be a horrible warning.

Yesterday, we got one.

Two ovens, the bigger one convection, five burners including a bridge burner perfect for grill pans.

Isn’t it gorgeous?

In kind of an ironic turn of events, the stove was delivered on my daughter’s birthday and we already had plans to go out to dinner. So, no cooking last night. I woke up this morning and made my grocery list so I could bring home all kinds of wonderful food to cook…and I have a terrible stomach ache. Can’t leave the house long enough to go shop for food, nothing sounds good anyway.

{{{SHAKES FIST AT THE CRUEL BITCH THAT IS FATE}}}

So I just scarfed down a couple of Pepto Bismol tablets and plan to hit the store as soon as they solve whatever is wrong in my gut.

I plan to make a dish tonight that will require using as many burners and ovens as possible: A deconstructed lasagna made with penne pasta, roasted veggies, a little seasoned meat and baked with Italian cheeses. Not only is this little macaroni bake da bomb, it will let me fire up the stove and at least one oven.

Then maybe I will bake some cookies or a cake in the convection oven JUST BECAUSE I CAN!

Bwhahahaha!

The chicken was marinated in some kind of teriyaki sauce (we bought it pre-soaked at our favorite local supermarket) and enjoyed it last night with jasmine rice and a salad. There was enough left over for me to haul a lunch-sized chunk into work.

To accompany it I have confetti slaw, a nice little concoction from that same favorite local supermarket (OK, it’s Kroger) which is a mix of red and green cabbage, carrots, sesame seeds and Ramen noodles in a light vinaigrette. Sounds weird but I swear it is light and tasty.

What’s important here is what I *didn’t* eat, which was a bacon cheeseburger and fries.

That’s what I wanted. That’s what I told myself I deserved because I worked so freakin’ hard the last two days on a big project that is now complete.

I could have rationalized that cheeseburger. But I didn’t.

For the record, there is only a couple of inches of snow on the ground, but this is the South and I hate to drive in it too, so who am I to call anyone Wimpy McWimperson? Besides, their loss has now turned into my gain since I was able to get an appointment for a pedicure, a root-touch up, and get my eyebrows pruned down to a human shape.

And I have a husband with an SUV so I don’t even have to drive. Picture me doing a happy dance, fat jiggling everywhere.

One reason that dieting (I am not calling it a life change anymore because, bitch please, it’s a diet) often fails for me is that I feel deprived. And clearly, if you look at the size of my gelatinous thighs and shelf ass, you can see I do not engage in much self-deprivation.

So if I am going to deny myself unrestricted access to the food I love (not cutting it out, just cutting it back) I can keep that inner demon that demands instant gratification quiet by indulging in things like spa days, jewelry purchases, shoes, etc.

Sound selfish? Well, yes it does. But the entire idea of changing my body and my health is inherently selfish and if this strategy works, why the hell not?

So, a winter pedicure is an indulgence. Totally worth it, especially at half price.

When I take a good long look at myself from an outsider’s perspective, I can honestly say that I am what is commonly known as a hot mess.

Besides being morbidly obese, like the kind of fat that makes vapid Marie Claire hacks cringe, I have a litany of medical complaints. Arthritis.� Migraines. Anxiety and depression. High blood pressure.

Although I love to look at fashion, I don’t have the body to pull it off. Trendy cute clothes are made for taller, thinner women. So I dress like a frumpy old lady most day: mom jeans, pullover V-neck tops in solid colors, Crocs, Clarks or Keens, flip-flops almost all summer. Stacey London and Clinton Kelly would throw away the entire content of my closet.

In it’s natural state, my hair is a thick, curly mop. I stopped wearing make-up years ago except on special occasions because that whole “lipstick on a pig” cliche seems like a money-saving reality check to me.

And I am a major klutz. I have all the grace and coordination of a club-footed drunk in a dizzy bat competition.

If all this sounds like I’m being a Debby Downer or that I am fishing for a compliment, it’s really not. I just think it’s good to be honest and well aware of my personal shortcomings. Keeps me humble.

And in case I ever forget any of these things, my mother-in-law will be here day after tomorrow to remind me in that adorable, passive aggressive, drunken way of hers that just makes the season bright.

But here I am, just days before Christmas and with yet another year about to fade into history, and I am trying to assess what I can do to make things better in 2011.� Last night I told my husband I was going to give up caffeine, sugar, chocolate and alcohol at the stroke of midnight on New Year’s Eve.

He laughed the kind of laugh that drips with disbelief — he knows me — but seasoned with a dash of fear. His fear would be that I might actually attempt all of those things — he knows me. He’s loves me, but he wouldn’t want any part of that nonsense.

But when I pointed out that I needed to take extreme measures because my joints are aching, especially in the extreme cold, he dropped the “F” bomb on me.

Perhaps, he said in a tender voice, when we retire, just so I won’t have such a hard time with aches and pains, we will have to move to Florida.

Oh. Hell. No. I only thought he knew me.

Do not get me wrong. I love Florida. Hell, I was born there in some unwed mothers home where they give little bastard babies like me away. I have vacationed there half a dozen time. The Poynter Institute, mecca for journalists, is there. And I would not mind being a young person living in Florida.

But I just cannot accept the idea that I could be one of those gray-haired biddies that spends her silver years in that very red state, also known as Heaven’s waiting room.

I cannot. Just. No.

I want to spend my last years on this earth in my hometown, Indianapolis. Or� a beloved city like Nashville. Or Portland (Oregon, to be clear.)

Not Fort Meyers. Or Naples. Or Boca Raton.

Inadvertently, my husband may have given me the best motivation to live a healthier lifestyle in 2011.

All the things a good knee should do.

Then one day seven years ago, I fell off a ladder, and that’s when my knee went bad. I shredded the cartilage that kept the knee moving smoothly, and it all had to be sucked out because I had rendered it useless and painful.

Now my upper leg bone and my lower leg bone just rub together, without the aid of the nice soft bone to keep everything where it’s supposed to be. Many days it aches. Yesterday was one of those days.

As I rambled around getting ready for work, my knee and my lower back were screaming. This was really shitty timing, because I had a holiday party to cater at my office and my final photo class. I had been mentally preparing for this most terrible day of the year, and my knee decided to say “Fuck it. It’s cold outside and I am not cooperating. Take a seat, bitch, cause I ain’t going nowhere.”

But I was not going to be deterred.

I basically told my knee to suck it up. I was going to get through this long-assed day, hauling heavy packs of bottled water and trays of hot food to my co-workers and listening to hours of ridiculous drivel in my photo class and BAM! All bad mojo that has hung over my head like a dark cloud for weeks would be gone and I could finally relax and enjoy the rest of this year.

So I hobble around all day, got all the food where it was supposed to be for the day shift party, met all my deadlines and was headed out to get more food for the night shift when my knee said, “WTF did I tell you this morning, bitch? DENIED.”

And then it crumpled under my considerable girth and brought me crashing down to the pavement outside my office building.

Um, OUCH.

After crying like a hysterical girl, I scraped myself off the sidewalk and, with help from a heroic co-worker, hauled my fat ass back into the building. Then I got to embarrass myself in front of untold number of people explaining why I was such a wreck.

And even though I am usually very pleased with my fat, full tummy after such an indulgence, I usually want to go back to the hotel room and nap until lunch.

Today I had Rice Krispies, a spoonful of the rubber eggs for protien, a small glass of juice and coffee. And I feel full. And not sleepy.

Maybe all that bullshit I’ve been hearing for years about eating light is right. Or maybe I am just saving my calories for Buffalo wings and beer after the basketball games tonight.

Don’t work to hard trying to guess, it’s the latter.

However, that in itself is a small victory for me. Every calorie saved on tasetless waffles is better spent on tangy wings, and even a week ago I doubt that I would have made that choice.

Today I am also going to go clothes shopping at my favorite mall in the workd, the Circle Center.

This will either result in me waddling my fat ass into the the nearest burger joint to drown my sorrows in French fries and grease, or it will result in my ordering a salad of nothing but plain iceberg lettuce that I eat while power-walking around the mall’s atrium.

Let’s hoe for the latter, folks.