Angry Old Fat Women Need Love,Too!

RANT ALERT!!!!

Hey, guess what? I'm feeling a little pissed off today and here's why:

According to our popular culture:

It is okay to be fat as long as you are funny.

You can be hot if you are older, but only if you are skinny.

You can be sexy if you are curvy but not TOO MUCH.

You can be a feminist, but why be so ANGRY?

It is okay to be angry, but for cryin' out loud, get some botox so you don't LOOK angry. And don't be fat and angry.

But if you are middle aged, overweight, and dare to try to feel even the slightest bit attractive, good freaking luck. You can be old and hot or fat and hot, but both??? Nobody wants to see that.

I'm pitching fits. Culturally speaking, there is no place for me. Sexually speaking, at least in terms of popular culture, I am dead in the water, and any complaining about it is just old-lady bitching. Women who are younger than me seem to come away with the impression that because I look like a soccer mom, that I never had any fun when I was younger. I actually had a girl tell me that she just can't picture me ever being the type to wear a short skirt and drink and generally get into trouble.

In other words, I have become harmless. My femme-fatale days are over to other people, and apparently I was the last to get the memo. Whatever sensuality I possess is now expected to be subdued, refined, or, you know, invisible.

Not that I haven't mellowed with age, but that is just crap. I have no desire to be compared to a fine wine that gets better with age. I am different, but like all women in their forties, I am deeply aware of and interested in my sexual life. Like many women with naturally curvy bodies, I want to enjoy mine.

So here it is:

I'm aging, just like you are. ALL OF YOU. I'm also fat by many standards. I have little wrinkles from worrying on my forehead.

I also really enjoy sex, and I am probably better at it than you are. So there. I'm not self censoring any more for your comfort.

What I need

As a 39 year old new mother, it is pretty safe to say that I have special needs. Combining new parent insomnia with peri-menopausal symptoms and graying hair would be enough to drive anyone batty. Trying to smear differrent creams on my nascent crow's feet and potty training a recalcitrant toddler just don't go together. How am I supposed to conduct my midlife crisis properly under these conditions?

People who care about my already delicate mental health keep asking me what I need. Other than a pile of cash and about 6 more hours of waking life and 12 more hours of sleep, I never know what to say. So here is my semi-serious list of things I need. Some are practical and some are more existential.

1. Dinner. I know as a former chef, everyone thinks I have the nightly dinner thing all wrapped up. Not so. I need a freezer full of casseroles or recipes of stuff to put into my crockpot or something. What A needs right now is me spending time with her, not me shooing her out of the kitchen so I can prepare some gourmet thing she probably won't eat anyway.

2. A cocktail. Or more specifically, the stars-in-alignment situation where I have a babysitter and friends that want to go out on the same night. I'd also like to have that cocktail in a bar that is not choked with smoke. Gah. Reno is so backwards on the chain-smoking bar thing. It is so gross.

3. A time turner. Yeah, I know they are only in the Potterverse, but I just want time to read a dang novel in peace. Or write one. Or whatever. Other Potter-related things I need: A spell that can give me shiny, bouncy hair.

4. A clean house. I just can't seem to get anywhere close to pre-child levels of housekeeping. I try, but again, A needs my attention more than the dust bunnies do.

5. A fine romance. Tony who? My poor husband I are still adjusting to the lack of privacy/lack of babysitters/lack of conversations that don't involve toddler issues. I miss him.

6. A massage. Or ten massages.

7. A jogging stroller or bike trailer that will convey my almost 40 pound kid. I always wondered why people don't just let their kids walk. Then I tried to cross a mall parking lot with mine, and it took forever! I don't need a stroller for the mall, but I need to get some fresh air and exercise. I can't burn calories at the rate that A can stroll, even if she runs beside me.

8. Cognitive Therapy. This is to control the negative self talk that makes me feel like a failure even though I do all the things I do. I need a therapist like that guy in the Metellica movie "Some Kind of Monster", only without the Cosby sweaters and vampiric hanging-on. Realistically, cognitve therapy costs about $85 an hour, not counting babysitting.

9. A room of my own. Or whatever it was that Virginia Woolfe says I need to be a writer of any small measure of success. I need to get in a groove so that I can still write things other than this blog. I'm mostly talking to myself here anyway. Hello? (listens for echo)

10. A good tailor. Seriously. Tony needs some pants hemmed and I just plain suck at sewing.

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