Being Fat makes you Fat and only Fat

People of all ages, but younger people (up to 30) especially, tend to reduce fat people to just being fat. They blatantly disregard everything else. Not even big tits distract so much from other aspects of a person’s appearance or personality or background, as obesity. You can be a black cyclops with 3 feet dreadlocks and 4 arms, your obesity will probably still be what people remember you for. Skinny celebrities often have their eyes or tits or hair mentioned. Fat celebrities are just fat. No one cares about their eyes, their hair, their fashion sense – unless it emphasizes their fatness. Britney Spears is very pretty and makes very replacable (as in: un-unique) music. If she were fat, her music would not sell. Hell, when she gained weight, her entire performance was shit-talked all over the media for that sole reason. When you’re fat, you’re only fat. You’re not pretty, not talented, not generous, not smart, not educated, not witty (maybe “funny” thanks to your potential to elicit fat jokes). You’re just fat.

I’m fat, always have been, though I was born tiny. My diapers could serve as sleeping bags. Well, but I got fat. Don’t know how exactly. I think it was partly because the medication I had to take for my severe epileptic seizures made me irritable and hugry, and the irritability was only soothed by eating. Or something like that. So I had a good reason. But then the good reason became a vicious cycle because constant irritability made me eat all the time, and so I got fatter, and more irritated what with the anti-fat bullying, and when the bullying broke me and made me hate my body, food was the only comfort.
Great.

But while being fat, I was a lot of other things and still am, but nobody cares.
On both sides of my family, I have by far the prettiest face. Very Jewish, except that I do have a chin. Big eyes, and haven’t aged in a decade. Full lips that don’t need make-up. A straight nose, hollow cheeks and prominent cheekbones. No double chin. Actually, I have the face of an anorexic, strangely, while I have the ass of Beth Ditto. My face is timeless; I still get away with saying I’m 19.
I have a very womanly shape. Big rack but not excessive, narrow waist, and wide hips. Hourglass shape, basically, and very much so. Wide, narrow, wider. Big-as-fuck hourglass, but damn well more womanly formed than many skinny chicks.

I fuck well.

Since age 3, I was lauded, prized, commissioned, and praised by many, not only those who liked me, for my artistic skills. This includes graphic arts, but also literature. Well-respected photographers have sat down with my father to see how to market me. I’ve had short stories and poetry published in anthologies and competitions. 2,608 people have subscribed to my artwork on deviantART, and more do every day. Sometimes I feel so overwhelmed by commissions and requests, that I ignore them all. I’m a damned good graphic artist, photographer, and writer. I don’t have a college degree and still got a job normally reserved for people who do, for my self-taught writing and largely self-taught language skills.

I speak 6 languages fluently enough to hold intelligent conversations. These languages include Hebrew and Japanese.

I’ve rescued animals in ways most people would be too dumb to even think of; this includes thermos bottles and acting skills to smuggle them on international flights. And are you familiar with Israeli airport security for those who do not hold an Israeli passport? I still did it. Speaking of rescues, I’ve raised hundreds of newly-hatched axolotls, and seemingly hopelessly sick kittens. I’ve nursed dying rodents back to health. I gave all for some of my pets and shied no efforts.

I have strength and stamina. While I can’t run or climb much, and while I have piss-poor waterborne coordination, I can walk for hours without complaining, much unlike many of my skinny to normal friends of various ages. I can walk for hours with heavy luggage under a brutal sun with no protection, without complaining. I can stand in the sun all day without food or water and only get a bit cranky. Don’t get me started on sex; I’d probably win any gang bang competition if I wanted my fat ass that exposed. I can go all night and still want more, let’s leave it at that. Never walked the awkward walk of too-much-sex. After a botched thigh lift, I dragged my bleeding, butchered, gaping, 15 inch thigh wounds from Lebanon via Hungary to Belgium with no wheel chair, no assistance, and a heavy-ass suit case and a dog. Having had no money for a cab, I walked, stood on public transport, and dragged myself and my stuff up and down stairs with thigh lift wounds that were far from closing any time soon. None the weaker. I carry my 15kg cat food on my shoulder, up the hill of my city, by myself because I’m too cheap to get a cab or tip delivery guys. When my 35 kilo Akita broke down from the heat, I carried him for half a mile. When that same dog was in trouble, I saved him by hurling him single-handedly over a fence higher than myself and I’m 175 cm tall. My first attempt at push ups: 15 successful push-ups. Spontaneous I’m-so-bored push ups: 24. Static cycling at high resistance level, record 40 minutes waiting for my trainer like a dunce. 3 days hunger strike out of sheer anger. None the weaker. When I get sick, rarely a fuck is given and I still function. If I don’t, it’s usually because I enjoy the days off obligations and meditate myself into a sickly state I can snap out of any time to convince sceptics.

I’m persuasive. When I talk to people face-to-face, whether I end up getting my way (more often than not) or not, they will be impressed. I’ve hijacked the authority of many a teacher, got the entire class room to revolt or join me on a trip, lead a gang at age 11, and many parents wanted me away from their kids because my influence was too strong. I can talk my way into nice discounts at many check-in counters and talk my way out of tickets, fines, and arrests as long as I keep my calm. The smuggled kittens I mentioned before, well, I didn’t hide them. I talked them onto the plane.

I’m brave. I may have my little phobias, I’m scared of interpersonal conflict and emotional clashes with loved ones, but when it comes to reasonable fears or dangerous situations, I keep a-thinking all the while keeping a good response and reaction time. This goes for standing amid 5000 rioting Palestinians as the only and overt Zionist and taking pro-level pictures with the calm of a dead rat, and this goes for dodging cars on a no-shoulders muddy freeway in the pouring rain (as a pedestrian). This goes for getting lost in a village in the arse of rural Japan at night, and this goes for standing up to 5 thugs and evading their attacks at the same time as planning mine.

I’m intelligent above average. My IQ tested 137 at age 6, but regardless, if I weren’t an overthinker who can’t let go of inner emotional and moral conflict, aka bad conscience, and who doesn’t want to get caught and locked up, I would be a criminal mastermind. For fun, and in anger, I’ve plotted many a perfect crime. One was posing as a messy and confused cleaning lady who forgot her cleaning cart near a room crowded with people I disliked (a dislike unknown to most). My cart would contain a bucket of what my persona would’ve considered a safe and strong mixture – bleach and ammonia. I’d run like hell before being affected because, hey, diarrhea, bad tiramisu. Credible reason for not being gassed along with everyone else. I would actually have deliberately made myself sick to prove that was why I fled the crime scene. Mass murder, and I’d be believed to be too flaky to know any better. No one could accuse me of ill will: I am known to be flaky and messy and do stupid things in moments of ADHD-overload, and remembering a few difficult moments from my past would have provided face and tears of phony remorse. I don’t get why the Mossad don’t want me.

I’ve traveled more countries than I can remember, am well-read and know a lot of not so mainstream shit. I’ve been to Japan, the Palestinian territories, war zones, New York, and wrestled a dolphin. I’m book smart and street smart, I learn fast how to operate most devices without reading the manual, I assemble my furniture alone, I’m great at puzzles, trivia, and animal stuff. While I’ve walked out of all my college studies before getting my degree, and failed most exams for ADHD-related concentration issues, I’ve learned nearly enough to hold my own in the applied subject matter of film making, from the summary to marketing the finished product. And crafts you throw at me, if it intrigues me, my first attempt is likely to turn out nice. If something interestes me, I master it without sitting down with the text book. I like + I try = I can.

I’m damned funny and manage to make most people laugh effortlessly whenever I want. Not fat-funny but jokes/remarks/impressions/anecdotes funny. I have interesting stories of all kinds and come from a hardly sheltered background. If it weren’t for stage fright and forgetting brilliant jokes the moment I think them up, I’d upstage your favorite stand-ups.

I’m caring, generous, patient, I’m thoughtful to a fault and happily wipe after my incontinent old dog. I’d make a great mother. But while I’m really fucking awesome, I’m also fat, so I’m unmarriable to most quality men.

The only thing I really suck at, is anything to do with music. And getting Mr. Right.

But I’m still really fucking awesome. Too bad nobody wants to look past my fat ass.

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