Buffalo Thighs

April 1st

10:04 p.m.

I had this whole journal entry written up in response to Mary Anne's several entries responding to my comment that I am annoyed with the body image most women hold about their bodies. About how it's how you hold yourself, that if you think you're sexy then other people will too (Nalo Hopkinson has a great story that touches on this in Skin Folk). About how Ms. Zeta-Jones was the *skinny* woman in the movie, and is not exactly what I'd call a fuller-figure role model (and how Flockhart looks sickly to me). I was going to discuss my story "Famishing" which is a speculative story about body image and was supposed to get this all out of my system. I was going to talk about how it matters more to me whether I can run across the BART station and catch my train without getting winded than what size pants I fit into or what number comes up on the scale. Oh, yes, I had a whole rant about body image and how I'm tired of hearing perfectly lovely friends of mine bemoan their healthy bodies, yearing for something thinner than is healthy for them.

Yeah, then I did what I'd stopped doing months ago and should never have done again: I stepped on the scale.

People, I was sure that scale was broken. That was not what I thought I weighed. I suppose this proves my supposition that I have a better body image than most women, because although I knew I'd gained a little weight lately, I had no idea I'd gained that much weight.

So, well, I'm not going to rant at you about body image for this whole entry. I will say that love will do this to you. I agree with MA that being single is a great motivator for working out. I would not trade my relationship with Tim for a thinner body, no way in hell; and, well hell's bells, the man thinks I'm perfect (er, physically that is). Loves my body, thinks I curve in all the right places. No wonder I had no idea I'd gained so much weight; my boyfriend makes me feel like a queen, a lovely, curvy, sex-kitten/goddess. In fact, I resent the hell out of that scale, telling me I'm not gorgeous. Fuck that! I'm just out of shape, but I refuse to be fat. My goal will NOT be a number on a scale; success will be measured by how long I can fuck (on top) without having to stop and catch my breath. That, my friends, is a worthy goal.

Ok, so maybe I ranted a little.

10:23 p.m.A big congrats to Nick Mamatas on his Stoker Nomination for his unusual and brilliant novella Northern Gothic. You like horror? You should go buy this book and read it. Not your standard horror fare (though I'm not really a horror person, I liked it anyway). It's nice and depressing; I like that.

10:29 p.m. This weekend was lovely. Tim's oldest friend, Scott, came down and hung out with us. We went to see Rockwell Church Saturday night at a meat-markety type bar; all three of us were bewildered by the bizarre mating dance happening before our eyes. I'm so, so glad I don't have to meet anyone in a bar; it was loud (even though I liked the band quite a lot), crowded and just weird.

Sunday I took Tim, Scott and Holly up to the Berkeley Rose Garden and Corineces (I'm sure I'm spelling that wrong) Park. We hung out and mused about what it would be like when we had kids. We made fun of kids trying to hit a baseball (we were far enough they couldn't hear us, don't worry) and we applauded when they finally did (much to their embarassed delight; kids rock). We talked about moving to Berkeley and living in a house big enough for all four of us. We flirted with Scott and tried to get him and Holly to hook up. It was a lovely sort of puppy pile fuzzy sort of day. We rented a movie when we came back (Sexy Beast -- that's the movie, not a description of the men, though I suppose it could be) just so the day wouldn't be over. I like Scott; he's one of the sweetest men I know. I love it when he comes up and visits (or when we go to Santa Cruz and visit him). I love to see how happy he and Tim are around one another. I wish wish wish he lived closer so we could hang out with him more often. It's fun.

10:36 p.m. Tonight I went to my sister's belly dancing class (not flamenco, as Tim said in his entry) for the first time. Good workout; I'm sure I'll be sore tomorrow! Partway through the class Holly announced that we were performing for the rest of the gym after class and proceeded to teach a routine that ended with tap dancing. It was, of course, an April Fool's. After class we performed a bit of our old tap duet "Shuffle off to Buffalo" for interested students. Weird how much of that routine we could remember!

Ah, and now I'm home and writing this entry. I got my hour in on BART today (doing the hour-a-day dare for April; I'll link it up some other night, as I'm about ready to be done here). Tra la!

Words written since February 1, 2002: Bugger off, I've no idea. I'm not all word-count obsessed like some people I could mention . . .

Words written since last entry: 500 or so. See above.

Send llamas, precious, precious llamas. Poison frogs. Y'know, boy stuff.

Heather Shaw
P.O. Box 13222
Berkeley, CA 94712-4222

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