So if you're just kinda smellin' what I'm cookin' and idly voting yea, that's cool, but don't expect me to find you; whereas if you're really feelin' me, by all means grow a pair and say hi. Then maybe you could *really* be feelin' me, which is what all this song and dance is for, n'est–ce pas? Anyway, on with the show... Da da da dada *DA*!! *drumroll*...]
I could be described as an Omega Mu. If you know what I mean by that, we might share a pop culture frame of reference. If it amuses and delights you that I would say that about myself, we might share a common sense of humor and schadenfreude. (That's German for Nelson's "HA ha...") If it arouses you, you might be my true love. Write me.
More specifically, I am what's sometimes known as an SSBBW. For those of you not familiar with chub chaser lingo, that means that not only can you be 99% certain I'm heavier than you, I may even be 99% heavier than you. If you are some sort of statistical anomaly who isn't horrified by that fact, read on, my intrepid friend. Let's see if I can lose you in the first section so we can waste no more of each other's valuable time.
I am politically left of left. The politics test placed me squarely on top of Gandhi, which is funny, because the Presidential-Administration-Which-Must-Not-Be-Named brought out my previously mostly buried inner rage and fantasy violence. ("Okay, but... I'm gonna hafta burn down the building...") Hey, turns out I didn't hafta afta all! Hosanna!! :D Srsly, in a parallel universe where things didn't go so well in November, I'm wielding a pitchfork and screaming anachronistic French swears behind a barricade right now... Or maybe something along the lines of "I gotchyer democracy *right* here!!"
But OMG, how relieved are we in *this* reality? Am I the only one to whom this moment in history feels like that moment when you first begin to recover from food poisoning and realize that you just might live? Weak, clammy, depleted, and objectively thoroughly wretched, you're still somehow able to feel a near-giddy gratitude for the fact that at least your innards are no longer exploding out of you every which way in a convulsive traumarama that seemed like it would never end? Like that. Let's get some electrolytes up in this bitch and rally, America. We can do it. :)
Speaking of Rosie, I am not afraid of the word "feminist," and we'd get along best if you not only felt the same way, but would consider yourself one, as well. Seems like by now that should be as obvious and near-quaint as saying we support civil rights fuh the Negroes, but it seems to remain a borderline controversial and buttony word, and I sometimes find that otherwise reasonably progressive dudes react to it with a hostile and adversarial attitude. Settle down, fellas; nobody's tryin' to steal y'stanky ol' bawlls. (Seriously, though, they're *awesome*, but you wear 'em; I'll just jiggle 'em. Maybe a little sack lunch. You bring the tea bag. We're all on the same page, here...) To me, the f-word still means pro- equal rights, equal opportunities, and equal pay for equal work for us ladies; not whatever ugly man-hating connotation the righties have largely succeeded in smearing it with. Goddamn righties...
Incidentally, I occasionally say "goddamn" because it has a nice salty Texas ring to it, but I don't believe in God. Not in the disapproving patriarch or schizo Santa in the sky sense, anyway. Just recently I've been struck joyful with some personal spiritual revelations, and I'm realizing that I might have chucked a very big Baby out with the distasteful Southern Baptist bathwater in my disillusioned youth. To my chagrin, I've begun to open up to some as-yet-unscopable and invisible concepts, and I'm beginning to understand with my mind what my spirit (OMG I have a spirit, y'all! Holla'!) has always known – that we are all connected by and to One Big Love. I'm gonna sit at the Welcome Table. Stop making fun of me. :p
(In case you weren't aware, the Welcome Table thing is a reference to the episode of Strangers with Candy wherein Jerri joins a cult, and it's self-mockery, which is tough to resist these days. :| My inner skeptic keeps pantsing my inner seeker, who keeps turning the other cheek... For the record, a Jerri Blank fan club is the closest thing to a religious group you'd ever find me joining. My nifty new spiritual outlook (inlook?) is homegrown and very freeform -- mostly just a sense of life itself as divine in its way, a curiosity about my own inner light, and a realization that I feel most connected with it when I'm loving myself and others. Not like that, y'perv... :p But then too. :| )
I've thought about editing the spirituality crazy talk out of here because I'm not sure how well I'm expressing my strange new thoughts and feelings, which themselves are very nebulous and nothing like the kind of certainty that I've always found so unattractively arrogant in believers (and that I'm now recognizing also characterized my own brand of atheism); and I'm concerned that my muddled attempt to explain something that isn't even clear to me may be off-putting to the atheist and agnostic dudes with whom I'd actually be most compatible. Rest assured, godless hordes – I am *not* a believer in any of the ways you might be thinking; I've just gone from denying to wondering, from being sure there's nothing in the universe beyond our current understanding to having a happy little hunch that there is, and it's only a big deal in contrast to my previously hermetically-sealed mind.
Because my inner 8-ball has been tending toward "outlook good" and "signs point to yes", rather than just "reply hazy" or "cannot predict now", I had declared myself "other"; but I've changed it to "agnostic" both because I think it's a bit more accurate and also because "other" apparently gives the impression that I've changed my name to Mother Shabubu and I'm out in the woods every full moon doing magicks and having lesbian daisy-chain navel sex. :| I swear I'm really not a corn flake or a fruit loop – just a little granola. :) The ideas I'm beginning to explore may not be verifiable or quantifiable by existing scientific means, but they're not at *odds* with science, either – my willingness to entertain the possibility of the spiritual doesn't mean I've forsaken the factual, if that makes sense. And I definitely do not believe in any kind of eye in the sky who sees you when you're sleeping. Except maybe Ceiling Cat. Sinner. :p
Some of Christianity's Cliffs Notes that I've always considered valid, even at my most cynical and skeptical, include the stuff about "Love one another," "Judge not," "Do unto others..." and "Vengeance is Big Papa's, not yours, asshole." Or however it goes. :| It's really disturbing and tragic to me how the loudest religious peeps in this country have gotten so hung up on just a cherry-picked few of the ridiculous, archaic bylaws in their dusty old book of mythology that they've completely abandoned the truly awesome main ideas about love, compassion, and mindin' your own damn beeswax; and have thus begun to so strongly resemble the dogmatic wackjobs on the other God Squads that everyone's so afraid of these days. Y.U.B. hatin', y'all?? I have a hunch that if Jebus were around, he'd be knockin' your shit over and kickin' your hateful asses. Just puttin' it out there...
So it would seem that I've discovered some faith after all, after my own fashion and in my own sweet time, and maybe the best part is that it's making my time so frickin' sweet now! It seems like my lifelong struggle with depression has vanished overnight, taking most of my dysfunctional and self-destructive behaviors with it, and I thought those douchebags would *never* leave! Shout hallelujah and load up the bong! But not really... In fact, one of my aims for this section was to dispel Cupid's notion of me as an amoral wastrel druggie, but this is already unmanageably long, so I dumped my indignation into a journal entry, which you may want to check out if you find me interesting or diggable and would like to see how the chubby kid missed the mark.
The bullet points are that I consider myself more spiritual (albeit suddenly and recently), more moral (if perhaps somewhat morally flexible), more frugal (although just a wee bit self-indulgent), and WAY more sober than my stats make me out to be. I partied down in my day, and I believe in legalization n' shit, so enjoy y'selves, bitches; but I almost never *do* anything, including alcohol and tobacco. And firearms. :| (Although some target practice sounds cathartic, so if you're into that, that would make a fun date. :) Gotta be prepared for the zombie scenario, after all... Update! Went to the firing range with m'bro recently, and while I may not be much faster than a zombie, it turns out I can empty a clip right between their milky undead eyes from 20 feet away. *Groovy*. B) ) I also feel more dorky, less cocky, and more horny than it says. So I guess I *want* to feel more cocky. Cocky me likey. Like man with hole in pocket, I would feel cocky all day. See? Dorky. :|
Still with me? Alrighty then, how 'bout this? I don't shave. Anything. Unless it's yours, and you ask me nicely. (Oh, and once I helped give a long-haired kitty a buzz cut. Was that ever funny.) You deductive dudes may have gathered this from the fur and feminism, but as far as personal style goes, I land somewhere along the continuum between low-maintenance and no-nonsense. I'm fairly practical by nature, in addition to which I think I'm beautiful just the way the good Universe made me; and I don't spend much time, energy, or money on gilding the O'Keeffe. I will invest a bit of all of the above on finding clothes that I like and that suit me (easier said than done at my size), but I have a small wardrobe of unusual items that make me happy instead of a big pile o' passe-tomorrow trendy b.s., and the intervals between my shopping forays are best gauged in years.
I own four pairs of shoes, which I think is a trifle extravagant because two of them are the same model of Birkenstock sandals in different materials. (The other two are a pair of closed-toed Birks for uptight workplaces and some boring white sneaks that I bought on super sale and tricked out with OTC orthotics, which is *hotttness*.) I think high heels are a ricockulous instrument of torture (I mean -- would *you* attempt to support three bucks and change worth of sexy plus a bad back on a couple of chopsticks??), although if you'd like me to point some at the ceiling, fetishists, I'm game. I'd just be about as adept at walking in them as a 5-year-old boy (unless that boy were RuPaul circa '65, in which case I'd get my taint handed to me :| ), and my hobbity Jebus feet would probably disappoint you anyway.
I choose my undies for comfort (with the exception of one or two underwire date bras – gotta serve up the whors d'oeuvres now and then, am I right, ladies?), dye my grey streaks crayon colors every once in a Manic Panic Shocking Blue moon (word to Tish and Snooky), wear minimal make-up and/or fragrance when and if I damn well please, and might indulge the occasional silly get-up request as a favor to my lovah; but if you think a woman's body has to be violently rendered hairless as a prepubescent dolphin, gift-wrapped in synthetic sex clown fuckwear, hosed down with Lysol and food coloring (to paraphrase a friend), and/or teetering around on stilts in order to be attractive, then we're probably a pretty dire mismatch. (Maybe RuPaul is more your type, actually...) And if your idea of beauty is so superficial/artificial that it doesn't even make it all the way *down* to skin deep, you're probably a tool. Of the fashion and cosmetic industries, that is. What did you think I meant? ;;) heheh suck it. :p
Don't get me wrong; I might be a hairy hippie chick, but I'm not a *stinking* hippie chick... Essentially I have the same grooming standards for myself as I do for you; when we get together (/naked) I will be clean and minty fresh, wearing deodorant (the hard stuff -- no hippie voodoo crystals or anything; I'm a realist, y'all :| ), and nicely dressed and kempt, and will probably have thrown in some of those grace notes as *desired* (I'm actually kind of girly for a furry, earthy, organic lady, and some of that stuff can be fun as long as it's optional; I just don't like being told who, what, and how I'm supposed to be); but I will never feel *required* to do any of it just because my crotch is an innie. :| That's just dumb. And if you don't think so, maybe *you* are. And so's your *face*. :p (Besides, aren't we supposed to be the fairer sex anyway? Why would we need so much enhancement? I don't know about y'all, but I'm already purty. ;) )
So yeah, I'm fat, hairy, nonconformist and contrary, and I don't care(y) if you think that's scary. But I am not, in fact, a lezbo. :| (See above re: "cocky".) Not that there's anything wrong with that, sapphic sistas – y'all fuckin' rock and you should continue to jam out witchyer your clams out. I just prefer to stripdacockus, myself. Kinda too bad for me, actually... I'd probably land a lot more loin as a ladylover, but I was just cursed from birth with this craving for cockus. You know how it is, straighty ladies and homo hombres... Mmmmmm... cockus... :p~
Oh – one more potential hurdle for you "must love dogs" types: I don't. :|
I do dig pets; I *love* cats, and tolerate other people's dogs when necessary, but I doubt very much I'll ever want to live with one. Please don't flame me, dog lovers... I understand they have their appeal – they're cute, funny, ridiculously entertaining little beasties who are lovable, loving, and loyal; and I'm sure their company is rewarding in its way. However, they're also messy, smelly, noisy, destructive, sometimes hyperactive, always needy, and generally high maintenance. Kind of like children. :| And much like children, while I can see their charm, I don't want any, and prefer watching their antics on YouTube over sharing a home with them. Sorry, dog dudes; I constitute the entire bitch-in-heat population of my ideal household. :p
Reading over this section, I think I sound like a more serious individual than I actually consider myself to be, but I suppose that's the hazard of whipping potential deal-breakers out right up front like that. *Whammy!* In reality, on those rare occasions when I do venture out of my hermit crab shell (oh, did I forget to mention the social anxiety disorder? because... yeah... although I've been working on it lately with a fair amount of success :) ), I am fun, and funny. People almost always like me a lot. Which is not to say that they want to have all the sex with me, but you might be surprised at how often they do. I always am. :D
I am terrific, radiant, and humble