Who Am I?

I mean, for reals, I look in the mirror and I’m all “Who is this person”? The update on the weight loss/ screw you Hashimoto's I’m doing the work around on you – is that since mid January I’ve dropped 37 pounds – wholly WHAT!? There has been some tweaking of my prescription after Hashimoto kicked it up a notch. You know sometimes a body that’s been broken for 40 years just does not take kindly to changing its ways, but as of last week my blood work was super fine. I’ve gone from looking into the mirror at the gym and thinking, hmmmmm I’m not this round in REAL life to staring in wonder at my square shoulders and shrinking waist and thinking…. Actually not thinking, it’s a total brain fuck.

None of my clothes fit, they are all about 3 sizes too big.  I know that may seem really cool to most of you BUT I have a HUGE wardrobe with tons of really nice things and nothing to wear. Work trousers that I wore just 9 months ago that fit so close to my hips I sewed the pockets shut so they wouldn’t bulge fell OFF last week when I tried them on. I ended up emptying my closet of all pants/ jeans/ skirts and dresses that were purchased any time prior to July. My bras are pathetic, well actually my bras are outstanding, my boobs are underwhelming, and good lord my ass!  What happened back there?  I’ve bought a few new bras and 2 new pairs of paints, but it is kinda stressing me out thinking about the expense of a whole new wardrobe. What I need now is a Sugar Daddy to support my shopping spree.

I still have not felt any physical changes; it’s all psychological and emotional. I am really pissed off at every doctor over the previous 39 years of my life who decided instead of diagnosing a genetic autoimmune disorder to guilt me, instill poor body image and lecture me about my dooming obesity and  pre -  “whatever” condition they decided to fling at me as a medical scare tactic. FYI – there is no such thing as a PRE illness, either you are ill or you or not. I can’t TELL you how many times my old GP told me, “You are PRE diabetic” until one day I asked, “How bad is my sugar level?” her answer, “It’s fine, in the normal range BUT at your weight you are pre-diabetic” THAT MAKES NO SENSE! I guess I could be pre- anything, I’m a woman who grew up on Long Island and lots of women from LI have breast cancer so go ahead, diagnose me with pre-breast cancer, no not that I HAVE cancer but…. you know it’s all the same.  

 My other ‘thing’ that just recently has been screwing with my head is being called…. Beautiful. Like really sincerely labeled beautiful. The other day a friend flung that word at me, out of the blue, totally random with no pretext and I cried (I’m welling up just typing this). It’s so F’ed up cause I can be called a fat piece of shit and walk away with my head held high with sass, but beautiful, it broke me down.

I saw Swason the other day and she was shocked at my appearance, and I have to admit, so am I. She left for tour and made me promise to stop shrinking, I will try. Also another friend informed me that I can really ONLY hold onto my fat girl kick ass personality for 2 more dress sizes then it’s Bye Bye raucous funny girl and hello vapid introverted boring chick, that’s just the rules… crap!

Unbelievable

Unfortunately my contentment does not make for good blogging. Remember my good ol’ days filled with worries and uncertainty? Damn those were some meaty blog posts. Now all seems to be in balance, job is swell, heath is getting on track, and a general sense of bliss has infiltrated my being – and being tan ain’t bad for my gleeful soul either. However even with all this jolly goodness there will always be something stuck in my craw, so go ahead and file this under, “same tune different day”, it’s the issue of my weight/health/weight loss.

After finally being diagnosed with a genetically faulty thyroid and prescribed drugs to engage the metabolic process I have very easily dropped close to 26 lbs in 7 months. People congratulate me, but really I have done NOTHING except take my meds and produce blood samples on a regular basis. I’ve always been active, I’ve never been a junk food addict, food hoarder, binge eater, etc… it’s just I have ALWAYS been heavy.

Now that it has been proven that my weight is NOT a product of what I do but is in fact due to a lack of naturally produced thyroid hormones, acquaintances who float into my life refuse to release their assumptions regarding my weight (or the weight of all fat people I assume). They still believe, even after I explain the genetic auto immune disease that’s been attacking my thyroid for 40 years, that my weight loss MUST be the result of finally living a “healthy lifestyle” – huh what? NO it is because I am on medication that is making my body work like a normal person, and by the way non medical personnel what’s with the assumption that I have not lived a “healthy life style” in the past?

These transient experts in weight gain/ loss refuse to accept the fact that not all fat people are tragic souls to be pitied, humiliated, and harassed for lack of motivation and control. Again and again these commentators retort with, “Are you sure it is the medication, I mean you ARE going to the gym now?” Yes I go to the gym now but I went to the Gym for the past 10 years (when employed) and I haven’t changed my diet at all, but still they refuse these facts and nudge… “No really what ‘plan’ are you on? I’m really trying to lose weight and I want to know your secret.” So again, let me BLOW your minds with this CRAZY truth, I’m a person who is fat because of a disease NOT because of “choices”. So as to this ‘secret plan’…. Ummm it’s the plan where my body works just like yours. Maybe I should ask them why THEY are overweight?

To prove my point further, for 5 – 6 weeks this summer my meds stopped working, I kept working out and eating my usual diet and my weight loss plateaued. Doc. ran two series of blood tests, tweaked my prescription, and within 7 days of new meds I dropped 2.8 lbs. I know this isn’t a real scientific experiment but it seems rather clear that no meds = no weight loss, meds= weight loss.

I’m just happy that my body is chemically balanced and is working like all bodies should. The weight loss is a fun side perk, even though my boobs are now feeling the brunt of this loss, and getting complements on how I look is always appreciated (at any size) but what is pissing me off is this constant commenting by random people who feel the urge to congratulate me for “finally making healthy choices”. It’s like a giant “I Told You So” – how about I told YOU so. I told YOU, collective world of fat shamers and body harshers, that I do the things people should do to have a body that works but mine just didn’t, mine was broken and anything I could do didn’t matter. Now it is fixed, and it’s working, and this is what it looks like. There is no egregious lack of self restraint here, no wealth of bad choices, no sloth like non-activity, there is NOTHING that you have been brainwashed to believe that ALL fat people choose to do/ not do, because as we all know Fat is a choice for every fat person, we are the same anyways. I didn’t chose this body, this was the body that was given to me, and it’s cool, I like this body and now it is changing but ONLY because my motor is humming. One day maybe the motor will cool down and my body will change again, and ya know what, that’s cool too.

Can’t Get Anything Past Me

Don’t ask don’t tell don’t got nothing on, “If I don’t talk about it, it doesn’t exist”, however people who adopt this behavior must be constantly bitch slapped by um… I don’t know...REALITY! Yeah cause the power of positive thinking or “negation thinking” will unfortunately not magically repair my broken toilet. - Backing up.

Last Wednesday I was scheduled for new windows, thank god. Tuesday night as I stripped my window dressings, removed hanging photos, rolled up rugs, and moved 4 rooms of furniture to accommodate my early morning work crew I bid a fond farewell to the arctic blasts of winter, the guillotine action of the falling window sashes of summer, and good riddance to the missing screens and uninvited surprise wildlife visits.
Wednesday morning I awoke early to do a last sweep of the apartment, readying all five windows for their removal, then sat patiently in what I can only describe as an apartment in complete disarray. I waited…and waited. For hours I listened to the workmen next door; I thought that was good sign but good lord I was getting antsy. As time passed from Noon to One then onto Two I was quickly losing all faith in this crew. At 2:45pm I could wait no longer so I popped over to my neighbor’s abode to question the workmen about my appointment. The foreman (AKA the guy who spoke English), looked at me all pissed off and said “This job is TOO big for only two men, there is NO WAY that I can do your windows today!”

Did he just explode on ME!? F-U you idiot! But what I did say was, “I took off work today for the window installation. You could have told me at 9am when you arrived and saw the job that you couldn’t do my apartment today that way I could have gone to work”. He looked confused at this line of reasoning, stormed past me and entered my apartment. He circled through the rooms mumbling that he didn’t have enough men and that carrying windows up and down 4 flights of stairs was hard… blah… blah… blah…. Then he said he would do it… but wasn’t sure … complained that my air conditioners were still in the windows (really? Cause I should be sitting here for 8 hours in the heat?) then he stood in the middle of my living room and pretended (?) to make some phone calls…. then walked out. It was all very confusing.

I called the super, he was PISSED that this guy even spoke to me and doubly pissed that the whole schedule for the building was going down the drain on the first day of install. I told the super that I had no clue what was going on since the foreman never actually said whether or not I should keep waiting or go to work or stay home the next day… nothing. This was my first encounter with the foreman’s “If I don’t talk about it, it doesn’t exist”, Modus operandi, unfortunately it would not be the last.

Fast forward to this morning and the actual window install. All was going well, or so I thought. They were noisy and messy but whatever, I own a broom and dustpan, it’s a trade off for new windows. The guys flew through the installation and were out by 11:30am – yahoo! They thanked me, I thanked them, I locked the door behind them and as I passed my bathroom I thought hmmmm, lid up on the toilet that’s odd? As I moved closer I noticed a handful of screws IN the toilet – WTF guys REALLY??? Why lift the lid on the toilet and dump screws into the bowl, ughhhhh. So I rolled up my sleeve and fished them out, closed the lid and OH GOOD LORD the back of my toilet was shattered. Welcome to day two of “If I don’t talk about it, it doesn’t exist”. Did they think that I wouldn’t notice that they used my commode as a step ladder with that HUGE gray boot print on the lid and the missing porcelain off the rear right corner? Are people like this so delusional to think that NOBODY will notice their stupid crap? What was the thought process… ohhh man I broke the toilet… I should ummm… oh yeh lift the lid to hide it, I’m brilliant. And why do I feel this is the same ridiculous behavior that drives these male celebrities/ politicians to practice uber risky cheating behavior, btw I have NO problem with them cheating, just man up, own it, and stop with the denial.

So now I am without any “facilities” for I discovered to my very damp dismay that the missing corner was not merely cosmetic, as I originally assumed, for when I flushed…. weeeee indoor water feature! Fingers (and legs) crossed that my replacement toilet will magically appear within a few days, otherwise…. ummmm…. not too sure on the otherwise.

Get It Together Body!

Nice going body, after I heaped on the accolades last week you up and revolt, great. Yep my blood work came back to reveal, to my doctor’s dismay, that my thyroid is kickin’ the synthoid’s booty. My hormones are so out of wack (again) that my Doctor called to ask, “Are you still TAKING the synthroid?” COME ON, really? Doc thinks that maybe I got a bad batch of meds (that’s frightening) and/ or I need to up my dosage. Looks like my fat ass is all pissed off that my thyroid is burning off all the juicy-ness that it worked so hard to store. Ass… thyroid… can’t you two just get along?

While I had Doc on the line I took the opportunity to share the news of my weight loss to which she responded “Really?” Odd response I thought from a doctor who in January said, “I’m not worried about your weight but I would like to see you lose 10 or 20 pounds.” So now I’m on a new dosage and scheduled to actually SEE my doctor in a month, I guess to prove to her that my thyroid is actually responding to the medication by burning up my brick store house.

I’ve also noticed that body is going though what I can only call “shrinking pains”, thanks again body. Over the weekend my Mom said, “Wow you must feel SO great now that you lost all that weight!” When actually I feel the same or sometimes worse. You see I never FELT fat, I guess some people do, I never did (do). I have always been strong, not fast but strong. I’ve never had a problem on my 4 flights of stairs lugging up everything from my 10 bags of groceries, to my bulging 75lb. suitcase, from my 55lb. dishwasher to my tall wooden dresser. Even when I was 45 lbs. heavier I never had a problem on the subway stairs or walking for hours around the city. I never had the feeling that I was encumbered, nothing hurt, nothing was sore, I wasn’t short of breath or drenched in perspiration. All those stereotypical “fat person” ailments didn’t exist for me. But now that I’m lighter my legs are KILLING ME. No really I feel like an old lady, it’s pathetic.

On Tuesday I asked Dr. Pico to give my knees a poke and he was all “WOAH, your knee caps!” He feels that my knee caps are engaged in a tug of war of death with my leg muscles but with some frequent focused stretches I may be able to release my knees from the fiery fist of my thighs. And again – BODY GET IT TOGETHER – come on!

In my non-medical expertise I blame this knee cap cage match on the proliferation of “squats” that have permeated my week. Why is EVERY trainer coo-coo for squats? I got pulsing squats, slow squats, sumo squats, squats with lunges, squats with weights, you name it… they got a squat for it. And you know what else they got, they got a sadistic streak cause just when my body is on the razor’s edge of complete collapse they yell “GET LOWER” – screw you squat.

A Quickie

Just a little check in and update:

I am finally owning this newly revved up thyroid as well as my new body. As of this morning I have dropped over 10% of my body weight…hold it… what?! Yep the good old thyroid is chugging along after 40 years of deep slumber – way to go thyroid!

The YMCA is killing me softly with their change in schedule. The Y-guys have tested my fortitude by changing ALL three of my weekly classes, however they do not know the power of Swason’s motivational afternoon texts or the incentive put forth by the promise of one of her “winners only” home cooked meals – losers stay at home.

Talking about winners - this will only be news to persons who spend less than than 4 minutes with me - we WON the Olympic ticket raffle!!! Yep we won the lottery to purchase Opening Ceremonies tickets to London 2012. This was a huge win thanks to the all loving Zeus and Athena, for only .13% of ticket buyers were granted the opportunity to plop down a few thousand bucks to attend the ceremonies and Mom and I are now part of that .13% - USA USA USA (Hail Britannia as well). Next up 13 months of pre Olympic blog postings.

And since we are on topic of winners and the YMCA I would like to publicly report that I DO NOT punk out during my most hated work out, Boot Camp. I may be in the lower portion of ‘fit level’ but I do everything (even if modified) and remain jogging ON THE TRACK even when my feet are mysteriously turned to cement blocks encased in lead while other THIN people sneak back into the workout room through the back door. Yeah you people are PUNKS and losers; they would never get dinner at Swason’s Astoria Roof Top Café. WINNING!!!!

Fat Is The New Bed Bug

Mom and I hosted our biennial yard sale spectacular this past weekend at Chez Louis and along with our butt load of exquisite valuables, priced at $4 or less, we stocked our exclusive lady’s salon (AKA the garage) with over 200 pieces of clothing, shoes, accessories, handbags, etc… Funny that even after this MAJOR purge my closets are still bursting – not sure how that happens – however I was really happy to offer up some fantastic fashions (and bargains) for my wide hipped sisters since my mountain of clothes ranged in sizes 16 to 22. Trousers, capris, skirts, blouses, sweaters, TONS of jeans and even a few gala dresses - good lord I could outfit every luscious booty east of The Shinnecock Canal! I couldn’t wait for the masses to arrive so I could play stylist for the chunksters of the east end, but what I got instead was an afternoon of fat shaming – WTF!!??

As shoppers approached the garage entrance I greeted them with a wide smile and announced “We have sizes from Large to Size 22 and shoes in sizes 10 and 11! To which I would receive either a laugh of disbelief or a look of horror. These traumatized women could not turn on their heels fast enough to scurry away from the garage of obesity. It was bizarre. Women would look at me, scrunch up their noses and shake their heads in disgust. Many asked “Size 22!? Who wears a 22? Oh my GOD, that's CRAZY!” Hmmmm.. let’s see… you are standing in MY driveway… with all of MY stuff for sale…. Hmmmm I WONDER whose clothes they may be? THEY ARE MINE you fuckin’ idiot!!! And those GIANT size 10 shoes are mine too, and by the way those size 11 shoes that you just lost your lunch over are my mother’s.

I was shocked by how easily the fat shame flowed off these women’s lips directly into my face. They were visually repulsed just by the thought of being in the vicinity of THOSE clothes and they had no qualms about sharing their disgust with me. I guess now that I don't LOOK like a woman who wears a size 16 (whatever that means) these size bitches felt that I could be “in” on the secret that all women who wear a 16 or greater are to be mocked and shamed but only behind their backs - to their faces they should be pitied.

I’m not delusional; I know women despise lard asses, but I never experienced such a self-righteous outward expression of revulsion pertaining to the physical existence of a clothing size …clothing that was manufactured to fit my body, my size, clothing that I wore, that I rocked.

Odd how so many women get attached to a number printed on a thin tab of cloth sewn into a garment, I just put clothes on my body and whatever fits I buy. The sizing numbers are totally random, my closet houses garments from a Large to a 2X, and they all fit.

Oh and by the way peeps, a size 12 in 1985 is the same as a size 5 – 6 in 2011. I looked up the standard Misses sizing specifically for 1985 because it was a watershed year for me as a fatty; it was the moment at age 14 that I outgrew the Misses department and hence began my relationship with fashion fat shaming. My mother, hoping that she could embarrass and induce enough low self esteem in my obese brain that it would magically melt the fat off my body kept the existence of Lane Bryant a secret and since stores didn’t carry anything over a size 12, I was just shit out of luck. It’s so strange to look back now at the standard sizing measurements to discover that I would have only been a size 7-8 by today’s Misses sizing, but by 1985’s standards I was TOO HUGE for clothes, but perfect for moo-moos. The shame I felt because I was unable to fit into any clothes (besides stirrup pants and over sized sweatshirts) was overwhelming as was the harassment and bullying from my High School classmates (well not really “mates”). But I got through it and found my sass and discovered the world (though very hidden) of plus sized clothing – it does get better. But now here in my driveway 25+ years later I was still battling the perception that fat women should be ashamed of their clothing size and really wouldn’t the world just be a better place if all women over a size 14 be outfitted for a mandatory burka?

On a similar note – even after dropping 40 pounds over the past 4 years I am STILL too fat for the Jitney. Just this past Friday I was once again the LAST passenger to get a seat partner on a packed buss. FOUR passengers looked at the perfectly EMPTY seat next to me then turned and asked the women across the aisle to remove her bag so they could sit next to her, she refused, they moved on to the rear of the bus. Really… really?

Mondays at 5:30pm, I DOMINATE YOU!

It has taken 3.5 months but I have finally reached the pinnacle of super success in my YMCA Mondays at 5:30pm “High Low Step Class”. This past Monday I owned that step routine, so much so that I even placed a RISER under my platform. Yes – the woman with the long and tumultuous relationship with stairs actually RAISED her step and did not as much as waiver when the pull of gravity reared its unforgiving powers of persuasion. Also I actually remembered to take a shot off my inhaler BEFORE class (allergy induced asthma), which apparently really ups my game. Who knew that full lung capacity could make such a huge difference in stamina?*So there I was, pole position, owning the front of class, smirking on the inside as two uber skinny ladies turned crimson and sulked off into the corners. I know rejoicing in the pain of others is not very nice (yet it is very German – see schadenfreude), but besides being able to breathe the one other thing that surprisingly keeps my feet a- movin’ is being better than somebody – no matter how old or feeble. I RULE YOU!

Of course in hindsight I should have seen it coming … I mean really, can’t a chunkster grab a break? During stretch my Monday instructor sadly announced that our small clan of High Low Steppers was being disbanded in two weeks time to make room for ANOTHER Zumba class… what the what???!!! Damn you trendy Latin Queens YMCA members and your insatiable desire to pop and lock. Now I’m going back to the bottom of the pack, AND in a class that requires coordination and grace…ughhhh.

Feeling dejected I feverishly texted Swason bemoaning my grievance towards this Zumba ridiculousness. Swason who is the original competitor (backstroke dominator) informed me at once that I would NOT be at the back of the Zumba pack for it is not the High Low Step Class that I dominate, but the TIME SLOT that is my bitch. Therefore according to Swason (a well seasoned teller of truths) no matter what class is scheduled for Mondays at 5:30pm I will RULE that room.

Carpe Zumba!

Thanks Weekend

Oh good lord this weekend was just super pleasant. I mean really, how could a weekend NOT be charmed when kicked off by the most beautiful wedding ever? Trees, a full orchestra, timpani, trumpet salutes, posh British accents inducing shivers in my nether regions and hats!Sorry Jews, it was nice and all for the past 40 years but I’m jumping ship, where do I pledge my soul to the C of E? BTW, they did kinda had me at “Pancake Day” anyways.

Next up I would like to give ol’ Mother Nature a huge sloppy wet kiss cause she doled out a picture perfect spring day – TWICE in a row! Swason said it best today – Us New Yorkers REALLY have to work hard for Spring but once we get it, it’s fantastic.

But back to my Saturday. In celebration of the glorious sun returning to his realm I walked the 3 miles to the East River and lounged my day away with a back log of Vanity Fairs and a huge ice coffee. The walk was fantastic, sometimes it’s just kinda nifty to take the slow road and absorb the world. The beautiful small row of restored brownstones on a lacey tree lined street, “secret” community gardens squeezed into the cracks between buildings and a handful of really interesting abandoned industrial spaces all dotted my route. Back home after another 3 mile jaunt I extended my Saturday glow with a Long Term Booty Call fly by. Though it was not some of his best work (damn you bourbon), one can always find a glimmer goodness during any naked funtime.

Moving on…SundaySwason and I joined the inside foodie community for a Sunday lunch at M Wells in LIC. I got one word for this French eatery, decadent. It took all I had NOT to order the heavy cream and 7 cheese potato thing (not having a car and driver to race me back to my apartment 3 min. after all that dairy hits my intestines drastically reduces my menu choices) so I went with the egg soufflé garnished with salty pork stuff and a freshly baked biscuit with honey… love. As per usual the two gays perched atop their chrome stools to my right became my BFFs within 30 seconds of my bottom coming into contact with the red vinyl of my counter stool. Maybe one day I will learn how to fine tune this power to focus on STRAIGHT single men, but probably not.

The remainder of the day included a mini banana cupcake, more lounging river side (after introducing Swason to Gantry Park), watching what could only be described as a sailing ship of urban graffiti pirates, drinkies at LIC Bar and some spring time house work.

Fer reals, this was my weekend. Not too shabby.

Out of Body Experience

Haven’t blogged for a while so I thought I should check in.

I’m still trying to get my head and body around this Hashimoto’s thang. For over ten years I’ve been extremely content with my size and weight, I didn’t even own a scale. My size/ weight fluctuated but what remained constant was my emotional balance. Prior to coming to my happy place I dieted and exercised for 20 years with NO results, except emotional despair, guilt and self loathing. I was accused of lying by family members, doctors and acquaintances when asked about my eating habits and physical activity. Time and time again I was brought to tears by the frustration of it all, not the frustration of the hard work without any results but mostly by the frustration of nobody believing me. My body and I were at odds, completely disengaged, I was so done attacking myself that I finally gave in and just LIVED. I kept going to the gym and shaking my bon bon but NEVER thought of a scale or my pants size, what mattered was that I was out and about, NOT what my body looked like. We could live separate but equal, I would keep doing what I was doing and it could just keep doing nothing. Now that we were on the same page I could manage my expectations (which were nil) and all was rainbows and unicorns.

Fast forward a few years. While in grad school 3 years ago I dropped 20 pounds with no effort. I was totally underwhelmed and emotionally detached for I knew NOT to assign any gravity to this weight loss. My body has a history of untrustworthy behavior so I refused to allow my head to buy into this morph. Looking back I am confident (thanks to my superior self diagnosis skills and google) that due to the16 months of extreme stress I mainlined my thyroid with all those wacky hormones it was lacking thereby turning me into normal person who burns and stores. Now with the addition of my thyroid meds my body is totally changing, pounds are falling off as well as my pants… but… I can’t get roped in. I don’t want to become attached to this loss because I am so frightened that something will snap, my pants will tighten up and I will be left in the gutter broken hearted. It has taken me so long to be happy in my head, detached from the physical, yet I feel that with each fraction of an inch off my hips I am setting myself up for emotional failure. I started weighing myself at the Y, just once a month, but even so I went into a total tail spin a few weeks ago when I discovered that I had gained a HALF a pound. Poor Swason had to text me off the ledge when I feverishly typed out my crazy into my blackberry. Turns out it was a fluke, I actually lost weight, but still…. I HATE that I care. My body is like a mermaid summoning my head into the cold deep waters, I know it’s dangerous in there…but I’m just so curious…oooo sparkly… maybe something good is there… I’m just gonna take a shallow dive under…

Does My Face Make Me Look Old?

Just in case you all thought I put the internet dating hunt on hold, you are very much mistaken. My virtual pursuit to find a man who is not a mess is thriving, yet I’m only giving my time to the free site OKCupid for my cash is too dear to flush an unending stream of ducats down the world wide web sewer of Match, Jdate, Eharmony, etc… Yet even though I continue to fervently chum the dating waters my nets are habitually devoid of any daily catch.

Besides the random electronic missives from the usual illiterate wack jobs or photos of engorged “erect members” taken in the reflection of a public bathroom mirror, my inbox has experienced an uptick in emails from men who are completely delusional regarding their age vs. physical appearance. Since I turned 40 a few months back I guess the robot monkeys over at OKCupid have dumped me into a higher age bracket pool (they obviously do not know me) so now I have the comedic pleasure of receiving emails from the 45+ crowd, the majority of whom begin their courtship by confidently announcing, “I look younger than my age”. What the Who told you that? And by the way internet dude vying for my pleasure, I can SEE your photo so allow me to be the judge of that statement. Side note I have no issues with baldness, or beards, or age, just OWN IT dudes! Good lord I tell people I’m 54 just so they can look at me in shook and proclaim “You Look Terrific!!”

Just this morning I received an email from a 46 year old who was 60% bald with a salt and peppered beard who in ALL CAPS not only stated that he looked a decade younger than his actual age, but he went further and bragged about his “baby face”. First, no 46 year old man should ever favorably compare any part of his being to that of a baby and guess what 46 year old – YOU LOOK FORTY SIX (actually if he said he was 53 I would have believed that). It must be amazing to have the blinding confidence that a man possesses, no wonder they make war so often, they must truly believe they are all super-beings.

Cause I know you love it – here’s an excerpt from an actual email I received yesterday:
You are very pretty, do you want to get a druink? I am 5,10 and 160 pounds.I came to New York on October 2005.I like Tropicana Orange Juice.I do my laundry in my days off.I like Google and Wikipedia a lot.I can make your computer run faster.I am a pedicab driver. I work 3-4 days a week. I work near Central Park. In less than half an hour, you can notice that I am f.r.i.e.n.d.l.y.