[kwer-uh-luhs, kwer-yuh-] –adjective
1. full of complaints; complaining.
2. characterized by or uttered in complaint; peevish: a querulous tone; constant querulous reminders of things to be done.
Doesn't weight loss begin with a complaint about your body? If that's the case, I've been complaining for a long time. Way before this blog.
If you go back and read all the stuff I've posted here, you'll probably find that 75% of it is complaints. Complaints about my body, my mom, my local Subway. Hell, even yesterday I complained about my pants being too big.
Bitch say what?
So I'd like to turn this around on my own querulous ass and file some complaints against my personality. If spending all this time on energy overhauling my exterior, I better take a hard look at my interior. Lord knows I don't want to be one of those skinny girls with nothing to offer!
- I play devil's advocate too much. When my friends are facing problems, complaining about others or their situations, I always try to look at it from the other side. I make excuses for the offending party, I try to put my friend in her enemy's shoes, and I pretty much argue against my friend's position. That's just awful, isn't it? If somebody pulled that shit on me, I'd get pretty defensive. And guess what? That's what my friends do. I need to stop and think: a good friend listens and empathizes; she doesn't "well, maybe..." I've got to get over my opinion, and get into her heart. I'm not Spock; I don't need to be so goddamned logical.
- I give unsolicited parenting advice. Guess what? I ain't never birthed no babies before. Who the fuck am I to tell you to get your kids dirty so they can build up immunity to germs? Whe the fuck am I to tell you that "you can't control what happens when you're not there." How am I gonna sit up here and offer advice when I ain't been in your place? I'm going off what I know about how I was raised and how I saw other children raised around me. Considering how fucked up a portion of my upbringing was, maybe I'm not the best person to weigh in on how you raise your child.
- I will find a negative side to your greatest pleasures. "Oh, you got that fabulous shirt at Marshall's? You're lucky you're not fat; it's so hard to find decent clothes at closeout prices. We have to buy premium from Lane Bryant if we want to look good, can't just pop into H&M for a shirt. Did you know Old Navy doesn't even sell women's plus in stores? Oh yeah, it's only available online now..." "Oh, you like Starbucks coffee? I like their espresso drinks, but most of their regular coffee tastes like ashtray to me. I love Metropolis coffee, only it's so hard to find..." "Oh, you like to run? I'll try again after I lose 100 lbs, but if I did it now my thighfat and tits would get pulled like taffy..." Girl, shut up. Find the positive. And if you can't? Shut the fuck up.
- I have to hear what I missed. The reason is two-fold. I'm as good as deaf, especially in places with lots of background noise...like a movie theater. Secondly, I don't trust people; this bitch wants to be in the loop. I need to understand that I'm not interesting enough for it to be all about me. I need to trust that people aren't keeping secrets from me. I need to trust that if I don't hear what that one guy with the black hair said, I'll figure it out eventually if I shut up and pay attention to the rest of the movie.
- I don't trust women. With the exception of a few awesome women in my life, I am very VERY distrusting of other women. I've always had more guy friends than girlfriends, which is a shame. Growing up as a fat girl, I got shit from a lot of other girls. Mostly though, I think it's because I envied so many more girls. If they didn't have a FUPA, I didn't want to like them, I didn't want them to have winning personalities, I didn't want them to be happy. If they did have a FUPA, I wanted to be seen as better looking than them. Other fat girls were my competition in The Least Ugly Fat Girl competition that takes place in every school. In truth, I was just as vapid as I assumed all the other girls were. This is sad. Not only do men tear us up for not being perfect, but women tear each other up for both being perfect and not perfect. You can't fucking win. I decided to support fabulous women everywhere. No more competition.
So yeah, I can turn it back on myself. I won't say that this is my last blog of complaint because let's face it, the world runs on bitchin' and moanin'.
So there's that,