Sitting Here, Thinking About Food

I really like Melissa McCarthy. Not only is she talented and funny, she's freaking adorable! As a feminist, I'm happy to see genuinely funny women being successful in comedy. As a person who thinks talent trumps physicality, I love to see larger people succeeding in a business that used to be boring and irritating because it was full of traditionally "attractive" people who couldn't act their way out of a paper bag. I realize, and am thrilled, that Melissa McCarthy is not the only larger lady who is gaining success. I can't figure out where in the Hell Adele was hiding for so long, but man am I glad she made an appearance. Rebel Wilson? Hilarious. Tess Munster? Oh, how I love Tess Munster. That girl is gorgeous and she rocks her body. If you folks aren't familiar with her, look her up. She is somebody you should all definitely be aware of. Have you seen Roseanne lately? I know she was known for portraying a semi-"white trash" character, but when I see her now, all I can think is "Damn, is that one classy looking lady!" I have always found her to be hilarious - if you haven't read her autobiography, go get it! Catherine Tate has always given me some serious hair envy while making me roll on the floor laughing. And sometimes bawl like a baby, depending on the work. And she may be the ultimate proof that physicality and talent have no relation on each other. She's slimmed down, but is exactly as talented and funny as before. No more, no less. I have *the biggest* celebrity crush on James Corden, because, seriously, go try to find a cuter man than James Corden. But I'm not talking about men right now.

Sorry, had to take a "look at photos of James Corden" break. *Dreamy Sigh*

So, if I'm not blathering about James Corden, what is the point of this? The point is, as much as I love that Melissa McCarthy is having success in all of her adorable funniness, she kind of pisses me off with the work she accepts. I just saw a commercial for the new movie she's in, and oh, look, there's the fat girl, talking about food, and how she's going to eat all of the food. Because, y'know, that's all us fat girls do. If we're not sitting at home alone, eating food, we're sure talking about food! I love her on Mike and Molly, where she plays an actual person with a job, a boyfriend/fiance/husband, friends, dreams, aspirations, etc., etc. And I acknowledge that TV allows for more depth of character than movies do - that's one of the reasons I prefer TV to movies. But here's the thing about fat girls: we're people. We have jobs, partners, friends, dreams, aspirations, intelligence, and conversations about all of the above. Aside from ordering at a restaurant or grocery shopping with the boyfriend, I can list on one hand the number of conversations I've had about food in the past year. And if we don't include politely listening as a friend details the menu she has planned for her wedding, what type of cake is best to serve at a birthday party, and "I'm at work in the grocery department and we're out of eggs!" I can probably count these incidents on one finger.

I'm going to do quick little experiment and grab my phone to see my most recent text conversations.

• Boyfriend and I discussing how our cats are going to get along when we're all living together in a month (Follow that saga here: Jerk Tips For Cats)
• Teasing work friend about a customer who obviously has a crush on her
• Mom saying she may have to go out of town
• Work friend asking me to go over to her place to hang out
• Close friend and I making plans to hang out today
• "Hey, Marty, let's write a horror movie together!"
• Social commentary on the lower-class area we were driving through
• Friday the 13th!
• Harry Potter

So, am I doing being fat wrong? None of these conversations were about "Eat all the food!" Yet, Melissa McCarthy, that beautiful, funny woman, keeps perpetuating that stereotype. And it's such a stupid stereotype! I don't know about the rest of you larger ladies, but I find it demeaning. "Oh, you're larger in stature? You must do nothing but eat! I mean, even if you take short breaks from eating, you must think about food all the time!" Yeah...I'm also a woman. That doesn't mean I spend all of my time either menstruating or thinking/talking about menstruating. (And yes, what just happened in my head is an imaginary 30 Rock bit in which Jenna Maroney, playing the Overly Confident Morbidly Obese Woman, is eating a sandwich, whilst saying "I like brownies! I can eat more brownies than you! Me want fooooood! Oh no! My period!") 

I'm a person. I have a job. I have dreams, some of them about having a better job. I go out with my friends. I like taking my dog for long walks. I am deeply in love with a man with whom I get physical. When I'm not recovering from ankle surgery, I really enjoy going to the gym. Do I eat? Sure. Is that the main focus of my life? No. And I find it really offensive when people assume it is. So Melissa, you beautiful, funny lady, please stop a stereotype fat moron who only talks about food and farts. You're better than that.

Now, I'm going to go find my favorite James Corden interview on The Graham Norton Show.

The Haunting of my Apartment Complex

A few years ago, I suddenly found myself unemployed. This sent me into a pretty severe depressive episode. While I was unemployed, my days consisted of a pretty regular pattern: Print copies of my resume, walk the dog, go to an interview or two, walk the dog, apply for jobs online, fall asleep on the couch, walk the dog, wake up, walk the dog, watch a floppity jillion horror movies, walk the dog. In case you, dear readers, couldn't determine this from my blog being called "The Garbled Babbling of an Insomniac," I don't sleep well. I particularly don't sleep well at night. It's typically quite rare for me to sleep during the psychic hours. My brief period of unemployment was no exception to this. Because of this, I frequently take my dog for his long walk around three or four in the morning. During this time, a series of crazy, creepy events occurred.

One night during unemployment, I decided it would be brilliant to power watch all of the "Paranormal Activity" movies that were available at the time, which was only three. I finished up PA3 around 3 a.m., which meant it was time to walk the dog. I called my bestie, Jocelyn (my late night phone calls are the only time I'm glad she lives in a later time zone than myself), so I had somebody to talk to while I was walking the dog. We walked around for about twenty minutes before Lenny (the dog) stopped to sniff some things and be a dog. While he was dogging it up, I was yapping away on my phone. Suddenly, I glance up, and see this bizarre, blue-ish face in the window of the closest building, about only five feet from the sidewalk, staring intently at me. It's eyes met mine, and I was overcome with a sense of horror. Then a horrible, blue-ish hand reached up and towards the window. I was certain I was going to die. Then that horrible, ghastly hand slammed the window shut. My logic kicked in. I had been standing outside somebody's open bedroom window at 3 in the morning, talking on my phone, and had woken up my neighbor. The look hadn't been one of malice, it had been one of...well, maybe malice, but justifiable malice, as I had woken this person up and stupid o'clock. My neighbor had an eerie, blue appearance because she had turned on her television.

A few days later, I took Lenny out for another 3 a.m. walk. This time, I was on the phone with my mother, who also prefers to be awake at night. Explaining the architecture of my apartment building is a little tricky. There are two doors. The back door opens into a sort of common area like you might find around college dorms. When I take Lenny for short walks, we go out the back door, go around this courtyard, then walk around the attached buildings, making a wide circle in order to enter through my building's front door. The front door is in sort of alcove. The door itself is set back about twelve feet, with the apartments jutting out that distance. On this particular night, Lenny was getting a short walk. As we rounded the corner of the building and started towards the front door, I saw a flutter of something white and transparent flitting from the alcove. Then something misty appeared, floating a little higher than that white transparency. Panic. Complete and utter panic. I felt as though my heart were in my throat. But Lenny was okay with this. He wasn't bothered. In fact, he kept pulling me forward. He was ANXIOUS to reach this apparition. So I proceeded forward. The mist continued to float as we got closer and closer to the alcove. The white transparency sporadically fluttered, making itself visible. Finally, as Lenny was dragging me to that alcove, I saw the source of the mysterious substances. My neighbor, who I'll call Carla, was standing outside, leaning against the wall of the alcove. She was wearing her light-weight, white nightgown, smoking a cigarette. I had a really hard time explaining to her why I couldn't stop laughing.

A lot of weird little things like this happened outside of my building, always easy to explain, and always really funny in retrospect. However, after two years, I still haven't been able to explain why the lightbulb in my closet literally exploded as soon as I hung up the phone from talking to my friend Marty about Ronald DeFeo, Jr., the young man who killed his family in the home George and Kathy Lutz would later purchase, and would soon become the subject of The Amityville Horror, or what caused the loud knocking sounds on the walls of my apartment - the common wall to Shawn's apartment, the wall against the common hallway, and both external walls...