Identity Crisis

Can I tell you one of my deepest, darkest fears, the one thing upon which I make my fate hang on a daily basis?

Kids, I'm terrified that I will fail at school. Because this would mean that I was, in fact, a failure.
First of all, let's define our terms. For me, failing is pretty much getting anything below an A-. That's the cut. And last semester, I made four Bs and one A.
See the problem?
Let's review some ancient history.
I grew up in a home where the intellect was prized above all things. To this day, my father shouts things like "Nerd power!" when I or my brother does something smart. And I was born with nerdy genes: my mother graduated from Welsley, my father got his doctorate at MIT. It's always been an unwritten rule that I Will Do Well in School.
I first remember being conscious of grades at age six. This was first grade, and we got real grades this year, not just checks or minuses. When we got our report cards, we were all marched down the hall to have them signed by the principal. And there, I noticed an important fact: some kids got Blue and Gold stickers and some kids' stickers were only red. - Didn't take me long to figure out what that meant.
In the third grade, I remember my first bout of grade-induced anxiety. I was sitting at my table, waiting to be called up to the teacher's desk to learn my grade in math. I twitched. I figeted. Finally, she called my name and I flew up to the desk, learned my grade, and sank back into my chair, murmuring, "Thank God it's not a B." For me to take The Lord's Name in Vain in the third grade meant things were pretty serious.
In fourth grade, I transferred to a priavate school because I "wasn't challenged enough" in public school and there I quickly established my place in my class of 12 students as 'the Smart One.' I may have been pudgy and socially awkward, and worst of all completely incapable of hitting a softball when lobbed slowly over the center of homeplate, but by golly, could I read! I read constantly, pretty much anything my mother would let me (we had v. strict book rules), during lunch, at recess, and any spare moment, because I had no friends, but I did have a brain. As time went on, things improved somewhat, and I at one point I even had friends, but my role as the Smart One never changed. It was the only thing I had to offer.
And then came high school. I went to a (somewhat) prestigious private "Christian" school that was supposed to offer a good education, altho that claim remains dubious at best. They weren't really interested in educating you so much as puffing up their own reputation, and thus they kept a few kids around to boost their test scores and left the rest of the school to be planned by a group of socialite parents who had waaaaay too much money and time on their hands. However, among the test score-boosting kids I met my nemesis: my dear, darling friend Anne. Anne is one of those amazing (disgusting) people who is good at Everything. And I mean everything. She sketches beautifully, plays the classical guitar, dances (on the drill team, in high school) AND managed to score over a 1400 on the SAT in the eighth grade.
When I took the SAT in seventh grade, I didn't even break 1000. And thus, the moment I met her my world, my role as the Smart One was shattered. She was now the smart one, and I was just me, the . . . ?

I've been struggling to figure that out, ever since. And even though my role as the Smart One has been shattered, I still cling desperately to the broken pieces, trying somehow to find signficance through school. In college I was surrounded by smart friends who got 'smart' grades and even now I struggle with feeling inferior to them. Because, at the end of the day, I have discovered that in my heart of hearts I believe that if I can't be the best at something, then I have nothing to contribute.
Which brings us back to my four Bs. Clearly, if one makes four Bs, one is not the best. And if I am not the best, what am I?

Drama Rama

So today, my Uber-Conservative Evangelical College was visited by Some People, whom I'm sure some of you have heard of, the Equality Bus Trip People. (Can I share with you that I am not paranoid At All. Nope, not one bit. I just like to give people really, really vague names.) Now, I have to tell you, I was a wee bit scared. First, I was scared, because, well, said people are contending for an 'end to religious and political oppression' to 'LGTB' people (sometimes there is a Q or an I in there, and i'm not quite sure what the I stands for, but anyway, basically non-heterosexual people), and, well, sometimes on TV, people that protest for things like this are a wee bit rabid. So I was scared about that. Then, I was scared because I wasn't sure we could guarantee the civility of all my classmates. Let's just say I was afraid they might be a wee bit rabid, too, only on the other side. Finally, let's be perfectly blunt, I was scared because I've never had a great deal of contact w/ 'LGTB' people, and, call me a homophobe, but I had no idea waht to expect. (Except, of course, just people, but a lot of 'just pleople' scare me, so that doesn't help.)
Anyway, hurrah, it went just fine. Like, it was a little awkward, I'm not gonna lie, espescially b/c they were pretty much coming in saying our school was wrong, and our school was pretty much saying, no, you're wrong. But, we were all very civil, and we had some decent discussions, and things were all fine until Russian Orthodox boy started describing his understanding of salvation, and then one of the students about hit the ceiling with a cry of "That's not what the Bible says!!" Thankfully, however, several other people stepped in, and crisis was averted. Ahhhh.
By contrast, my own home is a battle ground. Gotta love the roommates. ;-) Currently, both the Crazy Roommate and the Happy Roommate feel utterly and horrifically Wronged by the other. Clearly, the other person is Out To Get Them, and, moreover, a horrible person. Apparently, unbeknownst to me, this all started on Sunday, when Happy Roommate (who is currently Not Happy) left a note with a List of Greivances for Crazy Roommate. I might add that these greivances are mostly about the house as a whole, but the note was addressed only to Crazy Roommate and no one else. Yay. So, the house has been on edge every since, with Sane Roommie and I tiptoeing around the house, hopeing to avoid the other two, who wish to bemoan the unfairness of it all to us.
Kids, this sucks.
We're set to have a 'house meeting' soon. In which, honestly, I hope Crazy Roommate and Happy Roommate have a knock-down, drag-out fight, so at least we can all stop pretending that 'everything's fine.' (Like, not that we actually pretend that completely, but we try to.) Maybe if they just have a fight, soemthing will get resolved.
And there I am, the pot calling the kettle black.
In any case, if things get really bad, Sane Roommie and I can just be like, "Y'all are crazy," and run away and live happily ever after.

The Fat Lady Shops

(**N.B.** I am a wee bit hesitant to write this post, for three main reasons. First, after again realizing the number of people who read (i.e. Lurk at ;-)) this blog, I am again made cognizant of the fact that I am not the only person effected by what I write here. Thus, I am a little hestitant to refer to myself as 'fat,' for fear of backlash in my real life. However, regardless of lurkers, I write this blog for me and about my experience, and I defintely experience myself as 'fat.' And, well, if that word offends others, so be it. Secondly, due to reasons already mentioned, I fear this post may seem like a bid for pity, as tho I just feel sorry for myself and want other people to feel sorry for me, too. Well, I suppose that might be true, but I'm not so sure. Again, this blog is for me, written to help me as I experience life. Yes, this particular post may be pitiable, but I don't write to be pitied. Finally, well, let's face it, it's pretty darn embarassing to write about this. I Hate being fat, as everyone already knows ;-), and calling people's attention to this fact is not usually my aim. But this was my life today. And it was embarassing, and hard, and funny, and thus, I'm going to write it down, because I need to.
And, wow, I hope that didn't sound really deffensive.)

Apparently, fat people do not wear dresses. (Let me re-phrase that. Fat women do not wear dresses. Fat men can not wear dresses all they like.) Today's mission was cute sundress/attractive spring attire for upcoming showers, weddings, and Easter. Except, they don't make dresses for fat ladies. Now, I ask you, who thought up this brilliant idea?? Why can fat ladies not where dresses?? Believe me, I realize there are some things that fat people Should Not Wear. For example, tops showing any kind of belly. Or skirts too far above the knee. Both of these reveal excessive amounts of Fat Roll, and who on earth wants to see that? However, I do not see how dresses fall into this catagory. Dresses almost inherently do not reveal belly, and can be made appropriately long. So why does the regular-lady department have racks and racks of dresses in pretty spring colors, whereas you're lucky if the fat-lady department has even two. It's descrimination, I tell you!
Needless to say, today's search was not-so-successful. I arrived at Robinson's-May and made the embarassing trudge towards the escalator, because the Women's department is tucked away upstairs between Kids and Housewares, I guess so everyone can momentarily forget that fat people need to be clothed, too. (However, I'd think we'd all notice, and not in a good way, if they stopped making fat-people clothes! ;-)) By the way, why do they call it the 'Women's' department?? Admittedly, it's rather preferrable to 'Missy', the name of the normal-sized clothing department. It makes it sound like normal-sized people are slightly androgynous adolescents, and only when you become fat do you become fully in touch with your femininity. Anyway, there I was, but not for long, because there were, like three racks of dresses, and two were displays of the Old Matron Horror, which, clearly, I refuse to wear. (And who thinks it's a good idea to dress fat old women like that, either? I know Fat Old Women aren't exactly anyone's dream to design for, but have some compassion!) At least here there was something, because at Macy's there were no dresses at all. Again, equal rights for Women's!
I did finally find something, but my mother would not be pleased with it, and I'm not entirely, either. A bit too much cleavage, if you know what I mean, espescially for Easter Sunday. Plus, it's so much white fabric that I feel rather Moby Dick-esque, lumbering about like a whale out of water. (Lot's of blubber, too. ;-)) Anyway, we shall see. Come Easter, I must be wearing something, so hopefully I'll find something nice between now and then.
In the mean time, maybe us Plus-Size Girls should start picketing.