Fucking Florida

About six months ago one of my oldest, dearest friends started planning a birthday trip, asking his closest friends to come along if they could.  I was the first person to sign on. I said, yes, absolutely, I will go wherever you ask. I’m poor but I’ll start saving. New Orleans, Yes! San Diego, Yes! South America, Yes! Wherever, I’m in buddy.

So it became Central America – an island, no less, where we could sleep for pennies! Then that place broke out in some sort of civil war, so the plan changed. Then changed again. And again. Until it became…Florida. Fucking Florida. Who wants to go there?! I live in California – we don’t go to Florida. I grew up in Michigan – Florida is where old people retire. Ugh.

But Florida it is, and I started to wrap my head around it. My boyfriend, always eager to travel and ready to meet some of my most deeply-rooted friends, said “so we have to spend like 2 grand just to get there, and it’s fucking FLORIDA? Come on.” But yes, Florida it is. So he wrapped his head around it, too.

Then I got fat. I mean, when he and I met I was still riding on the tails of my Divorce Diet, and I was pretty hot, I’ll admit. I fit into a bikini quite comfortably and felt no shame strutting out of the waves and sauntering up to our towel. I felt great, actually. I’d lost 20 pounds and had that ‘yeah, I’ve lost a shit-ton of weight, go ahead and look’ attitude about me. I knew it wouldn’t last. But I forgot to help it along.

Since I don’t own a scale, today at a friend’s house while waiting for my daughter to wash her hands in the bathroom, I weighed myself, and I thought “oooooops!” Maybe I shouldn’t have abandoned the ‘only eat until you aren’t hungry anymore’ mantra I’d adopted for almost two years. Maybe I shouldn’t have volunteered to judge that grilled cheese competition quite so eagerly. Maybe I shouldn’t have eaten all five grilled cheese sandwiches that night (but I had to make an informed decision!)…. Maybe I should have ordered just one papusa on Family Dinner Night, instead of three. Either way, I’ve gained 11 pounds* since I met my man, and they will not look pretty in that sexy little bikini. Nor am I willing or able to buy something different.

So my solution is this: This trip  is not about my fat roll. It’s about spending time with friends I rarely get to see. Helping Nayt celebrate his 40th birthday. Connecting with people I love. And aside from that – it’s fucking Florida, for crying out loud! That place lives and breathes on the fatness of pasty white fat people like me. It’s perfect! I’m suddenly so relieved to be gearing up for a vacation in Florida instead of, say, Jamaica or Cancun or anywhere the beautiful people go.

Florida. Bring it on.

*actually, I was wearing clothes, a coat with keys in the pocket, boots, and was squished up against the wall with my shoulder pressing against it…so it can’t really be a full 11 pounds. But still, the impact has been made.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

w

Connecting to %s