It Happened to Me: I’m Fat, Love to Dance and it Blows Peoples’ Minds!

I love to dance. I also love to eat. What happens when you combine these two things? A fat dancing queen. Which is exactly what I am. I love to bust a move when given the chance whether it means I’m doing a not-so-subtle two step down the cereal isle at the grocery store or workin’ it like it’s my job at Zumba. Some of the best times I can remember have involved me listening to the jams of my choice and breaking it down with friends (including ones I arrived at the scene with or new ones I made on the dance floor). So why am I telling you this? Well, for starters I was moved by some reaction pieces to an article recently posted on XOJane entitled ‘It Happened to Me: There Are No Black People In My Yoga Classes and I’m Suddenly Feeling Uncomfortable With It” In the article, the writer (a thin, white woman) explains her reaction to, for the first time, having a curvacious black woman in her class. I don’t go into details about what she says because, quite honestly, it gives me a headache. What I do want to go into, however, is a reaction piece I read. In “I’m a Big Black Girl Around Small White People and I’m Suddenly Feeling Uncomfortable With It: My Response to xoJane,” writer CeCe Olisa discuses her experience in a mostly white yoga class. What jumped out at me in the article was the expectation that, because she was larger, she wouldn’t be able to do the poses and that when she did she was greeted with praise because she defied the expectation. Being a larger lady myself, I can relate to CeCe’s experience quite a bit.

#Lunch365 – In Which I Actively Share All My Food (and Recipes!)

It’s no surprise that I love food.  In the words of Shakira, this waistline don’t lie.  That’s how the song goes right?  RIGHT?! Humor me people.   I don’t fancy myself a food blogger, or am particularly obsessed with sharing everything I consume — usually by the time I remember that I should have posted something on Instagram, I’ve already eaten it, and what’s the point of posting a picture of a place that I’ve clearly licked to death like a starved dog?

But all that is about to change — not just for the sake of health — but I’m sure that will be a welcome side effect (although my insides are healthy as hale, I should mention) but mostly for how much my wallet will love me.  In just one week, I spent an average of $15 a day on both breakfast and lunch out — that’s $75 a week — and that’s when I’m trying not to spend a lot (I like expensive food apparently).  So, I’ve decided to start a New Years Resolution that I can actually keep, and it’ll be good use of everything in my freezer and pantry — to bring lunch to work every day for the rest of the year.

Our Vaginas, Ourselves, (Also, Insecurity)

Don’t call it a Pussy.

That is unless it’s getting hot and heavy, and you’re into the dirty talk and for some reason the word conjures up images of naked ladies, as opposed to a furry feline.