Why is Abercrombie & Fitch in the news?

Well, nowadays, you can't say anything without offending someone. But, this guy, Mike Jeffries, the CEO of Abercrombie & Fitch done offended A LOT OF PEOPLE. If you haven't heard of him, google him right now. Or read this article: http://www.businessinsider.com/abercrombie-wants-thin-customers-2013-5

Well, you know he's pissed off every other woman on the planet. Moms are outraged, teenagers are confused and people like myself, well, I am lucky I am comfortable with who I am, to an extent.

I shopped at Abercrombie in college. I bought size 8 jeans, and they were the most I'd ever spent on jeans. Maybe $40 or $50 a pair, and I wore them for all four years of college. Three different shades, same style. When I looked through the racks for my size, it never crossed my mind that I was sifting through the skinny sizes to get to mine. I just knew my size, and I went for it. That has never, ever bothered me. I was a size 2 for about 2 seconds, when I transitioned from The Limited Too to Gap. Again, these things did not bother me. Not then, not now.



After college, I stopped going in the store, probably because their stupid cologne seemed to attack me in the hallways of the mall, in a more offensive way than Yankee Candle. Even though I was only 22, I'm pretty sure I looked at their naked people posters and thought, wtf? Why are naked people selling clothes? That's more than backwards. I still wore the jeans I had though. Those were well worn in, and they still fit, so who cares?

I eventually accepted that I was more comfortable in a size 10, especially for teaching. That size just seemed more appropriate. Again, no big deal. I didn't start feeling upset about my weight until I was a 14/16. 12 didn't even bother me. You know what I'm grateful for though? My insecurities about my weight didn't occur until I was in a happy, stable relationship with Mac, I was a proud teacher, and I was pretty firm in my beliefs. So, at least I had a strong backbone to hold these hips up.

What if I was a teenager with weight issues and all my friends shopped at Abercrombie? What if I couldn't fit into their clothes, and every time we went to the mall, I just had to wait outside their dressing room while my skinny friends tried on clothes? Wouldn't that be awful?! I would be so hurt, confused and angry. I'd probably even resent my friends to an extent.

The thing is though, what he said about size doesn't bother me NEAR AS MUCH as what he said about "cool kids." He associates fit people with being cool and attractive. Let's be serious. We all know people who fit and break these molds. This is what bothers me... this quote right here:

“In every school there are the cool and popular kids, and then there are the not-so-cool kids,” he told the site. “Candidly, we go after the cool kids. We go after the attractive all-American kid with a great attitude and a lot of friends. A lot of people don’t belong [in our clothes], and they can’t belong. Are we exclusionary? Absolutely."

I'm still shaking my head when I read that. What a douche canoe. Now, let me tell you some crazy valuable advice my mom gave me when I was younger.

Frannie used to talk about the "fast crowd" when Ashley and I were growing up. Nobody's names were ever mentioned, but we got the idea. Whenever Ashley or I wanted to be friends with someone who didn't really reciprocate, my mom would often bring up this idea of a "fast crowd." The fast crowd did everything before Ashley and I did. They stayed home by themselves, they got a phone in their room, a tv in their room, they had a later curfew and they were always picked first for kickball. They were the first to kiss boys, they smoked cigarettes earlier than everyone, and they were allowed to drink underage in their parents' presence. Now, by no means were Ashley and I angels. But, for the most part, we were pretty good kids. Because it was preached to us, over and over, that we don't want to be part of the "fast crowd." Those kids might not go to college, they might not have successful careers, they might look like they've been around the block a few times by the time we were 18 (Dad's line).

So, Ash and I did the best we could. And you know what? Turns out, Mom and Dad were right. Shocking. Some of those kids who were in the fast crowd didn't do so well. Most of the kids who weren't in the fast crowd... they did pretty well. Ironically, the kids who stayed after school and did activities, like band, softball, cheerleading, swimming, yearbook, RAK... I can't think of too many who veered off the path of "decency." But the kids who lingered in the parking lot and went home where there were no parents... I can't answer for them.

Lastly, I was working one summer for a neighbor. Her son, who I'd grown up with since elementary school, came in one afternoon and we started talking. I had just finished my freshman year of college, and we are the same age. He did not go away to school. (I'm not sure what reason; I'm sure he could have gone wherever he wanted to.) Anyways, he asked how Elon was treating me, and I was obviously glowing. College fit me like a glove. I absolutely loved it. When I asked him about his year, he didn't have the same look on his face. He told me his year was ok, but a lot of his friends stayed in town, and it was really boring. I think he wished he had gone away. He told me I was smart to have gone away. Now, this kid was part of the "fast crowd," but always so nice, always. I don't know what he's up to now, but I bet he is successful. He's just too good of a person not to be. But I bet it shocked him to see so many of his friends quickly go from the top of the food chain to the bottom.

ANYWAYS, the reason I've rambled. I may be overweight. I might be "uncool." (Please, as if.) As a person who went to band camp, I probably never should have walked into Abercrombie and Fitch. It appears this douche, Mike Jeffries wants the fast crowd to shop at his store. And you know what... I'm proud to not be a part of that.



And p.s. to any young girls from Wexford who I used to babysit.. you're beautiful. You always have been, you are now, and you always will be. Don't let some douchebag like this, or any other douchebag, get under your skin. You're cool in my book.

Like father, like daughter

I've thought about a lot of things to write, but it seemed so silly to write when I actually have nothing to update. I mean, I'm trying, but obviously not hard enough. I've gone walking, done exercise videos and hit balls at the driving range. I eat everything I should eat during the day, as far as food categories. Protein, veggies, fruits, etc. My problem is, and probably always has been snacking. I don't have just one reason for snacking... I do it for all sorts of reasons... food tastes good, I'm bored, I'm watching tv, it's in the house, emotional eating, etc. I still have every excuse in the book.

Snacking isn't genetic, but let me tell a "like father, like daughter" story.

I love my dad so much. He is a snacker. He has a technique for eating a dozen donuts in one day. He talks about sweets and pastries so much that when friends fly down from NJ, they bring sticky buns from McMillan's bakery. Seriously. When he comes up to visit us any time, he wants me to get the sugar cookies from Shoppers that have the cherries in the middle. He's pretty specific.

So, a few weeks ago, we're on the phone, my dad and I. He's asking me what's new, and I'm trying to tell him about things that he'll appreciate. He doesn't want to hear about what I wore, etc. I talk to him about dad stuff, like what kind of lawn mower Mac and I should buy, how I did ok at the driving range or what the weather's like. So, we're on the phone, and I'm tailoring my stories to him, and he just keeps saying "uh huh, uh huh, yeah, right." Dude, I know what that means. But I let it slide. Keep talking. Finish my stories, and I say, "Well that's about it, Dad." He replied, "Listen, Megan, I'm about to eat a donut, could you keep talking for a little bit?" Oof. So I keep babbling. When I tell him I've got nothing else to say, he starts to ask me about my father-in-law's neighborhood. "You know Dave's house?" Yes. "You know the stores behind that development?" Yes Dad, I lived there for two years. "Listen, is that bakery behind Dave's house there any good?" Argh. Talking to my dad that day was a lost cause. Eventually, he goes out into the garage for a cigarette and my mom gets on the phone. Before she can even get going, I tell her I feel like Dad is not listening to me when we talk on the phone, and she confirmed it. He wasn't listening to me. She told me he was distracted, because HE WAS LOOKING FOR THE DONUT and needed her help finding it. Sigh. Then she told me I better not bring him down any treats from that bakery for Easter. His love for pastries is out of control, and I am not to feed the habit. Ok. But this whole thing? This wouldn't be the last time this happened.

A few days later Dad and I are chatting it up again, and we're talking about me coming down for Easter. Decent conversation. Mom gets on the phone; she and I talk for a little bit. We're getting ready to hang up, and she says my dad forgot to tell me something. My ears perk up... this never happens. Would he talk to me about sports? His golf game? The boat? My car? Mac? "Hey Megan, listen, you remember those coconut cream eggs we used to get at Bayards Chocolate House for Easter? Yeah, they don't sell them in South Carolina, so could you look around up there for some?"

Drats. More food talk. As if I need a coconut cream easter egg with me during an 8 hour drive. I'm a SNACKER Dad. Just like you. Except your metabolism works a little differently than mine. Ahem. A lot differently. As in, I'd be 400 pounds if I ate like you do. But I still love you. :)

The pocket test and the Easter dress

Well, I officially lost two pounds at my school's biggest loser challenge, although my scale stays the same. I also shattered someone's dream when I told her that the results weren't real. The nurse told me I lost 4 pounds, which would be great, if she hadn't had us all weigh with our shoes on the first time. So I took off my Danskos, which I had worn the first day, and they weighed 2 pounds. Ergo, I only lost two pounds. Well, this poor other teacher weighed her shoes, and discovered she had only lost 7 pounds instead of 9. I sure did burst her bubble. Oops.

Anyways, the pocket test.

There are at least two males (who shall remain nameless for protection) who created a "pocket test" almost ten years ago. According to one of the guys though, he alone came up with it while standing in line at a sandwich shop in college. The pocket test is a non-verbal test on how back pockets fit a girl's derriere.

Here is how you pass the test:
- Jeans are preferred. Test will not work as well with dress pants or khakis.
- Jeans should always have back pockets.
- Jeans should not be bedazzled.
- No faux, half or tiny pockets. A hand should be able to fit down into the pocket.
- Size of derriere doesn't necessarily matter, but how it is shaped does.
- A "shelf" of some sort is preferred.
- Entire pocket should fit on the cheek. No sagging.
- Typically, the bottom of the pocket will be at the bottom of the cheek.
- Do not have a flat bottom. You will fail if you have a flat bottom.

Here is your quiz... which of these pictures passes the test?

A

B

C

D







The answer is......................















D.

Next, the Easter dress. Sometimes fitting into clothes one year after I've worn them feels like a victory for me, since I had so many years of just gaining weight. So for Easter, I am wearing the same dress I wore last year, and I am actually very excited about it. Success, if you will.

Happy Easter and dear bunny, please bring spring!

p.s. You have no idea how many bad images I had to sift through on google before selecting those four options.

Random

I am somewhat random. Scatterbrained. I bring up things at awkward moments, I disclaim and justify EVERYTHING, and I often have very quirky thoughts running through my head. (re: nesting doll bridesmaid reference a few posts ago)

So this post will contain some more of my random thoughts pertaining to my insulation.

1. If we lived in olden times, I'd be considered wealthy, and all those skinny bitches would be considered poor. ;)

2. The "waif" look of 90s models (and some current ones) scares me, and it's hard for me to look at them. I wonder if it's hard for them to look at me.

3. The other night I walked into REI. When I'm in there, I envision myself as a tree-hugging cyclist who likes to camp, hike, run, kayak and swim. I always leave inspired to do all those things at ONE time.

4. The huge problem with walking into REI is that it is next to the Chinese restaurant, and I had fifteen minutes to waste until my crab rangoon was ready. Huge fail. I should have thrown out the crab rangoon and bought a pair of hiking boots, a backpack and a tent.

5. I miss swimming a lot.

6. I've had a couple people ask me to do 5Ks between now and summer. I'm kind of excited, but a little intimidated too.

7. I am "hippy." During my first year of teaching I was teaching a 7th grade class how to mark time, which means marching in place. We were prepping for the Christmas parade. One girl, in all seriousness, asked me if when they marched, should their hips swing back and forth like mine? I told her no, but just wait. One day they would.

8. I can still touch my toes, which I credit to doing "Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes" with little kids.

9. When I walk in heels, I scare myself and anyone around me. To say I'm a "heavy walker" is putting it nicely. I walk like a damn elephant.

10. My dad is an excellent golf coach. He is very patient, and he explains everything really well. Several years ago, we were at the driving range (one of my favorite places), and he kept telling me I was "lifting up." No shit, I missed the ball. Of course I lifted up. He had me move closer to the ball (I was learning with my new clubs, and I had originally practiced with his, which were too tall, but they were better than Frannie's, which are seriously cut down). I moved closer. I had a lot of trouble keeping my arms straight. He kept telling me, "Megan, you've got to straighten your arms." I kept telling him I couldn't. We went back and forth for a few minutes before I flipped, yelling, "I can't straighten my arms anymore, Dad! My chest is in the way!" He walked away and smoked a cigarette.

11. I keep fighting with the same three pounds and it's pissing me off. :)

When boys should be quiet.

Oh, this is a touchy post to write. I actually asked Mac's permission to write it, since he is a big part of it, and I want to respect him. Usually if I do a post about someone else, I'll ask their permission. It just seems appropriate.

Speaking of appropriate, if you read this, consider it a lesson of what NOT TO SAY to a female.

Last Saturday, Mac and I were at the mall, exchanging a few items. I went into VS to replace a bra, and while I was in there, I decided to look for some skivvies. (I'm totally blushing as I write this.) Well, VS is a great place for people of all sizes on top. Everything from a 32AA to a 40DDD they seem to have. The bottom half of a female... not so much. Not to mention... I've taken a pole. 5/5 women say VS's underwear runs small. Ok, no big deal. Go a size up. Except they basically stop at a large for the bottom. Basically, they're saying that you can be Dolly Parton. Um, most people aren't shaped like that. And I was already a little frustrated, as I kept seeing thongs that were "one size fits all." Seriously? I don't buy that, for ONE SECOND. Scarves can be one size fits all. Not thongs.

So I go meet Mac as he's coming out of Gamestop, where he was trading games in. I tell him about this, and say that it's just a little frustrating for me, because I actually think I'm somewhat proportioned. Not desirable proportions, but they're kind of even. Well, Mac, being the helpful husband that he is, decided to be, um, helpful.

Mac: Why don't you try shopping at like, Lane Bryant or something?

Megan; Jaw drops.

**Uncomfortable silence, but Mac doesn't know it's uncomfortable.**

Megan: Um, no. I don't really think I need to shop there. That's a store for bigger women, and I'm not quite there, I don't think.

Mac: Oh, look, I just think their models are really hot.

Megan: Then why do you have a Sports Illustrated Swimsuit calendar hanging in the laundry room instead of a Lane Bryant catalog?

Mac: They're just meatier, and that's sexy!

Megan: Mac, those models are a size 8, that's considered a plus size model, which is bs. Again, I do not think I need to shop there. VS should have a bottom that can "match" the top.

Mac: Well, where does Kim Kardashian shop for underwear?

**I am thinking where the @!@#%#@%#@$^#$% are you going with this?**

Megan: Excuse me? (Mac is petrified of these two words, he knows it means trouble.)

Mac: Well, she has a sizely ass, so where does she get her underwear?

Megan: Please do not compare me to Kim Kardashian. Her curves from the front are good, but she's not proportionate.

Mac: Well, isn't she like a super model?

Megan: Um, no. She is trashy.

Mac: Oh, well can I say Jlo?

Megan: Yes, JLo and Beyonce are always acceptable.

The rest is a little bit of a blur. We left the mall, where may I remind you that I did NOT create a scene, and went home. I was pretty quiet, which men should know... women are always scariest when they're quiet. Quiet is NOT GOOD. Naturally, to beat a dead horse, I had to try to explain to Mac how he unknowingly insulted me. He just didn't understand, and kept thinking that Lane Bryant is comparable to Casual Male Big and Tall. Allow me to tell you, it is not. I wasn't necessarily mad at him, I was just kind of shocked. Again, unknowingly, he didn't realize the damage he'd done.

I've since told other females about this, and fortunately, most of them backed me up with their reactions. I don't think they were lying just to make me feel good either. They were genuinely shocked that a) Mac suggested this, b) I didn't strike him and c) I didn't run away crying.

Of course, there is nothing wrong with shopping at Lane Bryant. They have lots of clothes, and allow women who have fuller figures to dress professionally. Their models are gorgeous. Nothing wrong with the store, at ALL. I just do not want to shop there, and it is a very, very personal opinion. The biggest problem I have with this whole situation, is that Mac didn't just suggest I go up a size, he suggested I go up a STORE. And trust me, boys: Girls never want to go up a size. Even a girl who's a size 2 may not want to buy a size 4. So, please don't even suggest going up a size. We don't want to hear that nonsense.

I feel like if I went to Lane Bryant it would be admitting defeat. It would be me giving up on the clothes in my closet, the clothes from my favorite stores (Gap, Banana, Loft and Target), and I'd be giving IN to buying bigger clothes. I am technically not a big boned person. I'm not tall. I'm just overweight. While that's bad, it hasn't stopped me from shopping at my favorite stores. And I don't want to give up on my favorite stores, or the sizes I'd like to be.

** I proofread this aloud to Mac, as he's afraid of how his character will look. He interrupted a couple of times, defending himself. I told him to please be quiet. Men: Should you find yourself in such a situation, please be quiet.

** My weight was the same on Friday, but when I went to weigh in with the school nurse for our biggest loser competition, she told me I had lost a pound and a half. Alrighty then.

** My sincerest apologies if I have offended anyone with this post. It was hard for me to write, as it's such a touchy subject. All of the statements in it are my opinions, not judgments.

I broke my fall.

My weight's been fluctuating, but I listed my weight on Wednesday, bc that's what I think it actually is. We are doing a Biggest Loser contest at school, and according to the nurse's records, I lost weight. It's a nice confirmation, even though the first time I weighed with shoes on and the second time I weighed with shoes off. I think I lost weight regardless of the shoes.

Anyways, this post is about how I broke my fall.

The day was Thursday, February 14, 2013. A great, chilly night for a Valentine's Day date. After meeting in the parking lot at Columbia Mall, exchanging presents, and seeing the ultimate romantic movie ("A Good Day to Die Hard"), Mac and I were walking to our cars. Two people obviously in love, crossing the street outside of all the restaurants and the theater. Well, you know I had to make this beautiful moment even better, so naturally, I did. Unbeknownst to me, there was a sizely hole in the sidewalk, and it sent me tumbling backwards. I waved my arms backwards, like opposite butterfly, and went boom, boom and boom. I fell on my tush, shoved my right palm down behind me, and my spine rolled back on the pavement, with the head lightly touching the ground. "Shit!!!"

I laid there, very confused as to what happened. Mac came right down to my face, saying, "Baby, are you ok?" Four guys standing outside Champps asked if I was ok. I kept cursing at myself, and I apologized profusely, to everyone and no one in particular. My lovely lady hump was in pain. My hand hurt a lot, but it wasn't bleeding. Mac pulled me up, and I pointed to the hole in the sidewalk, as if to say it wasn't my fault. I wasn't drunk! I wasn't in heels! This is absurd! I shouldn't have fallen!

We drove home to continue our romantic evening by ordering Mama Lucia's pizza and watching the Caps game. I realized something on the way home. I broke my fall. No, literally, I broke my own fall. I don't drink milk, so I can't blame good bones on that. I can blame my padding. Actually, I should thank my padding. If I wasn't so, um, "voluptuous" (ha), I could have probably done some real damage. My tush is bruised and so is my hand, but I'm 100% ok. No broken bones, no sprains or strains, nothing. Except of course embarrassment, and completely shock and confusion to falling down, on my butt on Valentine's Day.

So, Happy Belated Valentine's Day everyone. I hope your day was as romantic as mine, and I hope your body is as good to you and mine is to me.

Fast Food

disclaimer: This post has a very graphic picture and graphic details in it. Suitable for strong stomachs.

When I was little, my mom would take us to McDonalds every once in a while for a treat. It was a huge treat, and I always got a kids meal, with mcnuggets, and then we'd go to the playground. I even went to birthday parties at McDonalds, and no one seemed to mind or judge the fact that we were eating fast food. It was a treat. And if you ask my mom, she thinks the food was made better back then. I tend to agree with her. At any rate, it was very seldom. That's the only fast food that I can really remember eating as a child.

Occasionally on Friday nights we'd order pizza as a family, or my dad would bring home stromboli from Philly. Nom nom. We didn't eat out much at all, we almost always ate at the kitchen table, and nights like these were considered treats.

After I graduated from Elon, I ate more fast food than I'd care to admit. It was easy, it was on my way home from work, and it was cheap. The flavor was there. The quality was not. I still got the same meal from McDonalds. Chicken nuggets, fries and sweet and sour sauce. Every once in a while, I'd bite into a nugget and get something that didn't quite feel like chicken. A couple times, I'd stop going because I knew what I was eating wasn't good. I'm by no means a "clean eater," but I also don't like mystery meat. I eat processed foods (mac and cheese), but these occasional bites would throw me off of the fast food chain. I'd go back, a few months later, and love the flavor again. Let me remind you though: the quality was not there. The fries, well I think those are tough to mess up. The nugget quality wasn't there.

I even started reading "Fast Food Nation," which people swore would make you stop eating fast food. Yeah, it seemed gross, for sure, but I didn't finish the book. I wasn't in a particularly good place emotionally while reading the book, so I'm sure that stopped me from finishing it. I was having trouble concentrating. At any rate, something eventually took away my love for the nugget about two years ago. A picture went viral, and I haven't eaten a nugget since. Haven't eaten at Taco Bell. Had KFC once. Chick fil A a few times. (I like to think the quality is better.) I can count the times I've had McDonalds fries on one hand in the past two years. This is the picture that did it.

Articles all over the web slammed McDonalds for using THAT to make nuggets, hamburgers, etc. Is it true? I can't prove it. But whoever sent that picture out got the job done. I haven't eaten a nugget since. And real life experience with the mystery meat in the mcnuggets left me confidant. No more meat from McDonalds. I would tell anyone to stop eating the meat from that place. The picture scarred me, and I think I'm better for it.

Again, I do not strive to eat organically, I snack on processed foods, I clearly don't have a perfect diet, but at least I'm not eating pink slime.