Tomorrow, my roomate/landlord LE is going back to L.A. probably until fall.  So I’ll have the space to dance with some privacy again, without having to worry about stepping on the cats or running into furniture.

I’ve already bought and started work on and in June I’ll post some photos of my progress.  I’ve already taken some, but I’m saving them for the big launch of the “new me”.

As I learn more about my body and how to fuel it properly, I can’t help but get angry whenever I hear some misinformation.  I’m not a big health nut.  It’s just that there are certain things that everybody should know but don’t.  Poor people living at the edge of survival who can barely read apparently know more about proper nutrition than the average urban resident.  As it is, I’m also going to have to readjust and rewrite some of my recipes because the popular preparation methods are just all wrong.

I thought I knew how to cook.  Apparently I just knew how to make things edible, not really optimally digestible, nutritious, and tasty.

So I’ll be doing more than posting my new pics.  I’ll be promoting my new way of life, which is actually a very old way of life just adjusted for the new modern situation.

For awhile there, it seemed like our little self proclaimed game expert was growing up a bit.  Now it seems that if I’m going to be posting at Roissy’s blog at all, I have to supplement with posts he either censors or tries to obscure by keeping in moderation forever.

So here’s my answer to his oscillation between villain, victim, social engineer, and way too easily amused tool of the nanny state.

Permalink though it’ll probably never get posted because he can’t make up his mind whether he’s trying to be the world’s most underqualified fitness expert, or amuse himself by convincing people they’re going to find the remains of flayed fat chicks in his cellar one day.

Roissy says, “i don’t attack fatties who understand the negative effects their fat has on them.”

Yes you do.

“my sadism is reserved for those fatties, like heather, who wish to claim that their obesity has no deleterious consequences for their lives.”

…and apparently fatties like me who understand the effects and learn to thrive in spite of them…or correct them to the best of our ability without sacrificing our health.

You know, those of us who don’t want to look like the washed up old hoes you think are prettier than the rest of us.


To each his own…

“superiority ain’t got nothing to do with it.”

I know that. It’s your *desire* to *believe* that you are superior.

“the facts are enough to put the lie to heather’s claims.”

Her claim of being 5?5? and 185 lbs?

Her exercise regime?

Her doing crafts?

Her not being a miserable wretch just because you want her to be?

Your being ignorant and shallow?

Yes, the facts are quite enough for the both of you.

My response to her would have started something like…If you’re 185 lbs. not bodybuilding or doing serious strength training that might lead to bulking up, and not losing weight, it’s because your vegetarian diet includes way too much cow food and not enough people food.

“namely, that the overwhelming majority of men prefer slender babes.

…and we all know that what the “overwhelming majority” likes is the most important pursuit in the hedonist lifestyle.

Must seek the pleasure of the “overwhelming majority”. ;)

This is becoming excruciatingly tedious.

“those are not my goals. i’m here to amuse myself.”

…and yet…

” if my cruelty happens to cause one fatass to drop the chalupa and slim down to a sexy weight, well then i consider that collateral beautification.”

So you find thought policing on behalf of the “overwhelming majority” amusing.

Are they paying you for it?

…because really, I don’t see how anyone who values individualism in any way would actually enjoy licking the USDA and the entire nanny state democratic party’s collective anus, unless they were getting paid for it.

“your other point that shaming is counterproductive is simply false. if it didn’t work, so many people like yourself wouldn’t be up in arms about my advocacy of it as social policy.”

It’s not that it doesn’t work in herding people, albeit chaotically…It’s that well…anybody who’s in pursuit of truth would find it silly outside of a social engineering context.

So if you’re not social engineering, and you’re just doing this for your amusement, then hey.

I apologize for misjudging you.

Just remember that the meanest sheep is still not the shepherd.

At this point, my dad is winning the argument about there not being a cure for stupidity.  He also held a mirror to me that the only reason I even bother with people like Roissy is from boredom.  I write on a variety of subjects I care about, and this is really enough for me to get what I see as “the job” done.

…but then I encounter someone who’s somewhat “off the grid” and attempt to nurture that.  It’s not always received well at first, but usually once they realize I’m a nurturer, not a coddler, they stop freaking out and butch up.

Every once in awhile though, I run into a “Jackie” who is just a mean sheep, not an up and coming shepherd, sheepdog, or wolf type; and he instinctively well, reacts badly.  So rather than laughing to myself, and going my merry way, like I should, I nip at them for kicks, when I’m bored or having writers’ lull.

I can admit this to myself.  Thing is, it’s like playing a video game in “god mode”.  In fact, both my dad and Shai have called me on that.  After awhile, it’s kind of pointless, and I get bored with that too.  Someone has the ability and awareness to break away from the herd, and then control their level of attachment, or they don’t.  That is not something they grow out of, get over, or have an epiphany and rise above.

…and I should really stop messing with their heads when I’m bored.  We all have our role in nature, who is smarter than any of us, no matter our pet megalomanias, social engineering projects or hobbies.

One day, enough people on ancestral or paleo diets will cross the 20 year mark healthier and happier than their peers.  Then the herd will at least stop eating like cattle, and start eating like tribal apes.  Then again, better social engineers than me are making quite a bit of money by convincing people that they should eat like cows, so I don’t know…the information might be suppressed and all the evidence said to be anecdotal or flukes.

Either way, I’m losing weight with no signs of my forehead beginning to resemble my backside, without sagging skin, and without feeling deprived at all.  I feel like I’m aging in reverse.  So who cares what illusions get others through the day?

Last night, I ate what will be my last handfull of chips.

I’m not a low carb faddist or a paleo diet faddist.  I’m a person who was hypothyroid, and part of my recovery was reverting back to an older style of cooking and eating.  If an oil took more than pressing or simple rendering to extract, I stopped eating it.  I still eat bread, but usually whole grain or very low to no gluten flatbreads like cornbread and rice cakes.  Basically, I’m “moderate carb”.

Well, last night, because it had been a very long time, and they were there, I had a few chips fried in canola oil.  Big, big mistake.  After just about a year of grandma and great grandma’s style of home cooking, the chips caused a gastric nightmare that I would not ever like to repeat.  I have a friend on Xenical who described something like this, but I don’t take Xenical.  I think my body just hates certain kinds of vegetable oils now.

This is probably why low carb people who also give up most vegetable oils keep the weight off.  Once you go back to a more natural diet for awhile, there is no going back.

Now, thinking back, a “modern” diet always gave me problems.  I just didn’t know the problem was my diet.  I was doing what my nutritionist and previous doctors told me, but still had trouble losing weight, and was told I had IBS.  Now I understand very clearly that I don’t have IBS.  I just had, I don’t know what to call it…fake food syndrome.

So I don’t know whether people should go low carb, medium, or high.  It probably varies from person to person.  What I can say though is to trust your healthy ancestors, and your own body.  In every way that I’ve gone back to how my grandparents and great grandparents ate, my body has rewarded me for it.  There will be no more splurges of fake food for me.  The next “chips” I eat will be baked potato wedges with a little schmaltz.

As my protege gave his goodbye speech, I browsed a few songs in my music library that would, in the past, have come in handy.  I was looking over some slow, depressing R&B, and sorrowful alternative.

Yet this time around, what my soul really craved was Rob Zombie and Rammstein.  I’m definitely back.  So I’ve switched some things back to my original internet screen name, IronWynch.

IronWynch is a role play character whose name was poking a bit of fun at the so-called women’s empowerment trend of spelling woman or women like “womyn”.  I spelled wench like “wynch”.  At some point I made brief appearances as characters called “Whyre” “Bytch” and “Skynk” as jokes.

The IronWynch character was one of the first of the ITC mythos I allowed to peek out into public internet life.  Her original body was abducted by aliens doing experiments on humans to attempt to culture flesh “wrappers” for robots.  So she basically had synthetic innards and skeleton stuffed inside a human skin, but the skin was a complete organism in and of itself.

The name suited my personality, so I wore it around until I got deeper into Lovecraft fandom and went through the nice me phase that led me to be okay with being viewed as some kind of kitten.  Then Kthulah became my “evil kitty” name since so many others had been overused.

Now, I’ll be using IronWynch more often.

I don’t really feel numb…just…unsurprised and merciless.  He did all that blah blah, and then asked me how I feel about it.  I told him that was no longer his business.  So he gets all huffy and tells me to have a nice life.  Whatever.  What…I’m supposed to slash my wrists or something?

I still care about him as a person, but because of that, I will do nothing to ease whatever agony he claims to be going through over his decision (which I doubt).  Nor will I try to make him feel better about it.  He has failed me.  My natural reaction to someone failing me is to not trust them with whatever it was they broke.  I don’t care if it was on purpose or an accident.  If I give someone my heart and they mishandle it, they don’t get it again unless they prove they can handle it…and thusfar, nobody has done that yet.

I guess I’m not worth it to them.  I can accept that.  I don’t fit their “grocery list”.  I’m used to this by now.   Though I haven’t been dumped alot in my life until I started dating in Israel, in a mere four years, I’ve gotten it streamlined.  I’m a quick study, and one thing I have learned well is that if there is nothing else to save, save my dignity.

Whatever else they may think is lacking in me, none of them can say that they broke me…or really even harmed a hair on the ass of my Lycan soul.

Recently, I found folks from my high school in Italy on Facebook.  Though I’m happy to be in touch with some of them again, I have mixed feelings…mostly positive.  Looking over some of the new old faces, it’s interesting that well, they’re all so much more beautiful than they were.

Maybe it’s just my preference for older people.  As an artist, I find older faces more interesting.  I have always also preferred to date older than myself, so there’s some of my romantic preferences probably overlapping my perception…but really they look so much more…I don’t know which word to use…seasoned?  Special?

As military brats for the most part, we were special then.  I’m not sure how many of us actually understood that.  We had experiences that people who grew up in one place their entire childhood and adolescence wouldn’t have…or may have had, but certain things would have been more harmful in that context.

We were kids who knew how to make fast friends.  For some of us, this extended into our adult lives where we were able to make family out of friends no matter where we went.  Our minds were open to the world.  We understood that the U.S. is not the whole world.  Some of us, upon returning to the States, though we appreciated our home country, counted the days until we could get back out.  Some of us practically kissed the ground and have no intention of leaving it ever again for more than a vacation.

We were and are very special people.

The few enmities there were seem so petty now.  The romances and heartbreaks, the whims of silly children.  The plots and intrigues, little games that I feel we were actually fortunate to even think of playing.  To have so little to worry about that some little slight or insult meant so much.

…yet because it did mean so much, probably because having Maslow basics stable allowed us to see higher, these things did make us stronger, better people.  Those of us with harmful home situations could see that we had harmful home situations.  Those of us being socially marginalized could see that this was happening.  We learned to deal with life, for better or for worse, on the face.

Not one person I went to school with then, can I say was utterly boring, banal, or truly a wimp.  Not one.  Everyone thought.  Everyone had some kind of idea of greatness.  Nietzsche would wish he went to Brindisi American High School.

Ah, but not just because of the non fatal ‘Flies factor…because of the art as well.  There were some brilliantly creative young minds there.  I hope to see and hear others’ work since we’re in touch again.  BAHS had alot of talent, so this should be fun. :)

Shai, Goodytang, Papa, Longstroke, Kahuna, Gadget, TB, Neats, Frankie, LE, Jesus Jr. and Dad and my brothers and uncles and all the other men in my life who are not complete idiots, would not marry whores.  Those who are married, got with strong women who are independent but not selfish and stupid or materially greedy.  If during some phase of idiocy they would, they would correct that mistake as soon as they discovered it and either take measures to keep her in line, or kick her to the curb.

Ambo, Shaniqua, Jacuzzi, Sunshine, and Millie, my few female friends, whatever problems they have (which we all have), are all examples of decent, strong women who aren’t selfish, stupid, or materially greedy.  They’re balanced…not above letting the man be the man and do what he feels he needs to do, but not behaving as if they’re entitled to everything while giving nothing.

I could justify myself if I really stretched, but the truth is that this is a bad deal for me.  I love him, but as with anyone else who isn’t in a feasable situation, this is something I have to content myself with feeling from a safe distance.  I understand his situation, but I can’t become the life support for a system I don’t believe in.  I can help him escape from it, but I can’t become a part of it.

So my answer is a flat out no.  I will not be Cuz’s cortigiana onesta.

Happy Valentine’s Day all!  This is somewhat belated because just as I was about to post earlier last night, I got a call from Cuz.

…but first, I should tell you about last week.  Many things are changing or their natural course is becoming clear, and it’s somewhat dizzying.

Sunday, Metal informed me that his long distance girlfriend broke up with him via email.  He crafted an extremely pussified response to try to get her back, and I advised him to man it up a bit.  It didn’t require much coaxing as he’s naturally very manly.  So that night we were going to go out and drink to his manhood.

A little reminder, this is the one I went on one date and made out with, who later decided I wasn’t good enough because of my age and not being an obvious enough rocker.  We developed into platonic friends with some sexual tension since he still finds me somewhat shaggable and hang-out-able, just not girlfriendly.  Cool with me, as the romantic sentiment sprang only from the non romantic sentiments anyway.  It took some doing, but I rolled back my more inconvenient feelings and moved forward.

So anyway, he couldn’t make it, so I hung out with TB instead.  We drank well and talked all night.  He’s a bit young for me, and still has some roads to travel, but he’s fun to be around.  He introduced me to the only relatively inexpensive vodka I can swallow and actually enjoy: Zubrovska.  It’s made with some kind of special aromatic grass, and is just heavenly.

TB is turning out to be a bartender to be reckoned with.  He’s an artist with alcohol.

Later last week, I got an out of the blue call from Craneman, the old bitch from this post.  He wanted to visit.  While we were sitting and talking, and then him mauling me, and me fending him off, I was saved by the bell.  Metal called, and wanted to visit.

Horrorcore me said, “Sure!  Come on over!”  So when he comes, I get up to go to the door, and Craneman comes with me.  We all come back in, and I do my southern thing, offering them tea, and then disappearing to the kitchen to fix it…taking my time.  Mind you, neither of them knows that I had any romantic feelings for either of them, but as the voices became more “barky”, I could smell the testosterone in the air, and feel the tension.  It was beautiful, and they both deserved whatever discomfort they were feeling at that moment.

Me?  I treat it like it’s all good…no big deal since I wasn’t valuable enough to either of them to prevent them from sidelining me for whores.


Heheheheh…So I bring their tea, and they’re sitting on the sofa, and I’m on a separate chair, watching them and smiling.  They talked about politics and sports…man stuff.  I tuned out most of it because of that two men talking thing.

Eventually, since he had to get back to band rehearsal, Metal rose to go, and Craneman went with him and me to the door.  So alpha.  No eyeing, long hand shaking, or too long hugging was going to happen on his watch.  Heheheh…

After Metal left, we got back to him mauling, and me fending, all the way to the bitter end of seeing him to the door, and walking him down the porch.  It was very flattering, but he doesn’t deserve me.

…and then we get to last night…Valentine’s day.  Cuz came over, and took me out for a ride since my roomate LE needs the place quiet to sleep.  So we park in a private spot near the gym, and the usual talk ensues, only this time he gives me a mild ultimatum.  He wants to get me an apartment so I can be his kept woman, and I have a week to decide.

He’s made this offer before, but not with this kind of tone.  Before, his offers were more like brainstorming, but now he has the place picked out, and a plan for how things will be.  He gave me rules.

…but there’s still the problem of his wife.  Even if she finds out, she’ll only have herself to blame since it was she and her parents (her father is his mother’s brother) who drove him away twice before.  Their greed for the family’s money and property drove a permanent wedge between them, and she’s lucky he didn’t do what many guys would do in his situation: just disappear.  He loves his sons.

The answer of what to do about this is easy: say no.  The problem is that this was so difficult to do that my no didn’t come out as a firm no, and I couldn’t manage to make it so.  My eyes betrayed me.

Oh, and I forgot to mention that Friday night, my protege fell for Shaniqua.  This is something I can’t say is entirely surprising, just something he should know better than.  Though I’d be happy for them if they did get together, I warned him that it probably wasn’t a good idea because she’s a Lesbian and confused.  She recently broke up with Zombie so she’s gone girly again, and probably not looking back except at the odd tranny.

Until she stabilizes, she’s a road I can’t travel with anyone sexually.  Hell, emotionally.  I don’t want to get my heart broken, or watch someone I love get theirs broken…and I’m not going to be the one to pick up the pieces if she leaves the happy triad to go off and marry some conventional guy to please her parents, or falls for some uberfeminazi who hates men.

…but since she’s the “one who got away” to him now, I suppose if he talks to me about it at all, it’ll be to obsess over her.  I already went through that with Kahuna, and we’re just platonic friends.  Never again.

So standing on the edge of the cliff of being Cuz’s mistress…it’s so easy to just…

I’m afraid that I might be developing former fatty syndrome even though I’m still kind of fat, and wasn’t exactly desperate when I was fat.  It’s not the guys who ignored me before and pay attention now who bother me.  It’s the ones who were, I guess, pretending to like me, who’ve abandonned me now that I’ve moved to a lower weight class.

If I was a bit paranoid, I would guess that this is happening because they no longer perceive me as desperate (even though I never was) and therfore not worth keeping around as a potential sperm dump.  It’s not so much the weight loss as what the weight loss means.

In my case, it truly just means my metabolism has picked up, and all the years of self discipline are showing their natural result.  I suppose what it means to mainstream types though, since they’re convinced that being fat only comes from gross levels of overeating, is that I’m moving farther out of their league, so I have to be punished for that…taken down a notch since I’m starting to look like someone who would normally reject them.

The ones who put themselves in the “break glass in case of emergency” category right away, I’m not so worried about.  It was clear from the beginning that they viewed my being fat made me more attractive to them only because they each think they’re the only guy in the world who ever thought of shagging or dating someone “ugly” so they’d be treated as more valuable.  What’s throwing me off here is the ones who should have known me better than that: the ones who’ve been in my house, seen at least a little of what I did to keep my agility, endurance, strength, and sanity during the fat years.  They, of all people, should have understood that I was not just giving lipservice to, “What you see isn’t really me.  When or if I recover, I’m going to look very different.”

Now that it’s actually happening, apparently some guys can’t handle it.  It’s so bizarre because the guys who are not handling it well are the very ones I figured would welcome the change, as it should make me less embarassing to be seen with.  Life is weird.

So it’s a good thing that I’m losing weight naturally, and for the sake of my health, and not for other people’s sake.  During the fat years I wasn’t exercising for them, or watching what I ate for them, or keeping on top of my skin care regime for them, or drinking enough water for them, or any other part of my self care regime for them.

It seems you find out who really cares for you when you have problems, but you really find out who cares for you when you succeed.

As I’ve mentioned before, one good thing that has come out of my exploration of the PUA community over the last few years is that it’s a good window into the minds of assholes and wannabe assholes.  Some sites attract a better grade of guys than others.  Good or bad, I’ve learned alot that has helped me to relate better to my male counseling clients.

At some point in a writer’s life though, one has to step back and consider what all this means to me personally…what it means for my real life, and what it means for the characters I write about.  How has this new insight changed me?  Has it really changed me?  Should it?

Though I don’t think of myself as particularly old or damaged, nor do those who’ve managed to get to know me, in PUA community terms, I’m basically something like a -2 on a scale of 1-10.  Being fat (over a size 4) is a mortal sin that overrides any other good traits one may have.  Being over 35, one may as well start collecting cats.

So according to them, any guy who would touch me has to be absolutely desperate, and the reason that I’m back on the market is because nobody in the world could possibly be that desperate.  I’ve been called every negative label there is for a woman by guys who consider themselves rational people, yet they launch into streams of epithets at any sign of confidence from me or any other women with the gaul to not slash her wrists because some guys don’t want to shag her.

The consistency of this type of behavior hasn’t shaken my confidence, but it does make me a bit more cautious in my dealings with males.  I didn’t need much help with that since, having a good dad, I was never protected from the truth about humans.  It basically reinforces my upbringing, which is to never take anyone for granted, and don’t listen too much to what people say about themselves.  Watch what they do.

So the shock treatment has served me well in regaining my pre-Oprah hard core attitude.  I don’t expect to be treated as well as a slim young blonde, but I demand to be.  If I find that a guy is a little too laid back, then I don’t take him seriously.  He doesn’t take me seriously, and thinks he’s doing me a favor by talking to me.

It has also strengthened my resolve about being alone.  I believe that I’m better prepared to spend the rest of my life without a romantic partner if I need to.  I don’t want anyone to feel as if they are settling for me, and I’m past the point of my life of feeling a need to make exceptions in order to reproduce.  I’ve already bred, and if I hadn’t, I still have many cousins already…lots of people who share the important genes with me, passing them into the next generation.

It’s very…freeing.  I do keep in mind that there are some exceptional individuals out there who treasure their own uniqueness, and would treasure mine as much.  It would be nice to find one who was compatible with me, but I realize this is a long shot.  So my energy is better spend on things like nurturing relationships that aren’t dependent on my looks or the maximum 10 years left of my fertility…that and having a good time before I’m too old for some things.

Because of what I’ve learned though, that fun will not include sampling men.  I know some women my age who turn into cougars.  That’s just not me.  I much prefer the “adept spinster” image…the older woman guys may want to shag, but rather say to themselves that if I were younger, they’d want to marry someone like me.

It’s not just for my own protection, but as a good thing I can do for my world.  Young women need positive role models, and since not every girl is going to be married for life, they should see how someone behaves as a single older woman who knows how to have fun, but has some dignity.

Last night, Kahuna came over for a visit. He’s a bit of a fitness nut, so I was interested in how he’d see my continued progress.

We talked a bit, and I convinced him to try a little belly dancing himself. Men have to do things a bit differently, so I showed him the things that women are okay at, but men tend to excel in. So he did a few moves, and looked pretty good doing it.

He watched me dance awhile, and enjoyed it as well. His comments made me blush a bit.

I was glad to pass on a bit of knowledge. I hope he decides to practice and stick with it because being a good dancer is a good way for a gentleman to get female attention without having to compete with the mundane. It’s a performance related skill that is directly related to one’s confidence and sexual prowess.