Tall and thin isn't great

I normally try to keep the blog a complain-free zone.  Today you're going to have to excuse me while I throw a temper tantrum.

"Oh my gosh, you are soooo skinny!"
Every single one of us have said it at some point in time.  Please, let's every single one of us erase this sentence from our vocabulary.  As well-meaning as it may be, it is often not well-received.

1. You wouldn't walk up to someone who's overweight and say, "Oh my gosh, you are sooooo fat."  Would you?

2. A lot of times it's followed up with a concern--either verbally or mentally--about how much the "stick" eats.  I understand and appreciate the concern.  Eating disorders are a problem in today's society, absolutely.  But do you really think your question about how much he/she eats is really the best way to approach the (suspected) problem?  I have a close friend who has strugged with an eating disorder.  She says comments, even complements, on her weight now are well-meaning but they make her cringe.  She hates words like "healthy" and "well" because of the connotations they have, even if those connotations are ones she's put on them.

As someone who has always been skinny, the question about what I eat is down right obnoxious and, frankly, borderline rude.  If you want to know about my eating habits, watch me devour a steak dinner.  It was delicious the first time.  There is no possible way I'd like to taste it a second.

3. "Try finding pants that fit." 
That's usually my response to people who feel the need to give me this counter-productive complement.  I've written many a blog-rant from fitting rooms as I'm choking back tears of frustrations.  It happened again today.  Before we left on our shopping excursion, Laura, Mom, and I took measurements.  My waist?  Yup, ended in a .5.  Hips?  --.75.  Inseam?  --.25.  It's no wonder clothes don't fit me!  We arrived at the store, and I picked out a pair of jeans one .5 larger than my measured waist.  They were great... if I were going for a muffin-top look.  I searched for pants one size bigger (which is really two sizes since all of the pants were even numbered).  Perfect, if I wanted to store a book in the back of my pants.  Mom miraculously was able to find the odd number, the middle size.  Too small in the front; too big in the back.  Just my luck!  Discouraged, we left, and I realized I have one alternative to this constant fight: nudist colony.

Please, I beg you, just leave the weight subject alone. If you must make a complement about a physical aspect of a girl's body, pick her hair, her eyes, her smile.  Tell her she's beautiful but don't use her weight to justify your opinion.

Thanks for letting me vent.  I'd love to hear your thoughts, if you agree or if you think I'm crazy.

<>< Katie

Dreamer

My sister sent me a message that said, "Look, it's you!" Along with the link to an article about a man who screams bizarre statements while sleeping.

Yes, I do talk in my sleep. However, unlike the man in the article, I don't have a wife (or husband or roommate) to write down my weird night-time quotes. While I do record the dreams I remember in the morning, I will not be putting a tape recorder in my bedroom at night. Instead, I'll be forever doomed to remember my classic line, "NO, DADDY, I DON'T WANNA WEAR THOSE PANTS!"

I've got a wide variety of dreams. Some of them very creative like the dream about turning into a shoe (that's going to become a short story for class). Sometimes they make me nervous. The dream about taking a long fall off of a pier and into a field of cat tails made me nervous because I sleep on the top bunk... But I was relieved to wake up still in bed! I have learned that if I'm having a nightmare/ super weird dream, I'm probably cold. Well, I'm almost always cold no matter how many layers I wear and our air conditioned apartment isn't helping. Thus, I've had a lot of weird dreams lately.

I firmly believe God still speaks through dreams and the other night he caught my attention again.

The other night I had this dream where my "uncle" had gone blind. At first we were all fed up with his new loss of sight because he was running everywhere without a real care. However, eventually we accepted it.

When I woke up, I thought some more about it. Just because he lost his sight doesn't mean he was living his life in fear. If I lost my sight, I'd be scared to move, but he was flying everywhere, not afraid to fall. Without sight, he had no fear.

Without sight of Gods' plans, do you have fear? Are you willing to fall? Are you willing to fail? Are you willing to be lifted up again?

"For God gave us a spirit not of fear but of power and love and self-control."
2 Timothy 5:7 (emphasis mine)

<>< Katie