My Life as a Nomad

I have many positive associations with multicolored nylon fabrics fashioned into large structures. Also known as tents.

Circus Tents 

Who doesn't love the circus?  Unless you have a huge fear of clowns or had a bad experience as a child, I think that any excuse to watch animals and eat nachos and cotton candy under the big top is a win.

Camping Tents

I grew up camping. My sister and I had Mickey Mouse tent that we would set up in our basement to play in and later a small purple one. Sometimes we went on family camping trips and occasionally we would go crazy and pitch it in the back yard!  I think there was one summer when I spent a whole week sleeping out in the tent. And then in high school, camping became a great excuse to have uni-sex sleepovers! Oh, and s'mores.

Parachute Tents

This is probably my favorite association. I LOVED to play with the parachute as a child. Probably for longer than I should have enjoyed it. I loved to play popcorn (were you throw balls in the middle and toss them around) and I always wanted to jump in the middle and get tossed around too.  I realize now that would not work so well... anyways, my second favorite part was when you lift the parachute up really high and then duck under and sit on the edge- creating a large tent with a hole in the top where you can see the sky.  And then is slowly starts to deflate around you... totally safe...

With all these positive tent associations it is regrettable that I now have a negative association to share.  See, when you get the news that your house is being tented, it does not mean that you get animals, s'mores, or hours of tactile play time (unfortunately).  It means that there are termites in the building and that you are being kicked out for two days while they cover the building (in a pretty tent!) and fumigate with poisonous gas. (Yep, I looked it up.  When they assure me that the gas is not water soluble, I immediately become curious as to its other properties... *cough* Chem nerd *cough*)

 

 

 

And for those of you that are unfamiliar, this is what my complex normally looks like...

 

 

 

The Elephant in the Room...

So there is one VERY obvious difference between LA and the Midwest that I have avoided talking about for quite some time now. Not because it doesn't come into play in my life nearly everyday, but simply because acknowledging it, especially so publicly, makes it real. And having this become real puts me at risk for being uncomfortable and possibly feeling bad about myself. However, the point of this blog is to be open, honest, and push myself; embracing change and new experiences. So, in that spirit, it's time for me to admit that when I go almost anywhere in LA, I become the elephant in the room.  Like, literally the largest person in a sea of toothpicks.

**DISCLAIMER: I do not think I'm fat.  You may think I'm fat, and that's fine, you are entitled to your opinion. I am also not writing this for sympathy or reassurance.  I am not fishing for complements.  I'm trying to broach a topic that plagues FAR TOO MANY women today with some honesty and humor. Hopefully it will at least make someone smile; at best I would love to help someone feel like they aren't so alone when they are sitting on a bench outside of a store that makes seemingly child-sized clothes, waiting for their friends.  Also, for those of you that have never met me in person, I am 6 feet tall. End scene.

Ahem, back to my original point. Seriously.  I'm not kidding. Most days it feels like this:

 Buuuttt some days it feels like this:

I'm swear I'm not exaggerating either. I have never bumped into so many things with my ass when just trying to walk through a place; tables, clothes racks, bar stools, the occasional person in yoga class... it is pretty obvious that the businesses of this city are not planning for people of my stature and girth as their clientele.