The first and only time a boy asked me to a dance, I was his last resort. I was a freshman in high school and had never been to a dance. I was excited, waiting to see who might ask me–no one did. About a week before the dance, my friend Ted called me to lament his fourth rejection. I told him I didn’t have a date either.
“Maybe, do you want to go with me?” Ted said, the notion just occurring to him.
“Oh,” I said, “Are you sure you want to ask me?”
“Let me ask this one girl first,” he said, “then I’ll get back to you.”
He hung up the phone.
About an hour later he called me back (after asking out another two girls) and asked me to the dance. I still said yes, and Ted was my date to my first dance. It was then that something horrible was ingrained in me– I am last pick.
Fast-forward thirteen years, I am presently the only single person in my friend group. I do not mean this to sound pitiful, it’s merely a fact. About six months ago everyone in my world decided to reenact that scene in Bambi where they all frolic around and get “twitterpated,” leaving me to wonder what they’ve been smoking. It’s highly unpleasant, but I can’t say I’m not used to it. I have simply come to accept the fact that being overweight makes you invisible. This is not a sweeping generalization, it’s a tested theory.
I. Hate. Clubbing. I hate everything about it. I have only done it twice, but it was enough. The second time was on Halloween two years ago. I went because I had gotten it into my head that since I had never dressed up as a “sexy ______” and gone to a house party, I hadn’t really lived my twenties correctly. So I took the plunge and dressed as Sexy Han Solo.
Now, a bit of backstory. I attended this shindig with my friend Julieanne. Julieanne is one of the most beautiful people I have ever met. She has eyes that shift between shades of turquoise and violet. She is tall and slender. She has the kind of allure people go crazy for (and she’s presently taken, so don’t get any ideas). She is also INSANELY smart, hilarious, kind, and creative. She’s amazing.
So there I was, Sexy Han Solo, dancing next to my should-be-a-model friend Julieanne. After the first five minutes, the situation became very apparent as, needless to say, the men flocked to Jules while I remained…solo.
Instead of letting this get me down though, I decided to conduct a social experiment. I scanned the crowd to find someone who looked the most like he belonged on the early days of Big Bang Theory (before they all got “cool” with awesome girlfriends). I was looking for my own terribly awkward, pre-Bernadette Howard…and I found him.
Standing not too far away from Julieanne and I was a fellow I thought might be perfect. Like me, he did not fit into L.A.’s ridiculous standards of “attractiveness,” so I thought I might have a chance of climbing out from my invisibility cloak and having someone dance with me. I moved a little bit away from Julieanne and positioned myself near my “Howard.” He didn’t notice me. I moved a little closer. He still didn’t look at me. He was looking at someone else. I practically stepped on his foot. Still no luck. Then I noticed who he was looking at. He was looking at Julieanne, ignoring me completely, even thought Jules was already dancing with someone else.
A little hurt, but unsurprised I attempted this method twice more–picking men who I thought might be “in my league,” because they were the not-Ryan-Gosling to my not-Emma-Stone. No luck. Every Howard wants a Penny, (which I am not) making me feel invisible.
Perhaps you might say, “that can’t be true” or “people are more shallow in clubs, it can’t be everywhere.” Then I’ll tell you about the times I stand on the corner, waiting for the light to change, and of fellows who do not look up from their cell phones until a thinner lady walks up. I’ll tell you about the times I stood in line at coffee shops and no one looked up from their phones until a thin girl walked in and everyone talked to her. Or of the time I was flirting with the bartender all night, but he gave his number to the thin (and taken) friend beside me who was giving him no encouragement. I have been bought a drink once. I have been asked to dance twice. I have been asked out on a date once. I have never been asked for my number by a stranger. But this is not my “woe is me” moment–this is simply a relaying of facts. The more pounds you weigh, the more invisible you feel.
I’m sure that if I lost weight I would come up with something else to be insecure about (the other day I felt insecure because I ordered the Pina Colada I wanted instead of the Old Fashion I thought men might want me to have [my Feminist-self dying in agony] and I felt insecure about my white frothy drink with an umbrella). There will always be something to be insecure about, but someday, if this thing works and I lose the 60+ pounds I’d like to–maybe I could see what life looks like out from under my invisibility cloak.
This Weeks Facts: Weight: 210lbs How do you feel?: Weary. I’ve been fighting the same on pound for four weeks. Likely I need to get more serious about this and get a stricter diet, but I’m caught in the terrifying wake of this being “forever,” and damn hot wings taste so good. Small Victory: I workedout three days last week. Biggest Disappointment: It’s Girl Scout Cookie season. It was Super Bowl–need I say more?. Thing I appreciated about my body this week: I have a good singing voice and fingers to play the guitar with Other notes: If I didn’t have this blog, I would have given up already.