Note to Self:

Dear Danielle,


Being in a fatter part of the country is not an excuse to get fatter.  Trust me, girl... you blend.  


People think of New York as being a breeding ground for top models and California as being The Home of the Tall, Blonde, Tanned, and Beautiful.  Considering I was born and raised in California and am not tall OR blonde (except once, when my friend and stylist, Wendy, set out to prove a point... that she could, in fact, achieve Perfect Blondeness on absolutely anyone.  She made her point, I was blonde, and quite frankly, it was hell to keep up with.  I've personally never achieved tall-ness, even with the assistance of stilettos.  Even in heels, I'm still short) these stereotypes aren't necessarily based on complete truth.  There ARE tall, tanned, blonde, beautiful people running amok on the glorious beaches of Califiornia, but I've never been one of them.  


I was, however, the short, tanned, brunette girl running amok and working it right along with them.  


And while New York city is indeed The Mother Ship for whippet-thin model wannabes and their ilk, upstate New York is a whole other country, yo. 


I'm in a part of the state that apparently hasn't gotten the memo that hair-styles and fashion have evolved since the permed mullet made it's hideous debut in the late 1980s.  Mom jeans, tennis shoes, and tucked in t-shirts with no belt can be found on women of every age and size in every "village" and "township"  (I still think that's weird... why not just have freaking cities and counties?  Why do Dan's parents live in the Village of Antwerp, next to the Town of Antwerp?  Why is the Village of Norfolk on the outskirts of the Town of Norfolk?  Why?  WHY??) within a 100 mile radius.   Fat bottomed girls with bad hair and no fashion sense are the norm here.    


Unfortunately, this is making me complacent.  I don't have to work very hard to stand out and feel at least as stylish as the trendiest person in the room.  


More and more often I find myself sliding into my Fat Pants (we all have a pair... or two),  a comfy t-shirt with thermal underneath, and my Uggs (Baby Jesus forgive me for this) when I need to run to the bank or the market.  As long as I'm rocking the hair and make-up, I feel like the rest of me can tag along in not so fabulous clothes.    


And in case I haven't noticed, my "fat pants" are fitting rather well these days.  


And my smaller pants are getting a little... shall we say... uncomfortable.  


And the muffin top this is creating is getting poofier and more muffin-y with each passing day.


And when I'm not facing the public, I'm in sweatpants.  Like, the second I enter my apartment, the jeans come off and the sweats go on.  The fact that I change in the morning out of pajama pants and into sweatpants is not a good sign.  The truth is that the only reason I get out of pajamas at ALL is so that I don't look like such a couch potato when Dan gets home (because being partially dressed is indicative of... what?  That I DIDN'T spend the day bored out of my mind and trying to find something to do?  That I live a secret life where being dressed is important and necessary, even if it IS my faded, holy, University of Pink sweatpants?).  I don't know if he's fooled by my ploy of appearing busier than I actually am, but this is my ugly truth.  


So yeah, it's time to wake up and yank the donut out of my mouth, y'all.  "Fitting in" is definitely NOT the goal I want to achieve. 


I've never been the girl that wants to be like everyone else, so why start now?  


To quote Dr. Phil, "This will be a changing day in your life."


Starting...


NOW.


(The fact that I quoted Dr. Phil is a sign of desperation.)