Again...?!?!

What is up, my dudes?

This is my third time in a week with y'all and I know that may seem weird.
I am trying to give this a real, legitimate go. 

Will I screw it up? Uh..., Duh. Of course.
Will I try to blaze forward? Yup.

Will it be three posts a week, every week? Not on your life. But there is a schedule!

Tuesdays and Thursdays will be the days I post new content. Sunday will be reserved for bonus posts or when things crop up and I just can't keep this mouth of mine shut.

That being said, you can always find me and other on brand comments, retweets, reposts, and general me-ish stuff throughout the week on all of the blog's social media platforms! You can find me creeping the corners of the internet on:

Facebook: www.facebook.com/cupcakesandcrossbows 
Twitter:@cupcakesnxbows
Instagram: @cupcakesandcrossbows
YouTube: Maybe some day, guys but not yet!

<3 

The Weight of My Weight

As an adult I have tried not to hide my fatness behind sugary words to make them more pleasing to the people around me or the strangers that see me. Fluffy. “Curvy”. Fun Size. Party Size.

Nah. I am fat.

The words out there designed to make my body more accepted and marketable to potential lovers, bosses, friends, or whoever has the misfortune of getting caught in my personal magnetic field are not my words. They are not the words I choose to define me. I do not care about someone’s discomfort with the word fat or the preoccupation society has with it. I move and giggle and take up space in a world that thinks being fat is the worst thing you can be. I live every day trying to balance the self-loathing coded in what seems to be every cell, every fiber, every particle in me with the urge to love myself and my stretched out skin and my flesh. Most days the balance tips in the direction of self-loathing, all of my progress sliding to the floor and shattering only to make the next day harder; each time asking myself do you need to radically change yourself to love yourself.

The Husband had bariatric surgery about a year and a half ago. He has done phenomenally, sticking to his medical program and shedding weight. He moves better. He feels better. Medical issues he had have cleared up. I went with him to the information session for surgery. I went to the consultation and follow ups for my own potential surgery - a gastric bypass to help with the  weight, pain, and medical issues that can sometimes accompany being fat. Everyone, the medical practitioners as well as myself, agreed I needed to work on my mental health and bring down my A1C before we could really moved forward. I never went back. Not because my process was delayed but because I can’t decide if it is right for me.

I don’t know if I have ever taken a diet seriously when I have tried to lose weight so a step like this seems drastic. I don’t exercise really. I gained back every pound I lost while working with doctors and then some. I am not happy with myself most of the time. But is something like this going to change that for me? Or will I just continue this balancing act at another size?

And then the internal argument bombards me with mixed messages that weigh me down further and make my heart ache. How can you feed into diet culture? How can you go outside when you look like this? Why let society dictate your appearance? How can you be a feminist if you think like this? Why did someone marry you, you cow? Why can’t you just practice what you preach and be stronger when it comes to body image? No one really loves you. No one really likes you, they just tolerate your existence because they feel bad for you. WHEN THE HUSBAND LEAVES YOU BECAUSE YOU ARE SO DISGUSTING, NO ONE WILL EVER WANT TO BE WITH YOU. YOU WILL DIE ALONE.

Let me tell you, this shit is exhausting. But I get it. I get why I fight this fight in my head. I preach the gospel of accepting yourself and your body to everyone yet at the end of the day I have nothing nice to say about myself or my body - other than I think my eyes are nice because they are so dark you can see through them to the depths of hell and that I am doing a-ok in the breast department. I try to reconcile this drift between who I am to myself and who I am to others. How can I continue writing as my authentic self if my self is in what seems like a lifelong civil war?

So I simmer, letting these thoughts marry until over and over the same thought bubbles to the surface gasping for oxygen: is thinness the key to happiness?

I can’t believe it is. That is one thought I can reject even if it fights its way to the top continually. Rearranging my organs can’t cause happiness. Starving myself can’t cause happiness. Fighting myself can’t cause happiness. Could this be the moment where I let go of the years of bullshit? The diet culture and shame that seem to be bred into me?  Is this where I lean in to the wind and let my weight, for once, work in my favor - letting it tip me over so I can fall in love with myself?

I will prepare a parachute, just in case.

-MPA

A Re-Introduction

Hello, Friends.

It has certainly been a minute. Life, like usual got a bit outta control. But here I am, attempting this shit again. Is it because I love failure? Is it because I have I am a glutton for beating myself up when I trip up or don't stick to a schedule? Accurate, but no. I just have a big mouth. A big mouth and a terrible desire to clog up the social media feeds of my family, friends, enemies, really...anyone and everyone. #sorrynotsorry

Now, you may be asking yourself "what has brought this broad out of hiding during the dumpster fire that is the year of our Lord 2018?" Maybe your question is "what has Trump shit on lately to make her emerge from hiding?"

The answer? Lately I feel myself being less and less authentically me. Sure, I still have weird hair that is dyed pink and some inability to filter before speaking but… Something has been missing. The blog has always been a way for me to be and feel more authentic in a world where because of work or other organizations or relationships I can’t necessarily be myself 100%. Most people see Diet MPA - just 4 calories and with a lingering aftertaste that isn’t wholly right.

This was not supposed to be the first post back. I had a lovely fluff piece on Mercury in Retrograde as a Sunday special to kick it off so I could pace myself and really see if this was worth it, if this would give me that feeling of being genuine again. I couldn’t finish it. It will sit, in my google docs until I finish it or delete it. Instead, I thought if I yearn for this validity in myself and in what I am reading on my own then I owe it to myself and the dozen people that may read this to do the same. What better way to do that than to re-introduce myself and define myself as I am right now, knocking on the door of 33 and still a mess?

So, that is what you’ll get on my return. Me. As close to 100% as I can possibly be.

I am:

Almost 33

Fat as fuck

Unhealthy

A ball of anxiety and depression

The mother of two beautiful cats

Married to someone that has managed not to divorce me even though I am A LOT to handle

The Creative Director of a Rocky Horror shadow cast

Weird

Nerdy

Confused

A witch

Most likely unable to have children

Tired

Queer

Most of these are no real surprise if you have read any posts before but while we are here, let’s unpack a few of these.

I spend a crazy amount of time in my own head. Why am I here? What am I supposed to do? What/Who am I meant to do or be? Why is the world such a mess? Why don’t my cats let me pet them more? Why are corgis the most precious of dog breeds? What am I? WHAT AM I? The world is so much more #woke now. People can define and label themselves in ways that reflect them infinitely better and more accurately than when I pondered this before. Do I define myself as a woman because it is all I have ever known? Am I a woman when I have never felt intrinsically female or male? Am I just performing a gender because it is expected? I don’t know. I don’t know what I am, other than a mess. What do I know? Finding yourself and gaining true identity is confusing and hard and the people that have, who live their truth everyday are brave af.

Yes. I am queer. GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYY.

Whatever you want to call it. I am it.

The first person I ever kissed was a girl and while I don’t remember it, I have had it retold to me many times. In an act of shame or making fun of me? I don’t know.

But you’re married.

I know it is confusing. So lemme break it down: For many years I clung to “homoflexibility” as my sexuality. That, my friends, is some garbage. Some grade A rotting garbage because it is easier to say you just do things sometimes or when drunk than it is to deal with people’s opinions of your changing. Y’all - I AIN’T GOT TIME FOR THAT SHIT ANYMORE. I define myself, right now in my truthiest truth, as pansexual. No. I don’t think pans are hot. Cast iron, copper, Teflon coating, all of that has nothing to do with it (I am flipping off my laptop right now because people think they are hilarious and ask that all the time). I like to explain it to people as: I like consenting adults. Hearts not parts? It is funny that it took me years to understand this. When I was dating my ex-girlfriend (ESCANDELO!) my mother and brother had a conversation that she relayed to me where he was not surprised because he felt I would look at a person for who they are and not anything else. RIGHT ON, BRO.

Now, let’s add some additional layers to that.

I am on an antidepressant/anxiety medication. If you have been on one or know someone who has, you know that sometimes your mental health improving comes at the expense of your desire for intimacy.

But you’re married.

I am. I had to make a decision to stay on a medication that made me suicidal but didn’t hinder my drive or change medications. I changed medications. Some days I feel like this wasn’t the right decision. Most days I feel like a terrible spouse. Add to it, the large possibility that biologically having kids is off the table too makes me feel like a terrible daughter/daughter-in-law.

But didn’t you just define your sexuality?

I did. Because that is me. When I am well. I suppose you could call me medically asexual right now for the most part. Now let’s smash it all together to create and identity!

I am a 33 year-old fat weirdo, whose gender is …?????, is pansexual but due to mental health issues basically asexual, and panromantic (I like consenting adults for romance as well as other activities). I am loud. I am proud of that identity. I am here to reign fire on issues and type until my fingers are tired. I am here to make delicious food and try crafts on Pinterest that I will ultimately fail at. I am here to laugh, and cry, and be angry. I am here.

-MPA

**side note, I just realized I never came out. I just kind of, started dating a girl and didn’t explain myself. 10/10, MPA. **

Letter to Santa (Blogmas #2)

Dear Santa,

Hey, Bruh. Hope you have had some time to relax and warm up before the workshop was back up for the year. I know I seem a bit old to write you but I have some concerns about the way you do business.

You see us when we’re sleeping. You know when we’re awake. - I have watched a LOT of police procedurals and serial killer shows. I see the signs. This behavior is stalking, Mr. Claus, and frankly it is not cool. How do you keep up this surveillance? Do you have a dedicated elf team for this? Are they paid a living wage? Do they get benefits? An employee stock option? Is there a retirement plan, 401K with a company match, or a pension plan for these pointy eared lackeys? How do they surveil? What happens to my footage? Do you sell my information to SPAM email or robo-call companies? Have you looked into selling this technology to the government? How do I get my grubby sausage hands on shares?

You know if we’ve been bad or good. - What is your criteria? Is there a general rubric or is there one based on culture? Or individual child? Do the same people grade my behavior every year? Is it anonymous to the grader? How am I guaranteed an unbiased, fair score? When is the list finalized? Can I be one one list for most of the year and then switch because of one deed? How often is behavior reviewed? Is it a highlight/lowlight reel of the year? What about those that are neither good nor bad? Is there a mediocre list? Do they get gifts?

You kiss our moms and let them tickle you under the mistletoe. If you know when we’re sleeping and when we’re awake, wouldn’t you know we were creepin’ down the stairs and watching this madness? This is NOT the way we want to find out if your parents were swingers or had an open relationship. What’s in my stocking? “Merry Christmas, kiddo, here’s an ancestry kit. Let’s see if you are native North Polian?”

Have you updated your lists to include all genders? It is 2017, Sir. I suggest you get on it.

What are your policies for working animals? What is their housing situation?

Why did you let all the other reindeer be so mean to Rudolph? Y’all saw the light when you were in need though. (see what I did there? PUN CENTRAL)

Do you hold town hall meetings to address these issues? Can you send me the minutes that pertain to my concerns?

While you’re at it, and if there is room on your sleigh, I would like:

*A Corgi

*A new phone, preferably an iPhone

*A 1968 or 1969 Chevy Nova, in olive green. Teal, purple or black are also acceptable.

*Tahitian black pearl stud earrings

*A house with an ocean view but far enough that I don’t have to worry about beach goer’s stealing my parking or tsunamis.

*If all out of ocean view homes, a farm is also a-ok with me. 2 cows, 2 goats, 2 sheep, 1 large orange barn cat, and mad veggies growing, please.

*Some Cinderella and Snow White vibes. I want the forest critters to be my friends. And help me clean. And do my hair.

*A food truck. Either one for desserts (no name chosen) or Hawaiian food (Everyone Gets Lei’d)

*All the tattoos I want but without the money or pain

*The ability to sing without making the ears of those around me bleed

*To be independently wealthy

*World peace

Sincerely,

MPA

WTF is Blogmas? (Blogmas #1)

And out of the chimney - burnt AF and covered in soot as well as other gross things you find in a chimney (...old feathers? Cobwebs? I have never been inside one so I have nothing to go on but I don’t suggest google image searching it. LEARN FROM MY MISTAKES) - the blogger emerges, rambling incoherently about blogmas while others look on in horror.

“OMG. What happened to them?”

“How long have they been in there?”

“Can cobwebs really be used to style hair?"

“And WTF is blogmas anyway?”

*dusts self off*

Hi.

What’s up, readers?

Long time no communicado, huh?

Am I burnt? Not literally. Burnt out. Exhausted. Overwhelmed. Riding in the front of the struggle bus - sure.

Since our last meeting I am: on a slew of meds. Had said slew changed. Withdrew from some I shouldn’t have and man did that suck. Got back on them. Added more. Tweaked dosages. I spend most days dizzy, nauseated, feeling like an emotionless robot, feeling like I have too many emotions, with the bubbleguts, or some combination of all of this. Usually the combination IS all of this. It isn’t fun. By the end of the work day, I have all I can do to curl up on the couch and watch cartoons - cartoons because I can’t really handle anything deeper. Which is rough for someone who binge watches shows about serial killers on the reg (side note - if you got the Netflix: Mind Hunter was a pretty dope show and it was shot really beautifully).  I quit smoking. I started smoking. I fight with myself about smoking. I found out the hard way that the small percent of folks that have the really bad side effects of medication are not just the poor mice they tested them on and also that testing on mice is pretty useless in general even if it is the scientific norm. It has been a wild ride. Most days, just existing feels like unconvincing performance art.

In all of this, I have tried to reassert dominance in the battle for who I am and not letting feeling/being unwell daily define me. I started dabbling in the witchcraft again (and I use dabble only because it isn’t anything else at this point - I am honestly overwhelmed by it but I am overwhelmed by everything). I fleeked myself out by getting claws and re-dying my hair. I try to do things that feel like Me but most days I am unsure I know who Me is.

2017-2018 has been….

Y’all it has been a thing.

I joke around and say things like “my life is as much of a dumpster fire as this year has been in politics” but… I don’t think it is too far off. (Yes. I did say that to a nurse doing my intake at the doctor’s before bursting into tears and weeping about my life [please see note about withdrawals being real]) I have been to some deep, dark places. I have had some stellar moments as well. I am trying to climb my way out but it isn’t easy and it sure as hell isn’t quick.

But this, and by this i mean blogging, brought me some kind of happiness. I get like….maybe 60 readers a post. It is not like I am queen of the blogger community or anything. It was just my thoughts in an open forum for a hand full of people. An open line to my brain which is often a weird place. I think somewhere in this mess, I missed that. So I crawled out to face the internet again and decided Blogmas was a nice way to force my hand.

But like….WTF is Blogmas?

Blogmas is a challenge of sorts in December where someone posts daily (for 12 or 24 or 25 days depending on what you are looking at) and those posts are typically holiday themed. In my old age, I have taken on some of my mother’s traits - the most present being bitten with the holiday spirit. I mean, if it is a holiday and it is between October 1 and December 31st I AM ON IT. Christmas starts the day after Thanksgiving. Halloween is year round. This year, I gotta confess, I don’t feel it. I haven’t felt any of it. I don’t feel like putting up a tree. Or listening to my Indie Christmas channel.

So maybe the next 24 days will get me into the habit of writing more or at least the spirit of Christmas...or both. #YOLO

**as for cobwebs being used to style hair...I could see it.**

PSA: My (Unpopular) Opinion About Voting

Tomorrow is a day that should be fantastic - it is my grandmother’s birthday! This year, it is overshadowed by the election. An election that is scaring the shit out of me and many of my friends as well as family. This election season has divided us as a country but it has also made us look at the people around us differently, re-evaluating the ties to those nearest and dearest. Social media has been an amazing platform not only to learn and interact with candidates but to also spread their ideas, getting information out to all corners but it has also been a mechanism to widen the divide between us.

If you have read anything on here before, you can probably accurately guess where I land on the political spectrum (if you guessed left, congrats! If you guess liberal left, congrats as well! Give yourself a rainbow colored star, friend). I gotta tell you, I was truly feeling the Bern. I liked what Bernie had to say, what he wanted to accomplish… But my candidate did not win the party nomination. What my candidate did do was push issues and rev people up. Much of Bernie’s platform was adopted by Hillary. That is immense. Yes, he was wronged. No, she is not perfect. However, we have to look at what the Sanders movement accomplished. The #BernieOrBust movement, the #BernieBros that refuse to vote blue need to see that keeping Bernie in office with a candidate that has adopted his platform is more useful to us than voting Third Party or for Trump. We (and by we I mean the supporters of Sanders) started something beautiful. We saw the rise of a candidate that shook up the political world by giving people, especially young people, what they want and need. The only way to keep that momentum is to #votebluenomatterwho.

I don’t want totake up your time with talking about how terrible Trump is or how Hillary is better or all of the unnecessary drama that surrounds them.

I want to ask you, if you have not voted early, to think not only about yourself and your feelings before voting. Before you fill out that ballot ask yourself how does this affect us as a nation? We were a nation built to get away from religious persecution. We are a melting pot of culture and religion, race, creed, sexuality, and gender. When you cast that ballot consider how it will affect the safety of your countrymen. Yes, we make mistakes and misstep but there are issues simmering that need to be addressed. There are lives at stake. Our progress as a nation is at stake.

Tomorrow is not the day to vote Third Party. Tomorrow is not the day to cast your vote in “defiance” or “rebellion”. It is not the day to claim your vote is part of a movement. Elections are a numbers game - it is a hard truth. We are a two party system right now and we do not have the luxury to change that now. You want a revolution? You want a movement? Start it on November 9th. Let it gain momentum until the next election cycle and see what can be done. Until then, save yourself and your friends, coworkers, family, classmates… Save your nation. Look to the past to see what people like Trump have done around the world. I am afraid for myself. I am afraid for my friends and family.

Tomorrow, I hope you remember America has always been great and it takes all of us working toward the goal of freedom for everyone to keep it that way.

Sorry this got heavy, ya’ll. It has been weighing me down for a while.

#NastyWoman out.

-MPA

And Then... 31

As I start this post, it is 11:54 PM on the eve of my 31st year. Tomorrow I will be overwhelmed by posts on my Facebook wall, receive texts from friends and family, maybe even a few calls (one of which will no doubt be my grandmother singing happy birthday to me, just as she has for every year I can remember). I will be humbled by an outpouring of love I often feel I don't deserve. I will worry that too much of a fuss will be made over something as trivial as I find myself. It is the one day in 365, the 24 hours in 8,760 where people celebrate me... And it is my least favorite day.

Since beginning this blog I have seen myself grow and shrink (literally and figuratively), felt myself slip further into depression, let anxiety hold me back from being my authentic self, and I let myself believe the voice deep inside that gnaws on your dreams while enumerating each fear or worry or negative thought about yourself. I have seen myself furiously research things I am passionate about to not write an article or create something because I don't feel that I, or anything I create, is worthy of positive attention. I have cried myself to sleep over my wasted potential and feeling stuck at work, only to bash myself for believing I had potential at all. I have disconnected myself from family and friends for fear that my failure, my issues, my darkness will somehow taint their lives. It is a lonely road. Is it painful? Yeah. Is it for the best? In my head, yes but in reality... *shrug*

This is why I haven't written. Anything I have to say or want to get out is being said by people that can say it better. At least that is how I have viewed it. It is in moments like that or enormius breakdowns that The Husband would often suggest I go see someone. This suggestion felt like an attack. I understand he just wants me to feel bettee. To work through everything so I can get to a place where I don't hate me or feel less than. But, I am hot headed and would never take it that way. He stopped saying it, knowing that I could not see what he was getting at.

Lately my own negative feelings, depression, anxiety, guilt over not being where I or anyone else thought I would be  have been growing. I shed tears daily over it. I get panic attacks over nothing. I felt like my spirit and my will were broken. I knew I didn't want to feel like that and it often felt like my soul could not take much more. In the back of my head, in the way back where the mostly empty boxes covered in cobwebs are, I knew I needed to speak to someone but I can't bring myself to call family let alone a doctor. I stumbled across a link to an article by fat babe Virgie Tovar, who I find hella inspirational, about online therapy. Specifically a service called Talkspace. The idea is you have a private chat room with your therapist where you cant text/instant message instead of being face to face. There are also different tiers of membership that include video chat if you want a slightly more traditional experience. I reasearched it. Read other article on it and all the reviews I could get my hands in. I talked it over with The Husband and decided that it couldn't hurt to try. I hemmed and hawed, thought about not doing it, voiced that opinion, but decided I had to do something.

About 12 days ago, I signed up for Talkspace. It seemed practical given my issues setting up appointments and after doing the math it was less expensive than traditional office visits with my insurance. It was scary. I hated every second of answering the questions they have so you can be matched with someone. I felt vulnerable ,which isn't my jam.  I was worried they wouldn't be able to match me with someone. Or that I would say the wrong things. Or get matched with a therapist I didn't jive with so it would take forever to get into a groove. Guys, it was understandable to be worried but it was for nothing. My therapist is rad. In a dozen days, I have learned that I am not crazy or wrong or broken. I just need to work through some shit. And while I don't think I am magically fixed or back to good I have cried less, worried less, been less anxious, had fewer panic attacks, and have been less low than normal.

We've now slipped past midnight and into my birthday. My birthday gift to me is to try and cut myself some slack; try to blame myself less for things out of my control, try to stop moving the goal post when I think I am worthy of something, and shit... maybe even stop trying to run away from happiness.

My birthday gift to you all is to share a few things I have learned so far in hopes if you are down or struggling in your own darkness it may shine a little light in to help you find your way:

•  We hold on to the things we went through as kids. We use it in a multitude of ways to navigate this shit storm called life.  What got us through then isn't relevant now. We keep changing and evolving but those learned behaviors don't. Instead of them morphing into what we need now they hinder growth.

• You get to define you and your life. Your idea of worthiness, your goal of happiness should not hinge on the thoughts and dreams of others. You get to be the master of your own destiny and should not feel guilty or like you have let everyone you have ever known down because you took a different path. Be your authentic self. Find the courage to stand as yourself and not what others wish you to be. Live your life for you. (Deep, right?  I am working in this real hard)

• Stop planning life. Seriously.

• Make a list of the things you are interested in. Really. No matter how small. Read the list. It probably sounds like someone you would want to be friends with. Think about how you treat yourself versus how you would treat that friend. Fucked up, huh? Treat yourself like the friend. Be your own friend. Treat yo' self. Take care of yourself.

• If this Talkspace thing sounds interesting or you have questions, holla at me. I am happy to chat about the process and how it works. I also have referral codes that discount a month of service if you are thinking about it but worried about cost.

So, Cheers to 31. May this year bring me closer to peace of mind, happiness, and plenty of corgis to pet.

-MPA