Is this thing on? Good. I have been having the devil’s own time trying to actually get online and let me tell you friends, it is seriously cutting into my Looking At Footballer Thighs time and also you know, doing my JOB.

Last night my BFF and I went to an “Irish” pub in Arlington, VA called Ri Ra which was the whitest place I’ve been in my life, and I’ve actually BEEN to Ireland. It was okay, but they had Magners/Balmers cider, which my pal loves mightily and is nearly impossible to find on tap in her vicinity.

We were reminiscing about Ireland and how much better everything in the world would be if we shuffled loose the bonds of jobitude and moved there forever, or at least got to go back to our favorite pub. Oh, and while I’m on the subject of Ireland, there is a small, dedicated army of Huffypants who are convinced I don’t like Ireland. I LOVE Ireland and Ireland loved me right back (at this point Meghan just shouted “They sure did girl!” man, those were good times).

So to carry on a theme from Twistie’s question about having unlimited disposable income –btw, getting custom shoes isn’t that expensive if you order them from Argentina– and worrying about losing my connection at any moment, today I’d like to know, if you could be anywhere in the world right now, where would you be?

I’d be back in midwestern Ireland with Meghan amid all that beer and history and gorgeous, eager Irish lads.

What about you?

Hey gang, I’ll be a little scarce around these parts for a few days as I’ve got to drive across this great nation of ours a couple times and I promised the nice officer I wouldn’t type while driving anymore. So to tide you over, here are a handful of some of my favorite blogs, guaranteed to delight, amaze and occasionally titillate.

Kickette. Possibly the greatest website in the world and frankly I don’t know how I’m NOT working for them. Two-time WAG with a love of gin and the beautiful game? Call me! I’ll let you borrow the Birkin!

The Royal Order of Sartorial Splendor. Fantastic informational and entertaining site on all things regal. Fashion-wise the blogger’s taste is all in her mouth, but aside from that, the content is brilliant and I WISH I was as dedicated to y’all (although I totally am) as she is to her blog.

Night is Half Gone. Occasionally NSFW thoughts and musings from Jason, living in “post-diluvian New Orleans”. His conversations with his mother are fantastic, and not just because she’s now my personal Old Lady Role Model.

Centuries of Advice and Advertisements. A tumblr feed that does what it says on the tin. I love it.

Doing Hard Time in Shaker Heights. Also occasionally NSFveryconservativeW. Alternately sweet, salty and –when the men are involved, sweaty– blog from the famous Cool Cookie. Don’t you want to know about the Cruel Filipina Dominatrix trying to sell her house? Of course you do!

SO much.

If you have any sort of history of food restriction, whether from dieting, or medical stuff, or an eating disorder, or food scarcity of any kind; from financial reasons, or barriers to getting food, or the inability to prepare the food you’ve got – your body is, frankly, not going to trust you.

Even after you start giving yourself permission.

I imagine that, inside all of us, is a small, vulnerable animal (one of my wonderful students calls it the “fuzzy self”) who just needs to know it will be taken care of, and that it will be fed.

And who’s responsible for the care and feeding of fuzzy self? Yep, it’s you.

If you no longer feel clear hunger or fullness signals (aside from desperation hunger or uncomfortable overfullness), there’s probably been a breach of trust, and it’s probably been going on for a while.

If you want to get back to a state of normalcy with hunger and satiety, and to regain comfort with the idea of eating, then it’s time to repair that relationship.

But rebuilding trust requires more than just saying the words of permission; it requires action.

One of my favourite quotes from Epictetus is -

“True happiness is a verb. It is the ongoing, dynamic performance of worthy deeds.”

Read the rest of the article, heck, read the whole site. She says what I wish I could, only more eloquently and with fewer references to gin and soccer players.

Oh man, are you kidding me with this stuff? I was perusing a textbook on how to teach English as a foreign language when they handily suggested writing these adjectives on the board and discussing their meaning. Hmm, I wonder if I can spot a theme.

Let’s see, Happy. It’s good to be happy right? Everyone wants to be happy!

Interesting. Well no one wants to be boring, so obviously everyone wants to be happy too!

Nice. We’re told from childhood to Be Nice and Play Nice. The most basic descriptor of a decent person? They’re nice.

Pretty. Heroines are pretty! The prettiest girl in school is a much sought-after title. Prettiness is power!

Thin.  To borrow a word from my Jewish brothers and sisters “Oy”.

Ten Rules for Fat Girls by author and twitter addict Dianne Sylvan.

What do you think? What rule would you add? What rule would you take away?

Wow. I’ve got to be honest; I was not expecting such a strong reaction from the Can’t I Just Be Fat piece, but boy am I glad I got one.

One thing I want to clarify is I think it’s important to be able to call yourself fat without it being A Thing, but that doesn’t mean you can’t ever use any other words. I call myself a big girl all the time. For example, one afternoon in Mexico a friend took me on a stroll around the city and I was wearing the most adorable leg-lengthening pair of Joseph Griffin espadrilles on the planet.

Your pal Plummy is already a long drink of water and the heels on those bad boys are about six inches so I was wending my way through the calles of Baja at just around 6’4″. A quick google tells me the average height of a woman in Mexico is 5’1″ and the hombres a hair over 5’5″, so I’m wandering around somewhere between a foot and a foot and a half taller than almost everyone on the street. When I retell that story I say “huge” not “fat” because “fat” doesn’t tell enough of the story. Walking down the street with a fat girl isn’t generally enough to cause open-mouthed stares on the streets down Mexico way. Walking down the street with a fat girl who also happens to be extremely tall, extremely fair and wearing immaculately-pressed white linen mini-dress with matching portrait hat…that’s another story. He might as well have been Kate Hepburn and I made a very fine leopard on a string.

As I leave you this afternoon, I’d like to post a few of the more thought-provoking comments from Wednesday’s post and invite you to continue the conversation here. Have a great weekend gang, and I’ll see you on the flipside.

Miss B wrote:
I had an experience with this recently. I was having a conversation with a friend, who probably wears a size 18, while I wear a 24. I referred to myself as fat, and she said, “No, don’t call yourself that! You’re not fat! You have a pretty face, you have pretty hair, and you dress well! You aren’t fat!” I was surprised that her definition of fat meant sloppy, ugly, and having bad taste. I told her that I was fat, and I was fine with being fat.

Thea wrote:
I think ‘fat’ like many pejorative words and phrases can only be reclaimed by the people who live it. And like so many other pejoratives – if you try and ‘claim’ it or even use it casually when you don’t belong to the group, you are likely to get decked.

I call myself fat, and I’ve also seen my friends flinch on my behalf when I use the word and tell me to ‘stop talking about yourself like that.’

As an experiment, I alternatively describing myself as ‘dumb blonde’, ‘dippy’ and ‘bimbo’. I was gently corrected by people who love me for using all those words, but not with the venom of when I called myself fat.

So why I call myself fat, I do realize that for many people, even who live it, it’s still the worst insult in the world. And I don’t want to insult others unless I mean it. Fat people get enough of that in the world.

Cat wrote:
I write for a fashion and beauty blog that is intended to be inclusive of women of every size. I write mostly beauty product reviews, but occasionally do an outfit post in which I write about a particular look and include options in various sizes. I always shy away from using the word “fat” because I am not fat myself and I don’t want it to be taken as an insult. I usually say, “plus size” or “larger girls” or something along those lines, but I always wonder if that’s worse than just saying “fat.” What do you think? Is it the type of reclaimed word that’s acceptable only within the group to which it applies, or can skinny girls say it, too?

Marsha wrote:
The reason that I don’t use the word in daily discourse is that I’m not into ironic self-related rhetoric. I think it’s possible that people with whom I interact on a daily basis (colleagues, friends, my husband) may have forgotten that I’m fat, what with my wit, charm, and shockingly green eyes and all. If I remind them by using the word, it can only be to my detriment.

(this nearly made me cry, if I was a huggy person I’d give you a hug Marsha –ed.)

Due to unforeseen side effects, the Miss Plumcake Synchronized Belt Exerciser Class will be cancelled until further notice. The California schedule will continue as usual.