Max died yesterday morning. Our old, arthritic cocker spaniel couldn’t manage to die peacefully in his sleep- no, he had to tumble down the stairs and break every bone in his body. We don’t go quietly into the night, We Gattones. It’s a testament to Max’s importance to our family that as much of my family as could do so made the trip to the vet’s office to be with him while he died. He went with his boots on and died in the arms of the woman he loved most (that would be my mother). An honorable death, and I suspect one Max would have preferred to going quietly in his sleep.

Max wasn’t our dog. We were his people. He so had the Gattone personality- he barked so much when he was outside Mom and Dad had to put a bark collar on him (which my brother stupidly put over his own throat and found out it works by zapping you), he was constantly running so fast that he would trip over his paws and slide across the hardwood floors and he ate pretty much whatever you handed to him or made the mistake of putting within his reach. If any of us were fighting or wrestling he jumped into the middle of it. Not to defend anyone, mind you, just for the pure joy of fighting.

Ever since my brother Anthony gave me the news, I’ve been crying off and on. I did what I think he would have done himself if able- had a good long walk, ate a cheeseburger for lunch. I think the best way I can honor him is to list the things he taught me and that we all could learn from:

1. Max got off his leash once as a puppy and was chased by a bigger neighbor dog. I chased him for about a block before he heard me calling him and just stopped, turned around, and waited for me to catch up, tail wagging, and let me hook his leash back on. He also knew when my mother was due home from work every day (how?!?) and waited by the door for her.

Lesson: If you love someone, you should wait for them.

2. Max always barked when he went outside to announce his presence.

Lesson: Always make an entrance.

3. Max used to climb the porch stairs and stare right into the family room window and watch us eat with sad eyes. If he was in the house, he would hang out under the table, and would stick his muzzle in the laps of people he knew he had a chance of getting food from. He let us know he was out of water by shoving the empty dish at us. He would chew on your hand to show affection and demand yours by rolling onto his back or shoving his head under your hand. He never got that he was too big to be carried like a puppy and unapologetically climbed onto the leather furniture til my parents gave up and let him stay on it.

Lesson: Never be too ashamed to go after what you want and go after it til you get it.

4. Ryan had charmed everyone else, but Max always growled at him when he came into our house. Max was right in the end.

Lesson: If you get a bad feeling about something or someone, trust it.

5. His first Christmas I got him some Beggin’ Strips. They were too big and tough for him to handle but darned if he didn’t try and try until finally I broke it into small pieces he would handle.

Lesson: Don’t be too proud to take help when you need it.

6. When Max was neutered, he wouldn’t let my parents, who had taken him to the vet, near him for the rest of the night. The next morning he was back to his loving self with everyone.

Lesson: When someone does something that hurts you (intentionally or not), its okay to need some space. But you also need to forgive.

7. Max would lay on the armchair and listen to Anthony play the piano and sing for hours but would howl whenever I sang.

Lesson: There’s no accounting for taste.

8. The groomers would always put a kerchief on Max’s neck and he wore it politely until my mom took it off. There was also an ugly sweater for when it got cold.

Lesson: There will be times when you look awfully foolish, be it by your hand or someone else’s, and you may be humiliated. But you can also bear it gracefully.

9. Max never walked anywhere he couldn’t run to, he didn’t let any dangling food go unsnatched, and he was completely oblivious to your situation when he decided he wanted to lay on your lap.
10. Lesson: When opportunity knocks, hurry your ass there.

11. Max’s idea of a great present was usually a bird, maybe a mouse or chipmunk. It was disgusting, but he always presented them so sweetly. Note: This was usually my mother’s problem.

Lesson: It’s the thought that counts.

12. One day, Mom caught Max red-handed digging a hole in the backyard and yelled for him to stop. Max looked up at my mother and casually laid down and stretched himself over the hole and looked at her innocently. It didn’t work but it was as smooth as any time one of my brothers tried to charm their way out of trouble.

Lesson: Go down swinging. Why deny when you can finesse?

13. Max always had time to listen to us. He had no use for cell phones or email or facebook. He could tell if someone was down and would go comfort them. He got endless hours of fun from string and empty pop bottles, always had a good stretch before he got up. He would wake us up by climbing onto our chests and licking our faces til we begged for mercy. He always sprang to our defense and always made sure we knew what he was feeling. He understood that when you start to smell bad, its time for a shower. He always made sure he got enough sleep.

Lesson: He knew how to love and he knew how to live.

Last but not least…

14. Whenever I was at my parents’ house, every night Max would climb up on my bed for a while and just sit there, standing watch over me. Eventually he would want to climb in, which of course I let him do. He would snuggle in for a while, then kick the covers off and scramble out of the bed and go downstairs. Yet every night I would still leave the door open so he could do it.

Lesson: There is not another male alive that I would let do that, so don’t get any ideas.

I feel pretty.

Oh, so pretty.

I always felt witty and bright. And even though I came to the conclusion in my midtwenties that I need to appreciate being young and beautiful while it was happening and have been determinedly doing so since, something's different.

I feel fabulous. I feel curvy and strong and lush. My face is actually oval-shaped- who knew? I'm relieved that my chest came out the other end of the weight loss 2 cup sizes smaller and still looks fantastic. I'm fascinated by the muscle definition in my legs, how lovely my back is without the back fat on it, and my tush looks so awesome it defies written description. As much as I loved my body at its original size, being 50 pounds lighter and acclimating to the new body, I feel like I've unearthed a previously buried treasure. Wow, there are my collarbones- and there are my hip bones, huh- and when I lay down, I can feel my sternum- crazy! Never have I been so aware of how big-boned I am as when I can actually feel my bones. Not that I mind- not in the least. I have a body that was built to last, and I intend to do just that. We have a couple centegenarians in my family, and quite a few that made it into their nineties- I'm at least doing that.

Last month, I hit my weight loss goal and woke up the next morning not worrying about losing weight for the first time since I was about 7. I loved it. I loved the bone-deep comfort and happiness of really thinking I was perfect exactly as I was. A month later, I am happy to report that my weight is--- exactly the same. My pants are actually getting a little loose- again. I know, silly thing to complain about. I've spent the last month really feeling like my body is a temple to be worshipped instead of placated or battled against. Just that change in mentality is enough to make all the effort I put into getting this weight off worth it.

I am lush and curvy and strong and beautiful. It is a truly wonderful thing to be me.

What a Thanksgiving!

I've always loved Thanksgiving. I could pretty much eat nothing but pumpkin pie for the rest of my life, and its good to sit down and be grateful for what you have. Plus at my parents' house, its when the Christmas tree goes up and is decorated, and its the beginning of the holiday season, which is my favorite time of year. This one has been pretty interesting- both of my partners in hiking bailed last-minute- one had a late night and the other got sick, No worries, I thought, shit happens. Then my phone decided it didn't want to work anymore. I was able to reach my friend Michael and make plans with him for later but I missed my call from one of my best friends, also known as my wife, who was calling from London. Not cool. I spent most of my Thanksgiving hike fuming about that, and forgot to chant at the top like I meant to, instead plotting how I was going to give Sprint ten kinds of hell about it. After a nice hot shower and fixing my phone by rebooting it, I know that's just silly. Why am I telling you this? To avoid sounding too smaltzy when I now count the things I am thankful for:

1. I lost 50 pounds! Woo hoo! Yes, I have gone from plus-size to...higher end of regular size, and from cute to hot, but more than that, I am proud that I persevered and made the life changes needed to do it, and I'm a stronger person for it.

2. I am thankful for my family, friends, all my loved ones, especially for the ones that tell me the truth even when they know its going to piss me off. Special mention to my producing partner, Kevin Held, who does that a lot.

3. I am so thankful I found Buddhism, and for all the growth manifested by my chanting and study. I know I'm a better person for it. Certainly much calmer. Its also brought some wonderful people into my life.

4. I am thankful my right eye was injured, because it forced me to chill on a permanent basis. I am even more thankful it healed and I can do whatever I want again.

5. I am thankful that Landslide is going so well, and that the team I have assembled is such a wonderful group of people I would want in my life irregardless.

6. I am thankful that my sister found such a wonderful partner, and I hope all of us Gattone kids find someone as perfect for us.

7. I am thankful for those relationships that have improved since this time last year, and I am thankful for all the ways my life has improved so much in the last year (and it has!).

8. I am thankful that I can count myself among those who love me. I am so thankful that while being comfortable with yourself exactly as you are can be a struggle sometimes (especially when you're a bigger girl), I manage to do it the vast majority of the time. I know what I'm capable of, and I love myself for all of those things. Its great- you should try it!

9. Last of all, I am so thankful for those things that have brought me to my knees this year. While I'm not quite at the Buddhist mantra of turning poison into medicine and being grateful for obstacles, one of the themes of Landslide was that sometimes things don't turn out the way you want them to- they turn out better. I've had some crazy awful things happen this year. I am so thankful that in each and every case, however miserable I may have been when something went awry, it ultimately turned out so much better than if it had gone the way I wanted it to.

10. I suppose there should be a tenth, that would only make sense. Okay, I'm thankful for beer. Beer is awesome.

This blog entry is about boobs.

Title got you to read this, huh? Well, its not false advertising. I was reading a magazine today, and there was a feature that caught my eye- a series of essays by writers who are also breast cancer survivors. One essay in particular spoke to me. She had been 32 when she had cancer- my age- had always been, say, on the buxom side, didn’t like it, and after she lost hers to cancer even preferred her new, reconstructed bosom. She had her children afterwards. She didn’t regret not having her breasts anymore until one day 15 years later when all of a sudden she remembered everything that was wonderful about them and just cried.

It broke my heart. I suppose there are levels on which I related- same age, I actually had to have a lump in my breast checked out this August- my second- well, it turned out to be the same lump both times, just a different doctor this time. Awesome. Better safe than sorry, I guess. Able to relate to being proud of one’s chest (her the reconstructed chest, me the original)- heck yeah I am. What struck me more was her regret at not appreciating what she had when she had it. We’re all guilty of that, of course. As Joni Mitchell sang in “Big Yellow Taxi,” Don’t it always seem to go that we don’t know what we got til its gone? This is the woman that brought us “Both Sides Now.” All hail Joni.

In March 2007, I was mugged by a gang of teenagers. That was followed by the first lump in my breast, my home being broken into and the piece de resistance, a huge car wreck 2 weeks before my birthday that totaled my car on body damage alone and left me pretty battered too. I now call 2007 my landslide year. Two weeks later, on my birthday, July 24^th, arm still in a sling, we toasted that I had made it to 29 at all. We made light of it, but seriously, three bullets had just whizzed by my ear. I was so grateful to be alive at that point, and swore never to forget how short life is- tried to make up with a few family members I don’t get along with, tried to get back in the dating pool- it worked temporarily. Thing is, when the euphoria wore off, I still had to do the work to heal from everything that happened, which I still wasn’t interested in doing. Hell, I didn’t bother to start doing the work until last fall. I have some issues with depression, and in the throes of it, I’m not particularly grateful for anything, not even being alive. It’s an ugly place to be, scary to be in, scarier to get out of, and scariest to try and heal what put you there so you can try to avoid falling in again, as I've been doing this last year. But I also wonder what life could have had for me had I been open to it sooner. Oops.

Which leads me back to our friend- when she got a pang, she would remind herself that she was alive, that’s what counted, and remind herself of what she didn’t miss about them. I think we’ve all done that too. When we’re dumped, our friends remind us of all the reasons we won’t miss the person who cast us aside. Ditto any possession we lose. Lost a ring? I didn’t like it anyway- and so forth. I read the regret in our friend’s writing that she would never feel anything there when making love, had never breastfed, and how weird it was that they were just oddly perfect. It made me think- the only thing harder than appreciating something you have is appreciating something you had. Its scarier, more painful. But we have to do it. As Lee Ann Womack sang, “Loving might be a mistake but its worth making.” A Republican, but still…

In Buddhism we acknowledge that both lightness and dark, both joy and sorrow are part of life, and to be thankful for the lights and try to learn from the darks. As I find my daily chanting changing to be less “please help me be/ please give me” and more “thank you for,” our friend reminded me of the repercussions of not appreciating what you have til its gone and of how thankful I am that I am not in that mindset anymore. As painful as it is to acknowledge how valuable someone or something that I do not have is, I do it. And if there’s a third time at the Disney Cancer Center (apparently a breast man- funny, yes, but think about it- those Disney princesses are stacked!) and the third time isn’t a charm (knock on wood), my girls will be well-loved and appreciated every moment that they are still a part of my body. As for those whom I love, I aim for them to feel fully appreciated by me every second that they are part of my life. And like our friend who appreciates what she lost from afar, I will appreciate the value of what I lost, from afar.

Get Your Ass Moving and the Soul Will Follow

Man, was my life different last week.

I was feeling pretty meh- trying to adjust to my new body and how different I look, sulking because I couldn't have someone I wanted. Yeah, I'll admit it- I was being kind of bratty. I saw some recent pics and was like, oh no, I was prettier when I was fat. As for the other thing, well, I probably would have shut me down too. Then there was not one, but four suicides of gay teens bullied for their sexuality. I was sad about it but still pretty bratty about the other stuff. My infinitely patient friend Jeffrey told me we were going shopping for clothes that fit, and that that would help my ennui. Someone probably needed to slap some sense into me.

Thursday night I went to see my dear friends in Dear Harvey at Lee Strasberg- I did the first reading so I know the show but was still profoundly touched and so proud of my friends who brought it to life. After the show, I hung out with my friend Vance, who was incredibly upset about the events of that week, and felt so helpless to do anything about it. Vance, I said, we can't undo what's been done but we can sure as shootin' try and prevent it from continuing. I promised him that I would find a way for us to not be helpless. I woke up Friday to a fifth suicide. THAT slapped sense into me. This is a huge problem, I thought. My brain started whirring, as it does, and while chanting I had an idea. The Landslide team could do an It Gets Better video. I immediately started texting- my partner, Kevin, friends with cameras and technical talents- all the while chanting Nam Myoho Renge Kyo, mind you. I started getting responses right away, and that was great but I still felt like there was something I was missing. Then I thought of my sister, Cate--

My youngest sister, Cate, came out this year. She was 19. She told me that the reason she came out was because she wanted to be truthful about who she was, and that she didn't want to miss any more opportunities because she didn't have the balls to tell people who she is and what she wants. I have never been so proud of her. How admirable- how mature. I've got 12 years on her and I struggle with that one. And I thought, that's it. Someone needs to tell these kids that whatever they may hear from their peers or even their families, that there are so many people out there who recognize and admire their courage and that we would be proud to know them. And I was off to the races.

I wrote a loose script, emailed everyone on my contacts list that I thought would amenable to help, and the next day facebooked more people. Kevin and I met the next day with Chris, our exec producer, who, poor guy, learned about ALL of this when he walked into the Coffee Bean. Fortunately, he was on board, they both loved my I'm Proud of You idea, and we all started making calls. All of my hang-ups about asking for help went out the window. I have felt so energized, so happy, and could care less about all the crap I was sulking about before Friday. My friends have come through like gangbusters, volunteering help and making calls. As always, a few disappointments, rejections, but really, any guy who has a problem with gays was not going to make it far with me anyway (he was new so not hurt, but a little stung).

This has lit this crazy fire in me- I am sidestepping insecurities and shyness (yes, I have some) to speak to whomever will listen to me and give me help putting this together. I spent half an hour talking to an famous actress today about the project. I was at the gym, no makeup, ponytail, not smelling my best. Didn't matter- she agreed to participate and make some calls. Best of all, I told Cate about everything last night, and she told me the greatest thing- that she was proud of me. I teared up right in the middle of the 405 freeway. She and her girlfriend are participating in the It Gets Better video!

I have been so gratified by the outpouring of help and support from everywhere- from high school girlfriends in Kansas to my friends and acquaintances here in LA. I was teased and bullied mercilessly as a kid and another reason I thought this was a valid idea was that I know how much it would have meant to me to have a grown-up, let alone several, tell me they were proud of me, who I was and what I could do. I wonder, in giving these kids something I needed so badly and did not get myself, would this proverbial physician heal herself?

Thinking before you speak- try it, you'll like it.

There was a sitcom theme song that has the line, "The more you learn, the less you know." Its totally true. I have learned a lot this past month and realized how much I thought I knew and actually didn’t. I think this stupid eye thing may be the best thing to happen to my adult self because being forced to slow down forced me to think more, and I realized I was not thinking enough. Well, no- I was actually thinking too much, but at the wrong time. Its amazing how much less I overthink things after they happen when I am thinking about it while they happen and not just shooting off my mouth. Fascinating how much less I get myself into trouble when I take more than a minute to absorb things before I respond. Its good for the whole being less stressed out thing too.

Now when I have an impulse to do something, say something, right that minute, I stop and give myself time- an hour, even a day or two to mull it over, and most of the time I realize its not a good idea. Not that I don't still have my moments or fly off the handle- sure I do. Not that I don't still have to be scraped off the ceiling when something upsets me enough. Oh, I do. The moments are fewer and farther between, but I’m still me. That being said, when I do, I tend to take responsibility for my words or actions on the spot. Before, I tended to not realize my misstep until after the fact then be too chicken to take responsibility because I didn't want the reprimand I knew I deserved, or I simply called it a wash and walked away. I don’t really regret things that I do or that happen, they made me who I am today and I am awesome. I do regret things I have said without thinking. Heck, I'm even taking responsibility for words and actions that were months, years old, but still regretted. Have I understood I was going to get shut down for even bringing it up, let alone apologizing? Sure I have. And it sure didn't sting any less now than if I had just womaned up and taken responsibility for my actions on the spot. Yep, still hurt- can't really fault 'em, though. I kind of feel like Jack Nicholson at the end of Something’s Gotta Give. I ‘m better for it- I’m creating a new neural pathway- a more responsible and considerate one.

My Buddhist mentor would probably tell me it’s the chanting that is creating change. Well, I did chant for my eye to heal and not be damaged. Did it. Chanted for my gohonzon (scroll for the altar)- got it. Chanted to learn to handle stress better and let go, not try and control so much. Working on it. Chanted for help losing weight- as the Wicked Witch of the West said, I’m melting. Not to be a bad Buddhist, but I think I’m just doing some well past due growing up.

By the way, when you chant for clarity- be prepared to get it. Be prepared to get it in spades.

As the Wicked Witch of the West also says, Oh, what a world.

Whole lot of perspective gained.

You know, the funny thing about having a blog is that I'm a really private person, and I've started a bunch of entries that I've scrapped because I simply don't want it to posted publicly. At the end of a summer where I seem to not be very mad or fat anymore, I would be remiss in not writing how I lost 40 pounds and became a more relaxed version of myself, learning a lot about myself and life in the process.

Its been a crazy summer. In June, I was rear ended, and while checking me for injuries they found something that merited three weeks of testing and me alternating between trying to stay calm and blind panic. It turned out to be much ado about nothing, thank God. I didn't want it to jeopardize the film being produced or anything else, so it took over a week for me to tell anyone else. I rationalized that there was no need for anyone but me to be scared, and I hated seeing fear on my friends' faces and hearing it in their voices, I worried it was selfish to be the cause. But- I told a few other friends, and surprise, the world did not end and I did not feel weak or less independent. It made it more bearable. My friend Cyn said she would pray for me and take me to the various hole in the wall specialty offices I was sent to if I needed to go. My friend Sandy let me talk about what I wanted to happen should the worst come to pass. The others just said they loved me and were going to keep their fingers crossed that it was nothing, which was more than enough. Loved ones have gotten on my case in the past for not asking for help, trying to deal with everything alone, and I'm not saying I saw the light and I will always ask for help when I need it, but I'll do it more than I used to. Which is good because---

I've gone and injured the heck out of my right eye. An eye is supposed to heal in a few days, normally, but I have managed to sustain an injury that will take one month to heal and six more to be normal again. Well, you know, anything worth doing is worth doing all the way. No running, no jumping, no bouncing, no dancing, no lifting weights, nothing more strenuous than walking or swimming, eliminate all stresses as much as possible-- oh, and for when the eye gets cranky, I have a trusty eye patch. Want to make being at work feel like being in a middle school cafeteria? Put one of those bad boys on. And since my being tightly wound contributed to the problem, I have to chill out on a permanent basis or have this be a permanent problem. The specialist read me the riot act, and my regular doc threatened to put me on Paxil and chemically relax me if she had to. I have to follow orders or risk permanently damaging my eye and never being able to do any of those things again- not an option for me. I know I have a tendency to insist on learning things the hard way, but I'm not letting it come to that.

So, friends, I have actually done it- I have chilled out- okay, I'm in the process of learning to but I'm doing it. I have stopped trying to see how many balls I can keep in the air. I take time to decompress- meditate, read, see people I love, at least talk to them. Two days ago, the eye doc checked me out and told me everything looks good. Two weeks ago, he didn't trust me to decompress enough to not do permanent damage, but now he does. I confess, I like being a more relaxed person. At first, I felt like Tigger without his bounce, but I never realized how hard I was on my body til I couldn't be anymore. I used to bounce around like a giant cocker spaniel, and now I'm almost ladylike (almost- I'm still me). Its been the world's biggest pail of water to the face. I never realized how much I rush through everything, and how much I think that I thought something through but I really didn't, and how much I rush to keep from getting attached or give someone room to hurt me. What a cowardly way to live. I'm not speeding back up when this is over. I've had a lot of time to think while being forced to take it easy, and I've spent too much of my life focused on my own stuff and not enough focused on making myself happy. I've been telling people I care about how much they mean to me and that I want to be around them more. I've had some bewildered reactions, but I mean it and I'm going to keep opening myself up (figuratively, of course- the literal version falls under the no bouncing rule, haha).

Oh, and how did I lose so much weight? Getting my hypothryoidism properly treated, Weight Watchers and 5 days a week at the gym. Truth be told, while the weight loss is more obvious, I'm more proud of what's different on the inside.

An Involuntary Burlesque Act

I was watching "But I'm a Cheerleader" late one night last week- great movie, by the way- and was amused by Cathy Moriarty's character's insistence that campers at her gay-to-straight camp figure out their "root"- a moment or event that's the reason why they are gay (apparently being born gay ain't cutting it for her). My favorite was the cute little Jewish boy who shudders and says "breasts." If anyone can understand how dangerous breasts are, its me- my girls are high caliber weapons. It occurred to me, though, that while the idea that homosexuals have a "root" that makes them gay is utterly ridiculous, I think some overweight people (namely me) have just that- a root, a reason why they have put up literally a physical barrier between themselves and others. And like an unhealed wound or a broken bone that did not heal properly, it needs to be acknowledged and dealt with in order to make peace with yourself. Perhaps making peace means being able to lose the weight, maybe it means accepting, like Cannie in Good in Bed, that "I will never be thin, but I will be happy." Its beyond being comfortable in your own skin, at least for me- I got there in my late 20's. For me (and I can only speak for me), its about not sabotaging my weight loss efforts and letting it come off.

Whenever you read fat chick-lit, there's always an obvious root- rape, abuse-those are novels, so of course its clear-cut. I suspect that in real life, for others as well as for me, the root is really a many-headed monster, not just one defining moment or event. Hurrah for fat chick-lit novels, though, that the themes generally pertain to finding the root, dealing with it, and healing, whether weight is lost or not. Wally Lamb's She's Come Undone and anything by Jennifer Weiner (Good in Bed is a fave of mine) are excellent novels about life from the fat girl perspective. Its hard out there for fat people, male or female, and I won't diminish either gender's perspective. But just like its harder to be a girl than a guy, its harder to be a fat girl than a fat guy. Trust me, I know- I'm a fat girl in LA.

Case and point- Seth Rogen. A movie where he knocks up Katherine Heigl and she falls for him is greenlighted and a hit, but you bet your bottom dollar that a movie where Chris Pine knocks up a fat girl and then falls for her isn't going to get the same treatment. At a recent meeting for a film I co-wrote and am producing and will act in (yes, the heroine is a fat girl!), we were discussing potential casting and an actor who is very handsome and whom we have already put out feelers on was brought up. Someone in a position of power politely suggested that this actor would not be a good choice because we wouldn't be a "believable couple." Awesome. I already go to lengths to make sure this is not a vanity project for me, and I want the film to get made and on a screen, so okay. I want to fill out the cast with character actors and prove that you can tell a compelling story without hiring the most beautiful people possible, so its all good, I think.

Fast forward to a casting wish list meeting a few weeks later- Patrick (director), Kevin (my producing partner) and me. We were chatting and bouncing ideas around- some actors that we will actually get in touch with, some more prototypes/ pie in the sky (whichever you prefer to call them). Kevin suggested an actor he went to school with for the character of Matt, my character, Tara's, ex husband. This actor is a name talent (good) and a darn fine actor (even better) and totally gorgeous. I tentatively started explaining what I was told about hiring actors to play opposite me that are that too handsome and "believable coupling." Patrick and Kevin both protested (loyal and true men both of them) that that was ridiculous and I'm very pretty myself. I told them its not about that, I know I'm cute, and I'm not fishing for compliments, I just want to make the best film possible. Kevin shushed me, told me he knew I wasn't fishing, and to listen to what he had to say. You attract hot guys yourself, he said, why should Tara be any different than you? He found it completely believable that this actor as Matt would find me as Tara attractive because Tara, like me, was a very physically attractive girl and that was the end of it. And that, folks, is why I love Kevin dearly and look forward to spending the rest of my career making films with him. The aforementioned actor ended up on our wish list for a different role, but that scolding I got from Kevin will stay with me for a long time. I don't know how many times either I or my representation have gone to bat for me similarly, but I never expected to have someone go to bat for me like that against... myself.

My point (and I do have one) is this: when there is a root and the excess flesh is a wall, losing weight is like an involuntary burlesque act. As you slowly peel off layers, you expose yourself more and more and its scary because the exposure is involuntary. I'm now at a point where I've lost enough weight that its noticeable and I get comments, usually positive, and encouragement. I'm also starting to slide in my diet. I wasn't sure why until I watched "But I'm a Cheerleader." I need to find my root, the multi-headed monster that says, "You know, you get plenty of action and you relish the sassy character roles you play- born a fat chick, die a fat chick, Girl!" Its frustrating to be passed over for roles and by men because of my weight, but its also a handy security blanket of a catch-all excuse for any and all rejection that my inner 4 year old is panicking at the thought of being taken away from her. I'm working on it, though, and while I was unable to save the princess in Super Mario Brothers, I'm confident I'm going to slay the multi-headed monster that is sabotaging my weight loss efforts. I refuse to let my life right now be an involuntary burlesque act- at the very least, its going to be a voluntary burlesque act.

Weight lost and perspective gained

Hi Everyone!

Its been a while since I've posted a blog. I've written a few that while have been valuable to get down in words, is nothing I want to post for public reading. My byline is "a chubby girl trying to lose weight and gain perspective." Well, in the past couple months, I've lost weight. The scale hasn't moved a tremendous amount but I've dropped a couple sizes, so there you go. Perspective- well, give me credit for trying. I mourned the end of the show and then moved forward. The film is snowballing at such a rate that my fellow producers and crew and I all joke that the film is aptly titled' "Landslide." Everyone has those landslide moments in life where everything all kind of hits you at once, and that's what my collaborator and I wrote about. Fortunately, people like it. Having the perspective to write about things that have happened to you (if I told you about my "landslide year", your hair would curl more than mine!) doesn't mean that you don't repeat the mistake, unfortunately. Still working on that. But, I do better. Working on the self-sabotage my smart mouth sometimes instigates. I'm quicker to ditch anyone who doesn't treat me well, but still not so good at treating myself well.

I read an absolutely marvelous blog, which I am posting the link to here:

Guest Post: We Are What We Embrace - you'd be so pretty if...

Brilliant! Its written by one of the founders of www.fatgirlsguidetoliving.com, where I have been a guest blogger in the past. I recommend you not take my word for it and read it yourself, but I want to write a little more about what this blog had to say. In my 20's, I looked at pictures of myself as a teenager and thought, I was so beautiful and I totally didn't see it, all I saw was fat. No more, I thought. I don't want to be in my 30's, looking at pictures of myself in my 20's and thinking the same thing, and so on. In my 30's (early 30's, thank you), I can say that it worked, I enjoyed being a beautiful 20-something and as I am aging like a fine wine, enjoy being a beautiful 30-something. I suspect I'm in a minority on this- not being beautiful, but on accepting myself as beautiful exactly as I am. Its a struggle, and I have moments where yeah, all I see is fat.

Those moments happen to everyone, where your chubby, pimply preteen rears their frizzy head and reminds you of your insecurities. In a society where you turn on the television and see a million commercials telling your how to make yourself more beautiful in a million ways that you apparently need to, its impossible not to have those moments. But the point that Toni makes in her blog and I would like to reiterate, is that those things that you find so unappealing about your body, most of the time you're either a. the only one who fixates on it (if they notice it at all) or b. shortchanging yourself for something that you don't like but that someone else may really like about your body. Thanks to my brief stint dating a chubby chaser, I can honestly that every single thing that I don't completely love about my body, someone else has completely loved it. Anyone who is that judging of other people's physical flaws is not worth your time anyway. In the end, though, who cares about what anyone else thinks- except maybe if you're feeling particularly down on yourself, try to see yourself through the eyes of someone who loves you.

The biggest point is to both our essays is that when you accept yourself as you are, then you unconsciously demand that others do the same (and hopefully teaches them to do the same), and it all feeds each other. Its like a non-vicious cycle. The Golden Rule, but reverse the pronouns- do unto yourself as you would do unto others. Worry about being the best version of yourself possible in all senses. Value yourself or no one else will feel they need to. Might I suggest the following- when you feel like crap, look at yourself in the mirror and find something lovely about yourself. Anything you want- your skin, your eyes, your chest (that's always a good one for me- heck, guys are all in love with their penises).

I'm a work in progress on that- I can admire myself with or without clothes on, but I'm pretty hard on this body. Still-- nursing an injured hamstring and an ulcer at the moment, yes, Universe, I get it- slow down a bit and chillax. If I promise to meditate every day and be kinder to myself, could those heal, please? I was starting to enjoy running...

Saying goodbye to the Kitty monster.

Happy Wednesday, Everyone!

Well, my show, "Big Gay North Hollywood Wedding," finally posted its closing date, March 21st. We ran about six months, a respectable run by all means. Its been quite a ride. I used to joke, with the screenplay I wrote, that I couldn't find a decent role so I had to write one for myself. Then came good ol' Kitty Di Martino. The creator of the show wanted her to be a mousy little virgin who'd never had a date and was taken in by the hot Brazilian usher. Plenty of those in fat girl roles, I thought, and suggested perhaps instead we make her this huge man-eating tart instead. Suggestion accepted and thus began the Kitty monster, a loud, slutty (pardon my language) beautician from Jersey who specialized in waxing (she would wax things most people wouldn't- my own subtle homage to Jane Lynch in A Mighty Wind). Kitty is one of the best roles I have ever played, and probably will ever play. I grew to semi-rue a few of my choices, more because of my discomfort than them being less than sound creatively. The huge wig of Jersey hair and long nails took getting used to. I don't make a habit of exposing as much of my chest as Kitty does. I'm not a big high heels girl. Hitting on all the guys in the audience meant a lot of rejection and on some nights reminded me of the middle school dances of old. Yes, I know, that was Kitty, not me. Having lived in Kitty's skin for about nine months at this point, some things got under my skin. Probably shouldn't have, but I'm only human.

What's interesting is how much Kitty really rubbed off on me. I won't miss the wig. I do chew my nails less when they're longer, and they're pretty, so they stay. And without elaborating, its been an interesting six months datingwise. Every role I play, its like trying on a dress and seeing if I like how it fits. From there, I learn something about myself, usually about love and what I want from life. Playing my first mom/wife role back in 2008 in The Daddy Machine taught me that as independent as I am, I'll be good at having a family too, and that it appealed to me more than I cared to admit to anyone, even myself. Tried on the dress, said I like it, but not for now, for later. I didn't expect to learn from Kitty at all, let alone as much as I did. I instilled in Kitty my tendency to love fiercely, but she instilled more in me. Kitty, indirectly encouraging me to love unwisely, retaught me to love wisely. In the six month run, I messed with a few actors (onstage, onstage- minds out of the gutter, people) in that show. Dealing with actors who are inordinately rough and actors who are gentle (and those in between), you remember that one Lloyd Dobbler is worth a thousand bad boys (I'm watching Say Anything). You also remember that while a quick and dirty fling with a hot usher is a tremendous amount of fun, that's all it is. Tried on the dress, liked it, but I'm looking for something... sturdier.

I've made some wonderful, wonderful friends, some who I know I'll keep for the rest of my life, and had a tremendous amount of fun. So here's to the Big Gay North Hollywood Wedding and here's to Kitty. We had our ups and downs, but I'm nothing but grateful to have known you.

Popping my blog cherry!

Hello!

I wrote a couple guest blogs for www.fatgirlsguidetoliving.com that were well-received so I am branching out on my own. I'm an actor/writer/producer living in Los Angeles (golly that looks so pretentious written out, haha) who is of the fuller figure. Its an interesting experience. You look at film and television and the lack thereof of chubby girls onscreen (although the tide is turning, yay!) and figure its a hard row to hoe. But you know, in this business its just another thing you're judged on. Its unfortunate that right now the trend is to populate the screen with walking swizzle sticks, but there you go. The double standard is really what riles me. Once upon a time I fantasized about headlining a reverse King of Queens type sitcom with Chris Pine playing my ridiculously gorgeous husband (and no one would say a word about the difference in attractiveness levels). However, Star Trek scuttled that idea. Oh, well...

With a partner, I wrote a screenplay. The heroine? A chubby girl. I would like to think I wrote myself a great role, but my partner and I also wanted to write her a happy ending (mine, as Natasha Beddingfield sang, is still unwritten). That's not all, though- we also wrote about blending families, single parenting, living with mental illness- its a comedy. My friend Kevin and I formed a production company and we're making this sucker. We're so proud of the story, and we have a wonderful director and DP who are just as invested in making a great film out of this. I love having an all male production team- we're going to be a chick flick with some serious balls.

Well, that's me- I hope things are well with you as you read this.