Introduction

Monica Parker bridges the divide between serial dieter's survival guide and memoir, taking readers on a hilariously funny yet bumpy ride from chubby baby to chunky adult.

In Getting Waisted, Monica begins every chapter with a diet she committed to and reveals how much weight, money, and self-esteem she lost, then she tells how much weight she gained when she fell off the wagon. After all, "no one tells a short person to get taller, or a tall person to get shorter, but fat people hear about their bodies all the time."  From Living Large in a size zero world to jumping into the dating pool without causing a tidal wave of angst, Monica learns that when you stop buying what the diet-devils are selling and start liking yourself, life is far more rewarding. When Mr. Right appears out of thin air, will she run back to the catalogue of Mr. Wrongs out of fear?  Readers will laugh and cry as she realizes that while she thought it was her body that was in the way, it was really what she kept in her head that needed adjusting.

Ultimately, Getting Waisted is an inspirational look at life through society's warped fun-house mirror, but Monica's reflection tells the real tale: everyone is always under construction and we are all flawed, chipped, and dented, but that doesn't mean we're not interesting, vital, and sexy.

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Excerpt

Some people built fall-out shelters, some kept earthquake provisions in the trunk of their cars. For me, my refrigerator was my escape hatch, stocked with all the emergency rations a person could need to ward off most demons. What was my problem? I really needed to understand why food was my touchstone. I came from a good if a bit crazy family - doesn’t everyone? I had great friends and I had a couple of great careers going on. I had some troubles - doesn’t everyone? But there were no twisted demons on the inside eating away at me, there was just me, on the outside, eating. I had an appetite. I’m not talking Hannibal Lechter here, but in this world, having any kind of appetite was considered a crime. It dawned on me that should I ever get an urge to commit a real crime, like hold up a bank, the picture on the bank’s grainy camera might actually be recognizable. Hundred’s of squirrely-faced, bank-robbing nobodies could get away with satchels of money, but even if I had a stocking mask over my face, I’d still be made; “Large size woman lumbering - Looks like she’s got Queen-size support hose on her head.” I know even a geriatric security guard would be able to take me down. I hate running, my boobs hitting me in my ears. Worst-case scenario: the guard might shoot me and then I’d make the eleven o clock news. As soon as my family would see the humongous chalk outline where my body once lay, they’d know that it had been me. But I still hadn’t answered my question. Could it really be some kind of peer pressure thing? The power of the press pushing perfection on every magazine cover, billboard, television commercial - was I really that insecure, that shallow? I didn’t want to believe it but, yes! Who would I be if I had been gifted with a great body? A pole-dancer? An exhibitionist? It was impossible to know because I was filtering it through my wanna-be brain. I had enough girlfriends to know that even the near perfect ones only saw their flaws, magnified as if they could be seen from space. “Oh my God, look at that broad’s ass - It’s huge.” Every mirror was Judas. It lied and betrayed, showing everything through a warped prism. I knew intellectually when my friends looked at me, as when I looked at them, we saw our personalities, our hearts and our soul. But still when we looked at ourselves, we saw fat! I could see Katja, with her perfect body, look at herself and see that she hated her thighs; she kept pulling her sweater down over them. My sister, also blessed with a great figure, only focused on her little tummy pooch with complete disgust. In her eyes, it was a giant jelly-bellied monster! Why are we so hard on ourselves? Why did it matter if we were a bit thick around the middle as long as we were not thick in the head. Why did we care so much if we had a double chin? Or had less than perfect arms? Why did we all want to be line drawings? view abbreviated excerpt only...

Discussion Questions

1. Are we supposed to hate ourselves if we don’t succeed at losing the weight?

2. How big a role does the Media play in pressuring people to change?

3. We are always talking about acceptance and diversity regarding race, and sexual choice. What about body diversity?

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