A Most Unreliable Narrator Issue #141 cotton candy colored covers

Say that three times

Mar 05, 2023

Welcome to A Most Unreliable Narrator, the slice of life newsletter of GenXer around town, Lisa Rabey. I talk about anything and everything with a bit of swears. I’m glad you’re here.

Dear Internet,

British Catnip

I now find it humorous that I talked game for years about not reading romances because they were so cookie cutter. This stretches back to when I was working at corporate bookstore back in the mid-naughts and oversaw the fiction department, which obviously included romance (and fantasy, sci-fi, western, lit crit, poetry, and manga).

We had so many books with heaving bosoms on the covers along with bare chested manly men. I just didn’t see the value in reading them. How can the same story told over and over be fun?

( Smart Bitches, Trashy Books will change anyone’s mind on romance.)

But really, there are seven basic plots and every story or book you have ever read follows at least one.

Why this is so humorous to me know is that starting in the late ‘90s, I really got into chick lit. The term isn’t used anymore but you may remember it as the cotton candy colored covers (say that three times) with some woman’s legs crossed and up against the wall, or the back of her legs with her wearing wellies, or illustration of a woman’s harried by life. The covers were incredibly similar and neither, honestly, were the stories. They are romance but just packaged differently.

Silly Lisa.

At the time, I was the demographic: 20s and 30s single woman trying to figure out life. I turned 30 in 2002 when chick lit really took off, so it tracks. (Side note: the largest publisher of chick-list was Red Dress Ink, an imprint of Harlequin books who are the QUEENS of romance. I wanted desperately to write for them.)

My major catnip was British chick lit. Think Bridget Jones’ Diary (published in 1995). If the heroine was my age group, living in the UK, dating a guy named Oliver, and worked in publishing, I was either reading it or wanted to read it.

From A Promising Man

in which we meet the delightfully wicked Harriet and John, who are matched as perfectly as scones and clotted cream -- if only Harriet would let herself indulge.

How British can you get?!

I was reminded of my British chick lit obsession today when I logged into Amazon UK. (If you did not know, you can buy from other Amazons using the same login, password, and credit cards tied to the US version.) I was looking for an upcoming book, Reach for the Stars: 1996–2006: Fame, Fallout and Pop’s Final Party, about Brit Pop’s heyday. (Hey, Bernard! Are you going to read this? If so, can it be something to review for your newsletter?) Since Reach for the Stars is not going to be released until later this month in the UK, and probably won’t be released, if at all, in the US for quite some time, I added it to my wish list to buy later.

I checked my Amazon UK wishlist to see what other treasures there were and it’s a walk down memory lane. I have books dating back to June 2002. 90% of them are out of print now and the used copies are very cheap. I’m tempted to buy a few to see if the catnip still exists. So, I bought A Promising Man, used, as quoted above. Free shipping from Amazon UK. Should be here in a few weeks. I’ll report back.

First Adult Love

I wrote the following on my other newsletter and decided it fit better here:

(Background: I’m cleaning up pieces and submitting them all over the place.)

As I read through my work and a lot of themes kept coming up. One thing, I’m obsessed with sex and how it relates to the human body. I really like the word “cunt.” A lot. Second thing, I’m still pissed at my first adult love which happened 30 years ago. Long story short: Cheated on me, left me for the other woman, married her and had kids. The end. Oh, the best part? After he “left” me, we were still fucking while he was dating her. I went form the aggrieved girlfriend to the other woman within days. Another tidbit? After we split (and don’t forget, still fucking), I ran into them at a bar one night. We stared at each other across the crowd. I think I went up to him (and her) for some reason? She waved the engagement ring in my face. I was drunk so I walked away. She called me a whore. She called ME a whore. I turned around, choked a bitch out, and got kicked out of the club by two bouncers. I drove solo and I was drunk and how I did not get a ticket that night remains a mystery.

So yes, still pissed.

Funny thing is, I haven’t thought about him in years yet in my writing, it’s all too fresh.

I wrote a piece scrambled with that relationship, but I turned it into he abused her while they were together. Alan did no such thing but sometimes he would have sex with me, and it was not always by consent, so there is still that.

Fat Girl Surgery

I’m closing in on 30lbs lost since December 27. Starting with my surgery and once a month since then, I’ve been measuring my body to see how the inches are faring.

Total inches lost since December 27:

Neck -.5”

Bust -2”

Underbust -3”

Waist -11”

Hips -4”

Left bicep -2.5”

Right bicep -2.5”

I thought I was a solid 3x before the surgery, but I had a reckoning as I lose weight that I was probably closer to a 4x and a size 26 not a 24. Now I’m a high 2x and probably a low 22. (Sizes have ranges within those sizes. Why is female clothing complicated!?)

I bought bathing suits this week for our trip to Cancun in April which seems to be a bit premature since I don’t know what size I will be at but using the data points I have (I’ll science the shit out of it), I’ll be a solid 2x in the bottoms, but the tops will be difficult since the tits aren’t moving so I bought two sizes. I also need to get shorts since it’ll be in the 80s and wearing black leggings isn’t going to cut it.

My t-shirt collection, for those who don’t know, I collect t-shirts and at one time, had over 200, I’ve culled extensively and finally claimed some space back in our shared closet. The t-shirts are getting looser and since it’s all I wear for tops; those won’t get replaced.

I now own seven pairs of black leggings. I bought my first 2x pair the other day and nearly cried when they fit. My wardrobe is cardigan, t-shirt, leggings, flip flops, or Chucks. (I own over 24 pairs of Chucks, majority of them unworn. This will be culled next.) If you saw me on a regular basis, you’d probably assume I never wash my clothes. While you would be wrong, I get why you think that.

I think I told Best Kitty that I was afraid to clean out my closet (other than the t-shirts)? (That tracks.) I refuse to wear pants (jeans, chinos, etc) until my weight stabilizes which could be another 50 – 70 pounds. My current pants are all the same size and so are my regular tops. If I gave clothes away, I would have nothing but leggings, cardigans, and t-shirts. Which is what I wear anyway so not sure why I’m so hesitant.

I continue to think about being “seen.” I was talking to Best Kitty about this recently and since we’re close in age (she’s two years younger), she talked about how some things have changed but because she’s old as fuck (I can say this as I’m older than her), she’s still invisible. Which blows my mind because it’s not that I expect persons to fall at my feet with wild desire, I still have this fear.

In my private diary I created a list of things to be successful at my new life. Most of this is reasonable. I gave the shrink my list and he asked me to pick two, also reasonable. The two I’m picking is move more (I move OK but I can do better) and drink more water. I’m supposed to be drinking 64 oz a day which we all know is standard amount for humans but with 75% of my stomach gone, 64 oz is a lot. I can barely get in half that even if I don’t drink anything else. I love water, plain or flavored, so it’s not taste but totally amount.

Protein is also a big thing: 60 g a day. We’ve got cheese, nuts, yogurt, and snack rolled up cheese and meats in the house but again, just like water, it’s about space. I don’t know how other bariatric patients do it.

Social Media Blackout

A quick search in past issues didn’t pull up anything so if this is a repeat, mea culpa.

I’m a very lapsed Catholic who does not quite believe in God (but believes there is something out there). Lately I’ve been thinking going back to church, the Catholic kind, because I love the ritual and experience even if I think most of what they believe is bullshit. I still remember most of the prayers but I wouldn’t feel right taking communion. A few years back I went to a local UU church, which I liked, but my social anxiety kicked in and I never went back.

I’ve been thinking a lot about this lately and thought about going to church for dirty forehead Wednesday (Ash Wednesday) but opted against it. I did, however, get the schedule of the UU church and put it in my calendar since they also do virtual services. Maybe one day I’ll go in person.

Because I was not going to a Catholic church or participate in dirty forehead Wednesday, I did decide to participant in Lent. Person-splain: Lent is where you abstain from something for 40 days until Easter to commemorate the struggles Jesus went through while he was the desert. You also abstain from eating meat on Fridays, but you can have fish. If you’ve ever noticed an increase in fish frys in the spring, this is why.

This year I decided to abstain from social media.

I’ve done this before several times, but my social media use has spanned from just Twitter to Facebook, Insta, and TikTok (barely, but it is there). I decided to detox from all of it.

I deleted all the apps from my phone and iPad.

The only hiccup is that I post my writing and newsletters to my author page and I also run a Jane Austen/Bronte FB and Twitter accounts. I decided to continue doing what I’m doing with those two profiles since I don’t interact or read either timeline.

So far, it’s been going well. I don’t really miss it. I’m writing more and leaving the house. (My brother, who calls me every day on his way home from work, teases me about leaving the house. Brothers, what can you do?) I’m also reading more. Now only if I exercised and meditated on a regular basis, life would be B+.

One does what one does.

A Most Unreliable Narrator

A Most Unreliable Narrator Issue #141 cotton candy colored covers

Say that three times

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