That Was Me!

Here’s what happens when Cameron gets pictures taken for the first time since losing 300lbs…


The Charmless Man –

The Brits welcomed me back for a third time and you get to see what I looked like PRE SURGERY.

Be Gentle?

Boney Boobs

I’m writing for a small mag in the UK –! Here’s a little something I did….more to come!


Boney Boobs for WUWO Magazine in the UK

Why Can’t This Be Easy Like Me?

il_fullxfull_48502602I knew entering the dating world this late wasn’t going to be easy. It’s not like it’s all new to me or I’m 60 years old – I’m still young. I think. I did ‘date’ a few unlucky bastards when I was the size of a small sea shanty. But those relationships were hardly healthy.

But now, I’m a couple hundred pounds smaller – but by no means a little wiser. I’ve kind of accepted the fact that I have no idea what hell I’m doing. But neither do any of the fools I’ve been lucky enough to go out with.

I’ve been trying to stick with my whole, a one date a week thing – but it’s been a painful process. I probably should write about the train wrecks when they’re finished. Not like I’m ever going to see them again, they haven’t been told about the blog and they don’t know they’re being tweeted about. But they’ve been so draining lately and I just haven’t had any desire to relive the magic over again.

Since it’s been awhile since I’ve written and bothered you, I figured I’d recap the mayhem and foolishness for the last 3 weeks,  give you all an opportunity to laugh at my life and if anything, at least you’ll know who stay away from or guys can find out how not to act on a date. So you got that going for you.

I knew the first one was an ass, when he said, ‘I like that you don’t eat much. I hate when girls eat like pigs.’ Evidently, my modified stomach is one of my major selling points. Hear that ladies – get gastric bypass if you want a man. If you don’t, you’re going to be stuck alone and living a life of weighing a ton and having no fun.

Date #1 was a drunk and that’s a lot coming from a girl who had questionable drinking habits. Oh like you’ve never drank an entire bottle of Parrot Bay. Homeboy knew I couldn’t drink and kept offering to buy me something to ‘loosen me up.’ I think Zack Morris said that to DJ Tanner before he raped her at that frat party in that NBC Monday Night Movie. Don’t act like you didn’t record all of them and re-watch at slumber parties.

The more he drank, the more bullshit came flying out of his mouth. Like how he would never vote HRCbecause she’s too old. Listen, you can have your own political beliefs and whatever. But my vagina dried up like the Sahara when he said that. Any chance of a tug or a suck slowly went the way of the dodo bird. You have no one to blame but yourself, mister. I stuck it out with this fool for the entire date. I think I was secretly hoping there was a cash prize at the end of the evening or someone from Hermes or Louis Vuitton would give me a bag of my own choice if I survived. Needless to say that never happened.



What I did get was verbally abused. Not exactly how I wanted to end the evening, but hey – it makes life interesting and brings me back to my childhood.

“You’re a fucking tease, you whore!” I know, I don’t know how I didn’t jump in bed with him either. Damn dingy broads! I probably should tell you what brought on his anger?

When the night was finally over, he got in his booze soaked brain – that he had won me over and I was going to be more than willing to not only drive him home, but sleep with him. Listen, I know my standards aren’t that high and there’s been a few married men in my past or complete dick bags that have made it in my bed. But I’d like to think I could do better now. I don’t know, maybe I’m wrong – but I think losing 300 lbs. could have helped my chances of getting someone better or I’m completely wrong and doomed.

I told Sir More Than Likely Rapes-A-Lot that he had no chance and ‘Good night.’

“Well, how am I supposed to get home!?”

I went into my wallet, grabbed 5 ones, handed them to him, pointed him in the direction of the closest bus stop and started walking to my car.

“You’re a fucking tease, you whore!”

A couple of days later, GUESS WHO CALLED? I don’t know why I answered the phone.

“I’m willing to look past your faults and give you another shot.”

You’re too kind, sir. I don’t know how I got so lucky! For all of you skeptics out there, if that’s not proof there is a higher power and they have a sense of humor? Then there’s no saving your ass. You’re all lost and may God have mercy on your souls.

Needless to say, I didn’t take him up on his offer. I probably should have – but I’d like to keep what little self-esteem I have intact.

The next week, I went out with a guy who’s getting over a bad breakup and has severe Mommy Issues. I didn’t know about them or why my friend neglected to tell me about them when she was setting me with Weepy Wally. But after a couple of glasses a wine later – his life story was out on the table and he started to get a little misty…at the table…in public….at the restaurant. I’ve only seen my Dad cry once and that’s when he put the dog down. So I don’t do well around men with emotions.

Case in point, I was dating someone years ago and we were fighting and he started crying. I hung up the phone and never spoke to him ever again. I know, I know. I’m a cunt. But you can’t pull that shit with me and expect me to respect you in the morning. Christ, be a man. It’s not that hard! I’m a crier – I can’t be in another relationship with a guy who cries.

Ever have snot-filled sex? It’s messy and I hate having to switch sheets. Don’t get me wrong, I do it. But that’s because I’m not a monster or a hoarder and I was raised right.

I was fixated on his nose for the rest of the date and called it a night early. I’m sure he’s going to make some girl lucky one day; he just needs to find a shrink and get over whatever Mother and Baby Firefly put him through. Until then, he’s damaged goods and I shan’t be associated with that nonsense. I’m damaged enough as it is, I don’t need to worry about being the cause of any repressed memories coming to the surface. That’s a lot of pressure to put on a girl.

The third round went surprisingly well. So well, that I slept with him. I know I shouldn’t have, but the kid(me) has needs and it seemed like the right thing to do. Wouldn’t be the first time I made a bonehead decision like that and I’m sure it won’t be the last. It just seemed right – it was too perfect.

He was just cool, we had a lot in common, had similar senses of humor, we made each other laugh and I had a smile on my face the whole time (shut up). There wasn’t anything awkward or any moments when I second guessed anything I said or did. I just let things happen and look it, I had fun. I needed it. Can’t the kid have fun occasionally? Does it really have to be a constant shit storm?

So yeah, that happened. I’ve been yelled at by numerous people regarding my extra-curricular activities that night – but it’s not like I’m hurting anyone. I’m smart, I’m safe and I don’t have AIDS or a baby….Thank Christ.

I didn’t think I was going to hear from him and when it was almost a week and no response, I chucked his contact info in the trash – but guess who called Thursday night? He asked me out and I said ‘yes’, but in my fucked up head – I should have said ‘no’.

Because the pressure is on now, can we recreate that moment in time once again? Of course not! It’ll NEVER happen. Watch, we’ll go out this time and there will be no chemistry whatsoever. It’s doomed from the beginning and I’m tempted to back out.

I have another week before I really need to make up my mind or he has a week to be a man, do the right thing and back out. Do me a favor and be the bad guy, please? It can’t be all on me. I don’t like being the asshole. I mean, I do it well – but be a man! Listen, let’s just agree the two of us just want sex again and leave it at that. Stop pretending you want to get to know me. I know that’s horse shit – I don’t even want to get to me and I know me! My brain is a scary place. I’m doomed.

Merry Christmas, kiddies!

Smarmy Schmucks Need Not Apply

The men I’m dealing with now, see me completely differently than they did a couple hundred pounds ago. I’m not the massively overweight girl, they can pal around with, take to a hockey game and vent about their girl problems too. Because, really, who doesn’t love that?

There’s nothing like sitting next to a guy you like, while he’s droning on about some girl who broke his heart and he can’t imagine not having her in his life. So like a moron or good friend(it’s all the same thing in this situation) I would sit there, listening, giving him the best advice or properly manufactured nonsense I could think of – while drinking a Guinness, debating about asking the derelict Habs fan sitting next to me for a swig from whatever is in his flask (I would never do it though. The huge herpes sore on his mouth usually screamed – STAY AWAY!) and praying that Shawn Thornton will take a swing at someone and the conversation about Lil’Miss Perfect can stop.

Cut to a couple of years later – there’s ANOTHER NHL Lockout, I’m skinnier and dare I say, looking good(Cocky? WHY YES I AM!)? The whiny guy is married to Lil’Miss Perfect and he’s now banned from talking to the new me. Someone is feeling a little, less confident after popping out a couple of kids and putting on 40 lbs and I’m trying to enter this world a little less cynical. Case in point, I’m trying to stay positive about the whole Disney for buying the Star Wars series. Who knows, maybe this will finally lead to that Boba Fett series I’ve always wanted or at least get them to re-write history. A sarlacc pit, really?

So now I’m putting myself out there and meeting different guys, going out on dates – finding out what I like and what I don’t like. I tend to find more of what I DON’T like, but it’s a learning experience. At least that’s what I tell myself to keep me from banging my head against a brick wall over and over again until I’m numb or stopped by the proper authorities.

The old me would never have participated in any of the nonsense I’m doing now, like giving someone my phone number. But now, if I’m talking to a guy and I’m interested – he’s being slipped my phone number and *fingers crossed* he uses it. Sure he didn’t ask for it, but you never know when they’ll need it and besides, I give great text.

I’m more confident then I’ve even been and hopefully this new found confidence makes me more appealing to the people I’m trying to date and not look like a pompous fool. You need to find that happy medium between confident and smarmy. I went with the word ‘smarmy’ because ‘douchey’ is used to much and ‘smarmy’ just sounds classier. I know I’m all class, just laying in bed with my laptop, wearing my View Askew Vulgarians hockey jersey, argyle socks and a pearl necklace. Emily Post would approve.

Back to the smarminess(if it’s not a word, it is now!) and I am by no means a man hater, I love men. I’ve made many sexual mistakes with men and I would do it again. Most of my friends, when I were fat, were men. I had more in common with them. But now, it’s different. I don’t know if I’m just able to see through their bull shit now or they’re lacking confidence and they feel like they need to put up a front, but please stop. My vagina closes for business when this happens – so you’re out of luck, dudes. Granted there is the mouth. But I’m not getting on my knees, if you’re acting a fool. Listen, I fully admit to performing certain sexual acts to get out of a bad situation or ten. But even I have my limits and I just need to remind myself of the lessons Kenny Rogers once taught us. Know when to hold them, know when to fold them, know when to walk away and know when to run out and pick up some tasty chicken!

What was I saying? Oh yeah – confidence! Of course I want someone who’s confident and assertive, but when confidence crosses that line and it’s suddenly over in cheesy/cringe worthy territory – nobody wins. I’ve been talking to someone and he seemed like a good guy. But recently, I had to shut him down. He’s turned into everything I hate and it would probably be healthier for me to say ‘knock it off’. But instead I write about it. Because that’s mature….and I’m a wuss who hates conflict.

“Are you one of those sexy secretary types in a tight skirts? You know, like in Mad Men?” “Are you wearing something naughty for Halloween? Turn a trick for a treat?” “Why not send me a picture of you enjoying yourself?”

These are some of the text messages I’ve received from the person in question, the douchiness is just raising off the words. It’s like Pig Pen just walked into a scene on Charlie Brown and he’s surrounded by dust, stank lines and flies. Here’s the thing, I don’t mind if you want to ask me questions like that – but it’s so pedestrian and desperate when you do it like that. It’s like he’s trying to fulfill a dream to get a letter into the Penthouse Forum.

“Dear Penthouse, I never thought it would happen to me…”

No chance. If you were low-key and not so obvious, I’d consider it. But when you’re begging for it, I can’t respect that. I always go back to something Janeane Garofalo said when talking about Kevin Smith’s movie, Chasing Amy:

“When Ben Affleck pulls the car over and talks to Joey, and tells her how he feels about her? I was like going ‘That will never happen to me. That will never ever happen to me.’ And by the way honesty does not work except for celluloid so don’t even try that, but to tell people that you like them will only serve to make them not like you. I mean that’s basically that’s all that’s gonna do. No matter how much you liked them, if they’re going to give you a full disclosure, now they’re not cool. ‘You like me? Oh…’ Like that’s–? So even if it did happen to me, it can’t happen to me, because if the cute comic book guy says ‘I love you and I’m better for loving you’ or all this stuff then I would have to go like ‘Well you’re gonna have to take me home because I don’t respect you at all anymore. Be a man! God! Be aloof! What’s your problem? Don’t call- You want me to like you? Don’t pick up that damn phone!”

And this is why I’m still alone. The minute a guy breaks down the wall and shows the slightest bit of interest in me, I shut down. I don’t know why, but I like a challenge. Let me work for it! Don’t make it so easy for me. Where’s the fun in that? I don’t get it either, but that’s how my brain works. Here’s the thing, I’m not looking to rush into anything. If I did that, then I’d end up stuck and miserable, then I end up in jail – because I tried to smother him in his sleep and I look horrible in orange. Spending the rest of your life in that God awful color would be a tragedy. One more reason why a challenge is good.

So I plan on ignoring him and I’m hoping he’ll figured it out on his own. I know it’s not mature, but it’s better than me saying: “I don’t know if you missed a memo, but you’re kind of a schmuck and that has turned my vagina into Death Valley. So I’m going to bail, empty a 100 gallon drum of Astroglide inside of me and see if that helps my snatch situation. Toodle loo, schnookums!”

I don’t think he’d like to hear that. He might find it a tad emasculating or just think I’m a evil wench for saying his piss poor attempts to be sexy has killed whatever living soul that was still inside me. But this has taken it to a whole new level. Cheers to you, sir. So I know there’s a nicer way of saying things and not ruin the moment. But I don’t have the energy to teach a remedial “How to seduce a girl” class. That’s what porn and your mom is for. Wait….what? No…I don’t even know. Yeah. No. Prank Caller!

Cameron Frye is a blogger(who isn’t these days?) from Boston. She’s lost 300 lbs and is less than thrilled with the lack of hockey in her life. You can read more of her ramblings on or you can stalk her and ask her out at