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emmanation

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Archive for the ‘aren’t we gorgeous?’ Category

oh my

Monday, August 25th, 2014

Yesterday a sweet friend of mine was at a fantasy football draft and some jackass made her feel bad.

Here’s how it went down. They were all drinking beer, making their picks, etc, and he started spouting off about the hotness of the women that he would like to … ‘get with’. (Of course I’m not above much cruder words, but I want to use them when I want to use them, not when some cuntrocket used them.) Then, just so everyone was aware, he very specifically said that he would never sleep with a woman who weighed more than 110 pounds. Because that would just be gross.

Apparently the background is that he’s very into MMA and he finds that kind of very strong, very low body fat woman attractive. Why the hell not? They look good and they work really hard. Admire them, want to bone them, whatever. We like what we like and when it’s based in reasonable admiration for an appropriate (i.e. non-exploited) target, then carry on.

Where his thought process fell apart is in trying to assign an upper weight limit.

A) THOSE WOMEN DO NOT ALL WEIGH THAT LITTLE. A few minutes of idle googling can tell you that if your eyeballs cannot, but they are strong, solidly built women. The lightest MMA class for women is the ‘atomweight‘ class, and the women in that class are at the top end of it. The other four classes are all heavier. So if he really means his upper limit is 110 lbs, then he’s limiting himself to one tiny part of the MMA world. I don’t know him, but is he really saying that a bantamweight MMA fighter could ask him for a date and he’d say no? Seems unlikely to me.

B) Then my sweet friend asked him how much he thought she weighed. She was trying to make a point, I see where she was going with it, but I also suspect you are currently seeing how it backfired. I don’t know how much she weighs but based on her reaction to his guess, I’m going to say he overestimated by 15 – 25 pounds. She might not be quite under his 110 lb limit, but she’s definitely close. So he can’t actually SEE 110 lbs when it’s in front of him. And he hurt her feelings, because he’d been espousing how unattractive something was and then immediately included her in that group.

The thing is, I support being attracted to whatever attracts you (again, as long as it’s appropriate and could be returned in a legal fashion). If cockknuckles like this guy want to set their sights on women with four percent body fat and very real training in ass kicking, more power to them. Their chances of success are their problem.

What is not ok is saying that other things are gross, ESPECIALLY if you have no idea what you’re talking about. If asked about your taste, explain briefly and non-insultingly and move on. No one needs to get hurt. (Except possibly idiots who hang out with bantamweight MMA fighters and then say 140 pounds is too heavy.)

Also, if some dummy says that he knows unequivocally what is and isn’t attractive, maybe tell him he doesn’t know what he doesn’t know and that he should shut his face. Or just walk away. Either one probably won’t dent his brain, but it might make you feel better.

you know what boys think

Thursday, October 11th, 2012

I used to have this boyfriend named Jimmy. Everyone loved Jimmy, and he was a good guy, but he was kind of … shy isn’t quite the right word, and prude isn’t quite the right word. He didn’t cuss a lot and he didn’t like it when girls cussed (ahahahah obviously that worked out really well), and he didn’t talk about pooping or farting or anything EVER.

So this one time, I had a terrible cold, and my nose was all flaky and gross like noses get, and Jimmy and I were at the grocery store so I could buy tissues and NyQuil. While we were in line, he turned to me and said:

You have stuff on your nose. You know what boys think when they see that.

And I got all mad because DUH I couldn’t stop blowing my nose long enough to let it heal, so what did he think I was going to do about it? So I said, no, dude, what do boys think, and he got all embarrassed and refused to answer. To this day I have no idea what he meant. Right now my nose looks that terrible again, though, because I’ve had the most MISERABLE cold since Monday. So, who knows what boys think when they see a gross flaky scaly nose? Is it boogers? Is that what he was referring to? Or … cocaine? Those are literally the only two things I can think of, and they’re both stupid.

 

dieting while feminist

Monday, September 19th, 2011

I’m giving up sugar for a week. (It’s being documented on Mangled Baby Duck (by me) if you’re interested.)

The primary reason I’m giving up sugar is because all I’ve developed some crappy eating habits over the summer. Everything was vacation, so why pay attention to how many chips I was putting down?

Also, though?

I’m hoping to lose a couple of pounds.

Body acceptance (healthy at every size ftw) is sort hard to consolidate with dieting. Am I not applying the same acceptance to myself as I do to others, etc?

Here’s the thing, though.

My Joe’s Jeans don’t fit.

People, I have ONE PAIR of really nice jeans. Every other pair I own came from Gap, on sale. (That’s not to say that Gap jeans aren’t nice – they are. They’re just not nice nice.) My Joe’s Jeans make me look and feel awesome. And they don’t stretch. And since this summer, my waist and the jeans haven’t been as friendly as they once were. The jeans still button, but I can only wear them while standing up.

So – I’m trying to be healthier, yes. Tortilla chips and beer are really only probably part of a well balanced diet, and it’s good for me to make an effort to move away from mass consumption of those items. Also, though? I’m trying to get my damn jeans to fit.

Is it not feminist to care about my expensive clothes? I actually don’t know. I know that I feel sort of bad, but that it is important to me. I like having nice (and stylish) things, and I can’t afford to get a new pair right now. (There are probably other things in my closet that will benefit from a slight pound reduction too).

I feel … inconsistent.

Perhaps it’s because I haven’t had any sugar in two days and my capacity for intellectual thought seems to be directly linked to my carbohydrate intake.

Or perhaps it’s because I’m not practicing what I preach.

I genuinely don’t know.

okey dokey

Monday, September 12th, 2011

There are undergraduate girls on campus every day whose shorts are the length of my (super cute retro style) swimsuit bottoms.

I think that perhaps part of getting older is a matter of letting practicality overwhelm appearance.

Don’t get me wrong – I want to look cool. I just don’t want to have to peel my bare thighs off of plastic seats four times a day. The red lines that appear during a 50 minute lecture do not go away in the ten minutes between classes, and that sort of ruins the look, no?

Plus, if someone prior to you was also wearing short shorts, aren’t you … like … sharing thigh sweat?

 

how I learned to quit whining and love my hair

Wednesday, August 10th, 2011

So I have a bunch of hair now.

I say that like it happened overnight. It didn’t. I cut it off two years ago:

When I cut it, I had this whole big thing about whether or not it made me less attractive. (In short (get it? short?) – yes, it did.)

For the last year though, every time I get it trimmed or think about getting it trimmed or walk past a salon or a building that looks like a salon, I’m all ‘I wanna cut off my haiiirrrrrrr’.

Every time I say that, Crockett says ‘ok’. And looks sad.

For six months or so, I’ve been pretending that sad look is the reason I’m not cutting it off. He loves my hair, even when it’s in the shower drain or in his nose while he sleeps. I told myself that I was keeping it long for him. He has to look at me more than I do, so he should have a say in the matter. Blah didie blah.

I was going to write out all my complaints about it, but I figured out a shorter way to get them across: I have the exact same problems that every woman with more than six inches of hair has.

It’s hot. It takes a long time to clean, to moisturize, to dry, to style. (As if I style. Ha. Queen B once told me that no professional woman should come to work with wet hair. As I am no longer professional, I no longer consider that piece of advice as relevant to me.) It dries out, etc, etc.

I’m not honestly sure why we ever grow our hair out. Is it as simple as the men around us loving it and us being considerate about their preferences? Is it so strongly associated with femininity that we just accept it? To say that most women make the choice to have long hair independent of societal pressure is to be wrong, I’m completely sure about that.

There was an article on Jezebel a little bit ago titled How Hair Extensions Made Me A Casual Sex Goddess. The author comes right out and says:

You’re kidding yourself if you don’t acknowledge that your hair communicates a message to the world.

Can that be it? Do we grow our hair long because to not grow it long is sending a message of some kind? Does it say that we don’t care about our looks, or that we’re not good in bed, or that we (gasp) prefer to sleep with women?

Here’s the revelation I recently had about my hair. I freely (and a little ashamedly) admit that keep it long for Crockett, and I keep it long because I am a college student who works, works out, and showers at odd hours of the day. Long hair that’s due a wash is more manageable than it’s short sister, by virtue of the taming power of hair bands and barrettes. I also can’t afford a nice haircut more than once a semester.

I keep it long because I’m lazy, broke, and because my boyfriend thinks it’s pretty.

Once I figured that out, I was able to stop moaning about cutting it.

When school is over and I’m back in the world of paychecks and predictable schedules, though, all bets are off.