Sunday, July 30, 2006

Mommy-Pity

C. and I have been arguing about having children (or, in my case, NOT having them) for about a week now. He, in typical male fashion, wants to 'pass on his name' (WTF about my name, hm?) or something equally stupid. I, wisely, am not in any rush to have my insides invaded by some alien who will then exit the same way it came in: certainly without any pleasure involved.

The reasons for not having a child are legion (the foremost being self-preservation and economic freedom), while there is only one logical reason to have one: "I want one". which is, for me, unimaginable.

One of my friends just had his first child, a son. I imagine they are proud and happy, and for them, I am proud and happy as well. But I imagine their marriage could handle it. Mine? Not so sure.

"We don't communicate now," I told C. on the way from church, where I spent a good half-hour pitying the woman next to me who was sitting alone with an infant girl. "How will we possibly communicate after the kid, when we have even LESS time together?"

[In an exasperated tone] "What do you mean, we don't talk? We're talking now!"

"We talk business. If there's something to be done, oh, we'll get it one. That's what we do."

"Well, isnt' that what marriage is? Providing for one another?"

I rest my case.

If we were opening up a bookstore, or even buying some real estate, I'd be all for it. Investments are easier to imagine than poopy diapers, no sex, no autonomy, sleepless nights, the abandonment of your friends, complete ignorance of what to do, your spouse cheating on you because "You aren't the person they married and give all your attention to the baby", no shopping, not reading any book without pictures, and a basic downward spiral at work.

I couldn't even concentrate in church today. Usually, I amuse myself people watching or writing in my journal (people think i'm taking notes on scripture), but we got there late today, and were seated next to a woman with an infant girl. The baby wasn't terribly cute, and sort of stared at you, like it knew you were uncomfortable, and jerked around wierdly in that uncontrolled way they have. It did not gurgle or coo, or anything, but I do think when it smiled at the person over the mother's shoulder, I think it was taking a shit in its diapers.

I tried not to look directly at the baby, for fear that her mother might take any viewing as affection and offer to let me hold her. Nevertheless, I was very struck with pity for her mother,who, while she looked okay on the surface, I was sure was a broiling mass of rage, lonliness, desperation, and exhaustion.

I had a million questions I wanted to ask:Where was her husband? she had a ring; don't any men actually take care of their children? Poor thing; she can't even carry a normal purse insted of that hideous huge pink diaper bag! Did those pantyhose hurt after having a kid? Is her husband cheating on her at this very moment with some non-preggo, younger, thinner chick? Bastard. HE should be here. What was that she was drinking? If it was formula, how can she afford to have such a nice suit? Maybe it's old or something. Moms don't buy new clothes, right? Until the old ones fall apart and then what they do buy is hopelessly out of date? And if she was feeding her breastmilk, how could she have time to hold down a job and let something suck at her? For how may promotions had she been passed over? How did it feel,knowing her life as an individual was over? That she would always be known as 'mommy' or "Mom", or "Buymethat, NOOOOOOOOWWWWW!"

It was overwhelming I could barely finish my budget.

Sunday, July 09, 2006

"Fat is not a judgement".

i was just at the makeupalley boards (On which I don't post nearly as much as I used to becasue of the blatant sizeist/race-ignorance that I run into on a regular basis there), and someone mentioned that there was a girl who was 5 ft, and 170 lbs. Of course, everyone thought it necessary to point out how unhealty and obese she is. "Obese" is, of course, the thin person's word for everything over 120 lbs., so you have to figure that in too. However, in this case, it is clinically obese. Hell, I'm clinically obese. The doctor who told me so is no longer my doctor. He rates right up there with the guy who grabbed my gut, shook it and said, "What's this? A TUMOR?"

I hate doctors. Except my GP. Love him.

Anyway, I digress.

These board girls, who all claim to be size 0 and 00, spend $600+ a pop on a purse or shoes, and come back to brag about it to strangers on the internet...the same ones who jumped all over me because I dared to say that plus size clothing is marganlized and shouldnt be -- one of these girls said

"Fat is not a judgement."

Right. And I'm Victoria Beckham. A woman who, like Nicole Richie, has become famous for her emaciation, and thus is considered beautiful, a fashion plate, someone to be envied. Admired. Kate Winslet, (considered 'chubby' by societal standards), was digitally whittled down for a spread in GQ, lest her unbony figure turn off its readers. "Size six is the new size fourteen" is a jab at an industry that indeed, considers anyone over size 10 invisible, but marginalizes anyone who designs for those invisible women a second-class designer. Women refuse to have sex because they "Feel fat". I myself have said I'd chose an early death over being thin.

The truth is, Fat IS a judgement. It's become synonymous with 'ugly' and 'unacceptable.' Women are more succeptible to it becaue we feel our worth is so tied into our appearance. This is why a woman, if she chooses to truly wound another, need only hint that she is overweight.

"fat" to so many people means more than "she/he eats more than he/she excercises," or "he/she has a glandular problem". It means "You are lazy, no-good, unattractive, unloveable, undesirable, and certainly not worth as much as this thin person over here."

So yeah, as it stands now... Fat is a judgement. The only way to stop is is to stop judging people that are fat.

Sunday, July 02, 2006

Wannabe

Today I looked at all the chic twirty single/childless women, and was really sad. (mothers are infamously fashionless and, well....mumsy and have always been a source of horrific fascination for me -- those that are well-turned out are either rich (they can afford trainers, lipo, plastic surgery, lipo, and regular fillings of psychiatric drugs) or manic (they binge, purge, and time-manage every last second of their and their child's days, murdering any fun, free time, or enjoyment of life in the process) in my opinion) Simply put, I've come to this conclusion:

My best days are behind me.

My moments of glory when I could command attention as a woman are far gone. I can't command it from other women, as I am neither beautiful (a threat), rich (a source of envy) or powerful (a source of envy and/or scorn). I keep thinking of things I'll never have again, and it really is depressing. C. mentioned last night that we aren't 'poor', we live well, and did not take kindly to my pointing at a slew of half-million dollar lakehouses and saying, " Well, compared to them we are!"

I'm a wannabe. I wanna be thin and beautiful (they go together, y'know
). I wanna be someone's lover. I wanna be wanted. I wanna be desired. I wanna be really good at something.

Dante wears Banana Republic

Yesterday I was distraught at the thought of going to yet another function where I am The Ugly One, in no small part because of my a)size and therefore b)lack of anything 1)suitable, and 2)flattering to wear. I ended up in a horrific gauze empire-waist sleeveless top that made me earn second glances not because it was so cute, but because people were trying to figure out if I was pregnant or just badly dressed and fat.

There's an exchange in The Devil Wears Prada*:
Nigel:"[Size] zero is the new two, two is the new four..."
Andy: I'm a size six.
Nigel: Size six is the new size fourteen.
And in the world of fashion, that's true. The thing is, in the wider world, no matter what my husband (who watches porn with size 4 pornstars, so I can hardly believe a word he says) tells me, Thinner is Better. anything over a size 10 isn't even worth mentioning. Size 10 is gargantuan and you should be on a diet and the odd designer will deign to make something for you while you figure out a way to starve and excercise your w ay to acceptability.

Yesterday I was suffering from both Fabulous Movie Clothing Hangover/Envy and having to compete with someone who is gorgeous even in tatty old jeans and faded summer top (on her, it just looks lovingly worn and lived-in, while I looked like the Cleaning Lady they decided to take to dinner to learn how to read the menu.

They were perfectly nice, and My Competition was blissfully unaware(as only someone gorgeous and thin and really sweet can be) of my torment, and was a gracious and kind hostess, funny and charming. But even throughout dinner and the conversation, I kept thinking how I can't keep up with her -- or 98% of the population. I'm not thin, I'm not rich. Hell, I can't even belong on a messageboard without being made to feel shit for being fat.

There was a time when clothes made me feel better. Philosophy was -- is, if I had a pretty new dress, or the right shoes, or the right bag (preferrably one from Marc Jacobs), I'd maybe be pretty. People would like me. I'd be acceptable. People would overlook the fat and ugly for the cute shoes, the interesting bag.

Thing is, though, now I can't afford interesting bags or truly great shoes. I'm the one rocking jeans from last year's banana republic sale, and Gap blouse I got off clearance. Accessories? Forget it. I'm even giving up that tired old Tiffany pendant I thought was so chic. I can't have Bettye Mueller, or David Yurman. I can't even FIT into cute frocks from blaec (hell, not even anthropologie!) , and spending $500 on a clearance Marc Jacobs bag is simply a foreign concept.

So what's the use? What is there to aspire to, aesthetically?

I'm hoping that going to see Superman will not be nearly as depressing.