reality check 1.0

Well, being a female has never been easy, least of all in our current American society. We generally end up taking care of everyone but ourselves. We get the bleeding, the gathering, the cooking, the planting, the wading knee-deep in the fucking rice paddy, the childbirth, the inexplicable hairs on the upper lip. We have to be "UNDERSTANDING" and we are supposed to smile and act nice even when we want to strangle you. (This repression is why women become dominatrices, by the way.)

Personally, I never got the hang of all that girly crap. Sure, I enjoy a good manicure. I have been known to chortle in glee at a soap opera. I get misty when I watch "Moulin Rouge" or anything wherein a dog dies. I have a biological clock (it's digital, so the ticking isn't a problem). And I spend far too much money on my hair and clothes.

But I never really "fit in" when it's an all-girl kind of thing, with rare exceptions. I loathe tupperware, pampered chef, and lingerie parties (though I do appreciate all of these items on their own merits). I HATE wedding and baby showers, even though I like weddings and babies. I just never feel right. I feel like I've dropped off the flying saucer into the middle of some gathering, and I'm only there for purposes of anthropological study.

I stand out like a sore thumb at these events. Jello salads and hors d'ouvres made from velveeta make me uncomfortable. I always need four or five of those little napkins with the flowers on them. I keep busy by being the photographer, but it isn't enough. I can't make small talk, which is odd, because I never shut up in any other situation. If I were backstage at a rock concert surrounded by methadone-crazed roadies, I could handle myself just fine. But for some reason, a room full of chicks intimidates me.

Not in a physical way. I know I can take most of 'em if it comes down to it. There's just something missing for me. Over the years, however, I've learned to cope. I have memorized acceptable topics of conversation. I have even been successful in initiating and completing conversations at these parties. And strangely enough, the one subject that I seem to be able to "connect" to these alien women with is...

Yes, that's it. Fat. Our own fat asses, one another's fat asses; what we're going to do to make them less fat; how do you lose that baby fat; how many times did we work out this week (four for me!), who has the best gym membership, the latest diet secret, the worst eating disorder. Fat.

Jesus!!! I can't believe how much that sucks. I would like to think I'm above all that beauty myth bullshit. If I am truly honest with myself, however, I find that isn't true at all. I obsess about my looks constantly.

There, I admitted it. You have no idea how difficult it is for me to admit this. A few who are close to me and have to put up with my bouts of low self-esteem are already aware of it. I just try really hard not to let anybody else know.

If I were to attempt to be objective, I would probably have to say that most people wouldn't think of me as fat (though some would); I am actually in pretty good shape (lots of tae bo and weight lifting) in spite of having bad asthma, and I do have this giant rack, which tends to make a girl look larger all over, not that most men care. But I can't be objective. I have been made a part of the goddamn machine. I hate my body most of the time, and I spend way too much of my (I like to think) considerable brain power worrying about it, when I could be curing cancer or solving the conflict in the Middle East or improving my teaching practice or my yoga or meditation practice or at least getting my freaking laundry done. (CONSPIRACY...? Possibly...)

Well, now it's out there. So what am I going to do about it?

Being the experimental Aquarian sort that I am, I think this page is what.

Here's the scenario:

1. Every morning, or nearly, I will get up out of bed and take a picture of myself. No makeup or hair stuff beforehand. All me. (With clothes on, of course. I'm not that brave.)

2. I will post that picture here.

3. I will use the rest of this page as a repostory for body image related news and outrage and so forth.

The purpose? Simply to remind myself that there's more to me (to US) than how I look. That it isn't a big deal. Maybe I'll even work up to leaving the house without makeup at some point. (ha)

FAT.