Wednesday, July 30, 2014

Not Entirely All About That Bass

We are a rainbow of sizes AND STILL REALLY HOT
Last weekend I was in Baltimore with a group of girls all gathered for a bachelorette party. As we were braiding hair and applying lipgloss, a song started playing on iTunes radio. We were talking and distracted but got the gist of the song - some cute catchy thing about positive body image!  We being women who could be categorized in every possible women’s size, nodded in agreement that we liked the little clips of it that we heard. Today, I saw the song shared on Facebook. Not realizing it was the same song that I heard over the weekend, I clicked on it and watched the music video. I’m bopping my head to it, thinking about how I will send a link of it to my friend telling her that i found the cute song we liked and within the first effing thirty seconds it happens.

She hates on the size 2 girl.
Yeah, it's pretty clear, I ain't no size two
But I can shake it, shake it
Like I'm supposed to do
Cause I got that boom boom that all the boys chase
And all the right junk in all the right places

*but why*


Like, why?


WHY?!


Why is it a work of the devil to be of a slim build? Also, whyyyyyyy do we have to be mean about it?


I heard the line and I felt a mixture of emotions, first exasperation, then some bit of shame, and finally it rounded off with indignation. What is wrong with my body? I am a natural size small. Hence somewhere in the 2 or 4 range. And I know girls who are thinner than I am. That is just how they look. I don’t give a single shit if you are a size 12. I don’t ask you to lose weight. I don’t hint that you should eat a salad. I don’t give one solitary, tiny little shit about your weight, Meghan Trainor (yeah, I said it) so why is it so necessary for you to put mine to blast like that?!

She goes on to hate on Barbie’s perfect silicone body, which I am fine with. I am sure we’ve all seen the articles (at least the BuzzFeed one) about how effed up Barbie would be if she were a real person and how her dimensions are out of control. Plus, even if you are size two, odds are that your thighs still move when you walk. We can all collectively hate on Barbie.


I won’t even get into the awkwardness of discussing that her mother informed her that men like extra booty at night to hold on to. And I won’t get at all into the whole “we should love our bodies for us, not for men”, because I don’t even have the emotional energy to go down that road. I am hear for the size 2 girls who are not allowed to feel the same pride as the girls with the big bootys.


We are not evil! Stop making us feel bad!


Today at work I discussed with a co-worker how three particular people at our job who aren’t universally liked seem to all like me. Each time one of the people was brought up, he would respond with, “Well, you’re a pretty girl. People are nice to pretty girls.” It was funny and we laughed but somewhere I felt weird. Was he right? Was that why they had been kind to me? What if I start breaking out like it is the 10th grade again. Will they stop? What if my medicine for my acne makes me gain weight like it did in the 12th grade. What about then?


Meghan, you are really freaking cute. And like, probably a size 8 which BTW, isn’t considered fat. Or even plus sized (unless you are trying to be a Victoria’s Secret Angel). I know that you are caught in the awkward not-fat-but-not-skinny-either conundrum, but could you not take it out on me? Yell at Barbie. Yell at Vogue. Yell at advertising companies. But not at me. I didn’t do anything to you. I am not shaming you.


I am pretty positive that I have shared this story in a previous blog post but just in case I didn’t, I will share it again.


At some point in my teenage years I was shopping the clearance rack at American Eagle. It being a circular rack, the XS/S, which was my current size was next to the XL/XXL. As I leafed through overpriced tank tops, the girl next to me who is searching through the XL/XXL made a comment to her boyfriend about how all these “skinny bitches” blah blah and how it is “disgusting” how anyone can fit into a pair of shorts so small, etc. I was so embarrassed, I was so ashamed of myself. For about 30 seconds and then I was pissed.


In her song, Meghan again uses the phrase “skinny bitches”. It is so bad that I am “skinny” that now I am a bitch? Why must such language be used. It is mean. I repeat, IT IS MEAN. Please stop. Body positivity is so great, all bodies need to feel positive, but when one body type puts down another to make them seem greater... No. Because we all know if there was a song about how great it is to be a size 2 and "ew, bigger sizes are gross and unappealing" that person would maybe be guillotined.


If you google the song (called All About That Bass) you will see little blips stating that it is the body feel good song of the summer, or that it celebrates bodies of all shapes and sizes. And that is true. Unless that size is a small and then you are just a bitch who needs to eat a sandwich. Oh, and by the way, I am a fucking size 2 AND I can still shake it. So, you’re welcome.




Sunday, July 6, 2014

Swan Song

You all have been so good to me.
You've allowed me to believe I have secret admirers. You've shown me that I have real life cheerleaders. You've made me feel that my words are worth hearing.

But all good things come to an end.

This is my last post. This is my swan song.

I have been reading a lot. 8 books in less than one month to be exact. The more books that I read, the more characters that I cry over, the more time that I laugh to myself while reading on the subway, the more I realize that I will never do what these people do.
And that is ok.

I have so many words. They start somewhere far down in my soul, but the time they leave my mouth (or my fingers) they are so jumbled up that I can barely get my point across. I have so much to say but no idea how to say it. I find myself to be so silent. Hours spent in reflective thinking. No clue how to exude what is only intrinsic.

I spent a few hours today with a darling friend on a long car ride to the beach. She asked me about my religion and I gave her the best answer I could (which was a very poor one). It was the answer to the question I have been asking myself for over 5 years. I could hardly articulate the emotions, the thought process, the years of anguish. My words are too jumbled. I am stuck. I am lost. I am a wander.

Putting them on paper use to sort them out. They have always been jumbled inside of me but once they left my soul, once they were things that I could see and not just feel, then I could finally have a bit of clarity.

Currently, I find it a burden just to try.

For every post I have written there are two that I have deleted. Posts with strong plot lines. Intelligent words and ideas that sit on my soul impatiently awaiting their turn to shine. I write and write and write but no matter the abundance of words, the message is still lost. Brevity and conciseness have never been my strong suits.

I hope to bring this blog back some day. Some day when I am not jumbled. Some day when my soul is eased. When I sleep peacefully and sip hot tea and watch leaves fall and feel contentment with the simple fact of being alive.

My fear though is that I will always have a jumbled soul, never understanding itself, never knowing if I believe what I believe or I believe what I have been taught to believe. I yearn for self actualization. I have felt in the past that I have achieved it and yet now as I reach adulthood it becomes elusive again.

All previous posts will be turned into "drafts" meaning that they won't be deleted, they just won't be visible to the public.

You've been so good to me.

So I leave you with this. My ever present reminder that despite my nomadic heart (and although I very often feel & say it) - I am not lost. I am just not yet found.

 I also leave you with this, something I quoted twice today. It isn't extremely applicable, but since I walk around with a black rain cloud over my head, whining about life's unfairness more days, I have to often remind myself of this:


"I wish the ring had never come to me, I wish that none of this had happened."
"So do all who live to see such times.  But that is not for them to decide.
All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us."