Monday, December 10, 2007

Scene: a classroom at your local community college.

Event: Culinary Math. Even chefs can’t escape numbers.

Reason: Work, for me.

There’s an hour of class time left, but most of the students have filtered out in favour of hallway gossip and smokes outside. There are only five people left in the room: Me, my student Brian, a boy with a permanent open-mouthed gape, a girl in kitchen pants, and the instructor, a fast food chain owner shaped like a big eggplant.

Everyone is engaged in a conversation about formulaic bla bla that is usually beyond my scope. If I’d liked math in school, lord knows I’d be having coffee in a hospital doctor’s lounge right now instead of taking notes. Kitchen Pants asks some kind of question, Eggplant responds in kind, then shuffles over to our side of the room and to our table where he whispers loudly to my student, “She said it like that because she’s a woman.”

I’m not allowed to speak in class, but my mouth doesn’t often grasp this concept. “What did you say?”

Eggplant does a double take, since he’s never heard me really talk before. “I mean… I said… What I meant was…. Aren’t you only supposed to be an impartial observer?”

Ha! Like he’s familiar with the terms of my contract. I leaned forward and said, a bit quieter, “I can do a lot more than observe, you know.”

Eggplant blinked once, twice, then opened his mouth but nothing came out. He stared at me like that for a good half minute, then turned around and resumed with the lesson.

I love blindsiding assholes. Especially because I’m a woman.

Wednesday, December 05, 2007

Rant of the Skinny Girl

This will be my only post this week, because I think it hits a nerve that needs to be read, pondered and discussed. As a matter of fact, this post isn't even mine.

Adriana is a good friend of mine, a beautiful face with a firecracker mind on the best set of legs this side of the country. She is a business woman, a writer & model, and she wrote this piece about being thin.

While it seems everyone has gripes about being fat, many of us could never possibly imagine the physical complaints of a skinny girl. As it turns out, her world isn't that different from ours.


As a kid, I was always very skinny. It seemed to my parents that I was always too preoccupied with games, and never wanted to take a break to eat. I have always found eating to be a chore that took time away from my creative processes. Even though I liked all food I never wanted to stop, sit down and have a meal. My adrenaline kept my appetite in check so unless someone was shoving a piece of bread in my mouth while I was playing, there was no way to get me to eat. My parents tried offering me everything from my favorite foods, to bribes and then punishments. I hated the punishments! I was not allowed to leave the table until my plate was done, but my plate would be packed with more food than I could ever finish. It was ridiculous. I would sob and eat and sob and eat and then puke it up 30 minutes into playtime. Needless to say I grew up being at constant war with all the yummy things this world has to offer, which consequently turned me into a 5’8, somewhat malnourished 25-year old woman.

As I observe society around me, I am figuring out that a woman of my body type is, as they would say, in. It took me some time to realize why people reacted to me the way that they did, and no, I’m not completely oblivious to the way the world seems to work these days. I know that tall and thin is the shit. The model body is what everyone seems to be striving for, but all I have to say to that is “bull-shit”. Let me elaborate.

I am a tall skinny girl who did go to university and has traveled a significant portion of this world. I think and read and analyze and more than anything, I spend my time searching for people to share ideas, thoughts and opinions with. Now, I’m at the point where people are really starting to piss me off. Nine out of ten people I meet don’t converse with me beyond their thoughts on my becoming a model, or some other sort of “pretty” and ignorant female stereotype.

Now, if any of you out there are sitting there thinking, “What is she complaining about?” then let me welcome you to my world. On a daily basis I have cars honking at me, or even producing vile profanities (usually from the passenger side… scrub) Old men follow me on the subway and women nearly snarl when I’m dressed to go out which, needless to say, makes me feel like crap. I realize that there are girls who break their ankles trotting in heels, just dying for an offer; Little, socially-accepted hookers that have yet to realize what their calling is, but I’m not in their movie.

Why is it that the fat girls are always labeled as the ones with “great personalities?” To me that would be an awesome compliment. I grew up around intelligent and very funny full-figured women in an atmosphere that believed big is beautiful. It was like the Baroque era with voluptuous curves of angels painted all over the ceilings of some of the most famous cathedrals and chapels in the world. And there I was, a skinny, flapper-girl built like a 12-year-old boy trying to find a pair of jeans small enough and long enough not to make me look like I borrowed them.

Men don’t speak to me; they speak about my body and what they want to do to it. Women either don’t give me the time of day or they treat me like I was some sort of giggly half-wit aspiring to earn a title as some old rich dude’s arm candy. Please! I hate that, cause I’m here thinking, For once, be someone chill to talk to.

Now, aside from the emotional stresses forced upon me by society there are so many other shitty factors to being a skinny girl. For example: partying. Man, those fat girls can drink a shit-load, dance all night, laugh their asses off, keep drinking and not feel a thing in the morning. I have half a beer and a shot, dance to one song and there I am hugging the toilet until I have completely emptied out my system and am too dehydrated to continue walking. In fact, I have been known to pass out in my boyfriend’s arms, standing in the middle of the street after puking up a couple of beers and half a sandwich. Now, combine that with two days of shameless recuperation and you get pathetic.

Also, I didn’t want to have to go here, but I do: Shopping! I have worked in retail for 10 years and let me tell you, it is NOT easier for skinny girls to shop. In my experience, full-figured women stay away from certain fashions due to their own insecurity and most of the time they look better in them than any walking-hanger-type chick such as myself. Butts and boobs are great and that’s clearly stated by the seams on garments for women. Bellies are endearing and thighs are sexy while a barely “B” cup in a corset is neither. Narrow hips, a small butt and stork-like legs can easily be freaky looking if not dressed properly, trust me. Let’s not even discuss the never-ending search for a freakin’ blazer that fits. I mean come on, all sleeves are ¾ length to me and the ones that fit in the waist, my shoulders rip apart. I hear people all the time saying how clothes are made for skinny people. My ass! Where are those clothes? Please, someone guide me to this skinny people heaven-of-fashion where everything fits my bony ass perfectly. I can’t even find gloves that fit because I have these gross, skinny, alien-looking fingers that no one ever considered in the magical world of mitts. I learned quickly that “one-size-fits-all” does not apply to me.

But who gives a shit about clothes? Let’s get down to health issues. It appears that since I am in fact skinny, I am condemned to deal with a common three-day cold over a period of two weeks. I am incapable of surviving the winter without five layers on bottom and five layers on top, and sometimes I even sleep like that. Socks are layered accordingly to accommodate the desired footwear, not that it matters since my blood only seems to flow down to my ankles and back as soon as the temperature hits lower than 15 degrees. I have the same circulation problems in my hands; it’s just that the blood tends to reach at least the first row of knuckles. To sum it up, from November until April I turn into a mass snot-producing, half-dead ice queen; a corpse on stilts.

To make matters even worse, I have apparently lost my privilege to conceive. My ovaries seem personally offended by the lack of food I consume, and have chosen to rob me of my womanhood by refusing to ovulate. I’m not too worried about that, though. I’m engaged to a Persian. If a Muslim doesn’t get me pregnant, science will.

Now if you thought that the self esteem, emotional and health issues were bad, it doesn’t end there. As a skinny girl, I have learned and gotten personally acquainted with the word “frigid.” In fact, I wanted to shoot myself when I realized that I am party to this disgusting characteristic that strips me of everything that is great when it comes to sex. With direct relation to shitty circulation, I will get too cold to even consider removing a layer of clothing, let alone get naked. And in the magical event, with a half bottle of wine, that I do get hot enough to consider further layer removal, the entire process in itself turns out to be awkward, clumsy and sometimes downright ridiculous, which causes me to deny myself the best natural pleasure known on earth: the orgasm. This process in turn makes me the poster girl for frigidity. It’s at these times that I get the brilliant idea to roll a fatty which automatically deals with the cold issues and allows me to enjoy a few short minutes of foreplay which to me seem like hours and to my partner like seconds.

Needless to say, being the cheap drunk that I am, the wine and herb have gone to my head and now, not only do I not feel the cold, but in fact I don’t feel anything, but a tingly sensation on a momentarily unidentifiable part of my body. Noticing this, my partner wastes no time (having dealt with this before, poor guy), and we proceed to passionate intercourse, which instantly wakes me up and urges me to reciprocate. Ok, now we’re talkin’. This is good times; this is what I’m talking about. Grinding, sweating, moaning…yes! Then of course I start to feel subtle discomforts as all skinny bitches do. When he’s on top of me he’s too heavy, when he’s sitting up I’m too cold, I’m way too drunk to be on top and doggy style hurts my knee caps. He has barely any patience left for me and is in pain (severe bruising) from all those bones sticking out all over the place while attempting to please me. All I have to say is, Thank God he loves me.

Now that we’ve crossed all lines of TMI (too much information) I will leave saying this: Skinny girls have it just as hard, at least the ones with brains. We all have to deal with our own issues. You may not like the fact that your love handles spill over your jeans; well, buy better jeans, just like I have to layer extra tank tops so my ribcage doesn’t show through. Being called Fat is just as hurtful as receiving a belittling, so-called “compliment” about your physical appearance that consistently implies your ignorance and promiscuity.

Fat girls are a blast and some are some skinny ones, so please stop looking at me like a freakin’ mannequin because truthfully, my world is no prettier than yours.