Quodlibets

Please don't tell me I look good

So I've been meaning to write about this for a while, and yesterday's post really ties into this. 

Please don't tell me that I look good when I'm wearing sloppy clothes.  You didn't five months ago, and I don't want to know that you're happy that I lost weight.  Or that you think I look good because I've lost weight.  In fact, from now on, unless you're explicitly complimenting a portion of my outfit (that necklace is lovely, or I love your pants) or my hair, don't compliment me.   Frankly, I somehow find it offensive and intrusive.  I can't explain it, but the more weight I lose, the more I hate the compliments and such.  It's an implication that I didn't look so good before, and I hate it.  I don't want to feel that my worth (as an attractive human being) is measured (by you) by how much weight I've lost.  I've been battling those feelings my entire life, and I've hurt for it. 

I don't know what else to say about it, except that if you compliment me, I'll feel uncomfortable, and by extension, way worse than I did before you complimented me.  It's going to take me some time to get comfortable with compliments.  That's just the way it is.  And don't think that I'm embarrassed because I feel good--which I could understand--because I'm telling you that it doesn't make me feel good.  It makes me feel bad.  So basically, compliment at your own risk.  It could lead to tears on a really bad day.

Blogging from work

Awwwww, yeah.  I love my internship. 

Two words:  Free Wi-Fi.

Have I Mentioned?

That I love Feministe?  Probably.  But go read this.  It's an interesting discussion between two women (who keep a feminist blog) about body image.

Obviously, I have a deeply conflicted view of body and self.  My own struggles with my weight, and the way I look should prove that.  I could probably write about this for pages and pages, and never be able to express the whole truth of my situation and feelings on the matter.  So I'm going to sort of jump around the topic in a way that makes sense to me, with the discussion over there being a jumping off point.

First of all, I never feel conflicted as a feminist because of what I put on my body.  I just don't, and I never have.  Maybe this is a throwback to my first relationship, and the way the lesbian community embraces it ALL, no matter what.  However, like Lauren and Jill, I do tend to be angry with myself as a "bad feminist" for caring so much about body image as unrelated to clothing and accessories.  But I try really hard to remember that how we view ourselves is intimately related to how others view us.  The personal is political.  We can't escape the media's (and Hollywood's) emphasis on skinny women, and we can't escape how that plays with our psyches.  We just can't.  I'm proof of that, too.

And through the whole weight loss thing, I've felt like I'm betraying myself.  I have.  Half of me hates that the skinnier I get, the better I feel about myself.  But I do.  And I think that a good portion of my serious depression last fall related to the heaviness of my body, and how much I hated myself.  I'm not defending it, but I am accepting it.  It is what it is.  How can I reconcile this in my head?  I ask myself the question constantly.  I believe that all women should love their bodies no matter their size, and yet I did not.  I do not.  (Yet I routinely see women of all sizes and realize how gorgeous they are.)  But I did do this for me.  I remind myself of that all the time.  No matter how I came to be depressed about my size, I was.  And it was important to me to be able to free myself from that depression without medication, and the weight loss did accomplish that (along with a dose of therapy.). 

I guess the truth is that body image can never be separated from the other small (and large) parts of ourselves.  My body image ties into my mindset ties into where I place myself in the world ties into why and how I identify as a feminist.

And yet.  I'm not always conscious of the way my body moves in the world.  I am always aware of the way I move in the world, but I do not constantly compare my body to my body three days ago, or to that woman over there.  Sure, I do it.  But I am able to escape it enough to keep sane.  Perhaps, as Jill hypothesizes, it has something to do with time spent in Europe.  I too spent time in Italy, and I have never loved myself more than I loved myself in Italy.  A simple, brutal fact.  And yes, there are beautiful women in Italy, but I never felt inferior.  (We liked to joke that they were beautiful young, but at age 50, their boobs fell and their stomachs grew, and they shrank in height.  A crude stereotype, yes.  But those old Italian ladies, man, they are so sure of themselves and their place in the world.  They're always striking.)  Maybe it was that I was removed from Italian society, that I was an outsider by default.  I don't know.  But I think that like Jill, I stopped noticing my body as much.

I don't know.  I keep saying it, but it's the truth.  There's no one answer to the question of how to make peace with your body, and the space you take up in the world.  I've tried to make peace with myself, and I'm not there yet.  And I know that no matter how much weight I lose--if I attain my "goal" weight--I will not be done with the process.  Likely, it will never end.  That's a legacy of the place I grew up, the home I grew up in, and the media that follows me around like a stray dog.  I'm finally beginning to be okay with that.  I might forever be thinking about (and writing about) body image, and if that's the truth, that's okay.

(Tomorrow: more conflicts with body image, but this time with how other people look and react to me.)

I love this meme!

found at frogblog (who incidentally has a fantastic post up today after the meme)

1) My uncle once: went to college for seven years because he liked school so much.  Not kidding.

2) Never in my life: will I skimp on good food, regardless of money.

3) When I was five: I had a really hard time learning left and right, and how to tie my shoes.

4) High school was: fucked up.

5) Fire is: good for lighting cigarettes.

6) I once saw:  Ron Jeremy at an airport and whoa--on our plane.

7) There’s this woman I know who: throws amazing pots.

8) Once, at a bar: I stood around uncomfortably.

9) By noon I’m usually: remembering the pill.

10) Last night: we ate steak and watched a Lifetime movie.

11) If I only had: enough money not to work.

12) Next time I go to church: hell might freeze over.

13) The best thing about my last relationship was: that it ended.

14) What worries me most:  Wait.  What doesn't worry me?

15) When I turn my head left:  I see the pictures S put together for me for a Christmas present.

16) When I turn my head right:  I see S talking on the phone to his friend B in CA.

17) You know I'm lying when:  I giggle uncontrollably.

18) What I miss most about the eighties:  Rainbow Brite.

19) If I were a character written by Shakespeare, I’d be:  Beatrice.  Or is that wishful thinking?

20) By this time next year:  I will be sick of the working world.

21) I have a hard time understanding:  fundamentalism.

22) You know I like you if:  I tell you.

23) If I won an award, the first person I’d thank would be:  Probably S.

24) Darwin, Mozart, Slim Pickens & Geraldine Ferraro:  No.

25) Take my advice, never:  Stay in a hostel in Rome.

26) My ideal breakfast is:  a buffet.

37) If you visit my hometown, I suggest you go to:  Cocoon.  Very cool store.

28) Why doesn't everyone:  treat everyone else as they wish to be treated?

29) If you spend the night at my house:  you better be quiet when I want to sleep.

30) I’d stop my wedding:  if my sister couldn't be there.

31) The world could do without:  fundamentalism.

32) My favorite blonde is:  hmmm.  I don't know.

33) If I do anything well, it’s: eat.

Uh, what happened to 34-43??

44) And by the way:  it's important that you eat fresh mozzarella at least once in your life.

45) The last time I was drunk, I:  made S drive me to McDonald's for chicken mcnuggets, while my sister and mom bitched in the backseat.

Anniversary Dinner

Last night, for our anniversary, we defrosted two filets, and planned a baked potato/steak dinner.  Unfortunately, that required that we purchase potatoes, so off to the grocery store on a Saturday we went.  Exciting day, no?

Avocados were on sale, so I decided that I'd make guacamole to put on top of my potato, since I don't partake of full-fat butter products and cheese, as S does.  Plus, it's more exciting than slightly weird reduced-fat sour cream.  So yeah, my guacamole kicks ass.  Seriously, the BEST guacamole I have ever created.  I used to make a version with oil, but this time, being that I was trying my best to not screw up my weekend more royally than I already have, I decided to forego that little addition.  Here's my recipe:

2 avocados, mashed with a potato masher
10 grape tomatoes, cut into eighths
juice of 1 and a half limes
less than half a teaspoon of parsley, chopped 'til almost pasty
some onion (Vidalia) chopped teeny-tiny
salt
a drop or two of La Victoria taco sauce

And voila.  It's done.  And delish.  In fact, so delish that I ate so much before dinner that I decided not to eat it at dinner.  Good, right?  Except that I then ate it for dessert.  Oh well.  At least it was entirely vegetable.  (Now that I think about it, some jalapeno might have really added a lot to the guac.)

I also sauteed some onions with a teensy bit of butter and a teensier bit of olive oil for the top of my steak, and they were decadent.  It was great.  And the steaks were fantastic too.  I take them out of the fridge a half hour before grilling time and salt them with coarse kosher salt.  Then I let them sit until the grill is steaming hot (we have a Weber BabyQ), at which point I douse them in Extra Virgin Olive Oil (we have some excellent stuff that S brought home once from downtown).  I then salt them a second time.  S takes over at this point and grills each stake for about five minutes each side.  We then let them sit on the counter for at least five minutes, to let the juices re-absorb.

Oh man, these steaks are unbelievable.  I swear it's the double-salt crust.  But you'll have to take my word for it.  Next time, I want to wrap some bacon around the filets and see what happens.

Anyhow, here it is.

Dear S,

Three years ago today you took a risk and kissed me after we'd watched a not-particularly-good movie in your room.  I was scared and ecstatic, and I took the second risk, when I asked if you wanted to try to "date" or if you wanted to be friends with benefits.  I was happy then when you said that we should try to have "something" and I'm still happy.  We'll never know the excitement of those first weeks again, not in the same way, but I feel lucky that I get weak-kneed when you kiss me hard. 

I can't say that we've been through a lot as a couple, because I don't think we have.  We'll probably deal with worse things than me not getting into grad school, and being horribly depressed for months.  But I can say that I think we're going to be okay no matter what comes our way.  You have a way of tempering pain for me, and for that, I'm very grateful. 

I can imagine a life without you, but I can't imagine that it would be pleasant.  Somehow, with your enthusiasm for Pearl Jam and your amazing, wondrous, genius ability to take photos, you've made my life into something better than it was before.  I never would have guessed it.  Your capacity to view all human beings as good humbles me, and your silent way disquiets me, but most of all, you provide me with a daily joy, whether it is a photo, a word or a look.  I love you for it.

I don't think I know a better person. 

I love you dearly, more than I ever thought I would, far more than I did that day three years ago.  I'm so glad you kissed me.  I'm so glad I didn't listen to everyone who told me you didn't like me, and that you wouldn't, because it's been the best gift of my life.  (Besides the OC box set you left on my computer this afternoon.....)

Love
A

Colin Powell

Was anyone else disturbed by Colin Powell's appearance on The Daily Show?

Maybe disturbed wasn't the right word.  Irritated, maybe.  Or how about infuriated?

Clothes make the man (or not)

S doesn't like to wear anything besides t-shirts and cargo pants or jeans.  Nothing.  Hence, he has no nice clothing.  (Besides the sport jacket, tie, shirt and nice pants that he had to wear to my cousin's wedding.  And he looked very, very good in it too.)  I mean, nothing.  No polo shirts, no collared shirts (okay, one ugly NIKE one), no nice khakis, no nice sandals.  NOTHING.

So we're going to a fairly dressy restaurant on Sunday night with S's parents (sort of a good-bye dinner, as they're leaving in a few weeks for their new life in sunny CA.), and he's got nothing to wear.  Well, I decided to rectify that today.  My mom and I, on a whim, went to find S a shirt that he could wear with the dress slacks from his little suity thing.  And can I tell you how many damn shirts we looked at?  And touched?  (Because texture is very important to S; any silky shirt is a no-no.  My mom thought he could just get a solid Tommy Bahama shirt, but they were far too silky.  And thus commenced the search of all searches.  He's a pain in my ass.  (And I said this probably forty million times during the shopping trip.)

I did buy a shirt for him, eventually.  I really like it.  You know what his reaction was?  "I like it, but I don't think I can wear it."  You know what my response is?  "Fine, I'll return it.  But then you have to come with and find a shirt.  Because you have NOTHING to wear on Sunday."

He agreed.  I'll let you know how it goes.

Update:  S didn't like the shirt on.  Even though he looked soooooo good in it.  Really.  It looked fantastic with the pants, and he looked so good!  But he doesn't feel comfortable, so today, we will be at the mall, feeling more shirts.

Banging the colorbook drum

One more appeal on the blog.  If you're interested, email one of us.  We're aiming for at least ten participants.  We've got five. 

Again, if you're remotely interested, let one of us know.  It could be very fun.

My sis will be posting pics of the colorbook she's currently working on, and when she does, I'll link to them so you can see what it's all about.

Some things I was thinking at this morning's breakfast meeting:

• It's not cutting edge if you've done it four times a year for fourteen years.
• If everyone here has done this before, can we put the dog and pony show away and just do the damn thing?
• MUST......DOODLE......NOW
• Isn't it funny that my pants look pleated?  Wait, no.  That's not funny.
• If I look over at Kelly, I will laugh uncontrollably and not be able to stop.
• These hash-browns are CRAP.
• Ewwwww.  Honeydew.  I wish I could spit this out.
• MUST......DOOOOOOOOOODLE
• I will be the queen of bullshitting this quarter
• My work philosophy:  Work = $$$$
• I wonder if anyone would notice if I read Dance with the Devil under the table.
• Oh yeah, my "boss" is sitting next to me.  Never mind.
• Can I go home now?

That about sums it up.