Brick House

For those of you who know me, you know that, well... I'm a bit hippy. Not hippy dippy, but hippy-baby'sgoingtofallrightout-hippy. I'm not a fat girl, by any means. I am just that traditional Rubenesque, pear-shaped woman. I work out, I have good muscles, but I'm not nor have I ever been traditional skinny. Baby got back.

When I was younger, it really use to bother me. In fact, I was made fun of for my body shape all throughout school. Most of my friends are part of the more traditional idea of bodies. Sizes 2-8, if you know what I mean. My twin, in fact, has always been super little. While I was a size 12, she was a 4. It was really hard. Something happened, though, and I realized that no amount of starving or working out or obsessing is going to change my bones. I am what I am.

However, until I moved to DC there was always something that bothered me a bit. Even though I've dated/made out/whatever you want to call it with a lot of people and I'm happily married to a man who adores me, I was never really the girl who gets hit on when we all went out, no matter how much I shook the junk in my trunk. As cool as I was with my body, as proud as I was that even though my twin is a size 4, she can't run half the time I can, there's still something to be said for the boost that comes from getting checked out by people you don't know.

DC, however, has been different. I don't know if it's the diversity that exists here or what, but it seems like every other day I'm being objectified by some random stranger. Sometimes its gay women, which is also flattering, as I'm open...save the fact that I'm married. But most of the times, I'm saying 9 out of 10, it's a man of color. And it's not just whistles or shout outs or the stereotypical construction crew whoop. I'm talking being flat out hit on. For no other reason than the way I look. I don't know if it's a cultural thing or what... I don't want to make any sort of racial or cultural generalization, but I am not kidding that the only white man to hit on me in the last 3 years was my husband.

Case in point: Today, I was walking back home from the Post Office about a half mile up the way from my apartment and a white van pulls over. The driver, a beautiful black man with long braids starts talking to me. I pull out my ear buds so I can hear the dude, and he's asking me if I live in the area.

Dude: You live around here beautiful?
Me: No, I'm just walking to the Post Office.
Dude: Really? Awww, that's too bad. You wanna a ride?
Me: No thanks. I'm fine walking.
Dude: Well, what's your name?
Me: Elizabeth.
Dude: What would you say if I gave you my card, would you call me?
Me: I'm sorry, but I'm married.
Dude: Really???? Awwww...
Me (holding up my ring hand): Yep, really.
Dude: Baby, I just wanna be friends, that's all. I just wanna be your friend.
Me: I don't think my husband would like that...
Dude: Oh baby, let's just be friends.
Me: Sorry, man.
Dude: Well you take care Gorgeous.
Me: You too.

In actuality, my husband wouldn't care. I just don't know if I trust that the man just wants to be my friend. I mean, do you really pick up friends while driving a van down the street? The Dude sounds a little skeevy in the dialogue, but really he was nice. It wasn't threatening at all. In fact, the only time I've been threatened by anyone here in DC is when I wouldn't give some drunk belligerent money outside Metro Center. This encounter is just a typical example of what happens to me. People stopping their cars in the street, a dude in Radio Shack asking me if I'm biracial (and would like to go out), a man getting OFF the subway just to talk to me. I'm not kidding on that last one. I had a man see me from the window, get off the train, and ask if I wanted to go get coffee. He said he just wanted to get to know me. Again, sounds skeevy, but it wasn't. In fact, it's very flattering. Ask Allison, she was there. I may have a big butt, but I don't have a big head.

While the feminist in me is roaring that this sort of behavior is unacceptable, that it promotes a Rape Culture in which men (of all races and creeds) believe that they have the right to talk to or harass a woman just because of how she looks, another part of me giggles like a school girl. None of my encounters have ever made me feel threatened, although I'm not saying that it hasn't other women. That's the conflict. I might find flattery in a man stepping off of the Metro, but another woman could have felt very uncomfortable or harassed. Or the man that got off could have had totally bad intentions or a bad spirit. It's a hard thing for me to feel happy about, knowing what I know about America's Rape Culture... But I would be lying if I didn't say that it's nice to know that there are people out there who find me attractive. I guess it's a wobbly line.

In the end, I suppose what I'm saying is that after years of being ignored for my body, I'm glad that there are people out there who really do like it if baby got back.

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Are You Fucking Kidding Me?!

The Italian courts just ruled that if you rape a 14-year-old who has had sex before, the crime is less severe than if the girl had been a virgin.

Are you fucking kidding me?!!!

The case involved a step-dad who had forced his stepdaughter to perform oral sex on him. He claimed it was less traumatic since she wasn't a virgin anyhow. This kind of anti-woman thinking is along the same lines that claims you can't rape your wife or prostitutes. A 14-year-old's sexual experiences with peers does not change the horror of having someone that you trust, who is a parent, who is in a position of power, molesting you. When are people going to understand that rape is not about sex, it's about power. Sex is the weapon in which that step-dad controlled an innocent girl. By innocent I don't mean virginal, I mean without any blame in the situation. Virgin or no, slut or no, that individual sexual experience will change that girl forever. It will haunt her and will leave her forever changed, no matter how many times she had sex before or after. Period.

That man should be ashamed of himself. The Italian courts should be ashamed of themselves. We should be ashamed that Italy is hosting the Olympics when the men that rape 14-year-olds get lessened sentences based on a sexist, anti-victim culture.

Fuck, I'm mad.

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Moving On.

I've basically been out of commission for two weeks with bronchitis, so I'm now overwhelming all you loyal readers (ahem) with three blogs in one day! I know, you are in a tizzy about it, I can tell.

I haven't been able to do much the past couple of weeks, so there isn't much to write about. I've been bedridden and unable to participate as a productive member of society. I haven't been to the gym and my body is definitely feeling it. My first run this week is going to hurt. I have been able to apply for several new jobs and I actually have an interview this Thursday for a position in digital imaging/preservation at the National Archives. It's not exactly what I want to be doing in the long run but the people are great (I assisted them when I worked at NARA before) and the collection is top notch. I mean, it is the National Archives. Sort of goes without saying. Except I just said it.

I've also been applying for exhibits/curator positions all over the urban US. There are several in Manhattan, one in Brooklyn, and another in Kansas City. Although I'm not sure if I'm ready to go back to the Midwest, the position is at an amazing museum that focuses on the suburban experience. Think Tupperware, 1950s All-electric house, and TV dinners. I'm sure the place has great objects and a chance to do some great interpretation of class and gender in the 20th century. That just opened, so we'll see.

It's interesting that I'm applying practically anywhere with a bit of urban personality at this point. I really would prefer to stay here in DC because 1) I love it 2) I have a great crew here 3) We would have two sizeable paychecks for the first time in... well, ever 4) I hate moving. But there hasn't been much open here in the District, but a lot elsewhere. As much as I would rather stay here in the DC area, I want a better job. I want to spend the next 5 years at a place I really love being before I head back to grad school. I don't want to just work for the sake of filling time until I go back to school. Even if my work is at the Smithsonian. Prestige of name does not equal personal satisfaction, regardless of what many of my contemporaries feel about jobs/geography/clothing/etc.

Anyhow, I have about 5 more jobs to apply to tonight and more open every day. We'll see what happens. Perhaps a move is in my future. At least to Dupont Circle.

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So Fresh and So Clean

I don't tend to be a sentimental person... Okay, that's a lie, I'm a sap. A bitter, begrudging sap, but a sap nonetheless. Anyhow, all I have to say is that D.C. is so beautiful in the snow. All the snow against the white marble makes the whole city seem so quiet and peaceful and clean. It gives me buzzies in my stomach and makes me happy that I'm here.

It even almost makes me forget all of the bullshit coming from both the Congress and the White House. Almost.

Like I said, I'm a bitter sap, not a blind one.

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With Friends Like These...

If this is how Cheney treats his friends, imagine how he treats his enemies...

Oh wait, that's right, he tortures them, illegally detains them, and just generally violates their civil liberties. I forgot.

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Hell Freezing Over

I can't believe that roughly half of Americans are cool with illegal wiretapping, yet Pat Buchanan openly hates on Bush on the McLaughlin Group.

The world has flipped on its axis and no one else seems to notice. 'Cept all those D.C. people wearing flip flops in January.

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Tits on Fire

I recently discovered a BBC television series called Footballers Wives. It's aired on BBC America, but as I don't have cable television (it rots your brain and it's expensive... mainly it's expensive), I Netflixed the first series (seasons for you non-Brit watchers out there). This show is great! Apparently it's becoming quite the underground hit here in the USA. BBC America has already aired the first two series and is airing Series 3 soon. Or so I've heard from friends that have given their souls to the cable gods and from the BBC America website. While recently I've been preferring Britcoms like Last of the Summer Wine and Keeping Up Appearances, I decided to give this a try.

At first show, my husband and I were enthralled. However, this wasn't because of superb acting or social commentary on the lives of rich wives. In fact, it was like every other soaper (think Eastenders)... except that there was always one moment in the show where you go, whaaaaaaaa?

We have thus dubbed that type of moment "Tits on Fire." The inspiration for this term actually comes from a scene in one of the first episodes where one of the characters is being harassed by obnoxious, mysogynistic gits and somehow her breasts catch on fire. It's horrifying and I shouldn't make light or bastardize the event with a off-hand term... but I am. Well, not really. It's meant to apply to horrifying situations where the audience is horrified. Or shocked. Okay, I'm an uncouth person. I already know that. No need to leave comments stating as much.

Moving on.

We are actually now using this term whenever such a moment occurs in any series or movie, when one is left with his or her mouth gaping open. We even uttered "tits on fire" during an episode of Battlestar Galactica where a group of pilots get fried out of nowhere. Yes, I also watch Battlestar Galactica. I'm a bad person and I'm a geek.

Moving on. Again.

So next time you see something absolutely insane in a show (and please don't tell me that Desperate Housewives fits that bill...), feel free to steal my new term "tits on fire."

I promise not to call you a hater if I catch you.

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