Not Anonymous

I figured you'd all be interested to know that I grew up.

I went up a cup size and went down in band size. This because I've been wearing the wrong size bra for who knows how long. I went up from a C to a D and down from an (European sizing) 85 to a 75. For the first time in years my bras feel snug and aren't poking into me.

Who knew!?

Well, apparently lots of people, because more than once when my girl friends and I discussed the topic of bras, which was kind of often, seeing as many of us are busty and bras over a certain size are fucking expensive and can only be found in "speciality size underwear shops" which another post for a different day.

*deep breath*

In any event, I decided to use the holiday coupons I got from work to buy new bras. I also decided I'd ask what size I should wear. The staffer took one look at me and said sternly. "You're a 75D." And I was all, um, okay, let me try them on.

Which I did.

It was a hallelujah moment, let me tell you.

I bought four new, beautiful bras last week and I've had the chance to wear two of them so far.

One of them creaks.

Like an old floorboard. No really, when I move my shoulders, it sounds like I need oiling. Which is what my boss said to me when she asked me, "Are you creaking?" I mean, she called me the Tin-Man!

It was a source of great amusement at work, where we are very casual, and people found my bewilderment rather funny.

But what's really extraordinary is that other people have mentioned this happening to them too! That this is apparently something that happens when you have a bigger bust.

( Cut for body image issues and internalised fatphobia )

Also, regardless of what size you are, you can enjoy Busty Girl Comics!

I had one of the best days I've had in a very long time.

I spent the morning and afternoon with my BFF and a close mate (ACM). Ostensibly the morning was to run errands with out close mate, but really, it was just so much fun for me to spend time with my friends, who know what is going on in my life and with whom I don't have to censor myself.

All three of us went to the mall in order to shop for shoes and pants for ACM. Both BFF and ACM are fat and ACM always has problems finding pants that she really likes.

I think BFF and I were good luck charms because she found a pair of shoes that fit her and two pairs of pants that looked amazing and were comfortable for her.

I was the yak of this expedition, seeing as this shopping mission wasn't a gathering, but a hunt - we had an objective and we zero'd in on it - I schlepped the bags belonging to the fat lady and when I started complaining about being hungry, I was dubbed an honourary fatty just as went for lunch.

Which, you know, yay!

I love spending time with BFF and ACM. Well, BFF is who she is and she's one of those people who is just there for me, no matter what and I'm there for her - it's a mutual thing. And ACM is one of those freakishly clever and insightful people and I kind of melt when she's witty and commits word play - so carrying her bags was fun.

There's also a kind of "screw you" to the world when a thin girl carries the shopping bags of fat girls, you know? And I enjoy that feeling, so I was totally selfish.

I actually worried my BFF yesterday by not recognising the fact that I was hungry by my hunger pangs, but thinking they were an ache relating to some kind of stomach bug. Yes, I assume any and all stomach aches are actually not benign.

ACM said, "You think like a thin person, but we forgive you," when I related to above to her today.

Yes, well, nobody's perfect.

It being the holiday season in my locale, it is a time of family and obligation.

Yesterday I was helping my mother arrange the place names for the seats, the name cards were a mess, so I quickly put all the couples and their children into smaller piles.

I was the only solo card.

Now, after an entire semester of studying the sociological aspect of singlehood and writing a 6000 word essay about the position of the single aunt in the extended-nuclear family for said course, you probably don't understand the feeling of sheer poignancy that came from seeing my name, alone, among the clumps of little families that make up my huge tribe.

I have no doubt that I'm not the only single person who has a family made up of couples and families and has felt this way. But I have been theorising about it, this position of mine in my family, the role I play of Dutiful Daughter, Doting Aunt (despite raising my voice a few times and having my cousin, a mother, come to make sure I haven't murdered her children) and Single Gay Relative.

I may be the only one who perceives myself this way. Who knows, maybe others do see me this way. Glass closet and all.

What has come to mind in my navel gazing about this, because I have been thinking about it the whole week, were the issues of "passing" and "flaunting" my sexuality in the context of my family.

My nuclear family are a paragon of harmony, support and TLC. Really, I couldn't have asked for a better family, really. My bitterness considering my coming out process and the crappy way I and [Southern!Girl] were treated when were together notwithstanding.

Being single and queer is easier than being queer in a relationship - man or woman. The invisibility I experience when I'm with a guy is painful because of the erasure of my identity and the culture I identify with. The all out double standard of being with a girl requires constant negotiation of what is appropriate or inappropriate behaviour in so many contexts.

It is sheer kismet that Spark In Darkness wrote about this very issue on his blog, where he writes about living your life through a filter:

Every question has to be passed through it, evasions and lies considered, examined and discarded or adapted. And damn if that isn't tiring, even now when I largely shut the filter down and try to answer without it – it still fires up and activates the closet instincts. Before when I nearly always used the filter it was even more draining – because everything someone said to me or I said back had to be run through the filter to ensure that the BIG DARK SECRET was hidden.

[...]that's before we get to simple things like the awful crime of kissing/touching and the dreadful decisions of whether it's ok to sit next to him or not – can we go out to dinner together or do we need to bring more people so it's not a date? Am I stood too close? Whose watching, who can see is anyone upset/angry/sitting on a cactus expression?

So, yeah, here's little ol' me “flaunting” my sexuality because not “flaunting” is a lot of work. I just don't have the energy not to flaunt.

I emphasised the last bit, because that pretty much hits the nail of the head. Sometimes, most of the time, we're asked to "tone it down", or stop making everything "about being QuILTBAG".

There are worse things that happen to gay people than being told by heteronormative society that we're disruptive and should shut up and suck it up, because you know, being beat up and murdered because you weren't quiet enough is worse than being escorted off a plane for kissing your partner.

But the incident with Leisha Hailey and the Southwest flight, brings to a head how careful we have to be in order to walk around unscathed.

I mean, if you read the statement from Southwest Airline following the incident, you can't help but cringe:

Initial reports indicate that we received several passenger complaints characterizing the behavior as excessive. Our crew, responsible for the comfort of all Customers on board, approached the passengers based solely on behavior and not gender. The conversation escalated to a level that was better resolved on the ground, as opposed to in flight. We regret any circumstance where a passenger does not have a positive experience on Southwest and we are ready to work directly with the passengers involved to offer our heartfelt apologies for falling short of their expectations.

All emphasis is mine. It would be mind boggling if it wasn't such a typical framing of "gay behaviour" in public.

First of all, the passenger complaints? Really? You know how many times I've complained about a child running up and down the isles of a plane? Are you going to remove that child and its parents?! Boy that would be grand!
Never happen of course, after all, a child running up and down the isles is "natural". As is, you know, kissing and holding hands between a man and woman.

Two women, well, that's "excessive". Because it disrupts the "family oriented" flight, of heterosexual and nuclear clumps of couples and their children.

And of course one must not make the customers uncomfortable, I mean, it's not like gay people pay for services, or use the same methods of transport as straight people. *snort* of course not, we have our own airlines, our own cities, our own laws and regulations, you know... in those "clubs". We'd never imagine doing that in public.

Existing, that is.

Of course, despite Southwest's hypocrisy, they are a well known airline that discriminates against its customers.

Dorothy Snarker who wrote about this earlier this week mentioned that Southwest is the airline that kicked Kevin Smith (Director of "Dogma" and "Chasing Amy") off a flight for being fat and Billy Joe Armstrong (Green Day front man) for dressing in baggy pants.

Obviously, Southwest feels very strongly about its well dressed, straight and thin customers. Everyone else just isn't up to par for this airline.

These are incidents that have happened to celebrities. Just ponder that one for a moment.

Reading about the above and planning out this post, well, it makes my own single status a thing of visibility and invisibility. I break the pattern of pairings in my family, but I am rendered silent because talking about wanting to date or going on dates is "flaunting" and "disruptive" and sometimes I just don't have the energy to deal with that.

It's giving into homophobia.

And the homophobia exhibited by Southwest, by accepting the underlying assumption that a kiss between two women is disturbing to customers, but being called disgusting by other people is just something we should suck up, is so entrenched in the culture, practically every culture on earth, that I sometimes despair at thinking I'll get to see or feel, fundamental change in my lifetime.

Apologies for the vague post yesterday, I had many thoughts running around my brain and I really needed to jot down a reminder that they should exorcised at some point.

I have a terrible poker face, or maybe I'm just surrounded by people who know me well enough to read my facial expressions and body language.

On Monday I had a full on neurotic crisis, of such that I called a friend to talk to her about it for 15 minutes, basically repeating myself ad nauseam regarding how terrible I felt when in fact it was my own internalised views of society that made me feel terrible.

For you see, I was once again ( hairy in public )

On top of all that, and this actually puts thing into perspective, kind of; I am finishing my BA in Literary Theory and Women & Gender Studies, and my Future is Now! I am in a very unstable place regarding how I feel about where I think I should go and I (don't know what) want to do, which is no doubt, affecting my emotional reactions to things that really, are on no consequence.

Also, my LJ and DW accounts are expiring in the next week or so! Which makes me sad-ish.

But hey, yesterday a lecturer of mine asked my opinion regarding a course she's making up for the New Students who will have the privilege of studying Women & Gender Studies and that made me feel awesome. Especially because I told her to check out Henry Jenkins and The Society of Friends of the Text, because fan interpretations deserve to be taught in Academia.

When I went to the hair dresses today, she looked at the pictures and said that my hair was so much thicker than all the models' put together, that none of the styles would look like that on my head.

Like I assured a few of you, I told her that I was looking for inspiration, not copy-cat.

I've been going to this hair dresses for almost a decade, I don't think I've ever left dissatisfied and this is probably the best hair cut I've had in a while.

I'm sorry you have to see me in crappy web-cam quality, but I couldn't wait for my brother with his fancy camera or wait for the weekend when I would meet up with my photographer friend.

And so, here I am!

( Is that you Bob? )

Passover/Pesach is, as most "holy"days are to me, a time of reflection. Being as this "holy"day is about liberty and freedom from bondage and remembering those who came before us to tell the tale of that exodus from slavery to freedom, I thought it would be an opportune time to write about the oppression I place on myself, how conscientious I am regarding this oppression and how more often than not, trying to break free of it, makes it that much more visible and stark.

However, that which you can see, you can fight against.

As regular readers know, I have been growing out my body hair.

For the first time ever, I have hair under my arms, even before I had proper growth at around 13 or so, I was taught to shave it off. I have trouble recalling whether I asked my mother to teach me or if she told me it was time, but I remember standing naked in the shower really freaking out at the notion of putting a blade to my skin.

(I have never shaved any other body part, the razors really scare me and I scar easily, so I avoided it when it came to body hair removal)

The other day I wore a tank top for the first time this year (it is freakishly hot!) and I did my best not to raise my arms past a certain level so as not to attract attention. When I was with a bunch of friends I did my best to not think about the fact that I have OMG!hair under my arms and what would you know, not a one said anything.

Whew.

Today, I'm wearing shorts for the first time this year (did I mention it's hot! It's no wonder we're all mad here) and my mother exclaimed:
"Oh my god, your legs!"
I tried to be as nonchalant as possible and said "What about them?"
"Have you seen what they look like?"
No Mum, I hadn't noticed I hadn't been removing the hair from there on a regular basis. *eye roll*, sheesh, no credit what-so-ever.
She asked me if I'm planning on going "that way" all the time now. I said it was an experiment, which it is, when I have to make a concious decision about doing something my body does when one doesn't interfere with it, then yeah, I'm experimenting with the way I am presenting my body to the world.

I would not be lying when I said my heart hammered in my chest. More than anyone my mother, she who taught me all the rules of hair maintenance, removal and societal approval, is the one I can rely on trying to explicitly shame me into getting "back in line", out of love.

Because it is out of love, I forgive her for it and feel I can try and have a rational discussion about the issue.

So I mentioned the fact that one of my classes is about the politics of the Beauty Myth and I want to be able have the "choice" (whatever that means) of removing the hair from my body.
She said it was part of basic hygiene.
"Nonsense," I said, "if it were part of basic hygiene, men would have been shaving their hair along with us for years".
Then we had a short discussion regarding hairlessness in women and art in history.

So that was all right, and she said she known she's criticising and I said "thanks, I appreciate it, but now you've said it, so move on".

All this is to say that I have issues with hair. The hair on my head, the hair on my body and even with all this conscientious growing of hair, I still shaped my eye brows and plucked the barely there moustache.

I think I'm taking steps in the right direction. But summer here is brutal and taking advantage of the privilege of being able to remove hair and wear short dresses may be something I'll take advantage of.

Having a choice is part of being free. And this may be small potatoes compared to being under siege and curfew, being forced to stay in the closet and being treated as a lesser person due to the colour of your skin or the ideas in your head.
But it's something.

And I'm happy to be hairy around the Seder table.

I got a job!

I'm employed!

I will be getting a salary!

My life as a leisurely student has been dented!

I'm so very pleased, as some of you may know, I've had a hard time keeping jobs, some of it my own fault, some of it utterly crazy employers.

I still recall the secretarial job I had nearly four years ago. I lasted a month and would have probably been able to continue on had it not been for the fact that I basically skipped out every day for nearly week in order to spend time with Neil Gaiman.

I was fired after that week. I have no regrets. My priorities may be skewed, but I was so much happier not to be there. It was also just before my break down following the war, so who knows what would have happened. Well, I broke down in the office really and cried in front of my boss.
Mortifying. Not to mention that much as I enjoy observing the aesthetic of an office space (I'm currently mainlining Mad Men) I think an office job is pretty anathema to me.
I sit at a desk for fun, more than anything. I think sitting at a desk and being at the beck and call of people would drive me insane.

But who knows there's time.

The job I got is a physical one at one of the libraries on campus.

Here's to seeing the end of next month with a job *holds thumbs*.

I also celebrated by getting a hair cut. Wow, so much hair came off, so much weight has been taken off. I don't know why I bother growing it when I love the longest sections (yeah it's layered now) just touching my nape and/or the underside of my chin. I should have got it whacked months ago.

There is political News I'm reading, but choosing to actively ignore. Not particularly good public service, but there you have it.
I've also currently started writing a fic that may be offensive, but I'll have to find a suitable beta that can smack me over the head, at the very least.

Now, back to my cup of coffee before it's too cold.

I feel like I've read this somewhere before...

Dubai court annuls marriage to 'bearded lady'

[...]The [groom], who has not been identified, told a Sharia court [the bride's] mother had tricked him by showing him pictures of the bride's sister, Gulf News reported.

He only discovered the deception when he lifted the woman's veil to kiss her.

Oh yes, Genesis, chapter 29. For those not in the know, G:29 is the story of Jacob, Leah and Rachel - Jacob had been promised Rachel after seven years of servitude, on the wedding night, he finds his bride is Leah - she of "tender eyes" (which no one really knows what it means, but it's widely accepted that she was the "ugly" sister.

Some things never change...

I had to get up obscenely early this morning, because I had a class at 8:30 (yay! no more waking up at 6 am in order to catch the train!).

Opposite me in the booth, a really pretty girl (as in young woman, my age-ish, probably a little younger) began to put on her face.
When I say "face", I mean it.

The art of putting on make up is one I'd never really mastered, I'm lucky if I remember to pluck and tidy up my curly eye brows. But watching her, I was so impressed by the whole process of it.

She started with blush. Compared to me, she had a dark completion, and from a pretty cocoa it suddenly became bronze. I had my sunglasses on, so she couldn't see me watch her, but I couldn't stop looking.

It was simply a gorgeous process to behold.

After she finished with the blush, she took out silvery-white eye-shadow, her big brown eyes suddenly looked huge and watery. As though they were shining from the inside. She took out her mascara and her lashes framed her eye, her eye lids looked like a flower petals.

She finished off by adding just a touch of red, cherry chap-stick, to her lips, creating a dark contra to the sparkle of her eyes.

She fluffed her hair and was about to pick up the news paper when I removed my glasses and looked straight at her;
"Before you start reading, I just wanted to say that you're really beautiful and the whole process you did was gorgeous as well. I know this sounds weird, but I just had to tell you" I said.

She looked shocked for a moment (well, strangers on a train aren't supposed to talk about your make-up!), but then she grinned at me, her mouth stretching, her eyes crinkled and she said though her huge smile: "Thank you so much".

Two people had a good start to the day.

I just thought I'd share and tell this, because it's so rare that we acknowledge all the hard work we put into being in public, showing a face to the world. Make-up or not, it's worth noting and talking about.

Yesterday there was a march in honour of the victims of hate.

It was a pretty standard turn out for the March we were a little less than 100 people, made up of Trans folk and their Cissy Allies (hello there).
The march was set to start on the street of the shooting in August, which made the whole situation a whole lot more loaded emotionally of course.

The way to the march was a bloody disaster, you see, there was a different demonstration happening along the same main streets and we had to wait for it to pass.
The police was all set for that demonstration and basically decided that they would use the same personnel and the same garrisons for both marches.

One march was for Trans awareness, basically.
The other was for protesting the cut of the Disability Pension for IDF Veterans.

Yeah.
Talk about a "clash of civilisations" - one portion of the population that isn't drafted and another that pays the price for it.
*sigh*

As I said, getting to our march was a bloody disaster because the police garrisoned a bunch of main streets which we had to drive through, we also had to drive through the stragglers of the disabled vets march.

We drove through the entirety of central Tel Aviv on the busiest evening of the week, on the evening of a demo that nobody gave a shit about.
Two demos that nobody gave a shit about.

I didn't see anything other than Updates (as in not actual reporting) on the online mainstream news websites.

Of course, once we got to the Gay Community centre the police told us to go through the back so that we don't disturb the other demo.
Even when they're being fucked over by because they're disabled, there's still a hierarchy.

Both population are silenced and made invisible.
Both population intersect - I wouldn't be surprised if there were vets there who were Trans and there was certainly more than one marcher with us who had mechanic (crutches, wheelchair) aid.

Both populations are fucked over.

Still, it was obvious who were more respected by the police - the Disabled Vets didn't "chose" to be freaks and they're "genuinely" screwed over by the government.
Of course.

Sometimes I really feel the people in power just look down on us, eat and throw the crumbs down to see the fights brew.
It's depressing.