Category Archives: This World Needs An Enema!

Things People Say…

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Earlier today my Twitter popped up with a new Top Tweet #thingsfatpeoplearetold. There were over 1400 Tweets in the first 24 hours of its existence, an abridged list of the responses can be found here: #thingsfatpeoplearetold: The first 24 hours. As Red No. 3 (blogger and creator of the “#thingsfatpeoplearetold” twitter hash tag), stated some of the responses are triggering. I have heard several of these type of comments directly, many more I have either overheard or were told about. Still, the sheer volume and viciousness of what is said to fat people on a regular basis is disheartening to say the very least.

What makes complete strangers think their opinion of my fatness is of such import that they absolutely must share it? Your words are so special from the 500nth iterations of “You’d be so pretty/handsome if you lost weight” heard, that yours will be the one to crack the ugly fat duckling code within a fat person and s/he will suddenly want to do whatever it is YOU think is not being done to turn into an acceptable standard of beauty. I was especially fond of the woman on the subway this morning. A seat becomes available in front of me, I am a stop away from my destination and don’t want, so I stop back. The unofficial code for “come and get it!” and two women vie for it. Woman A: Heavy set; Woman B: very slim. Woman A slips into the seat first, much to Woman B’s obviously chagrin. Woman B then stage whispers to the person next to her
“Fat people should be charged for double seating on mass transit just like airlines. Bet they lose weight fast then.” to which I responded “Don’t hate because she beat you to the seat. You’d be sitting there, all smug that you beaten the fat person to the seat were this reversed, so hush.” Woman A looked at Woman B for a moment, opened her mouth to say something, apparently thought better of it and decided to listen to her music instead. Woman B simply glared at me. Being the more mature person, I simply stuck out my tongue and walked away as we had reached my stop. Complete strangers are one thing, but what really jars me are the things said by a fat person’s own family.

I was was always tall and “big-boned” as a child and teen, but I was not yet considered fat. Still, I was the spitting image of my paternal grandmother and earned her bodacious booty at any early age. At 12-13, physical my height and rear belonged to female at least three years my senior. My breasts didn’t catch-up until seventeen. My mother harped on my about my “fat ass like your grandmother’s”. She would pass by a rack with a pretty dress hold it out admiringly, then look at me and dramatically sigh and put it back on the rack. Uh, I was 14 and wearing a size 16, why would even stop at the size 10 rack and go through all of that? Still, I was not subjected to the nasty type of familiar fat hatred until my mid to late 20’s after I had my children. By then I was a grown woman, living on my own with my sons and husband and at least had the luxury of walking away from my mother (who was never larger than a size 7/8 in her life), when I had enough of her nonsense. I recognize it is not the same as day in-day out harassment by those closest to you who should support and have your back, regardless of size. What of the children and teens who cannot walk away from their families?

I am a member of several forums it galls me to hear/read the things some families do/say to their fat children during their lives. There are the little insidious unsaid passive-aggressive bullshits such as what I described between my mother and I above. Then there are the blatant things. Portioning ridiculously small amounts of food at meals and then chaining the refrigerator and cabinets for insurance. Verbal belittlement in private and public. Physical abuse. When Male forum participant (now in his late 20’s) said he tried to explain to his mother how he was abused as a child for his fat, she told him he was exaggerating and besides she was only doing what was for his own good like any responsible mother would. I have already over heard a father tell his young daughter (she could not have been more than twelve) that she needed to watch her weight, didn’t she want to be fat like Malia Obama and have the whole world talking about her. Yes, Malia Obama as in the the daughter of the President of the United States. Way to go Michelle Obama. Luckily, the little girl’s mother was there and commenced to blasting the father in no uncertain terms as to what she thought of his analysis of their child. She then informed the child that she was beautiful and bought her the extra lollipop which apparently was the impetus for the weight exchange. How many fat kids out there now are being abused with the White House seal of approval thanks to the “Let’s Move” initiative?

Then there the health professionals. You have a cold, its because of weight. You’re tired it’s because of weight. You have a mental illness it is because of weight. Or the symptoms of such can be greatly alleviated by the lose of said weight. I seem to continually befuddle my own doctor by my not having diabetes or cholesterol at my weight. Can I run a marathon?-no. Then again, I have no interest in doing so, so who cares? However, I can run up a flight of stairs to catch a train if I need to without feeling like I am going to die for the effort and as long as I can do that, I’m good. I concede not everyone has my health (such as it is), but not every fat person is one Crispy Creme away from death’s door either. This national obesity scare has come to the point that I swear if a fat person goes to their family practitioner for a chronic hangnail the cause of such will somehow be fat related.

Will #thingsfatpeoplearetold have any major impact over all on how fat people are treated? Probably not. However, if it maybe make a few people at least think first and perhaps keep that nasty comment to his/herself then it has helped a little. If #thingsfatpeoplearetold serves no other purpose than to be a reminder to other fat people that they are not alone in the hatred, then it has done a lot, at least for the moment.

Embarass versus Humiliate – How Much Is Too Much?

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My then twelve-year old I think three or four friends over and they were in his room playing video games. I’m in the kitchen when he comes in for –I don’t remember what now– and says something outlandish but just barely within the guidelines of acceptable to me. Again, I don’t remember exactly what was said, but it was just annoying enough for me to react. I happen to be filling a pot with a four-quart pot with water to put on the stove at the time.  I jokingly held the over his head reminding him to watch his mouth and don’t think because he’s getting bigger he can get crazy. He looked at the pot over his head, folded his arms across his chest and just stared at me as if to say I dare you.  Because I really was just semi-chastising him and really did not want to clean up a lot of water, I carefully tilted the pot so only a small trickle landed on his head.  Mr. Man, Jr. then puffed out all of his mighty twelve year old frame, rolled his eyes and with an arrogance worthy of his father (those that know my late-husband can appreciate that), and declared.

“I THOUGHT so!” That was a bad move on his part; a BAD move.

Without a second thought, I turned the entire contents of the pot over on his head. I not so nicely, reminded him that he was a twelve-year-old child and he was to never, NEVER think he that he predict what I would or would not do to him as his mother. I then ordered him to go to his change clothes, come back, and clean up the water so I could continue cooking dinner.

It was only after I went to change clothes, as I had also spilled water on myself in the process, that I remembered he had company. I have no idea what he said to his friends, when he entered his room-dripping wet, but I have to imagine it was not pleasant for my child to have to face his friends like that.  I only learned several years later when the subject somehow came up, on how embarrassed, he was by that and that “I still haven’t forgiven you”.

All parents understand that some unforgiving moments go with parenthood. I never ask after the fact, because I didn’t care.  He needed a reminder, right then and there, on who Mama was before he got out of hand and that was that.

I mention the above to serve as a precursor to the following.

So, there’s this video that has run a small circuit.   Please note, while the video linked to in and of itself is not necessarily offensive, the site it comes from can be very much so, thus those at work, don’t be surprised if your company’s filters block it from showing.

http://www.worldstarhiphop.com/videos/video.php?v=wshhBtdQvDJLQy55M05q&set_size=1

Here’s the Cliff Notes version: A young black male (twelve to fourteen years of age) was seen “acting hard” in his Facebook statuses etc. The youth’s uncle, who took considerable objection to his nephew’s online persona, somehow saw the entries.  What was the uncle’s response? To force the boy to use his webcam to live stream a video of him (the uncle) “whipping his ass” with a belt while he explains that their family does not come from such (the gangs and rap culture). He makes the boy renounce not only his behavior online, but that all rap and gangs are “fake” and “bullshit”.  You really need to view the video to understand it all.

Now I love that the uncle is obviously involved in this young man’s life. He obviously commands the respect of his nephew; how the nephew represents himself, and by reflection, his family outside of the home, including online.

What I question is it necessary to take a belt to the boy in this situation?  I’m NOT saying there should never be a belt in raising a child, for that is a parent by parent decision, I’m just asking was its use necessary for the lesson here.  Was the humiliation of live streaming it necessary to the lesson.

As I said before, all parents inherently understand there are going to be lesson taught in which the method of teaching that will not be forgiven. These unforgiving moments are usually something that involved humiliation. It is a tough call to choose to teach a lesson that way, but sometimes it is the only way to deliver a message that may not otherwise be heard. Still, there is huge difference in embarrassing your child (which I fully own up to with mine at that moment), humiliating a child (the same scenario with the uncle, but only in front of the uncle’s peers) and complete humiliation of your child, which is what I think was done here.

I’m sure in my son’s case his friends teased him about it for a while, but it was over with in a few days.  This boy had to go to school the next day, with the knowledge that most of his friends and countless others saw this.  If the comments that followed the video are an indicator, it’s going to be one long hard row to hoe.  How long can this run before the novelty dies? This video is the kind of thing that can, and most likely will, pop up years from now. This level of humiliation on a young soul has the backlash of possibly creating the “hard” person his uncle was attempting to discourage. How much is too much?

I’m hoping that the uncle truly takes his “this is not where we come from” lesson to heart. I do not want some over zealous person to report the uncle and he goes through ridiculous legalities for this, but neither do not I want to see him on BET or  YouTube or wherever grasping his fifteen minutes of family values on his nephew’s back. Even if the initial video isn’t deemed bad enough, certainly this would be too much.

Get That Nigger Out of There!

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Oh Yeah!  Twitter has been all-abuzz today and for a very good reason.

It seems new copies of Huckleberry Finn will eliminate the word “nigger” from its editions in order to be less offensive.  What. The. Fuck.

Now that I find offensive!

Changing “nigger” to “slave” is about as historically accurate and intelligent as saying that thousands of blacks fought for the Confederacy. In case you are confused, yes, thousand of blacks did fight for the Confederacy, and now you understand while historically accurate, how completely misguided that was.

I read Huckleberry Finn as a pre-teen and even at that age I understood, that the writing was a reflection of the mindset of what was acceptable of that period.  If I could figure that out at ten, do the publishers of this revised nonsense, think current readers will not be smart enough to get it?  Or that the teachers intelligent enough to trust their charges with such material will not be able to discuss why such a word was allowed to exist in the first place with them? If a student is uncomfortable saying the word out loud in class, that’s one thing, removal of the word all together hurts the learning experience.

Is the word despicable? Yes, it is.  It is necessary to keep it in the book? Yes, it is.  Never mind that by trying to remove the word nigger from a classic piece of literature as though it has never existed, you give it the very power and offense you think you’re trying to take away. You defeat the point of why it was in the novel in the first place.  Mark Twain was one of the pioneers in the use of local vernacular in literature. He was trying to give an account of the language and culture of the people of the time of the novel. Revising the book does not change the culture known to have existed then regarding Blacks. And please note, I did not say African-Americans, a term some (arguably) claim is revisionist in itself, (nigger/negro > colored > blacks > African-American), but that’s another argument.

So thank you publishers! Thank you for not even giving us the chance to think it out for ourselves. After all these years the book has existed, we’re obviously much too stupid to be trusted to understand such now. Because yes, my life will be so drastically uplifted now that “N” word will be removed.  Oh but damn, wait, I read the book in its original text, I know the word is in there whatever am I to do? Can the publishers come and remove all traces of it from my mind as well?

While you’re at it publishers, let’s just grab all the books everywhere and wipe out all the niggers we see. Hell, let us just re-write American history all together.  Turn us all into that asshat faction that wanted to convince the world that the Holocaust never existed.  Anne Frank was fictional character made up to gather sympathy to the gullible. You can say – oh, I don’t know – slavery here in the New World was just a a precursor to the modern-day scam those Nigerians are notorious for even to this day.  The Civil War was just a tiff among the household domestic that got a little out of hand.

I suppose all the Ebonics will be revised next, wouldn’t want people to think the niggers -er- slaves had no command of proper English while out in the fields or in the Big House.

* Rolls eyes  and pulls out a copy of The Catcher in the Rye*

Hard Black Women

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“Why are Black women so damn hard? I don’t have time for their crap!”

Warning I’m venting…

I feel that most Black American women have had the wonderful pleasure of dealing with two layers of oppression: racism and sexism for the majority of their lives.   That can make anyone “hard”, tough,  especially if you feel you constantly have to “fight” just to come close to being on a level playing field. It sucks to have to go out into the world, face one or both “isms” in your professional time, then go out and face the same isms  in your personal time. This has been the plight of most Black American women in just about every era of this country’s history.

Does this mean Black women have an excuse to be negative? Absolutely not.
Does it explain why our collective psyche varies from Black women from other nations? Somewhat.

If we dress sexy, we are upholding the Black woman as sexual stereotype passed down from the slave masters, who used us as sex toys, when we had so much choice in the matter and then label us as promiscuous and whores for our troubles. .If we dress more conservatively, we’re accused of dressing like old ladies or a *gasp!* church girls, as though that is a bad thing.

If we are up on the latest street fashions, know the difference between Lil Wayne and T-Pain on sight and can neck roll with the best of them, we’re low-class and/or ghetto. Yet if we speak proper English, have clue as to how to set a proper dinner table and actually know the lyrics to songs played on non-“urban” radio stations, then we’re “Bourgie” (slang for bourgeois) or “Oreos”.

Who we are, who we have been, and who we want to be has all been influenced by our collective experiences. We cannot change that. Individually, we try to take different approaches, but collectively, our struggle is unique. We have had to (and continue to struggle with), defining what femininity and womanhood means to us; especially in relation to our men. Being a Black Woman in America often means defining our womanhood through our relationship to men in general, but Black men in particular.  In addition, all too often, the onus of responsibility falls on the Black woman and the finger pointing turns to us. We don’t raise our males correctly. We are not walking away from the abuse. We keep accepting the bullshit and so on and so on…

I don’t think I’m harder on men, specifically Black men. If anything, at times I think I’m not hard enough on some as I accept so much bullshit in various forms of oppression from “brothers” without consequence or recourse, that it all but destroys my spirit, all for the sake of being “loyal”.  This loyalty, innately expected of us as Black women, regrettably is one that is not often reciprocated in kind. This seems to be even more heart-breakingly true of my generation and the generations coming up. THAT, if anything, is what wears us down… makes us angrier than others, sadder than others, more depressed than others, etc.

Yet THE MOMENT we stand up for ourselves — we are hard, we are cold, we are “the bitch”; the ball breakers; the misandrists.

Females are taught from an early age to grow up and get married. Being in a relationship (preferably married), means at least one someone wants you (what’s love got to do with it? -as Tina would sing).  Therefore being single is to be deemed undesirable by anyone.  And the longer the woman is single, obviously, the more undesirable she must be – right?  Now add in being fat and oh yeah – Black.

Another problem… Black women rarely speak to anyone other than other Black women about this. Women who are more than likely also swimming in the same muddied waters.  The advice from many of our matriarchs whether by words or by actions, was to just deal with it. “A single man is over forty a confirmed bachelor. A single woman over forty is a shame.” Yeah, more lovely pearls of bullshit dropped into my once young ears.

Instead of coming to the defense of our fellow sisters of color, who speak out, many of us that raise our voices, often find ourselves stuck between a rock and a hard place alone. Because there is some invisible code of honor not to OUT our current public status of being too much to deal with. We are “airing dirty laundry”. How the fuck is it ever supposed to get clean then, if we can’t even acknowledge the fact the track marks exist?

As women in general, we’re raised to believe, it is expected of us to be so loyal with our men. We accept it. We suffer in silence for want/need of a man. We wear a smile and act like it is okay. We hold a great deal of our hurts and thoughts inside. We hold it in for as long as we can, and then lash out. If the relationship doesn’t survive, we’re now once bitten-thrice shy with the next soul, who inadvertently may suffer the penance of another man’s sins.   It’s generally unspoken, but that expectation of loyalty is even higher with Black woman in a relationship with a Black man.

Still, because he is a Black man, and I am a Black woman, I am supposed to be instantly all ready to drop my drawers (and you can’t begin imagine how much I abhor that word as synonym for underwear), simply because he decided my name is “Baby gurl/Mami/Boo” and wants to talk to me. If he wants a moment to see if I’m worthy of his body, why am I not afforded the same courtesy? If I give in too early, I am an easy lay/skank/freak and men don’t buy the cow if they can get he milk for free. If I make you notice my worth by waiting, I’m “playing” hard-to-get, or I’m gold digging and why should you work for it when there’s always someone more willing around the corner.  I’m punished whether I’m Madonna or Mary Magdalene.

Many women of color state having difficulty-finding mates of any color due to issues many in general state about American women of color. Some men take the rejections or run-ins with some Black women that they experienced (and I won’t lie – the are some negative ones out there), and then use it to color how they view all Black women. The men who complain the most about Black women being low class/ghetto – gold-digging/bourgeois (note the contrasts), are also quick to write off  my entire racial gender with impunity and never look beyond their own negative stereotyping. They are so content to push all women of color into one, maybe two, shallow categories and never see the reality: that we are so much more.

Yet these same men would never think of writing off another entire racial/ethnic gender as a whole due to a few negative experiences. For these men, other women are given the chance to have their actions and how they present themselves judged on an individual basis … but most Black women, it seems, are not afforded this courtesy. And it is a damned shame.

The beauty we admire on most classic statues is due to someone taking the time to painstakingly whittle/smooth away what’s seen on the surface and expose the warm exquisiteness within.

Do most Black Women have thick skin? We have to, to protect our hearts, minds, souls, selves.  But we are so worth the time and effort to the one who sticks with us long enough to get to our cores and find out.

Don’t They Know…

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I am hanging out with two friends this past Saturday, riding around Long Island.  It is mid to late afternoon when we are finally on our way home. Being near winter solstice, the days are short and it is already becoming dark.  Looking around, I inquire about the general demographic of the neighborhood.  When I express some surprise of the overall makeup of the area I am asked why.  I wave my hand around at the quiet peaceful pre-sunset street and ask  if either of my two companions notice anything  wrong, which of course they do not. We’re looking down a street with at least twenty homes of spacious lawns, tress hedges with in easy sight and not one house was decorated for Christmas.

Not. One. House.

Even I, who has been in a holiday funk these past couple of years, put up a tree and decorated my living room for the holidays a week ago. There we were driving through a semi-affluent neighborhood, that by my friends accounting had a decent enough Christian/Protestant influence and yet we could not see any indication that we were in the midst of the “most wonderful time of the year”.    It took three blocks of riding before we saw one house decorated for the holidays. We could actually count the homes as we rode around before we hit the highway.  Considering  it was exactly on week before Christmas, it was a pathetic showing.  Sun completely set as we’re coming off the highway into Harlem was only slightly more festive as we looked up at the various tenements windows all lit and sparkling.  It hit home further when we turned on the radio and it turned out the DJ was taking calls from listeners asking if they felt Christmas was less festive now than in years past.

Being raised with Christian and Jewish neighbors all of my pre-teens life, by December 15th all buildings were ablaze with festive lights and colors. Every block was a mini Las Vegas for a couple of weeks each year in December.  You could count the homes that did not have decorations instead of the other way around. It is something that has steadily decreased over the years and I sorely miss it. Several callers to the radio DJ expressed similar sentiments.  It was part comforting and part disconcerting to know I wasn’t the only one feeling this.

In my head, I could understand if I was living in a more culturally mixed neighborhood than what existed in my youth, but I‘m not. I don’t know if it’s the depressing economy or a subtle (and disappointing) downturn in society in general that has befallen the holidays over time, but I don’t like it. As I looked out my window earlier this evening and again found myself incredibly disappointed by the near dearth of festive lighting, I found my self desperately wanting to ask …

…Don’t they know it’s Christmas?

What Goes Around…

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I was almost-mugged last night and I find myself considerably nonchalant about this.

I have always known my neighborhood was not one of NYC better neighborhoods when I moved in.  At its best, this neighborhood may be described as barely decent. It has not been at its best for as while now. It has not reached ghetto status, but I definitely live in “the hood”.  Having come from a background of being the perpetrator of some dirty deeds as a teen, I’m even more vigilant against being the potential victim of such as an adult.  Which is what made what happened last night interesting to say the least.

I was not dressed-up, and it was not yet 11pm.  This is not late for my station at all so there is a fair amount of foot traffic. There were at least two people behind me and maybe another four others spaced out in front of me, when I disembarked.  I had my purse slung on my right shoulder, hand around the handle, the way any woman carrying a mini leather steamer trunk of crap would.  Because my back was bothering me the past few days, I did something I usually do not do. I used the handrail with left hand.  I was halfway down when I heard the commotion of someone running down the stairs. Again, not anything unusual in my neighborhood.  However, being pushed from behind and feeling a sudden tug on my purse was very much unusual.

As I said with my background, it didn’t quite work out the way as the attempt-ee planned it. I hold my purses in such a way that my fingers are usually intertwined in some loop or ring.  The bag can only slide but so far down my shoulder before my fingers are engaged in the instinct to tighten. It’s not that it can’t be snatched from me, it’s just that takes a more work as the attempted robbers. Most snatch and grabbers go for the easy looking targets, any sign of resistance, they generally just keep moving and find another (hopefully easier), target. That I was on stairs and not flat ground helped. My instinct was to pivot and grab the banister/railing to stop my fall, not extend my arm out. Between the unexpected grip on my bag and the way I was falling, it  allowed me to keep my bag as he had no choice but to keep running or risk someone grabbing him.  The people in front of me didn’t have a clue as to what happened as the guy ran past them. The guy behind me was dumbstruck for a moment, but stayed with me long enough to make sure I was all right as I finished making my way down the stairs.

The cost of keeping my belongings?

  • My wrist is a little sore from the sudden wrenching of the bag snatch and the grabbing of the rail to stop my fall.
  • A badly bruised hip and even more pain in my back, but thanks to Advil, Sweet Advil, today has been tolerable.
  • A minor chastising of myself for leaving that shoulder open. I should have thought to change the back to the shoulder closest to the railing I was holding, but yeah, I’m only human.

This is now the third time, I’ve been mugged in thirty years. The last time was nearly twenty years ago. This is the first time nothing was taken. As I was explaining why I was limping to a co-worker, he responded I was rather calm about it all things considered. I admit was fuming something fierce last night, but I was also in too much pain to do anything but take pills and go to bed.  Having had a night’s sleep, I honestly see it as one part Karma paying me back and part a sign of the times of the economy, that these types of up close and personal robberies are making a comeback.  Another taste of how my neighborhood is declining and there is nothing I can do about it. At least none that I’ve thought of yet.

Key word – yet.

Is My Sister My Keeper?

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I hate it when one fat woman makes all the rest of us fat women look bad.

I was at a bus stop and heard this from a woman passing-by, speaking on her cell phone to someone else. While I do get the spirit in which the statement was meant, I found the actuality of it galled me. I mean was she (the presumed offensive woman)…

• being loud and obnoxious?
• wearing some major fashion faux pax (at least in the speaker’s eyes)?
• jolly (hey, there are some who really would think this a bad thing)?
• *gasp!* eating a croissant on the bus? (I have a few friends who will get that.)

When the Anderson/Lee tape was all the rage, did their actions reflect on every Hollywood couple out there? No. Well, I’m sure Tommy Lee was more than happy to be living proof as one of the exceptions to the rule about a certain stereotype, but I digress…

When Camryn Manheim appears on the red carpet looking magnificent, does it magically elevate all the rest of us fatties? Uh, no.

People constantly fight for their individualism, but are then grouped together and painted with the broad brush of one person’s actions. In a world a gazillion-plus fat woman, it’s a ridiculous conceit to think my actions will impact each and every other fat woman out there.

What sin was so egregious by this anonymous fat woman that her actions have now painted every living fat woman in existence with that stigma? After all, by this woman’s theory (the one speaking on the cell phone) she, I (and Camryn Manheim) now look bad through no fault of our own. So, how do we rectify it? Exactly, we can’t. As though we don’t already have enough on our already overfull plates! (Pun fully intended.) Each fat gal now has to also remember each and every thing we say/do/wear/think will reflect on every other fat gal out there.

But hey, no pressure…

‘She has…cleavage!’ Gasp!

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“The networks exclaimed, ‘She has…cleavage!’ Gasp!” the blog post states.

ABC and FOX Censor Lane Bryant Commercial
http://www.adweek.com/aw/content_display/news/e3i9d00b780a7553c2192d61a976986d33a

You can view the ad for yourself here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VMxyZQfMmM4

Before now, the closest we ever came to seeing a plus-sized models in bras on TV it was for Playtex. I have absolutely nothing against Playtex, after all, I have worn my fair share of them when nothing else could properly support me. Still, while having some pretty bras on occasion, the brand is not exactly known for bringing on the sexy for us big gals. Thanks to Lane Bryant we finally, FINALLY have not just a bra, but an actual lingerie commercial featuring plus-sized (by industry standard) models and this flak is the result.

Kudos to Lane Bryant for not just standing up, but also speaking up openly about this!
From Lane Bryant’s Inside Curve official blog:

ABC restricted our airtime and refused to show the commercial during “Dancing with the Stars.” Fox demanded excessive re-edits and rebuffed it three times before relenting to air it during the final 10 minutes of “American Idol,” but only after we threatened to pull the ad buy.

Yes, these are the same networks that have scantily-clad housewives so desperate they seduce every man on the block, and don’t forget Bart Simpson, who has shown us the moon more often than NASA, all in what they call “family hour.”

Apparently it is perfectly fine to air an entire hour of Victoria Secret’s fashion shows on TV during “family hour” but a less than 30 second commercial featuring woman with more meat on their bodies than Vickie’s “Angels” is taboo?!

As one of my lovely friends pointed out on Facebook “but Rai, you have to understand… it’s not that she’s underclothed… her body is inherently obscene. :p.” “Plus, she should be ashamed of her body, not confident and sexy!!! duh.” Yes, that was said with full dripping sarcasm. I can all but see the eyeroll as she typed it.

But sarcasm aside, she has a point. HOW DARE WE!

How dare we be *GASP!*:

• Happy!
• Confident!
• Sexy!

And not just unashamed but boastful of, our as my cousin said, “Dangerous Curves”.

You’re damn right it’s dangerous! It’s a bunch of fat girls prancing around in their undies! Scandalous! What’s the worst that can happen? That more people start to realize there is more than one type of beauty in the world? Whatever will the diet industry and fashion magazines do?

Don’t believe me? You obviously haven’t been to The Adipositivity Project‘s website.

Come on ABC and FOX come and censor THAT.

First Feelings Part II (The Reality)

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It was mine.

It was mine to give
to the one I chose.
Instead it was taken,
forever from my grasp.

Stole the most valuable item
That this fifteen year old possessed.

It was mine.
It was suppose to be a gift.

Somewhere out there
the potential recipient
knows not what was lost.

It was mine.
He stole my gift.

I had visions on how it
would one day be given.

It was mine.
He stole my dream.

For years what I gave
could never bring
me happiness.
It wasn’t The gift.

It was mine.
He stole my joy.

I should be able to reminisce
fondly when girl talk
falls to that time
but I remain quiet.

It was mine.
He stole my memories.

A stranger made himself familiar
in a place he should have never known.

<>==========<>==========<>

dVerse Meeting the Bar ~ Symbolism

HOW COULD THIS HAPPEN?

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12

Seven Year-Old Girl Pimped-out at Party by Step-Sister
and Gang Raped

To say I was speechless upon first reading this article is an understatement. I have oscillated between pure rage, pure sorrow and depressed resignation since I first read it, over a week ago. My head realizes what has happened, but my heart simply cannot process this.

Yes, the step-sister bares a magnificent portion of the blame here. She was fifteen-years-old.  Not a legal adult by law to make the decision to prostitute herself on her own, but obviously old enough to know what she was doing. The social and moral wrongs of her own acts are not debatable; she was wrong. What she did/allowed to be done to her little step-sister is so beyond wrong there really is not an adjective to aptly put this in any perspective.  However, as much as I put the share of blame on her for what happened, she was not the only person at that party.  No matter which way I turn this I keep coming back to one question infallible question to the men involved in this:

How Could You?

The statutory rape of the fifteen-year-old girl was disgusting enough. Granted she was officially prostituting herself, but you – however much/little you paid for her services, you were raping her.  However old you are above or below the age of consent, how could you have even thought about wanting to, let alone actually do the brutal act of, inserting your penis into the vagina of a seven-year-old child?  Where in the depravity called your mind (because you obviously have no soul) did you take a look at this child and thought to yourself that this was something good? You deserve to spend the rest of your life as a eunuch.

According to the reports, there were at least a dozen people at this party.  My God, what form of hell had this seven-year-old doled-out in a past life that she should be so punished in this one? To be led, by her own step-sister, to an abandoned apartment full of misogynistic, depraved individuals, to be gang raped?  What kind of culture is it where not even one person in that room thought it was wrong and left to call the police?  Not one person ONE FUCKING PERSON in that room simply said “No.”.  Whether they took part in it, or turned a blind eye to the event, they are all perpetrators in this crime and all culpable.

The ONLY good news in this will be the penal system. Even a prison system has its bottom of the social barrel, and that is those who mess with children.  We won’t hear about it, and if even one iota of prison stories are true, we won’t want to hear about it. We never know how it gets out, but information about child molesters/rapists always gets out in the penal system and when it does…

…Let’s just say justice, for this seven-year-old child, will be served.