Songs about butts – particularly big butts – are so hot right now.
All about that bass.
Anaconda.
Booty.
I observed a while back that celebrating ‘more booty to hold at night’ is unhelpful for promoting holistic body acceptance but where are the ‘skinny bitches’ agreeing with me?
Buzzfeed video provides the answer:
Flat enough to hold your tea if you break your saucer.
Mac
I have been dealing with a rough patch lately, but in the last week I’ve had more good days so things are looking hopeful. But something happened yesterday that may or may not have set me back.
The day started off well; I got up before 11 am for the first time in a week and went for a run. Context – my running routine consists of walking to the park/nature reserve a few streets away from my house, running through the bush for 45 minutes and warming down by walking home.
Being a Saturday in the school holidays, the park was crowded with picnickers and competitors in the local Frisbee golf tournament ( I have no idea either…) but I wasn’t paying attention to anyone. I didn’t think I needed to.
Anyway, I completed my run and began walking back home, cut off from the world by my music and dark sunglasses.
Out nowhere I felt an almighty impact to the back of my head and my vision blacked out. My limbs went slack and I dropped onto my side. My hand started working again and automatically moved to the back of my head. I opened my eyes and looked up incredulously. What the hell was that? There was no-one nearby, the picnic area was about half a kilometre away. I figured a falling tree branch must have hit me.
While I was trying to look for the offending branch without moving my head, I heard yelling and running feet. Suddenly I was looking up at a team of concerned Frisbee golfers.
I had been hit at the base of my skull by a Frisbee. Not your standard lightweight Frisbee either, it was a dense plastic with narrow, sharp edges. they explained that they had been practicing some way away. The thrower was concerned about forcibly throwing a heavy Frisbee in a busy park, but they had assured her that “the only person around is that jogger way over there, and you’re not throwing at her anyway.”
So she hurled it with all her strength. And it caught a freak breeze. And rebounded off a tree and into the back of my head. Lucky me.
I was still a bit groggy but fortunately one of the golfers was a doctor. He started off asking me about my family to see if I was confused, but we ended up sitting on the path talking for about an hour. By that point he was satisfied that I had no fractures or bleeds, and I convinced them that I was good to walk home, given that I live pretty much across the road.
Then as I was walking home, my housemate drove past and threw a water bottle at me because HILARITY.
I got home, showered, bandaged an ice pack to the back of my head, and sat in my darkened room to watch some tv.
And after about half an hour of this I realised that apart from a mild headache I was fine.
But I felt completely hopeless.
It’s important to rest physically and cognitively after a concussion but even though I was doing that, I couldn’t make myself do anything else like, say, paint my nails, clean my room, do my makeup. My housemate was having a party and I found myself hiding in my room for the first half of it. Being in the living room, with everyone talking was too much for me to handle.
Twenty four hours later I’m still feeling flat. Not the same as the fogginess and dulled senses I’ve felt with concussions I’ve had before, and obviously I’m typing this onto a backlit screen without discomfort. My motivation has been completely zapped.
It’s probably the unexpectedness of the incident which making me keen to stay withdrawn I guess. Which is understandable but I hope it doesn’t stay around for too long.
But I still can’t tell the story without laughing so I’ll probably be ok.
Although I skipped the run today because…well…I don’t want to go outside. There’s Frisbees out there.
Mac
It’s funny how counter movements tend to be escalatory in nature.
So recently the #womenaginstfeminism movement came to the attention of the internet, as a collection of statements from mainly women who feel threatened by or dismissive of feminism.
In response the folks behind feminist podcast Wait, Wut? are making #needthepatriachy a thing, as can be seen in this album on their facebook page.
Some of my favourites:
#needthepatriachy because “there’s a hole in my heart that can only be filled with unsolicited dick pictures” FUCKING. YES.
#Needthepatriachy because “Hoards of feminists break into my room and steal my bras for kindling. Shit’s expensive” Well who hasn’t been there.
#needthepatriachy because “feminism made me hate men and now I can’t stop punching my dad. WHY CAN’T I STOP PUNCHING MY DAD?” DADDY FORGIVE ME
Well, after perusing the album I got thinking. When was the last time I acknowledged everything the patriarchy does for me? Time for credit where credit’s due.
After much careful consideration I realised:
I #needthepatriachy because if I felt welcome on the weight floor of the gym, I’d embarrass myself by heading straight for the pretty pink weights.
I #needthepatriachy because if it weren’t for our education minister Christopher Pyne I’d have no idea what to study at uni.
I #needthepatriachy because if I didn’t have aged male politicians telling me how my reproductive system works, I could NEVER work it out on my own. Medical science degree notwithstanding.
I #needthepatriachy because if my looks weren’t worth 95% of my worth as a young woman I’d have to be really, really good at something to be worth talking to. Who has time for that?
I #needthepatriachy because if I wasn’t compelled to spend all that time shaving off my body hair I would go mad from the boredom.
I #needthepatriachy because having a baby is a stressful experience, and worrying about whether I have a job to go back to after I come off maternity leave is great practice.
I #needthepatriachy because my dastardly man–deceiving make up use must be kept in check. Of course it’s reasonable to assume that I look the same way all dolled up under night club lighting 24/7!
I #needthepatriachy because it’s so much simpler to assume everything a man does for me must be repaid in sexual favours.
I #needthepatriachy because if skimpy clothes aren’t a sign of being DTF, how else am I going to pick up?
I #needthepatriachy because ditto drinking too much! Feminists and their pussy blocking…
I #needthepatriachy because thinking that a man would ever want to be friends with my F cups would be thinking way too highly of myself.
I #needthepatriachy because dehumanising everyone who is obviously from a different culture or religion is crucial to our national identity –otherwise we might forget where we live.
I #needthepatriachy because everyone knows, a feminist can’t catch a man!
…
#fuckmysoul
How do YOU need the patriarchy in your life?
That wasn’t a rhetorical question. Comment below if you feel inclined. I’m sure yours will be funnier.
#getmeafuckingdrink
Oh by the way, a friend from uni once ran through the campus women’s collective meeting wearing a shirt that said “you can’t catch a man.” He found out that not only can they catch a man, they can kick him pretty hard too.
Mac
I’ve been lying in bed for a week.
I haven’t been going to work or class. I had an assignment due today. Can’t even care.
I possibly wouldn’t have eaten all week if I didn’t have my boyfriend and housemates feeding me.
I feel like I should be crying more but it’s happening in short bursts. I can lie here mulling over my devastation – nothing. Then burst into a violent sobbing fit while on the toilet, or in the shower, or while playing candy crush. It never lasts for more than a minute
I guess you have to feel in order to cry.
I was forced to feel a lot of things last week and it sucked balls. My brain has gone into survival mode and has suppressed all of my emotions. If I hide from the world then I won’t be made to feel out of turn. Foolproof.
I’m not fishing for sympathy or attention, there’s no spin on this. This is just reality as it’s happening. How emotional can you get over someone who just stares at the ceiling all day?
I will probably get up soon. I’m craving something. As soon as I figure out what food group it belongs to, I’ll be up searching.
At least I think it’s a food. You can’t eat love and validation, can you?
Didn’t think so.
Mac
I sat the UMAT a few weeks ago.
…yeah. I’m still not ready to talk about it.
I am ready to talk about the conversations I overheard though.
When you get thousands of gifted people sitting a very difficult aptitude test which is the first obstacle that has to be passed in order to enter undergraduate medical school here in Australia…you get thousands of very nervous people. Nervous people say the darndest things.
It starts with false bravado. The UMAT is essentially a good old fashioned IQ test, there is not a whole lot that you can do to prepare that will increase your chances of passing. You either have the goods to pass or you don’t. This thought can be a depressing or a positive one, depending on what spin you put on it. The people who deal in false bravado sell the idea that you’ve done all you can do. However, no one takes them seriously, not even themselves.
For example:
A: hey guys.
B: Ya ready for the big test?
A: Ha!…All over it
Everyone including A: *hysterical laughter*
But there’s always one pessimist/realist in the group who attempts to keeping everyone grounded, probably as a result of their own anxiety. Although they ususally end up freaking themselves out and deciding that a bit of false bravado isn’t so bad after all:
A: We ARE all over it.
B: Yep, so many people do it every year, how bad can it be. How many people could possibly fail?
C: um, well 99 percent of us?
B:…What?
C: Considering that thousands of people sit this test to fill a couple of hundred medical school spots nationwide…
B: oh COME ON. Way to build our confidence!
A: Yeah! There’s a line, you know! You didn’t just cross it, you ran to the edge, jumped over, and kept running!
C: oh whatEVER! I’m ready, I was smashing the fish oil last night.
Many people who get into medical school have had to apply for a few years straight before getting in. There are several frequent flyers at any UMAT venue, and they seem to manage their anxiety by giving advice to rookies.
A: There’s the line, it goes all around the hall. It will take them nearly an hour to check in everyone so don’t go in just yet. Wait for it to get smaller. I checked in first last time and I had to sit in the hall for an hour. No talking, no reading, nothing to do in there.
I endorse the above advice wholeheartedly by the way.
By the time we’re in line everyone is getting rather fidgety. To distract themselves, for some reason they swap anecdotes about when things go wrong.
A: you know Amy’s mum forgot to register her.
B: WHAT. I. Would. Be. FILTHY!
A: it sucks but that was kind of avoidable you know?
B: yeah true. Who leaves something this important to someone else?
A: *adopts bogan accent* “muuuuum register me for UMAT ‘kay thanks!”
And then there was this:
A: how easy would it be to submit a false ID?
B: I don’t know, but there was one year where they caught this guy trying to pass for his wife.
A: um…why?
B: Obviously, she wanted to be a doctor but he was a lot smarter…and far too rugged
After the test though, whether it’s sheer exhaustion from three hours of mental exertion or the relief of finishing something which looms over the heads of medical school hopefuls like a storm cloud, people sound a lot more genuine. As we leave the exam hall the people around me seem to be analysing their performance with renewed perspective.
A: How was that?
B: ah…*shrugs*
A: well, we can’t know yet. it’s less important how you did, more important how everyone else did.
B: Yep, personal achievement doesn’t matter as much here…I need to remember that.
But some people, particularly the aforementioned frequent flyers, like to compare exam techniques, probably trying to convince themselves that they did the right thing.
A: I did all section three questions first, did you? Then I did section two, and section one.
B: I did section two first. Did you think they were easier this year?
A:…um, maybe.
This advice I do NOT agree with, and I’ll do another post later explaining why. There aren’t actually different sections, what these girls are referring to are three question types that are found in the UMAT – understanding people, scientific analysis and pattern sequencing. The questions are mixed up at random.
When faced with stressful circumstances, some people like to distract themselves by talking. A lot. Much to the delight of people like me, who like to distract themselves by people watching.
God I hope I make it to the interview stage…
Mac
So this…
‘Cos every inch of you is perfect from the bottom to the top.
Unless you have a small booty.
Sigh…
Look, words are not chemical reactions. A body shaming statement followed by a body positive one does not cancel out the shameful one. Even body positivity is present in higher concentrations.
If we, as larger women, can’t express positive self image without telling ‘skinny bitches’ that they can’t twerk with us, clearly our self image needs work.
Why is it so hard to create an empowering body confidence anthem for big women without alienating smaller ones?
Gah…no, don’t answer that, I know why. It makes me sad.
It makes me sadder that I probably will be dancing to this song next Friday. In public.
And trying to recreate all of her outfits. Even the one that looks like a green figure skating dress.
And looking for tutorials for that make-up and hair on Youtube.
Because damn, every inch of Meaghan Trainor is perfect from the bottom to the top. I just wish she could believe it.
My Ordered Disorder 