Monthly Archives: May 2013

And the Waffle-ing Begins

This past week I’ve been having some emotional issues. While taking Tylenol for headaches or what-have-you, I kept thinking “Jeez, I feel so weepy/moody/angry. I wish I could take something to make that go away.” The mood stabilizer in my purse. Durrrr. I haven’t been not taking my medication. In fact, I never miss a dose. But it is getting a run for its money with all these crazies welling up inside my head. Around 11am every day, I kind of even out. I might have one or two spontaneous swings throughout the day, but I still feel like I’ve hit a brick wall.

Anyway, I did some more with my painting. I had to let the oil dry and I gave it a good week or so. I had painted very thick strokes, lots of paint, into one aspect of the image and then painted over it with a slightly lighter color. It gave it the perfect effect. Now, it doesn’t exactly look like I thought it would, but I don’t hate it. The problem is, what with my lack of ability to follow through on my ambitious ideas and these stupid moods, I have been struggling to keep it going. I am waffle-ing on it. Something I have become very, very, very good at. My job requires it. I’m not allowed to give legal advice or guarantee specific results to clients, so I’m forced to say things like “what will most likely happen at court is this, but I can’t say 100%.” Or, my favorite, “I can promise to give him the message but in no way can I promise a specific time when he will be able to call you back.”

Lately there’s been this one client who straight-up refuses to participate in his or her defense. I asked to make an appointment and this client, in an effort to not come to the office, said “Well, am I going to be arrested?” My boss was standing right there and overheard me say, in my diplomatic-but-you’re-pissing-me-off voice, “Why would you think you’re going to be arrested? There’s no bench warrant out for you and your case hasn’t even concluded yet.” The client gave me some pathetic excuse like he or she doesn’t know what’s going on in his or her case because he or she hasn’t spoken with the attorney in awhile. Um, then come to the dang appointment so he can talk to you. That’s kind of the point. To catch you up. Anyway, my boss gave me a thumbs-up for the attitude. That was nice.

A former client, my boss thinks he just hates women. Every time he calls, he refuses to give me any information. It’s always “can I talk to the lawyer?”
“He’s not available.”
“Well tell him I need to talk to him.”
“Alright, well can I tell him what you need to talk to him about?”
“Just tell him I need to talk to him.”
“Can you be more specific.”
“Just tell him I need to talk to him.”
(And this guy owes us $1,000. For over two years.)
But yeah, my boss thinks he hates women because of the way he treats me and treated all the previous legal assistants before me. So I get some liberty to throw attitude his way, too. Which is nice and cathartic for my moodiness.

It’s just been hard these last few weeks. And now we have some family stuff going on and I just don’t know how much more stress my brain can take. So, maybe I will finish the painting. Just to get it out of my system.


I’m Over It

I have a lot of friends who are pretty opinionated when it comes to politics, feminism, and other human rights. These span the range of subject matter from the Israeli-Palestinian conflict to autism. One of the newer ones I’ve noticed is (forgive me if I’m calling this the wrong thing) body-shaming. Thin girls complaining that people judge them for being too thin, curvier girls complaining that people are calling them too fat. It’s actually kind of piqued my interest. So I thought I might stand on my soapbox for a minute.

My initial instinct is to openly mock the thin girls for their complaints. I mean, jeez. You have the idealistic female body for our society. It must be SO HARD for you to feel attractive, what with you looking like a runway model and all that. And I also have a knee-jerk reaction of feeling proud of people for wanting these girls to put on a few. It seems to suggest that we as a society are no longer pressuring girls to look unnaturally thin, right?

Wrong.

If I look at myself in the mirror, I’m not unsatisfied with what I see. Not everyone has always exactly supported me being my size. A few people have hinted, not so subtly, that they are worried about my weight. That they think it is unhealthy.

I resent the skinny girls for always getting attention. Like, why can’t my body be the ideal? But skinny girls don’t always get positive attention, either. And it never occurred to me that they’d want to have more curves. And some of them, maybe a larger amount of them than I can fathom, wish they could put on weight. But they just can’t. And not because society would judge them harshly but because that’s just their DNA. So, my whole self-satisfied thing is really just a smokescreen for my own insecurities. A thinly veiled one.

It took me a little effort to concede to this in my head, but their feelings are just as valid as those of us who, by society’s standards, are considered too curvy. No matter what size you are, it’s an awful feeling to be told your body is imperfect or unsatisfactory in any way. So, in my effort to kind of rid myself of negative karma over my self-righteous insecurities, I have decided I am over it. I am going to announce, via internet, on a blog everyone on my friends list on Facebook can see, what my weight it.

I am 150 pounds. (I don’t know metric, so if you’re reading this in another country, please forgive me.)
I am 5’4″.
I have a waistline of about 30 inches and a hip size of about 36 inches.
My bust is a safe 34C. Varies from time to time, what with my hormones.
I wear around a size 12 dress and 11 junior-size jeans. I got down to a size 6 dress and 7 jeans my freshman year of college. I thought that was nice.

Here’s what I like about my body: I love my core. I have very wide hips and they are rockin’. I like my bust-line. I like my lower body. I like my back and shoulders. I like my lips and eyes. I like my skin.

Here’s what I’m insecure about: My tummy isn’t flat. It never has been, it never will be. And I used to work out 3-4 times a week. My arms are a little flabby and have a slight acne problem. I wish I had a sturdier chin. I feel like I have perma-double chin. My thighs are a lot thicker than they used to be. I have never had perfect eyebrows. My eyelashes aren’t very long. I fear I am developing cankles. I wish my teeth were straight.

So, there it is, world. I pretty much mostly like the way I look. And I’m comfortable with that. Sometimes I wish I was thinner, but I love my curves. And my husband loves my curves. And my Mommy thinks I have a cute figure. My friends tell me how cute I look when I bother to get dressed in something other than saggy jeans and a t-shirt.

I think, as long as you feel good in your skin and you’re healthy (not that I’m healthy, really) then you don’t need to change. What needs to change is how women treat each other. No one has a perfect body. I reserve the right to resent skinny girls, but in no way do I have the right to actively criticize them. Without some kind of insecurity, someone will always be more than willing to supply one. I don’t feel like letting it get to me.

Soapbox dismounted.


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