"Yeah, Work That Ass Fatty!"
Although I am an enlightened feminist who is well aware of the negative body images perpetuated through the media and will rage against the dangerous anoerexia and bulimia encouraging world we live in, I (who knows better) can stillsuccumb to these very standards I abhor. Its especially difficult being an actor and living in New York; both of these factors not at all condusive to a healthy body image.
Generally I know that I am in good shape; I am not overweight or unhealthy. I am also not a size 2 with legs that go all the way to Canada; my ass may reach Canada soon, but I must accept that my legs never will. I am curvy in a world where angular is a la mode, and you cannot count my ribs through my back like you can with the models I see in magazines (or on the street for that matter). Why this fact makes me feel like a giant cow instead of a sane healthy being I cannot explain; clearly sane should be taken out of the equation.
However, that is no excuse for the bitchy comment I received last night.
I was walking like a coked up maniac with a firecracker shoved up my ass to go meet Mr. Artsy Hotpants at the theatre, as being late to the theatre is just not an option! (Being late anywhere else, however, is habbit) I am not being immodest when I say that when I get going speedwalking, I can really fly; we all have our useless surprise talents, mine happens to be super sonic walking speeds. As I was making my overly determined way around two men, I hear one of them say "Yeah, work that ass fatty!". Much to my surprise, this was clearly directed at me, as there was no one else that close to them.
"Yeah, work that ass fatty!"
Excuse me? Had I not been in such a hurry, I would have stopped and said something; instead I barrelled my way through the Times Square camera laden crowd, their heads perpetually bent upwards, with "yeah, work that ass fatty" reverberating shamefully in my ears. Upon arrival, I shared the exchange with Mr. Artsy Hotpants and his friend, who both assured me that I am not a fatty and that my ass does not need to be worked (though I definitely think it could use some toning). I still must confess to feeling a bit insecure; something had to have inspired that comment and my guess is that it just might be the body part referenced.
MAH e-mailed me today saying he wanted a T-Shirt that says "Yeah, Work That Ass Fatty"; he said he would wear it every chance he had. Four words: printable iron transfer paper. Hmmm.
Then I ate popcorn and a bannana for lunch.
Really freakin healthy there, fatty!
Generally I know that I am in good shape; I am not overweight or unhealthy. I am also not a size 2 with legs that go all the way to Canada; my ass may reach Canada soon, but I must accept that my legs never will. I am curvy in a world where angular is a la mode, and you cannot count my ribs through my back like you can with the models I see in magazines (or on the street for that matter). Why this fact makes me feel like a giant cow instead of a sane healthy being I cannot explain; clearly sane should be taken out of the equation.
However, that is no excuse for the bitchy comment I received last night.
I was walking like a coked up maniac with a firecracker shoved up my ass to go meet Mr. Artsy Hotpants at the theatre, as being late to the theatre is just not an option! (Being late anywhere else, however, is habbit) I am not being immodest when I say that when I get going speedwalking, I can really fly; we all have our useless surprise talents, mine happens to be super sonic walking speeds. As I was making my overly determined way around two men, I hear one of them say "Yeah, work that ass fatty!". Much to my surprise, this was clearly directed at me, as there was no one else that close to them.
"Yeah, work that ass fatty!"
Excuse me? Had I not been in such a hurry, I would have stopped and said something; instead I barrelled my way through the Times Square camera laden crowd, their heads perpetually bent upwards, with "yeah, work that ass fatty" reverberating shamefully in my ears. Upon arrival, I shared the exchange with Mr. Artsy Hotpants and his friend, who both assured me that I am not a fatty and that my ass does not need to be worked (though I definitely think it could use some toning). I still must confess to feeling a bit insecure; something had to have inspired that comment and my guess is that it just might be the body part referenced.
MAH e-mailed me today saying he wanted a T-Shirt that says "Yeah, Work That Ass Fatty"; he said he would wear it every chance he had. Four words: printable iron transfer paper. Hmmm.
Then I ate popcorn and a bannana for lunch.
Really freakin healthy there, fatty!
posted by Le Synge Bleu at 3:07 PM
3 Comments:
You are NOT a fatty.
NYC just sucks some times in that way. Too many people with too many opinions. I was jogging once and two guys walked by me and said quite loudly...She got big tits! I felt quite ashamed.
Another time at U of M I believe that someone drove by me and said something like...it must be jelly cause jam don't shake like that.
The difference is that I AM fat and you are not.
The guy who said that just knew that you would never have sex with him. That's all.
vixanne, I think I was with you when that happened. He definitely meant it as a complement.
Synge, you are NOT a fatty.
--sarachkah
I think that it doesn't help matters when we live in what I consider the vainest (is that a word?) city in the world, where the members of society immediately makes a judgement on you based on looks; whether it be color, body type, etc.... it sucks a lot of times, but as long as you are cool within yourself, then fuck what society thinks. (I know, I know, "easier said than done"- but f- em anyways)....
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