Friday, October 5, 2012

Listen to Weezer's Only in Dreams or Pulp's Underwear While Reading This

Several things happened recently.
Last night, I feel like I did pretty well at standup. I was really happy with what happened at Orton's.
And right before Orton's, I had a conversation with a christian comic, who is a super nice guy and an amazing crowdworker so no disrespect to him at all, but he asked me if I was okay with guys checking out my chest all the time, and told me he thought I was "more valuable" than that.
Which is a super nice thing to say, right?
Only I am not responsible for other's actions.
And I really like the way I dress. I like my sense of fashion, I'm comfortable in it. And aesthetically, I like having my chest bare of anything, even necklaces, because I like the balance of flesh color and bright color, it makes me happy.
 So what do I care if guys look at it. I'm not flashing them. It's like looking at a much more attractive arm.
I mean, honestly, the way I look at some guys' arms...

Edit: Last night a very nice older guy told me I had to "get over" the thing where I don't like to hit on guys, I prefer to wait for people to hit on me. He told me I did this because I hadn't realized I was an "in demand product". I replied that I was 33 and very well aware of my value, but I know from experience that if a guy doesn't have the self-confidence to hit on me, he won't have the confidence to keep me interested 2 months later either.
This morning I thought about how Southern men have this tendency to assume I have issues where there are none, because they assume they know my motivations instead of asking me first "Why?".
I am calling this Compassionate Misogyny.
It's not like I don't have lots of issues, Gentlemen, you just keep misdiagnosing them. I'd be happy to tell you all about my actual issues, if you'd just ask.

I recorded a mini episode for the Awkward Sex Show, about being fat and being promiscuous.
Which I used to be, but not nearly as much these days, hardly at all these days, comparatively speaking. Anyway, I was dead tired when I recorded it, and it was suppose to be about one thing, but then I just got into this weird train of thought.
It's interesting to think about the dichotomy of personality.
I mean, I know I mention sex a lot. But what is the use of pretending that the world isn't sex obsessed? These are important things, the ideas you have about yourself and others and love.
But I listened to it, and for whatever reason my voice sounds great on it, and I thought "this is not the voice of some sassy but troubled girl, I sound sweet and nice. I sound like someone I would want to be friends with."
Which is a good thing to think about yourself probably.
I hate the word sassy so much, and my god, if you're a fat girl, you hear it all the time.
And I guess those would be the two femme sides of me, as Carey would say.
Xi insists I'm the femmest of the femme, and that bothers me.
Then there's the side of me that would like to eat this leftover pizza and watch Cabin in the Woods for the rest of the day.

This is the other thing that happened.
I was on the phone with the Prince this morning, and I mentioned I felt bad I hadn't kept up on the memorizing the Whitman poem we had agreed to learn together, Crossing Brooklyn Ferry.
And he just went straight into reciting the first three parts, I think?
It was a lot of it.
He recited, and I stood there in my pajamas on the back porch in the sun, birds in the background, and the murmur of neighbors a few fences over, and I was completely overwhelmed.
When he was done, I couldn't think of anything to say at all. I had a million things to say but nothing.
He asked if I was still there.
"I can't believe you've learned that much of it," I finally said.
"You also didn't have hours with your dog in the waiting room of the vet, or hours sitting on a boat."
 "Yeah, but you like, thought to do it."
"Well of course I have a copy of Leaves of Grass on the boat."

 So there's also the side of me that waits in the background, hoping someday I'm going to hear amazing things like that, in real life, and when it happens, I simmer with excitement, and have to share it immediately with everyone.


  1. Listening to "What Difference Does It Make" with two extremely hot girls while the Blue Angels strafe by my apartment. Winning.

  2. sassy sucks. so does cute. i hate cute. i'm small, i've heard that a lot, but not so much since i got old.
    you don't hear much of anything once you're old. you disappear.
    oh yes, arms. and thighs.

    1. I think my favorite is "pretty". Not beautiful, not cute, not anything else. Pretty about sums me up.

  3. I love Leaves of Grass. My copy is now 43 years old. Whitman is/was a genius. You are, too.

    1. I think you are given to exaggeration Jim :)
      But you're right about Whitman.
      I didn't really know that till this year, isn't that wicked?

  4. Replies
    1. Oh man Erin, I think I hate that word too! I wish someone had told me when I was younger that the worst effect of getting old was hating more and more words.

  5. Quirky. Which is hugely vexing for me, because I love the word itself -- There's a Q! And a K! It's nice to write and nice to say! High scrabble scores! -- but I don't like how it's used currently. And I especially don't like when people use it to describe themselves (see: online profile description-y things).

    Also, people who think it's problematic for women (by which they really mean, extremely busty women) to show a lot of chest-skin bother me a lot. Mostly because, my cup-size is far enough into the alphabet that even a turtleneck looks somewhat scandalous on me, and I like to not feel strangled by my shirts (and also, yes, I like the aesthetics of visible cleavage in my everyday life), and it's always somewhat infuriating to know that whatever I'm wearing would not even approach being "inappropriate" on someone with a smaller chest, but the fact that I have more to obviously look at means I should be doing more to try to hide it. Fuck that, is what I say.

    1. Man, that's exactly it too. I'm showing really only a percentage of my actual boob, like a tiny sliver, but they're huge and therefore it looks bad no matter what I wear.

  6. My personal rule is: If my actual bra is not showing, then the top is appropriate for all audiences. I think sometimes things appear way more sex-monster than they really are because of height disparities, also -- like if I'm standing up and at closer-to-eye-level with people, that's one thing, but if I'm sitting down and other people are standing up looking down at me, then my cleavage is a canyon you might accidentally fall into. (Probably explains why I was always super popular when working receptionist gigs...)

    If you and I went out to have drinks together, our combined boobs could take over the whole world, I'm pretty sure.


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