34’’ D is for Discrimination

Discrimination comes in all forms. This may sound silly but I feel like, my whole life, I have been discriminated against because of my breasts. I know what you are thinking, sad little you and your big boobs. Well listen up people, it’s not all it’s cracked up to be.

I’m a secretary/office assistant at the film office on campus. I have two bosses: my direct boss, let’s call him Bob, and then his boss is also my boss, let’s call her Sally. It is a pretty laid back office but today I was called into Sally’s office and she shut the door behind me. I am rarely in trouble enough where the door has to be closed but it happens (ie when I got caught downloading music at my desk and the RIAA wanted my ass). Sally told me today that I can’t wear tank tops or spaghetti strap tops to work anymore. Apparently there have been several women who have complained about my appearance being too “flashy and distracting”. I am currently taking classes and have a class before and after work and am either working or in class between the hours of 8:30AM – 5:00PM. I calmly explained to Sally that it is 101 degrees outside and I don’t have a car and thus bike and walk everywhere I go and dress accordingly. Sally implied that I must be doing this for the attention and that I need to bring in a sweater to work to put on over my revealing clothes. I tried to defend myself by again telling her that I don’t wear what I wear for attention but for the practicality of it all. ALSO my desk is very close to the ground and my chair is broken and thus people are forced to look down at me to talk to me, which allows a clear view down my, or anyone’s, shirt that sits there. The worst part of this whole ordeal was that she pulled the feminist card on me, claiming that if I was a real feminist that I would want people to be actually listening to what I have to stay and not looking at my tits (not verbatim). She was very nice about the whole thing but also a little accusatory about it, as if it was all my fault. She said she has observed on numerous occasions where men have looked down my shirt and she would have expected me to be bothered by this but “apparently” I’m not bothered by it. I must say this whole thing pisses me off and makes me tremendously sad all at the same time. Other office assistants have worn a lot less than me and have not had to have the “talk” behind closed doors. Why do I have to get fashionably censored because I’m a little curvaceous?

I want everyone to understand something: I hate my boobs. I always have and I always will. I use to hate my body a lot more than I do now though. I don’t really hate my body just my boobs. My whole life girls have been mean about my chest. My logical side reassures me that they are just jealous and are just playing into the misogyny; circulating the hate to make themselves feel better. But really why would anyone want bigger boobs anyway? Look: I can’t ever find anything that fits right because clothing manufacturers only make clothes for flat chested girls. I have to wear at least two sports bras when working out or running. My lower and mid back are always sore. People are constantly starting at my chest so much so that I don’t even notice it apparently. My insecurities of my chest have led to me always hunching over when I sit so people can’t really get a good look at my body. Some girls act crazy competitive and mean because they think they have something to prove. My own flat chested mother is ashamed of me. No, seriously, she asked me to put on a shirt in the water park at Sea World because “people” were looking at me in my swim suit. When I was in elementary school (yes folks, I had the little ant hill tits in the 3rd grade and I was wearing A cups in the 4th grade) I was a huge joke. Boys use to snap my bra strap. I was, and probably still am, a tom boy. I didn’t want any of it. In middle school it of course got worse with boys constantly looking down my shirt. I tried to hide behind over sized shirts. The funny thing is, looking back, my mother use to tell me to show off my body and not cover myself up and now she (and my boss) are telling me to cover up and be more conservatively dressed. I remember hearing that Bryan Douglas said in the boys locker room that he would “do” me but only with a bag over my head. IT NEVER ENDS!

I DIDN’T ASK FOR THIS BODY! I want attention for my work, for my wit, for my intelligence, not for my tits! Don’t get my wrong, I want to feel pretty and beautiful and I dunno, sexy sometimes, but there is a lot more to me that my damn boobs! I would love for someone, some guy, to notice me for anything but my figure or my chest. I’m allowed to be a sexual being outside of work and like my boobs a little. My boobs aren’t even that great and my body is actually super lumpy and soft. Women with smaller boobs with a fit body are way way way more attractive than me. I was hoping that when I started working out on a regular basis that they would go away but they didn’t. They got a little smaller but no big results. Actually, working out made the situation worse because I got smaller and it became more noticeable that my boobs were a nice size. I would get a boob reduction but my insurance needs my doctors approval and he won’t give a formal request because there isn’t any good medical reason. Also it should be said that the dress code in my office is very causal. People wear flip flops and torn jeans etc. I understand that my office is very liberal in it’s policies and appearance but of course it is still an office. I know that one day I will have to grow up and wear nice shoes to my work because people are superficial enough to allow these things to matter. It’s really a never ending cycle. I wish we would get to a point where we would all realize that it doesn’t matter. I guess my main point about this whole thing is that I don’t dress a certain way at work for attention. Really I just roll out of bed and put on something functional every day so that I won’t die of heat stroke. Again, I’ve gotten to a point where I’m comfortable with my body and how i look. I know I’m not ugly but I also know what I look like and realize that I’m not the prettiest girl in the room. but i’m okay with that because i know that the prettiest girl in the room needs to feel that to get by.

My solution to this is wearing a big sweatshirt with those cheesy boobs drawn on them. That’ll show them. I thought I would write this to clear up the air for everyone. Just in case you all thought I enjoy flaunting my stuff. From now on I will be wearing a sweater in the Comm buildings while

Love love everywhere, let’s all have a drink

Sometimes I find myself wishing my life was like a movie but then I start thinking about genre and the fact that some of the best film don’t have happy endings and my mind will start racing. I took an online quiz once, Who would direct the movie of your life, and I got John Waters. No offense to John Waters, but I was a little disappointed and disturbed by the results. I actually haven’t taken an online quiz since.

Does life reflect art or does art reflect life? Did someone experience that or was it all manufactured and packaged by Hollywood? Are we all just walking mirrors of the media?

Most people will say that watching movies as a pastime is an “escape”. So we escape our life to live someone else’s life for ninety minutes or two hours only to start subconsciously basing our own expectations on that escape, which isn’t real. I’ve finally come to a point in my life where I can admit to myself that all my expectation and dreams have come from the media in one form or another. My ideas of how love and relationships work have come through this wonderful rose-colored window fondly referred to as the boob tube.

Lately I’ve been looking for real life examples of love to give me hope that it is real, whatever that means. So far my data has not been good, inconclusive, but I don’t think I’ll stop looking. I’m sure with my wide array of friends and family, someone has to have found love and can be a positive example for me to use as a guide. There are definitely some key specimen couples that I’m closely watching.

Movies make everything so much easier because obviously that boy I thought I hated would somehow become my soul mate. We’d have a great meet-cute that’s we’d laugh about later. I’m not sure if I buy into the whole “soul mate” thing but maybe there is a little girl inside me, dressed as a princess (with combat boots on) that wants to believe in the fairy tale that everyone has this magical other half. Too Bad that little girl was brainwashed by Disney and society’s forced gender roles and stereotypes. Even as a child, I rebelled against the norm that little girls are suppose to be a certain way. I was a tom-boy and I haven’t really grown out of it; I’ve just learned how to own it and redefine what it means to be a girl or woman. But in all my neo-progressive feminism, these ideas of love are still there. I don’t want to admit that I’ve thought about a man rescuing me in one way or another. In reality I don’t want that at all. I want a best friend that I can laugh and cry with (oh and of course have sex with). I want to love someone so much that I love his flaws and he mine. I want to be adore and challenged. I want complete trust and honesty. However most of my adult criteria, as listed above, have come from past relationships AND my college education. How did I manage to unbrainwash myself from years of Disney movies and chick flicks? (Easy, Women and Gender Studies courses!) Maybe I’m still under their spell?! I start to wonder about everyone else, what about all those women who didn’t spend their early twenties studying our misogynist world and want a print to rescue them? Am I just as bad because I want to be kissed in the rain like in the movies? Maybe we’re all brainwashed. We are all products our environments.

So much time in our life is devoted to the idea of love: music, art, movies, literature. People are constantly looking to make sense of it and life in general. Many have even gone far enough to say that Love is the meaning of life. People re obsessed with LOVE, whatever it is, and I an no exception.

I can honestly say that I have been in love once, assuming that there is this great magical difference between being in love and loving someone. I have discussions about this all the time (which gets exhausting) What does it all mean. I agree with the idea of you know you’re in love with someone if you start caring about that person just as much as you care about yourself. I know I love someone when I can look past his imperfections and find them endearing.

But where’s the line between caring for someone as a friend vs. careing about him more than a friend? I love all my friend and would do anything for them. I love to make people smile and feel good even if I have to sacrifice my own pride or dignity. Sometimes I feel like I have too much love for my own good, which is sort of funny.

I’m pretty happy with my state in life at the moment. Everything is great except that I’m lacking an intimate companion and might like a significant other to pay attention to me. Why do I have to feel like this – it’s so frustrating?! I am a complete person by myself, why should I feel like I’m lacking something? The thing is I could have sex right now if I wanted. A good amount of my guy friends have given me a clear signal at one point or another telling me they would be “physically” there for me if I needed or wanted. Buy I don’t just want sex. I want more. Sex isn’t that big of a deal when you think about  it. It’s a physical connection between, at least, two people that results in momentary euphoria, if you’re lucky. Can people connection emotionally and a get similar outcome? If they could I imagine people wouldn’t value sex like they do. Don’t get me wrong, I love sex. I wish I could have sex all the time but I’m afraid that sex might only be good to me if I feel something for the other person.