When S first left Australia, I was still working in my uni job. To visit, it was necessary for me to get an extra job, I went back to waitressing, to lose the weight I’d gained while he was in Australia AND to save the money to go see him in Germany (and here might be where you really begin to appreciate that consideration of my weight infuses almost every part of my life). I worked with a surprising amount of Germans at this waitressing job – a higher end, but casual, restaurant attached to a higher end, by casual, pub in the city. Mostly business people (read: solicitors from top tier firms) and douchey twenty-somethings there to have something over priced to eat before they drink the night away.
Recently, almost a year since I finished up at that job, through one of the German wait staff, after her return home and via facebook, I was linked with 2 more German boys – both 20 years old, from Dresden and in Australia for one year. Young, dumb, full of cum. Beautiful, warm boys.
My old workmate wanted me to take these boys out to some nice places, maybe show them around a little. She gave me a short list of examples of nice places I should take them. But to be honest nice places aren’t really my bag. So I took them to The Victory, Downunder Bar and (hilariously!) the German Club instead.
Tonight was their last night in town – they’re headed up North with another friend from Dresden in a camper, then onward – so to top it all off we took them to karaoke at the Brunswick, in New Farm.
A guy who reminded me of one of the slimier lawyers I’ve worked with in the past put the crack on (if you could call it that). Pasty, shaved head, rubbery lips and a cheap suit. He opened by suggesting he had seen me at the races that day, which on a level was patently ridiculous being that I was at this point in a pub in boots, tights and a pleather jacket I’d clearly not worn to the races. No, he hadn’t seen my red lipstick and black hair running through the rain that day with my heels in my hands. Somehow he seemingly seamlessly segued into a crack about me being a ‘shemale’ and placed his hand over my vulva to ‘check’ that I ‘didn’t have a dick’. The thing that absolutely blows my mind is that all this ‘material’ was delivered to me with a warm smile, in the style of a come on.
I freeze and my eyes open wide.
He has made another joke. He is laughing. He puts his hand back on me briefly and then takes it off again.
I tell him, tersely, that he is not to touch me like that and that it’s incredibly rude to touch someone’s vagina without invite (what?). He apologised. I did not walk away. I do not want to make too much of a fuss.
I did not walk away.
I do not want to make too much of a fuss.
I did not walk away.
He starts talking to me about shaving. How? How the fuck did we come to be speaking about this?
Maybe I don’t want to drink anymore for a while.
He asks me if I am shaved. I am evasive. He asks me if my boyfriend prefers me shaved.
He is trying to confirm if I am available.
I laugh, I tell him my S is German and German guys shave. ‘Hey, look at this’, I take two steps and lift the arm of one of the German boys and I pull his sleeve to expose his smooth armpit.
When I turn back he has already moved on, he is engaged with one of his party. I am relieved to be disengaged from him.
The German boy with the naked armpit is confused as to why I have displayed him in this way. I explain to him briefly what has happened. He tells the two other boys and they are angry but businesslike – they want to hurt him. I tell them no, Br has already gone to tell the security guard and get him kicked out. This is better, because he will be gone and he boys will not put themselves at risk.
He is outside, he is smoking. I point him out to the boys.
The security guard is in front of me. He is letting me know that he has told this man that if it happens again there will be a problem. The security guard is gone.
I know the security guard, I have met him at closing at the Vic before, he used to work there, he is a friend of Br’s.
The boys are determined that something will happen. They are my security, they say.
I agree that if there is no stopping them then we will all have to leave straight after. I leave with Br to bring the car around so we can leave hastily.
When the boys exit through the front they are not rushing. There has been no fight. They confronted rubber lips and he said it was an accident. A female patron intervened.
I find myself explaining, as if providing a cultural tidbit as their mandated Australian guide, that this does not surprise me and this is not the first time that something like this has happened.
A friend mentioned to me the other day that a girl that he knows was assaulted when she was a minor by someone around my age now. I talk to him about what will be involved legally, incentives and disincentives that she might consider about taking a legal path, we agree that if any action is to be taken to bring this person to a punitive measure direct action is probably most effective. I confirm that many female lawyers do not believe they would not make a complaint of rape. I confirm that I have chosen not to make a complaint about sexual assault in the past.
Sometimes you can’t find any words. I am not a person this happens to often. But when this happens I cannot find words. I am simultaneously disgusted and completely unsurprised, resigned. Different male people have put their hands on my body uninvited so many times in public spaces, as if with no contemplation of rebuff. It’s this sense of entitlement that shocks, appalls and immobilises me. It terrifies me that these persons might act in such a way because they believe that I will not consider myself to be in a position to be picky about how I might receive attention.
How can this happen to me?
I think I am so fearless. I think I am so strong?
I did not walk away.
Happiness, Todd Solondz (1998). Camryn Manheim as Kristina talks about how she hates sex. She confides the story of her rape, eating directly from a pack of ice cream. She is a deer in headlights. I’m not sure that he doesn’t think he is giving her something she would never say no to, so he is unable to recognise or understand her lack of willingness for what it is. She is quietly distressed. She struggles little.
Are fat female bodies more likely to be subject to invasion in this way? I have assumed that I would feel more entitled to defend myself if I was thinner. I could be absolutely wrong.
You can ask me anything.
Showing posts with label Don't Write While High. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Don't Write While High. Show all posts
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Sunday, October 3, 2010
Days 90 - 93
We go to Oktoberfest and we run into some people from law school. I’m introduced to a man I remember from class, M. He wears a t-shirt with a large graphic print of a light bulb and a grey cardigan. He extends his hand across the table to shake mine firmly. We have never spoken before.
‘Aaaaaaa B, I remember you. You always used to sit in the back and ask boring questions.’
Later he is standing beside me. In the course of conversation I say something snide. Then I apologise and I explain that I was offended by what he had said previously. He asks, ‘can’t you take a joke?’
Michael Sharp. 1996. I am 10. His family has been away from Brisbane for a number of years while his father fills a position in the UK. Now that he is back, he has an accent. He has dark hair and narrow features and for the first time in my life I like a boy. He makes fun of me. He calls me fat.
Moving into my apartment I found a page from my year 3 school report titled ‘Personal and Social Development’. Under general comment my teacher writes the following:
‘B is good at her schoolwork and makes valuable contributions to class discussions. She is somewhat of a loner, and often lacks an awareness of her social environment'.
When I was younger still school had referred me internally to a program to build my social skills - I kept on hitting other children when they called me fat. Michael calls me fat and I say to him, as advised, ‘Please don’t call me fat, when you do it hurts my feelings'.
‘Can’t you take a joke?’ he replies.
I am in the principal’s office. She is huge. She is warm and well meaning. She tells me how children often make fun of each other because they want to be friends.
I am 12. A teacher is on the brink of tears. What I hear her saying to me is that I must accept the things that the other children say or do to me. I can tell a teacher but I cannot hit, shout or call other children names. I remember her beautiful, sassy, stylishly dressed, fat.
I am 10. I am hosting my first sleepover. We make up superhero names for ourselves. I called myself ‘Fatman’ (Batman). I have already started to learn that fat approaches acceptability where you are funny, fun. Later my Mother tells me that I should not make jokes like this, I should not degrade myself.
Speaking briefly with M, I am reminded of an article I read not long ago on Jezebel. The writer is critical that Ask Men advises men to act like complete dicks to win the hearts and minds of the ladeez. It feels like power play. M is putting me in my place. I understand that he is better than me. I should be thankful that he is speaking to me at all. Later, I will acquiesce to him if he asks.
There is no constructive way to call douchebags on this shit. If I do, my fatness will be thrown in my face.
A man gropes me in a club and I tell him to stop. ‘Why would I want you, you fat slut?’
We'll talk about the pathologisation of attraction to fat women later. You know we will, you know me well enough by now.
If I am not fat, there will be something else: I am ugly, slutty, stupid. I am a bitch.
I am boring.
I leave the German club to meet friends in the City.
Holly writes about how getting skinny is the second act of a fat girl’s tragedy.
‘I remember all of the people at home who assured me, “You never had to change,” after I lost 80 pounds. I wanted to spit in their eyes.’
When I was young and fat I dreamt of what the world would be like when I was thin. Later, when I found that the world was a little different when I was not fat, I was so angry. My life felt like an experiment that ultimately proved to me that people are cunts. On another level, I was overjoyed. Guilt and disgust followed.
Happiness is surrounding yourself with a sufficient number of people who share the same essential values as you do. Based on the biased sample you have selected for yourself you can start to construct a fiction that all people are essentially good, flawed and beautiful. The universe loves you, and you can trust the process of life. Whether or not these assumptions are true, they are constructive. You love without fear.
Start weight: 112.5
Last recorded weight: 106
Weight lost: 6.5
LT goal weight: 75
ST goal weight: 99
‘Aaaaaaa B, I remember you. You always used to sit in the back and ask boring questions.’
Later he is standing beside me. In the course of conversation I say something snide. Then I apologise and I explain that I was offended by what he had said previously. He asks, ‘can’t you take a joke?’
Michael Sharp. 1996. I am 10. His family has been away from Brisbane for a number of years while his father fills a position in the UK. Now that he is back, he has an accent. He has dark hair and narrow features and for the first time in my life I like a boy. He makes fun of me. He calls me fat.
Moving into my apartment I found a page from my year 3 school report titled ‘Personal and Social Development’. Under general comment my teacher writes the following:
‘B is good at her schoolwork and makes valuable contributions to class discussions. She is somewhat of a loner, and often lacks an awareness of her social environment'.
When I was younger still school had referred me internally to a program to build my social skills - I kept on hitting other children when they called me fat. Michael calls me fat and I say to him, as advised, ‘Please don’t call me fat, when you do it hurts my feelings'.
‘Can’t you take a joke?’ he replies.
I am in the principal’s office. She is huge. She is warm and well meaning. She tells me how children often make fun of each other because they want to be friends.
I am 12. A teacher is on the brink of tears. What I hear her saying to me is that I must accept the things that the other children say or do to me. I can tell a teacher but I cannot hit, shout or call other children names. I remember her beautiful, sassy, stylishly dressed, fat.
I am 10. I am hosting my first sleepover. We make up superhero names for ourselves. I called myself ‘Fatman’ (Batman). I have already started to learn that fat approaches acceptability where you are funny, fun. Later my Mother tells me that I should not make jokes like this, I should not degrade myself.
Speaking briefly with M, I am reminded of an article I read not long ago on Jezebel. The writer is critical that Ask Men advises men to act like complete dicks to win the hearts and minds of the ladeez. It feels like power play. M is putting me in my place. I understand that he is better than me. I should be thankful that he is speaking to me at all. Later, I will acquiesce to him if he asks.
There is no constructive way to call douchebags on this shit. If I do, my fatness will be thrown in my face.
A man gropes me in a club and I tell him to stop. ‘Why would I want you, you fat slut?’
We'll talk about the pathologisation of attraction to fat women later. You know we will, you know me well enough by now.
If I am not fat, there will be something else: I am ugly, slutty, stupid. I am a bitch.
I am boring.
I leave the German club to meet friends in the City.
Holly writes about how getting skinny is the second act of a fat girl’s tragedy.
‘I remember all of the people at home who assured me, “You never had to change,” after I lost 80 pounds. I wanted to spit in their eyes.’
When I was young and fat I dreamt of what the world would be like when I was thin. Later, when I found that the world was a little different when I was not fat, I was so angry. My life felt like an experiment that ultimately proved to me that people are cunts. On another level, I was overjoyed. Guilt and disgust followed.
Happiness is surrounding yourself with a sufficient number of people who share the same essential values as you do. Based on the biased sample you have selected for yourself you can start to construct a fiction that all people are essentially good, flawed and beautiful. The universe loves you, and you can trust the process of life. Whether or not these assumptions are true, they are constructive. You love without fear.
Start weight: 112.5
Last recorded weight: 106
Weight lost: 6.5
LT goal weight: 75
ST goal weight: 99
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