Fat Bottomed Girls

I have been having a very good week! Yesterday I met with my advisor from the English Department, Dr. G., so that she could interview me for a spring internship position in their Women's Program. I have not heard much about the program or its activities, but when Professor G. (a different English Professor, confusing, I know) made an announcement in class about the internship, I jumped on it. There are two internships, and they were mainly intended for people who major in Women's Studies, but since they involve mostly writing and communications, I inquired anyway. Dr. G. told me that she sees no reason why I cannot get English (writing) credit for it, if I get the internship. So yesterday, she interviewed me for it.

Because she is my advisor, I have met with her about three times before. Actually, I once asked her if she had some time to discuss graduate school with me, and she was nice enough to engage in a lengthy discussion with me on the subject. I really like her a lot.

She told me about the activities this program has sponsored and, Wow! They have put on a production of the Vagina Monologues to raise money for women who were victims of domestic violence, had lectures with inspiring speakers, and recently had an event on women in the sciences (I interjected, "Because of what the Harvard president said?" and she laughed and said, "Exactly."). The more she told me about the program, the more excited I got. And by the end of the interview, she had said at least three times, "I can't officially offer you the job today, but all I can say is you don't have to worry. Come back next week and I'll give you the forms to fill out." Yay! :)

Today Fellow Seeker sent me a text message, asking me what I was up to. I told him that I was compromising my feminist principles and getting my eyebrows waxed. I drove over to the ol' salon and asked if the woman who always does them (a.k.a. the Ripper) would have time to do them. She always does. I asked the woman at the front desk, who asked the Ripper, and when the Ripper saw me, she said, "Oh yes! That's my client. That's my girl! Hello honey!" The Ripper is a Russian woman with a thick accent and bright red dyed hair. She is probably in her forties. I started to follow her into the waxing room when she glanced down at the rest of me and gasped. "You lost weight!" I was startled. "I did?" Hadn't I gained it back? She said yes and asked me what I've been doing. "Um... working out." She looked proud. I felt guilty for being pleased. Yes, I look thinner, even just a little bit. Yes! I thought about all the things I wrote here and all the thoughts I have on the subject and wanted to smack myself.

I got into the room and laid down, bracing myself for the pain (I'm such a big baby). I pointed to the two monsters over my eyes and said, "They're out of control." She said, "I haven't seen you in a while. Oh well. We will get you back to your beautiful self." Once again, I thought of my recent blog post on superficial beauty and cringed.

I had planned to grab a slice of pizza or something else that's quick but relatively lethal before class, but after she made that comment about my weight, I knew I couldn't. I drove all the way to the mall so that I could get a Japanese vegetarian dish. As I sat at a table, eating my tasteless vegetables and noodles, drinking orange-flavored seltzer even though I hate it because it has no calories and reading Body Outlaws, I thought to myself, You know what would go really well with this? A cookie. And I got one. I am hopelessly human.

Thanks to the wonderful process of ordering library books online to be delivered to your local library, I finally picked up the copy of The Fat Girl's Guide to Life that I have been looking for all week. My fellow ambassador told me she was reading it; she said it was funny and just great. I have been reading it, and I have to say, it is neither for me so far. I can relate to a ton of what she says and how she feels, and I see where she's going with the book, I really do, but... I dunno. It's not doing it for me. It's a whole stop-hating-yourself-for-being-fat-and-accept-that-you-are-wonderful-even-though-you're-fat message. And, maybe I am really ingrained with social conventions and standards, but I can't embrace that, at least not this early on in the book. I keep taking offense at her calling me, the reader, fat. How stupid am I? I'm reading a book entitled The Fat Girl's Guide to Life but I want the author to be P.C. with me? Geez Louise. All I know is the book was depressing me.