Tired

A few weeks ago I wrote the following in my journal.

I hate my ass. It's big and protruding. It's not curvy, it's just round and ugly and flabby. It was that way even when I'd slimmed down. I hated it then, too. I even hate it more than the pouch of my stomach or my saddlebag thighs.

I remember the first time I became self conscious about my ass. I was maybe 15 or 16 and a bunch of friends and I were at a pool party. My friend Mary and I were in our bathing suits and our friends teased us about how big our asses looked in them. It was all in fun, but I remember thinking "Fuck! A big ass. One more fucking thing to be self conscious about." Cuz being teased about having nappy hair for all of grade school and high school was not enough.

I've tried to make piece with my ass. But it's difficult, because I Still. Fucking. Hate. It.

Like everyone, I have days of body loathing. I also have days when I don't hate my body. But I hate my ass pretty much every day. Did I wake up one day and decide to hate my ass? No. But I got the message early on that my shape is unacceptable in the eyes of society. It's a message about 99.999% of women get and we all spend our lives coping (or not coping) with that reality.

Earlier this year, I decided to stop dieting. Up to that point, I'd been dieting for 7 years straight, which, of course is nothing compared to the lifetime of yo-yo dieting others have dealt with . So, 7 years wasn't a terribly long time to be dieting, but looking back, it was a fucking eternity, because it turns out that dieting fucks you up both mentally and physically. Every day (and I do mean EVERY. SINGLE. DAY.) was spent worrying about what I ate, how much I'd eaten, whether I'd exercised to make up for eating too much. And after 7 years of doing that, I'd started to gain some of that weight back. So, I said fuck it. I was tired - fucking TIRED - of feeling like shit about myself every fucking day. So, I decided to ask my body what it wanted - in terms of food and activity. NOT what I needed to do to make my body smaller, but what my body needs to be strongd and healthy. And no, thinness does not = health. And frankly, I'm tired (there's that word again) of people acting like they want everyone to get thin so they can get healthy. If you're gonna get your fat hate on, at least own it.

Tired. I am tired of being told by everyone under the sun - my peers, society, advertising, product manufacturers - that I am not good enough the way I am. Fuck you. FUCK. YOU.

I Reviewed the Beatles!

I know. Where do I get off reviewing legends, right? LOL.

Read my review of With The Beatles here.

I also reviewed Pete Yorn and Scarlett Johansson's Break Up album. And you know, it's not half bad.

Eight Years Ago

It's hard to put into words my thoughts on this 8th anniversary of the Sept. 11, 2001 terrorist attacks. Below is an excerpt from a journal entry from Sept. 24, 2001. (Disclaimer: It's raw, somewhat incoherent rant, so bear with its imperfections).

Is it possible to do justice to everyone's grief? Those who lost loved ones. The rescuers. The people who survived? I feel my own pain, but I always believe it is less important than the grief of those who suffered far more than I did. I feel inadequate. Helpless.

I cried for those who were lost like they were my own.

And they were.

As human beings, we spend our entire lives trying to separate ourselves from each other. It takes something like Sept. 11 to remind us that, whether we like it or not, we are brothers and sisters.

I hear lots of talk about encouraging world leaders to work together.

NO SHIT, YA MORONS! We have no choice. We have only one planet! We destroy it and each other and we're fucked. Fucked.

Back to the grief...and the guilt. Others are grieving. I am too, but it's infinitely easier for me to carry on. I've thought of little else since but it doesn't consume me as much. My heart weeps for those who don't have it so easy, and I feel guilty. True, it's a selfish emotion, but also an inexorable one.

So much has happened to the country - and to me - since then. In many ways, 2001 feels a lifetime ago. I moved out of New York two years ago. I'm in another big city. In some ways we've learned a lot and in other ways, we've either learned the wrong lesson or nothing at all.

Yet, even now, with so much time passed, if I close my eyes, I can easily be transported back to that day. I remember what I was wearing. What I ate for breakfast. The weather. That day - and the lives lost on it - will never leave me.

Another Review & Some Catching Up To Do

Here's a review of múm's album Sing Along to Songs You Don't Know.

I have been delinquent in my blogging of late for two reasons:

1. I moved last week and am still in the process of unpacking.

2. The US Open is on and, frankly, when Grand Slam tennis is on, I cease to do much else.

In any event, I promise to be better at the blogging in the future. In the meantime, off to watch tennis!

Album Review: Ingrid Michaelson's Everybody

Happy Thursday. Here is my latest album review from Consequence of Sound.

Black Women and Eating Disorders

Author's Note: This post is for Arynne :-)

Hallelujah! Someone has finally written a book about black women and eating disorders. Playwright Stephanie Covington Armstrong has written a memoir of her struggle with bulimia called Not all Black Girls Know How to Eat. I learned about this book via a post on The F Word blog.

Like millions of American women, I have struggled with disordered eating and body image issues. But being a black woman has meant that my struggles with said issues are (not surprisingly) often dismissed or ignored. Needless to say, I've been waiting for a book like this (and have actually thought about writing one myself). I may run out and buy it this weekend. And I'll definitely post a review once I've read it.