ghettofabulocity

I've wondered the same thing

While I'm quite pleased with the series finale of LOST, I would have loved an answer to this particular question.

the post in which

I channel Sophia Petrillo.

Picture it. Penn Yan, New York. 1983.

It was the day I turned five years old. And my very first day of school. On the corner of my mother's beloved corner lot, my brother and I waited for the school bus; him in his Firemen hat (the baseball team on which he played) and me decked out in the finest home-sewn, coloured polka dot dress a girl could want. I imagine I was a giddy little girl when my mother finished it and gave it to me but all I remember about it is standing in our kitchen holding the McCall's pattern in my hands and thinking how cool it was that Mom was going to turn drawings of something into a something I could actually wear. Paired with the baby blue sweater knitted by what I believe was one of my two dear grandmothers, I think I was quite stylin'. But it's really the cross-stitched-with-love gingerbread handbag I'm carrying that really pulled the outfit together.

I don't remember how school went that day or if I celebrated my 5th birthday like a rock star. Or who the hell the kid is in the background watching the teary-eyed mother taking a picture of her babies as the youngest heads off on her own into the world for the very first time. There's not even a crazy, made-up story that goes along with this photo, so I suppose that makes me a pretty piss poor Golden Girl knock-off.

But it's one of my most favourite photos ever and just felt like sharing.

these hips are mighty hips

you know what they say about giving credit

off-kilter

what are you waiting for, stupid? Eat it!

My girl, Betty, rockin' the girlie parts innuendo, circa 1992.



And still rockin' it, circa 2010!

is it 10:30 yet?!

52 seconds in.



I'm ready. Bring the funny, Betty!

no, we're *not* all sugar and spice

This kind of shit drives me batty.

At the age of 31, I have no idea how many times over the years I've been told that I should smile more. I've actually had people stop me on the street and ask me some version of, "why so blue?" or tell me, "you'd be prettier if you smiled" because they didn't care for the face I happened to be sharing at that moment. And in each one of those cases, the people who approached me? Men.

Surprisingly, it hasn't happened much recently but the next time it does, I've already decided I'm going to look the douche square in the face and tell him my mother just died of cancer, my father just got in a car accident and is paralyzed, I just found out I have a fatal brain tumour, and my pet monkey was stolen and sold on the zoo world black market. And then smile a big, friggin' smile and continue on my way to wherever I was heading before I was so rudely approached by Random Stranger #1,032.

It's not my job to make you feel important or better about yourself and it's not my job to mold myself into whatever it is some random person wants from me. Christ, I do that for society in general on a daily basis in ways I don't even realize at the time and it can be exhausting. My emotions and how I show them don't exist for you. And just because someone is a celebrity / star / whatever you want to call it, it doesn't mean she exists solely for you either. Just because I buy a ticket to a movie starring a particular celebrity, it doesn't mean I'm entitled to any certain part of that person. She doesn't owe me politeness, she doesn't owe me a hug and an autograph, she doesn't owe me anything; especially to respond to me in any way but a genuine one.

Unlike some people, I don't remember the moment my feminism was awakened. I tend toward it being somewhere around the time I made my First Communion and was Confirmed in Catholicism as a Junior in college (a moment that is *not* on my list of best ones). But the reason I continue to acknowledge it and embrace it is because I constantly find myself relating its principles to everyday life. The time I was at the bus stop with my headphones on and the homeless guy quite literally kicked me in the shins because I couldn't hear him ask me for change? My body isn't public property, pal. The bazillion times I've made choices a parent or relative or friend didn't agree with? I understand and respect that you disagree with me but it's my choice. And the times I simply ignored and walked away from the men who told me I should smile more because they would like me to? I'm not here for public consumption.

Whether I'm an Oscar-nominated actress or Janelle, Plain and Not So Tall.

through the trees