I never watch this show but a friend sent me this clip last week, “Have you seen this girl yet?!”
Apparently she’s the first woman ever to complete this course, and I believe it.
There are a few things that stick out to me about the video.
First, they keep referring to her size as a hinderance that she has to overcome, her short wingspan, her low weight. While physics would be on the side of the commentators, I think she’d probably argue that for every “disadvantage” in her body, there is something she can do that makes up for it. Where she’s too short to reach the next pole, her weight makes it possible to fly through the air and leap to it.
Second, “This girl is going to need a bodyguard” I have a feeling she can take care of her self. I have a feeling she can do anything.
Third, at 4:35 the commentators shout “She’s not human!”
She’s better than just human. She’s an ass-kicking woman.
Congratulations Kacy. Job well done. Thanks for being an inspiration in what women can do.
Just because no woman has done it before doesn’t mean that no woman can.
In the continuing theme of women or images that make me feel good about myself: An actor in my last show walked in on me reading in a corner and said I looked like a Klimt model.I took it as a lovely compliment although his works don’t really speak to me. But in my quest to figure out what artist would have spoken to me, I stumbled upon John William Waterhouse.I’ve been mesmerized by the women of John William Waterhouse for years. They always look defiant from behind their beautiful flowers and clothes and hair, the trappings of a good life. Like some unsettled, middle class character Kristen Stewart would play. He paints powerful sirens.And a sorceress.But even when his subject is begging, she is never a beggar.And what’s even better, Waterhouse doesn’t just make strong women, he makes interesting women, complex women who are not always concerned with being seen, beautiful, or even dressed. Waterhouse’s women make me feel beautiful just for existing. Beautiful and real and vibrant and alive, just for shielding myself from the windor resting my head. Just for being a woman and alive.
Unpopular opinion: It makes me really mad when men are upset by my bruises.
I do a pretty physical job and I’m also pretty clumsy. I drop heavy equipment on my legs, bruise my knees crawling under stages and cut my hands open on aircraft cable. I get hurt using my body to do damn cool things.
And on a number of occasions men have approached me telling me how their biggest pet peeve is seeing a woman bruised or scarred, offering me tips about arnica and whatever other herbal remedies.
It’s not like I don’t know why they do it, they’re bragging about their protective capabilities. They’re anti-domestic violence. Well good on them. Way to clear a VERY LOW BAR.
This has always annoyed me. I get really proud of my injuries. They’re mine. Ask me about them. I’ll tell you the story of how I got them because I’m really cool and I got them doing really cool things.
I take pride in my bruises and scrapes so why should some guy get to have opinions about them? I realized the other day why these comments offend me so much.
If I meet a guy with scars and bruises I’m not going to assume it’s from a domestic spat with his wife. I’m going to assume it’s from something he actively did, snowboarding, dropping a leko on his head, misfiring a staple gun. But when that bouncer sees a bruise on me he also makes the assumption that it’s something done by a man. Because men do the doing.
This bouncer who daily commented on how upset my (well earned) bruises made him even saw me doing my job. He knew it was physical, that I was running around bumping into stuff and yet he still looked at me and thought “A lady shouldn’t be bruised.”
Once again I’m all for men who are anti-domestic violence, but I’m not getting in domestics with my boyfriends, I’m living my life in a world full of inconveniently placed coffee tables. There’s a difference, and apparently some men can’t imagine that.
I hope there are some other people (in addition to myself) who think this is the best thing ever.
Now that I’ve subscribed to Vagenda Magazine’s twitter I can tell you how much I’m in love with them.
The best part is that most of these “stories” could be retitled “Woman leaves house, doesn’t care if you want to have sex with her.” Which basically describes the lives of every woman I know.
And that feels damn good.
Today, I saw this title on xoJane.com
And decided it was time to tell a little story from my childhood.
Now keep in mind that until he turned 13 (and cut and donated it just like his big sister) my brother had long, thick, jewish hair. Longer than I’ve had mine in years.
One beautiful Saturday afternoon after my brother and I had each played our respective soccer games (like all good Brooklynite children) and gone to synagogue (like all good Brooklynite children), my mom took us out for mani-pedi’s at the local salon (like all good Brooklynite children). My parents worked in immigration law and had helped this woman get her paperwork so we got a discount.
My mother pointed to her children and the woman behind the desk said niñas.
My mother pointed to me “niña” and my brother “niño.”
My mother speaks as little spanish as I do so the woman behind the desk tried to correct her, shaking her head “niñas”
Which is when my mother reminded us all of who she is. She pointed to my brother and said “No. niño.” while mime jerking off with her left hand.
The woman behind the desk shrieked in laughter until my mom said “Yeah, he needs a pedicure, his toenails are insane,” and we all sat down.
My mother, causing heart attacks since 1952.
The other day I was shopping with my mom and tried on these overall-shorts things that looked really cute on the mannequin but not so much on me.
And she was like “You need those crazy butt-lift underwear for those shorts.”
To which I said, “My body is perfect, the garment is wrong.”
Lately when I go shopping that’s my favorite line. This garment is not sentient, I don’t have to worry about it’s feelings. It’s clearly not paying attention to me and my needs. it is wrong and a jerk and I have no place for it in my life. It is the weakest link, goodbye.
I am loving this video right now. And it keeps reminding me of this post about watching someone put on a condom.
What makes a kiss such an intimate thing is that when it’s over you know something about them you didn’t before. You know how they taste, what their lips feel like, what makes them hungry, what makes them want to kiss you and what doesn’t.
This video just makes it a little clearer because you know there wasn’t a date part that helped along the knowing. We know everything they know about each other except for the little bit they found on each others lips.
And everything is different from the knowing.
These photographs are giving me life today.
I have been having a very hard time being ok with my body tonight.
I have been wanting to have no body at all.
I have been wishing to be small and hidden.
I have been feeling the need to disappear.
I got into bed and was going to take pictures of my body to be negative towards it…
but then I clicked this image and looked at it.
I saw sand dunes.
I saw nature.
I saw myself.
I am the Earth.
I am the Earth.
I am the Earth. [x]
Radical, meta Self-love via selfie.
Your body is a pile of these things. And maybe they’re all on purpose and maybe they’re not but they’re all definitely features and not bugs. And they’re here to stay.
It’s hard to be sad about your body when you think of it as a landscape. You don’t criticize a mountain for being too big, or a valley for being too winding, and no one ever complains about the vastness of the sea. You are part of the earth and you are so beautiful friends.