I, Object.

I, Object.
Amnesiac II: Life in the Third Person
Cut by: Davita Cuttita

It seems as though labels and identity are arguably things that many people take very seriously—things that consciously and unconsciously may shape who a person is, was or will become.

Arguably, it’s important for us as human beings to be able to openly state (whenever we wish) and follow-through with our systems of beliefs, ideas, sexual preferences, the types of movies or music we listen to, our style, the people we hang around with, and so on.

As an amnesiac, it’s difficult for me to sympathize but I can see where this is coming from.

My illness exists within the small percentile of people who do not get any worse but at the same time, they do not get any better. I’ve come to terms with my permanant circumstances and honestly, I try not let it bother me. Much like any other life-long illness, one tries to find a means by which to cope and live something resembling a normal life.

Can I ask a question?

How did you learn to be a person?

Or actually…should I say how did you learn to act like what we may commonly define to be a “person”? Better yet, how did you learn to acceptably act?

After my accident, I had no recollection of anything except for my name and birthday.

I had no idea where I lived, what country I was in, what year it was, who my family or friends were, where I went to school, what religion or sexuality I was, what my interests were, what I wanted out of the future.

If you can, imagine what it would be like to wake up in the emergency room, strapped down to a stretcher with restraints, with no identity and no memories—all you know is your name and your birthday.

I could hardly read or write and could barely manage to put coherent sentences together as my brain reeled from the shock of the impact.

Essentially, I was a blank slate in a then 19 year old, Black female body and had to be rehabilitated; reconditioned to fit into a world I did not understand nor care about.

You see, after my release from the hospital I had only one friend who would come visit me on a regular basis and take me outside. I was terrified of the outdoors; there was way too much unpredictability. My friend was very understanding though, she and I both suffer from mental illnesses so it was good to have someone to eat sushi and listen to digital hardcore with. Despite the fact that I had virtually no recollection of her, the good ambience was always there whenever she stopped by and she was always encouraging, fun and supportive. She’s probably one of the few people who truly understands me and although these days we don’t see eachother or speak very often, we still remain best friends.

After my accident, I basically did whatever the hell I felt like—the first thought that came to mind was the first thing I did, no questions asked and no regrets.

If I felt like sleeping on the floor, I’d do it. If I felt like smashing plates and putting holes into walls, I’d do it. If I felt like doing harm, I’d do it and I honestly did not care if anyone or anything lived to tell the tale or not.

Or, if I felt like watching the Cosby show and over-eating (my medication at the time put me in a constant state of starvation, so bad that I would cry and wish for death without food for a certain period of time)…well, I’d do that too. I was completely ruled by impulses.

I had no culture, no faith, no sexual drive, no ideas, no opinions, no memories, no loyalties, no goals and above all; no remorse. I did what the voices in my head/my impulses told me to do and that was that.

That’s another problem with head trauma: sometimes you hallucinate which makes the world look like Halloween every fuckin’ day and sometimes you hear/see things that really don’t exist and would probably be pretty damn evil if they did.

Naturally, it was only a matter of time before I was accepted to the psyche ward.

I’ll never forget being in what I describe as the “haze state,” the state where I wasn’t actually “around” but “somewhere else”. My eyes would gloss over and the impulses would make my hands busy and my mouth silent.

“…And you will be kept here until such a time you do not pose a threat to others or a threat to yourself” said the man in the white coat and that was that.

For the first 24 hours, I was placed under heavy guard with the “critically unstable” patients and for my brief stay totalling approximately 7 or 8 days in the ward (which felt more like 9 months) I was the youngest person. Of course, when my mom came crying and pleading into the hospital the next day, they moved me to where the people were a little more stable and even had freedoms such as sitting outside in the garden (surrounded by a 11ft tall metal fence) or buying a Tim Horton’s coffee upstairs at the hospital café. If you were really good, your family could come sign you out but like a library book, they had to return you by 9PM. Why? Well, if they didn’t the hospital would call the police.

I can’t speak for other people but my psyche ward experience was fairly mundane. I spent most of it heavily sedated doing word searches.

Yeah, you had people flip out at breakfast sometimes, since we were all running on the half-life of our meds by then. Two people were particularly keen on causing a scene regularly: tossing furniture, attacking nurses and screaming about how’d they’d decapitate you with a flaming sword or call a lawyer on the wardens citing attempted murder but…I was too busy eating cornflakes and talking to my schizophrenic friend (and his other personalities) to care. I had only one outburst during one of these tirades, albeit a quiet one. Something to break the silence I usually guarded throughout the day.

“Shut up motherfucker, I’m eating cereal.”

This was supposed to be the more “normal” area. At least the “dangerous” people had the common courtesy to make pleasant meal time conversations.

I was so glad to be out of that place with its small, bland meals and shitty decorating. Plus my roommate snored.

When I learned how to act appropriately, everything was so objective and text book. I loved it. It made sense. For the first time in a long while, I could finally make sense of myself and how to live by simply doing it objectively and thinking about issues  in the 3rd person before I did anything.

I went to therapy for almost a year. After I re-learned to read and write coherently I read books on social interactions that explained things like handshakes, smiling, personal space, hugs, romance, friendship and different kinds of gestures and what they meant. If I forgot, I could just pick up the book again. It was a nice little people manual.

“You can’t attack people in public, Davita,” said the Kind Anger Management Lady.

“Why not?”

“Think about it objectively for a moment. What would be the consequences?”

“That person would get hurt…”

“And if you hurt them, then what?”

“Uh…maybe I might go to jail,”

“Do you want to go to jail?”

“…..No.”

And so forth.

Oh! Objectivity divine, let me count the ways!

I still perceive most of my life in an *almost*—but not quite—detached manner by continuing to map out my thoughts and behaviour in the third person. I remember a common complaint to my neuropsychogist:

“I’m on autopilot,” I’d say.

“Your tests have indicated you have a dare-devil, sky-diver type personality. You’re a rule breaker!” he told me once.

My mode of perception is not necessarily something I WANT to do, but it is something I HAVE to do because I’m really trying not to go back to the hospital or to more therapy or anything else. I’m kinda wondering how effective it is if I can sit outside it and examine it this way…huh.

I still have little to no recollection of most people in my past life and events. Many people in my life nowadays tend to be very understanding of this fact, and I’m thankful for their patience, honesty and forwardness with me.

Your feelings are hurt. Argument understood, please show your work. It is due tomorrow or even at best now, not next month or next week. I don’t like letting things fester, bad for objectivity. If something festers, it gets thrown in the garbage, that is logic. That’s how I roll.

Generalization. Non-factual, illogical. Please cite sources and de-generalize.

Ah, generalizations.

I have witnessed quite a few Profs in the University setting striving to beat them out of students all the time. I cannot claim to not be able to generalize; however, because I don’t have a set of experiences to fall back onto to generalize from, it is almost impossible for me to generalize in the first place—it’s a challenge. Everything is taken on a case by case basis for me because it’s the only way I can sensibly understand the world without any memories.

And let’s not forget that generalizations and theories are two different things. I actually kinda like some theories.

I am a fact worshipper, I admit. I love the word and I love objectivity.

It’s not that there isn’t room for fun and spontaneity and it’s not that I don’t have feelings but I only know these things because I read it somewhere and there was a nice little psychological explanation on the need for fun and recreation followed by an explanation of the chemical processes and hormonal/glandular secretions that take place during fun or other emotions and their positivenegative impact on the body. Quite logical, easy to follow and easy to remember if read enough.

Opinion: People who don’t know right from wrong and refuse to argue for a difference between the two are people who’ve never been to Hell.

So what saved my life? One word: perfectionism. *cue angel chorus*

My adamant belief that I could be better and do better and recover if I kept pushing myself against all odds.

And sometimes, I may tremble on my knees because of it…but at least I’m still alive, at least I can say I tremble…

As I, Object remain “standing in the shadows at the end of my bed”…

Criticizing Criticism

Criticizing Criticism
Grandpa Dinosaur

There is an issue I would like to address at 3:31AM while I have insomnia due to illness and having a crappy sleep schedule.

I am finding more and more the level of criticism and judgement within our blogging community of women becoming a prolonged problematic issue extending to interpersonal relationships as well–okay stop laughing.

I am aware it is the nature of blogging to write and react on the issues that bother us and address problems, but I think the level of criticism and the nature it is deployed in has become an absurd caricature of what it once was. I know, I too, I am guilty of this and this is why I am addressing this problem.

And lest we not forget I said I am also guilty of this so that people do not say that I did not announce I also have this problem.

What do I mean when I say that the level of criticism and judgement is becoming a problematic issue? I think, especially amongst us female bloggers, we hold each other up to a high standard and we admire each other efforts. We will often repetitively visit blogs that address and speak about the issues that we care about and introduce us to ideas, concepts and problems we have not encountered.

At PDDP both Davita and I represent a huge spectrum of ideas, concepts and approaches of life that vary due to our backgrounds and upbringings. I believe you come here and enjoy our posts based on that.

For example:
Davita is a straight Jamaican woman with a large family, she is a Christian. She also studies French and enjoys eating. She has amnesia, which gives her a unique angle and perspective and also insight.
Grandpa Dinosaur is an out, lesbian Cambodian woman with a small, traditional family due to the Cambodian genocide. She is Buddhist and is an artist of many mediums.

To be honest, we often do not share the same ideas.

While we do not share the same ideas, we do our best to understand the other’s situation and perspective and approach the subject of conflict with a non-biased (as possible) response that is appropriate and mature. There are many instances that I understand Davita’s perspective, but do not agree with her method or actions.

The biggest problem facing our blogging community, especially our community of women, is that the way we address problems with one another.

It is hard to maintain a mature response of issues, when the person on the other side seems to be angry or perhaps it is all an issue of miscommunication. As a blogger I try my best to respond as appropriately and be as snarky—I am joking—as true to myself as possible.

On this blog we have a tendency to allow five angry responses (at least I do) before moving the conversation to e-mail, because we firmly believe in communication… Personally I don’t believe in freedom of speech if it is hurtful or hateful, so racist and sexist comments are shut down fast.

As people, not bloggers, I believe that Davita and I allowed some respect and space. We have to right to not be harassed or insulted because that is the least respect (I believe) can afforded to us as humans.

We allow people to respond and state their viewpoints on issues, but it is when people insult us and treat us like the right arm of Hitler is when I (personally) draw the line.

As I mentioned from before, because our viewpoints are so unique we are guaranteed not to share every opinion with our reader. That is not a betrayal for the reader, we try our best to be as honest and own our privilege even at our darkest hour.

I think there is a limit that people should be mad at us for not having the same opinion, I know, it’s crazy I have to address this. Even I do not share the same perspective as Davita, I don’t even have the same personality type as her. But my personality is pretty unique and different, methinks.

No one likes to be criticized. It is not easy. I am not saying do not criticize us as bloggers, what I am saying that we need to state the problems we have and address them.

I think there needs to be a limit to how much we criticize each other.

This is why I am the anti-perfectionist. I believe that perfectionism narrows one’s perspective due to the perfectionist already having a preconceived idea of how the world should be or themselves to be.

I’m also anti-“being right,” I also think that the mania to be right and have the final say closes many doors. Situations and instances create variables as there is no true right and wrong answer. Ideas and beliefs change to new perspectives, which is why I think it’s important for both reader and blogger to take a new perspective.

By being more relaxed and adopting my Buddhist roots, I feel I have a great insight because I do not judge based on appearance and actions. I believe that it’s not the first impression that is important, but a person’s history of actions that is a true judgement of character which is hilariously NOT how the world works. Job interviews, dates, the first impression is everything and understanding is not. Hahahah.

I have a tendency to do accumulative research which is why I do not draw most of my ideas at first glance, but in that respect it makes me a bitter person if my life experiences are poor. By being introduced to new perspectives, it creates a different view of the world. At the same time, I have learned not to stay in the same world, with the same poisonous people due to experience. I think people should be allowed to change their future and not their history.

I think as bloggers (at least here at PDDP) we advocate change and we earnestly believe in changing the world and ourselves for the better. We aren’t against change, but lodging hurtful comments without understanding or closing communication is something even I do and I feel many people do as well.

Even Davita and I fight and have differing perspective, but we try to understand each other as people. Davita’s perfectionism, criticism and righteousness can be grating and even now I am taking a break from our friendship. I myself, a bitter person and an abused woman who has been slapped on too many times and I have a hard time being open, I would prefer to be isolated that be forced to be alone.

I do not profess to be right, I think sometimes my issues and beliefs need to addressed if they are wrong but I don’t need to be dissected and my pride stripped down to nothing in order to accomplish this.

I think when you’re taking jabs maliciously or even just because you think your point is right, you need to be careful and aware that you are talking to a person who genuinely care. When I write my blog posts I do put a great deal of myself on the line and address the unattractive issues about my personality in order to grow as a person.

Next time you make a comment or make a reply post of your own blog, take a second to think. Did I talk to the author until there was a level of understanding? Did I try to? Does this blogger realize this approach is better than the one she has, maybe I should comment and state my perspective of this issue.

Remember, there is a human at the other end and if you’re going to be a douchebag, at least know you are and do it right.

No Regrets Blog #4

No Regrets Blog #4
by Grandpa Dinosaur

I am now bench-pressing 40 pounds. That in itself makes me smile.

I’m looking into a women’s boxing gym that give free lessons to victims of abuse, I’d really like the peer support more than the training. Thanks to my training regime, I can tackle depression head on and vent via exercise.

I’m growing tired of turning to friends who aren’t there and now I have a better peace of mind that I don’t have to. I’ve been slowly working out my inadequacy and no longer put up with people criticising my life, with a “help or back off policy.” Because god, if they don’t back off I will back away and walk out the back door. I don’t have to deal with this anymore. I can leave because I’m getting tired of confronting everything and having nothing happen.

Exercise has given me a sense of agency, being fat has given me great pride in myself and who I am. No matter how thin I get, deep down I will always remember what it was like to be treated like shit for being myself, even if that was being a fat person.

Recently I’ve been getting fatigue in other places, like when I talk to people about race, being a lesbian, being a Cambodian, being a woman. I get a lot of grief from feminists who ignore me due to my skin colour, gay people who sneer at me because I am not “gay enough,” Cambodians that don’t think I’m Cambodian, Coloured people who don’t always stand in solidarity with me because I am not their race, it’s very exhausting. Especially the last one, I try my best to address the problems and be inclusive of other races as possible. These few days I’ve been noticing that people keep asking me to address their race issues, but don’t care about the things I go through as a Cambodian person.

All of this is very stressful.

More and more, I feel the pressure of not the media, not ads in the paper but from my friends and family telling me that I’m worthless because I’m “fat” and “stupid.” I’m fat of heart and stupid ripped, I refuse to let people belittle and criticize my life. But then it made me confront the truth: I have body issues only when I talk to other women my age who have body issues. It’s the only time I realize that other people do not think my body type is abnormal.

It’s then that I realize the world is incredibly shallow, and not only that, they act as if they own your body and your mind.

I have never been shallow in that I decide to be friends with people based on appearance, but apparently people have been friends with me based on mine. I don’t know how I feel about that.

I’m feeling increasingly isolated from “womanhood” and my community.

I am an educated and determined lesbian, Canadian-born Cambodian artist.

From the Cambodian community‘s perspective I am a White-washed Asian who has no identity and is not welcome in their community. I am “fat” and “ugly” and will become a spinster because I am unmarried.

From my female peers, I am uncouth and inarticulate. (TRUE!!! XD) I “cause problems” and “create drama.”

From the gay community, I do not even register. I am not gay enough.

From the White perspective I am too foreign and my traditional Cambodian upbringing conflicts with Western mindset too much adjust to Canadian life.

From the artists perspective my work is too localized or too foreign, never “homely” or exotic enough to be wanted.

In their eyes, my body is theirs to label and their labels mine to carry and bear.

In my eyes, that is the mind of the world and their perception of me. This is how I feel, how much is this is true, I do not know.

The world being my “friends” and “family” who buy the stereotypes and lifestyles will give them “better lives.”

“Friend” and “family” in name alone, I am alone in this world in so many ways. Whenever I seek help, I end up getting criticism from other women.  I know that I’m not a 100% perfect person, I’m not a perfectionist and do not aim to be. I am aware I have flaws, but it is hurtful when people would rather yell and pick at my flaws rather than help me improve upon them.

I find a lot of people, from my mother, to my sister-in-law, to my friends, to my teachers.

I try to reach out and admit I need help and get the community I need, only to be slapped, told to stop crying and be strong until I actually AM crying.

I’m getting A’s in my grad school… Like literal straight A’s, but I’m burning out and dying in my eyes. People respect my tenacity and fire, but it’s all stifling. I am a student in trouble too. I am glad that my teacher is giving breaks as well as my team partner in my group. It feels like the closest thing to support I have had in a while.

Criticism isn’t going to help me when I need people to stay with me and support me and be there to work through my problems. Because I have problems, I AM very self-aware. I don’t try to ignore my faults of fancy them up to be redeeming qualities. I DO have prejudices and I OWN them, when many do not. Again I am not a perfect person nor am I a perfectionist.

I am extremely worn down because I am so isolated and do not receive help when I ASK for it or seek it. In the end, I chose to isolate myself rather than have people pick at my flaws instead of being there when I have problems or just am having a bad day.

I’m not someone who has ever come home to a happy family BUT I do not want to be a victim, I try my best not to be a victim and always try to pull myself up and be a role model despite my past and having no support from anyone. As you have noticed, this is the first blog post where I have mention of having an abusive childhood. I try my best not to let it hold me back, it is hard and I think I am doing a good job.

If you would like me to write about the abuse in my childhood, I will. I don’t mind, I will put myself out there if it will help people feel as they are not alone. Much like being a lesbian, I keep things to myself a lot because I like to keep my own business my business but I understand the importance of a community.

I also believe that is why I write for PDDP, because I know what it is like to be isolated do to sexuality and race and try to create a sense of community by saying “it’s okay to be yourself as long as it makes you happy.” Because I am happy and I would like to be THIS type of person, instead of a negative person who cries. I want to channel and challenge myself, rather than hate and hurt myself which is not always easy.

I hope I can bench-press 50 pounds by the next blog post.

“No Fat Chicks”

“No Fat Chicks“
Cut by: Davita Cuttita

The other night I was invited out to a party by a male French friend of mine.

Everyone there was from France, most of them were out of my friend and I’s age group by five years or more but we were lucky enough to still find a few people around our age to hang out with.

An acquaintance of my friend generously ordered two pitchers of beer for us and started digging into me with questions about my girlfriends, wondering if I knew anyone single he could date.

I know a few single girls, one of which I knew for sure was looking. I gave a general explanation of her and a few others. He began complaining about the women in the room and berating my friend for having a girl to go out with (me) while he’d been trying for three years to find a girlfriend in Canada.

“Look at the women in this room—this country is like a political asylum for ugly French girls! Do you have any pretty friends? Friends prettier than the women here?” he asked.

“Um, I dunno about prettier but I think they’re a bit younger,” I answered.

“Age doesn’t matter as long as she’s not too old,” he said.

I told him a little about my friend that was looking. “’She’s really pretty,” I finished.

“She’s not fat, is she?” he asked.

“Um…well, yeah, she is,” I answered a little stiffly.

“Ah, non, non…” he answered shaking his head. *“Let us put that one to the side” (*roughly translated from the French for “Let us let that one ‘fall’”)

“No fatties, for you?” my French friend said to him, laughing. “You are eating a big slice of chocolate cake! I thought you enjoyed grease and gaining weight!”

“How many fat girlfriends do you have?” he asked.

I thought for a moment.

“Two,” I answered.

“Two fatties,” my acquaintance echoed.

“Non, non! Put them both to the side! No fat girls!”

The men laughed.

Speaking from a position of thin privilege, I can honestly say that I’ve never gotten this response from any man and can hardly even imagine the devastating effect that would have on someone’s self-esteem. Also speaking from a position of thin privilege, I can whole-heartedly admit that sometimes I make mistakes and am not as perceptive to other peoples’ feelings as I’d like to be, but I’m working on it.

As I recounted the story of the party to her, she was suddenly excitedwhen I mentioned this random guy—he was tall, seemingly East Indian in decent, fair appearance, educated, good job and spoke three languages. This was a little odd to me as we weren’t talking about dating or setting her up and the nicer guys I’ve mentioned, guys who actually like her, never incited the same reaction.

“That’s so awesome! You can give him my number and—”

Now, in response to a comment, I need to say a little something.

First off, I never mentioned the guy to my friend in the context of dating or being a potential date for her. We were making small talk.

I make it very explicit when I’m setting her up. i.e  “Hey M,  X thinks you’re hot and wants to date you.  He looks like ___ and is ____” etc. This was not one of those cases. I was talking about the party and the people I’d met there, nothing more.

She LOVES being single and advocates strongly for social acceptance of the single life all the time. The words “desperate” or  “lonely” are not even a part of her vocabulary, she’s one of the kindest, most popular and hard-working people I know so I was suprised she was suddenly excited.

I’ve mentioned other guys to her within the dating context–nicer, educated, hard-working guys who were actually interested in her and didn’t care about her size–and she’s never reacted so positively; or at all for that matter. I didn’t expect her to so readily offer her information like that, especially since this time, I wasn’t even finished talking about the guy by getting to the bad parts about him and that we were not talking about dating or setting her up. It was hard to finish up the rest of the story and let her know he was a fat-phobic asshole.

“Honestly, I’d rather not hook you up with some random French dude I met at a bar unless I knew him a bit better first,” I said. My friend nodded and asked a few more questions about the guy, which I answered.

“Plus there’s one other thing…” I irked. “I hate having to say this but I’m only saying this because I wanna be honest with you and I love you bu—”

“He doesn’t date fat girls, does he?” she answered in a dead-pan tone.

Before I could even finish my sentence, she had already sensed the rejection coming.

“Yeah,” I answered. I made sure I told her about his other comments.

“Well…it’s OK, he sounded like an asshole anyway,” she answered before laughing her ass off at the “ugly French girls” comment.

What got me the most was when I realized that my friend has been, in a way, taught to expect disappointment and I was just another cog in the vicious cycle; even though I really didn’t mean to be. And you know what? I own up to that, I don’t hide my mistakes under a carpet of pretend-sympathy or act like they’re OK–that’s part of the reason why I wrote this article. If I make mistakes trying to be more accepting of fat people, I encourage you to shoot me. Honestly, I do. Sometimes tough love is good.

I truly didn’t expect her to react this way, especially since we weren’t talking about this guy in the context of dating or setting her up and all my other OBVIOUS attempts at setting her up with nicer men have been met with apathy. I’m not blaming her for jumping into my story mid-sentence, maybe she was feeling extra receptive that day. Besides, she has the right to pick whomever she wants and I’m glad to help her out.

I began to wonder if I should have bothered telling her everything about the party—or anything at all. Then again, how could I have forseen her reaction taking into account all my failed attempts and the context of our conversation? We were not talking about dating or setting her up and I’d told her about so many other wonderful and interested guys in detail before and she never reacted this way to their advances. I guess the outcome of our conversation was unexpected on both our parts.

Anyhoo…

The more I think about it, the more I realize that there really is no “nice way” to say “No Fat Chicks”. Really, it doesn’t matter how much you try to paraphrase it and dress it up with “politically correct” words. I didn’t want to hurt my friend’s feelings so I tried to soften the blow and if that’s a crime I’m guilty as charged.

To me, it is a reminder that as women, our bodies still remain to be very much objects that belong to the public rather than living organisms under the sovereignty of our minds.

Although I’m not much for dating, the men I have encountered here and there seem to have a sense of preservation in regards to my body. No one has ever complained when I eat a lot, and trust me; I eat A LOT but whenever I have some junk food, like McDonalds (which I hate but sometimes get cravings for), the scenario I receive from a guy is usually:

a. It’s OK for me to eat it because I go to the gym regularly
b. It’s OK for me to eat it so long as any fat that may be accumulated goes to a sexual part of my body (i.e. ass or boobs)
c. I should be “careful” eating it because I will get fat

There appears to be a complex around “keeping me the way I am” and making sure I don’t fall into the “unattractive” category. It’s the same mantra but just unsaid: “No Fat Chicks”.

Now, I understand that most (good) men have an internal “must protect female!” thing sounding off in their head constantly and I know some guys might pass these remarks as playful jokes so I want to make it clear that this is NEITHER of those cases.

The social politics behind “No Fat Chicks” is all based on suppressive body and sexuality aesthetics stemming from societies’ unrealistic standards of beauty. Even though it must be *especially* devastating for fat women, I believe it affects all of us as females, no matter what size we are.

I’m not going to submit myself to being controlled and maintained for someone else’s sexual benefit. If controlling how a woman looks appeals to you, buy a Real Doll but don’t fuck around with my food, for serious. I will stab you with a fork (as I prefer eating with spoons anyway; I can shovel the food into my mouth much faster).

I am more than capable of deciding how I want to look and deciding how I want to maintain my body in regards to what *I* think makes me beautiful and maintains my personal health requirements and needs. I don’t like how I look everyday but when I do—Damn. Watch out!

Gentlemen, there’s more to women AND fat women than just a beauty aesthetic or some sort of fetishism.

LADIES, honestly now—we have to start proving ourselves and stop expecting disappointment as the norm. We expect disappointment when our standards are self-effacing. Yes, everyone wants to look hot n’ sexxxay, but there is so much more to sexiness than appearance and we need to start taking personal responsibility for how we perceive ourselves and how we allow others to superimpose what they want us to be onto our bodies—not out of love, concern or protection but out of LUST.

When we accept inferiority in exchange for responsibility, integrity and pride; we are destroying not what it means to be a woman, but what it means to be a GOOD woman.

We’re all guilty of at some point in time, over-thinking about the most superficial shit about ourselves; I’ll raise my hand and admit my part in that, too. Let’s STOP thinking for a second about what it means to be a woman because all that thinking got us to the Land of Nowhere decades ago and we still haven’t fucking moved an inch! Don’t let anybody tell you otherwise.

Therefore, let’s START thinking about what it means to be GOOD women, as people, as ourselves.

I realize that this is why despite her initial disappointment, my friend took the news quite well and never fret over it once. She knows she’s a good woman, she knows that the shit behind “No Fat Chicks” is not worth a second of her precious time.

There will always be time to buy shoes on sale and eat chocolate but we seriously need to revaluate our womanhood NOW and define the goodness of womanhood so we can start being good to ourselves and eachother.

A woman with pride, a woman with standards for herself, a woman who really enjoys being a lady: THAT’S what’s sexy, that’s where sexiness comes from: A woman with power over herself. We are some powerful fucking beings; let me tell you. Pick up a good history book and see for yourself.

What do you want? How do you want to look for you?

No, no Fat Chicks.

We’re called women and if that’s a problem, bow down and blow it out your ass.

Happy Halloween!

A very HAPPY HALLOWEEN to all Homies, Homiettes and Haters from us here at PDDP!

Just as last year, I’ve left out some goodies for ya’ll below. (Oh, and if you’re not into scary stuff please direct yourself to a goodie over here).

First and foremost, if there’s one thing that can (moderately) compete with my audiophilia it’s a good movie. Especially if it’s a good horror movie. So let’s take a looksee at some damn good scary shit!! Afterall, we gotta combat this sad trend of terror and gore kinda losing their touch on Halloween!

Let the Right One In is based off the 2004 Swedish novel of the same name by John Ajvide. The story starts off with Oskar, a quiet 12 year old boy who is regularly picked on at school. He fascinates himself with morbid thoughts and solving puzzles in his spare time, until he meets a mysterious girl his age named Eli who just moved in next door with a man named Håkan. Coincedentally, many murders begin taking place in the quiet town upon their arrival–all the victims bled dry and strung up like pigs in a slaughter house. It doesn’t take Oskar long to start questioning who–or what–Eli truly may be.

The 2008 Swedish adaptation of the film is brilliant so I highly recommend that you hop, skip n’ jump down to your closest video store (or bootleg website if you’re broke like me) and give this a watch. Evenmore so, I also recommend the book; it’s definitely one of the best pieces of literature I’ve read in a long time but be forewarned if you’re sensitive: the book deals much more heavily than the film with themes of violence and children, graphic themes of pedophilia and gore. Here’s the trailer:

The next film I’m going to talk about is absolutely fucking brilliant. This film, BY FAR, is one of the best horror movies I have seen in years and will probably be one of the best I will see in my life. It’s time for Trick ‘r Treat.

This 2009 horror film by Michael Dougherty was released onto DVD October 3rd and is just TOO good. We have a horror movie with just about everything–werewolves, serial killers, zombies and beings from beyond the gates of hell wrapped up into four individual storylines that intersect and intertwine throughout the film to create a riveting masterpiece of terror with a few giggles thrown in for good measure. This is not the ordinary slasher flick (which I also love) although it still comes complete with lots of violence and blood nor is it the traditional Halloween movie full of stupid characters and predictable plot twists: this film is something so new, so fresh, so fun and so terrifying that it’ll definitely go down in history as a Halloween horror classic. I watched it two weeks ago and I love it with my whole heart. I’ve said enough, so please check out the trailer and if you’re still unconvinced; you’re really missing out!

So what would Halloween be without a little fun amongst the screams?

Of course, props MUST go out to the King of Pop who simply did it better than any other. This is Thriller night, afterall. Michael Jackson, you are a legend and may you rest in peace.

And does anybody else here really love the Rocky Horror Picture Show? OK, I don’t but I think that shit’s funny as all hell. So here’s my two favourite songs, the “Time Warp” and “Sweet Transvestite”.

Well, that’s all for this year, lover-la-dahs! What are your plans for the big H tonight? I’m going to a junk-food adorned horror movie-a-thon sleepover with my friends so I’m looking forward to possibly getting *throwed (*”drunk” for you jive turkeys), eating too much and passing out to the sounds of my own screams as we roll one flick after another. Good times, I suppose. If you missed out on last year’s PDDP Halloween goodies, please help yourselves to them over here. Keep safe and have a great night!!

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!

Do You Know This Girl?

UPDATE: A CNN Newsflash on Sunday has indicated that a viewer of the show recognized her and called in. The girl`s parents have been located and will be reunited with her shortly.

I stumbled upon this story reading CNN. As an amnesiac myself, I feel the deepest concern and empathy for this young girl. I would truly appreciate it if you could please pass this on to those you know or if you have any information, to contact the NYPD Missing Persons Squad at 212-694-7781 or Crime Stoppers at 1-800-577-TIPS. Thank you. ~D.C

Girl Found in NY Claims No Memory of Name, Home, Family
By Evan Buxbaum
CNN

NEW YORK (CNN) — Authorities are seeking the public’s assistance in identifying a teenage girl who mysteriously turned up in Manhattan two weeks ago, claiming to have no memory of her family, her home — or even her own name.

The teen has recalled an excerpt from the fantasy novel “Fool’s Fate” by Robin Hobb.

“I just want to know who I am,” the girl says in a statement released by the New York City Administration for Children’s Services. The teen, who is being referred to as Jane Doe, continues, “I want to know who I am and what happened to me.”

The Caucasian young woman, described by New York ACS as “very soft-spoken,” is 5 feet, 6 inches tall, light-skinned, with short, straight, cropped blond hair and blue eyes. Doctors are estimating her age to be between 14 and 17.

ACS Commissioner John B. Mattingly appealed to the public in a statement, “asking anyone who may know this young woman to help us locate her family as quickly as possible, so we can safely reunite her with those who love her.”

The girl was found in midtown Manhattan around 12:30 a.m. October 9 outside the Covenant House youth shelter, although the organization tells CNN that she was not a resident at the time and did not appear as if she intended to seek refuge at the facility.

According to its Web site, with nearly 7,000 youths seeking shelter per year, “Covenant House New York is the nation’s largest adolescent care agency serving homeless, runaway and at-risk youth.”

A security guard for the shelter noticed the girl walking around on the sidewalk near Covenant House and approached her. Finding her unresponsive, he called the New York City Police Department.

Police officers interviewed the young woman, but it became clear that she couldn’t provide authorities with any information about herself. The NYPD said she was wearing military green camouflage pants, a black shirt and a pair of black sneakers when she was discovered.

Children’s Services said the girl recently wrote down the name “Amber” and has responded to it on one occasion, but she has no idea whether it is her true name.

On another occasion she is said to have recalled certain words, which turned out to be an excerpt from the fantasy novel “Fool’s Fate” by Robin Hobb. The girl is also apparently writing a fantasy story of her own that features a heroine named Rian, “who’s been raised by the commander of the guard post on the edge of a fantasy kingdom,” says the young woman.

The girl has a 2- to 4-inch scar on her lower left back and had a black, handwritten birthday message on her arm, addressed to a name of Japanese origin, when she was found, police said Friday.

Judging from poor dental hygiene, said Lt. Christopher Zimmerman, she appears to have been living on the streets for some time.

“This case has been going on since October 9,” Zimmerman said. “Today is the 23rd, and we’re vey concerned. It’s been a very long time now. That’s a long time frame to not identify somebody. Especially someone who we believe is a juvenile. Usually juveniles we get a lot of inquiries about.”

While the girl is confused and her story remains vague, Mattingly said, “she is safe with us, and we are doing all we can to help her, but she needs to find her family.”

She is apparently reviewing materials for a high school GED exam, saying that she is able to do the math but has no recollection of studying the history and science portions. However, according to the Children’s Services statement, the young woman “can easily retain the information.”

New York City Administration for Children’s Services and police are asking anyone with information about the young woman or her family to contact the NYPD Missing Persons Squad at 212-694-7781 or Crime Stoppers at 1-800-577-TIPS. (Source: CNN.COM)

High Class Anger

High Class Anger
A Guest Post by: Beesting

Beesting is a ridiculously good friend of mine; definitely an angel with sharp iron teeth. We met in a sociology lecture three years back and continue to have in depth discussions about race, class and penis over cheesecake and steak. Beesting is a 21 year old, middle-class White female currently majoring in Radio & Broadcasting in college. Other than radio and social issues, she also has keen interest in cute things and apple picking. It is an honour to post one of her pieces and I hope you all enjoy her work on education and class below. ~D.C

We’ve seen the people wearing prada and buying starbucks and talking about spending their summer break on a 3 month vacation in France, Italy etc. These people share our sidewalks, our so called schools of higher learning are their breeding grounds. Even all this is not bad, but then they start telling you shit that opens your eyes so wide they could fall out of your head.

They start saying that uneducated people’s votes shouldn’t be worth as much, or that unskilled laborers should receive no benefits because they’re working an easy job and after all they’re just a bunch of lazy whiners. They talk to you when passing a handout or informing you on what you missed in class as if they were at a VP board meeting of executives. “Well she mentioned that our exam will consist of…..she requested that we…” and they dress the part of course. Even when they spout long words in class that completely miss the professor’s point and you know they’re bullshitting. Everyone who is ‘smart’ enough to understand what the fuck they’re saying knows they’re saying total crap but they just don’t shutup because they need those participation marks.

And these people may be managers someday, because god knows most of them have money and confidence oozing from their very pores. Oh, they’ll donate to charity for sure, because it’s in style and it looks amazing. I mean, and volunteering in a different country is a great way to show you’re cultured and that you appear to be a nice person. This worldly experience is of course undertaken for .A. cheap travel or B. it looks amaazzinng on a resume. Usually people hire people who appear nice.

But then there are the major problems.

They are in their minds elevated above making friends with the college people or the right out of highschool worker…As soon as they find out its like: “Eww, your stupidity might pollute the air I breathe and disease my future prospects and all my volunteering and bushitting will be for nothing!”

Plus if you have nothing to “offer” all friendship attempts are blocked by an infinite wall because friendship means networking of course, and if you’re not “up there” you must be “down there”. They don’t want anything to do with “down there” so bye-bye.

These are the people that will be famous but abusive of thier spouses or steal other people’s work.

Or not, they may just be snobs.

These are the people that will ride their vespas wearing some designer clothes off to a huge office building in a large city, or at least that’s the image that comes to mind.

And thus the schools have conditioned the youth to keep the status quo, the up stay up, and the low stay low(er). Nothing is done to curb this!

There are no dress down days where skirts or expensive sunglasses will be frowned at. There are no mandatory human rights classes or classes that explain the inequalities in the world that is mandatory for everyone from fine arts to chemistry to take. We have to take a natural science and a social science to graduate, why not teach something more practical? Like preserving some humility in high society!

Big Meals, Big Butts and Wanderlust

Big Meals, Big Butts and Wanderlust
Cut by: Davita Cuttita

I love to eat.

There is no way I can ever deny it; food is definitely one of my best friends.

It took me a while to come to terms with it, to come to terms with the fact that I am female and REFUSE to eat lightly and drink nothing but water or diet coke.

When I get something big to eat, I know people look. I can see them exchanging glances. I suppose they wonder if I can finish it and in 99% of the cases, I do.

And then I want more.

Until recently…

Lately, whenever I get a plate of food the same sensations do present themselves—I’m ecstatic that it’s there and I can’t wait to eat it. But then I also think “Whoa, this is gonna give me a big butt” as I clench my utensils and let apprehension sink into my stomach.

I go to the gym regularly during the week anyway and since this blog I’ve actually lost a couple of pounds (again) weighing in at roughly 126lbs at a height of 5”7 and am now finally able to wear size 5 jeans whereas before, I mostly wore size 7 and I’ve still kept those pants because they’re still fairly comfy and stylish if I wear a belt.

In regards to my gym habits, I’ve always tried to be a juggernaut about it. I go three to four times a week early in the morning when it’s fairly empty and on average, I’ll usually stay for an hour and a half or two hours, depending on how much time I can squeeze in between classes. I place most emphasis on killer cardio so I can run from the police (HAH!).

About 2 years ago, I remember wanting to fit into a size 5 so damn badly. I remember this feeling was 1000x more intense after my accident three years ago and I was placed on medication that made me gain about 20—25 pounds in 3 months.

I kinda hate that…I’ve reached my “ideal” point but for some reason, it seems as though I’m being haunted by guilt that I could somehow “ruin” this for myself. I also feel guilty about the fact that I really do have an appreciation for the human body and the varieties it comes in but still get irked about my own. I hate the days where I have a hard time accepting my body.

Dating also seems to increase the “pressure”.

Sitting or lying next to someone of the opposite sex in close quarters is already kinda foreign to me and then things get trickier depending on the time of day and how much or how little clothes you are wearing. You’re definitely more attentive to your body when you start sharing it with another person; from the moisture in your lips and hands to that part of your upper inner thigh that’s a little extra jiggly and gets a giggle when grabbed.

That being said, most men that seem to be asking me out lately are the (White) French kind and it’s GREAT having extra homework help on demand (LOL) and getting quite chivalrous treatment when I can stomach it without blushing. Also, the French attitude towards food has been a generous experience in itself; I’ve really been learning about what tastes go well together and how to really savour what I eat and to further appreciate freshly made meals and ingredients. I’ve been eating such damn good home cooking which is AMAZING compared to all the boiled-out slop I have to concoct on stovetop burners until I can get an oven at my new apartment. But there’s always the little “ick” moments in conversation that going something like “…Eating that will make you fat! That is why Americans…” and so on.

I don’t want any part of this pressure to stay thin but for some reason, it’s been a little bit harder to resist than usual as I occasionally flash back to my more medicated and introverted days. It’s been so much easier for me to buy cute little jeans, sweaters and dresses; I’ve been able to shop at a lot more bargains and save money that I desperately need for food (the irony!) but at the same time, I’ve been in denial of my fear of “going back” to how I was for the past little while.

All in all, I figured more or less that it’s healthier to admit when I’m having not-so-confident days rather than to just cover them up. Confidence is always key, even if you have to fake it; but keeping an eye on threats to your self-esteem and owning up to them is also important to making sure your confidence is of the healthy kind.

On top of being more honest with myself I’ve also promised myself to travel more.

New York this summer was pretty OK but the trip Grandpa and I took to Montréal (as well as the subsequent trip I made to it again afterwards) was ridiculously enthralling. On top of that, another trip to Europe to see the rest of my family is definitely in order for *hopefully* the near future. Definitely back to Birmingham again but Paris and London are also on my destination list and the TRAINS. I don’t mind the tinier cars of Europe and I really don’t give a shit about most art but I would really like to use the trains to move between towns more. I like trains a lot for some odd reason; especially the clean and comfy ones put aside to take you to far off places.

I get a real high travelling and typically, the experience does nothing but good things for me in every way; especially since I’m neither the hobby-having type nor the stay-at-home type. When I experience something, I find I like experiencing with my WHOLE body, mind and spirit. Really, nothing but music, travel and turning off the lights and locking the door with a good looking guy get that accomplished for me so… I’m kinda hoping for more of all three and at the same time, really trying not to get too greedy.

Image is a painting by Nour up at Eat Me Daily.

No Regrets Blog #3

No Regrets Blog #3
by Grandpa Dinosaur

Hey, checking in. I’m still eating some terrible foods and I’m still working out, I’m on my plateau so I’m happy and I’m really enjoying my exercise. I was afraid of losing too much weight and I’m starting to get used my new body. I look at the mirror everyday and I find I like my arms, but hate how thin I’m getting. I’m not 100% comfortable with the new body yet, I was more comfortable being fatter and plusher.

I’ll admit I’m more attracted to people who have some fat and plush and really bone thin girls really gross me out. I’ll let you all in on a little secret, I’ve dated a lot of thin girls but I could never really… “Get it up” in the female way because their bones kept stabbing me awkwardly. I prefer fullness and curves in a potential spouse BUT I have a tendency to meet pretty women. They’re all so thin and it never works out because I like them but I’m not attracted to them unless they’re really outgoing.
It’s also probably why I don’t find my new body to be as attractive, in fact I’m working hard on abs because I don’t like being skinny and seeing that there’s no muscle there. I like being muscular, there is no middle ground for me. It’s either fat or muscular, I don’t even like toned. I know being “toned” is in but… Ugh.

A lot of men (and homeless people) keep hitting on me. I never seem to attract the women I want to attract, and when I do, they want to cheat on their spouses with me! HA!

A lot of guys are hitting on me now and I just want them all to go away. I mean, no one even noticed me before and now that I’m suddenly attractive because I work out? UGH! This was the same as a couple of years ago.
I’m putting more effort into my appearance and I now wear make-up when I feel like it. Sometimes I’ll just throw on some make-up and go out with Davita or for a meeting. I hate it when people notice me now. Yeah, I wasn’t wearing make-up before, I didn’t see the point. I used the money to buy DVD’s of Batman, for serious. I own a lot of Batman merchandise.

I just want those guys who like me now to go away. Like, why couldn’t people like me when I was size 10? Why do people talk to me now? Go away! Pretty ladies please come and talk to me though. Hahaha.

I’m a pretty terrible person for working extra hard at school and exercising to get revenge on my sister-in-law on the side. I admit I’m a jerk for doing it, but she really deserves it. She’s been really rude and cruel to me by cooking shellfish in my house ever since I started school. And she knows the smell is deadly, the only wake-up call that will stun her if I have to call the ambulance because I’m having problems breathing. Because I already HAVE had problems breathing and had to see if they progressed to call the doctor, people wonder why I’m so vindictive sometimes but when you have someone like my sister-in-law hovering over you every time you eat calling you obese (when you’re not) and you have your own father claiming that you gain weight by drinking water.

I’m working hard on NOT being distrustful and vindictive, but there are times I know and feel the loneliness eat at me. I wonder why people treat me so badly and why don’t they care that they hurt me. I’m forced to react and when I do, everyone just stares at my actions and lambasts me for acting out in anger…. I know that last sentence is not true, because my friends have told me that my feelings are justified and I have done my best but I know I’ve worked so hard with so little and you see other people who haven’t faced hardships as bad and worked less and done worse things than I get more, I can’t help but feel alone and hopeless. I just want to finish school so I can move on with my life, I’m getting high grades (so far) and I’m definitely spearheading a lot of my school subjects. I’ve filled my life with great things and I’ll fight for those things.

I pretty much feel like I’m a horrible person, here I am saying I like being fat and I’m fat positive but I’m exercising. I made sure to still eat what I want to eat, but I do take time to cook what I do eat even if it’s cutting a slab of butter to melt and smear of toast. Exercising has made me less depressed and has something for me to focus on when I feel lonely, which I can say that I hated exercise because there was an aura of self-hatred whenever I talked to women exercising. It’s probably because they were exercising to lose weight and I wasn’t. In fact I identify with some of my friends more, but only the ones who lift weights. Lifting weights has giving me such a feeling of empowerment.

I’ll be honest that I am very uncomfortable in my new body because I know have a body that people find attractive and I don’t like that, because it means the me I was before was unattractive and I was—am comfortable in that body. Even though lifting weights and bench-pressing is empowering me, I feel that I should go back and be fat because I believe that being fat doesn’t make you unattractive. On the other hand, the empowerment I feel from weight lifting is so great I could never go back.
I’ll probably stop writing this column when 1) I can bench-press some crazy number 2) I find a conclusion to all this, until then XD !

Print, Cut, Staple! written by Grandpa Dinosaur

Print, Cut, Staple!
Bookmaking for great justice or great fun
written by Grandpa Dinosaur

How many of you are zinesters, comic artists, writers, poets? How of you print and publish your own books, if you don’t you should! You should definitely get started—I mean having your own book of your work is just nice. I have about six to ten books (if not more) of my own work that I consistently pull off my shelf and read. Because that’s a sign of good work, to be fair most of the books I’ve written… I mean with mostly my books with words because they have spectacular typography and just aesthetically pleasing to look at in general. My comics aren’t as good, but are PRETTY FUN to write, draw and complete! I usually make a stapled book if I’m working alone and producing a small work, but I am able to make hard cover books but not paperbacks. I’m babbling on, but as much as I like blogging my first and true love will always be print instead of digital.

I have so much to write about I don’t even know where to begin, I feel like one of those hosts in those women shows that appeal to moms! I have a huge season of bookmaking to look forward in fall in addition to pumpkins, harvesting and cooking my favourite vegetables. Dear lord, do you really wonder how many hobbies I actually have? I have a lot, which is good because I have a lot to write and make books about. PDDP 2 and PDDP 1 will probably be available at Canzine 2009. Should, would, maybe? I am in grad school. Which brings us to subject! There are a lot of things you can make comics, zines and poetry about, just choose something you love and start there…

Unless you’re drawing than definitely worry about the format and DPI of your work, 300DPI is good for print. If you’re printing with a photocopier, you can copy, cut and paste your artwork and photocopy and edit with white out or white paint or glued paper until it’s clean as it will only print in black and white. But that means that all your grey parts will come out as dots and it could look weird!

A good all in one zine making book that can be applied to comic and other print things, it’s called “Make a Zine” by Bill Brent and Joe Biel. It’ll only run you about between ten to fifteen dollars depend where you get it.

I think another topic I would like to talk about is that people who say that your zine, comic or print piece has to be photocopied and stapled to “come from the heart,” I’ve made MANY of my pieces in InDesign and my material DEFINATELY comes from the heart.  I’ve also made the purely with a printer. I think there is some merit to making a zine by cutting a pasting the old fashioned way, but I think that those who carry those affectionate feelings for “rough” zines and contempt for computer produced work are just the same as the man keeping us down.

I think the most essential ingredients in a zine is time, effort and love. Produce a zine on a subject and medium you love and share it with the world. Also, complete your zine! VERY important! I hope I have encouraged you readers enough, and it doesn’t have to be a zine! Look at your local art events (I do) and see what type of local art exhibition you can participate in, even if you think you are not ready, when you will be prompted at the final desk for a resume and the dreaded artist’s CV you will have a long list of projects and events you have been a part of and put on that. I’m crazily involved in school, hobbies, zines, art and Batman and I think that it’s enriched my life with happiness.