[cranky] the boy's club that is my job

I've worked in the theatre production business since before I could legally be paid to be there. I started in community theatre, worked on every middle and high school production I could get my hands on, and created my own major in college to continue this work. Primarily, I'm a theatre electrician and lighting designer. Occasionally I work as a production manager, and previously as a stage manager. Since it's been over ten years I can do a little bit of everything, and I've even taught professional development classes for middle and high school teachers. I've done lighting design for local professional dance companies, symphonies, musicals, and graduations, as well as college musicals. Six years ago the minimum I was ever paid was $15 an hour. Right now I'm thrilled to get any gig working for less pay.


There is an international theatre union, IATSE (declining to share my local’s number and rat myself out…). While I live in a right to work state, we follow most union rules and are all treated the same. Except that I've discovered that the "girls get less work calls" rumor is actually the truth. Guys with years less experience than me are getting more work offers than I am. Guys with a much smaller knowledge base are getting more work than I am. Therefore, they do make more money than me.


Recently I found out that there was a huge work call at my local arena for a famous rapper on tour. A friend of mine that I helped get into my city's theatres was asked to do the show, so he dropped a previous commitment I helped him get so he could go do the union-run concert with "his boys" (his words). So not only was I embarrassed, I found out that the union preference is having a penis over having the most experience or hardest work ethic. What other evenings am I at home, bored, ready and eager to work, and not getting a call because I have a vagina and can't grow a caveman beard?

[fat] confessions on my own scars, stretch marks, and hairiness

giangie.tumblr.com

My first surgery scars came in high school from putting my shoulder back together after a weird overuse accident. (labral tear-- the tissue that holds the ball and socket in place was torn from the bone) After being misdiagnosed for eight months the three one-inch-long scars felt like battle scars. A year later I had a breast reduction, three pounds and some drainage tubes later I’ve got almost two feet of faint pink scars. I have yet to meet a man who noticed my scars until about a month of pillow talk later… it’s been quite the confidence booster. My other surgery scars are from having my appendix plucked out a few years after that. The scars are consistent with an ovary removal, but luckily it was my appendix that was infected and dying instead. The surgical scars could almost count as battle scars -- except my belly and boobs have faced no trauma.


All along my arms and legs are bug bites. Ants and mosquitoes for the most part, but the occasional family of chiggers or no-see-ums will try to take up residence under a flip flop strap. Many bites have scabbed over, and some have finally left smooth purple discolorations. I haven’t shaved my legs in over four years -- thighs in over six. Luckily the hair is rather blonde and thin, so I don’t need to worry about shaving over bug bites and opening up scabs. I’ve also got my fair share of old scraped knees and shins from work as well as my years of tree climbing and mud pie pancake making in the back yard. Additionally, no guy has noticed my leg hair until I've actually pointed it out to him. Women on occasion have noticed the leg hair.


[cranky] CFF manifesto (in progress)

CFF began as a way for me to post images and articles that spoke to me, without the anger of friend’s parents, or friends, or my parents and relatives, or any other jackasses. It was a way to share the new blog I had started, to contemplate my understanding of the feminist classes I was taking in college. I also needed to reflect on my recent return from Africa, and how feminism related to my trip.

CFF became a place for me to understand that there is more than fat shaming -- there is skinny shaming too, and that I’ve participated in it. Today, I do post mostly about fat shaming, but I make a point of never skinny shaming.


I’ve also reflected a lot on how I’ve felt fat since probably the age of 9 or 10. I hit puberty early (period came at age 10) so I was extra tall and hairy early. I’ve always had wide shoulders, and by 6th grade I was a 36C. I was always bigger than every other girl, and most of the guys. I told myself constantly that I was fat. Middle school (the years of self hate, mean girls, exploring make up, leg shaving, girl on girl hate…) only made my fat feel fatter.

 

[cranky] periods and porta potties, and bullshit at work

A month ago, four hours from home, I arrive at this new work site, 6:45am, bleary-eyed and desperately clutching my nearly empty coffee cup. Turns out we were called in early just for the sake of being early and sorting paperwork, which really only took 20 minutes. By 7:45 my bladder is full of coffee and I have to ask where the restrooms are… only to find out that we had access to porta potties. Perhaps if I walked half a mile up the road to this fancy arena people would be there and let me in to use a real restroom. But that was perhaps. After tucking a just in case tampon into the shorts I’m wearing (which are really my new boyfriend’s extra pair of work shorts) I hand my helmet to one of my female coworkers and head to the row of porta potties. My hands have already touched the gross “community box” of hard hats, borrowed someone’s pen to sign paperwork, and had just touched the door of the porta potty. While trying to keep the bottoms of my shorts from touching the pool of water around my boots, I discover that I have indeed started my period. And I have no where to wash my hands before I use the tampon. Surely comical if anyone had been watching, I managed to keep the shorts out of the puddle and put in the tampon. About to walk out I remember, I still have no where to wash my hands. I clean my hands to the best of my ability with the one-ply, but have no choice but to walk out, grab my hard hat, and get ready to work.

[feminist] confession

Question: Why are you so passionate about women's rights, sexual victim's rights, and reproductive rights? You've never been raped or assaulted, you've never had an abortion, you've never been abused.

I have three best girlfriends. Among the three there have been two abortions, and two miscarriages. Today, two are married, one has two children and the other is expecting her first in a few weeks. The other is now happily single. I was the secret-keeper, the advice-giver, the voice and body of control and compassion. I've waited impatiently for pregnancy test results to show up in the tiny ambiguous window, I've seen how heart-wrenching the choice to have an abortion can be, I've seen how painful and confusing a miscarriage is.

My little sister was fourteen (I was nearly seventeen) when she was suddenly delivered home one Sunday afternoon by her then-best friend and her mother-- they pulled up in front of our house after calling to say she was sick, they opened the sliding side door of the mini-van, and my father and I pulled out a limp, wet, stinking child in a bikini. My father and I carried her up the stairs into the front yard as my mother called doctors to see why she was foaming at the mouth. I held my sister as she half-consciously rested against a tree, making sure she vomited to the side and not on herself, as my father went back down to the van to find out what had happened. The only answer they could give was that the bff and my sister had been at a guy's house, my sister had been drinking, and all of a sudden when they left she began puking. We live in a corner house, so we moved my sister around to the backyard, trying not to be seen as her breasts hung out of the bikini and she slipped in and out of consciousness. Eventually we laid her in a reclining pool chair that we had found a few weeks before on the side of the road, and hosed her down. She rambled on and on incoherently while smelling like a distillery.

Sometimes its really hard for me to forgive her stupidity, her choice of friends, her bad decisions. But she never in a million years deserved to have her drink spiked, her best friend turn her back on her, and to be drug up a flight of stairs and locked in a boy's bedroom while she was in and out of consciousness, and then to be slid back down the stairs and drug down the street to another house where my parents were called. What a sick power play, that this same boy has done many times over in our city since then-- his family has a great lawyer, and he has never even been brought into the courthouse for questioning, much less prosecution.

The evening after, my parents sat my sister down in the living room for a talk, and I was sent into the backyard. A bit later one of them came out and announced they were going to the ER and I couldn't come. They were gone about six hours, during which my sister had an incredibly painful and invasive rape kit that was never analyzed. She was questioned by several police officers who talked down to her. The doctors said that she definitely had something fucked up in her drink (how else could you foam at the mouth like a rabid dog?), but that it had already left her system and there was nothing they could do.

Since there was no stray hair, no sperm, no sexual evidence, there was no "proof" that she had been raped.

Since we didn't realize she had been raped when she arrived home that afternoon, and she was incapable of telling us, we didn't get her tested for drugs in time for there to be "proof" of that either.

When my father was five his father died of a heart attack. His older brother began sexually abusing him as a form of power... by the age of ten my father was able to fight back, and he turned on their little sister. When my sister was raped, my father nearly lost his mind. 

Who gets to dictate what is rape, who gets to dictate when and why women have abortions? Why is this a political topic of discussion? These are lifelong traumas, lifelong decisions-- these are personal traumas, personal decisions. I chose to run away from the south to go to school in the mid-west. But you can't run away from your past. So I am fighting for my future-- to keep my personal decisions, my personal traumas, personal. So that it can be my decision to press charges, my decision to have an abortion, and not someone else's.

[feminist] breastfeeding in public

Lately on facebook we've been talking a lot about breastfeeding in public. Many people in American society find it to be "disgusting" "gross" "nudity" or "insensitive"--


Kim: Not going to lie, even as a female I seriously don't want to see anyone nursing. Can't they just put in a nice little room in the malls, with some carpet and a few sofas for moms?

Yvette: One of the biggest complainers about women publicly feeding a child are young women who have never chosen to breast feed or don't have children. What kind of society do we have when we teach young women to hate one of their own natural abilities? Only in America.

Dana: Yes, nursing is natural. You need to be tasteful though. I wouldn't want my ten year old son gawking at it. 

Wendy: Honestly, I dont want to see either one in front of my face when i am trying to eat. Im sorry, but as a nonchild bearing woman with absolutely NO DESIRE to have children, I am tired of self righteous mother throwing their breasts in my face everywhere I turn.-

These were just a few comments on the images above, but what I'm wondering is how our society got to this point. Why did boobs become so sexualized that women can't feed their children in public without risk of being chastised (or even told to go feed their child in the bathroom). 

African woman

Arab woman and child, 1925

East Indian, 1950

painting by Mary Cassatt

Moroccan woman 1909

Why do you think American women's breasts are so sexualized? Why do you think we have become a society in which this is even a topic of debate, instead of a socially accepted norm for all people? While you're pondering your answer, check out these over priced nursing covers which further the idea that a nursing mother should (by society's rules, not by her choice) cover up to feed.

 Trend Lab Polka-Dot Nursing Cover 

Itzy Ritzy Modern Floral Nursing Cover

[feminist] Miss Representation Film

I just got back from watching "Miss Representation" which was absolutely incredible. Sometimes it takes being slapped in the face before we realize what we're absorbing into our minds, both consciously and subconsciously. I've attached the Trailer.

"Miss Representation brings together some of America's most influential women in politics, news and entertainment, including Condoleezza Rice, Nancy Pelosi, Katie Couric, Rachel Maddow, Margaret Cho, Rosario Dawson and Gloria Steinem to give audiences an inside look at the media's message and depiction of women. The film explores women's under-representation in positions of power by challenging their limited and often disparaging portrayals in the media. Miss Representation takes the stand that the media is portraying women's primary values as their youth, beauty and sexuality - rather than their capacity as leaders."

When was the last time you watched a movie where the star was a woman?
And she wasn't hunting down a man to marry?
Or Laura Croft, taking charge of the world as a badass go-get-um woman wearing not enough clothes?
You're not sure, are you?

[feminist] mass produced bras and my breast reduction surgery

In response to:

Brumberg, Joan Jacobs. “Breast Buds and the ‘Training’ Bra.” 1977. Women’s Voices, Feminist Visions: Classic and Contemporary Readings, 4^th edition. 249-254.

Before reading this I had no idea that the first bra was created in 1913, “designed simply to flatten,” and that the more current/modern bra came about in the 1930’s (Brumberg 250). The concept of the bra is so new yet so universal now. Mass production and mass media are so influential in society, and the bra is a prime example. With mass production came sizing—A, B, C, D, the infamous DD, and the realm of un-tamed breasts even larger. (As a person who once wore the “more than a DD,” I know firsthand the impossibility of buying a bra in a department store that will be the correct size.) I was still in middle school when I made the transition to “larger than my mother” and up to DD, and had to face the realization that I wasn’t just larger than normal, larger than my peers, but I was freakishly, abnormally larger than society as a whole. For years I wore two minimizer bras at a time in an effort to “tame” my breasts even more, as they continued to grow. I was known as “jugs” for years in high school before I had breast reduction surgery, after which I spent my final year in baggy shirts so that no one would I know that I had “gotten my tits cut off.”  (which to this day people perceive as a “tragedy” despite the fact that it was practically a medical necessity)

The physical pain I had from wearing underwire bras aimed at “taming” my breasts has always led me to wonder why anyone would wear a AAA or AA (or even an A) bra when to me they so obviously don’t need one. But with stores and brands like Victoria’s Secret a AAA girl can wear a bra that makes her look like she has real B-size breasts. (I’ve always wondered how disappointed the boyfriend is once the bra comes off?)