I love it when food is red.....I love it when food is brown....I love it when food has rice in it....I love it when food has tomatoes in it.....I love it when food has meat in it....I love it when food has veggies in it....I love it when food is soup....I love it when food is yummy soup...
Still thinking about how I rolled up to yoga (rehabilitative for people with Problems, largely MS, largely over 40, quite a few over 60, 100% women right now) on the first hot day that coincided with it, and as I walked up to the rest of the group one of the women cooed "oooh have you lost weight?" (I have no idea, I wasn't wearing a huge sweater for the first time they had seen me as such in 2+ years and I breast boobily in sweaters and become entirely cylindrical).
And I was startled and confused and said, "Oh, I don't know, I haven't weighed myself since I was a teenager?" (I'm 32 and starting a pandemic-era white streak in my hair)
And the WHOLE group went silent, dropped their side conversations, and stared at me like I was a creature in the zoo for about 10 seconds with no words, until I vaguely waffled, "I, uh, heard it was toxic...." (trailed off without finishing "to your sense of self and wellbeing" because they were just getting more bug eyed and that sentence may as well have been me making weird bloop bleep alien noises.)
Thankfully my friend there started up more different conversation with me, but. Now I'm just haunted by all these stares of 40-70 year old women who have never even conceptualised that someone gender presenting female might have gone through life not thinking about their weight, and their collective visible shock. Damage done to them over their lives by society and how it is completely normal to think about it all the time, notice it all the time in other people, talk about it (which they do for themselves) all the time.
I understand a lot of them are dieting around complicated health stuff but whenever I buy cake for lunch it's also clear that having to control their food is not something they're unused to and they simply have to adapt what they were ALREADY doing to what they now HAVE to do. They're always shocked and amused when I do it. My heart is kind of broken for them, because body positivity is such a recent moment that they really had no chance and even learning about it now they're so wired to feel that pain...
I don't even know what to do about it aside from keep on ordering cake for lunch. Maybe they will get brave enough to do it too?
gonna just dip my toe into some fairly toxic discourse
to say that when people hold up asexuals like me as a reason to ban any expression of kink from pride parades and the like, i am reminded of an experience i had in kindergarten, where a fellow five-year-old completely misunderstood how my dairy allergies worked and thought he could make me pass out by waving a piece of cheese at me.
like, okay, i don't experience sexual attraction to anybody; that doesn't mean i'm gonna melt like the wicked witch of the west if i see someone else wearing bondage gear. i'm a grown adult and frankly, straight allo culture throws more explicit portrayals of sexuality at me every day. trust me, i can handle it. don't project your puritan ideals onto me.
for the record, speaking only for this asexual, the actual things that make me uncomfortable at pride are cops, crowds, and (as someone very susceptible to burning and heat exhaustion) the sun. one of those things should be banned while the other two are basically inevitable. kink doesn't even begin to factor into it.
Gotta say, it’s terrifying to think that getting one day off is something to celebrate, but congratulations to all the strikers for all the work they’ve put in to get this.
Something I don't think I've ever seen discussed much:
The intersection of poverty & fatphobia is fucking hell. I have literally been told that periods of food insecurity and malnutrition were "blessings in disguise" so I could "use up some of that fat."
People in poverty are often fat, and food insecurity is a massive concern when you're impoverished--but all people see is the fat. It's somehow funny when fat people are desperate for food and clean clothes and hygiene items.
If you stink because it's been months since you could do laundry? People act like the smell is because you're fat. If your hair is dirty because you can't access a shower, people act as if you're dirty because you're fat. If you're starving, people will look at your stomach and assume it must actually be digesting a feast, just because you're fat.
Fat poverty is scary, brutal, and doesn't really seem to get much visibility, because the stereotype of what impoverished and hungry people looks like tends to skew waifish.
i bet bruce eats Fancy (tm) rich pizza with truffles and shit. he probably eats it with a knife and fork like he does burgers.
“This is such a garbage assignment.”
Dick sighed. He and Jason had been relegated to Warehouse Watch for the huge bust all of the Bats had been working on as a unit. They’d been sitting atop a roof for five hours now with nothing to show for it while everyone else got to swoop around and kick ass. Even Duke, who operated on a completely different schedule, got to join in the fun.
Damian’s war cry echoed throughout the city, followed by Steph’s laughter. Damn, that sounded fun.
Jason had been complaining for an hour straight. “Seriously. I’m stuck here because I stole his Aston Martin last week. He’s lucky I even agreed to help out with this job. Such an asshole. What did you do, Dickolas?”
Dick thought back to the previous day:
“I picked up a few pizzas on my way over.”
Dick slid the lukewarm pizza boxes onto Bruce’s batdesk and snapped his fingers over at Tim. “Get over here, Timmy, dinner time.”
Delighted at the prospect of eating something other than plain chicken breast and kale smoothies, Tim rushed over and snatched a few slices of pepperoni and artichoke. Babs and Cass came over next and got their servings.
Babs wheeled over to settle next to Dick and wrinkled her nose at his sausage and pineapple pizza. “Gross.”
He shrugged. “More for me.”
“Anchovies are best,” Cass opined. She’d perched herself on the back of Bruce’s chair.
“Unhealthy,” Bruce grunted. He still hadn’t looked away from…whatever it was he was doing.
“What are you doing?” Dick asked. “Are those bones?”
“Why are you playing around with bat bones?” Dick pressed.
“Not playing. I want to put them in a display case.”
Tim and Babs shared a look. Back on his bullshit, Tim mouthed. Babs rolled her eyes.
“That’s a little strange, Bruce,” Dick said flatly.
“Hnnnrgh.” Bruce rolled his desk chair over to inspect the various pizza offerings: Anchovies, artichokes, pepperoni, and plain cheese. “Dick. You didn’t get my truffle and arugula.”
“Holy picky eater, Batman,” Dick fired back.
“Here we go,” muttered Babs.
“You know I only like truffle and arugula.”
“Holy ungrateful Bat, Batman.”
“This is all too greasy, anyway. It’s unhealthy. None of you should be eating it.”
“Holy buzzkill, Batman.”
“Holy Batgrunt, Batman.” Dick moved forward and snatched the pizzas away. He pulled a slice of plain cheese from one of the boxes and frisbeed it over to Bruce’s desk, where it landed with a wet, sticky plop.
“Disrespectful,” Bruce said. He shifted over and grabbed the slice, jamming a huge bite into his mouth and glaring at Dick all the while. But when he began to chew, a series of delicate little crunches echoed throughout the cave.
Everyone froze. It was very quiet.
Bruce slowly got up and walked over to a nearby trash can.
“So, um.” Tim leaned over and examined the bat bones. There were definitely a few missing; they must have stuck to the cheese.
Dick’s face was very red. His lower lip quivered. He snorted.
“It’s not funny,” Bruce snapped. “Dick. Don’t.”
“Hol—-Holy,” Dick’s voice quivered with the force of his restrained laughter. “Holy c—cannib—Holy cannibal…”
“Do Not,” Bruce warned.
“Holy cannibalism, Batman!”